The Taste on Your Tongueby Nomelon
Rating: NC-17
~~~ The giant flying slug-monster with the huge fangs and the unpronounceable name is dead; their mad chase through the woods finally over. Sam staked it through with an iron rod before it could lay its eggs, pinning it right to the fucking ground, and Sam's never been so glad to see the end of a hunt in his entire life. He's got slime in his hair, mud up to his ankles, his shoulder aches, and he really hates these woods. They're dark and creepy and there's moss growing everywhere, deadening any sound they make. It's only late afternoon, but already the sky is dark, the air heavy around him, close and oppressive, like there's a storm coming. Visions of hot showers and clean sheets are dancing in his head, and he's halfway back to the Impala, shotgun dangling loosely from his hand, before he realises Dean isn't walking beside him, bitching about the slime on his jacket and already calling first shower. Dean is still standing beside the corpse, looking pained, a small figure in the middle of the woods. For some reason Sam can't quite fathom, Dean's making stupid raspberry noises, like he's trying to blow fluff off his tongue. Whatever he's doing, it doesn't seem to be working, so he tries spitting, and then, to Sam's amusement, he grabs the tail of his shirt and starts licking it with broad swipes of his tongue. "Dude, what the hell?" "That thing sprayed me, Sam," Dean says between licks. "Just before you... Right in the face. I can still taste it." "Jesus, Dean, are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm..." Dean looks up and frowns, like he'd forgotten Sam was there. He smiles. It's a weird little smile, foreign, and dark around the edges. Dean drops his shirt and licks over the pads of his fingers instead, toying with his lips, staring right at Sam the whole time. Sam smirks, thinking Dean is playing him, but it fades quickly when Dean starts walking towards him, slow at first, but rapidly gaining purpose. The intense look in Dean's eyes is freaky, in fact it's downright unsettling, and it's making Sam's heart beat fast in his chest and sweat break out on the back of his neck. Sam backs off, just trying to get his bearings and figure out what this is. His fight or flight instincts kick in, but his back hits the side of the Impala, knocking all the air out of him, and he actually drops the shotgun in his surprise, a rookie mistake that would ordinarily have Dean slapping him upside the head. Instead Dean's right there, right up in his face, fisting a hand in Sam's shirt, twisting the material, and he's still smiling that weird little smile as he kicks at the inside of Sam's ankles, knocking him down so they're at the same height. "Sammy," Dean murmurs, in way too close, stepping between Sam's spread thighs. He leans in, and Sam's frozen, can't do a damn thing when Dean kisses him because this can't be happening, it can't. Sam isn't the sort of moron to let something like this happen. Dean isn't kissing him right now, and Sam's not shoved up against the car, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. That isn't Dean's hand on his ass, and that definitely isn't Dean's cock -- Dean's really fucking hard cock -- he can feel pressed against his hip. It just isn't. "Sammy," Dean is murmuring into his mouth, tugging Sam's shirt out of his jeans, getting his hands underneath all those layers and groaning when he hits bare skin. "Always knew," he's saying. "Always knew you'd taste this good." Always, and this is enough to wake Sam up, because always is a long time to have been thinking about anything even remotely like this. He grabs Dean's shoulders and shoves him away, keeping him at arm's length, feeling stunned and kiss-stupid, and he's about to start tearing Dean a new one... but then he licks his lips. Dean watches him do it, his eyes flaring then darkening with interest when Sam does it again. "You taste it, Sammy?" Dean asks, slow and easy, staring right at his mouth. "Yeah, I..." Sam blinks slowly, and the world loses a little focus. "What is that?" Dean just shrugs, and the movement makes Sam realise that while he still has Dean's weight leaning on his palms, he isn't exactly holding Dean away anymore. He's just letting Dean's weight sink towards him, slowly, like he hasn't quite made up his mind, but Dean does it for him, pulling him in close and kissing him again, hot and wet and open. That's when it all starts to make a crazy kind of sense, because Dean's mouth was made for this, he's awesome at this, and Sam can feel it now, the urgency, the need. It pools low and hot in his stomach, a sweet little ache, every place on his body where Dean's touching him waking up and wanting more, and Dean's touching him pretty much everywhere. Dean goes a little nuts, pulling at Sam's clothes, yanking his hoodie and his undershirts off in one go and just tossing them over his shoulder. Any other day, Sam might complain about his clothes being carelessly thrown in the mud, but today he's busy making out with his big brother, so yeah, he's got his priorities in order. He grabs Dean's head and pulls him down to his throat because Sam's always had this thing about having his neck kissed. Dean catches on quick, licking and biting, instinctively find all the spots that make Sam's toes curl in his boots. "Why..." Sam starts, but loses his train of thought when Dean thumbs his nipple and mouths at his jaw. Dean mumbles something against his skin, busy working on Sam's belt, and Sam can't do much more than stand there, sandwiched between the cold glass and metal of the Impala and the heat of his brother's body, and just let it happen. "Why haven't we done this before?" Sam manages to gasp out. Dean pulls back to look at him and the shock of loss is almost enough to hurt. Sam hates himself a little right now. Why ask stupid questions if Dean's actually going to stop and take the time to answer them? What happened to the kissing and the full body contact and the really excellent way that Dean's fingers had been working their way inside his jeans? Dean frowns, like he's really considering the question, but his focus wanders as his gaze is drawn over Sam's bare chest and back to Sam's mouth. "'Cause... Uh. Something." He blinks. "'Cause I'm not gay." Sam narrows his eyes. "Dean, I saw you making out with that guy that time, remember?" "Oh, yeah," Dean says with a faraway little smile, "I do remember that," and Sam's not sure if he wants to kiss him or punch him. Dean comes back to the here and now, a faint little lightbulb flickering on, and there's a hint of the old cocky Dean there, but it's vague at best. "'Cause you're my brother?" he says, not sounding too sure. "Oh," Sam says, sliding his hands under Dean's jacket, his breath catching as Dean pops the top button of his jeans. "Seems like... kinda... dumb. Wastin' all that time." Dean nods, watching Sam's reaction closely as he pulls at Sam's fly, the buttons giving way one by one. Sam's mouth is open, his breath coming short and fast. His hands are tingling, clenched tight on the back of Dean's shirt under his jacket, but all he can do is stand there, useless and desperate for it, waiting to see what Dean's going to do to him. That's when it starts to rain. There are a couple of warning patters against the roof of the car, little metallic pings of impact, and Sam tips his head back and looks up at the sky, blinking rapidly against the fat drops of water that are falling. This is serious rain, the sky black with it. There's a rumble of distant thunder, and the heavens open. Sam is soaked almost instantly. His hair is plastered to his head, water running into his eyes and his open mouth, pouring over his body, slicking his skin. Dean gives up on teasing, shoving Sam's wet jeans down, where they get stuck mid-thigh. Sam is so hard that the rough brush of material makes him cry out, that even the rush of air against him is a tease, and he moans when his cock slaps up against his stomach. "Wanna," Dean growls, barely audible over the sound of the rain beating down on the roof of the car. "Wanna taste you," he says, scraping his teeth over Sam's earlobe as he curls his hand around Sam's cock, and Sam nearly collapses on the spot, only Dean and the car holding him up. "Yeah," he manages, nodding unevenly, his fingers sliding through the wet spikes of Dean's hair. "Yeah. You should absolutely do that. Yeah." Dean grins and kisses him again, a quick, biting little thing, catching Sam's bottom lip between his teeth, before he drops to his knees. He spreads his hands on Sam's hips, holding him in place, and licks at Sam's stomach, biting at the line of his hips. Everything is soaked with rainwater, it's running in rivulets over the lines of Sam's muscles, getting in Dean's mouth and he's moaning against Sam's skin, drinking the water down, making obscene slurping noises that only make Sam harder. Sam tilts his hips, bare ass sliding on the paintwork of the car, biting on his own lip. He's ready to start begging for it, or maybe just grab Dean's ears and direct him exactly where he wants him if Dean doesn't get to his cock soon. That's when Dean suddenly stands up. With that odd, shell-shocked look on his face, it's almost comical, like he's a Jack-in-the-Box. He sways a little and rests his hands on the edge of the Impala's roof on either side of Sam's shoulders. "I can't... I can't taste it anymore," he says, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it. "All the rain, Sammy, I... I can't..." Sam's not even listening, far more preoccupied with wondering what the hell happened to that amazing blowjob idea that was being bandied around. He hooks his fingers over the waistband of Dean's jeans, keeping their hips together, and starts working at Dean's fly. He can feel Dean's erection against the tips of his fingers, and it twitches at the contact. At least Sam knows Dean's dick is still interested, even if Dean has managed to pick the worst moment in history to start having second thoughts. Dean's whole body is lax, and he's staring stupidly at Sam now, just when Sam needs this, wants it, is going to fucking die if Dean doesn't get his shit together and get Sam off right this second. He must have said that last part out loud, because Dean inhales sharply, startling in Sam's grasp. Sam yanks at Dean's jeans, catching him off balance and pulling him flush against Sam's body. He hooks a hand on the back of Dean's neck and pulls him into a kiss, licking over his lips, into his mouth, over the sharp edge of his teeth, desperate now, because Dean still isn't touching him. Dean needs to be touching him. "Dean. Dean, c'mon," Sam urges, squeezing the back of Dean's neck and shaking him. "Dean," Sam keeps muttering, "Dean, please, c'mon. Please, man, you gotta touch me. I can't. I just. C'mon. Need you to." Dean's staring at him, blinking the rain out of his eyes, and he looks like he's in pain. "Sammy, this isn't--" Sam shoves his hand inside Dean's open jeans. "Oh, fuck, Sam." Dean's knees falter and he grabs at Sam's shoulders to steady himself, his grasp sliding on wet skin, gripping hard enough to bruise. Dean is swallowing, shaking his head, trying to push away, even as his hips buck into Sam's touch, so Sam flips them, crowding Dean up against the car with his whole body. "Sam, you can't. You don't..." Dean groans when Sam gets a hand between them and starts to fist him with long, firm strokes. "Jesus. Sam. You don't even--" "Yeah," Sam says, resting his forehead on Dean's. "I do." Dean groans again, his chest heaving, and he licks his lips again, over and over. Sam can't take it, he can't. Dean started this; it's all his fault. Stupid Dean with his stupid, gorgeous mouth and his stupid, clever hands, and the stupid way the rain has flattened his stupid hair and given him teeny tiny bangs, and the stupid, infuriating way he's managed to make Sam completely insane with want. It isn't fair to try and stop now. Sam kisses him again, urging with his whole body. He knows he's making this needy, keening sound in the back of his throat, but he doesn't care, couldn't stop right now if his life depended on it. His eyes flutter closed when Dean finally starts to kiss him back, hesitant at first, but working with Sam, going with what he wants, and finally, finally, thank god, putting his hands back on Sam's skin. Sam struggles with Dean's wet jeans, shoving them down far enough that he has room to work. Sam pushes him up against the car, frantic now, and Dean grabs at Sam's ass to pull him closer. They both groan when they connect, their cocks sliding together, riding on rainwater and their own slick. Sam plasters himself up against Dean, hands braced on the roof of the car, his boots slipping in the mud. Dean is hard and hot against him, and it's so sweet Sam feels like he could die happy right now. He tips his head back, screws his eyes shut against the rain and lets the water trail over his skin, fill his mouth, and he swallows it down. All he can taste is Dean. Dean and the rain. There's nothing else in the world and there's... Huh. All he can taste is Dean. He can't taste that weird... thing anymore, and his head is clearing. Yes. Definitely clearing, and yet he's still rutting up against his brother, rain washing over them, skin slapping together, the occasional knee or elbow thumping off the side of the car. He's back in his own head, and apparently so is Dean, but they're still doing this, neither one of them backing off. It's still the hottest goddamn thing Sam's felt in maybe forever, the way Dean's sliding against him, Dean's mouth hot on his shoulder, his hands bruising Sam's hips. It's perfect and he's going to come, he's going to-- Dean goes rigid against him, crying out as he spurts hot and indelible over Sam's skin, and Jesus Christ, Dean just came on him. Sam knows there's no way in hell he should be finding that so incredibly sexy. Sam can't hold back and he comes seconds later, his whole body tense and shuddering, burying his face in Dean's throat as Dean holds him close, working him through it, both of them trembling. The downpour is easing, turning to light drizzle, the heavier sound is now the water still dripping through the trees onto the leaves below. Neither of them moves. Sam decides to be the brave one. "Yeah, um, so it wore off," he says into Dean's collar. "No shit," Dean says gruffly, muffled against his throat. "What the fuck do we do now, genius?" Sam is suddenly very, very aware that he's practically naked, from the knees up at least, plastered up against his not quite as naked big brother, both of them soaked to the skin and covered in come. "I think..." A million things run through Sam's mind. Top of the list is screaming like a girl and running off into the woods, his jeans around his knees, and just hoping that there's another giant flying slug-monster lurking out there somewhere, waiting to put him out of his misery. He just holds still and breathes, registering the way Dean's hand is warm on the small of his back, the other cradling the back of Sam's head, the way Dean's breath is hot and a little shaky against his shoulder. Sam makes his decision. "I think..." Moving slow enough that he can feel his bones creak, he gently fists the short hair on the back of Dean's head and pulls back so Dean has no choice but to look him in the eye. "I think we should go back to the motel and do that again." Rain patters down from the trees. Somewhere deep in the woods, birds start to sing. The clouds part and the sun comes out. Sam feels like he's in a pornographic Disney movie. Dean frowns, slow and curious. "You sure it wore off?" Sam nods, and this just makes Dean raise his eyebrows. "Huh. Okay. Shouldn't we be, I dunno, freaking out right now or something?" "Existential crisis sorta thing, you mean?" "I mean the mother of all freak-outs for fucking your..." Dean clenches his teeth. "For fucking your little brother up against your car." "I say..." Sam takes a short little breath. "I say we bypass it." Dean makes this little noise that could conceivably be a snort of laughter or possibly a grunt of disgust, it's hard to tell, but whatever it is, it's apparently enough to finally inspire movement. He sighs and pushes Sam's wet hair back from his face. It stops Sam's bangs from dripping water in his eyes, but it also takes away his little shield from the world, making it easier for Dean to look at him, really look at him. It's this, of all things, that makes Sam blush because this isn't a way that Dean's ever looked at him before, and it just seems a little... intimate. Then he remembers that he has Dean's come trickling down his thigh and the way Dean's looking at him doesn't seem so bad after all. Dean is staring at him like maybe Sam just grew another head. "Bypass it?" Sam nods, slow and decisive. He moves his thumb, nothing more than a little slip of movement, down and up, brushing over one of the bumps of Dean's spine. Dean stares at him for a long time, looking a little freaked, looking a little pissed. Looking like he's thinking the idea might just possibly have merit. Sam's not expecting it when Dean rolls his hips, carefully, just a little, like he's just testing the waters, and Sam sucks in a gasp, biting on his lip to stop from grinding back against him. Dean's eyes flare and he grins. "I guess that's doable too." Sam smiles, the rush of relief making his breath catch. They carefully let go of each other, grimacing a little at the mess between them and Sam takes a step back. Of course, he forgets about his jeans tangled around his knees, and trips, falling on his ass in the mud with a loud splat. Dean chokes on a snort of laughter and looks away, out across the woods, biting on his cheeks to stop from losing it completely as he tucks himself back into his jeans. "How you doin' down there, sparky?" Sam lifts his hand out of the mud and lets it fall again with a wet little slap. "Peachy." He pulls a face and tries not to squirm, because he's pretty sure he's already got mud in his ass. Dean looks down at him fondly and holds out his hand. Sam stares at him for a second, wondering where the punchline is, but wipes his palm on his ruined jeans and takes Dean's hand. Dean pulls him easily to his feet and they stand there for a moment, swaying a little, comfortable in each other's space. "Sammy," Dean says, serious now, and just a little uncomfortable maybe. "I just... I just wanted to tell you..." "Dean?" Sam asks, searching his brother's face. Dean grins. "You smell like wet dog." The end. Leave a comment in livejournal. Email the author | nevermelon AT yahoo.com |