runedgirl | Toolman (Dean/Sam, NC17)

Title: Toolman
Author:

runedgirl
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count 2114

Summary: For the prompt "The place is in amazing shape after being abandoned for so long, but still, there is upkeep to be done. (cue Dean in a toolbelt, perhaps fiddling with the plumbing..)"

Warning: current canon S8 spoilers

For

glovered's Batcave Comment Fic and Art Meme

The former inhabitants of the Winchesters' ‘bat cave’ may have been men of letters, but they clearly were handy with more than books. There’s an eight foot long workbench along one wall of the basement, pegboards with all sorts of tools neatly arrayed above, all of them well-used but in excellent shape. Dean whistled when he saw them, taking down a hammer and fondling it in a way that made Sam oddly uncomfortable.

“Lookit this Sammy,” Dean said reverently before carefully re-hanging it on the pegboard and picking up a red-handled screwdriver. “Everything we need to keep this place running.”

Sam wanted to tease him, but Dean’s grin when he turned around made Sam helpless to do anything but shake his head and smile back. Dean looked ten years younger when he smiled like that, and Sam couldn’t bring himself to poke at it even a little. He thought maybe he had the same look on his face when he discovered that the library was three times as large as he first thought, floor to ceiling shelves full of dusty leather-bound books just waiting for Sam to crack them open.

For two weeks Sam read voraciously, trying to decipher the clues and secrets and spells contained in all those books, while Dean ventured out to check on Kevin and look for Cas and buy them supplies. At night he wore the weird dead guy robe just to annoy Sam, but it didn’t work when he poured them both drinks and settled next to Sam with his feet up and a look of utter contentment on his face.

Then the shower with the awesome pressure broke.

Dean cursed a blue streak in the bathroom and then Sam heard him stomping down the stairs to the basement. He stomped back up a few minutes later, still cursing, and disappeared into the bathroom. Sam went back to his reading. Dean would fix it; he’d brought the Impala back to life almost as often as they’d been resurrected themselves. Sam wouldn’t admit it, but he was relieved. He’d grown almost as fond of the shower as Dean.

Two hours later, Dean was still in there. Sam had gotten hungry and made them sandwiches; it had become sort of a tradition. Dean liked to cook breakfast, especially if it involved bacon. Sam liked to make sandwiches, throwing in spinach and cucumbers and onions and tomatoes so Dean would be tricked into eating vegetables. He put one of the deli pickles that Dean liked on the side of the plate, grabbed a cold beer, and headed upstairs to surprise his brother.

Somehow it was Sam who ended up surprised.

The bathroom door was open, and Dean was hard at work. Oh, was he ever.

It was hot upstairs, and Dean was sweating. He’d been about to take a shower when the plumbing broke, so he was wearing only his faded jeans. Around his hips was a leather tool belt that must have belonged to the men of letters, various hammers and wrenches and heavy tools slipped into the pockets or hanging from the belt. The weight of it had pulled the tool belt low on Dean’s slender hips, and his worn jeans with it. As Sam watched, frozen in the doorway, Dean stretched to reach the shower head, the powerful muscles in his back rippling under his pale freckled skin, his biceps flexing as he worked to twist it back into place. The movement slid his jeans further down his hips, and Sam’s eyes followed the dip of his brother’s spine, tracked over the exposed crack of his ass.

Sam should have laughed and accused Dean of having the stereotypical plumber’s asscrack. He should have found it repulsive. Instead he just stared, watching as Dean stretched and flexed and stood on his toes, his bare feet balanced gracefully on the tile floor.

It had been a long time since Sam had seen Dean looking like that – since Sam was without his soul, when there was nothing to stop him from spying on Dean at Lisa’s. Dean in work boots and tight jeans, a tool belt like this one slung low on his hips, looking like a different man in hard hat and safety glasses, wielding a hammer as skillfully as he always had a gun. There had been nothing to stop Sam from getting hard while he watched, no pesky moral qualms to stop him from casting his construction worker brother as the star of Sam’s jerk off fantasies every night.

Like a salivating Pavlov’s dog, Sam’s dick responded the same way now, completely ignoring the fact that Sam was no longer soulless or without moral qualms. Dean gave a final twist with the wrench and grunted with satisfaction. The sound did not help Sam’s predicament at all. By the time Sam realized he really should get out of the doorway and go take care of his not-so-little problem, Dean had turned around.

“Jesuschrist Sam, you scared the shit outta me,” Dean said. There were beads of sweat at his temples, slicking the hair dark there. His chest was damp with it, his flat muscular belly slick. The low-hanging tool belt framed his crotch, bunching up the material and accentuating the slight bulge there.

“Uh, sorry,” Sam managed, but he couldn’t quite manage to drag his gaze higher.

Dean scratched at his stomach self-consciously, which made him look like he’d stepped right out of soulless Sam’s construction worker fantasies. Finally Sam looked up, his cheeks on fire. He expected to meet Dean’s eyes, but Dean wasn’t looking at Sam’s face. He was staring at Sam’s pants. And his very obvious erection.

Finally Dean raised his head, a quizzical expression on his face. He cocked his head a little, like he was waiting for Sam to offer some kind of explanation for why he’d been lurking in the doorway like a pervert and popping wood watching Dean fix the shower. Sam just stood there, because there wasn’t one. It was a stand off for a whole minute, and then Dean slid the hand that was on his belly between his legs and grabbed his junk with a crass gesture that literally brought Sam’s most forbidden fantasy to life.

“Like what ya see?” he growled, and he didn’t even sound like Dean – he sounded exactly like the triple X rated plumber Sam maybe still dreamt about every now and then.

Sam was too turned on to lie. He nodded, biting his bottom lip. It felt like his dick was going to bust through his pants.

“You wanna piece a’ this?” Dean asked, and his voice was even deeper than usual as he took a few steps toward Sam. He was swaggering, fingers still bracketing his crotch obscenely. “This big piece a’ meat and this fine ass?”

Sam nodded again, more vigorously this time. He wasn’t sure this was actually happening, since it had happened just like this far too many times in his fantasies. Dean definitely had the bad porn dialogue down pat. But then Dean was dropping smoothly to his knees and unbuckling Sam’s belt and pulling down his zipper and his dirty mouth was on Sam’s cock and it sure as hell felt real. He got his hands on Dean’s sweaty shoulders, kneading at the muscle there as Dean sucked his dick like a pro, better than any porn-inspired fantasy Sam had ever had.

“Dean,” Sam gasped, and Dean pulled off and looked up, his eyes dark and wicked, his mouth red and wet. Sam’s dick twitched in Dean’s fist, a wave of arousal making Sam shudder, and Dean leaned forward and licked the moisture gathered at the tip.

“Ohgod,” Sam said, and ran his fingers through Dean’s damp hair as Dean sucked him back down. “Shit Dean, I can’t – I’m gonna come if you keep doin’ that, it’s so good, you just, god.”

Dean redoubled his efforts instead of stopping, one hand working the length of Sam’s cock and the other fondling Sam’s balls while he bobbed up and down enthusiastically, and Sam clutched a handful of Dean’s short hair and came so long and hard he nearly fell down after.

Dean sat back on his haunches, coughing and sputtering a little, his cheeks red with exertion and his lips swollen. The toolbelt hung low on his hips; above it Dean’s stomach rippled with his panting breaths. Below it, the bulge in his jeans was a lot bigger than it had been.

“God Dean, you’re, you’re so,” Sam said, breathless.

Dean looked up through his long lashes. “Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

Sam pulled him to his feet by both arms, then lifted him effortlessly up onto the marble-topped counter next to the sink. Dean squeaked an unmanly protest, which didn’t fit with the fantasy plan but Sam didn’t give a fuck, this was so much better. Sam pushed him back up against the mirrored wall and spread his legs so Sam could get in between them. The tools in the toolbelt clattered against the marble as Dean leaned back, his lean body spread out for Sam, muscles taut in his bare belly and chest, nipples drawn into sharp points. Sam put his mouth there first, sucking one and then the other hard, catching them between his teeth until Dean swore and bucked, hammers and wrenches clunking against the counter as he raised his hips. Sam couldn’t wait long; he palmed the bulge between Dean’s spread thighs, sliding his hand under the warm leather of the toolbelt just above it. Dean groaned and pushed against his fingers, and Sam could feel how stiff he was, a handful even for Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam hissed, and managed to reach up under the toolbelt to unsnap Dean’s jeans and tug down the zipper. Dean scrabbled for the buckle to take off the belt and Sam slapped his hands away, probably a bit too roughly.

“No!” he barked, and held one of Dean’s hands down. “Leave it on,” he growled, and Dean’s eyes went wide momentarily before they fluttered closed and he threw his head back against the mirror with a thunk, moaning dramatically.

Sam yanked his jeans down, stepping back to force Dean’s legs together enough to pull them all the way off over his bare feet, and then Sam pushed them apart again and leaned in to take Dean’s straining cock in his mouth. He remembered how to do this, and Dean shouted in surprise as Sam swallowed him down. Sam took him to the edge and then pulled back, and Dean was too far gone to even protest when Sam manhandled Dean’s thighs even wider and slid him forward on the counter and licked right up the crack of his ass to his hole. Dean lost his voice then, squirming and panting and wheezing and slamming his fists against the marble as Sam tried to work his tongue as far inside as he could, and when Sam finally took pity on his brother and sucked his cock down again, Dean came like a shot, his whole body convulsing while Sam held him down and tried to swallow it all.

“Jesuschrist,” Dean swore when Sam finally let him go to sit down wearily on the bathroom floor, wiping at his mouth. Dean was sprawled on the counter, naked except for the toolbelt still fastened around his hips.

Sam swallowed again, trying to catch his breath. There didn’t seem to be any words appropriate for this fucked up situation, so he stayed silent.

Dean unbuckled the toolbelt and laid it on the counter, scratching his stomach again. “So,” he said, voice still gravelly. “You got a thing for tools, huh?”

Sam shook his head. “More like a thing for you with tools.”

“Seemed like that was a long time comin’” Dean said, smirking a little.

Sam shrugged. He was blushing again. “Guess so.”

Dean smirked more. He jumped off the counter and held out a hand to Sam. “If I’da known that, I would’ve done a lot more motel repairs over the years.”

Sam smiled and let Dean pull him to his feet. “Yeah?”

Dean looked him up and down and licked his lips. “Yeah. How bout we try out the new water pressure now.”

Sam climbed in behind his brother, running his hands over the curve of Dean’s bare ass appreciatively. They stayed in there until both the hot water and their bodies were spent. Then they ate the sandwiches Sam had made and drank the beer, but Dean never did get around to taking the tools back to the basement. They figured it made sense to keep the tool belt in the bedroom – you never knew when the water pressure might need adjusting.