Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Title: Boys and their Toys
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Sooo NC-17, it's not funny ppl.
Summary: Excessive use of battery operated toys. Batteries come with the package. The boys don't.
co-authored A/N:  amara_mUmmmm . . . yeah. Boys with toys . . . and car porn of a sort . . . and Guh to the extreme . . .These are not your kids toys.
plutogirl10 Yes. Just. Yes.

 

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They’re finishing up at Clara Water’s house. Ghost banished, here’s the after care instruction sheet; have a nice day. That’s when Dean finally turns it on.

Sam’s had it in all day but it hadn’t been on, and Dean’s not sure Sam even realizes it can be turned on. But Dean’s got an accompanying plastic control in his own pocket. And he flicks the switch now, just as Sam raises his pretty cup and saucer almost delicately to sip the coffee she’s served them in thanks.

Sitting across from Dean on the couch, Sam’s cup rattles and he chokes on his coffee. Clara, concerned, kind and far too flirty for a woman her age, leans forward to stroke his back. “Are you okay, doll?”

Sam coughs and splutters. “Yup, I’m fine.” He unceremoniously dumps the cup and saucer on Clara’s coffee table and is halfway out the front door before Dean can blink. “We’re just about done here. Take care, Ms Water’s.” Sam says over his shoulder, ever the perennially polite college student.

Dean makes himself wait as long as he can, making small talk and chatting with Clara, who really is quite cheeky. She was probably quite a looker in her day and Dean can appreciate that. Ten minutes later, he says his own goodbye and walks around the corner to where the Impala’s parked.

Normally neither of them would have risked distractions on a hunt, but they’d known it was just a run of the mill ghost. And they’ve both been unusually . . . energized lately. So Dean figured why not? Sam had his games, and Dean had his own. Both were entertaining.

He rounds the corner and sees Sam waiting for him. Sam’s leaning, hands on the hood of the car, legs stiff and splayed out wide. He lifts his head up to glare at Dean, his breath shallow and harsh. “Dean, that was not the. . . Jesus!”

Dean grins as he turns the vibration up another notch on the butt plug. The one he slid into Sam that very morning, when Sam had been convinced that Dean couldn’t take him. Sam had agreed that today, even if just for today, Dean would be in control.

Dean watches as his brother undulates and throws his head back, mouth open and fingers scraping against the metal.

“Hey, hey! Watch the paint job, man.” Dean turns it down to low again and Sam relaxes slightly.  

“Dean. Fuck me. Now.” Sam grits out through clenched teeth and levels that glare at him; tries to pull out the tone of voice he uses when they’re done playing and he’s ready to play. Dean smiles and toys with the control, up and then down again.  He raises an eyebrow, his message clear; not this time Sammy.

Dean’s been half hard all day, getting harder every time he saw Sam squirm or fidget or hitch his stride. But he keeps his face nonchalant as he steadily gazes back. God only knows he wants to bend his baby brother over the hood of his car, right damn now, and fuck him raw. But it wasn’t too long ago that Sam had pushed Dean to his limit, had him begging and breaking and quivering like a child, and if nothing else Dean has to even the score. In fact, he’s older. He should be ahead.

Dean looks introspective, apparently considering the request, and then shakes his head. “No.”

Sam curses under his breath, reaching for his fly and Dean rounds the car, slapping his hands away. “No, Sam.” Sam glares at him, hands fisting and for a second, Dean thinks he’s going to get punched.

“Okay. Look.” He pulls the remote from his pocket, hoping to placate Sam a little. “I’ll turn it off.” He flicks the switch and Sam let’s out a puff of air, body going slack. Without preamble, Dean reaches out and cups him through his jeans, feels the firm flesh throb against his palm. Sam moans and bucks into his grip, eye’s rolling shut.

“What is it you want, Sam? Do you want to come?” Dean drawls slow and lazy, pleased with how controlled he sounds, despite the burning in his groin.

Sam just moans again, arches back against the car. Dean kneads his fingers, eyes transfixed on the long column of Sam’s neck as his brother tilts his head further.

“I bet your ass is squeezing the plug so fucking tight. Like it’s my cock inside you. Does it feel like I’m fucking you already?”

He leans in to lick a long line from collarbone to jaw and whispers harshly in Sam ear. “I’m going to make you wait. I’m going to drive you insane, Sam, until you can’t think straight. Until all you can remember is my name. And then I’ll fuck you so hard you forget that too.”

Dean lets go and steps away. If he’d kept it up any longer, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. And he wants to make good on his promise. He wants to drag this out for as long as he can; make Sam learn what it feels like to need something so badly that it felt like dying.

Dean moves to the drivers’ side of the car, calculating in his head. “Come on, let’s move. We’ve got five hours before the next town.” He can hold off for five hours. He’s not fourteen anymore, and he’s certainly got as much, if not more, control as his brother does. He opens the door and pauses. “And Sam?”

Sam pushes himself around to look at Dean, defiance still jutting his jaw out. Dean holds up the plastic control so Sam can clearly see him flick the switch back again. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s staying on.”

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Sam groans in the seat next to him and Dean’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, a white knuckled grip that makes his fingers ache.

Dean doesn’t need to look to know that Sam’s covered in sweat, legs spread wide, slumped low in his seat and head lolling back. Three hours. Three god damn hours with the vibrator on and off, high then low, varied on Dean’s whim, and he doesn’t know how much longer either of them can last. Dean’s hard and aching, and if he’d let himself, he thinks he could dump a load into his jeans just from the rub of denim against his crotch.

Sam groans again, please Dean, and Dean grits his teeth. He doesn’t look over, because if he looks, he’ll lose it and he has to concentrate.

But he sees Sam out of the corner of his eye, sees his restless hands wander aimlessly, moving and touching everything around him, unable to stay still. The dash, the radio, the window. Touching, and then moving on to the next thing, but never touching himself because Sam was nothing if not stubborn.

Every time Sam moves, shifting and fidgeting, it makes the car’s leather creak, rhythmic like a ticking clock, slowly driving Dean mad.  

Sam keeps up his constant drone of murmuring, melodic and low. Just the same two words. Dean, please and Dean knows he’s damned, because Sam’s in agony and the sound is sweeter than any Latin prayer Dean’s ever heard.

Three fucking hours.

Dean, please.

Touches the seat.

Dean, please.

Touches the gear shift.

Dean, please.

Touches Dean’s thigh.

Dean, please. And this time it’s a long whine, two words, eating up the oxygen in the car and melting Dean’s spine.

It’s all he can take. Dean swerves the car off the road, skidding over bumpy ground, and throws it into park, killing the engine. He turns to face Sam and he almost comes in his jeans from the sight.

Sam looks drugged and dazed, but he must realize something’s changed because he slumps down further and spreads his limbs, an offering and supplication both. He must sense Dean’s moving somehow, because now he’s keening, a high pitched noise from his throat, and cuts the sound down to one word.

Please, please, please, please, please, his head tossing, eyes closed.

“Get out of the car.” Dean says, his voice harsh, throat dry. 

Dean, god, Dean…please.

“Out of the fucking car, Sam.” Dean reaches over him and opens the door, and the heat pouring off of Sam is intoxicating. Dean’s hand slides off the door handle and up over Sam’s chest, up over his throat. He grasps Sam’s chin, tugs a little to get his attention. “Out. Now.”

Dean is out of the driver’s side and around the car before Sam even has his feet on the ground. Sam shifts, slow and painful; the buzzing butt plug probably shifting inside him from the movement. Sam groans; a sound that comes from his groin and rumbles up through his chest before pouring out of his mouth and it goes straight to Dean’s dick.

Dean’s the one pleading now, his hands reaching for his brother’s arms. 

“God, Sam…please get out of the fucking car,” because Dean is achingly hard and the friction caused by bending at the waist is nearly enough to make him come. Dean’s desperate, flicks the control for the vibration off and pulls Sam to his feet, pushing him toward the front of the car. 

Sam’s nowhere near coherent, and his feet slip on the soft ground until Dean grips him and pushes until Sam’s bent over the passenger side wheel. Sam’s body is like liquid poured onto the hood, his feet spread wide and Dean swallows at the sight.

“Shit, Sam.” Dean whispers, voice hoarse because Sam’s ass is moving as he humps against the car and whining low in his throat.

Sam’s still mumbling noises that sound like pleaseDeanfuck, his cheek pressed against the metal of the Impala’s hood and damn if those weren’t two of the prettiest things in Dean’s world - Sam’s skin against the black metal of the car.

Dean pushes the switch on again and Sam jolts violently. Dean lays himself across his brother’s body, groaning as he presses himself against Sam’s ass. One hand snakes around between Sam and the Impala, cupping the alarmingly hard cock in Sam’s jeans. 

“Tell me, Sam. Tell me what you want.” Dean murmurs urgently in his ear and Sam shivers beneath him. “Do you want to come?” He presses in on his cock and Sam’s hips surge forward, pinning Dean’s hand against the car. “Do you want me to fuck you, right here on the side of the road?” 

“Just . . . fuck Dean. Yes . . . fuck me, god now . . .” Sam pants, body heaving, and his fingers are fluttering everywhere trying to get Dean closer, trying to get his pants down. Dean catches the restless hands and presses them down against the hood above Sam’s head, stilling him.

“Easy, easy.” Dean breathes against his ear. “Stay like this, okay?” Sam sobs, but nods and Dean lets him go. He fingers Sam’s jeans, pops open the buttons and eases them down over the curve of Sam’s ass. He slips a hand around to squeeze the base of Sam’s cock because he knows his brother’s ready to blow before they even get to the good part. “I’ve got you, little brother …feel that?”

Sam whimpers and nods again, face pressed into the car and fingers curling against the hood. Dean’s leans down and presses him tighter against the metal. 

“You like that?” Dean strokes lightly along Sam’s length, and Sam shudders, before Dean squeezes him again.

“Hold on.” Dean growls into the sweaty skin of Sam’s neck and reaches for the plastic control in his pocket. “Sam, you’re going to feel this. Just hold on for me.” Dean kicks the vibration up as high as it’ll go, and Sam yells in shock and bucks underneath him, body convulsing. Dean just squeezes Sam’s cock, pinched tight at the base hard and constricting, and all Sam’s violent rutting against the Impala’s fender is getting him nowhere. 

Sam’s gone beyond words now, mewling desperately and Dean isn’t sure if it’s sweat that’s pouring running down Sam’s face, or actual tears. But either way, Dean’s turned on beyond comprehension and waves of arousal pound through his veins, making him lightheaded, and he moans helplessly. “Oh, fuck Sam…yeah…”

Dean let’s go long enough to rips his jeans open, sees Sam jump at the sound and he presses the flat of his hand against Sam’s ass, twisting the plug, fucking him with it roughly. He pulls it out and Sam’s left quivering and open in front of him. Dean presses himself against the raw opening, feels the muscle tremble against the head of his cock.

They can’t be slow. He can’t prolong it like he wants because they’re parked alongside a public road, and while they haven’t seen another car for nearly an hour, one can come along at any moment. And Dean’s quickly losing any self-control he had anyway, so he pushes in . . . and he feels himself liquefy.

“Oh god. Oh fuck . . .” And he has no idea what else he’s saying because Sam has never felt so hot…so fucking hot and loose and without lube of any kind. And Dean just slides inside him, his cock swelling impossibly harder as Sam’s body melts under him, as if his bones have disappeared and he’s nothing but hot flesh held together by the car and Dean.

Dean’s hips stutter helplessly, his rhythm erratic and uncontrolled because his head is reeling at the intensity of the moment. 

“Fuck, Dean please . . .” Sam’s starts mouthing obscenities, his pretty lips spewing dirty words that drive Dean insane and make him push and thrust harder and faster, fucking him deeper. 

Dean, please …harder, fuck me harder. Oh shit, shit, need you . . . deeper Dean. More, more, holy fuck…And just when he thinks Sam might actually talk him to orgasm, Sam presses up on the hood of the car, ass clenching harder around him; lifts his head, and throws a desperate look back at him, panting and sweaty, with his gorgeous face that’s painted with nothing more than pure lust. And Sam looks so far gone and fuck but Dean can’t function anymore, his body convulsing as he explodes inside his brother. He presses in and pulls down on Sam’s cock, rough and dry and hears Sam scream, feels his release splash hot against his hand.

He slumps down, leaning heavily against Sam and waits for long moments. He comes back to himself, but he’s still inside Sam, still shaky because it was too intense and fast, it was just too much and it was just so. damn. good. Threading his fingers through the sweaty hair at the base of Sam’s skull, he grips and massages lightly. “Hey. You still with me?”

Sam groans and pushes back at Dean, pushing him out and away, and turns, sinking to sit his bare ass on the grass, leaning against a dusty tire. He looks up at Dean with fucked-over eyes, through lowered lashes, and Dean wants to do him all over again. Though maybe not with his dick, because that’s clearly out of commission for a while, spent and limp against his jeans.

Dean pants for a moment, looking down at his fucked out baby brother with something close to pride.

“I knew you wouldn’t last.” Sam’s thin voice is threaded through with exhaustion, but there’s something of a challenge in it.

Dean reaches down with unsteady hands to tuck himself in and zip up. “What?”

“You are so whipped.”

Dean’s head jerks up to look at him and he sees the gleam of self satisfied arrogance through the tiredness in Sam’s eyes.

“You wanted to wait, right? Until we got there, to the motel?” Sam grins and Dean sees a flash of bright white in the darkness. “By my count, we’re still two hours away. You’re so whipped.” He can see the expression, even without much light. The one that declares Sam the winner of some little game…this game…this fucking competition that hadn’t existed until that very moment.

Dean stares at him, mouth agape. “You little bitch. You were begging me, Sam.”

Sam’s grin just gets wider and Dean wants vengeance. He realizes that Sammy has played him…maybe not completely, because Sammy was pretty far gone, he’s fairly sure, but at least some of it was for show…for getting one up on him. Dean spots the butt plug and scoops it up, sees Sam’s smile fade. 

“You’re right, we’re still two hours away. And it’s still my day, until nine tomorrow morning.” Dean walks over and crouches to meet him eye to eye, waves the plug around.

Sam swallows, eyes big and dark. “Dean?”

“This is going back in. And I’m turning it back on.” Dean gives him a grim smile and keeps his voice quiet and calm. “Keep it in, Sam. If it falls out, or you come without permission, I’ll…” Dean tilts Sam’s chin up to lock their gaze, to make Sam understand that he’s deadly serious.

“Sam, I’ll put you over my knee and spank your ass until you come in my lap.” Sam trembles and makes a small noise in his throat, a pained half-whimper, and it sends excitement thrilling through Dean’s gut. He runs a thumb over Sam’s lower lip, dipping in to feel wet, hot silk, and he drags at the soft flesh.

“Now turn around, Sam.” 

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