Mine TBGC
Author: Pissed Off Eskimo (Randi Shane)
Pairing: Sam/Dean (mentions of Sam/Jessica)
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2,457
Warning: Possessive, dirty, filthy sex
Summary: Okay, this one was for the hot boy sex.
Mine
Sam wasn't good with his emotions. He was better than Dean, granted, but there were times when a chipmunk had a better grasp on what it was feeling than Dean did, so that wasn't very hard. Unlike Dean, though, it wasn't that Sam couldn't deal with his emotions, it was that he often failed to realize what he was feeling until it blind-sided him and by then it was generally too late to do anything about it.
Case in point: Jessica. Growing up, Sam had never stayed in one place long enough to develop more than crushes and half-assed attempts at relationships that were always, at least for him, based on the fact that he could be leaving at any given moment. So, when he started going out with Jess, it was new and scary territory. Good scary, but still scary as hell. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to act until one day, two years later, he'd realized that he loved her. Really loved her. As in, wanted to raise a family with her and grow old together. Once he'd figured that out, he'd known what to do. Then, Jess had died before he could do it. Although, he liked to think that, knowing how well Jess knew him, she'd probably already figured it out.
The point was, it had been three months since starting the whole 'having sex with Dean' thing again and Sam couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew something wasn't right. He'd just be damned if he could figure out what it was.
Dean grinned at the waitress and the girl smiled back, cocking her hip and there was the barest hint of tongue against her teeth. Sam might have thought she was pretty if he wasn't so busy being pissed at Dean. If Dean wanted to bang some bimbo waitress, that was his business, but when it started to get in the way of their work, that was... unprofessional.
Sam glared at the table top and if Dean noticed, he ignored it, which was just fine with Sam. When the food arrived, Dean winked at the busty blonde and she winked back and Sam's stomach twisted in knots. Stupid Dean and his stupid need to spread his fucking seed like it was manifest destiny or something.
Grabbing jacket from the booth, Sam got up, "I don't feel good. I'm gonna go back to the room and turn in early."
Dean just shrugged, his eyes on the retreating girls back side, "'Kay."
And somehow that made it worse. Sam managed not to slam the restaurant door behind him, but did storm across the street, telling himself he was angry because Dean was going to be out all night again, he wouldn't get back until close to dawn and that meant they wouldn't get back on the road until after noon tomorrow. Hours wasted because Dean wanted pussy.
He did slam the door to the motel room. He slammed it hard enough to rock the painting on the wall above dresser and then he threw himself onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling with disdain. Why did Dean insist on sleeping with complete strangers? Why did he want to stay out all night, when if he was really that horny, Sam was more than willing to oblige?
After a while, he turned his head to look at the other bed. They hadn't slept apart since that first time in the car all those months ago, but Dean still insisted on keeping up appearances. Sam didn't think they were fooling anyone. When the maid service came in the next morning, they'd see one bed rumpled and slept in, the other smooth and untouched. Still, if it made Dean feel better...
He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up to Dean stumbling in at around two in the morning, smelling like cheap perfume and collapsing on the bed next to him, stupid grin plastered on his flushed face. The knot in Sam's stomach tightened and he pretended to go back to sleep, waiting until Dean's breath had evened out before he got up.
A shower and three hours later, Sam woke up Dean, because he was still annoyed and angry and if Dean was lagged and tired it was his own damn fault for being out all night when he knew they had to keep moving.
They hadn't been on the road for more than an hour, Dean all but passed out next to him, when Sam had realized he wasn't all that sure why he was angry. Okay, yeah, Dean had been out all night and, yeah, it set them back a few hours, but it wasn't like they were on a schedule or anything. There wasn't a specific case they were trying to get to, it was just that Dean had said he wanted to get out of town as soon as possible.
So, he'd started to think about it and from there it was only ten minutes before he was staring at the road in front of him with wide eyes, not really seeing anything, because, oh god, he loved Dean. As in loved him. As in the idea of Dean sleeping with that tall, trampy blonde from the night before made Sam want to hit something.
The only problem was, Dean wasn't Jess, he was Dean and Dean didn't do emotions, didn't do relationships. Even Cassie, who Dean had claimed up and down was the love of his life, he wasn't faithful to. Not that Sam blamed him for that, they saw her once every few months if they were lucky, but still. That was Dean.
So, instead of buying him flowers and candy and shopping for rings, it came down to this: Sam let Dean do whatever he wanted, even when what he wanted was to have a one night fling with some slut, because Sam couldn't think of anything else to do; and when Dean finally came back in their room, smelling like cheap perfume and cheaper women, Sam would pin Dean's exhausted body to the bed and lick him and fuck him, until Dean was a quivering mess of shaky legs and panting breath.
They were laid out on the bed, post-orgasmic exhaustion racking their bodies. Dean was covered in that fine sheen of sweat that made his skin glow and Sam was thinking about latching onto one of those overly sensitive nipples and seeing how long it would take him to get his brother hard again. Probably a while, actually. He'd probably end up between Dean's knees, sucking him hard and just the idea of coaxing Dean's cock with his mouth made him lick his lips.
He leaned over, flicking his tongue out and grinned at the sharp of hiss of air between Dean's teeth. God, but he loved Dean's body. It was absolutely made for this, made for him. Sam looked at the bruise on Dean's neck and leaned up, covering it with his mouth and ignoring Dean's pained grunt as he sucked. It had been a soft pink less than an hour ago, left there by that floozy Dean had picked up and Sam had spent ten minutes making it dark and purple and his.
"Sam, I don't really think..." Sam bit into the mark and Dean's hand shot up to grip the back of Sam's neck. "Jesus!"
Sam run a hand down Dean's body, brushing his finger tips over the hardened nipples and down to the limp dick, feeling the shudder through Dean's entire body when Sam's fingers wrapped around it and squeezed. "Fuck, Sammy."
Sam smiled into Dean's neck and moved up and over, covering his brother's mouth with his own, working his tongue past Dean's lips. His own spent penis gave an interested jerk as Dean's fingers threaded through his hair and tugged a little, not to pull him off, but to assert control he didn't really have.
He deepened the kiss and opened his hand, rubbing his palm over Dean, feeling him twitch in interest. God, so fucking perfect. He loved the way Dean tasted, smelled, felt. Loved everything about him. Loved when Dean was spent and ready to go again, this time slower, longer, harder.
Pulling off Dean's mouth, Sam grinning down at that flushed face, taking his hand off Dean's cock to hook it under Dean's knee and lift one leg up. Screw blowjobs, he wanted to fuck Dean hard again, wanted to slide into the still slick body and hit that angle that would have Dean shuddering and babbling nonsense and begging.
The lube was still on the pillow, where they'd thrown it earlier and Sam took it up, squeezing it onto his fingers and sliding them easily into Dean. Even though they'd been fucking not five minutes ago, Dean was still tight and the half pained, half needy whimpers coming from the back of Dean's throat were egging Sam on. He slipped a third finger in, pressing his hand forward and twisting it to brush Dean's prostate until Dean reached up, grabbing Sam's arm, his head pressed back into the pillow, his eyes glazed and rolled back.
Dean pushed against Sam's hand, moaning and Sam could have come from just that alone - just watching Dean. Removing the fingers, Sam slid his hand down and over himself, wiping tracing of the lubricant on the shaft before positioning himself. He held his breath as he pushed the head of his cock past the tight puckered entrance and held still, listening intently to Dean's panted please, "God, Sammy, just do it."
Sam had no intention of 'just doing it.' Slowly, he sank the rest of the way into Dean's ass, eased marginally by what was left of the lubricant in Dean's ass. It was too tight and too hot, but Dean moaned and gasped, pushing back against him and Sam closed his eyes, concentrating on pressing forward until he was balls deep and clenching his teeth with the effort not to come. It was always like this with Dean, like it didn't matter that he'd come only minutes ago, he might as well be a horny teenager again for all the control he had.
Unlike a horny teenager, though, Sam had enough experience to know how to do this right. He stayed, unmoving inside Dean for nearly a minute, clenching his fists in the blankets as Dean's hands tightened around Sam's biceps. When he felt the immediate tingling of release start to fade, he let himself move, just inches at first, two or three, in and out of Dean, until Dean moved his legs, pulling them over Sam's shoulders and making the glide easier.
Bring one arm under and around, Sam forced Dean to lift half onto his shoulders so they were pressed together, Dean's cock trapped against Sam's abdomen and he could slam up into Dean in a forward glide that stroked his brother's cock with every thrusts. Short nails dug into Sam's arms as Dean's ass clenched tight around him, spasming with every shot of hot come that spilled between them.
Sam held himself still, watching Dean's face as his brows tightened together and his teeth clenched. He waiting until Dean had come down from his orgasm, until Sam wasn't about to come himself. Then he started to move again, using long languid strokes that made Dean's entire body shudders and his toes curl.
He managed to hold himself off for another ten minutes. Ten minutes of listening to Dean's desperate pleas. Ten minutes of that tight body, sucking him in and pressing him out. Ten minutes of his hands running over Dean's well-muscled back and thighs, stroking the skin until he knew he was too close and he didn't even want to hold off this time.
When Dean came this time, it was with a litany of "shit, shit, shit, Sammy, fuck" and Sam closed his eyes, latching onto that purples mark again as his own orgasm ripped through him. They fell onto the bed, both of them once again panting and sweaty and sated. Sam closed his eyes, spooning himself around Dean.
By the time Sam woke up the next morning, Dean was showered and dressed, kicked Sam's feet where they stuck out under the covers. "Get up, geek boy, I'm fucking starved." Like nothing was wrong, like last night hadn't been some of the most intense sex either of them had ever had. Bar none.
Dean went on outside to wait for Sam and for several minutes, Sam couldn't move. Eventually, he did, though. Thing about being a Winchester was, shit moved on. It didn't matter what was going on with them, or how fucked up their lives were, the demons and the ghosts weren't going to take a break so they could figure it out.
So, instead of saying anything, he ate breakfast quietly, watched Dean pouring over newspaper articles and rambling on about possible cases. Or maybe he wasn't rambling, but Sam was having trouble concentrating on words when he could see a teasing glimpse of the dark purple mark hidden under Dean's collar.
"Dude?" Sam blinked, realizing that Dean was staring at him expectantly, pen pressed against those too-full lips. "You okay?"
Sam nodded and stuffed his mouth with eggs so he wouldn't have to talk. After a minute, Dean shrugged, shaking his head and went on talking, "Anyway, missing kids, Wyoming, you there?"
Sam nodded again, not because he was paying attention or he agreed, or anything, but because nodding didn't require opening his mouth and Sam wasn't sure exactly what would come out if he did.
Months had gone by like that and Sam still couldn't bring himself to say a damned thing. Some days the need to tell Dean how he felt overwhelmed him, but he just wasn't sure how Dean would take it, or if he'd take it. And Dean knew Sam better than anyone, so usually on those days, Dean got this curious look on his face, like he knew something was wrong and was trying to figure out what it was. That was easily remedied, though, because the best way to distract Dean was with sex and Sam was more than happy to use that particular tactic.
Eventually, though, things were bound to blow up in his face, but Sam figured it wouldn't happen until after they'd killed the demon and that was shaping up to be a long, long ways away. Of course, what Sam had forgotten, was that he was a Winchester, and Murphy's Law of everything going wrong had nothing on the Winchester Law of give it time and we'll fuck it up all on our own.
-finis-