dragonspell: (horny)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2010-10-16 01:49 pm

Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Calming Techniques | NC-17 | 2235 words

Title: Calming Techniques
Author: [livejournal.com profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: PWP, slight spoilers for 6x04
Summary: Missing scene for 6x04. Sam calms Dean down on the plane.
Word Count: 2235
A/N: I can't believe that I wrote this instead of working on my Reverse Bang. ;_;



“Is he going to be okay?” The question was asked flatly, not really a question at all. It was just a lead up to, “Are you going to need more bags?” Sam smiled wanly at the flight attendant and nodded because there wasn’t much else he could do. Dean was already sprinting for the tiny airplane bathroom for the third time and Sam knew that he should just be happy that Dean was actually on the plane and five hours in instead of locked in the bathroom stall back at the airport terminal. That knowledge, though, would do nothing for the flight attendant who was glaring at Sam like he was her own personal thorn. He probably was.

He accepted the bags that she was handing to him (she’d already come prepared this time) and set them on Dean’s seat, ready to be used when Dean was. “I’ll go check on him,” Sam said, standing up. The flight attendant backed up hurriedly and nodded sharply before disappearing down the aisle. Sam raised his eyebrows as he watched her retreat but then shook his head. Whatever her problem was it wasn’t any of his business. He had his hands full dealing with Dean.

A few of the other passengers were staring at Sam as he made his way down the aisle but Sam ignored them as well, focused on making his way back to the bathroom that Dean had barricaded himself him. He slipped past the rows of seats to stand next to the door and knocked. “Dean?”

All he got as an answer was another round of retching and Sam winced. “Dude…” He'd spent the past few hours trying to get Dean to steady his breathing. Obviously it wasn't working as well as could be hoped. At this point, Sam was pretty sure, too, that there was technically nothing left in Dean's stomach for him to throw up—the sandwich back from the little corner deli was long gone.

It’s not like they had any other choice. It was flying or nothing because they needed to get there fast and it wasn’t like they could just drive the Impala over the Atlantic. And Cas was ignoring them again. Typical.

Dean was still locked in the bathroom and Sam wiggled the handle. “Dean, you okay?”

The door suddenly swung open to show Dean, pissed off and looking like death warmed over glaring at Sam. “Do I look okay, peaches?” he snapped and Sam took a moment to let the insult roll over him. If Dean was feeling good enough to snap at him, that was usually a good sign. “What are you doing hanging outside the bathroom anyway, you stalker?”

Sam glanced back at the rest of the passengers, all of which were staring straight ahead at the in-flight movie or minding their own business. Then he pushed inside the tiny closet that passed for a bathroom on a plane. “Jesus, Sam—” Dean tried to protest but luckily, he was cut-off by his stomach starting to dry-heave again. Sam shut the door behind him and locked it. The one flight attendant would know for sure but, at this point, Sam was banking on her not really caring as long as he managed to calm Dean down a little.

That was fine. Sam could definitely do that.

Dean hung his head over the tiny toilet and moaned pitifully. “I think I puked up a kidney…” Sam nodded and didn’t say anything about Dean’s grumbling—it was usually best just to let him go—instead, running a hand over Dean’s head, brushing through his hair. If Dean were feeling better, he’d no doubt pull away or, at least, have a smartass comment for Sam. As it was, though, he subtly leaned into Sam’s touch, wanting that little bit of comfort and Sam’s lips quirked into a tiny smile. If it wasn’t for the whole “puking” thing, he’d almost like this moment. “Last time I was on a plane, it almost crashed,” Dean mumbled.

“Yeah. I know,” Sam replied. “I was there, remember?”

Dean opened one blurry eye to glare at him. “Then why aren’t you puking out your guts, too? It’s what any sensible guy would do…”

Sam shrugged, not wanting to get into a discussion about phobias and who might or might not have them. He knew better than that. “Can you stand?” he asked and Dean glared harder.

“Why?” Dean asked accusingly, clutching the toilet bowl like Sam might want to take it away from him.

Sam rolled his eyes and moved his hand down to Dean’s arm, pulling him upward. “Just…stand up, Dean.”

“Knew it,” Dean said. “Knew that you needed to use it, too. I’m not the only one that’s getting sick. It’s the damn turbulence—” Ignoring Dean’s little rant, Sam took advantage of his distraction, cutting Dean off as he turned him around to face the wall. Dean stared straight ahead at the cream-colored plastic. “What the fuck, Sam.” Just like the flight attendant’s question earlier, it really wasn’t a question.

“Shut up,” Sam said casually, just for something to say and not expecting Dean to listen to him at all.

Dude,” Dean said as Sam slipped his hands around Dean’s middle. “Are you feeling me up?”

“No,” Sam denied, pulling Dean’s shirt up to get his fingers underneath. Dean sucked in his stomach as Sam touched his skin. “I’m calming you down.”

“‘Calming.’ I think you and me might have—” Dean cut himself off with a gasp as Sam flicked over a nipple but then was right back at it. “—different definitions for that word, Sammy.”

Sammy. Not Sam. Sam smiled as he nestled himself up against Dean’s back. “Lean forward, Dean,” he said, applying pressure to the back of Dean’s neck. For all his grumbling, Dean went willingly, his hands coming up to brace himself against the wall because he was going to let Sam do whatever he wanted. Sam kissed the side of Dean’s neck and moved his hands decidedly lower.

Dean’s breath hitched as Sam reached his belt, the buckle jingling as Sam made short work of it and, by the time that Sam had unzipped Dean’s jeans and slipped inside, Dean was already hard. “You’re fucking crazy…” Dean breathed.

And yet he was pushing his ass back against Sam, knowing full well what he was doing because he was rolling his hips in a deliberate tease. Fucker. “You never wanted to join the Mile High Club?” Sam asked, nipping at the skin of Dean’s neck again. Dean huffed a laugh, giving up on his bitching and giving in to Sam’s distraction. He moaned quietly as Sam wrapped a firm grip around his dick. “Just focus on my hand, Dean.”

Dean panted, his hips already starting to thrust, pushing in to Sam’s fist, as he dropped his head forward, resting it against the wall. If they weren’t on the plane, Sam knows that he could have expected a few more snappy comebacks from Dean, jokes and wisecracks, but, right now, he seems all too happy to focus on what Sam was doing to him—to get away from the sheer terror that he’s been poorly trying to hide. Sam pushed Dean’s pants down to his knees and ground against his bare ass, too, loving the idea of Dean being half-naked while he was fully dressed. He liked having Dean like this—all soft moans as he willingly submitted, playing his set role. It was heady and not something that Sam easily got to have nowadays.

Sam feathered his fingers over Dean’s cock, teasing now and then, fingers grazing the underside, thumb swiping over the head, and followed it up with quick, firm strokes and it was no time at all before Dean was all out humping Sam’s hand. Dean bit down on his own arm, trying to stifle himself because otherwise, he’d give them away and Sam wasn’t not helping matters because he was whispering in Dean’s ear, saying things like “Come on, Dean, you know you want to…”

With a quiet whine, desperately muffled against his arm, Dean spasmed and came, his body shuddering as he spilled. Sam pointed him towards the toilet and let him do as he liked. He held Dean’s hips in place with one hand, trying to keep him centered as Dean jerked through his orgasm and, before long, Dean was done, slumping against the wall in a bonelessly relaxed sprawl. It was a nice change—the exact opposite of how he’d been from the moment that he’d found out that they’d have to board a plane to help Bobby out. Sam thought that, for the moment, Dean had even forgotten about the plane. He’d remember in a few seconds but at least he was getting a little bit of peace. Being that wound up wasn’t good for him.

Sam rocked gently against Dean, body just running on instinct at this point because he was still focused on Dean. He didn’t particularly need to come—he’d like to but he didn’t have to. He was just hoping that letting Dean come was enough to calm him down for the rest of the ride. Dean was still trembling through the aftershocks, only still standing because there was no room to do otherwise—not pressed against the wall with Sam standing behind him.

Dean surprised Sam when he pushed backward, tilting his hips up in something that was nothing less than an invitation and Sam had to bite his lip to stop from attempting to jizz his pants right then and there. Fuck. Especially when Dean shifted enough to look at Sam over his shoulder and Sam got a glimpse of Dean’s sated and content face, his eyes hooded and his lips parted because he hadn’t quite managed to catch his breath just yet. Dean didn’t have to say a damn word because his look said it all. Sam could hear Dean’s amused voice echoing in his head. Gonna come, Sammy?

Sam would like nothing more than to pull his dick out and come all over Dean’s proffered ass. He just knew that it would only get him grief, though. Sure Dean was offering but he wasn’t offering. Not unless there was a shower hidden somewhere in the plane.

So, instead, Sam nudged Dean aside, getting him to step over a few crucial inches, so that Sam could stand next to the little airplane toilet, too, his hand working hard and fast—efficient. If Sam had learned to be nothing else, he was efficient. He’d bring himself off in no time.

Before he could get there by himself, though, Dean settled a hand over his, helping him out, and Sam was just gone. Sam’s breath caught in his throat as pleasure exploded along his nerves and the only thing he could focus on was Dean’s hand on his dick. Sam closed his eyes and just gave in.

When he came back to himself, Dean was still leaning against the wall, his hand still on Sam’s dick, and he was smirking at Sam. “You got a fetish you never told me about, Sam? Got a thing for tight spaces or something?” Dean asked and Sam snorted, lolling his head back.

“Sure,” Sam replied, stepping backward the half a foot he was allowed. “I love it when there’s no room to move.” Sam wouldn’t even be able to stretch out his arms in the tiny bathroom—he’d hit a wall before he got there. “Think we can go out and join the rest of the passengers now?” he asked.

“You mean the ones that didn’t just violate several public indecency laws?” Dean shot back, pulling up his pants. His grin was still firmly in place and Sam wondered if it was just bravado or if he really was less tense now. Probably a little of both.

“It’s never stopped you before,” Sam said with a shrug and Dean chuckled before he finally zipped up and unlocked the door. He peeked outside exaggeratedly, playing it up before “sneaking” out into the main part of the plane and Sam rolled his eyes again as he zipped his jeans and followed suit a few beats later. When they got back to their seats, Dean was looking a little green again, but at least he was managing to stay put and he wasn’t holding onto the barf bags like a lifeline.

Sam would take that as a win.

The flight attendant was staring at them suspiciously but she wasn’t saying a word and Sam just smiled. He’d done as she’d asked—a little unorthodox, sure, but phobias were never things that were able to be dealt with rationally. And Dean was calmer now.

Sam settled into his own seat, tilting his head back against the headrest. Beside him, Dean focused in on the movie, his kicking leg his only sign of nervousness. Well. Besides the fact that, as soon as Sam had sat down, he’d grabbed a hold of Sam’s hand. But Sam rather liked that, so he wouldn’t hold it against Dean. He squeezed his brother’s hand in wordless reassurance and worked on willing himself to sleep. They had a long night ahead of them, after all.

And, maybe, if Sam got lucky, Dean wouldn’t say no to a little something extra in his drink. There was always hope.

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