A Big Surpriseby Nomelon
Rating: NC-17
~~~ It wasn't Dean's fault. He was adamant that it wasn't. He'd told Sam to pack his shit the night before, but Sam, in his wisdom, had ignored him. Sam had instead started peeling off his clothes as soon as they got back to their room, making a beeline for his bed. He'd gracefully got his head stuck in his t-shirt and walked sideways into the wall as he muttered something about doing the lion's share of the double salt and burn they'd just come from, even though Dean knew this was total bullshit and he had the blisters on his palms to prove it. Toppling over like a felled giant redwood, Sam had planted himself face-first on his mattress. He'd pulled a pillow over his head, groaned all the air out of his body in one long breath, and passed out. Dean, on the other hand, had decided to be the sensible one for once in his life. He knew they had an early start in the morning, so he'd tossed his belongings in his duffel before he'd crashed, not even bothering to get undressed. So when the group of angry townsfolk kicked down their door at daybreak, bypassing rational discourse and going straight for righteous indignation, it was Dean who was ready for them. There was lots of yelling about murder and grave desecration and violent, bloody revenge, and Dean got it. He did. They were just a bunch of bereaved people eager to take the law into their own hands. They weren't interested in the truth. They would never understand the terror Sam and Dean had saved them from. They just wanted someone to blame. It was the biggest cliché in the book. Dean was almost disappointed they hadn't got out their pitchforks and burning torches, or at the very least threatened them with a good, old-fashioned lynching. There was an uncomfortable standoff where a lot of guns were waved around, Dean with a pistol in each hand, trying to keep half a dozen people covered at once. He backed Sam slowly into the bathroom and locked the door behind them. Sam took one look at the flimsy little bolt and gave Dean a look, but all they needed was a couple of seconds to jimmy the screen on the window and clamber out. When they sprinted for the Impala, it was Dean who did it fully clothed with his packed bag over his shoulder, while Sam did it wearing only his shorts and his boots, clutching his cell phone in one hand, the laptop in the other. Dean drove them clear across the Pulaski county line, refusing to stop no matter how much Sam bitched at him to pull over. He drove until he was positive they weren't being followed, and then kept right on going just because the sight of Sam, slumped low in his seat, huddled and bare-chested and grimacing at every car they passed, was just too good to pass up. Dean drove them well into the woods before he turned off the road onto a dirt track, taking a moment to appreciate the countless acres of Missouri forest all around them. He shut off the engine and sighed deeply, like he was happy to be alive, and it got exactly the reaction he'd been aiming for. Sam gave him a full-body scowl topped off with his very best bitchface, the one he kept in reserve for extra-special occasions, and levelled his gaze right at Dean. "Why have we stopped?" Dean was busy unfolding a map and checking their coordinates. "This is as close as we can get to where those people went missing. We walk from here." "Dean!" Dean looked up, eyebrows raised, working the innocent confusion angle for all it was worth. "Dean, we need to go into town." "What town?" "Any town!" "What for?" "Because." "Because why?" "Because unless it escaped your notice, I don't have any clothes!" Sam yelled, spreading his arms like it wasn't obvious enough already. Dean just glanced down at Sam's frayed boxers and grinned. Sam clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, muscles working in his cheeks. "How many credit cards have we got right now?" he ground out. "I think three of 'em are still good. Why?" "I need to go shopping." "No time, Sammy boy." "Dean," Sam said, exasperated. "I have no clothes. None. I need to--" Dean held up his hand. "You know we have to get this thing done. No stalling. If we don't take out this ghost today, it disappears for another fifteen years, when it'll wake up and slaughter another bunch of unsuspecting hikers. No way I'm coming back here when I'm forty-five, dude. No way." "Just take us to the nearest town. It won't take long and then I can--" "Sammy. What part of 'no time' aren't you getting? We need to track this thing down, see where it's been lurking, find out who it is and where the hell they're buried, and tonight's the night." He grinned. "Guess that means you're shit outta luck." "So what the hell am I supposed to do? Go hunting in my freaking shorts?" "Well, if you will insist on wearing jockeys." "Dude, they're not even-- Shut up." "Sammy," Dean grinned, a lazy smile curling up one side of his face. "You know you're pretty when you're angry." Sam pulled a face. An incredulous one. "I mean it, Sam." Dean shifted in his seat, tipping forward into Sam's space. His voice got all low and rough when he said, "Makes your skin flush, man. Gets you warm. Look at you. Pretty as a picture." He pushed his face into the curve of Sam's throat. Sam closed his eyes and shuddered, his knuckles clenched white on the door handle when Dean brushed his stubbled cheek along the line of Sam's throat and pressed a little biting kiss to his collarbone. Dean grinned again, where he knew Sam couldn't see it, and nipped at Sam's throat, sliding his palm up Sam's tensed thigh. "You won't make time to let me buy some clothes, but you have time for this?" Sam asked, the vibrations from his throat making Dean's lips tingle. "Gotta prioritise, Sammy," Dean said, palming Sam's cock through his shorts and pulling back to nose at Sam's jaw. "We're on a tight schedule." "I hate you," Sam said, but the effect was ruined by a little gasp when Dean reached inside his shorts. "You don't hate me," Dean murmured, running his tongue over Sam's lower lip and catching it between his teeth. Sam made a little sound of need and leaned in, trying to make it into more of a kiss, but Dean pulled away. He sat squarely in the middle of the bench seat with his feet planted on the floor and patted his thighs. "Now, c'mere and gimme some sugar." Sam was sprawled back in the corner against the door, all mussed and debauched, breathing hard, his cheeks flushed, his erection peeking out the top of his shorts. Just the way Dean liked him. Sam scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but Dean just tilted his hips like an invitation and spread his arms along the back of the seat. "Sammy," he said, low and soft, and he could see it when Sam's willpower melted like butter on a hot day. Sam was across the seat in a heartbeat, straddling Dean's lap and sliding his fingers into Dean's hair. Dean just sat back and watched him do it, enjoying the view and shifting his hips forward to give Sam something to work with. He arched his body up into Sam's, but kept his arms along the back of the seat, smiling at Sam's grunt of frustration, and the way that Sam was bent almost double, his hair hanging in his face, his shoulders bumping the ceiling. It was clear in Dean's mind that a greater car had never graced the road, but Impala's simply weren't built with the sexcapades of people of Sam's stature in mind. Sam held Dean's face in his hands to kiss him. Dean smiled into it, loving the greedy way Sam kissed. Sam inched in closer, snugging their hips together, making Dean groan. "C'mon, Sammy," he growled into Sam's mouth. "That's right. C'mon, baby boy. Just like that." One of Sam's hands wrapped around Dean's throat and squeezed gently, little more than a warning. "If you think you're going to just lie there and let me do all the work while you lay your twisted version of sweet-talking on me...?" Dean grinned, feeling his pulse throb in his temples, heat pooling in his groin. "Hell, Sam. All you had to do was ask." He surged up, catching his brother off balance, wrapping his arms around Sam to keep him in close. Sam ended up with his hands braced behind him on the dash, his muscles straining as he held himself up. Dean kissed him, hot and serious, Sam's ridiculously long bangs tickling his cheeks. Dean got a hand between them and freed Sam from his boxers, hooking the elastic of his shorts under his balls, jacking him slowly, Dean using his thumb against the head in the way he knew drove Sam nuts. "Dean," Sam whined. "Please. God. Just." Dean nodded, doing his best to keep their mouths together as he attacked his own jeans, having to pull back for long seconds so he could get his fly undone. Sam was restless above him, distracting as he shifted his thighs, lifting up so Dean could shove down his jeans. Dean grabbed Sam's hips, pulling him in closer, spreading him wider. Sam's breath hitched when Dean wrapped a hand around both of them and squeezed. Sam threw his head back, hitting it off the roof with a thud, but he barely seemed to notice. Sam pushed his hips forward into Dean's grip, his eyes closed, lost in sensation, not realising that he was giving Dean a show, his body laid out like an offering, his arms shaking as he held himself up. A trickle of sweat ran down the dip of his breastbone, and Dean ducked his head to lick it off, his stomach nudging the head of Sam's cock and making Sam cry out. Sam pushed Dean back into the seat, kissing him hard, fists clenched on Dean's t-shirt, his hips working. It was hot and close, crowded together in the front seat as Dean worked them hard, crooning filth into Sam's ear, licking it against his skin. Sam pushed Dean's shirt up to his armpits, looking for skin, frustrated when the shirt wouldn't stay in place, and leaned in closer, pulling Dean's hips forward and sliding half off the seat so he could lean in and start thrusting, sliding their cocks together, slippery and sweet, riding on sweat and precome. Dean grabbed fistfuls of Sam's hair, tilting his face up, making Sam grunt as his neck was bent back. Their kiss was hard and biting. Sam came with a groan, muffled against Dean's mouth, his body tense and shaking, twisting to push his face into Dean's throat, coming all over Dean's t-shirt and his own stomach. Sam collapsed on top of him, his breath hot on Dean's shoulder. Sam turned his face to suck a bruise low down on Dean's throat, murmuring, "Yeah, yeah. Dean. Come on," in his ear, batting Dean's hand away to jack him hard and fast, making him jerk and tremble as he came all over Sam's thigh. Dean slumped back against the seat, carelessly wiping his hand on the front of his shirt, a little out of breath, satisfied and grinning up at Sam like he'd just won an argument. Sam rolled his eyes, but he kissed Dean again, softer this time, before slumping off to one side, rubbing a little at his chafed knees. They both lay there for a moment, slouched low and messy, getting their breath back and trading laden little glances. "You know we've been spreading ourselves too thin," Sam said. "We can't keep going straight from one hunt to another like this." "Not much for the afterglow, are you?" "Dean." "What are you saying? We just stop?" "No. Not stop. Just..." "What? You want to take a break?" Sam sighed deep, longing in his eyes. Dean stuck out his bottom lip, thinking the idea through. A break. That sounded... pretty damn good, actually. "How about we take care of this son of a bitch, and we take a little time off? Get a cabin in the woods maybe." Sam pulled a so-so face. "Or we could go south," Dean suggested. "Somewhere warm for a change. Somewhere on the coast. Florida maybe." Dean batted Sam's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Dude, we could totally go to Disney World!" Sam sighed. "Let's just get this ghost out of the way first." "Deal." "And I really need something to wear." Dean's grin split his face. "I've got just the thing." Ten minutes later, Sam was standing beside the trunk of the car, shifting uncomfortably, tugging at the crotch of his jeans for the fifth time in as many minutes. "You okay there, Sammy?" Sam just scowled and pulled off an interesting little sidestep-hop-hop-shimmy manoeuvre that had Dean biting on the inside of his cheeks. Dean looked him up and down appraisingly as Sam continued to wrestle with the jeans. "You could always cut the legs off 'em if you want. I don't mind. You'd look swell in short shorts." Dean had given him a faded old AC/DC t-shirt that was too small even for Dean to wear. It pulled tight across Sam's chest and shoulders, and showed flashes of his flat stomach every time Sam moved his arms. Dean had given him his biggest pair of jeans, but they were still practically skin tight on Sam, even with the top button left undone, snug around the hips and thighs. Dean had also found an old hoodie of Sam's in the trunk, but he'd hidden it in his bag for the time being. He planned to give it to Sam later, he wasn't that cruel, but right now he was having way too much fun. "Dude, seriously," Dean said, trying not to choke on his laughter. "You look fine." "I look like the world's biggest, stupidest twink." "Nah," Dean said. "Twinks have better hair. Frosted tips and shit. But don't worry. We'll find you a nice gay bar later. I'll shout you a couple of Appletinis. You'll fit right in. It'll be awesome." Sam grumped. Then he grouched. Dean grinned and hoisted his bag a little higher on his shoulder. He locked up the Impala, spanked Sam on the ass, and set off into the woods. Sam just stood by the car, fuming. So Dean threw back a grin over his shoulder and started singing. "If you go down to the woods today." "Dean. Don't. I mean it." "C'mon, Sammy, sing it with me! You better go in disguise." "I swear to god, I'll kick your ass so hard." "If you go down to the woods today." "I'll give you three seconds to stop, or I'm taking you down." "You're in for a big sur-- Urgh!" It hurt like a bitch when Sam landed a flying tackle on him from behind, but, Dean decided as he landed face-first on the grass with Sam's solid weight behind him, it was totally worth the pain. The end. Leave a comment in livejournal. Email the author | nevermelon AT yahoo.com |