rivers_bend

SHOW IS BACK TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! \o/ And so, I bring you fic.



Title: Flannel
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1850
Warnings/Enticements: The boys are teens.
Summary: Sam still gets jealous sometimes. He can't help it.



They arrived at the Winthrop's house thirty-six hours ago in the middle of a blizzard, and now the world outside is a vast field of white seen through windows fitted with double-paned glass, all of which have salt lining their bottom edges. The Winthrops are hunters; "Just like we are," Dad said when they pulled up out front. Except Zoe and her husband Al have a house, with a warm kitchen, and a deep, claw-foot tub, and a couch that turns into a bed with warm, soft sheets and a pile of quilts. Al and Dad have gone off overnight, maybe two, leaving Sam and Dean at the house, Dad pointing out before he left that Zoe is being left behind as well, and it's not that they aren't good hunters, just that it's only a two-man job, and no need for all of them to deal with the cold and snow.

Sam would bet ten bucks it's a lie, that Dad still thinks he's a baby, even though he's as tall as Dean's shoulders now, and he can put three in the bull's eye nine times out of ten. He can even drive; Dean taught him last spring when he had his first big growth spurt. They don't need to stay with Zoe: the babysitter.

Only she's not like any babysitter they ever had before. She has them down in the basement before the men have hardly cleared the front porch, unracking weapons onto a large table in the middle of the room, cleaning and oiling guns, sharpening knives, taking a toothbrush to carved handles to make sure runes and sigils are clear—not gunked up with grime or obscured with tarnish. She tells them about demonic possession, and drills them on Latin phrases, and asks if they know how to kill a werewolf. Her hands are the color of the shotgun's stock, her nails painted steel blue, and Sam thinks they look like weapons themselves. He's kind of in awe of her.

So is Dean. Only he seems more interested in her tits under her flannel shirt than in her hands, even though those hands could choke the life out of him without a thought, Sam's sure. Dean catches Sam watching him looking, and returns his attention to the antler-handled knife he's cleaning, giving Sam a little smile that says, can't blame a guy, can you?

But Sam can blame him; Al's 50—or so the birthday cards on the mantle say—and Sam thinks Zoe looks at least forty. That's way too old for Dean. And even though Dean's told him—whispered the words right into his skin—that looking doesn't mean anything, he's always gonna be Sam's, Sam still gets jealous sometimes. He can't help it. The feeling rushes up his chest with the same inevitability that blood rushes to his dick when Dean brushes his fingers up the side of Sam's neck, or gives him that look that means, I can still feel your mouth on mine, even though Dad's right here and I can't do anything about it.

When Sam doesn't smile back, Dean sticks his tongue out, a little mocking and a lot dirty, and now Sam's flushed with hurt and lust all at once. Dean smiles again, reassurance and a promise for later, and this time Sam can't help returning it.

"You almost done there?" Zoe asks, and gives the gun Sam's just put back together a critical stare. "Good work," she adds when Sam lets her see it, and then she starts hanging things back up on the wall.

After weapons, she sends them out to shovel snow, because, "You never want to get yourself trapped."

They shovel from the barn where the truck is kept out to the end of the driveway, her gaze on them through the kitchen windows as she makes dinner, keeping their hands and eyes on their work even though all Sam can think about is wrestling Dean down in the snow. By the time they get back inside their teeth are chattering and Sam feels like he'll never be warm again.

"We don't have a lot of hot water," Zoe says as she watches them peel out of borrowed coats and hats and gloves, "but I drew you a bath if you don't mind sharing."

Sam's shoes have never been more interesting. If he looks at Dean he's going to get a boner which will be obvious even in the baggy snow pants he's still got on. Fortunately, Dean is much smoother than Sam will ever be, and manages to say, "That's okay. We're used to sharing."

With any luck Zoe will see Sam's pink cheeks as just a reaction to coming into the fire-warm house after being out in the cold. He's not sure what she'll make of the squeaking noise he makes as he turns and almost runs to the bathroom so he can get out of his pants and away from this conversation.

"You okay?" Dean asks, opening the door Sam slammed and closing it again gently behind himself. "She's gonna think something's wrong with you."

Sam doesn't say anything, just turns and faces Dean, shamefaced, dick standing up red from between his pale-white, goosepimpled thighs.

"That's not wrong," Dean whispers, giving him a smile. Then a little louder, "Get in the bath before you shiver yourself to death."

Steam is floating over the edge of the tub, and just looking at it makes the chill recede. Sam climbs in gingerly while his eyes devour the skin emerging from his brother's clothes. He crouches at the front of the bath, waiting for Dean to get in behind him so Sam can lean back on his chest. Dean doesn't even get himself fully settled before he's pulling Sam back into his arms.

"Hi," he breathes into Sam's ear.

"Hi," Sam says back, head already turning so that the word is pressed against the corner of Dean's mouth.

It's impossible for Sam to decide which he likes better, kissing Dean face-to-face, or like this, one of Dean's hands helping to twist Sam's head around to reach, the other cupping Sam's dick, making Sam feel safe and vulnerable—held in Dean's arms and at his mercy all at once.

"I missed you," Dean's saying between kisses. "God, I missed you." Like they haven't spent all day together, never more than ten feet apart.

But Sam knows just what he means. Sometimes it feels like Dean's a thousand miles away if Sam can't touch him, if he has to be careful about how he even looks at him.

Sam's hips are floating; he can feel Dean's cock bobbing up and hitting the base of his spine. The water and steam and heat are wrapping around them like a blanket, and Sam's gone past warm to hot. He can't stop licking the beading salt off Dean's lips.

"C'mere," Dean says, nudging Sam so he twists right around, chest to chest, cock to cock.

With the water supporting him, Sam can hold himself up with one hand on Dean's hip and his toes resting on the bottom of the tub. He wraps his other hand around Dean's shaft, until Dean links their fingers so they can reach around both their dicks.

"Yeah?" Dean asks at the same time Sam says, "Yeah."

They grin at each other then rest their foreheads together looking down through the sloshing water at what they're doing. The head of Dean's dick keeps popping out from between the webs of their thumbs, making Sam feel crazy with the sight of it. He wants to suck it so much he can taste it, but it's under the water, and he doesn't want to drown.

"Wanna suck you," he says. "Looks so shiny."

Dean's stroke stutters, and their twined hands pop off the doubled shafts of their dicks. "Fuck, Sammy," Dean hisses. "You can't just say that to a guy without warning."

"Sorry," Sam says, though he's totally not. He loves it when he can say things that make Dean lose control. Dean does it to him all the time, but it's not often Sam gets to turn the tables.

Sam bends his knees and pushes himself down so he's floating with his head over Dean's lap.

"Sammy—what are you..?"

Sam wraps an arm around Dean's waist, lifting his hips up, and tugs on his dick to make sure he gets the message.

"Sam?" Dean asks again, voice weak.

It's surprisingly easy to ignore the question in Dean's voice and just go after what he wants, which is the shiny-hot head of Dean's dick against his lips. Sam kisses it, and it's so smooth he can hardly feel it, so he licks it instead. That makes Dean shudder violently enough to splash water in Sam's face, and for a second Sam is unmoored, only holding on to his brother's dick, otherwise floating free.

"Don't pull it off." Dean grabs Sam's shoulders.

"Sorry," Sam says again; this time it's genuine. But that doesn't put him off the task at hand.

"You sure this is the place for this?"

Sam nods, and licks again, knees and elbow planted this time. He can't try anything fancy like what he's seen in porn, because only the top inch or so of Dean's dick is out of the water, but if the grip on Sam's hair and the speed of his breathing is anything to go by, Dean doesn't seem to mind if Sam is just treating his cock like an ice cream cone.

Every time he licks, Sam feels a jolt in his own dick, and he's pretty sure if he touched himself he'd come. Then he bumps up against Dean's shin and realizes if he moves just a little he can get Dean's foot between his legs. It's not as good as riding Dean's thigh, but it's enough, and by the time Dean is trying to pull him off, hissing, "coming, I'm coming," Sam's almost there himself.

Dean actually covers his dick with his own hand like he's scared of jizzing on Sam's face, holding Sam away with his other hand on Sam's shoulder. Even though he'd wanted to taste it, Sam's glad to have Dean's hand to push against, because seeing Dean's jizz floating in the bathwater, knowing that his mouth made Dean come like that, makes him grip Dean's foot with this thighs, grinding down on Dean's ankle to get enough friction to come himself.

"Won't melt if you come on me," Sam murmurs once he's gotten his breath back.

"You're not a porn star," Dean huffs. "Didn't want to jizz in your eye."

"Whatever." Sam's definitely going to make Dean let him do that again, and soon. If he gets really good, Dean won't be able to push him off.

Dean doesn't argue, just hauls Sam back up the bath so he can kiss him again.

They're startled apart by Zoe knocking on the door, calling out that dinner's ready if they're all warmed up.

"There in a minute," Dean answers. Then, in Sam's ear, "I'm so getting you back tonight when Zoe's asleep."

Sam doesn't actually have a problem with that