rivers_bend

Title: You show me yours and I'll show you mine
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Words: ~2200
Rating: NC-17
Enticements/Warnings: pre-series (no ages stated), injured John, shameless PWP.
Spoilers: none
A/N: for deirdre_c who wanted some cheering Sam/Dean, and for moodswingers who knows why.
Summary: John's like an angry bear, growling and grumbling nonstop, and it's driving Sam and Dean crazy. They need someplace to be alone for a while, so Dean finds somewhere.




John Winchester badly rolls his ankle coming out of a Laundromat in Roscommon Michigan, the day they are supposed to leave town. As he would be happy to tell you, more than once, he managed—without getting so much as a scratch, thanks—to defend his boys against a whole family of angry spirits while they broke into a crypt and salted and burned all the bones, and then gets himself laid up for what will be a week, maybe a week and a half trying to get the soot out of their clothes. Figures.

He's like an angry bear, growling and grumbling nonstop, and it's driving Sam and Dean crazy. There's no money to get a second room at the motor lodge, and the place isn't exactly a hotbed of moneymaking opportunities, so there's not much choice but to put up with him. After four days though, Dean's pretty sure there's gonna be an "accident" while he's cleaning one of the guns, and that's just the frustration at being yelled at every time he or Sammy turns around, doesn't even figure in the frustration of only being able to touch his brother in fleeting moments in the front seat of the car when Dad sends them both for takeout.

Then one night Dean's out to pick up a few things and he sees a group of condos going up. There's a show house available for viewing. No sign of security guards, no alarm notices, no one rolls up when he wanders around, peeks in the windows. Someone's left the shutters open in the master bedroom; there's a huge modern bed with white sheets, fugly modern art on the walls, square lamps on the bedside tables, one of them glowing softly. Dean can see Sam laid out on the bed, all summer tan against the sheets, cock hard, waiting for Dean to suck him until he screams. The place is a mile or two from any other houses, and it looks perfect. Dean picks up a bottle of whiskey on the way home.

The next evening, thanks to a son with a generous pouring hand, John is drunk by six and snoring by nine. Dean writes a note: Sam and I went to get some fresh air. Back later. Sam's so eager to be gone, he's out the door and in the car before Dean's even got the cap back on the pen, and he doesn't even know where they're going.

Once they get there, Sam's reluctant at first, scared of silent alarms or hidden attack dogs, but once they're inside and he sees there are no blinking lights or alarm panels or anything else suspicious, he's on Dean like they haven't had sex in weeks. Which they haven't. They end up grinding on the kitchen floor, kissing sloppy and wet, until Dean hits his wrist on the fancy island and remembers the bedroom, the whole reason they came here in the first place.

"C'mon, get up," he says, standing and tugging Sam's hair. "There's a bed just down the hall."

Whoever showed the place last today closed all the shutters, though the same bedside lamp is on, casting a pool of light onto the bed. Sam sits, bouncing a little, mock-testing the mattress, making Dean laugh. Leaving Sam to adjust himself in his jeans and run a hand over the comforter, Dean checks the shutters, just to make sure no one can see in, and then turns on the overhead light. Too often when they do get to be together it's under cover of darkness, or covers, and Dean wants to see.

"Enough with the stage setting," Sam says. "We're not filming a porno. Just get over here and—"

Dean tackles him to the bed, sucking on his lips, maybe nibbling a little, and Sam stops complaining.

Kissing is amazing, but Dean can't get the picture of Sam's skin against the sheets out of his head, so after a few minutes he starts tugging at Sam's shirt. They sit up, get them off, and yeah. It's good. Sam's been filling out in the last year or so, even more in the last few months, and his hair is getting longer and curlier than when he was young. Dean can't keep his hands off it, so soft and silky between his fingers. When Sam scoots up the bed, Dean follows, kissing his face now, his neck, loving the heat of Sam's skin against his lips. He can't keep away from Sam's nipples either, sucking them, feeling them point against his tongue. Sam's panting, making little noises that shoot to Dean's cock, and his abs are quivering under Dean's palm as he slides it down.

The head of Sam's dick is poking out his waistband already, and Dean pops the top button of Sam's jeans so he can get his hand around the length of it. It's heavy, hard, so good, making Dean's heart beat even faster, and he knows he's going too fast, feeling too impatient; he has time, can slow down and enjoy this.

Forcing himself off his brother's dick, Dean undoes more buttons, tugs Sam's pants down and off, drinks his fill of the sight. You're fucking gorgeous, he doesn't say. It scares me sometimes how much I want you. How much I need you. He doesn't even think it. Not anywhere his brain could check in and tell him he's being a little girl, anyway. Before he can not think anything else about how much he loves his brother, Dean goes back to kissing Sam's chest, moving down, finally, finally, getting his tongue on his brother's dick.

They swam in the motel pool today and even though they showered afterwards, Sam still smells a little of chlorine. Dean sniffs, licks a broad stripe over Sam's balls and up his cock, sniffs again, loving how he can make Sam smell of them so easily. The scent, the rough feel of the comforter's weave under his knees, the tug of Sam's fingers in his hair, Dean memorizes it all, files it away so he can bring it back later, when they're back with Dad, no time alone.

He could do this forever, sucking Sam's cock, except that Sam's tugging harder now, reaching down to pluck at Dean's waistband, trying to form words that might be, "Stop, take off your damn pants, you have too many clothes on." Not that the noises he's making sound much like words at all, but Dean would be saying that in Sam's place, so he goes with it, stripping off and kissing Sam at the same time.

"My turn to suck you," Sam says, but Dean's not giving up that easily. When he tries to go back to what he was doing though, Sam flips him over on his back—kid's gotten stronger, not just broader—and then crawls over him so his dick is lined up with Dean's mouth and he can get his own lips on Dean.

"Where'd you even—" Dean starts, but Sam scoffs.

"Dude, you're not the only one who watches porn. 'Sides. It's not like I don't have an imagination."

Well, all right then. Gratified that at least Sam is blushing a little after his outburst, Dean gets back to what he was doing.

He can't get as much of Sam in his mouth at this angle, but Sam doesn't seem to be having the same trouble. There's slick wet heat all the way down to Dean's nuts, and then Sam's lapping at his balls, using his fingers and lips and tongue to do things Dean really can't think too much about, or he's going to get distracted and bite Sam someplace he probably doesn't want to be bitten. Once he gets used to the overabundance of sensation, though, Dean decides he likes it. Everything feels just as good, and the smell and taste of Sam so close while Dean's being sucked makes it even better, but there's so much going on that it's distracting, so it feels like they could go on like this forever.

Then Sam abandons Dean's dick and starts licking and stroking at his ass, which is just all kinds of too much sensation when Dean has Sam's dick between his teeth.

"Woah," Dean says, pulling off. "What's—"

"Wanna fuck you. Did you bring—" Sam's got a spit-slick finger in Dean's ass, and he's upside down, looking at Dean down the length of his body, past his dick, between his legs, his hair all floppy and sex-mussed, and yet he's trailing off, expecting Dean to be able to think. Finish sentences.

"Lube?" Sam finally asks when Dean just stares at him dumbly, mouth slightly open, hips rocking of their own accord, trying to get Sam's finger deeper.

He did bring some, in his combats, side pocket, and if he could just stop grinding on his brother's finger for a moment, he could reach for it. Sam must not have much faith in Dean's ability to move though, because he slides his finger out and hops off the bed, going after it himself.

Dean's in the mood for fucking hard, so while Sam's getting lube and slicking up, Dean bends over the side of the bed, one knee up on the mattress, cock hanging heavy between his legs. Sam's eager, pushes at Dean's hole with his dick, too big, but Dean's impatient too, doesn't ask him to stop, just breathes deep, relaxes, reaches a hand back to Sam's hip to make him go slow. It doesn't take long before Dean's body remembers that he likes this, and it opens up, lets Sam in.

They rock and thrust together, Dean arching back to try to drive Sam deeper each time Sam shoves forward, his hipbones hard points against Dean's ass, pleasure clenching in Dean's stomach, his knees going weak. Dean lets it go on and on, lets the sensation build to almost breaking point before he reaches for his dick, but before he can get there, Sam stops him.

"Wanna see you," Sam says, pulling out, pushing at Dean's shoulder, guiding him to lie on the bed.

Scrambling backward, tugging at Sam's wrist, Dean positions himself so Sam can get between his thighs, get back to fucking him. Sam grins at how eager Dean is, but his hands are shaking when he lifts Dean's legs to put them on his shoulders, so Dean knows Sam's feeling just as desperate as he is. Dean lifts his hips, Sam slides inside, and it is better this way, clear view of Sam's hot gaze, his pink lips caught between his teeth as he grips Dean's thighs, fucks him hard and fast.

"Yeah, god, yeah," Dean says, reaching down and getting his fingers around himself, letting Sam's rhythm do most of the work.

He wants it to last, he does, but it's too much, plus, from the look on Sam's face, he's going to be coming soon, too, and Dean loves coming with Sam inside him, so he lets go, jerking faster, clenching around his brother's dick, legs tightening against Sam's chest, feeling it from his toes right up his spine as he shoots over his fingers, up his stomach.

"Dean, Dean, gonna—" Sam gasps. Instead of fucking deeper the way Dean expects, Sam pulls out, leans over Dean's chest and starts jerking himself off. He's shaking, crying out, sounds like he's tearing the orgasm out of himself, and Dean can't do anything but run soothing hands over his forearm and the back of his neck. He spills over Dean's stomach and chest, his come mingling with Dean's, falling forward when he's done to sigh into Dean's neck.

It's not like Dean minds his brother jerking off on him—hell, half their sex life involves grinding up against each other and dozing off with their come drying on their stomachs, and that's pretty much awesome as far as Dean's concerned—but the few times they've actually fucked, Sam's come inside him, and Dean can't help being curious why this time was different.

When Sam perks up enough to start kissing Dean's jaw, Dean decides he has to ask. "So what's with the—" he's a little embarrassed to actually say it, so makes the universal jerk-off sign instead.

"Didn't wanna get jizz on the sheets," Sam murmurs, carrying on with his quest to kiss every inch of skin within reach of his lips.

Of course. Trust Sam to worry about the sheets more than the breaking and entering and fucking. Dean laughs and slaps Sam's ass before gripping his hair and pulling him up for a proper kiss. Sam is hungry, frantic, like they didn't just finish fucking, and Dean gets lost in his mouth.

By the time they've spent another half an hour rolling around kissing, jerked each other off again, and slept off their two orgasms each, the comforter is pretty much a lost cause. They do at least straighten it out before they go, and hell, it's white, it can't be that bad. With the overhead light turned off again, you might almost think they'd never been here.

"Better get back to Dad," Sam says a little sadly as he takes one last look around the room.

"Better," Dean answers, turning back towards the back door, tucking Sam under his arm, feeling like he doesn't even mind grumpy-ass John Winchester, knowing there's this.


~fin~