rivers_bend

Title: A Tale of Two Brothers
Pairing: Sam/Dean (preseries)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3,000
Summary: Sam's tired of homework and wants Dean to tell him a story instead.



Everything in the world is quiet. At least as far as Sam can hear. Probably, somewhere, Dad is listening to a banshee scream, trucks are growling on interstates, babies are crying, dogs are howling. But here, four miles from town, in an abandoned house, no electricity, no need tonight for a fire, there is nothing but silence. The house is mostly empty, but there's a sofa, a pretty comfortable one, too, saggy in the middle but three cushions long and without any springs poking through. Sam's been lying on it since it got dark, waiting for Dean to come back with some food. Dean said he'd try to hitch a ride into town from the main road and then back, but he might have to walk, so Sam's trying not to worry. It would be easier with a TV. A Tale of Two Cities by candle light isn't really that captivating no matter how authentic the experience might be.

Finally Sam hears the scuff of footsteps in the stones of the driveway. He wants to run out and see Dean now, but doesn't want to look like he's been anxious, so he stays where he is.

Dean's backpack is full and he's got a bag in each hand. The candle that Sam put in the front window catches off the plastic, but Dean's face is in shadow. Sam can see him anyway, a lifetime of looking at his brother filling in the blanks.

"Hey," Sam says, quiet, feeling like he can't disturb the night.

Dean moves towards the couch and drops the bags by Sam's feet. "Hey," he returns. "Scoot over. I had to walk all the way back."

Sam goes to sit up, but Dean stills him with a hand, and falls half on top of him, wiggling until he's between Sam and the sofa back with Sam tucked in his arms. He smells like dust and sweat and apples. Sam's stomach growls at that; he hasn't eaten since they polished off the last of the granola bars at breakfast, but he likes it just where he is, so he only tilts his head so he can taste the fruit on Dean's lips.

"Tasty."

"There're more in the bag." Dean loosens his arms enough so that Sam can sit up and get an apple if he wants to. Sam kisses him instead. As their legs tangle and hands explore, Sam's dick starts to demand more attention than his stomach. His stomach apparently disapproves of this, however, because it growls loudly enough to make Dean jump and start to laugh.

"Dude, eat something," he says. "And give me a bag of chips while you're at it.

Reluctantly, Sam twists around so he can reach the bags and digs through them until he has an apple, a toaster pastry, a bottle of water and a bag of potato chips. Dean sits up, back against the arm of the sofa, and spreads his legs so Sam can settle between them with his feast. Once he's shifted so he's comfortable, Sam tears into the pastry.

"Don’t get chips down my neck," he says, but as he sprays crumbs on Dean's arm and his own lap when he says it, his demand has a certain lack of authority, which Dean is quick to take advantage of.

Clamping his arms across Sam's chest, Dean chews loudly in his ear, dribbling half-chewed potato chip onto Sam's shoulder.

Squealing, Sam tries to get away, but Dean is stronger and, with the help of a leg hooked over Sam's knees, holds him easily.

Sam gives up and collapses back against his brother. "You're disgusting."

"I know." Dean uses his finger to scoop up the bits from Sam's shirt and pops them back in his mouth.

Ignoring him, Sam takes a glug of water and then hands the bottle to Dean, starting in on his apple. "Tell me a story," he says.

"What?"

"A story." This time Sam is careful to swallow his bite before speaking.

"I don’t know any stories." Dean sounds like Sam should know this.

"Tell me a story about two brothers who save the world and then take a vacation in a hotel on a beach with a huge soft bed and room service to bring them steak and pancakes any time they want."

Dean looks at Sam like maybe he's gone crazy. "You want me to tell you a story about steak?"

"Well, I can imagine that part. You could tell me a story about what the brothers do with the huge soft bed and all those hours where they don't have anything else to do but work up an appetite for more steak."

With the hand not holding a bag of chips, Dean pokes Sam in the ribs. "You know, normal people just say, 'Talk dirty to me.'"

Normal people probably don't say it to their brothers, though. Sam doesn't think either of us gets to count as normal. When it comes to Dean sitting with his dick nuzzling Sam's ass and his lips playing at the collar of Sam's shirt, Sam is pretty okay with not being normal. It's even enough to make him forget about how it's just the start of a long list of the ways he isn't like everyone else. He just pokes Dean's thigh with one finger and says, "Whatever," though.

"Fine," Dean says. "I'll tell you a story." He drops the empty chip bag to the floor and with a hand on Sam's hip, slots them together so nothing delicate is getting crushed and his hand can fall easily to Sam's thigh, thumb brushing idly along his inseam. "Once upon a time there were two brothers," he starts. "One of them was so handsome that fair maidens fell at his feet everywhere they went."

Sam snorts and nudges Dean with his shoulder. Dean stoically ignores him. "The other one was a total dorkface and just tripped on the maidens in his hurry to get to the next book."

"Yeah," Sam says, pulling Dean's hand until it covers the bulge in his jeans, "a book's what I'm in a hurry to get to."

"Always knew you had a hard on for Dickens." Dean gives Sam's dick a gentle squeeze and then continues his idle thumb stroking, all nonchalant, like he's not rubbing right on Sam's shaft driving him crazy.

When Sam pinches Dean's thigh, Dean chuckles and nips the top of Sam's ear. "You saying this isn't for your book?"

Sometimes it makes Sam insane that Dean can tease him like this all night, that he's not as desperate for Sam as Sam is for him. But then other times Sam will be trying to wash dishes or brush his teeth and Dean will cling to him, hands and lips and tongue everywhere, saying, "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," like he'll never get enough. And Sam realizes that it has to work like that—that they can't both be needing the other one all the time—or they wouldn't be able to stop ever and Dad would find out and Sam would never go to school and they'd never get anything done at all. But now Dad's not home and it's Friday night and they can both be as desperate as they want.

"It's for you, jerk," he says. "Now tell me my story."

"The brothers were awesome, even the dorkface one, and so when the zombie apocalypse came they totally kicked ass and saved the world. And after they sent all the zombies back to their graves they drove down to Mexico and got a room in the fanciest hotel on the beach with a giant bed and twenty-four hour room service."

Sam can tell that Dean thinks the story is silly, but he doesn't care. Most of the time when Sam thinks of someday, he wants a house and a yard and a real job, but when he's hungry and missing his brother, he wants room service and nothing to do but Dean.

Dean's voice is soft and low, right in Sam's ear, and with the candles and Dean's arms wrapped around him, Sam feels like they're the only two people left on earth.

"They order a feast, because killing zombies is hungry work, and they eat until they can't eat any more and then they find something good on the enormous TV and lie on the bed feeling like they're going to pop." Dean's hand has slid up under Sam's shirt and he's rubbing soothing circles on Sam's stomach like he does when Sam really has eaten too much and feels sick.

"What did they watch?" Sam asks.

"It doesn't matter, because the older one—me—I start rubbing your belly, and you make these noises, quiet, but I'm right there so I can hear them, and they're driving me crazy and I can't pay any attention to what's on the TV because all I want to do is make you louder, make you say my name all breathless."

"Oh," Sam whispers.

"The bed's so big you can spread your arms and legs as far as they can go and still can't reach the edges. I get you naked because I want to touch you. "

"How do you touch me?" Sam's torn, because he wants Dean to keep telling this story, but he also wants Dean to stop fucking talking and just do him already. He does his best to be patient and not act like a horny teenager, which isn't easy given that's what he is.

Like Dean knows, he keeps up the slow circles on Sam's belly, hitting just above where Sam's cockhead is poking at his waistband on the downward stroke, and going close but not close enough to Sam's nipples on top. "I kiss you here," and Dean pushes a finger into Sam's jeans, skirting the edge of his hipbone. "And here." This time he uses his other hand to run a finger up Sam's side to his collar bone. "Then I bite just here." Finally Dean's fingers reach Sam's nipple, feathery touch and then a pinch when Sam squirms. "Then I ask you what you want."

"Suck me?" Sam loves the feel of Dean's mouth on him, still can't believe sometimes that anything that good can even be real.

"Already?"

"Dean, please." No way Dean can actually suck him in this position, and Sam doesn't move—right now he'd be happy for Dean to just fucking touch his damn dick already and keep whispering in his ear.

"Wanna touch it first. Watch it move under my fingers." As he talks, Dean undoes Sam's jeans, pushes them open. Sam lifts his hips so Dean can push his boxers down out of the way. "Yeah," Dean says.

As he settles back, Sam's shirt rides up and he can feel Dean hard against his spine. He wishes Dean's jeans were open, too, but Dean is busy tracing his fingers over Sam's hips and thighs, and he doesn't seem bothered by being dressed.

"Love how it twitches when I'm not even touching it yet." Dean's fingers go lower, up behind Sam's balls, which makes Sam jerk and drop his head back.

"Nuh-uh," Dean says right into Sam's ear. "Want you to watch, too."

Sam's head feels heavy, but he tilts it forward and looks back down at his dick straining towards Dean's teasing hands. Dean has one finger tracing Sam's stomach, up and down either side of where Sam's dick is lifted against it, and with his other hand he's busy stroking and pressing Sam's perineum, teasing his sac and the edge of his ass.

"Dean. Please. Jesus." Sam is going to come before Dean even gets to his dick if he has to keep watching this.

"Thought you wanted me to suck it."

Sam just whimpers.

He gets a bite for that, a sharp nip to his neck just behind his ear, and then Dean grips his balls, not enough to hurt, just enough to make Sam take a deep breath.

"That's better." Dean slides his other hand up Sam's chest again and then pushes two fingers into Sam's mouth. "Get them nice and wet."

Sam's legs try to spread wider in anticipation, and he shivers. But he's trapped between Dean's thighs and circled by his arms so he can't do anything but wait and see what Dean's going to do with him.

He expects the fingers to head between his legs, for Dean to spread the spit on Sam's hole, maybe even press inside, but instead Dean circles the head of Sam's cock. Sam's so turned on the touch feels like a shock.

"Shhhh," Dean whispers, and then circles again, catching the bead of wet dripping downward and smearing it around.

It's all Sam can do to breathe.

"The handsome brother wanted to see if he could make his little brother come with just the tip of his tongue. No sucking, just licking. Right here." Dean uses his thumb this time, pressing into Sam's slit to get at the precome welling there.

"I—" Sam has no idea where he was going with that.

Dean's hand comes up again, into his own mouth this time, rewetting his fingers, then they're back, circling, circling, the most maddening, delicious friction Sam's ever felt. They do feel like a tongue, except there's no warm welcoming heat to fuck into, just endless teasing licks. He's not sure he'll ever be able to come like this. It's almost too much instead of not enough.

"You can do it. I know you can." Dean's resumed pressing up behind Sam's balls and Sam rocks into it, concentrating on the rhythm and the pressure, letting it combine with the silky friction of Dean's fingers on his cockhead.

It seems to go on forever and then suddenly, "Oh, fuck, oh holy fuck." Sam digs his fingers into Dean's thighs, trying to grip his jeans instead so he doesn't hurt him, even as his orgasm is racing up his own legs, down his spine, making him twitch and jerk in Dean's arms.

"Told you," Dean says, huffing his pleasure against Sam's neck while Sam tries to regain control of his limbs.

There's not really anything Sam can say to that, so he just twists around until he can kiss Dean's mouth and shut him up.

Dean protests Sam's hip digging into his crotch, so Sam keeps twisting until he's on his knees facing his brother. "You need a hand with that?" He doesn't wait for an answer, is already reaching for Dean's fly.

"Rather have a mouth." He's looking up at Sam, finally as hungry as Sam felt before.

"I have one of those." There's not room on the sofa for Sam to suck Dean's dick with them lying sideways, so he moves to kneel on the floor, helping Dean pull his jeans off so Sam can fit between his thighs.

Sam still worries sometimes that he's not as good at this as Dean is. He can't get as much of his brother's dick into his mouth, and if Dean moves too much Sam sometimes chokes, but he loves the feeling of Dean's dick stretching his lips, loves the sounds Dean makes, and the feel of Dean's fingers tugging at his hair. He wonders if Dean could come if Sam just licked him, the way Dean did with his fingers.

Dean's dick is pointing right at Sam's face so he only has to reach out his tongue to touch the tip. It bobs away when Sam tries to lick it, so he holds it steady and tries again, licking the whole head with the flat of his tongue, and then circling the crown with the point.

"Bastard," Dean murmurs, but he's got a smile in his eyes and doesn't try to protest further, so Sam just continues.

It's hard to just use his tongue, so Sam starts kissing too, rubbing Dean's dick on his lips. That makes Dean moan and it feels amazing, the skin so soft against Sam's mouth that he can hardly feel it, almost like kissing water. Sam does it again, and again, flicking his tongue out every fourth or fifth pass to lap at Dean's slit or curl around the ridge.

"Suck it, suck it," Dean gasps, but Sam ignores him, just tongues around and around the head. He watches Dean's face and chest flush pink.

Dean's hand tightens at the back of Sam's head, and Sam wants to suck, feel Dean in his mouth, fill himself up with the taste of him, but Dean didn't break, didn't jerk him off, so Sam keeps up the teasing circling. Dean's thigh feels like steel under Sam's palm. He starts making noises like a dog desperate for his master's attention, and they curl hot and good in Sam's gut, starting him wondering if he's going to come again before Dean even gets there.

Then Sam almost gets punched in the face when Dean's free hand flies to his sac, cupping it up against his cock as he starts to come all over Sam's chin and lips.

Sam leaps back, not expecting the fist or the jizz, and almost knocks the candles on the coffee table over.

"C'mere," Dean says, tugging at his shirt. When Sam's close enough, Dean pretty much hauls him up into his lap.

"Hi," Sam says.

Using his thumbs and then his tongue, Dean cleans off his face. "Hi," he returns. He still sounds a little out of breath.

"Does the fancy hotel room have a shower?"

"With six shower heads." Dean licks Sam's neck. "And a Jacuzzi tub for after."

Sam wishes that they really were lying naked in a giant bed, a six-headed shower and Jacuzzi just on the other side of a door. But, he thinks as he curls more tightly against Dean's chest, he'll take this, for now.