Work Text:
Title: Fetishes
Author: Jinni ([email protected])
Rated: NC17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al.
Warnings: Wincest, minor weapon!kink, minor Impala!kink
Notes: One of the “Five Things…” sets that I owe.
Summary: Funny how almost all of his kinks come back to Sammy in some way.
One
Doesn’t matter what he’s touching, Sam’s hands are something else. Dean tries not to stare too long at them, give away what it is that makes him hotter and harder than few things else on this fucking earth, but he’s pretty sure that Sam knows anyway. That’s why Sammy’s twirling that pen between his fingers right now. Slide over and between fingers, knuckles moving. He whirls it with effortless grace, those long fingers playing with the slender plastic. Doesn’t put it in his mouth, though Dean would like to see that too. Probably wouldn’t be able to stop himself from leaning over the table and grabbing hold of him then, slamming their mouths together right here in the library where anyone could see.
Sam looks up through too-long eyelashes. The corner of his mouth tilts up, the pen stilling between his index and pointer fingers, thumb rubbing up and down the plain black casing. And now all Dean can think about is those fingers on his dick, stroking him like Sam’s stroking that goddamned pen right now.
Sam’s smile turns teasing, knowing. He puts the pen down, stretches and gives Dean a look.
Yeah, Sam knows damn well how Dean feels about those hands of his.
Dean grabs hold of one of those hands when he stands up and moves past Sam. Yanks him right out of his chair with barely a chance for Sam to grab the notes from the desk.
He can’t wait to get those hands wrapped around his cock.
Two
It’s not surprising, really. Given how they grew up, the life they lead. Unavoidable might be the word for it. Practicing. Training. He’s more at home with a knife or gun in his hand than he is with something simple or harmless. Respect weapons. Take care of them. It’s been hammered into his head for as long as he can remember.
He’s not sure when something tripped in his brain, short-wired, crossed signals so that the gleam of a dagger or the smell of a freshly oiled gun became something else. Something sexual.
It did, though. Fuck if it did. Makes him even more screwed up in the head, he supposes. Not that it matters. Having a fucking weapons kink is just another mark on a long list of things about him that would make even the most hard-nosed shrink squirm.
Seeing Sammy with any kind of weapon in his hand, watching him turn lethal in the blink of an eye, is erotic. People who think that there’s nothing to Sammy except a quiet bookworm would be shocked. He’s hardcore when he needs to be.
Sam takes out the shifter as Dean watches from the other side of the clearing, gasping for breath. Shot of silver to the chest, completely calm, his face betrays nothing that he’s feeling if he’s really feeling anything at all. Sam’s fingers stroke over the grip of the shotgun, and there’s two of Dean’s kinks right there. Hands and weapons.
Dean’s done for.
Really, it’s not Dean’s fault that he can’t help but shove Sam up against the nearest hard surface. He has Sam’s jeans down around his ankles, legs kicked as far apart as he can get them, before Sammy can do so much as utter a growl of surprise.
“Dean,” Sam’s question turns into a moan that sounds like sex and want.
No prep-work and only spit for lubrication. It has to hurt when he shoves into him, but Sam doesn’t complain. His breath hisses out, body clenching around Dean’s cock for only a moment before he relaxes and falls into the hard rhythm of pounding flesh.
He comes screaming Dean’s name minutes later, with Dean right behind him.
Three
For all that he likes being in control, Dean really gets off when Sam takes charge. Doesn’t mind relinquishing that control to the only person still alive that he trusts. When Sam gets that look in his eyes – the one that screams control and domination and maybe a little bit of pain – Dean gets hard.
Every.
Fucking.
Time.
He drops to his knees when Sam demands it, taking that hard length in his mouth. Sucking and licking. He runs a flat tongue down the underside of Sam’s cock, tasting salty slickness when he reaches the tip.
Dean doesn’t protest when Sam grips the back of his head, cock ramming down his throat with every jerking grasp of hand in hair. Fucking his mouth like there’s not going to be another time. Dean’s choking but it feels so good.
He swallows every drop of Sam down, groans when Sam’s fingers untangle from his hair. Cock twitching with arousal so sharp it’s painful, he’s thankful when Sam returns the favor.
Four
The Impala.
Fucking hell. Doesn’t matter if he’s got Sammy with him or not, there’s just something about that damn car that can work him up, get his blood pumping and his heart racing. The way the wheel feels under his hand, as he wraps his fingers around it. The grumbling purr of the engine as he tears down the street. He was fifteen the first time he got hard just listening to the Impala growl like that. Fifteen, in the back seat, trying to grab some shut eye as Dad drove them to the next town, the next job. Lying there, on his back, watching his eyelids, the vibrations had shook through him as the car roared down the highway.
He’d jacked off in the dirty little bathroom of the next rest area they stopped in, claiming an upset stomach when Dad asked him what had taken so long.
It isn’t a normal kink. Dean doesn’t care.
Nothing else in his life is normal, either.
Five
When it comes down to it, though, there’s one kink that rests above all other kinks. The high pinnacle of fetishes, kinks, and all things sexual in Dean’s mind.
The sound of Sammy’s voice. Angry. Happy. Aroused. Yeah, especially when Sam’s aroused. That’s when Dean really gets that feeling in the pit of his stomach. That low thrum of excitement in his veins as his cock starts to jerk to life in his pants, as Sam comes up behind him, hand on his lower back, lips at his ear.
“Hey,” Sam’s breath is a gust of air over his ear. Like fingers trailing over his skin, the words go straight to his dick. He’s hard in under ten seconds. Sam laughs softly, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Probably does. Sammy can be a sneaky bitch when it comes to seduction. For all that he’s lived a clean life, somewhere along the line he picked up some serious skills when it comes to charming the pants off of someone.
Luckily for him, the only person Sam tries to get the pants off of these days is him because Dean doesn’t know how he’d deal with losing him to someone else at this point. He’s all Dean has left.
“Talk to me,” he begs, pleads, entreats, not caring if he sounds too needy or wanting. He went two years without hearing his brother’s voice. Two fucking years and now he’s pretty sure he’ll never get enough of it. Not even if Sammy spent every minute of every single day talking for the rest of their lives. Which, sometimes, it seems like Sam just might do.
“What do you want me to say?” Sam asks, hands sliding up Dean’s back, fingers dipping into the crease of his ass.
”Anything,” is what Dean answers, though in his head it sounds like everything.
Sam chuckles, leans down and presses a kiss between Dean’s shoulder blades. His lips slide over skin, licking and biting a path down his back, over his spine.
“Gonna fuck you,” Sam’s voice finally comes, shredding through the haze of passion that’s slowly consuming Dean from the inside. Fire and heat pool in his stomach, and blood throbs painfully in his cock. He needs this. “Gonna fuck you so hard that you can’t walk straight. That you can’t drive the fucking car because you can’t stand to sit.”
Dean believes him. Wouldn’t be the first time Sammy’s done just that. The thought of the last time, right after they both barely escaped with their lives – when Sam was seeking reassurance and reveling in the fact that they were both alive and accounted for, not hurt too badly or more fucked up in the head than they normally were – brings Dean so close to the edge that he nearly comes without even Sam’s hand on his cock. He pushes forward, against the bed, his cock dragging over the stiff-starched bedspread.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” Sam murmurs, and now his lips are somehow back up near Dean’s ear. “Listening to me talk? I bet I could sit here and rattle off the fucking periodic table and get you to come all over the bed without laying a hand on you. Wanna try?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Dean growls.
”Too late, already did. But don’t worry, I’m not going to do that.”
Slick fingers press into him, stretching Dean open. And Sam just keeps talking and whispering, sometimes naughty, sometimes mundane.
It’s embarrassing when he comes only seconds after Sam slides into him. It takes Sam by surprise, too, those muscles clenching around his cock. Gives him back a little of his pride that Sam can’t take that. That he comes without ever getting past that first full thrust, from just that rhythmic squeeze around his cock.
They collapse on the bed next to one another, sweating and sticky. Showers are in order, but Dean doesn’t want to move. Not yet.
Funny how almost all of his kinks come back to Sammy in some way.
END