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Dean

Fic: Boredom's a Bitch (Supernatural, Sam/Dean)

Posted on 2009.07.04 at 23:49
Current Mood: busy
Tags: , , ,
So, my first decent-length (just under 4,000 words)Supernatural fic. And I'm jumping right in there, with WARNINGS for Wincest and gunplay. And vague potential dub-con for a few moments, except that it isn't at all. Basically, it's *drumroll* *fanfare* PORN!! :D

(And this one I think I will post to a comm. Hey, what's the worst that can happen? *chews fingernails nervously*)

(In case anyne happened to spot my earlier question, not to worry. I decided actual subject knowledge was overkill!)

Hi all, and sorry to those of you with incest squicks, I promise promise promise the next thing I write will be you-friendly!

Here goes, then...


The motel was clean, and airless, and unspeakably drab, and Dean was bored. Thing about Dean was, he possessed one of the sharpest brains Sam had ever come across, including the genius boffins of his aborted college years, though he kept it deliberately and ruthlessly hidden. Sam had once, exasperated and intrigued, called him on this. Dean had grinned, that infectious, twinkling smile that revealed absolutely nothing, and said something about it paying to keep a few aces up your sleeve, Sammy-boy. Sam suspected there was a bit more to it than that, but if Dean wasn’t talking, you could apply thumbscrews (and God knew Sam had been sorely tempted from time to time) and it wasn’t going to make a scrap of difference.

And it worked out pretty well, actually – they’d established an effective double-act, Sam being all insightful and empathic (and getting lumbered with way more than his fair share of the research, but hey, he pretty much enjoyed it and it gave him something to bitch about, so all good), Dean playing dumb and coaxing information out of people who didn’t think he was listening properly. Yin and yang, kind of thing. Earnest intellectualism versus unthreatening charm. Or threats, if necessary. Dean was good at that too.

Which was all fine, as long as they had something going on to concentrate the mind. And since they were usually either trying to piece together some frustratingly complex puzzle or fighting for their lives, there was rarely time to think too much about anything else. Long drives were for catching up on rest or talking over cases, diners were for eating, motels for keeping clean and sleeping. And fucking, from time to time, which was nice but little more than another practicality of life taken care of. Something they’d slipped into (so to speak) almost by accident, both drunk after some now-forgotten event when one or other of them had come a bit too close to death, the resulting stand-up argument leading where it had been threatening to for years. Funnily enough, neither of them had been particularly embarrassed after the event – hell, they shared everything else, might as well get the set.

So yeah, good times. Except. Except for the, thankfully rare, occasions when circumstance or injury forced them into inactivity for any period of time. Dean transformed into something resembling a hyperactive kid, unable to settle, craving stimulation. And a serious bitch to live with, taking out his frustration on the nearest target, which of course was invariably Sam.

Like now. After their damn-near-disastrous close call at the bank, Sam had realised that there were alternatives to one or both of them getting killed in combat, the most likely of which at the moment appeared to be Dean spending the rest of his life in jail, and put Dean on lockdown until the heat died off a little. Dean had been uncharacteristically compliant, clearly shaken up by his brush with that Fed (Hendrickson or whatever his name was, and Sam didn’t know what the hell the agent had said but he’d sure as hell pressed Dean’s buttons good). He’d raised no objection when Sam had ordered him to pull over at a completely random stopping point, chosen for nothing more than the bleak impersonality of the location. Had grumbled a little when Sam refused point blank to let them go out for dinner, insisting on bringing in take-out instead, but had given in without any real attempt at protest. Had spent the majority of the following couple of days flicking inattentively through cable channels or just lost in thought. Sam wondered again what Hendrickson had said – he’d seen Dean face demons and be less rattled by the encounter. But pushing it would be no use, Dean would talk (or fight, bitch, fuck him into the wall, whatever) when he was good and ready, and in the meantime Sam had to admit it was nice to have the peace.

It couldn’t last forever, though, and on the third day of their (well, Dean’s – Sam still felt pretty much safe to come and go up to a point) forced incarceration, things deteriorated. Sam was on the laptop (the motel was cheap and certainly didn’t come with free Wi-Fi, but this was a built-up area and hey, if people couldn’t go to the trouble of locking down their connections who was he to argue?) checking messages and studiously ignoring the restless pacing that had started up behind him, the ostentatious sighs and yawns. Probably a mistake, he reasoned from the floor after an unexpected and hefty shove sent him sprawling from his chair.

“Gimme that.”

Sam glared up from the carpet. “You couldn’t just ask like a normal person?”

“Could have. Didn’t. Problem?”

Sam considered taking him on, just for want of anything better to do. Decided he could live a little while longer without a punch to the head, however much damage he might manage to inflict in return. Dean was clearly spoiling for a fight, and damned if Sam was going down that road without a good reason.

“Fine, then. Knock yourself out.”

Sam was pretty sure he heard Dean mutter, “I’ll knock you out in a minute if you don’t shut up,” but decided that was just too childish to dignify with a response. Hauling himself up off the floor, he spent a fruitless few minutes searching for the remote before he discovered it stuffed inside Dean’s pillowcase. Loftily ignored the snigger from the direction of his idiot brother, and made himself comfortable for some serious channel-surfing.

The next few hours was punctuated with increasingly frequent and ridiculous ideas for possible hunts, as Dean surfed the Net for something he considered worthy of their attention. Sam knocked each one back calmly, and managed not to roll his eyes too obviously, but he could feel his patience starting to wear thin.

It was when he’d finally given up on the TV and just managed to drift into a comfortable doze that Dean interrupted him one time too many.

“Sam. Sammy! Think I’m definitely onto something with this one.”

Sam cracked one eye open. “Amaze me.”

“Okay. Listen to this. Three women, all found dead within days of each other in the same town, no visible injuries, no signs of struggle or forced entry, just dead in their own homes. Suspicious, huh?”

Sam gazed at him levelly. “Dean. How old were they?”

To do him justice, Dean did have the grace to look somewhat defensive. “What the hell’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

Dean turned back to the computer screen. “No information on this one.”

“And the others?”

There was a short pause. “Eighty-seven. And, um, ninety-four.”

Sam sighed. This wasn’t going to end well. “Dude, enough. We’re not hunting right now, so deal, okay? I know it’s a bitch being stuck here, but it just isn’t safe. And you know it.”
“Screw that,” Dean snarled, eyes flashing green fire, and Sam found time to admire the view even as he kept a watchful eye on the laptop, not quite trusting Dean not to hurl it across the room in a fit of temper. “When is it ever safe? We hunt monsters, jerk! And I’m sick to the teeth of being locked in here because of your freakin’ control issues.”

Oh nice. He had control issues? “Right. What the fuck ever. Go on then, get yourself arrested. You’re not six, and I’ve had enough of taking this shit just for trying to keep your sorry ass out of jail.”

The attack seemed to actually calm Dean some, and his voice was sulky rather than outright angry when he answered. “Come on, Sam. We’re two states away from Ground Zero. Chances are nobody’s heard a thing about it here.”

Sam laughed, disbelieving. “You’re kidding, right? Dean, I hate to break it to you, but you don’t poke your head out of a bank under siege, holding a gun, in full view of several camera crews, and not expect to be noticed. Dude, you’re the story of the week. You’re national news.”

“Okay, okay!” Dean was still half-yelling, face still angry, but his shoulders had slumped and Sam knew he’d made his point. He let it drop, and a prickly, awkward silence fell between them.

Predictably, Dean broke first. “Okay,” he repeated, quieter now. “It’s just...God, man, I’m bored. I can’t take much more of this. Seriously, I’m going insane here.”

“I know, believe me. Way you’re going, you’ll take me with you. Look, we’ll go as soon as we can – I don’t want to be stuck here any longer than we have to either. Just a few more days, OK?” He put on his most pleading face; saw the answering shift as Dean cracked. Decided to sweeten the pot. “Hey, there’s this diner a couple blocks up, does awesome-looking buffalo wings. You want?”

Dean shrugged, clearly not willing to be so easily mollified, though the look in his eyes showed he was tempted – Sam suppressed a grin. Dean was too easy. Although there was something indefinable in his expression – something sort of calculating, too fleeting for Sam to get a handle on. And there was nothing of it in his tone as he answered.

“Sure. Why the hell not? Hey, get some beers too.”

“No problem.” Relieved that his brother’s mood appeared to have lightened, and in all honesty glad of the excuse for a break, Sam headed for the door.

He took his own sweet time getting provisions, taking a lengthy walk round the neighbourhood which offered nothing in the way of scenic attractions but was pleasant enough in the balmy air of early evening. He snagged a look at the local paper – Dean was no longer, thank God, front page news, but he didn’t have to turn too many pages to find the familiar face staring out at him. Definitely not time to come out of hiding, just yet.

Sighing at the idea of yet more time cooped up with a restless and fretting Dean, he turned resolutely and headed for home. And checked, horrified, as he saw the door, which he had definitely heard Dean lock as he left, standing wide open. Fuck. Several scenarios immediately leapt to mind, and none of them was any more appealing than the rest. Trying hard not to fear the worst, and wishing to God that he was in the habit of going out armed, he edged cautiously into the room.

The sight that met him froze him to the spot. Dean, sprawled on the bed, eyes dark and dangerous, denim-clad legs stretched out, back resting casually against the headboard. Sweet fuck but he looked hot, and that was so not a helpful thought when a guy had a gun trained on your forehead and that guy was Dean Winchester. Sam’s brain went into something approaching meltdown as genuine fear warred with instant arousal and neither came out on top.

“Christo.” The only thing he could think of to say, and even that short word took him three goes to get out. Dean smirked, and that should have been a mood-killer right there, but somehow the look just enhanced the menace and Sam almost unconsciously took a step back until he was up against the wall and there was nowhere left to go.

“Nope. Just me, little bro.” He waggled the gun, very slightly, in the direction of the door. “Close that. And lock it.”

Sam didn’t take his eyes off Dean as he slid his arm sideways to push the door, found the key and turned it. He tried to convince himself that it was self-preservation that glued his attention to his brother – keep your enemy in plain sight and all that – but in all honesty he wasn’t sure he could have dragged his eyes off that particular spectacle if his life depended on it. Which wasn’t exactly out of the question right now. His brain, which thankfully seemed to have switched itself back on again, had now gone into overdrive working through possibilities – possession seemed to be out, but whether this was something serious (shape shifter maybe? Surely not again – even they couldn’t be that unlucky twice, could they?) or seriously kinky, hard to tell. Sam was fairly sure it was probably the latter, because why the hell would Dean, of all people, pull a gun on him with intent? But then he’d been gone awhile, had no idea what could have happened while he’d been out, and...

Dean’s voice sliced through Sam’s frantic train of thought, with one well-placed word.

“Strip.”

And, like that, Sam found himself leaning heavily back against the wall for support, knees threatening to buckle as all the blood in his body seemed to re-route itself directly to his cock. He bit his lip hard to stifle a gasp, letting the sharp pain centre him.

“No.” What the hell, might as well find out if Dean was seriously intending to shoot him.

With breathtaking deliberateness, Dean cocked back the hammer of the pistol, the click shattering in the charged silence. Sam watched, sickly fascinated and mortifyingly hard, as his brother uncurled himself sinuously from the bed and – prowled, was the best word Sam could think of – towards him, the gun levelled unerringly at him in a steady two-handed grip.

“I won’t ask again.” His voice was light, gentle almost, and Sam couldn’t suppress a shiver. He’d heard that tone from his brother many times, usually just before he killed something. It dawned on him properly for the first time that he could be in genuine danger here, and he ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips, tasting the slight tang of blood where he’d apparently bitten clean through without realising it.

“Sure, Dean.” Sam fought hard to keep his voice steady. “What are you going to do? Shoot me? Really?”

Dean smiled, a leisurely baring of teeth. “You know what? I just might. You wanna chance it?”

Sam’s gaze searched the face before him, finding nothing reassuring, and no, he decided, he really didn’t. He tried to keep his eyes locked with Dean’s as he slowly complied, but as he fiddled with buttons and peeled away layers the sense of vulnerability became too intense, and he had to look away, cheeks flaming. He heard a harsh intake of breath as he finally stood, naked and horribly exposed, before his fully clothed and fucking armed brother, but by the time he could bring himself to look up, Dean’s expression was unreadable.

“Good boy. You do as you’re told like that, I might not shoot you after all. Okay, on the bed and lie down.”

Obediently, Sam moved into the room, feeling Dean’s presence a couple of steps behind him, and as he lay down Dean settled himself on the edge of the bed beside him.

“See, here’s the thing.” Sam’s eyes flickered shut as the gun barrel traced light patterns across his chest. “I think you’re loving this. Keeping me here, locked up, like a prisoner. Or a pet, yeah. And the worst of it is, I know you’re right. So okay, we stay here, for now.”

He leaned in close, breath hot on Sam’s ear, the gun suddenly hard against his throat.

“But...” barely a breath, and the words sang through every part of Sam “...we do it on my terms. Understand?”

Sam nodded once, the smallest of movements, not trusting himself to speak. Felt the pressure against his throat ease, the gun tracking a path clear down the length of his torso, raising goose bumps in its wake, to halt just below his navel.

“Okay,” Dean’s voice rolled over Sam, rich and dark, and there was definitely humour in there now, “What have we here?” And Sam would have laughed if he could have remembered how to breathe, because yeah, like anyone could have failed to spot that up till now, but Dean chose that exact moment to trail the cold metal, unbearably gently, up the length of his straining erection and back down to the base, and Sam arched uncontrollably off the bed, craving friction, unable to hold back a whimper.

“Dean.” Christ, he sounded wrecked. He coughed, tried again. “Dean...” No better. Sam decided to shut up. Dean was having none of it.
“Yeah, Sammy?” The muzzle was rubbing gently back and forth along his perineum, teasing lightly at his hole before dragging back to nudge his balls, over and over, and Sam was trembling even before Dean brought his free hand into play, soothing across Sam’s chest before taking firm hold of one taut nipple, pinching and rolling, the pressure hard enough to hurt and contrasting incredibly with the soft movements of the gun. “Tell me what you want.”

Sam couldn’t think, his entire consciousness focussed on the exquisite pain-pleasure driving him slowly beyond reason. Dean’s hand leaving his nipple to follow the path travelled by the gun, gripping his cock firmly, the soft-rough pad of his thumb sweeping once over the head, then again, and Sam bucked upwards, fucking into the grasp around him, needing more. The gun was still now, but each thrust dragged the mouth across the hypersensitive flesh behind his balls, and Sam could feel sweat beading on his forehead as heat spread through him.


“Want...” Speech was out of the question. “I...God!”

The last word torn from him, little more than a ragged moan, as Dean leant over and latched on to the recently abused nipple, swirling his tongue over and around, soothing, teasing. Almost too much, too intense – Sam fought not to come, but he was so damn close now, straining towards orgasm like there was nothing else to live for.

Dean pulled back, just at the very moment Sam thought it was all over. “Having a little trouble speaking there, Sammy?” and at last there was a hint of breathiness belying the studied calm. Sam managed something that might or might not have been a glare.

“Never mind. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, then, shall I?” His hand began a slow, deliberate stroking along his shaft – base to tip, back down, up again, the lack of lubrication creating an almost intolerably pleasurable friction.

“I’m going to fuck you. So slow, so damn hard, Sammy, till you come screaming. Gonna open you up for me with this...” the gun’s mouth pressed lightly against his asshole, not penetrating but with the promise of more to follow, “...and fuck right into you.” He paused, moving in till his face was inches from Sam’s, waiting till Sam forced his eyes open to meet Dean’s, and God, the want, the raw need in his brother’s gaze almost undid him. Whisper-soft, enunciating every syllable with precise clarity, Dean breathed, “Something else you should know.”

He leaned in even closer, their lips brushing together in a moment that was, impossibly given the circumstances but undeniably nevertheless, pure romance. “It’s loaded. Just in case you were wondering.”

Fucking hell! And cocked, and pressing, now, beyond the rim, inside him, part of him. And there was just no way that should have been hot, but that was all it took, and Sam jerked violently as his orgasm hit with enough force to slam him back on the bed. Dean milked him through it, wringing every last drop out of him till Sam was shaking, breathing completely fucked and (God help him) tears streaking his cheeks.

“Although, come to think,” Dean said softly, “safety’s on. Maybe I should have mentioned that.”

Sam huffed the shadow of a laugh, too shattered to utter the abuse Dean clearly deserved for playing him like that. He lay, relaxed, spent beyond describing, listening to his heart gradually finding a rhythm approaching normal.

“Jesus, Dean,” he finally managed to get out several minutes later. “That was...wow.”

“Yeah.” Dean radiated smugness. “I’m good, I know.” The gun was gone now, lying innocently on the bedside table as if it had never been anywhere else. As if it hadn’t been...Sam shivered and his cock, impossibly, twitched at the memory.

“Still gonna fuck you, though,” Dean continued. “If that’s OK with you, of course.”

“Hey.” Sam grinned weakly, flapped a hand in what would have been an airy wave if his muscles had come back online yet. “Be my guest, man.”

Dean leaned in and kissed him, warm, lingering, before reaching for the lube and flicking the cap. He prepped Sam thoroughly, with a meticulous attention to detail that had Sam hard again before Dean was satisfied. Finally done, he crawled between Sam’s parted thighs, lifting and spreading, pushing in inch by tantalising inch until his balls rested flush against Sam’s ass.

“You good?” he said, and now it was Dean’s voice sounding cracked, hoarse from the strain of holding back. Sam smiled.

“Yeah Dean, I’m good. I’d be better if you’d do something, though.”

Dean’s eyebrows arched upwards. “Oh, is that right? Well, excuse the fuck out of me, princess.” And he started to thrust in earnest, long powerful strokes that hit against Sam’s prostate over and over, till the rhythm began to stutter and Sam knew that Dean was at the edge – he wasn’t that far behind himself, amazingly. He lifted his arms and pulled Dean’s head down so his lips rested against his brother’s ear.

“You know what, though?” He kept his voice low, smooth, and felt Dean’s breathing hitch uncontrollably as the pace of his thrusts became faster, more frantic. “You’re right. I think I would get off on having you as my prisoner. Mine to command. I’d keep you chained down...” he felt Dean moan against his neck “...and suck you off once a day, fast, you know, no nonsense, just to keep you compliant.”

Dean’s breathing was shot. “Sammy...Jesus fuck...I...” he got out, his fingers digging into Sam’s ass hard enough to bruise, thrusting hard twice more, three times, before coming deep inside him, jerking and pulsing for an impossibly long time, finally collapsing on top of him, dead weight. Sam managed to squeeze one hand between them, gripping himself firmly and pumping fast, half a dozen times maybe before he was there, come spurting out to ooze stickily between their bellies. They lay like that, Dean softening and pulling gently out of Sam’s ass, Sam stroking lazily down Dean’s back just for the hell of it, both panting slightly and waiting for the world to fall back into place.

“So.” Sam spoke softly, in no hurry to shatter the mood. “You still bored?”

“Hell yeah!” Dean pulled back so he could look properly at Sam. “Seriously, dude. I know you’re right, I do. But could we at least change rooms? Dammit, I’ll ride in the trunk if that’s what it takes, just – I need a change of scene. Like now. Well, not this second now. But soon.”

“Yeah, OK. Tell you what, as soon as I figure out how to get out of this bed, I’ll get on the laptop, see if I can scope us out another place. Somewhere a bit more interesting. Sound good?”

Which is how, the following day, Dean Winchester became acquainted with Magic Fingers for the first time in his life.

Comments:


Callisto
callistosh65 at 2009-07-05 07:10 (UTC) (Link)
Holy Mary, fall into the Wincest with avengance why don't you, my friend? Wincest, smoking hot gunplay... wow, that was good. I need a cigarette...*g* Loved the set up of a bored Dean and Sam trying to contain him without losing his own mind in the process. And the voices were great: “Could have. Didn’t. Problem?” Heh, wickedly good DeanSpeak.

You are like, hip deep in Winchesters now. So you just keep scribbling, okay??



I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2009-07-05 08:41 (UTC) (Link)
You know you did this, right? I have you to thank blame for being up till four this morning, because Dean had a gun on Sam and there's no way you get to sleep with that unresolved!

I'm so pleased you liked it, I've been reading a hell of a lot of Dean/Sam recently and the talent in this fandom is such that it's like a tutorial. But I'm especially glad the voices felt right. Thank you! *hugs*

Congratulations on your Wicked Award, by the way. *applauds you*

Edited at 2009-07-05 08:41 (UTC)
Callisto
callistosh65 at 2009-07-05 11:13 (UTC) (Link)
Congratulations on your Wicked Award, by the way. *applauds you* Aw, cheers me dear. It's very nice to be recognised for one's smut, don't you think?
kiwisue
kiwisue at 2009-07-05 11:33 (UTC) (Link)
I don't even follow SPN, but I thought that was mighty hot. Boys & guns, you know...

In case anyone happened to spot my earlier question, not to worry. I decided actual subject knowledge was overkill!

Ack! I did, & meant to get back to you. Never mind, save these up for future reference:

http://www.sff.net/people/sanders/rrdws2.html

http://www.imfdb.org/index.php/Main_Page
(lots of stuff for SPN, Pros, LoM - and someone(s) being a busy bee, because they keep adding pics).
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2009-07-06 10:16 (UTC) (Link)
Wow, thanks! It's such a huge compliment that someone's prepared to have a look at my stuff even when it's not their fandom. *feels warm and snuggly* Yeah, gun!kink's always a pretty sure bet for the hawt! :D

And thanks for the links - I'll definitely be using those. Although in the case of the imfdb one, I have to confess it'll be more about the pretty than about the gun info!
Zubeneschamali
zubeneschamali at 2009-07-06 21:33 (UTC) (Link)
Hot damn. *fans self* That was awesome, and so in character for both of them. I think a sequel is in order...and we know Sam is more into knives than guns...
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2009-07-07 15:58 (UTC) (Link)
Eeee! Thank you - I'm still very new to this fandom, and it's great to hear my characterisation was OK. As for a sequel - never say never. Certainly more porny goodness will roll along - I meant to pander to my handcuff!kink in this one, but the guys were a bit too distracted to fall into line! Knives - hmm, liking that! :D
Zubeneschamali
zubeneschamali at 2009-07-11 02:40 (UTC) (Link)
Oh, I think handcuff!kink would work just fine, too. :) Welcome to the fandom!
vic
saintvic at 2009-07-07 00:08 (UTC) (Link)
Bloody hell, this is seriously hot. The gun play was fantastic and had me melting into a puddle of goo. I'll admit I don't read any SPN fic but I do watch the show and love the dialogue hear, it feels spot on. And that is as coherent as you will get me, I'll just be scrolling back up for a bit of a reread.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2009-07-07 16:05 (UTC) (Link)
Gunplay = win! :D

Thanks, Vic - love that you liked the dialogue, that's what it's all about for me. Also bonus love for reading at all if you don't usually read in this fandom - I have such lovely friends! ♥
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