It's strange, but all Sam can think about right now is how much he's turned on by Dean under that car. He's been working on it solidly for almost week, he's getting it back into pretty good shape, and all Sam does is watch and mooch around with Bobby because hell, he'd just do more damage if he tried to help and then Dean would kill him. So he sits and watches, watches Dean slide under the car for the millionth fucking time, and for the millionth fucking time his shirt rides up and Sam can see an inch or so of skin. He knows he should let Dean get on with it; he also knows that now is really not the time, what with Dad dying and the demon being out there. He should be researching, going through Dad's notes and trying to find a bearing on what to do now. It's fucking hot in the car yard, and Sam rubs his hand over his sweaty face. He's not had a proper shower in days, but Dean's worse off. Grease, oil, dirt, he's covered in it, and it just makes Sam that much more horny. "Need any help?" Sam calls. There's a muffled grunt from under the Impala, and Dean's legs twitch as he pulls himself out. "Would ya quit askin' me that, man?" Dean growls. He goes to the toolbox, pulls out a wrench that looks just the same as the one he's already got, and is back under the car again before Sam can say anything else. Dean's doing something difficult, apparently - the muscles in his legs clench and relax, and he's grunting again with the effort of whatever it is he's trying to do. Sam crouches down beside the car, and puts a hand on Dean's thigh. There's another muffled grunt as Dean sits up suddenly and bangs his head on the underside of the Impala. "Sorry," Sam says. "Didn't mean to startle you." "Yeah, whatever man," Dean replies, but doesn't try to shake Sam's hand off his leg. Sam inches his hand higher, little by little until it's resting over Dean's belt buckle. There's what sounds like a quiet groan from under the car, but Dean doesn't say anything and just keeps on working. "You gotta relax, dude," Sam whispers, and slowly unbuckles Dean's belt. Dean goes still, and Sam bites his lip and tries not to laugh at how ridiculous this situation is. "Not the time or the place, Sammy," Dean grumbles, and his hips buck slightly. Sam's not sure whether he's trying to get Sam to touch him more, or to push Sam's hand off his crotch, but there's not much Dean can do about it because Sam's now straddling his legs, trapping him under the car. "I need this, okay?" Sam says quietly as he unzips Dean's fly and palms his half-hard cock through his underwear. "Just... let me." There's a muffled noise of assent from Dean, and Sam slides his underwear down and leans over to take Dean's cock in his mouth. "Fuck!" Dean curses, sitting up slightly and banging his head again. Sam ignores him; he wraps his hand around the base of Dean's cock as he gently licks and sucks at the head. Dean's doing his damndest to keep working on the car, there's clattering and clanging as he does whatever the fuck it is he's doing, but his breathing's getting louder, and his hips are starting to buck upwards. Sam ignores his own dick, hard and pressing painfully inside his pants, and sucks hard on the head of Dean's cock. It's salty and sweaty and tastes so much like Dean it almost hurts. Slowly, so slowly, he takes more in, sliding his hand down inside Dean's underwear to gently stroke his balls as he swallows his brother's cock all the way down. Dean's cursing, a constant stream of filth falling from his mouth, and he's given up on the wrench. It's fallen to the ground, and as Sam works him over, the creeper he's lying on rolls back and forwards slightly while Dean pushes his feet against the ground and tries to thrust upwards. He's panting and moaning, growling fuck yeah right there Sammy, ohgodohfuck and Sam just grins and swallows and licks harder. Dean whines softly, letting Sam know that he's almost there, he's about to come, and Sam squeezes his balls lightly and presses a finger against the hot skin behind them. Right before he comes, Dean reaches down and grabs hold of Sam's head, keeping him firmly in place while he just gives up and does his best to fuck Sam's mouth. It's hot and dirty and the sun's beating down on the back of Sam's neck, and Dean lets out a strangled cry as his cock jerks and he comes, hard, with Sam swallowing his cock and a good deal else. Then it's over, and Dean forcefully pushes the creeper out from under the car. He sits up and kisses Sam deeply, his tongue working its way around Sam's mouth to catch the drops he spilled. Sam's breathing heavily, he's dying to get off, and Dean slides his hand down into Sam's pants and wraps around his hard length. Sam thrusts once, twice, and he's coming embarrassingly loudly and quickly, spilling into his underwear as Dean holds him tight. "God, yeah," he whimpers, and Dean chuckles briefly before pushing Sam off him and doing up his pants. "Can I get back to work now, Sammy?" he asks pointedly, retrieving his wrench. Sam stands slowly and nods, smiling just a little as he goes off to have another look at Dad's cell, and perhaps, another shower. He doesn't watch Dean pull himself back under the car and get back to work like nothing happened, because there's never any need to look back. |
