Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: Caffeine High
Author: MF Luder
Category: Dean/Sam, Wincest, PWP
Keywords: slash, incest
Time Frame: Whenever
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Nope, not a one
Disclaimer: They belong to the WB and whoever produces the show.
Archive: Sam/Dean Archive, my LJ, anywhere else, please just let me know so I can visit and pet my baby on occasion.;-)
Summary: Sam's a little antsy and needs to work it off
Feedback: [email protected]
Author's Notes: This idea was born of one hell of a week filled with too-little sleep (which is saying a lot for the girl who normally only sleeps 5 hrs a night) and way too much coffee. At least the tests couldn't keep my muses down. There is no official point or redeeming qualities to this fic.
Beta Thanks: Many thanks to my wonderful SPN betas, Xscribe and Siberian Skys.
Inspiration:...Gay men are every bit as emotionally closeted as their straight counterparts. Instead of just one partner being distant, uncommunicative and emotionally stunted, both are.--Minotaur



Sam opened the door to the seedy motel they'd found for the night and dropped his stuff. He was entirely on edge, jittery, and more than a little annoyed.

He and Dean had gone over two days on no more than three hours of sleep, researching and killing a particularly vicious water demon that somehow had gotten confused and saw itself as an ancient Greek river god who had to defend its people. Because killing all strangers was so good for the town's tourism sector, he thought sarcastically. They'd had to burn a few bridges, so to speak, and ran out of the rather ungrateful town with only enough time for coffee before the horde was on them. Dean had stopped two hours later for more coffee. They were both exhausted but Dean had driven until they were miles and counties away.

Sam's brain was dead, barely able to think of a bigger concept than 'sleep' and his major motor muscles felt like doing a reenactment of the Wicked Witch of the West's death scene. He simply wanted to drop onto the bed, disgusting as the comforter looked. His stomach hurt from too much coffee and not enough food.

But his blood was singing with the caffeine and he couldn't sit still. Small muscles twitched and he couldn't stop shaking. He was reminded of the times at Stanford when he'd stay up all night cramming for various law tests, everything from Roscoe Pound to intricacies in the appellate system.

“Dude. Stop moving. You're giving me a headache,” Dean growled from his bed where he was already flat on his back, boots kicked off.

“I can't.”

“Yeah, you can. Sit,” he commanded, not even looking at Sam.

Sam sat.

Five seconds later he was up again. He made it to the bathroom and peed for a solid three minutes, attempting to rid himself of the coffee. He washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He took a few breaths, hands resting on the beat up counter.

Nope. Didn't help.

He walked out, grabbing a hoodie from his bag. “I'm going out.”

“Like hell you are.” Dean sat up, leveling his gaze at his brother. “You're in no shape and there's no way I can or even want to back you up right now.”

“Just a walk.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Dean!” he yelled, hoping to make his brother lose his patience and just let him go. Dean didn't even blink.

“Dean...” Now he was being whiny. But his blood felt like a shook-up bottle of soda, ready to explode at any moment.

“You're not going anywhere. What if you got hurt or were stupid because you're tired? No, and that's final.” Dean used the 'Dad tone' and Sam knew he was stuck. Well, that didn't mean he couldn't annoy his brother for being the more rational one.

“Why are you so jumpy anyway? Normally I'd want to go out and you get pissed at me. Why can't you just go to sleep? I know I'm exhausted.” Dean laid back on the bed after stripping off his torn and still damp shirt.

Sam starting pacing again, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. “It's all this caffeine. I'm just...I feel like I'm gonna implode. Or explode. Something!” He shoved his hands through his hair, pushing it off his face and attempting to breathe. At this rate he was going to hyperventilate.

“Is that all?” Dean moaned from his bed, scrubbing his face with his hands, voice muffled. “I'd go for a run with you, if I was up to it, but I need some serious down time. Now move so I can watch TV.” His brother flicked the set on with the remote lying on the bed stand.

Sam continued to pace, deliberately cutting in front of the old SNL episode Dean had stopped on.

“Sam, move,” came Dean's voice, low with annoyance. He was clearly seething but trying not to start a fight with him. Sam smiled; a fight was just the thing he needed right now. Work off the caffeine and tension.

“Or you could turn it off and suck it up. Go running with me. You shouldn't be tired.” He walked back across the front of the hotel beds again.

“Or I know, I could tie you up to the bed so you stop fucking pacing!” Dean paused, a grin tugging at his mouth until it escaped his control. “And then you can go,” he raised his voice into falsetto meant to irritate his brother, “Oh, Master Dean! No, no please stop. Master Dean! Oh--!”

He was cut off when Sam leapt on him, pinning him to the bed with knees on his thighs, hands holding Dean's wrists down, somehow turning off the TV in the process.

“Jerk-off,” Sam growled.

“Well, you could do that, but that wouldn't be as much fun.” Dean's grin just kept getting bigger. There was only one way to wipe it off. Sam leaned in.

Mouths clashed, teeth scraping, tongues battling. On edge, Sam's nerves drove him like a vehement storm. He forced his way past Dean's barriers and plundered his mouth, tongue rubbing against his brother's, rough and smooth and wet, tantalizing, loving the feel of tension growing in Dean's body. He could feel it underneath his hands, feel it in the powerful thighs, feel it as Dean's body pressed up against his like a taut bowstring. He kept up the kiss until he knew Dean's blood was bubbling just like his own, albeit for a different reason.

He pulled away, finally allowing them both to breathe.

“Well...if you want to work it off that way too, that's fine by me, bro.” Dean was panting, chest heaving up and down, brushing against Sam's nipples in a way that was more enticing than it should be.

“I don't know...are you up for it? I mean, you're so tired...”

“Fuck you, Sam. Don't you dare stop,” he hissed.

Sam leaned back, making sure Dean's hands were still pinned to the bed, and pretended to consider. “I don't know...” If it came out a little breathy, a little fast, it was all the fault of high to toxic levels of the drug in his system.

But the growl that ripped out from Dean's throat and a pulse of his hips had Sam grinding his growing erection down on his brother's belly. He knew he was gone. It was all show anyway; anytime one of them withheld was just show. They were never able to.

“Fine. But we gotta do this fast.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean said with his trademark smirk, the one that said, 'sure, Sammy', and meant, 'yeah right'.

Sam let up on Dean's arms and quickly stripped his hoodie and fairly disgusting t-shirt off as Dean's fingers undid two belt buckles, zippers, and buttons. Sam stood long enough to pull down his jeans and boxers before yanking his brothers off.

“Ew, dude. No underwear? You fought a demon and you weren't wearing underwear?” Sam wrinkled his nose, letting out a little huff of laughter.

“No, idiot. I took 'em off after. I think it's gross you wore water-logged underwear all day. I'm surprised you're not all wrinkly and shit.”

“Bastard,” Sam said as he moved on top of Dean again, long legs straddling and reaching down to rest by Dean's.

“We know for a fact I'm not, bro, so shut your cakehole. Or better yet, do something more useful with it.”

Not able to think up a good witty response, Sam did what his brother told him to, leaning in for another kiss. He stretched his arms out alongside Dean's head, grinding into Dean. Their cocks rubbed against each other in a fast and delicious way that made Sam's head spin.

He took his brother's lower lip in between his teeth, worrying it a bit harder than usual and while Dean grunted, it didn't stop his hips from pressing up towards Sam's heat. Sam moved steadily down, too shaky to spend much time anywhere but still considerate of the kind of pleasure he got seeing Dean twist and writhe underneath his ministrations, first on his throat—one new purple mark—then on his collarbone—a nice set of teethmarks—then down, down to his nipples—pucker marks left behind—and further to a shallow navel.

Large callused hands were busy, flitting from Sam's hair, down his shoulders, smoothing up along his sides, and wrapping around to knead his ass. It wasn't enough and yet it was too much. Sam felt like he was on fire, like he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms, and a little like he was flying high; his skin was so sensitive.

Nothing was said, nothing heard except the low animalistic noises Sam was making, drug spurring him on, and the faint pants and whines coming from Dean. Sam took a moment to dig his nose in his brother's belly button, mouth open, just inhaling the scent that made him feel so safe, loved. But in only a moment he was sitting up again, unable to be still for so long.

He left Dean who whined and protested with a loud, “Dude,” before he realized Sam was just getting lube and condoms.

As he walked back to the bed, Dean made to get up so they could switch places, but Sam roughly shoved him down again.

“Uh-uh. I'm running this show.”

A tight nod was his response though Dean looked a little confused, brow furling for just a moment. His dick however, was weeping as it arched towards his stomach, reddish in hue, and Sam couldn't resist teasing his brother by bending down to give it a good lick.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, when Sam pulled away. Sam just smirked.

He straddled Dean once more, this time resting lower though so he would be able to roll the condom onto that beautiful erection. Sam let his hand give a few rough, fast jerks before putting the condom on. He squeezed a bunch of lube onto his fingers, coating Dean's dick. Wide-eyed, Dean just stared at him, leaning up on his elbows.

That accomplished, Sam squeezed out a bit more onto his own fingers then tossed the bottle to the side. Catching and locking gazes with Dean, he reached around behind him, raising off the tanned and ripped body beneath his to gain access to his own entrance. With a hiss that was echoed by a choke from his older brother, Sam stuck a lubed finger in his ass. He used one finger for only a moment before thrusting a second in, the slight pain just enough to appease his shakiness.

If he hadn't been so turned on, so utterly out of his mind, he would have laughed at Dean's expression. If they had been a cartoon, Dean would be drooling with one of those think bubbles over his head, going “Dur...”. His eyes were no longer hazel, instead they were concentrated black, color barely showing.

Sam let himself get really into to it. He began earnestly fucking himself on his fingers; he let his head fall back, mouth open, let his balls brush right below Dean's, crept his other hand towards his dick before Dean batted it away, lack of relief only making Sam moan louder. He fucked himself till his body was open and wet and waiting.

“God, Sam,” came Dean's strained voice as Sam pulled his fingers out and wrapped them around the thick cock belonging to his brother. He shifted and Dean's knees came up, hands helping to support Sam as he lifted and in one fell swoop impaled himself on Dean.

The reaction was instantaneous. Dean cried out, head thrown back as he arched up into Sam. He arched too, back brushing Dean's knees. Sam, however, started moving right away, hands braced on the broad chest below him as he kept Dean still and screwed himself, hair falling in his eyes, breaths coming out short and faster, blood singing with pleasure. Dean just grabbed onto his lower back and ass, holding on for the ride.

“Uuunnnn, God!” was echoed with, “So tight!” and returned with “Fuck me harder, faster!” even though it was Sam doing the fucking practically. He moved up and down—slick, hot—over Dean's cock, clenching his muscles in no set pattern, keeping his brother just on the edge. His jaw was clenched, but he hadn't felt this good in a long time.

The smell of sweat and sex and traces of lake water rode the air. Sam leaned in closer, literally just moving his ass up and down as he awkwardly reached, capturing Dean's mouth with his, tongues fucking at an offset pace to their bodies.

Finally he pulled back, Dean automatically knowing he was on the brink and he reached out to stroke the penis Sam willingly offered to him. Dean pushed himself into the action, meeting everyone of Sam's downward thrusts with an upward one, hips undulating, and flesh sounded on flesh.

Five hard, jerky, strokes, and Sam was coming all over Dean's chest, seeing stars, and lights—fireworks. Barely a moment later, Dean let out the scream of pleasure he only made when he was coming especially hard and emptied himself, pelvis still thrusting.
****************************************

When Dean came back to himself, he slowly nudged Sam over and off of him, which he did with a stifled groan. Dean walked on wobbly legs to grab what appeared to be a clean towel and wet it down with just enough warm water before wiping himself clean and discarding the condom. He walked back out where Sam was stretched out on the bed, still breathing heavy, eyes still dilated.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, tossing the towel at his brother.

Once he did so, Dean took the towel back and threw it on the opposite bed before climbing back on next to Sam, thankful there was no wet spot. In a moment of tenderness that rarely existed anytime except after sex or a nightmare-filled night, Sam placed his head on Dean's chest, snuggling up around his brother. Dean couldn't help smiling to himself. Weird and fucked up as they were, sometimes he remembered back to their youth, sleeping together to keep away the things that went bump in the night. Safety in numbers, Dad had always said, though he would go out on his own.

He let his fingers tangle in Sam's shaggy hair and said, “I guess we made our own mark on these comforters, huh, Sammy?” expecting some rude-ass comment about Dean's talent for picking motels.

A soft sound reached his ears in response. He looked down.

Sam had fallen asleep.


Ending note: Now if only my jitteryness could have been solved this way instead of the long six hour nap I took.