Fic: all you had to do was ask
Jan. 29th, 2011 04:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dephigravityTitle: all you had to do was ask
Pairing: Sam/ Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2400
Summary: Ever since he started hunting with Dean again, Sam tried to hold his feelings in check. Finally, he can't take any more and decides it's time for a little release while Dean's out.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
blindfold_spn. Original prompt and fic can be found here.
Thanks to the immensely wonderful and patient![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
transfixeddream for the amazingly thorough beta and for bearing with me.
The door latches shut, shortly followed by the rumble of the Impala coming to life. Gravel crackles, grinding under the tires as it backs up and pulls away from the motel. Then there's only silence, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts and nothing but the sound of the rain falling outside in a gentle pitter-patter.
He pulls back the heavy curtain to watch the red glow of the taillights as Dean brakes at a stop sign before turning and driving off. He sighs heavily and rests his head against the chilled window, relieved to be alone at last and have Dean as far away as possible, if only for a few hours. But god, he needs the time alone.
It's only been a few months since Sam got back into hunting, since Jess. It's been hard adjusting to being back on the road with Dean and getting back into the rhythm of life as a hunter. Bouncing from one Podunk town to another, tracking down whatever happens to be terrorizing the local population, living on nothing but fast food and lukewarm beer, and searching for their dad and the demon that killed their mom.
It's more than that though; things are never that simple, especially for them.
At first he thought he could handle everything, bury away his feelings-- his desires. But that only took him so far before everything started flooding back in, a side effect of having to spend practically every waking moment with Dean.
He gets it, he does. Having these thoughts about Dean just isn’t normal in any sense of the word. It's sick, abhorrent, and altogether fucked up. Knowing this doesn’t stop him from watching Dean sleep in the neighboring bed though, and it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from thinking about Dean in ways that are far from brotherly
It was even worse when Dad was around. Back then, having to bunk with Dean, having to feel the bed creak under the added weight, Dean's hand falling against Sam's shoulder blades or neck while they slept. Sam had to secretly bite his cheek or lip, taste the blood trickling over his tongue, all the while trying to will his erection away. It was a wonder he managed to find time to sleep at all, sharing a bed with Dean.
Stanford ended up being his saving grace, separating them, and Sam could pretty much forget about Dean and his feelings as the months went on. And then, four years in, Sam got tackled to the ground by an intruder with a familiar face and it all came back with vigor.
At first, Sam thought it was just temporary, that hunting down Constance Welch would send Dean and the returning feelings out of his life again. That didn’t happen.
With Dean, it's a daily struggle. Sam has to constantly remind himself not to watch Dean as he comes from the shower, wrapped in only in a towel, his hair a disarray of short spikes as stray droplets drip down over his chest. Constantly avoiding being mesmerized when Dean chews on the cap of a pen while he sits across the table, watching as the edge of his tongue twists obscenely around the blue plastic while they research.
Just thinking about Dean like that has his dick taking an interest; Dean exudes so much raw sexuality that it's practically pornographic. It's nothing he does exactly, just part of who he is. Naturally self-confident, brash, and sexually hedonistic, it doesn’t matter what kind of case they’re on, he’s always able to make time for the ladies.
Sam traces a hand down to the crotch of his jeans, sighing when his palm grazes over his half-hard cock. He releases his forehead from the glass, hoping that Dean didn't leave the motel for exactly that reason; the idea of his brother bringing a girl back to the motel makes his teeth grind.
Pushing the thought from his mind, he backs away slowly. Praying that Dean won't be coming back anytime soon, he toes off his shoes and pops loose the buttons on his pants, before sliding them down over his hips. Disheveled hair falls back into place as he pulls his shirt over his head, removes each of his socks and tosses them into a nearby chair.
The room is nondescript, just another run down motel room among countless others he's shared with his dad and brother over the years. Generic Monet like watercolor hanging above the television, furniture in dire need of refurbishing sparsely spread around the room and window dressings that should have been retired a decade ago.
The bed groans when he sits, springs protesting as he leans back, arms propping him up as his legs dangle over the side of the bed. He looks to the ceiling and thinks about the last thing Dean said before he left.
"God, Sammy. You need to get laid," he'd said, before he threw a strip of condoms at Sam's chest. He winked at him as he clutched his keys and headed for the door, while Sam glared and muttered, "Asshole."
Sam considers his options for a moment. Dean didn't tell him where he was going and there's no telling how soon he'll be back, but shit, he needs to get off, and he can be quick. He rolls off the bed and rifles through his duffel until he finds what he’s looking for, pulls out the small bottle of lube and the silicone dildo, large and black, and lays each on the bedspread. He runs his tongue across his lips with anticipation, and quickly gets out of his underwear, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor.
He hesitates for a moment and, looks back at the door, something nagging at him to double check. Still alone, thank god. Crawling onto the bed, he grabs the lube and thumbs open the cap, squeezes the cold, clear liquid over his middle finger and smears it with his thumb.The dildo rolls into his side, up against his leg as he inches further onto the mattress, but he pays no attention, lost in his head, in his fantasy- Dean.
Sam leans forward, bracing himself on his elbow as he slides his hand behind him. He slides his finger down the crack of his ass and bites back a shiver when it skirts against his hole. He presses in, eyes snapping shut at the feel of being opened again. He's tight around his fingers, clenching hard as he pushes in, and he groans a little as they slide in deeper. Jesus Christ, it's been too long since he's done this.
He gives himself a second to adjust, before he shifts and sinks his finger in completely, palm pressing flush against his ass as he twists his finger inside. He slides it out slowly, then back in, hissing at the dull burn as he pushes in deeper. His cock is hard between his legs, the head grazing the cheap bedspread as he rocks back on himself.
When he's open enough he slides out and coats two fingers, then presses against his hole again. He shoves in both, burn hotter this time as he clenches around his fingers, and he grits his teeth and presses his face into the bed, his moan muffled by the sheets. He pretends his fingers are his brother's, working him open with precision as Dean whispers low and filthy against his skin.
His body is hot and damp with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead as he fucks back on his fingers, the smooth slide of skin on skin making him shudder. He groans, pressing in deep, and it’s good but shit, he needs more.
Removing his fingers, he wastes no time as he grabs the dildo, clutching it in shaky hands as he coats the thick shaft with slick. He slides it between his cheeks and sparks course through him at the press of the head against his hole. He takes a breath, readying himself before he pushes in sharply. He grunts and bites his lip as the head slips in, his muscles screaming as they tense and open around the girth.
Sweat is pouring down his brow, stinging his eyes while he holds the dildo there, getting used to the stretch. Slowly, he drives the dildo home, savoring the tight grip as he slides it in deeper.
He breathes raggedly against his arm, eyes clenched up as he pulls the dildo out. It slips from him with ease, his fingers gripping the base as he forces it back in, head slamming back against his prostate this time and Sam loses the ability to breathe for a short second.
"Dean," he chokes out in a struggled moan, eyes immediately going wide at the name. Up until now it's always been unspoken and now it hits him hard, more real somehow. It flips a switch in his mind, makes the fantasy a reality, and Sam can't help himself when he says, "God, Dean. Please!"
His skin feels hot and tight, and he imagines the feel of Dean's rough hands digging into his sides as he fucks into him, hips slapping against ass with each thrust. God, he wants it--needs it--so fucking bad. He lets loose a string of broken swear words as he positions himself on his knees so he's fucking down on the silicone.
He grips the headboard to steady himself, legs straining as he spreads them wider, getting more leverage as he slides it deeper, faster. "Fuck, come on, come on, Dean," he moans. "Fuck me."
Another groan, and Sam doesn't even realize it's not his own until Dean's voice breaks through, deep and whiskey-raw. "Jesus, Sammy. Never knew you cared."
Sam startles, flushed with embarrassment at being caught. He's torn between wanting to crawl away and just going with it, sick, exhibitionist thoughts racing through his head, but Dean makes the decision for him, suddenly on the bed, pressed against Sam's back. Wrapping his arm around his neck and pressing cracked lips against his ear, Dean breathes against the skin of his neck, staggered and wet.
"Dean, wha-"
Sam's cut off by the grip of Dean's hand around his dick. "Been watching you, listening to you moan my name, watching you push that dick inside you," Dean murmurs, stroking Sam's cock with long pulls, and Sam's head is swimming with realization: Dean's jerking him off. "Do you know how fucking hot that is, Sam? How fuckin' hard it is to just watch and not touch? Dammit, Sam,"
"Dean," Sam says in a whimper as his head falls back Dean's cheek.
"'s'alright, Sam. I gotcha now." Dean follows it up by wrapping his free hand around Sam's and pushing on the dildo. They groan together, rough hisses of breath, and Sam lets Dean lead, leaves himself in his brother's capable hands. "God, wanna fuck you so damn much. Fill you full of my cock, come in your ass. You want me to, Sammy?"
Sam keens, moaning and grunting as he rolls his hips back, wants to say yes, fuck yes but he's stuck on trying to bury the cock deeper in his ass. He wants it desperately for it to be Dean inside him, but he's too close, too strung out and if Dean tried to fuck him right now he wouldn't last ten seconds.
Dean strokes at his cock, his thumb flicking the oversensitive head on the upstroke, whole body quaking as Dean tightens his grasp and quickens his pace. Sam can feel the pull in his balls, and he can tell Dean knows he's by the way he tugs with swift, hard pulls.
"Come for me, Sammy. Wanna see you shoot all over the bed and come in my hand. Fuck, I wanna know what you taste like." Dean's voice is just the way he remembers it, dripping with confidence and swagger, just like when he used to sweet talk the girls at the bars. This time it’s different, though; this time it's directed at him. "Come for me, Sam," Dean says again, voice rough, and fuck, Sam lets out a loud moan and comes.
"That's it Sam, let it go," Dean keeps on saying, spilling filth from his lips. He's pushing against Sam, closer, protective and possessive, jerking him faster as his orgasm rockets through him, wave after wave of heat and release coursing through his body as he comes, thick and sticky onto the bed. "Fucking beautiful like this, full of cock. Just like that, Sammy."
Sam's grunts, cut-off sounds lodged deep in his throat as Dean's words sear into his skull, the muscles of his ass contracting in spasms around the silicone cock. Sam's hand is a dead weight around the dildo and he releases it, lets Dean continue slow, shallow thrusts with it in his ass.
"All ya had to do was ask, Sam. Coulda been doin' this all along," Dean growls, ghosting his stubble along Sam's jaw. He holds the dildo firmly in place for a moment, then twists it in tighter as he finds Sam's lips, kisses them--devours them with a hunger that Sam groans into.
Dean pulls the dildo out slowly, Sam hissing as his hole clenches in its absence. Chuckling, Dean sets it aside and pulls Sam against him, and Sam can feel the weight of Dean's dick through the denim of his jeans as it presses into his lower back.
Reaching down, Dean cups his balls,sticky fingers smearing come over them. "Next time," Dean mumbles into his mouth, "you're getting the real thing, none of this fake bullshit."
Pairing: Sam/ Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2400
Summary: Ever since he started hunting with Dean again, Sam tried to hold his feelings in check. Finally, he can't take any more and decides it's time for a little release while Dean's out.
A/N: Written for
blindfold_spn. Original prompt and fic can be found here.Thanks to the immensely wonderful and patient
transfixeddream for the amazingly thorough beta and for bearing with me.The door latches shut, shortly followed by the rumble of the Impala coming to life. Gravel crackles, grinding under the tires as it backs up and pulls away from the motel. Then there's only silence, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts and nothing but the sound of the rain falling outside in a gentle pitter-patter.
He pulls back the heavy curtain to watch the red glow of the taillights as Dean brakes at a stop sign before turning and driving off. He sighs heavily and rests his head against the chilled window, relieved to be alone at last and have Dean as far away as possible, if only for a few hours. But god, he needs the time alone.
It's only been a few months since Sam got back into hunting, since Jess. It's been hard adjusting to being back on the road with Dean and getting back into the rhythm of life as a hunter. Bouncing from one Podunk town to another, tracking down whatever happens to be terrorizing the local population, living on nothing but fast food and lukewarm beer, and searching for their dad and the demon that killed their mom.
It's more than that though; things are never that simple, especially for them.
At first he thought he could handle everything, bury away his feelings-- his desires. But that only took him so far before everything started flooding back in, a side effect of having to spend practically every waking moment with Dean.
He gets it, he does. Having these thoughts about Dean just isn’t normal in any sense of the word. It's sick, abhorrent, and altogether fucked up. Knowing this doesn’t stop him from watching Dean sleep in the neighboring bed though, and it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from thinking about Dean in ways that are far from brotherly
It was even worse when Dad was around. Back then, having to bunk with Dean, having to feel the bed creak under the added weight, Dean's hand falling against Sam's shoulder blades or neck while they slept. Sam had to secretly bite his cheek or lip, taste the blood trickling over his tongue, all the while trying to will his erection away. It was a wonder he managed to find time to sleep at all, sharing a bed with Dean.
Stanford ended up being his saving grace, separating them, and Sam could pretty much forget about Dean and his feelings as the months went on. And then, four years in, Sam got tackled to the ground by an intruder with a familiar face and it all came back with vigor.
At first, Sam thought it was just temporary, that hunting down Constance Welch would send Dean and the returning feelings out of his life again. That didn’t happen.
With Dean, it's a daily struggle. Sam has to constantly remind himself not to watch Dean as he comes from the shower, wrapped in only in a towel, his hair a disarray of short spikes as stray droplets drip down over his chest. Constantly avoiding being mesmerized when Dean chews on the cap of a pen while he sits across the table, watching as the edge of his tongue twists obscenely around the blue plastic while they research.
Just thinking about Dean like that has his dick taking an interest; Dean exudes so much raw sexuality that it's practically pornographic. It's nothing he does exactly, just part of who he is. Naturally self-confident, brash, and sexually hedonistic, it doesn’t matter what kind of case they’re on, he’s always able to make time for the ladies.
Sam traces a hand down to the crotch of his jeans, sighing when his palm grazes over his half-hard cock. He releases his forehead from the glass, hoping that Dean didn't leave the motel for exactly that reason; the idea of his brother bringing a girl back to the motel makes his teeth grind.
Pushing the thought from his mind, he backs away slowly. Praying that Dean won't be coming back anytime soon, he toes off his shoes and pops loose the buttons on his pants, before sliding them down over his hips. Disheveled hair falls back into place as he pulls his shirt over his head, removes each of his socks and tosses them into a nearby chair.
The room is nondescript, just another run down motel room among countless others he's shared with his dad and brother over the years. Generic Monet like watercolor hanging above the television, furniture in dire need of refurbishing sparsely spread around the room and window dressings that should have been retired a decade ago.
The bed groans when he sits, springs protesting as he leans back, arms propping him up as his legs dangle over the side of the bed. He looks to the ceiling and thinks about the last thing Dean said before he left.
"God, Sammy. You need to get laid," he'd said, before he threw a strip of condoms at Sam's chest. He winked at him as he clutched his keys and headed for the door, while Sam glared and muttered, "Asshole."
Sam considers his options for a moment. Dean didn't tell him where he was going and there's no telling how soon he'll be back, but shit, he needs to get off, and he can be quick. He rolls off the bed and rifles through his duffel until he finds what he’s looking for, pulls out the small bottle of lube and the silicone dildo, large and black, and lays each on the bedspread. He runs his tongue across his lips with anticipation, and quickly gets out of his underwear, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor.
He hesitates for a moment and, looks back at the door, something nagging at him to double check. Still alone, thank god. Crawling onto the bed, he grabs the lube and thumbs open the cap, squeezes the cold, clear liquid over his middle finger and smears it with his thumb.The dildo rolls into his side, up against his leg as he inches further onto the mattress, but he pays no attention, lost in his head, in his fantasy- Dean.
Sam leans forward, bracing himself on his elbow as he slides his hand behind him. He slides his finger down the crack of his ass and bites back a shiver when it skirts against his hole. He presses in, eyes snapping shut at the feel of being opened again. He's tight around his fingers, clenching hard as he pushes in, and he groans a little as they slide in deeper. Jesus Christ, it's been too long since he's done this.
He gives himself a second to adjust, before he shifts and sinks his finger in completely, palm pressing flush against his ass as he twists his finger inside. He slides it out slowly, then back in, hissing at the dull burn as he pushes in deeper. His cock is hard between his legs, the head grazing the cheap bedspread as he rocks back on himself.
When he's open enough he slides out and coats two fingers, then presses against his hole again. He shoves in both, burn hotter this time as he clenches around his fingers, and he grits his teeth and presses his face into the bed, his moan muffled by the sheets. He pretends his fingers are his brother's, working him open with precision as Dean whispers low and filthy against his skin.
His body is hot and damp with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead as he fucks back on his fingers, the smooth slide of skin on skin making him shudder. He groans, pressing in deep, and it’s good but shit, he needs more.
Removing his fingers, he wastes no time as he grabs the dildo, clutching it in shaky hands as he coats the thick shaft with slick. He slides it between his cheeks and sparks course through him at the press of the head against his hole. He takes a breath, readying himself before he pushes in sharply. He grunts and bites his lip as the head slips in, his muscles screaming as they tense and open around the girth.
Sweat is pouring down his brow, stinging his eyes while he holds the dildo there, getting used to the stretch. Slowly, he drives the dildo home, savoring the tight grip as he slides it in deeper.
He breathes raggedly against his arm, eyes clenched up as he pulls the dildo out. It slips from him with ease, his fingers gripping the base as he forces it back in, head slamming back against his prostate this time and Sam loses the ability to breathe for a short second.
"Dean," he chokes out in a struggled moan, eyes immediately going wide at the name. Up until now it's always been unspoken and now it hits him hard, more real somehow. It flips a switch in his mind, makes the fantasy a reality, and Sam can't help himself when he says, "God, Dean. Please!"
His skin feels hot and tight, and he imagines the feel of Dean's rough hands digging into his sides as he fucks into him, hips slapping against ass with each thrust. God, he wants it--needs it--so fucking bad. He lets loose a string of broken swear words as he positions himself on his knees so he's fucking down on the silicone.
He grips the headboard to steady himself, legs straining as he spreads them wider, getting more leverage as he slides it deeper, faster. "Fuck, come on, come on, Dean," he moans. "Fuck me."
Another groan, and Sam doesn't even realize it's not his own until Dean's voice breaks through, deep and whiskey-raw. "Jesus, Sammy. Never knew you cared."
Sam startles, flushed with embarrassment at being caught. He's torn between wanting to crawl away and just going with it, sick, exhibitionist thoughts racing through his head, but Dean makes the decision for him, suddenly on the bed, pressed against Sam's back. Wrapping his arm around his neck and pressing cracked lips against his ear, Dean breathes against the skin of his neck, staggered and wet.
"Dean, wha-"
Sam's cut off by the grip of Dean's hand around his dick. "Been watching you, listening to you moan my name, watching you push that dick inside you," Dean murmurs, stroking Sam's cock with long pulls, and Sam's head is swimming with realization: Dean's jerking him off. "Do you know how fucking hot that is, Sam? How fuckin' hard it is to just watch and not touch? Dammit, Sam,"
"Dean," Sam says in a whimper as his head falls back Dean's cheek.
"'s'alright, Sam. I gotcha now." Dean follows it up by wrapping his free hand around Sam's and pushing on the dildo. They groan together, rough hisses of breath, and Sam lets Dean lead, leaves himself in his brother's capable hands. "God, wanna fuck you so damn much. Fill you full of my cock, come in your ass. You want me to, Sammy?"
Sam keens, moaning and grunting as he rolls his hips back, wants to say yes, fuck yes but he's stuck on trying to bury the cock deeper in his ass. He wants it desperately for it to be Dean inside him, but he's too close, too strung out and if Dean tried to fuck him right now he wouldn't last ten seconds.
Dean strokes at his cock, his thumb flicking the oversensitive head on the upstroke, whole body quaking as Dean tightens his grasp and quickens his pace. Sam can feel the pull in his balls, and he can tell Dean knows he's by the way he tugs with swift, hard pulls.
"Come for me, Sammy. Wanna see you shoot all over the bed and come in my hand. Fuck, I wanna know what you taste like." Dean's voice is just the way he remembers it, dripping with confidence and swagger, just like when he used to sweet talk the girls at the bars. This time it’s different, though; this time it's directed at him. "Come for me, Sam," Dean says again, voice rough, and fuck, Sam lets out a loud moan and comes.
"That's it Sam, let it go," Dean keeps on saying, spilling filth from his lips. He's pushing against Sam, closer, protective and possessive, jerking him faster as his orgasm rockets through him, wave after wave of heat and release coursing through his body as he comes, thick and sticky onto the bed. "Fucking beautiful like this, full of cock. Just like that, Sammy."
Sam's grunts, cut-off sounds lodged deep in his throat as Dean's words sear into his skull, the muscles of his ass contracting in spasms around the silicone cock. Sam's hand is a dead weight around the dildo and he releases it, lets Dean continue slow, shallow thrusts with it in his ass.
"All ya had to do was ask, Sam. Coulda been doin' this all along," Dean growls, ghosting his stubble along Sam's jaw. He holds the dildo firmly in place for a moment, then twists it in tighter as he finds Sam's lips, kisses them--devours them with a hunger that Sam groans into.
Dean pulls the dildo out slowly, Sam hissing as his hole clenches in its absence. Chuckling, Dean sets it aside and pulls Sam against him, and Sam can feel the weight of Dean's dick through the denim of his jeans as it presses into his lower back.
Reaching down, Dean cups his balls,sticky fingers smearing come over them. "Next time," Dean mumbles into his mouth, "you're getting the real thing, none of this fake bullshit."
