They're driving east through Nebraska. At least, that's what Sam says. Dean's pretty damned sure they got themselves turned around a while back and are now going north, but Sam's the one with the map and the sense of direction, so Dean just shrugs and keeps on driving. Hell, one corn field looks like another after an hour or so of the damned things. Dean's quite certain that a drive through Nebraska is enough to put him off a) farming and b) corn, quite possibly for life. He's humming along to Blue Oyster Cult on the radio when Sam starts fidgeting. Dean glances briefly at his brother and sees him turning the map upside down and muttering to himself. "Something wrong?" "Nah... Just, I dunno, I think we mighta taken a wrong turn before." Dean pulls over with a spray of gravel, folds his arms across the wheel, and glares at Sam. "Before. And just how far back is 'before,' Sammy?" Sam turns the map right way up again and traces a line on it with his finger. "Uh." "Spit it out, man, or I swear to God..." "An hour or so," Sam blurts out, and Dean growls. "An hour or so? You're kidding, right? Jesus fuck, Sammy, what the hell happened to 'I'll navigate, Dean, you always get lost in Nebraska!' I told you we got turned around way back, but no, Sam knows best. Christ. You think earning this gas money was easy?" Sam raised an eyebrow, and Dean fought the urge to punch him. "Man, you won it playing pool. You love pool." "So not the point." Dean starts the car up again and does a U-turn, the wheels kicking up enough gravel to almost obscure the cornfields on either side of them. Man, Dean hates corn. A few miles down the road, back the way they just came, and damn if this isn't the most boring state in the entire country, Sam pipes up quietly. "I could drive, and you could, y'know, navigate." "Yeah, right, you don't earn the right to drive by screwing up. Sorry man." Dean pops the cassette out of the player and shoves in Black Sabbath, turning the volume up when Sam grumbles. Sam hates Black Sabbath, but Dean's in just the right mood for it. --- Almost an hour later, and Sam's twitching again. Dean's almost afraid to ask, especially when Sam's turning the map every which way and throwing brief, worried glances at his brother. "Dean..." Dean pulls over and gets out of the car. It's almost dark now, the dim light obscuring the worst of the scenery. Dean loves driving at night; just him and Sam in the car, all alone in the world, lit up only by the headlights of the car showing the road ahead. But right now, Dean's sick to fucking death of driving and getting nowhere. He walks around to Sam's side of the car and tears the door open. Sam looks up at him with a hint of trepidation, and Dean makes a grab for the map. "Hey!" "Sammy, what the fuck is going on?" "Uh, now don't go freaking out..." Sam passes the map to Dean with a resigned look on his face. Dean squints at it - Sam's right, he's never been the best at navigating - but it only takes him a moment to see the problem. "Nevada?" Sam gives him the eyes, which just pisses Dean off more. "No, no way are you getting away with this by flashing those damned puppy eyes at me. Sam, we're in fucking Nebraska, not Nevada! Jesus Christ, learn to fucking read!" Dean folds the map haphazardly and tosses it in the back seat before going to the trunk to rummage for the right map. He finds it quickly and throws it at Sam, telling him to "find where the fuck we are" before getting back in the car and starting it up again. "Uh, not so easy," Sam points out. "There's cornfields everywhere." "Yeah, cause we're in Nebraska," Dean says sarcastically. "You'll note the complete lack of casinos. Find where we are." Sam mutters darkly, digs the maglight out of the glovebox, and starts tracing lines on the map. Dean just drives and tries not to think about it. --- After another half hour of featureless cornfields and increased mutterings from Sam, they arrive in a small town. Sam's eyes light up, and about five minutes later, he's located their position. Turns out they're not too far off course; they should be back on track by mid-morning the next day. But really, that's not the point. "What if we were on a job?" Dean asks, pouring an obscene amount of ketchup over his fries. Sam winces and passes on the ketchup, drowning his own plate in salt and pepper instead. Dean sneezes, and Sam grins and shakes out more pepper. "But we weren't," Sam says, popping a fry in his mouth and chewing slowly. "But if we were," Dean presses, "we'd've probably been too late to stop whatever it was that we were hunting. People coulda died!" He's getting himself worked up again, and ketchup goes flying as he waves a fry around to emphasize his point. Sam raises an eyebrow at him and wipes sauce off his nose, and Dean bites back a smile. "Look, I dunno what happened," Sam says, "I guess after that last hunt, my mind was a little fuzzy. Head injuries can do that to you, y'know. I'm sorry." "I know," Dean mutters. "I just... yeah." Sam nudges his foot under the table, trapping it between his own and sliding one sneakered foot up Dean's leg. "Hey," he says quietly, "Nothing bad happened." "Except I drove through Nebraska, the most boring state in the entire country, twice. And I officially hate cornfields." Sam laughs, and Dean's feeling better already. He motions the waitress over to get a couple of beers. She's pretty, probably only just old enough to be serving in a bar, and her top is low-cut enough to not only attract Dean's attention, but Sam's too. Before Dean can do anything except smile, Sam butts in and asks for two beers and the check. The waitress smiles and nods, and when she's walking away Dean admires her ass before turning on Sam. "Dude. Not on," he grumbles. Sam shakes his head. "You're way outta her league," he murmurs, his foot sliding back up Dean's leg, and Dean swallows hard. "I'm still pissed at you, Sammy," he says, pointing a finger warningly at Sam, "and no amount of ... hey!" Sam's freakishly long arms have reached him under the narrow table, and as Sam leans forwards, an intense look on his face, he slides his hand up Dean's thigh until it's covering his crotch. Dean's instantly hard, and he once again curses the fact that Sam can get him insanely horny with just a look and a brief caress. "Dude, you are not jerking me off in a fucking diner," Dean hisses, but what he's saying and what he's doing are two different things. Despite himself, his hips are moving with Sam's hand, pushing his dick hard against the heat seeping through his jeans, and he swallows a groan with a swig of beer as Sam starts grinding against his erection with the heel of his hand. Sam's eyes are shining brightly, and he's shifting uncomfortably in his seat in a way which reminds Dean of the time he put itching powder in Sam's underwear. In retrospect, that had been a bad idea as Sam hadn't let Dean touch his dick for a good five days afterwards. "Feeling better?" Sam rumbles, leaning so close Dean can see the patterns in the irises of his eyes. He punctuates his words with a flick of his fingers, undoing Dean's belt and zipper with no trouble whatsoever, and Dean nods slightly as Sam dips his long fingers into his underwear. At the first touch of finger against cock, Dean's eyes roll back in his head and he leans back against the vinyl booth with his eyes closed. He's just glad the diner's dimly lit, and that it's 'upmarket' enough to have tablecloths, tacky though they might be. It's damned useful when it comes to concealing illicit handjobs under the table. Sam's managed to wrap his entire hand around Dean's cock and is jerking it lightly, not hard enough to make Dean come but enough to drive him almost through the roof with lust. "Sammy," Dean growls, leaning forward and whispering in his brother's ear, "you want me to come all over your hand in this here diner, or you wanna get back to the car and suck my dick till I come down your throat?" Sam makes a funny noise, and his hand stills immediately. Gotcha, Dean thinks. He doesn’t understand - and probably never will - how Sam can be such a goddamned slut for Dean’s cock, but hey, who's complaining here? Dean smirks a little and pushes Sam's hand away, tossing a few bills on the table before carefully zipping up his pants and tossing his jacket over his shoulder. He leaves the diner with a spring in his step that hadn't been there a half hour ago, and he almost makes it to the car before Sam's on him. He takes a hold of Dean's jacket and practically drags him to the Impala, where he pushes Dean against the hard, cold metal, and forces his tongue between his lips. It's hard and brutal and after just a few seconds of Sam's tongue twining around his own and fucking his mouth, Dean's panting and rutting against his brother. He can feel Sam's hard-on through his jeans, a solid line that Dean's dying to get his hands on, but Sam's on his knees before Dean can do anything. "Sam... what..." "Gonna suck you," Sam says, his eyes hooded with lust, looking up at Dean through his bangs as he slides Dean's belt open. Dean casts his eyes briefly at the diner across the road; they're parked in a pool of darkness, no streetlamps to light then, and fuck, Sam's on his knees on the curb, about to swallow Dean's cock, not caring if someone might walk past. "Dean?" Sam's got Dean's cock out, long fingers stroking gently and smearing the bead of fluid at the tip around the head. "You... you wanna find a motel or something?" Sam's uncertainty sends a shiver down Dean's back. He can tell Sam wants to do this; his eyes are gleaming and he's licking his lips, and Dean makes a decision. He takes Sam's head in his hands, combing his fingers through the dark mess of hair and pushing it off Sam's forehead before gripping his jaw firmly. "No way, bitch," he growls, squeezing slightly until Sam's jaw falls open, "you're gonna take my cock, and you're gonna love it." He grasps his cock firmly in his other hand, stroking it briefly, and slides just the tip into Sam's mouth. Sam groans softly, licking the precome off Dean's hot flesh, but Dean's taken control. He holds Sam's mouth open, not letting him close it over his dick and suck yet. It's driving him mad; he's dying to just give in and hold Sam's head still while he fucks his mouth, but he knows it'll be worth it in the end. Sam's making the most obscene sounds as his tongue flicks over Dean's slit, he's whimpering and growling and every time his tongue swipes over Dean's erection he can hear the wet rasp. "Ohhh, Jesus fucking Christ," Dean groans, letting his head fall back against the roof of the Impala. It's too much to look at; he wants to make this last and he'll shoot his load in seconds if he has to watch himself fuck Sammy's mouth as well as listen to it. He gives a little, pushes more of his dick into Sam's mouth until he's almost halfway in, and then lets Sam's jaw go and takes a firm grip on his hair. "Gonna fuck your mouth," he mutters. "Gonna... gonna bruise you, gonna make you swallow me... Jesus, Sammy..." Sam's breathing is so loud it's echoing through the dimly-lit street, and even if no one can see them, they could damn well hear them. Dean bites his lip so hard he can taste blood, the flavor sharp in his mouth, grounding him, stopping him giving in just yet. He hears the chink of metal hitting the ground, and chances a look down to see Sam's jeans undone and his hand inside his underwear. He's jerking off hard, fast, his cock shiny and wet and so damned hard Dean doesn't think he's gonna last long. But... "No," he grates, stopping his movements. His dick cries out for mercy; he firmly resists the urge to keep bucking his hips, to feel more of that warm, tight suction around his dick. "No," he repeats. "Let go." Sam, almost gasping for breath, looks up at Dean with a pleading expression. Dean shakes his head firmly and leans over a little. "How will you fuck me later if you come now?" he whispers, and Sam lets go. "Good boy," Dean says softly, patting Sam's head. "Gonna fuck your mouth good now. Open up..." "Will you forgive me?" Sam mumbles, the words unclear past the obstruction in his mouth. Dean groans as the vibration of Sam's voice goes deep inside him, and he almost blows it right then. "Yeah, whatever, just open your fucking mouth!" Sam's lips curve up in a smile, and swallows hard as Dean pushes all the way inside and lets go. It's violent and harsh and Sam's drooling all over him and goddamn the heat inside his brother's mouth is incredible. It's hard and soft at the same time, wet and delicious and Sam's lips are shiny and swollen, his eyes glazed, his hands clutching fistfuls of Dean's shirt. Dean feels Sam's nose brush against his belly, tickling the sprinkling of hair there, and when Sam hums and swallows, that's it. He almost cracks his head open on the Impala as he comes - probably making a dent which he'll fondle lovingly for a while when this is over - and lets out an embarrassing whimper as he jerks his hips and spills his load in Sam's mouth. It feels like he comes forever, the movement of Sam's throat around his cock milking more and still more out of him, and he's thankful for the solid metal against his back as his knees buckle and almost collapse. Sam's still humming - is that Metallica? Dean wonders briefly - and sounds like the cat that got the cream. Heh. Cream. Sam's licking him clean, lapping up the come that he didn't manage to swallow on the first try, and Dean whimpers softly. Finally he's all clean, and Sam tucks his dick away in his pants and zips him up. Dean's zoned out, feeling like he could fall asleep like this, and when Sam buckles his belt back up and stands up, all he can manage is a goofy grin. Sam leans in and parts Dean's lips again with his tongue, and Dean can taste himself on Sam. It's not the most pleasant of flavors, but honestly, just knowing that Sam tastes like that cause he just sucked Dean's cock is by far enough to outweigh the taste. They kiss for a while, Sam grinding his erection up against Dean's hip. When they come up for air, Sam grins cockily at Dean. "What?" "Can I fuck you now?" Sam's hips are bucking slightly, and Dean reaches down to stroke his hand over the bulge in Sam's jeans. Sam groans softly, leans forward to lick Dean's earlobe, and Dean's brain short-circuits. Half an hour later, they're checked into a motel and Dean is ass-up on the bed with Sam deep inside him, and for some reason, he can't quite remember why he was ever in a bad mood with Sammy. |
