Year/Length: 2006/~8327 words
Spoilers: Slight for Asylum and Nightmare
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.
Summary: Sam rethinks his attitude to life
Author's Notes: Prompt: cliché – dirty talk, For estrella30"s CW kink/cliché challenge. This owes a little something to The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Beta: by the gracious and willing ailurophile6
Give yourself over to absolute pleasure.
Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh.
Erotic nightmares, beyond any measure
And sensual daydreams to treasure forever.
Can't you just see it? Oh, oh, oh.
Don't dream it - be it.
Dean was out tomcatting. He'd put on clean underwear and cologne, and sauntered off with a cheery, "See you at breakfast, Sammy."
The sound of his laughter had drowned out the growled, "It's Sam, you fuckhead," and he'd left, leaving Sam to his own devices for the evening, moping as he pictured the brother he was only now beginning to rediscover after four years of life without him flirting and hooking up while he, Sam waited, no longer entitled to care what his brother did.
The room was suddenly very quiet and very empty. Sam lay back on his bed and stared into space, wondering what to do, not actually wanting to do anything, but knowing that, if he didn't, he'd regret it. He needed to put Dean out of his mind; he'd given up all claim to Dean when he'd left for Stanford, and there would be no second chances. Sam knew his brother far too well for that.
With that, Jess floated up through his thoughts, and all of a sudden Sam knew it was too late, far too late, and he would have nightmares tonight, if he ever dared to sleep.
Now that Jess had risen in his mind, he allowed himself to dwell on her, his golden angel, fragile and pretty, with the wicked sense of humor that had taken him, shaken him loose of his solemn manner and turned him around.
He'd thrived under her tender care, allowed her to shake up his world and drag him protesting faintly into the world out beyond academia. She'd loved the theater, and when she heard that Sam had been in "Our Town," back at school, she'd insisted that the two of them try out for the drama club.
And that's how he'd landed the role of Frank in the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Jess, who'd been handed the role of Columbia, had loved him in his costume, and for weeks after the production had finished its run, she'd had him dress up for her, and despite the fact that Sam just didn't quite get dressing up, he'd understood the benefits in terms of the hot sex that followed. He certainly hadn't had a problem swallowing his pride when she'd thrown him down on their bed and taken charge of their lovemaking.
A tear burned behind his eyes as he thought back to Jess, images of her, blonde and gorgeous, dancing, laughing, dragging him to yet another party, while he protested that he needed to study but was secretly grateful that she cared enough to overcome his introverted mindset.
He shook his head. This was no good – no good at all. He knew that she was gone, and he had to stop thinking like this, dwelling on their time together. If he could only just forget her he'd be so much better off.
His head felt thick and his thoughts sluggish, and he knew that he had to get himself out of this miserable state of mind. There was only one thing that might help him get over his miserable mood. He rose to his feet and went to find his backpack, delving down to the very bottom of it to find the package that had lain there since his apartment had burned, and his chance at a normal life with it.
The package he withdrew from the bottom of his duffel was swiftly extracted and set on his bed. Sam lowered the blinds, shutting out the remnants of the dying summer evening and turned to open his treasure, moving aside tissue paper and folding it carefully as he extracted the lovingly wrapped contents.
Laying everything out on the bed, Sam stood looking at it for a few minutes, lost in memories, and then slowly began to undress, tossing jeans and T-shirt to one side where they landed in a crumpled heap.
Naked at last, Sam headed in for a shower, smiling a little ruefully at his own preparations. His melancholy had faded with the anticipation of what he was about to do, and he was beginning to feel a little happier. Swiftly drying off he hurried back into the bedroom, eager now to get started.
The thong was first, black and lacy, and he pulled it on, adjusted it to contain his genitals, supremely conscious as always of the way the garment clasped him, and the way the thin string of the back nestled between the cheeks of his ass. The fishnets were next, and he rolled them on up his long, long legs, then paused to admire the effect of the black mesh criss-crossing pale flesh, remembering how Jess had run her fingers along his inner thigh, smiling at the gasp he invariably made when her fingers reached the top of the stocking.
The corset came next – shiny red satin with an edging of black. He pulled it around his torso and began to fasten the hooks and eyes, finally rising to his feet to tug it down into position.
The shoes were last, flimsy sandals with high, spiked heels. Slipping them onto his feet he walked carefully – when wearing unfamiliar shoes with four inch heels carefully was the only way to walk – over to the closet, pulling it open to reveal the mirror on the inside of the door.
"Yeah…" He smiled at himself, fluffed up his hair, and was about to start singing, "In Just Seven Days, I Can Make You a Man," when the door to the room opened, and his brother came in.
Sam froze. There was no way to escape this. He was busted. He did the only thing he could think of, and dove into the closet, closing the door behind him.
"Sam?" Dean could be heard closing the door. "What're you doing?"
"Nu… Nothing." Sam wasn't thinking straight – his entire mind was focused on trying to find something to wrap around himself so that he could hide his costume from his brother. He groped at the shelf over his head, fumbling to find a sheet or blanket in which he could wrap himself, the panic in his mind effectively sabotaging any real effort to escape the situation.
"Sam?" Dean's voice was nearer, and there was the unmistakable sound of amusement in it. He fumbled, pulled at fabric that turned out to be a spare pillow and stood, cringing, clutching the sorry object to his chest as Dean pulled the closet door open.
"I… thought that you were out for the night," he said, lamely.
"Whoah, dude! My Eyes! I'm blind!" Dean's eyes were wide, as well they might be as he took in Sam's finery.
"Dean…?" Poor Sam, poised precariously on four inch stilts, curled down to face his brother, feeling like a giraffe facing the lion that would rend him limb from limb. His voice failed him, and all he could manage was a pathetic squeak.
"Sammy, what the hell?" Dean's smile was big and broad, and Sam quailed, seeking refuge in swift anger.
"It's Sam, you freak!" he snapped, hugging the pillow to him as Dean's eyes roamed his body, smirking. His mouth was dry, and he cringed inwardly as he felt himself rise for Dean. Placing the pillow a little lower to hide his ultimate shame, Sam stood, eyes snapping fury at his tormentor.
"Looks more like Samantha to me!" retorted his brother, grinning wide now as he got into his stride. Dean took a step forward into the closet and tried to remove the pillow from Sam's grasp. "You look pretty cute like that, bro; c'mon, give us a kiss!"
Sam's gasp of indignation made Dean snort with laughter. "Shut up, shut up, you pervert," he growled and hit Dean with the pillow, making Dean hoot and almost causing Sam to fall off his shoes and hurt himself.
"Hey, who's calling who a pervert?" The sheer delight in Dean's voice could be cut with a knife. "I'm not the one wearing kinky underwear."
There was no arguing with that, so Sam didn't try. He went on the offensive instead.
"Aren't you supposed to be off doing your stuff with the tart du jour?"
"Aren't you supposed to be surfing the internet like a good little geek?" Dean's arm reached to haul Sam out of the closet, eyes hot on him as he studied every last detail of the outfit.
The time for quick wit and repartee had obviously long since departed. "Bite me!" snarled Sam, driven to the end of his tether. He tottered to his bed and began to unfasten the strappy sandals. If he was going to be humiliated, at least he wouldn't break his ankle as well.
Dean's eyes had widened as he took in the rear view, Sam's tight, toned buttocks on display, perfect as a peach. "You look like a hooker in that get up," he said, shaking his head.
"You'd be the one to know, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, good one, bro! Very cutting!" Dean smirked and licked his lips as he watched Sam lift his foot to start unfastening the sandal he wore, and then suddenly moved forward to grab at his brother's wrist. "Hold it!"
"Now what?" Sam's voice had gone flat and harsh, a sure sign that his next move would be violent. Dean smirked, apparently lacking the self-preservation instinct the rest of the world would have on hearing Sam's tone.
"How the fuck do you balance in those things. Come on, Sammy, walk for me. I want to watch."
The speed with which Sam drew a knife from beneath his pillow would have been commended by his father, had he seen it, although the use to which he put it would not. Holding it to his brother's throat, pricking under his chin until a trickle of blood ran down the blade, Sam grabbed the front of Dean's checked shirt and held him close as he snarled his message.
"Fuck off," he growled.
For once, Dean remained silent, lips pursed in silent thought, and after a moment Sam released him, sitting down again, finally managing to get the sandals off and wrapped up once more in the cloth bag from which he'd extracted them.
Wordless still, he'd grabbed for his jeans and underwear and stalked to the bathroom, looking both dignified and outraged. Dean remained silent, and indeed he looked a little shaken after the evidence of his brother's ferocity. When Sam emerged once more, clad in his jeans, looking mutinous, his chin jutting fiercely, Dean was writing furiously in the journal, eyes sliding anywhere but over Sam's still bare chest, and nothing further was said that night. Sam stowed away his garments and pointedly turned his attention to the TV.
The incident hadn't been mentioned again, and although Sam waited for weeks for the other shoe to drop, it seemed that Dean had learned discretion, or maybe just forgotten about Sam's foray into corsetry. It took time, but eventually Sam relaxed, put the incident out of his mind and carried on with his self appointed tasks of renewing his acquaintance with Dean and looking for the creature that had taken his hopes and dreams away from him in one fiery burst.
He'd continued to have nightmares featuring Jess, and nothing seemed to make it any easier to bear, although Dean was slowly breaking through his locked-down emotional state, his supportive behavior at variance to his snarky, sarcastic manner.
The dreams suddenly intensified, amped up and became visions. Sam found that he could no longer avoid them by staying awake and pushing through the resulting exhaustion. They came to meet him head on, invading his space by day and knocking him to the ground as they unfolded before him, each one a tale of death and destruction.
Dean did what he could, supporting him, sustaining him, holding him up when he thought his legs would fold under him and the pain became too great. He was still snarky, but he was protective, and Sam began to forget the friction between them at last, learning that much of Dean's aggressively sarcastic behavior was the façade he put on to disguise the fact that he was vulnerable. Sam found himself beating off in the shower every morning with images of his beautiful, vulnerable, loving, prickly brother floating before his eyes, and, not for the first time, he regretted leaving all those years before, because by doing so he had given up the claim he'd had on Dean.
In the aftermath of Max Miller's tragic death, Dean had been a truly amazing big brother. Sam had been sickened, unable to deal with his newly discovered abilities, and horrified by the similarities between himself and Max. Dean's words to him were pearls to treasure, and Sam had begun at last to realize just what he had in his older brother. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad's going to happen to you," he'd said, and Sam had heard the unmistakable ring of truth in that simple declaration.
Of course, a few moments later Dean had destroyed the effects of his little speech by suggesting that Sam's new found abilities would be most usefully employed at the craps table in Vegas, but then that was the Dean he loved.
Heading for the parking lot of a diner a few miles out of Saginaw, en route to the next town they were to investigate, Dean was still talking about Vegas, and when Sam snapped at him, he merely smirked. "We can talk about it later." Dean nodded his head in the direction of the diner. "I'm hungry."
"Hungry?" Sam's eyes followed Dean's as he looked towards the restaurant. As he heard Dean's stomach rumble, he laughed. "Oh, okay then. Let's go do some cholesterol. We can fight later."
Dean gave him a smiling nod and got out of the car. He made his way to the diner, not bothering to wait for Sam and only looked back at the door, when he heard his brother hurrying to catch up with him. Opening the front door of the greasy spoon, he let it swing shut behind him and made his way to a booth in the back.
There was no opportunity for private speech, because just at that moment, a waitress with a name tag announcing her name to be Virginia slouched over with a coffeepot. Dean favored her with his thousand watt smile as she wielded it, and her attitude seemed to lighten visibly.
"What's the special?" he asked. When told it was chicken fried steak and fries, he nodded enthusiastically.
Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean for no other reason than that he was there. He flashed the waitress a smile of his own and ordered a salad. As the waitress wandered off to see about their order, he removed his hoodie and put his elbows on the table, revealing tanned, fine-boned forearms as he sighed with relief.
"What's with the salad? I don't think you have to worry your girlish figure," Dean shrugged, taking a sip of water. "You're in good shape."
"It's healthy; I don't want all that cholesterol clogging up my arteries. I could feel my arteries hardening just listening to you give your order." Even as Sam protested, he could feel the red tide rising up to stain his cheeks, because he was suddenly imagining Dean eating, and the thought made him shiver. That's when the sudden idea came to him. Hastily, he beckoned Virginia over and requested a side of fries.
Dean grinned widely at the way Sam's face reddened and sensed that he could have a little fun with his brother. "You're skin and bone," he said, leaning forward a little. "There's not even one good meal on you."
"I eat all the damned time, but I still don't have an ass worth speaking of... but I love French fries." Sam spoke wistfully as he documented his battle against wasting away into nothingness. He reached out to squeeze Dean's biceps. "I'll never have the body you have. Metabolism! Makes me mad!"
"I have to work out a lot, though," Dean grinned, then frowned as his eyes slid to where n Sam's hand was grasping him in a most un-Sam-like manner. "You can have my body; it's high maintenance." He looked up as the waitress brought his soda, catching her eye and giving her seductive smile number three.
"Hey, Virginia," Sam was grinning, although as usual, it was Dean she couldn't stop looking at. "We can have this guy's body. What do you think?" The waitress looked at Sam with an utter lack of comprehension in her eyes, and as she walked away again, Sam giggled. "Okay. Guess she'll take a raincheck!" he said.
"I think you're scaring our waitress," Dean noted as he sank a straw into his coke. "And we ought to practice our serious attitudes? I was thinking that this time we'd be agents of the IRS, here to investigate a tax scam." This last was said with a slight smirk as he raised his glass and took a drink.
Sam shot Dean a smoldering look. "You always flirt with them and they give you better portions, Dean, and I can tell that you weren't ever in the IRS."
"And I suppose you were?" Dean laughed and shook his head. "Sam, you look like you just graduated from kindergarten, so don't try to act like some guru, okay?"
"I graduated summa cum laude; I was all lined up for a ticket to a higher paying job than you'll ever see, okay?" Sam suddenly winced, blushing again. "Okay, that wasn't called for. Sorry."
Dean studied him for a few moments, nodding. "Sorry, Sammy. I keep forgetting you were on the fast track to the high life. It's the hair. You ought to watch "Working Girl" a couple of times."
"Why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Virginia rematerialized and deposited plates full of cholesterol in front of them both. "Oh, yeah, here are the fries. I love fries," Sam reiterated.
Dean couldn't help smiling at the way his brother fell on his fries, wondering if his words had been for Virginia's benefit. He waited for her to walk away before saying anything. "Are you being cute for the sake of better portions as well?" He reached for the ketchup, smothering his steak. "Or are you really that much of a geek?"
The pair of huge, shining eyes that were turned on Dean contained no artifice within their depths. "Don't you love them? Really good French fries are the closest thing to heaven this side of a blow job," said Sam, and picked up his fork.
The ketchup bottle slipped from his fingers, but Dean caught it before it hit his plate. Clearing his throat and hoping he didn't look as warm as he suddenly felt, Dean wordlessly poured ketchup over his fries then set the bottle down safely on the table. "Oh, I don't know," he said, picking up his knife and fork to start to eat his steak, "they'd have to be some pretty spectacular fries."
"Yeah?" Sam had already picked a long one up delicately, and was slowly feeding it in between pursed, pink, shiny lips. "Sometimes I almost don't care which." As he finally took the entire piece of potato into his mouth to begin chewing, Sam closed his eyes in ecstasy.
Dean hadn't realized he'd been staring, until Sam opened his eyes and caught him. He quickly averted his eyes and took a forkful of his own food. "Just eat your damn salad," he said around his mouthful of food.
Sam smiled to himself as he systematically demolished the fries prior to starting on his salad. He ate quickly and efficiently, and didn't speak until his fries were gone and the rest of his meal was mostly a memory, then he finally raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "Good fries?" he contributed hopefully as he looked at Dean's plate.
Dean popped the last bite of meat into his mouth and looked down at his still untouched fries. He'd been so busy enjoying the sight of Sam eating his, that he hadn't paid attention to his own. "Oh, I haven't tried them yet," he said, wishing he didn't feel so uncomfortable and restless. "You want some?" he asked, picking one up and nibbling on the end.
"Jeez, how can you be so self contained?" Sam looked at the pile of fries on Dean's plate, and reached for a handful, grinning. "Guess that I'll have to go find the blow job now to work it off."
"Sammy boy, I'm seeing you in an entirely new light. What's got into you today?" Dean wasn't sure that he'd picked up the right brother. It looked like Sam; it had the same dimples, but Sam – his Sam – didn't usually talk about sex, and in fact, sex had been a taboo topic since the fire from which he'd rescued his brother. There was something wrong here, and it bothered Dean.
"You okay?" he asked, unwilling to put his fears into words in case expressing them might just cause them to come true.
"Yeah." Sam was busy engulfing the rest of Dean's fries. "I've been thinking, Dean. You know, but for fortune Max and I could have been the same person. We have almost the same history, and it set me thinking. I decided that I should live a little, because… well, because he's dead, and I'm not."
Dean narrowed his eyes as he considered the implications of what Sam had just said. He frowned, fine brows coming together as he looked for the implications in Sam's declaration. For sure, this was a new Sam, and it was making him nervous. With a slight shrug, he wiped his mouth. "That's interesting, but with the sudden change of heart, why stop at the blow job? Wouldn't it be more interesting to go for the real deal?"
Sam, who was drinking his coffee when Dean's voice cut into his concentration, coughed and sprayed the brown, viscous liquid onto the table. "Uh... Dean?" His self-possession returned visibly, and Dean watched him pat it into place. "Which do you prefer? Be honest!"
Dean snickered and signaled for the check. Satisfied that he'd regained at least a little ground, he helped Sam clean up the mess he'd made. "You'd love to know, wouldn't you?"
"Me? Not especially," smirked Sam, who seemed suddenly very busy flicking imagined smuts off his T-shirt. "Frankly, I like a blow job far better, especially if it's casual sex; they can't talk and ruin the mood. He eyed his brother speculatively. "I have you pegged as an all-out 'love me, fuck me, never leave me' type, but I've given up special relationships since they mostly seem to get turned into crispy critters on me."
"Shit!" Dean stood up and threw some money down on the table, and turned to look his brother in the eyes.
"You couldn't handle what I like," he said and stalked off to where Virginia was leaning on the till, paying the bill while his face returned to its normal color.
Sam wasted no time in continuing to taunt his brother. "Ooh, thank you, brother dear. You bought me a meal. Does that mean that you expect me to put out?" He gave a hiccup of laughter, growing serious all of a sudden when he realized that Dean was not smiling. Following his brother into the parking lot once more, he felt unusually hyper. "I'm driving," he said, preparing himself for the rebuttal which usually followed.
It never came. Dean tossed Sam the keys and then waited impatiently by the passenger door for Sam to unlock the doors. He got in and waited until they were back on the highway before speaking. "You've got a lot to learn about me, Sam."
"Yeah? Go on then, Dean. Educate me. I am only an egg, as they say." Sam flicked his gaze over Dean as they accelerated, and smiled a little wryly.
Shifting in his seat, so he was turned toward Sam, Dean took his time looking at his younger brother. Sam could see that Dean was somewhat aroused, and he smirked as Dean's eyes came to rest on his crotch, his smile widening as Dean started to yell at him. "First, don't assume you know jack about my sexual preferences. Second, don't try turning someone on in a public place. Third," he reached out a hand and placed it in Sam's lap, "Don't start something unless you plan on finishing it."
A blush rose from the vicinity of Sam's collar bones and rose to stain his cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck, until he was so brightly colored that he might well have glowed in the dark. He cleared his throat, and the car swerved a little as he glanced nervously at his brother.
"I… uh… what are you doing?" he croaked.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Dean smirked and removed his hand, "I didn't mean to confuse you. Remind me to show you the basics of how to get into someone's pants when we get to the motel."
"But, D-Dean… Are you saying that… Are you trying to get into my pants? I thought that you said I was…" Sam fell silent for a moment, his embarrassment showing in the way that he shifted in his seat. "I… Well …"
"What did I say you were?" Dean asked, seeming to enjoy his brother's discomfort. He undid his seatbelt and slid along the bench seat until his leg was touching Sam's. "Refresh my memory." His arm went around Sam's shoulders, his lips were so close to Sam's ear that it made him shiver, and Dean smiled smugly as he waited for a response.
"Well, annoying, for a start. Then there's juvenile and probably ignorant too, though you didn't say that in so many words." Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's leg seep through the fabric of his pants to ignite him. His dick was starting to fill, with little, jerking spurts that made him want to gasp. With a concentration that bordered on the heroic, he returned his attention to the road.
"Did I hurt your feelings?" Dean asked softly, rubbing his leg against Sam's. He chuckled and moved his hand to tickle the back of Sam's neck. "Proving what kind of man you are will usually work better if you don't sound like a jilted little girl
"I am not your jilted little girl, you arrogant piece of shit, and that is what I was telling you. It's not me who's sulking because I've had my daddy taken away. God, anyone would think that he was your security blanket." Sam smiled venomously. "I know what sex I am, thank you very much. I also know that you aren't going to treat me like a fucking trophy wife."
Dean let out a loud, hearty laugh and glanced at Sam's crotch, smiling at the bulge he saw there. "Hey, Sammy, don't worry; there's no danger of me ever thinking of you as anything but a man. Not with that hard-on you've got going there."
"Laugh if you want to, Dean. I'm dreaming of that blowjob." Sam licked his lips lasciviously. "French fries and a blowjob all in one day. My stars must have been really good this week."
"Presumptuous little fuck, aren't you?" Dean snickered. "First you steal my fries," he tightened his arm around Sam, "then you get pissed off at me for discussing your sexual preferences." his other hand moved back to Sam's lap and slowly pulled down his zipper, "and then you assume I'm going to give you a blow job." He began massaging Sam's cock through the thin material of his boxers. "You should never assume, Sam."
"Huh? I think that it's you that's making the assumptions!" Sam laughed shortly, and pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder. "Whatever makes you think that I need you for a blowjob?" He chuckled again. "Unless you're burning to do it, that is?"
Dean had moved his hand when they'd pulled over, and he looked at Sam as they rolled to a stop. "Oh, I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes fixed on Sam's mouth, "I stand corrected. By all means, if you've got someone else in mind to suck your dick, forgive my assumptions." He grinned and raised his eyes to Sam's.
Sam lowered his lashes, long sweeping fans veiling his eyes as his voice murmured softly. "Your mouth was made for sucking cock." He averted his face, and moved restlessly in his seat. "What the fuck am I going to do about this now?" He indicated his erection, poking freely through the open fly. "You let the goddamn thing out. Now I'm not gonna be able to get it back in."
"Jerk off," Dean shrugged and moved away from Sam. "I'll watch. Unless..." He tilted his head. "If you come over here I might give you a hand with it."
"Hell, no! That will spoil my blowjob for me, and I have my heart set on one." Sam grinned, and reached for Dean's denim covered groin. "Seems like you're in need of a little relief as well. That's nice."
Dean chuckled breathlessly and raised his hips almost against his will, seeking out the heat of Sam's touch. "How about a compromise?" he asked, fumbling with his belt and unfastening his pants. "You come over here," he released his erection, his eyes hot as he carefully stroked it, a knowing smile on his lips, "And I find a place for this other than your mouth?" He swallowed hard then pushed his jeans down a little more. "Then we can work out something about your blowjob later."
"Gee, Dean, yeah, you got a bridge you want to sell me, too?" The disbelief in Sam's voice was plain, and for a moment there was silence whilst Sam's clever fingers worked on Dean's erection, then he chuckled once more. "Either way, I'm not anxious to put on a performance for passing traffic cops. " He turned back to the ignition and started the engine. "Let's get this show off the road, shall we?"
Dean nodded his head, grinning as he pulled his jeans up and fastened them. "There's a Motel 8 at the next exit."
Sam didn't speak, and shortly it became apparent that he was not going to pull off at the turning Dean had indicated. When Dean made a vaguely irritated sound Sam turned a guileless smile on him. "We're booked into the Motel 8 at the third exit along, which by my calculations is Exit 35. You can wait until then, I'm sure."
Dean raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Bitch!" he said, without malice. Sam's smirk was giving him the urge to bite things… warm, juicy things that were currently clad in denim. "The urge will probably have passed by then." He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the annoying ache in his groin. "I bet you're a screamer when you get going. That up-tight thing of yours about sex is just a cover, isn't it?"
Allowing a hand to fall into his lap momentarily, Sam pressed his unruly organ with a gasp, and then resumed steering with both hands. "Want me to talk dirty to you, brother mine?" he snickered. "Okay. I like sex. I'm good at it. I can do stuff with my tongue that will make you scream my name, and I think I'd really, really like to hear that."
Dean cleared his throat to mask the groan that threatened at Sam's words. "I bet you do," he murmured, waving a dismissive hand. "But forget that. Let me hear some more of that dirty talk. It sounds so good coming out of that angelic little mouth. I'm starting to see you in an entirely new light, li'l bro."
"Oh, man, I'd love to feel those lips of yours wrap around my dick." Sam stole a glance at Dean and licked his own lips, then grinned at him. "I keep on looking at those lips of yours, and, fuck, I can feel it." Sam cleared his throat. "I believe that would do the trick quite nicely. What I could do for you though…? Oh boy, where to start. What do you like, Dean? Tell me the stuff that you really like."
"I, uh..." Sam could see Dean sweating as he thought about what he'd like Sam to do with him, and what Sam wanted him to do. "Fuck, Sammy," he said, his voice sounding smaller than he'd have liked. "Don't. You're embarrassing me. I've never needed to…."
"You've never needed to ‘til now, Dean, but believe me, I will show you something that you're gonna want from now on." He was in traffic now, threading his way expertly through the other vehicles as he headed for the exit from the freeway. "I'll get you off so hard… Oh, man!"
Dean looked at his brother, any pretense falling away as Sam's words registered. This was his Sam, and they'd had a certain kind of chemistry since forever, but now he wasn't sure he hadn't unleashed some kind of monster with his teasing. "You telling me you're gay, Sam?"
"What the fuck is this ‘gay' thing, Dean?" Sam was concentrating on his driving now, and it was apparent that his erection had subsided. "Sex is sex, and a partner is a partner. Who gives a shit what sex the partner is as long as the sex is good and everyone walks away as friends? I think I've decided that I want to make you scream, just to make a point."
Dean fell silent, completely unsettled by this new aspect of Sam – who he'd thought he knew completely. Finally, as Sam pulled off the highway, he gave his brother a long, speculative look. "Okay, dude, you want to know what you can do for me that would turn my crank?"
"Sure." Sam gave him an amused glance as he turned into the Motel 8 parking lot and killed the engine. "Spit it out, and I'll do my best to work it into my routine." He pursed his lips, blowing Dean a kiss as he pulled the keys out of the ignition and reached for the door handle.
Swallowing suddenly, his mouth a little dry, Dean reached to hold Sam back. "You know that outfit you were wearing, way back when I came home unexpectedly?"
"You mean my Frank N Furter outfit?" asked Sam, looking astonished. He turned to stand very close to Dean, invading his space and looming over him. "I kinda hoped you'd forgotten about that."
"Hell, no!" There was a smile in Dean's eyes that was softer than usual, and Sam felt a sudden stab of lust shoot through him. "Been thinking about that for what feels like forever. Too damned long, anyway." He raised his fingers to trace the dimples in Sam's cheek. "C'mon, dude, let's get that goddamn room."
They wasted no time in checking in, and soon found themselves facing each other in the center of a room that seemed little different from the myriad other motel rooms they'd stayed in since Sam had rejoined the hunt. The room was the same tawdry blend of seventies décor and anonymous furniture sported by pretty much every motel they visited; the difference was in the sudden change in expectations between them.
Dean appeared suddenly tongue-tied, and Sam smiled inwardly, noting the tight posture, the almost defensive aspect he presented. He'd initiated this new phase of their relationship, and for the moment at least he was in complete control. He stepped forward, reached to cradle the back of Dean's head between his hands, and bent to kiss his brother, lips gliding gently against the plush ones beneath him.
Dean let out a shuddering sigh and pressed closer, but Sam wasn't yet willing to give up his control. "Relax, dude," he murmured, smiling against Dean's mouth. "It's going to happen unless you run, but if you want it to be the best ever, you need to give me a half hour or so to get ready."
Dean's answer was to clutch at Sam's arms convulsively and press a kiss onto him before turning abruptly and making for the door.
"I'll… be back in a few minutes," he whispered, and then was gone.
Sam lost no time in unearthing his costume. It was strange – he'd been thinking of throwing it away, letting go of his past and moving on, and yet here he was now, hopefully using that very costume to start a new and exciting phase of his life. Smiling, he got himself into it, rolling on the fishnets and sliding into the thong and the garters. Ready at last, he settled down on the bed to wait, too nervous and excited to read, wondering how long Dean would be.
When his brother returned, he knocked on the door. Sam took a deep breath, surprised at his brother's sudden timid behavior and called, "Come on in; it's open."
Dean's entry into the room was cautious, and for once he looked as though he was out of his depth. Sam smiled at that thought and crossed his long legs, and Dean quivered, visibly.
"Jesus, Sammy," he growled, his voice harsh with emotion. "I'd almost come to think I dreamed that outfit." He crossed the floor and stood beside the bed, gazing down at his brother, still looking very uneasy.
"Nope. It's real." Sam offered no further information, merely held out his hand to Dean and tugged him so that he would drop to his knees beside the bed. "And you owe me that blow job."
As Sam was speaking, he was running his hands up Dean's arms to his shoulders and clasping them as he leaned forward. The sight of Dean looking so uncharacteristically tentative made his lips twitch. Leaning forward he touched his lips to Dean's.
And Dean shuddered again, paused, then grabbed, arms enfolding Sam, pulling him tight to his brother's chest and opening his mouth to him. Sam did laugh then, low and dirty as their tongues danced, sliding one over the other, wet and juicy as they kissed.
For a moment or two it seemed as if Dean was going to assume the upper hand, and then Sam pulled away, smiled and murmured, "Not so fast. First, you're going to suck my dick so I can watch the way those lips of yours look around it, and then I'm going to put you on all fours in front of the mirror so you can watch yourself impale your ass on my cock. You got any questions?"
"Yeah." Dean smirked up at Sam, gazing blindly from lust-blown eyes. "Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with my brother Sam?"
Sam's answer was to laugh and push him back, rising to his feet to loom over Dean, almost seven feet tall in the high heels he was wearing. "You're gonna get a taste of brother Sam right now, dude," he said, amusement in his voice. He indicated his groin, where the lacy thong was trying its best to cover his engorged cock, the rosy tip of which had pushed its way past the elastic at the top and was protruding, liquid pearling at the tip of it as Sam stood, legs astride, above his brother. "Stay on your knees and wrap your mouth around this."
Dean blinked, shuddered again and Sam watched the ripple go through him. For a moment, Sam thought he would baulk, but then he smirked up at Sam and reached to put his hands on Sam's hips and peel the thong down low enough to free the erection lurking there, gasping as it sprang out to bounce against his lips.
When Dean put out his tongue and licked at the head of Sam's cock, Sam felt a sudden, piercing joy fizz along his veins. Dean was still gazing up at him, his eyes wide and filled with need, and he bit his own lip to stop himself from crying out. Every last fantasy he'd ever had - and one or two that would have made him run for the mental floss – seemed to be coming true right at that moment.
The wet tongue on his cockhead suddenly became slick, velvet heat around him as Dean opened up and sucked him in. Sam gasped out a breath as the suction and the dance of Dean's tongue along the sensitive ridge sent flickers of sweetness through him.
"That's it, Dean, suck my dick for me," he murmured. "Do you have any idea just how much of a slut you look with those lips wrapped around me? You make me want to ram your face till I'm halfway down your throat. You make me want to shoot my load into your mouth and see it trickle out of the corner to run down your chin."
His words were having an effect on Dean, because his brother moaned and sucked harder, making Sam wish that he wasn't perched on four inch stilts. He put one hand out to hold himself up against the wall as he fucked Dean's face, his other hand tangled in Dean's hair. "God, Dean, you're a cocksucking marvel! You've got the most incredible mouth."
He could feel himself getting close, his balls drawing up as he drew nearer to his climax, and wondered if he'd be able to remain standing. Dean seemed to be really taking pride in his work now, and although he never took his eyes off Sam for a moment, he was working hard, sucking, tongue sliding over slick flesh as he held Sam steady with his hands on his brother's hips.
Suddenly pausing, Sam pulled away, and as Dean blinked, drew in a breath to ask why, Sam laughed. "Don't worry; just wanted a little change is all. Put your head down here," he gestured. "Good, dude; you're good at this. Now lick those balls as wet and dirty as you can!" He shuddered as Dean did as he was told, sucking the wrinkled flesh and then taking one ball delicately into his mouth to tease with his tongue. "Oh, god, yes, that's it."
Dean was bucking his own hips now, the scent and taste of his brother, the words he was hearing out of Sam's mouth were all conspiring to make him crazy. He reached down to press a hand into his groin, and Sam laughed.
"Come on, Dean, get your cock out for me. Let me see how much you want it. Show me how you're hard for me, and maybe I'll do a little sucking of my own in a few minutes." Watching his brother unfasten his jeans with trembling fingers and start to fist his own cock made Sam frown and pull back.
"Okay, that's enough of that. I don't want you coming by yourself, man. I think it's time for the main event." He reached down to pull Dean up so that he was standing, so close to him that he could feel the heat from his body along his exposed and still rigid cock. "C'mon, Dean, let's get you naked. I wanna see your slutty body standing up hard for me, wanna see that cock of yours leaking its juice all over me."
He stepped out of the thong and sat down on the edge of the bed, thighs apart and cock jutting, removing his footwear as he watched Dean quickly squirm out of his clothing to stand naked beside him. Reaching to grab hold of his brother's cock, he bent and gave it a swift suck before pulling back and smiling.
"Very good, Dean. Let's have you on your knees on the bed, shall we?" He moved as he was speaking, adjusting the door of the closet so that the mirror on it would give the occupants of the bed a good view of themselves. "That's it," he murmured as Dean crawled onto the bed and sat watching him. "I said get on your knees, oh yeah! Now spread those legs wide."
He sauntered back to the bed, cock bouncing in front of him, pausing to snag the lube he'd set out ready on the nightstand beside him, and climbed onto the bed to place himself behind his brother. "You know what I'm going to do now, don't you?" he asked Dean, smirking as Dean's body gave that tell-tale shiver of desire again.
"Sammy," mumbled Dean, trying for his accustomed insouciance. "You're gonna steal my innocence away, right?"
"You've got that right," laughed Sam, lubing up his fingers. "Now assume the position and take it up the ass like the horny fucker you are."
Cuddling up to Dean's back, Sam pulled his brother up so that he was leaning back against him and bent his head to lick the back of Dean's neck as he did so. He took hold of Dean's right hand, sliding it down until it touched the rubbery tightness of his own cock, pressing into Dean suggestively as he curled his brother's fingers around it. Sam slid his hand up and down on his brother's dick and was rewarded by Dean's hiss of pleasure as they stroked him together.
"That's it." Sam's voice was husky, thick with passion as he peered over Dean's shoulder at their joined hands. Let's get you feeling good, baby." He slid his other hand around to rub between the cheeks of Dean's ass, circling, probing and then slipping a finger inside to feel for the spot he wanted to reach. For a few moments they were poised that way as Sam added another finger, stretching Dean open, and then Sam kissed Dean's ear, pushing his brother forward so that he could exchange his fingers for his steadily leaking cock.
"Gonna fuck you now, dude," said Sam, smiling as he heard Dean's gasp. "Gonna feel your ass so hot and tight wrapped around me. Gonna be so deep inside you that you'll be able to hang your hat on my cock when it comes out the top of your head."
Sinking into the tight heat of the brother he loved, Sam felt the shudders travel through his body as he slid into the silken moisture of him. He lost himself in the slide and tingle of simple fucking as Dean began to jerk backwards onto him. His hand slid and pumped on Dean's cock, and he leaned forward, first to nuzzle the soft down at the nape of Dean's neck, and then to lick, finally to bite gently as his excitement grew.
"Do you like that?" he asked Dean, breath harsh in the other man's ear. "You feel so good, so tight on my dick. I can feel your ass squeezing me, and it feels incredible. I could fuck you forever. Look at yourself, dude. Watch yourself getting off because I'm fucking you so hard."
He could hear Dean's gasps, matched them as he tried to hold air in lungs that were suddenly too tight, and the blood began to pound in his ears as he felt the tightening that heralded an imminent release. Silvery flickers of intensity licked and curled in his groin as he slammed hard into Dean, straining to sink himself into his beautiful lover right to the hilt. He could hear Dean now, growling out soft obscenities to him as he approached his own orgasm, and then, suddenly he felt Dean become rigid as his cock began to spurt.
"God, yes!" he growled, reaching to grip Dean's spurting cock and jack it as he pounded into him. The tightness and pulse of Dean's ass around his cock tipped him over the edge into a stunning orgasm. He bit down sharply on his brother's shoulder as he cried out, no longer able to articulate anything except for 'fuck, fuck, fuck." His spunk pumped into Dean's heat, and the answering flood of warmth spread like the tide, flashing through him from balls to belly to the back of his neck, carrying away thought, fear and pressure. Leaning against Dean's back he felt as if he had reached a safe place at last, and Dean's soft voice flickered through his memory.
'Long as I'm around, nothing bad's going to happen to you.'
Sam gave a long drawn out sigh as his diminishing erection slowly slid out of Dean, and his brother turned in his embrace, threw his arms around Sam and pulled him in to a kiss that was gentle and loving after the ferocity of their lovemaking. As Dean brushed his lips over Sam's, his tongue flickered gently, requesting entry into Sam's mouth, and with a sigh of delight Sam opened up to allow his new lover entry.
Running his hands over Sam's satin clad torso, Dean finally seemed to be recovering his devil-may-care attitude. "You know, Sam, you can wear this for me any time," he said, between lush kisses. "You look hot. Maybe you should grow your hair out a little longer and curl it and…"
"Dean?" Sam repressed a smile, although the dimple quivered in his cheek as he listened to his brother's babbling. "Just shut the fuck up, will you?"
And as he leant in to capture Dean's porn-star mouth once again, for a wonder, Dean did.