Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: Roadside Service
Author: MF Luder
Category: Sam/Dean
Keywords: Wincest, slash, car porn, PWP
Time Frame: No particular time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: No.
Disclaimer: They belong to the WB and Kripke.
Archive: Sam/Dean Archive, my LJ, anywhere else, please just let me know so I can visit and pet my baby on occasion.;-)
Summary: It's the simple things we never think of. Sam and Dean have car problems.
Feedback: [email protected]
Author's Notes: This is written for handsomespeck who created the name I am using in another fic of mine, Heaven Can Wait. This is my thank you for the name. And whoa—more than the two pages I'd said it would be. *is the Energizer bunny of short fics* handsomespeck requested funny car porn with a toppy!Sam, I hope this works. I'm not all that funny, nor used to writing Sam on top. It was kind of fun, though. Based on true events. Well, minus the brotherly love.
Beta Thanks: Many thanks to my wonderful SPN beta, Xscribe. And to candygramme who helped a lot.
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


They'd been driving down an empty stretch of highway for an hour, Metallica booming, one thirty in the morning, rain pounding, when suddenly the car swerved, feeling like it hit a patch of bad road.

“What the hell was that?” Sam shouted over the noise of the music and windshield wipers.

Dean shrugged, but it was clear by his pursed lips he was wondering as well. He pulled over to the side of the road, turning off the ignition. Unbuckling, he stepped out of the car and stooped down, staring at something perhaps under the car.

“Aw, fuck,” Sam heard him mutter, before he leaned against the car, rubbing at his face with one hand.

“What?” Sam asked, and when he didn't get a response, he hopped out of the car and walked around towards Dean. “Aw, fuck,” he echoed.

The back left tire was flat, that much was easy to see, even in the dark and rain. Sam crouched down and ran his hand along the tire—what was left of it. It wasn't just flat, it had blown. He straightened up just in time to see his brother flip his collar up in a sad attempt to protect himself from the rain. Leather coats were not meant for springtime in Missouri. Sam nearly pointed that out, but decided Dean was suffering enough just then. Sam was more than grateful for the five layers he was wearing, including a rain jacket.

In silent agreement, they both climbed back into the car.

“Now what?” Sam asked.

“Well, I got a spare in the back. I'm nothing if not prepared.”

“Great,” Sam relaxed. His brother would change the tire and they'd be on their way again. St. Louis, their destination, was only another two hours or so away, so they'd wanted to keep driving rather than stop.

Dean shifted in his seat, something clearly bothering him.

“What is it now, dude?” Sam asked, settling back in his seat and closing his eyes.

“Uh...”

Sam opened an eye. His brother rarely had to search for the words he wanted.

“You, uh, you ever changed a tire?”

Sam bolted upright to stare at Dean who was purposely avoiding his eye.

“Excuse me?”

More shifting.

“You mean to tell me,” Sam lowered his voice, awe creeping in, “that with everything Dad taught you, you never learned to change a tire? After teaching you to hunt, to change the oil, to fucking replace the radiator, he never bothered to teach you to change a tire. And you never figured it out, yourself?”

Even lit only by the overhead light, Sam could see the flush creeping over Dean's features.

“Never thought about it,” he muttered.

“Oh, Dean.” Sam's eyebrows lifted so high they hid beneath his bangs. “Of all the things you never thought about...this had to be one of them.” He shook his head. Great, just great.

“Well, what about you, college boy?” Dean asked huffily. “Surely they taught you that at some point?”

It was Sam's turn to blush. “No.”

“Jesus, Sam. Didn't that school teach you anything useful? What good does Hamlet do at times like this?” He turned to glare at Sam.

“Ok, ok, let's stay calm and think here,” Sam said, attempting logic. “Look, you got your manual, right?”

“Yeah, glove box.”

Sam opened it and took out the black leather encased book. He flipped through the contents in search of 'how to change a tire'. Five minutes later, he finally found it.

“Hey, Dean. Get me one of the flashlights from the trunk. I can barely see.”

Silence.

“Dean!” He glanced over.

His brother was staring at him with a pained expression on his face. “We ran out of battery juice, remember? We were going to get new ones in St. Louis.”

“Fuck, Dean! Prepared, my ass,” he grumbled, holding the book above his head closer to the overhead light as he tried to read it. “We'll figure it out. Ok, we need the spare, obviously, the lug wrench, and a jack.”

“Why do I have to get them? You're the one with the nice 'water-resistant' coat, you insisted on having. Put it to use, little bro.”

“Fine, just fine,” Sam said, temper rising. “But you're gonna have to get out too, you know. We'll have to use the light from the cell phone to attempt to see anything. And turn on your hazards!” he yelled over the sound of a semi passing them by as he jumped around to the back, pulling up his hood.

He reached into the popped trunk and hauled all their junk out so he could reach the spare under the mat. He dumped it onto the wet ground before reaching in to find the tools.

“Hey,” he called to Dean who was still sitting inside, cozy and dry. Fucker.

“Yeah,” Dean yelled back.

“Get out here with the cell. I can't see a damned thing!” He listened as Dean grumbled, something about “pain-in-the-ass little brother,” but he came back around, pulling at his coat the whole time.

“Shit, man, it's cold out here.”

“Well, it's April, and we're in the mid-west. What'd you expect? The Bahamas? Maybe next time, you'll get that heavier coat like I suggested.”

“Yes, mom,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Help me look. We need to find the lug wrench and the jack.”

Moments later they found the wrench, but were still missing the jack.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Looks like we know what the murder weapon was. Casper on the side of the road with the jack,” he said, weakly attempting humor a vague smile on his face.

Sam just nodded his head, not caring that Dean most likely couldn't see it in the dark. “What now?”

The elder brother groaned. “I don't know, dude. I don't know.”

“Dean, we gotta keep looking. If you were a jack, where would you be?” Sam asked rhetorically.

“I'd be in a bar. Preferably being sipped by some foxy lady,” Dean leered. Sam punched him.

“Wait,” Sam paused. “Did we check in the tire well?”

Dean rolled his eyes, starting to say yes. But then Sam found it. “Dude, shut up. Don't say a word,” he growled.

As they maneuvered around to the flat, Dean started whining again, “Maybe someone will stop...”

“Dude, it's almost two in the morning. Didn't you ever see Joyride? You want someone like that stopping to help us?”

“Unlike you,” Dean said coldly, “I didn't have years where I got to sleep in a real bed, with the same girl every night, with time to see movies. I was too busy saving people.”

“Get over yourself,” Sam grumbled. This was just like his brother. Fucking selfish, guilt-trippin' brother...

They set about loosening the lugnuts, crouched down, Sam holding the cell so Dean could see. When they needed the jack, Sam tried to unscrew the nut but was unable to turn it. “You try,” he said.

Dean had no better luck, the rain making his hands slippery.

“Maybe...maybe I can hold up the car while you change it. Then we wouldn't need the jack.”

Sam stared. Then, when he saw Dean was serious, he started laughing. And didn't seem to be able to stop.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“You...” Sam pointed at Dean as he stood, then doubled over again. “You're gonna hold up a car that weighs almost two tons—long enough for me to change the tire, a job for which I have no clue what to do? All by yourself?” He rested his butt on the ledge of the trunk, then pulled his brother, who'd followed him, in close. He placed his hands on Dean's biceps. “Now, I know you're strong and a big tough guy,” he squeezed the muscles and couldn't help but flutter his eyelashes at Dean, “but no way are you Clark Kent, bro. You're not going to be able to lift it, much less hold it up long enough.” He snugged a struggling Dean in towards him, until he rested right in between Sam's legs.

“Others have done it. I heard a story about a lady who was able to push a car up off her husband...”

“That's called adrenaline rush, you know that. You're not going to be able to do it now.”

Dean finally looked right at Sam and stopped trying to get away. An embarrassed smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“Ok. Fine. I'll try again. We got a towel in the trunk here. If it isn't already soaked by the rain, I'll dry the damn jack and it'll loosen.”

Sam laughed again. Annoying as he could be, he wouldn't trade Dean for anyone else. “Yeah, ok.” He tilted his head up just enough and kissed the pink, wet lips of his brother. Dean tried to get away, grabbing for the towel, but Sam gripped with his thighs, keeping a hand on Dean's lower back, so he just hunched a little more, tugging at his collar. Another semi zoomed past them and they were sprayed with mist.

“Not yet, Dean.” He crept his cold hands in and under Dean's shirt and jacket, smiling when his brother flinched at the change of temperature. “There's something I've been wanting to do, but we've never had the time to stop.”

“What's that?” Dean stared suspiciously at him. Sam couldn't help grinning, which only made Dean's brow furrow, no doubt expecting some prank.

“Kiss you in the rain.”

“You just did a minute ago.”

“No, I mean a real kiss.”

And with that, he pulled Dean's upper body in even closer to himself and brought his mouth down on his. Dean's lips immediately parted, and his hands went up to thread through Sam's dry locks underneath his hood. Then, just as another deluge came down, he pushed the hood off.

“Oh, bastard!” Sam shouted as his once dry hair was suddenly soaked.

“All's fair in love and rainstorms,” Dean said wickedly, then leaned in again, one hand cupping the back of Sam's head. Sam forgot about the wet hair and the cold. In fact, he was starting to warm up nicely.

He breathed hot air into his brother's mouth, letting his hands travel around to Dean's back, following the contours of the muscles that flexed and twitched beneath his ministrations. He flicked his tongue out, running it along Dean's upper lip, then following the plump bottom lip. Dean made a tiny breathy noise, his whole body shuddering, so Sam did it again. Then he slid his tongue into the heated mouth, instantly warmer for it. He coaxed Dean's tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it, teasing, intimating what he really wanted to do. Dean grunted and pushed his rapidly hardening bulge into Sam's thigh.

Fingers flew everywhere, from wet hair to the back of necks, to chins, to eyelashes so filled with water, they both appeared to be crying. Soon the heat increased and with it, the passion and intensity of their kisses. Dean tasted of sweet rain water, pure and tender, heated and sexy. Sam hopped off the trunk and dragged Dean with him towards the back door of the Impala, kissing him all the while, now more brutal, more dominating, teeth and tongues, every part engaged in mouth combat.

He slammed Dean against the car and when he hit, his head flew back and he arched into Sam's hips, letting out a loud guttural moan.

“Oh, yeah, Dean. Make that...sound...again,” Sam said as he kissed down the graceful arch of Dean's tan throat. A denim clad, powerful thigh crept up along Sam's, leaving no room for air between them. Sam began circling his hips, alternating the pressure each round.

“You know what else I've been wanting to do?”

“Suck my cock,” Dean huffed out, eyes closed as he let his brother take him for a ride.

“Mmmm...” Sam smiled. “That would be nice, and I assure you, I will, sometime. But right now, I want to fuck you. In the rain.”

Dean opened one eye. “You sure got a rain kink, don't ya, Sammy?”

“Only with you.” He kept up the little bites he'd been making on Dean's throat as he moved them sideways, opening the car door slightly. “Know what else?”

“There's more?” Both eyes were closed again and he'd gone back to carding strong hands through the wet strands of Sam's hair.

“Yeah. I also want to fuck you—in your car.”

“God, you're such a perv. And you call me a dirty old man.”

Sam leaned into the crook of Dean's neck, sucking at his favorite spot, breathing in the fresh dirt and rain smell that was now mixed with Dean's musk and leather. He opened the car door all the way and shoved Dean in.

He paused to stare at his sexy brother who was now sprawled out full-length on the back seat. Legs spread, hair plastered to his head, with a few strands sticking up here and there from Sam's finger explorations. His clothes were soaked through, clinging to all the muscles of Dean's body. His head was thrown back, purple bruise forming from Sam's lips, his mouth hanging open, water dripping down his face like beads of sweat, hands splayed, and a definite bulge that just begged to be attended to.

The man should be a Greek god, Sam thought. All gold and muscle and tan, sleek beauty. Anyone else would look like a bedraggled cat after being in the rain so long. But not Dean. Sam crawled in, between Dean's legs and shut the door behind him, regardless of their wet clothing.

“This is going to be fast, Dean.”

In answer, he was yanked down in a brutal kiss as one hand reached down to undo his belt buckle and slide his jeans down about his knees, gently brushing from the hair right below his navel to the curls his penis was rising from.

“Oh, yes. That feels good,” he moaned as Dean took him out and began stroking him, root to tip as he gently nibbled at Sam's lips.

“Dude, lube,” Sam managed to breathe out. Dean reached out his other hand into the pocket in the back of the front seat and pulled a tube out. Sam raised himself on his elbows, staring down at Dean.

“So that's the kind of prepared you meant, huh? Not the everyday, possibly-need-for-emergency stuff, but sex?”

Dean grinned up at him, licking his lips obscenely.

“It is an emergency. And I believe you'll be benefiting from my foresight.”

Sam sighed but wasn't really mad and instead put his energy into flipping Dean over onto his front, under him. Dean pushed his ass up and back into Sam's crotch, denim rubbing roughly over Sam's dick. Sam let out an indescribable noise.

“You like it this way, Sam? Like fucking your older brother from behind? Is it the power that makes you hot?” Another thrust and suddenly Sam had to undo the pants that still covered the ass teasing him so. “Or is it the car, the rain, that's doing it to you?” Sam shoved jeans and boxers out of the way and hissed when his hard erection rubbed in the heated groove of his brother's ass. “Tell me, Sammy. What does it for you?”

Dean writhed beneath him, still pushing back towards Sam. “Oh, God,” Sam choked. “It's everything about you. The water in your hair,” he rubbed his cheek in the light brown strands, “the water running down your neck,” he licked up the aforementioned rivulets, “the feel of your hips between my legs,” here he shifted, getting positioned, “that way you squirm, how you're so fucking eager for me—your little brother.”

Dean was making mewling noises, shifting between rubbing his leaking cock on the seat and grinding into Sam's. Sam reached down, tearing off one of Dean's boots and stole the sock from his foot and reaching around front, lifting Dean's hips with one hand, he placed it on his brother's thick penis.

Dean grunted, his only way of saying 'what the fuck, bro?' in his current state.

“I'm not paying to get the car cleaned when you bitch at me about the stain in the upholstery.”

“It's vinyl, dude. It'll wipe right off,” Dean gasped out. He moved so that one leg remained on the seat, but the other swung to rest on the transmission tunnel. But he didn't remove the sock, a little more preoccupied by Sam's lights caresses over his butt cheeks, arching and moaning as Sam's hands got closer and closer, parting them and breathing cool air over Dean's entrance. Hips bucked in response.

Sam couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Dean coming to and finding one sock totally unusable.

“I love how you're so ready for me. Always mine, Dean. Always mine.”

“God, Sammy. Please, just do it. I'm dying here.”

“Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?” Sam said cockily, tilting his head to stare at the open invitation of Dean's ass. He squeezed lube onto his fingers, coating himself, before pressing a finger into the very hot hole he was being offered. Dean pushed back immediately, trying to fuck himself with Sam's finger, already completely open, relaxed, and trusting for Sam.

He didn't even go for two fingers. The way Dean kept moving, grinding, rutting himself against his beloved car, just for him, Sam was pretty sure he wasn't going to last long and maybe it was a good thing this had to be fast—Dean couldn't give him hell when he blew so soon.

He took the time to place one kiss on Dean's tail-bone before he lined up and pushed in, taking just a moment as the inner muscle clamped down hard and listened to the strangled cry that came from the man beneath him, and, oh it was hard not to come right then, but somehow Sam held on, and when Dean relaxed again, thrust himself to the hilt within his older brother. He would never get over that feeling, being completely surrounded by Dean, actually in Dean, the only way he could be. There were times when he wanted to curl up and rest inside Dean somehow—his shelter—but unable to do that, this was the next best thing.

Sam moved his hands from Dean's hips so they were resting on the backseat and at Dean's cue of, “faster, more, please, Sam,” he started moving. It was hard and fast and awkward in the confines of the car, Sam's legs were a little too long, even for the large back seat, but Dean just sat up on his elbows arching his head back, panting and pushing his ass back towards Sam on each thrust and Sam couldn't think of anything he'd rather see then his brother coming undone at his touch, all because of him.

Dean was emphatically rubbing against the seat now, and Sam knew from the furrow in his brow, the high pitched whines, and clenching of inner muscles, that he was about to come.

“Sammy, I--”

“I know, I know,” he whispered in Dean's ear, nibbling on the upper ridge, followed by wet licks. “Come for me, Dean. You're so fucking hot when you come. Just let go.” Sam slid his tongue inside the ear he'd just been licking; Dean exploded, eyes squinting shut, mouth open as he called out, “Sammy, God, Sam!”

Sam kept thrusting, pushing deeper, hoping there was a way he could get closer, somehow closer. Finally, a last gasp, shudder, and a whispered, “Sam,” from his brother pushed him off the edge and he was coming long and strong, now clutching at Dean's back, his hips, the leather jacket, all as he faded out.

When he finally descended enough to open his eyes, he reached up and kissed the back of Dean's neck, tenderly.

“Mmmm, Sam,” Dean rumbled. Sam pulled out slowly and Dean rolled over onto his back, angling his legs so that he cradled Sam. They lay like that, Sam's head resting on the older Winchester's chest, Dean's head against the door, absent-mindedly running his fingers through Sam's hair.

Five minutes later, the gleam of twirling red and blue lights reflected in the dark.

“Oh, shit,” Dean swore. “Is that...?”

“Yeah,” breathed Sam, but unwilling to give up the moment quite yet, he whispered in his brother's ear, “does the idea of getting caught turn you on? You want a police officer coming and finding a steamed up car, find you having just been fucked by your brother?” A whine ripped from Dean's throat. “Not that anyone would know we're brothers, but we would, wouldn't we, Dean?”

He gave one long lick up the column of Dean's throat before they quickly shifted, pulling up their pants and getting out, walking around to lean against the trunk, huddled against the rain. They left one car door cracked open so the steam on the windows would fade. Sam just remembered to stuff the sock in the pocket of the passenger seat. The door of the patrol car opened up.

“Oh, no. Fucking—Sam!” Dean whispered.

Sam couldn't control the snicker that escaped from him when he saw what Dean was referring to.

A small woman with a ponytail and rain slicker was coming towards them, flashlight in hand. “Hello, gentlemen. What seems to be the problem?” She glanced briefly at Dean's untied boot as her flashlight panned on them, but either suspected nothing or had enough tact not to say anything.

He watched as Dean shifted from shivering to the older, predatory and slightly sleazy, big brother he knew well.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

In the lights from the patrol car, Sam could see the lady roll her eyes. “You've got a flat, don't you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam spoke up.

“How's it going?”

“We're fine, actually. Just our jack was stuck, and so we've been working on loosening it up, you know,” Dean said smoothly.

She shooed the two out of the way, grabbing the jack out of Dean's hands and another towel that was lying in the trunk. Twisting with an extra hard tug, it sprang loose.

“Oh, wow, thank you, ma'am. We can take it from here now,” Dean said.

“I'm sure you can, but I might as well help since I'm here. I see you boys are just working with a cellphone as light, so if one of you could just hold my flashlight, I'll get this done in a jiffy and you can be on your way. Now, I can see here your spare is good, quite good, in fact. They sure don't make the tools and spares like they used, nowadays. But I'm still going to advise you not to go more than fifty miles per hour on it and to stop in the next city, Columbia, and spend the night.”

“Yeah, we were planning on getting a brand new tire in the morning,” Sam said, snickering to himself as Dean knelt down, holding the flashlight, but clearly itching to do the job despite only just having figured it out himself.

She made quick work of the job. “All right, boys. You're all set.” She dumped the shredded tire into their trunk.

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sam followed her back to her car, while Dean started putting their bags back into the trunk, before shutting it and getting into the driver's seat of the Impala. Starting the engine, he turned the music loud enough Sam could practically feel the bass reverberate through the ground.

“Say, um, I'd really like to know who our good Samaritan was. Not many people, even cops, would stop. Never know what you're going to get.”

“Just doing my job. That's what I'm here for.” Still smiling, she put out her hand to shake Sam's. “Rachel. Rachel Heiss.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“Now, you and your friend-”

“My brother,” he corrected.

“You and your brother drive safe. Columbia's a nice town, lots of hotels and such.”

With that, they headed back to their respective cars. Sam got in, only to be faced with a glowering Dean.

“What?” he asked.

“You are dead. I am wet, cold, tired, was made to look like a freakin' dumbass in front of a chick cop, and you used my sock to contain a mess that could have been cleaned up in one swipe.”

Sam just laughed.


End Note: Do I really think these two couldn't change a tire? No. It's all meant to be kind of ridiculous because who hasn't realized they should be able to do something simple and realize they never found out how? *raises hand*