Two Days In July (Sam/Dean) NC17

[runedgirl]

Title: Two Days in July
Author: runedgirl
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17

A/N: It's all the fault of smpc, which seems to give me permission to get as smutty as Sam and Dean want.

Summary: Sam is eighteen when the world spins out of control.

This thing between them is too new, feels unpredictable and tenuous. Sam’s skin prickles whenever their arms brush; his eyes snag on his brother’s in the mirror as their hips bump in the tiny motel bathroom. Dean’s obsessed with the stubble that shadows his face by evening, likes to scritch his fingers through it and narrow his eyes at Sam to say, you see this? He thinks it’s manly or some bullshit, and Sam’s still Dean’s little brother so he narrows his eyes back and doesn’t let on that he thinks about how red and raw his face would be if they made out for hours the way Sam wants to.

“Eighteen’s all grown up too”, he snaps, and Dean just grins because that was an unwritten rule, that they were just brothers as long as Sam was a kid. Eighteen now and finally Dean doesn’t push him away, doesn’t ignore Sam’s hands on his waist, Sam’s mouth on the back of his neck. Sam’s the taller one now. He can crowd up behind Dean when he’s standing at the counter frying up grilled cheese on the illegal hot plate, nip at that place behind Dean’s ear that makes the hairs stand up, makes Dean shiver and push him off. It's furtive and quick when they touch in the dark, hands on each other under the covers, Sam biting at Dean's chin, at that sinful mouth that Dean keeps turning aside.

Dad’s gone for the next forty-eight hours and it’s 98 degrees, but Dean’s still the good soldier, wakes Sam early so they can spar before the heat makes it impossible.

“Let’s do it here then,” Sam insists, still half asleep, both of them in worn-soft tee shirts and shorts and the ancient air conditioner in the window rumbling like it’s about to come crashing to the floor. “It’s cooler,” Sam insists, and Dean looks at the door, then shrugs.

Lately Sam gets hard as soon as their bodies crash together, doesn’t matter that Dean’s sparring is  practiced rough, pulling his punches just barely to give Sam the challenge that Dean and Dad are sure he needs to stay safe. Sweat rolls down Sam’s back as they struggle, one then the other getting the upper hand, muscles straining against the tension of each other’s hold. It’s almost shocking enough to make Sam lose concentration when he suddenly manages to pin his brother, Dean going down so hard face first that it knocks the wind out of him so Sam can get an arm wrenched behind and a knee in the small of his back.

“Fuck,” Dean swears, and struggles instead of tapping out.

“I win,” Sam gloats, and a frisson of real anger burns through him, Dean always having to be the best, the biggest, the one who knows better. Fuck that, Sam’s all grown up now and maybe he doesn’t agree with everything his brother says.

“The fuck you do,” Dean says, and struggles harder. Sam pulls his arm back just that much farther, and Dean starts threatening to beat his ass as soon as he gets up and who the hell does Sam think he is just because –

“Shut UP Dean, or I’ll make you!”

It comes out way more forceful than Sam intends, and Dean startles for a second, then his mouth – that fucking mouth that drives Sam crazy day in and day out, that’s tormented him awake and in his dreams for years – turns up in a sneer. He’s got his head turned to the side and Sam can see the ugly expression there; there’s a reservoir of rage in both of them reserved just for the other, stoked by needing too much, wanting too much, loving too much. Sam can see it in Dean’s curling lip, hear it in the dismissive laugh.

“Oh sure, Sammy, sure you will,” Dean growls, and Sam grabs the first thing he sees and stuffs it in his brother’s sneering mouth. It happens to be one of Sam's filthy dirty socks.

When he realizes what he’s done, Sam’s mouth drops open in shock. Oh shit. Dean really is gonna kill him.

He considers just letting go of his brother and running for it, but then he notices what’s not happening. Dean’s not fighting him anymore. He’s gone totally still, eyes wide and shocked. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath through his nose, and then he makes a sound – but it’s not the threat Sam’s expecting. Instead it’s a muffled groan that rumbles through Sam where he’s pressed to his brother’s back and straddling his thighs to hold him down. Dean’s hips roll as he groans, lifting slightly and then grinding down against the shitty motel carpet like he can’t fucking help himself, and shit SHIT what the hell is happening?

Sam can’t process it, but his body goes with it anyway, pulling back just enough to let Dean get his knees half under him and then crowding up against him so Sam’s rock hard dick can slide up against his brother’s ass. Dean groans again when he feels it, and he’s making no move to get his arm free from where Sam’s still holding it pinned behind his back. He could spit out the sock if he wanted, but he’s not doing that either, he’s just moaning and rocking back and forth and the friction on Sam’s erection is winding him up as much as the sight of his big brother beneath him taking whatever Sam wants to give him.

“Said I’d make you,” Sam pants, shoving his hips against Dean’s ass and holding him down, and Dean makes that broken sound again, like he’s so turned on he can’t stand it.

There’s a whole whirling mess of emotions making Sam’s head spin, years of resentment and adoration and lust and aching, soul-deep love, and every thrust of his hips bumping against Dean’s body brings a rush of pleasure so intense he’s biting his lip trying not to come. He uses his free hand to slip off his shorts and yanks Dean’s down to his knees too, and then his cock is sliding against his brother’s naked hip, leaving smears on the freckled skin. There’s no finesse to it, both of them rocking desperately against each other, sweat slick and slippery between them. Sam can feel the muscles in Dean’s broad back bunch with every buck of his hips, tense and twitch every time Sam twists his arm an inch more to hear Dean draw in a frantic gasp through his nose before gentling his grip.

“Dean,” Sam says, breathless, because there are no other words. Dean’s eyes are shut tight, his face a grimace around the sock still jammed in his mouth. Sam reaches beneath his trembling belly to wrap a fist around his cock and Dean bucks wildly. His dick is slick, leaks on Sam’s hand, slides so easily through his fist and fuck, Sam thinks, he’s gonna come with my sock in his fucking mouth.

The thought is Sam’s undoing; he spurts hard against Dean’s ass, sliding up the crack and down and humping against the smooth skin of his thigh, painting his brother in obscene stripes, in streams as messy as this thing between them is. Dean shudders and goes off in Sam’s hand and Sam jerks him hard, makes him feel every second of it while Dean wheezes and sucks in air, nostrils flaring like a racehorse lurching toward the finish line.

Dean’s knees go out from under him after and Sam falls on him, still spasming from the aftershocks. Dean finally shifts position, winces when his freed arm falls to the side. His back rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

Sam reaches down and pulls the sock out, tosses it across the room.

When Dean doesn’t open his eyes, Sam finally rolls off, awkwardly pulls his shorts back on.

“Dean?”

There’s shock in Dean’s eyes when he does open them. His movements are slow as he sits up and looks down at the mess they’ve made of him. When he looks up, Sam sees fear on his face. Disbelief.

Maybe they both were fooling themselves that this was something they could control. That this could be something casual, just a way to pass the time and get their rocks off while waiting for whatever adulthood would bring.

There’s nothing casual about what they do to each other; there never has been.

Sam digs down to the bottom of his duffle after he’s showered and dressed, strokes his fingers over the acceptance letter there.

Three thousand miles might be enough to mute this thing between them, he tells himself.

He doesn’t really believe it.