dragonspell: (Dean pretty)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2010-09-11 09:31 pm

Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Eight Ball, Corner Pocket | Sam/Dean | NC-17 | 4915 words

Title: Eight Ball, Corner Pocket
Author: [livejournal.com profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP
Summary: In between hunts, the boys play a friendly game of pool. To up the stakes, though, Sam suggests adding a little wager: whoever wins gets to top. Dean has no plans on losing. Sam's just a dirty cheater.
Word Count: 4915
A/N: Written for a [livejournal.com profile] spnkink_meme prompt. And I should so totally be writing an essay right now. D:



In a one-horse town whose name Dean can’t quite remember, they decide to take a bit of a break. There’s no sense in going anywhere because, without a new case, they don’t have a direction. So, instead, they just found a little town that didn’t ask questions which is just perfect as far as Dean is concerned.

After all, it had been awhile since he’d had Sammy all to himself. He’s kind of been missing it. Sam’s with him now, though, matching him beer for beer, shot for shot, in the town’s only bar. Sam had spent the day in the room searching for a new case and Dean had been right there with him but the trade-off was that, come sundown, Sam had to put it all aside to get a little R & R. Sam would spend all of his free time wrapped up in books if Dean let him and that wasn’t good for anybody involved.

So here they were, in a hick bar, circling a pool table and Sam’s making eyes at Dean over the pool table. Every time that Sam takes a drink, Dean gets a good eye-fucking and it’s got him so damned keyed up, he doesn’t think that he should be responsible for the shit that’s coming out of his mouth. He can’t not rise to that challenge that Sammy’s giving him, that’s, like, against the rules or some such shit. Not with Sam deliberately waving his ass at him at every opportunity and it’s all Dean can do not to just say “fuck it” and toss Sam up onto the pool table like he’s obviously hoping for. And when he’s not waving his ass, he’s tilting back to show off his damn monster cock, pretending like Dean can’t tell that he’s half hard. Sam might be a big boy, but he’s not that big. It already looks like Sam’s shoved a few rolls of socks down there and Dean knows exactly what that means.

It means that after this game, they’re so out of here. It’s been so damn long since they’ve had time to do anything but maybe a couple of mutual handjobs or a swapped pair of blowjobs here and there but, tonight, they don’t have a damn thing to interrupt them. They can afford to get…a little ‘involved’ and Dean would be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to it, that it wasn’t one of the main reasons why he’d pried Sam away from his research. Sam’s beer is about halfway gone, Dean’s a little bit more, and Dean can’t take the damn waiting anymore. Especially not when Sam’s walking behind him, hands just barely away from Dean’s ass, saying shit like, “I should top tonight. We both know that you come too fast.” He’s keeping his voice low, not wanting the local rednecks to overhear but Dean hears him loud and clear. He straightens up and narrows his eyes at Sam.

“Really.” Sam’s awfully damn full of himself tonight. Especially considering the fact that he hasn’t convinced Dean to just bend over and take it for months now. Maybe a lot of that had to do with just how busy they’ve been but still.

Sam nods, all cocky self-assurance like he’s not blowing smoke out of his ass and he jerks his head at the table. “You going to take your shot, Dean?” he asks innocently and Dean’s well aware that little Sammy hasn’t been that innocent in a long damn time. Matter of fact, Dean’s pretty sure that Sam gives Dean a bit of a run for his money in the kink department though Dean wouldn’t admit that even if tortured. If anyone asked, Dean was the undisputed King of the Bedroom. Because he was. Provided Sam didn’t pull out all those ropes and whips and fucking feather ticklers that he was so damn fond of.

And, at any rate, they both know who can last the longest and if Sam thinks otherwise, then he’s obviously in denial. Dean leans down low to take his shot and he can’t ignore the way that Sam’s eyes glue themselves to Dean’s ass, probably already picturing him in that position, the perverted fuck. Then Sam’s eyes casually slide away and he moves to the end of the table, pretending like nothing’s up and like Hell Dean’s letting him get away with that.

He sinks the seven in the corner pocket, soft and smooth, and straightens up, eyeing Sam across the table. Sam tips him his beer as he takes a swallow, all blatant challenge because Sam’s gotten uppity lately. Dean knows that Sam needs to be shown his place and there was nothing like a good fucking to do that to a guy. Hard and deep and merciless, just like Sam likes it.

Dean ambles around the table, pretending like he’s looking for his next shot, like he and Sam don’t both know that he’s going for the three on the side, and his path takes him right in front of Sam. Dean checks his angles and backs up against Sam, standing just a little too close for normal circumstances but far enough away that no one in the bar is going to think twice about the two supposed drunk guys in the back. “I make you come way before I do, so I’m going to top,” Dean whispers low and sweet—Sam’s got stamina, sure, but Dean’s got technique—and Sam’s resulting growl sends a thrill straight down Dean’s spine. Sam sets his beer down and makes a grab for Dean but Dean’s already gone, sliding around the opposite side of the table and lining up his shot. He bends over more than what’s absolutely necessary just because he knows that Sam is watching.

The three goes wide and Dean curses. He’d been too focused on ‘showing off’ that he’d forgot to, well, ‘show off.’ Sam grins at him, though, slipping around the table to stand next to Dean, acting like he just came over to chalk up his stick. Dean can feel his heat even through their combined four layers of shirts and it makes his dick twitch in his too tight pants. “You’ll be too busy pushing your ass in the air to make me come,” Sam says confidently and, while Dean’s busy gaping, Sam takes his shot and sinks the nine. When he goes to take the next shot—the twelve in the corner pocket, sitting pretty right behind the eight ball and such a Sam shot to make—to prove that he’s smart instead of taking the easy shot with the ten in the opposite pocket—Dean slams an arm across his vision. Sam frowns. “Dean?”

It may very well be the beer and shots finally getting to him, but Dean says the first thing that comes to his mind, and fuck whatever audience they may or may not have. “We both know that I can last longer than you.”

The corners of Sam’s lips curl up in a cat-like smile as Sam slants his eyes over to Dean but he doesn’t bother to straighten—doesn’t have to, not with Dean bent over too and Sam being as big as a yeti in the first place. “That’s debatable,” Sam replies and hell, no. No, that fact is not up for debate.

“You may be good Sam, but I’m better,” Dean shoots back because this isn’t something that he’s unsure about. Sam bumps him away and takes the shot—sinking it and not even touching the damn eight ball. Cocky son of a bitch…

“Care to bet on that?” Sam asks, like he actually has a chance of winning anything when Dean’s around.

“On what, Sam?” Dean crosses his arms. “That I’m a better lay?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “On who gets to top tonight.” He steps closer to Dean and, even for supposed drunk guys, it’s a little too close but Dean can’t even pretend that he minds. He’s half a step away from kissing the ever living daylights out of Sam anyway, and damn whatever audience they might draw. “I can last longer than you,” Sam says with a shrug. “So, if I win this game, I get to top. You do whatever I say.”

Dean smirks. “A pool game’s not going to settle anything about your stamina, Sammy,” he whispers. Especially not when Dean soundly beats his ass.

Sam shrugs, walking away. “If you’re not up for it…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean says, snagging Sam’s arm and stopping him cold. “What do you mean ‘not up for it’?” Sam smirks at him, his eyes glancing down at Dean’s crotch and oh, Dean sees where Sam is going with this. “Oh, I’m up for it, alright,” he snarls because it is game on and Sam’s got no one to blame but himself.

Besides, when Dean wins, Sam’s little candy ass is all his anyway, so this is what Dean calls a win-win situation. So, when Sam lines up his next shot, Dean just smiles because he knows that he’s going to have a good time tonight. He doesn’t even mind when Sam sinks the next ball easily. Dean’s still got time and he doesn’t plan on losing.

It’s not until Sam makes the shot after that and then the one after that, that Dean begins to realize that he’s been had. Because there’s only one left of Sam’s stripes and three solids plus the eight ball. And the fifteen goes in just as smooth as the previous three balls and Sam’s smirking and pointing at the left corner pocket, calling it. Dean glowers and tells Sam to miss but—fuck it all—he sinks it just as easily. “You fucking cheater…” Dean hissed and Sam tries to look innocent.

Sam holds up his hands. “I didn’t cheat, Dean,” he says and, yeah, sure, theoretically, Dean knows that but it doesn’t make the loss to his baby brother any easier to bear. After all, Dean had just wagered his ass. Literally. “You’re not backing out, are you?” Sam asks and Dean scowls. He never backs out of a bet.

“No,” he says shortly and Sam smiles, soft and sweet. “Good. Then let’s get out of here.” He drains his beer and sets it down on the table against the wall and from the cock of Sam’s eyebrow, Dean knows that he’s got no choice. He glances down at Sam’s crotch and takes in that monster cock, tucked safely away in its denim prison and swallows hard. Sam catches him staring and Dean rolls his eyes and stalks towards the front door. In no way, shape or form would he ever confess to Sam that he might just be looking forward to this. In Dean’s defense, it’s been a long damn time since he’s bottomed and it’s not because he doesn’t like it. In fact, he might even be even more excited about getting back to the motel room than he was back when he was considering nailing Sam’s ass on top of the pool table.

He waits in the car while Sam pays the tab, still a little disbelieving that he’d been duped that damn easily. And he may or may not be rubbing his dick through his jeans, just a little, squirming against the Impala’s seat. He stops when Sam exits the bar and slides into the passenger side seat of the Impala. Dean turns his head to look at Sam, raising his eyebrows because he does recall that Sam said that Dean had to do whatever Sam told him. Sam nods at the road. “Let’s go to the motel, Dean.” He smirks out the window because Sam, the bastard, knows exactly what kind of game that they’re playing.

They drive in silence to the motel, Sam watching the world go by and not even trying to touch Dean while Dean keeps getting stuck on the size of Sam’s dick. Sam catches him looking again and smirks when Dean retrains his eyes to stare out the windshield.

When Dean parks the Impala, Sam doesn’t bother to rub winning in Dean’s face, either, like Dean would have. Hell, he doesn’t even draw Dean in for a little symbolic show of dominance either—a quick kiss to show Dean who’s boss—and usually Sam’s such a sucker for that kind of shit. No, he just gets out of the Impala and heads on into the room like it’s just an ordinary night and Dean’s left wondering what the fuck?

So he follows Sam into the room, closing the door behind him and Sam’s puttering around with his laptop, acting like he’s about ready to settle in for some more researching when he’d all but promised Dean sex and that was just not happening. They’d both agreed to this, after all and, Jesus, it’d been forever and a damn day. Why was Sam not jumping him right the fuck now?

Dean steps into the middle of the room and pulls his boots off, tossing them into the corner because it never hurt to be prepared. Dean had found out the hard way that his jeans were a bitch to get off quickly when he was still wearing his boots. Everything else, he was fairly certain that he could shed in about ten seconds give or take a few. “You were all talk back at the bar,” Dean says and Sam looks over at him. Now that he’s got Sam’s full attention, Dean strips off his over shirt, tossing it onto the floor and Dean knows that he’s not imagining the heat in Sam’s eyes. Still, Sam stays right where he’s at. “Come on, Sammy,” Dean adds, wiggling his fingers challengingly at Sam. “Let’s see what you got.” Sam’s breathing a little bit quicker, Dean can tell, and Dean pulls off his T-shirt, too. “What’s the matter?” Dean taunts, his eyes raking up and down Sam’s body. “Not ‘up’ for it?” It a deliberate choice, to throw Sam’s words back at him and apparently it’s the right one because Sam’s stalking towards Dean now, looming and threatening and, though Dean’s not afraid even the slightest little bit, a shiver still shoots down his spine.

Sam stops just in front of Dean, looking down at him and they’re close enough that Dean just has to lean forward an inch to be kissing Sam but he knows that that’s not his choice to make. “Wanted to make sure that you wanted this,” Sam growls and that’s all the warning that Dean gets before he’s bodily picked up and dumped onto the bed and, holy fuck but Dean thinks that that shouldn’t be as hot as he’s finding it.

Dean scoots backward on the bed, not about to make this easy for Sam but Sam latches on to his ankles and pulls him back down. “Get over here,” Sam snarls and some shivery part of Dean is all ready to hail the damn alpha but like hell is Sam getting away with claiming Dean’s ass that easily.

Dean kicks out at Sam, forcing him to let go, and wiggles back up on the bed, forcing Sam to come to him or get nowhere at all. Sam’s jaw drops for half a second, before he’s clenching his teeth together in determination. He crawls up to Dean and, this time when he grabs a hold of Dean, he pins him good. Now that’s more like it—if Sam wants to top, he’s got to damn well earn it. Dean still struggles against the hold that Sam’s got on him, not out of any real desire to get free but just testing Sam’s hold. It’s iron hard and it’s got Dean throbbing in his jeans. Fuck yeah.

Disappointingly, though, Sam just looms up there, not pressing his advantage at all and Dean’s just not having it. “Thought you were going to fuck me,” he says, tossing it out at Sam like a damn gauntlet and Sam growls.

“I am.” And Sam crushes his lips to Dean’s, forcing his mouth open and pushing in his tongue. Dean lets him in, though he’s tempted to bite just because, but Sam’s fucking moving in and it feels so damn nice. Dean squirms underneath Sam, testing his hold again and Sam moves over top of him, releasing Dean’s legs and slipping in between them. Dean spreads readily because it gives Sam an all-access pass to grind against Dean’s dick and Dean’s definitely down with that. He arches upward, moving with Sam and then they’re dry humping each other on the bed, their jeans rubbing together.

Dean breaks away, breathing hard. “Fuck,” he says. “You need to be a lot more naked.”

“So do you,” Sam shoots back and he finally lets up on his deathgrip on Dean’s wrists as he leans upward to strip off his shirts. Dean glances down and sees the bruises starting to form and it makes his heart skip a damn beat. Marked. Owned.

Fighting back a shiver, Dean quickly undoes his jeans and kicks them off and Sam’s just in the process of undoing his own jeans when Dean attacks him. Dean buries his hands into Sam’s hair, dragging Sam’s head upward for a hard kiss that Sam fields awkwardly at first until he finally catches a damn clue and starts kissing back. He’ll always be more rough passion than skillful technique but that’s okay because that’s exactly what Dean wants right now. Dean bites at Sam’s lips before yanking on Sam’s hair, watching Sam wince even as his eyes heat.

Yeah. Sam always has liked it rough. Down at waist level, Sam’s still fumbling with his jeans, pushing them down over his hips.

“Fuck me,” Dean says, more of a demand than anything else. “Come on, Sammy… Fuck me good.” If they’re going to do this, then they’re going to do this and Sam had better hurry up and get on the same damn page.

Sam snarls and grabs a hold of Dean’s hips, hauling him closer and—fuck—Sam’s definitely naked now. His hard cock is grinding against Dean’s thigh and Dean fucks forward, his own dick pushing up against Sam’s damn washboard abs. “I’m trying to,” Sam growls and yanks Dean into another bruisingly hard kiss that has Dean seeing stars before it’s through.

Dean gasps for air before baring his teeth at Sam. “Try harder,” he shoots back and Sam gives him no warning before Dean’s being flipped over onto his stomach, his arms being pinned behind his back and Sam’s pressing down on top of him. Dean hisses and jerks his rock hard cock against the mattress as Sam pushes against his ass.

“I’ll show you harder,” Sam threatens and Dean yelps as one of Sam’s big hands comes down hard on his ass. “I’ll fuck you through the damn mattress.” He smacks Dean again, a small blossom of pain fanning out across Dean’s flesh and Dean’s out and out panting as he ruts against the hard motel bed with its scratchy sheets. “Now get up on your knees and hold still.” Sam spanks Dean one last time and it’s all the incentive that Dean needs to get his knees up under him and wait impatiently as Sam tilts away. A slight tremor works its way through Dean’s body but he holds still, just like Sam wanted.

“Sam…” he says, just a little bit uncertain since he can’t see Sam, can’t even feel him, can just feel the weight of him on the bed behind Dean. At the sound of his voice, though, a hand trails across Dean’s ass, lightly touching and it’s all the reassurance that Dean needs. “God, come on,” he says, wiggling now because Sam’s taking so damn long. The motion slaps his hard cock against his thigh and Dean moans with pleasure and squirms again.

Another hard slap of Sam’s hand, this time across the opposite cheek than the others, jerks Dean forward and leaves him gasping for breath. “What part of hold still, didn’t you get, Dean?”

“Jesus, just fuck me already!” He’s out and out whining now but he doesn’t dare move and, in reward, he suddenly has two fingers thrusting roughly inside of him. Dean gasps and pushes back against them as they explore his insides, slicked and stretching. They curve downward, stroking against him and Dean jumps as they touch across his prostate. The motion gives him away and, Sam, knowing that he’s found his mark, presses in relentlessly, his fingers deliberately and mercilessly teasing until Dean’s panting underneath him, biting the sheet and mindlessly pushing his ass backwards, hoping for more.

Fuck,” Sam groans and he pulls his fingers out of Dean, much to Dean’s disappointment. Before he can complain, though, Sam’s collapsing on top of him, his hips aligning with Dean’s and Dean feels the wet tip of Sam’s cock pushing against his ass.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice pathetically breathy but he’s beyond caring. “Yeah, Sammy…” Sam shoves himself in, splitting Dean nearly in two with a few short, quick thrusts until he’s fully inside and Dean spreads his legs wider trying to accommodate. “Oh fuck yeah…” Sam holds still, just quietly breathing on top of Dean, even though his cock is buried balls deep and Dean squirms, pushing back against Sam. He so fucking wants this. “Fuck me, Sam. Jesus, just do it!”

Sam growls and his teeth sink into Dean’s shoulder, making Dean’s head snap up at the sharp blossom of pain. It’s quickly gone, though, replaced by Sam’s lips sucking on the skin and Dean’s dick throbs painfully. Just like with the bruises that he can still see on his wrists. He fucking loves it when Sam marks him. It makes him feel like he belongs. Between that and the way that Sam’s body is pressing Dean down into the bed and how Sam’s cock is so firmly inside of him, Dean thinks that he could come untouched right the fuck now. Then Sam is thrusting hard and fast like a damn jackhammer, hips slamming against Dean’s ass while his huge hands hold Dean steady and it’s fucking fantastic and Dean’s riding the knife edge of climax.

He’s babbling. He knows that he’s babbling but he really doesn’t care. Well. Not until Sam pulls out and flips him around. The only reason he cares then, though, is because Sam’s shoving his fingers into Dean’s mouth, giving him something to suck on, something to keep his mouth occupied and that’s even better. Dean ends up straddling Sam’s hips as Sam forces him up and down on his cock, thrusting underneath Dean as Dean rides him. Dean moans around Sam’s fingers and sucks eagerly, hungrily as he follows Sam’s demands and rocks his hips in time with Sam’s thrusts. Sam’s dick, hard and thick inside of him, is making him see stars and Dean’s body is starting to tremble.

Dean skates his hands along Sam’s hard chest, fingers mapping every ridge and curve and Sam moans appreciatively. “Just like that. Just like that, Dean…” he says and bucks up extra hard into Dean as his fingers shove even further into Dean’s mouth until Dean’s gag reflex kicks in and Dean’s just done.

Dean doesn’t bother to tell Sam, to warn him, doesn’t have the time or the inclination. He just moves his right hand to his dick and three quick strokes later and he’s coming all over Sam’s chest. His vision’s going dark and Sam’s dick feels huge inside of him. Sam twists underneath him, filling Dean’s ears with the sound of his moans as Dean slumps forward bonelessly, not having the energy to hold himself up anymore—he spilled it all out onto Sam. Sam’s rasping words but Dean’s only catching some of them, something about “gorgeous” and “hot” and “tight” before he’s rolled over onto his back.

Dean lets his legs spread open, falling to the bed on either side of Sam and Sam grips his thighs, using them for leverage as he slams inside of Dean. Fucked out, Dean just lets Sam use him, his eyes sliding closed as Sam keeps at it because every other thrust is sending shivers up and down his spine. Sam’s hands slide up over Dean’s chest, fingers digging in as they make their way up to Dean’s neck where Dean helpfully, obediently, tips his head back to give them room. They cup his head, the thumbs pushing up underneath his jaw and then Sam’s bending over top of him, licking at his neck before he comes up to seal his mouth over Dean’s. It only takes one quick swipe of Sam’s tongue for Dean to part his lips and then Sam’s plunging inside, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his cock. He lets himself collapse more fully on top of Dean, pressing Dean into the bed and rubbing their chests together, Dean’s spent cock trapped between them.

Dean’s not getting enough air—panting, out of breath, he can’t seem to suck in enough through his nose, and Sam’s body is nearly crushing him—but he doesn’t fucking care. The room’s starting to spin around him and Sam’s still fucking him like a champ despite the fact that Dean’s over and done with, even if his cock is hopelessly trying to twitch back to life. But Dean moans happily and raises his hands to bury in Sam’s hair, not letting him go anywhere. This is too damned perfect.

Sam gasps against Dean’s mouth, before choking off a whine, breathless and needy and he’s coming inside of Dean, long thick pulses that are flooding Dean’s insides. Dean moans helplessly and cants his hips, actively trying to help Sam fuck him for the first time since Sam threw him on his back because Jesus fucking Christ but that feels nice. He loves the feeling of Sam coming inside of him, loves how Sam’s cock throbs and loves the warmth spreading inside of him. Marking him. Claiming him.

Sam kisses along Dean’s throat as he comes down from his high, his hips still working, just less demanding than before, almost gentle in comparison. Sam’s lips and tongue worship Dean’s skin and Dean feels like he should be purring. Instead, he just sighs contentedly and doesn’t even complain about how Sam’s heavy body is pushing him into the mattress. Sam’s hips slowly churn to a stop and he stays there, buried inside of Dean, while his hands slide over every available inch of Dean’s body—down his arms and over his sides, anywhere that Sam can reach without having to move either of them.

It’s Dean that speaks first, unable to stay silent for too long. The room’s still spinning, just a little bit, and he closes his eyes. “That was awesome,” he says, a statement of fact because he’s pretty sure even his toes are tingling at this point.

“Mmm,” Sam replies, still nuzzling at Dean’s throat. Dean hopes that Sam’s remembered not to mark up anywhere that can’t be hidden by clothes but he’s not overly worried. Sam’s usually pretty damn good about that and besides—Dean can’t even admit that he doesn’t like it. It’d be such a damn lie because he fucking loves it. He likes having Sam’s marks on display for the world to see. It just sometimes makes it harder to interview witnesses and the like but fuck it.

Then Sam’s starting to laugh, his chest shaking on top of Dean’s and Dean pushes against his shoulder, wanting in on the joke. “What?” he asks, grinning at Sam. He can’t help it—Sam’s laughter is fucking contagious, especially when Sam glances up at him, all crinkled eyes and white teeth and dimples.

“Told you,” Sam says, laughing harder, and it takes Dean a full minute to get it.

He snorts and pushes harder at Sam’s shoulder. “Fucker,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Get off me.” Sam’s just soured his charitably for the moment and the giant’s really fucking heavy, so he can stop using Dean as a substitute for the mattress now. Sam’s still firmly between Dean’s thighs, though, so Dean can’t exactly roll him off without some effort.

“Dude. I totally outlasted you.” The bastard’s still laughing at him and Dean opens his mouth to say something suitably insulting but Sam kisses him and Dean’s train of thought leaves the damn station without him. He’s moaning softly in his throat and wrapping himself around Sam’s body again, his tongue stroking against Sam’s, before Sam breaks the kiss and smirks down at him and Dean’s suddenly reminded.

“Fuck you,” Dean says, and it’s half-assed at best because that’s all he’s got right now. He doesn’t even have the ambition to find a proper comeback because even if Sam is fucking heavy, he feels awfully damn nice at the same damn time and Dean’s just too content right where he is. It’s so fucking awesome to not have a damn thing to care about besides the fact that Sam’s happy—smug but happy—and that Dean’s contentedly sated.

“And you loved every minute of it,” Sam says, rubbing it in but he starts kissing Dean again right after and Dean’s willing to cede the point. So maybe he did. And maybe he still is.

Maybe he’ll even let Sammy have another go at him in just a little while.

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