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Sixteen Minutes (Sam/Dean), NC17
Title: Sixteen Minutes
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2090
Summary: “You’re so hot for me that I can get you off without even undressing you." Or, Sam and Dean make a bet.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smpc. Not alot of complex storytelling here but please enjoy!
“You’re so hot for me that I can get you off without even undressing you. Fully dressed, pants and all.”
Sam looks smug, pink lips set in a smirk and one eyebrow cocked.
This thing between them is still new, and Dean is dumbfounded by just how not vanilla his little brother is. It’s impossible to say who caved first, both of them tumbling into that first adrenaline-fueled groping that led to an explosive release that happened so fast it took them equally by surprise. But it was Sam, after, who didn’t just turn away and blame it on the post-hunt high. Sam who woke up the next morning and said let’s do that again. Sam who isn’t embarrassed to be giving Dean a look right now that’s pure sin, long lock of hair falling over his face as he cocks his head and waits for Dean to rise to the challenge.
So to speak.
Dean scoffs, because he has to. He’s not that hot for anyone, certainly not the guy whose skin he’s stitched up a hundred times, wiped his mouth after he’s puked his guts up and dragged out of a pile of dragon shit by his foot that one time. Not that guy.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not. Next three grave diggings says I can make you lose it in 20 minutes without taking anything off either me or you.”
Dean’s back is still aching from how hard packed the goddamn cemetery dirt was three days ago.
“Next three Impala washings too.”
“You just wanna watch me wash the Impala.”
“Changing your mind, Sam?”
Dean’s turn to smirk, but Sam takes it as agreement. He crosses the room in three giant strides, and Dean backs up half on instinct.
“Whoa, right now?”
“You got somewhere to be?”
Sam’s in his space, all six and a half feet of him, looming like some kind of predator, arms already caging Dean in where he’s backed himself against the palm tree wallpaper of the Waikiki Motel, and that is not going to make Dean’s dick twitch, no way.
“Fine,” Dean manages, voice coming out a little tremulous, and Sam rumbles that dark husky laugh that says he knows he has his big brother right where he wants him, cocky bastard.
“Start the timer,” Sam orders, and as Dean fumbles with his phone, Sam leans down to lick a hot wet stripe up the side of Dean’s neck and over his throat. His adam’s apple bobs under Sam’s tongue and Sam’s teeth fasten over it for a moment, scrape and suck and Dean struggles to swallow, can’t quite manage it. Sam’s hips press in now, heat and weight pushing Dean flush up against the wall, the pressure on his cock already feeling good.
Dean closes his eyes, determined to pull himself together. Make a grocery list. Almost out of beer. Saw a Stop N Shop on the way into town, need more road food for tomorrow when they roll out of here, some beef jerky and maybe some of those stupid things Sam’s become obsessed with, pea sticks or something for godsake, Sam and his vegies and his big….fuck, don’t think about Sam, that’s his big dick stabbing into Dean’s hip, insistent. Sam thrusts his hips so roughly that Dean is knocked against the wall again and again, like a fucking rag doll instead of a grown man over six feet tall…
“Yeah,” Sam growls right in his ear, sharp teeth nipping at the lobe, wet tongue sliding around the shell making Dean shiver. “You like it when I push you around.”
Dean opens his mouth to protest but Sam anticipated that because of course he did, so Sam’s tongue gets there instead, plunging right in and swallowing Dean’s sound of protest with a kiss that knocks his head back with as much force as Sam’s hips are pinning his own.
“Mmph” Dean says, but his mouth stays open and his tongue curls up eagerly to welcome Sam’s and Sam bites at the swell of Dean’s lips and puts both hands around Dean’s face to hold him in place while he kisses like he’ll never get close enough unless he’s all the way inside. Dean would be lying if he said that idea doesn’t make him hotter than anything else.
When Sam’s wound him up far enough, he breaks the kiss, lets Dean chase his wet pink mouth and nearly moan in disappointment as he puts a few inches between them.
“Mmhmm,” Sam confirms, though Dean hasn’t asked him a fucking thing, and then Sam drops to his knees, all six and a half feet of him folding down with incredible gracefulness. He kneels there for a moment, just looking, eyes hungry on the front of Dean’s jeans, until Dean has to look too.
It’s no surprise that his dick is trying to push its way out of the worn-soft fabric, an obvious bulge to the side of his fly that Sam’s staring at like Dean’s a gourmet fucking feast.
“Yeah,” Sam says, and reaches out to touch – not Dean’s cock but his thighs where his legs are spread a little, Sam’s big fingers wrapping around and squeezing, then slowly sliding upward. It’s excruciating, every inch making Dean want to grab Sam’s hands and put them where he needs them. Sam gets all the way up to his crotch, thumbs stroking circles over the uppermost parts of his inner thighs, round and round, almost brushing his balls but not quite.
It’s torture. Dean’s sweating, heart pounding in his chest like he’s run a marathon. He wills himself to relax, but his legs are trembling beneath Sam’s hands and his stomach clenches with a stab of arousal that’s almost painful.
“Easy, easy,” Sam croons, like he’s calming a wild animal, thumbs digging in again, forcing Dean’s thighs a little wider. “Lemme see those bowlegs….made to wrap around my hips when I’m fucking you.”
“Fuck,” Dean swears, and he can feel his cock jump, throbbing hard under the tight denim of his jeans.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam praises, and fuck if Dean doesn’t try harder, shuffling his feet to the side to widen his stance, boots sliding across the puke yellow motel rug.
Sam rewards him with thumbs stroking over his balls and hands palming Dean’s hips, fingers reaching back to just graze over the swell of his ass. Dean juts his hips out, gives Sam room to get to him, and Sam shuffles forward a little on his knees, gets his long fingers all the way around and a handful of Dean in each hand, rough massage that pulls on Dean’s hole and makes him crave something – Sam – in there.
“Sam,” he says, though he didn’t plan to, and Sam’s fingers dig in hard at the center of him, making Dean go up on his toes with how much he wants it.
Sam mimes a good hard fuck, pushes in and out and in and out with two fingers of each hand, forcing blunt denim into him just a little, just enough to get all those sensitive nerve endings lit on fire and Dean thinks he might be drooling a little, he wants it so badly.
“Sam,” he says again, and this time it’s a bona fide moan.
Sam doesn’t answer, rises as gracefully as he dropped and finds Dean’s wet wanton mouth, kissing him hard while his big hands clutch Dean’s cheeks and pull him nearly off his feet, still stabbing blunt fingers into him through rough denim, chafing his hole where Sam’s fingers are prying him open. He’ll be sore from that tomorrow, Dean thinks, and did Sam count on him going commando so there’d be no soft cotton in the way?
Their hips slam together again as Sam pulls him in, the friction on Dean’s swollen cock so welcome that he makes another involuntary sound, lets Sam swallow it as his tongue matches the rhythm of his relentless fingers.
Has it been 20 minutes? Dean can barely think, tries to make himself hang on a little longer because yeah he wants to come desperately but fuck if he wants his smug little brother to win that bet.
Sam senses his resolve, of course he does, one last brutal grip on his ass cheeks before he lets go, sliding his big hands up Dean’s sides, over his ribs where he’s heaving like he’s run a mile.
Sam mmms in approval, steps back to put some space between them and feels his way over Dean’s sides and chest, finding his nipples under the soft cotton of his favorite black tee shirt and oh no, this isn’t good, Sam knows him too well already, knows all his hot spots.
Dean closes his eyes, because looking at Sam is not helping him keep it together, as Sam’s fingers skate over his chest, back and forth and back and forth over both nipples until they start to tingle, stiff and extra sensitive. They’re easily pinchable now, and Sam takes advantage, rolling one while he circles the other, sensation arcing like an electric current between the swelling points.
“So responsive,” Sam croons, and he’s pulling at them now, that infernal rhythm, too slow and too hard, tugging like a demanding infant, and Dean’s starting to shake apart, brain skittering away from anything but Sam Sam Sam, echoes of take care of Sammy all mixed up with the smell of Sam’s sweat in his nose and the heat of Sam’s fingers suckling at him. It hurts, every rough tug making him more sore, and Sam doesn’t stop, the pain throbbing in his nipples matching the throbbing in his balls, in his dick that feels so swollen it could burst out of his jeans at any second.
“Please,” he hears himself groan, and Sam must have been waiting for that because one hand stays on his chest but the other slides down the center of him, presses down on his zipper right next to his twitching cock, and Dean’s whimpering now, can’t help it, his hips jumping as he tries desperately to find something to press against.
“God, Sam…Sammy,” he says, and he’s breathless, sounds like he’s running for his life, chest heaving against Sam’s ruthless fingers still pinching and pulling at him.
He makes the mistake of opening his eyes when he senses Sam dropping lower, looking down and nearly losing it just from that, the sight of Sam so flushed, eyes dark with arousal as he looks up at Dean, damp hair in his face and sweat beaded at his temples.
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam answers, and he opens his mouth and leans in, hovers over the wet spot on Dean’s jeans where his dick is leaking. He breathes out over the obscene outline of the swollen head and it feels like fire, pleasure burning from Dean’s throbbing nipple to his throbbing cock as Sam does it again, and again, and again, and Dean is shaking apart, whole body trembling and fevered.
“C’mon, big brother,” Sam growls, leans in that half inch more and sticks out his tongue, and Dean draws in a gasped breath as he watches the tip of Sam’s tongue touch the bulge of his cock. One long lick down and back up, Sam’s other hand sliding down the length of his tense-as-a-wire body. Sam strokes his inner thighs, gets up between his spread legs to cup his balls where they’re drawn up tight, fingers rubbing him there, and the pleasure spreads through Dean like a wildfire, stomach clenching as he comes against the wet denim under Sam’s mouth, soundless and breathless, overwhelmed with the force of it.
Sam mouths at him as he convulses, other hand on Dean’s hip letting him thrust through it, until the front of Dean’s jeans are soaked with his own jizz and Sam’s spit.
“Jesus fuck,” Sam swears when Dean’s stopped shaking. He rips his own jeans open and grabs his dick, palming his erection fast and desperate, and comes with a grunt. Dean’s dick gives a weak twitch as he watches, balls so empty it hurts.
“Ow, god,” Dean complains, pressing a hand to the front of his jeans. His hand comes away wet and he makes a face.
“Ruined my favorite jeans, bitch.”
Sam has splayed himself out in a lazy sprawl on the floor. He looks at his watch and smiles. “Won the bet though, jerk.”
The alarm on Dean’s phone doesn’t go off for another four minutes.
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2090
Summary: “You’re so hot for me that I can get you off without even undressing you." Or, Sam and Dean make a bet.
A/N: Written for
smpc. Not alot of complex storytelling here but please enjoy!“You’re so hot for me that I can get you off without even undressing you. Fully dressed, pants and all.”
Sam looks smug, pink lips set in a smirk and one eyebrow cocked.
This thing between them is still new, and Dean is dumbfounded by just how not vanilla his little brother is. It’s impossible to say who caved first, both of them tumbling into that first adrenaline-fueled groping that led to an explosive release that happened so fast it took them equally by surprise. But it was Sam, after, who didn’t just turn away and blame it on the post-hunt high. Sam who woke up the next morning and said let’s do that again. Sam who isn’t embarrassed to be giving Dean a look right now that’s pure sin, long lock of hair falling over his face as he cocks his head and waits for Dean to rise to the challenge.
So to speak.
Dean scoffs, because he has to. He’s not that hot for anyone, certainly not the guy whose skin he’s stitched up a hundred times, wiped his mouth after he’s puked his guts up and dragged out of a pile of dragon shit by his foot that one time. Not that guy.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not. Next three grave diggings says I can make you lose it in 20 minutes without taking anything off either me or you.”
Dean’s back is still aching from how hard packed the goddamn cemetery dirt was three days ago.
“Next three Impala washings too.”
“You just wanna watch me wash the Impala.”
“Changing your mind, Sam?”
Dean’s turn to smirk, but Sam takes it as agreement. He crosses the room in three giant strides, and Dean backs up half on instinct.
“Whoa, right now?”
“You got somewhere to be?”
Sam’s in his space, all six and a half feet of him, looming like some kind of predator, arms already caging Dean in where he’s backed himself against the palm tree wallpaper of the Waikiki Motel, and that is not going to make Dean’s dick twitch, no way.
“Fine,” Dean manages, voice coming out a little tremulous, and Sam rumbles that dark husky laugh that says he knows he has his big brother right where he wants him, cocky bastard.
“Start the timer,” Sam orders, and as Dean fumbles with his phone, Sam leans down to lick a hot wet stripe up the side of Dean’s neck and over his throat. His adam’s apple bobs under Sam’s tongue and Sam’s teeth fasten over it for a moment, scrape and suck and Dean struggles to swallow, can’t quite manage it. Sam’s hips press in now, heat and weight pushing Dean flush up against the wall, the pressure on his cock already feeling good.
Dean closes his eyes, determined to pull himself together. Make a grocery list. Almost out of beer. Saw a Stop N Shop on the way into town, need more road food for tomorrow when they roll out of here, some beef jerky and maybe some of those stupid things Sam’s become obsessed with, pea sticks or something for godsake, Sam and his vegies and his big….fuck, don’t think about Sam, that’s his big dick stabbing into Dean’s hip, insistent. Sam thrusts his hips so roughly that Dean is knocked against the wall again and again, like a fucking rag doll instead of a grown man over six feet tall…
“Yeah,” Sam growls right in his ear, sharp teeth nipping at the lobe, wet tongue sliding around the shell making Dean shiver. “You like it when I push you around.”
Dean opens his mouth to protest but Sam anticipated that because of course he did, so Sam’s tongue gets there instead, plunging right in and swallowing Dean’s sound of protest with a kiss that knocks his head back with as much force as Sam’s hips are pinning his own.
“Mmph” Dean says, but his mouth stays open and his tongue curls up eagerly to welcome Sam’s and Sam bites at the swell of Dean’s lips and puts both hands around Dean’s face to hold him in place while he kisses like he’ll never get close enough unless he’s all the way inside. Dean would be lying if he said that idea doesn’t make him hotter than anything else.
When Sam’s wound him up far enough, he breaks the kiss, lets Dean chase his wet pink mouth and nearly moan in disappointment as he puts a few inches between them.
“Mmhmm,” Sam confirms, though Dean hasn’t asked him a fucking thing, and then Sam drops to his knees, all six and a half feet of him folding down with incredible gracefulness. He kneels there for a moment, just looking, eyes hungry on the front of Dean’s jeans, until Dean has to look too.
It’s no surprise that his dick is trying to push its way out of the worn-soft fabric, an obvious bulge to the side of his fly that Sam’s staring at like Dean’s a gourmet fucking feast.
“Yeah,” Sam says, and reaches out to touch – not Dean’s cock but his thighs where his legs are spread a little, Sam’s big fingers wrapping around and squeezing, then slowly sliding upward. It’s excruciating, every inch making Dean want to grab Sam’s hands and put them where he needs them. Sam gets all the way up to his crotch, thumbs stroking circles over the uppermost parts of his inner thighs, round and round, almost brushing his balls but not quite.
It’s torture. Dean’s sweating, heart pounding in his chest like he’s run a marathon. He wills himself to relax, but his legs are trembling beneath Sam’s hands and his stomach clenches with a stab of arousal that’s almost painful.
“Easy, easy,” Sam croons, like he’s calming a wild animal, thumbs digging in again, forcing Dean’s thighs a little wider. “Lemme see those bowlegs….made to wrap around my hips when I’m fucking you.”
“Fuck,” Dean swears, and he can feel his cock jump, throbbing hard under the tight denim of his jeans.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam praises, and fuck if Dean doesn’t try harder, shuffling his feet to the side to widen his stance, boots sliding across the puke yellow motel rug.
Sam rewards him with thumbs stroking over his balls and hands palming Dean’s hips, fingers reaching back to just graze over the swell of his ass. Dean juts his hips out, gives Sam room to get to him, and Sam shuffles forward a little on his knees, gets his long fingers all the way around and a handful of Dean in each hand, rough massage that pulls on Dean’s hole and makes him crave something – Sam – in there.
“Sam,” he says, though he didn’t plan to, and Sam’s fingers dig in hard at the center of him, making Dean go up on his toes with how much he wants it.
Sam mimes a good hard fuck, pushes in and out and in and out with two fingers of each hand, forcing blunt denim into him just a little, just enough to get all those sensitive nerve endings lit on fire and Dean thinks he might be drooling a little, he wants it so badly.
“Sam,” he says again, and this time it’s a bona fide moan.
Sam doesn’t answer, rises as gracefully as he dropped and finds Dean’s wet wanton mouth, kissing him hard while his big hands clutch Dean’s cheeks and pull him nearly off his feet, still stabbing blunt fingers into him through rough denim, chafing his hole where Sam’s fingers are prying him open. He’ll be sore from that tomorrow, Dean thinks, and did Sam count on him going commando so there’d be no soft cotton in the way?
Their hips slam together again as Sam pulls him in, the friction on Dean’s swollen cock so welcome that he makes another involuntary sound, lets Sam swallow it as his tongue matches the rhythm of his relentless fingers.
Has it been 20 minutes? Dean can barely think, tries to make himself hang on a little longer because yeah he wants to come desperately but fuck if he wants his smug little brother to win that bet.
Sam senses his resolve, of course he does, one last brutal grip on his ass cheeks before he lets go, sliding his big hands up Dean’s sides, over his ribs where he’s heaving like he’s run a mile.
Sam mmms in approval, steps back to put some space between them and feels his way over Dean’s sides and chest, finding his nipples under the soft cotton of his favorite black tee shirt and oh no, this isn’t good, Sam knows him too well already, knows all his hot spots.
Dean closes his eyes, because looking at Sam is not helping him keep it together, as Sam’s fingers skate over his chest, back and forth and back and forth over both nipples until they start to tingle, stiff and extra sensitive. They’re easily pinchable now, and Sam takes advantage, rolling one while he circles the other, sensation arcing like an electric current between the swelling points.
“So responsive,” Sam croons, and he’s pulling at them now, that infernal rhythm, too slow and too hard, tugging like a demanding infant, and Dean’s starting to shake apart, brain skittering away from anything but Sam Sam Sam, echoes of take care of Sammy all mixed up with the smell of Sam’s sweat in his nose and the heat of Sam’s fingers suckling at him. It hurts, every rough tug making him more sore, and Sam doesn’t stop, the pain throbbing in his nipples matching the throbbing in his balls, in his dick that feels so swollen it could burst out of his jeans at any second.
“Please,” he hears himself groan, and Sam must have been waiting for that because one hand stays on his chest but the other slides down the center of him, presses down on his zipper right next to his twitching cock, and Dean’s whimpering now, can’t help it, his hips jumping as he tries desperately to find something to press against.
“God, Sam…Sammy,” he says, and he’s breathless, sounds like he’s running for his life, chest heaving against Sam’s ruthless fingers still pinching and pulling at him.
He makes the mistake of opening his eyes when he senses Sam dropping lower, looking down and nearly losing it just from that, the sight of Sam so flushed, eyes dark with arousal as he looks up at Dean, damp hair in his face and sweat beaded at his temples.
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam answers, and he opens his mouth and leans in, hovers over the wet spot on Dean’s jeans where his dick is leaking. He breathes out over the obscene outline of the swollen head and it feels like fire, pleasure burning from Dean’s throbbing nipple to his throbbing cock as Sam does it again, and again, and again, and Dean is shaking apart, whole body trembling and fevered.
“C’mon, big brother,” Sam growls, leans in that half inch more and sticks out his tongue, and Dean draws in a gasped breath as he watches the tip of Sam’s tongue touch the bulge of his cock. One long lick down and back up, Sam’s other hand sliding down the length of his tense-as-a-wire body. Sam strokes his inner thighs, gets up between his spread legs to cup his balls where they’re drawn up tight, fingers rubbing him there, and the pleasure spreads through Dean like a wildfire, stomach clenching as he comes against the wet denim under Sam’s mouth, soundless and breathless, overwhelmed with the force of it.
Sam mouths at him as he convulses, other hand on Dean’s hip letting him thrust through it, until the front of Dean’s jeans are soaked with his own jizz and Sam’s spit.
“Jesus fuck,” Sam swears when Dean’s stopped shaking. He rips his own jeans open and grabs his dick, palming his erection fast and desperate, and comes with a grunt. Dean’s dick gives a weak twitch as he watches, balls so empty it hurts.
“Ow, god,” Dean complains, pressing a hand to the front of his jeans. His hand comes away wet and he makes a face.
“Ruined my favorite jeans, bitch.”
Sam has splayed himself out in a lazy sprawl on the floor. He looks at his watch and smiles. “Won the bet though, jerk.”
The alarm on Dean’s phone doesn’t go off for another four minutes.
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