Fic: Bringing it Home
Author: plutogirl10
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dildo. *sings* Dildo, dildo, dildo.
A/N: I'm posting porn on Christmas. I am going to hell. Cheerio, then! 

 

Sam bites his lip, legs spread wide and heels digging into the mattress; he shuts his eyes against the sight of the cracked ceiling, frowning. Concentrating.

Breathing shallow and sharp through his nose, he eases the dull ache in his gut with a long, slow pull as his other hand drops lower, touches the lubed rubber to himself.

He bites harder, frowns deeper, and whimpers a little.

It’s not quite . . . it’s just not . . .

‘Jesus, Sam.’

Sam’s eyes fly open, and he freezes.

There’s a liquid-long moment of silence, then Dean’s all over him, leather jacket and rough jeans and three-day stubble.

‘Hi Sammy,’ Dean smiles against Sam’s mouth, and Sam hears the lengthened drawl that means Dean hasn’t slept in two days, and has probably been driving for longer. Sam drops both his dick and the dildo to curl his hands into Dean’s jacket, legs wrapping around his brothers hips automatically, and god yes because the dildo wasn’t working anyway. Poor substitute.

Dean hums appreciatively; mouth working slow over Sam’s before he pulls off and moves back. Sam sits up, following and eager, but he gets a look proper look at Dean, worn out and rubbed thin, and fuck these jobs that spring up all at the same time.

‘Hi,’ Sam says, slipping his hand around Dean’s neck, kneading tense muscle and it means a lot of things, but it also means it’s okay, forget about it, later. Then he’s being eased back down, hand on his chest, and Dean’s pressing the dildo back into his palm.

‘Don’t stop,’ Dean says quietly, kneeling between Sam’s legs with a heated look and slow smile. His hand curls around Sam’s and leads the toy back down, easing the tip against sensitive skin. ‘Keep going.’

Sam’s cock swells so hard, so fast, it hurts because. Okay. It had been a frustrating and hollow exercise only a moment ago, and now he’s just thinking don’tcomeyetdon’tcomeyet. He groans thickly, toes curling into the sheets, as Dean tightens his grip, pushes the dildo’s head into him and then lets it go.

‘I want to watch you, Sam.’ His brother’s strong hands on his knees, spreading him wider, and Sam’s mouth opens on some unspoken word as he looks up at Dean’s familiar face, the familiar voice resonating over him in layers, making every inch of his skin buzz and tingle. ‘Fuck yourself for me.’

‘Oh god-’ Sam arches and lifts up, pushing the toy into himself on command and his other hand moves automatically to his aching dick. Because he doesn’t have a choice really, couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to, because it’s Dean. His brother Dean, who’s looking down at Sam working himself, absently thumbing the crook of Sam’s knees.

'That's it, baby. Deeper.' His brother who’s leaning down to kiss the inside of Sam’s thigh, brushing his lips across the coarse hair and feeding his skin with a low murmur, ‘Push it in all the way. Feel it.’ And Sam’s doing it already, filling himself up, so satisfyingly full.

He’s finally rubbing that ache deep inside, but it’s not the dildo that’s doing it. It’s centered there, where Dean’s fingers are pressed to his skin, and there, where Dean’s mouth is sucking at the vein in his thigh.

Sam mewls, eyes shut tight as he speeds up, fisting himself and rolling over the head, ass clenching on the rubber pushed deep inside. He’s breathing hard and he’s so close, but even now it’s not enough and he moans, low and long, ‘Dean -’

Then his hands are pushed away and Dean’s wrapping strong fingers around his cock, pulling tight and pressing the dildo in further and Sam chokes down a sob because yes, god, yes. All he can do is give it up, moaning Dean’s name in rising pitch with each pulse, spills everything he’s got into his brother’s palm and it’s so unbelievably good.

It’s so good, he bites through his lip. It’s so good that he barely registers Dean slowly easing the rubber out of him.

‘S’good,’ he murmurs needlessly and Dean laughs, presses a kiss to his bruised mouth.

‘Then maybe we should split up more often,’ Dean says in a rough voice, amusement and a smile layered over weariness. He’s slid out of his jacket, and is sliding onto the bed and Sam can tell they’re both halfway to asleep already.

‘No.’ Sam says, tangled up in cheap sheets and his brother’s steady presence. ‘It’s always good. Everything, always . . .’

He falls asleep with Dean’s hand running through his hair and Dean mumbling beside him, ‘Yeah, Sam. Everything. Always.’

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