dragonspell: (Dean Pretty)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2011-07-29 11:12 am

Imaginary Lines Were Meant to Be Crossed | Sam/Dean | NC-17 | 2910 words

Title: Imaginary Lines Were Meant to Be Crossed
Author: [personal profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slight spoilers?
Summary: After Sam almost kills himself (again), Dean finally allows himself to cross the line between them.
Word Count: 2910
A/N: Written for a July 2011 [livejournal.com profile] blindfold_spn prompt (Dean/Sam - UST, fighting for dominance)



Over the years, Dean’s become best friends with his hand. It’s not that he hasn’t had plenty of willing partners, it’s true, and he supposes that any man tends to get to know the inside of his palm quite well but there’s nothing quite like a forbidden temptation to really make a guy have to resort to a little self-loving.

Not that Dean’s all that “self-loving” when he does it. In fact, he’s rather self-loathing because, fuck, how sick can a guy be? Dean had one purpose in life, one goal, and he wants to fuck that up in the most depraved way possible. Well, no, he doesn’t want to. He needs to—and that’s scary in itself. Dean’s not supposed to feel this all encompassing need to fuck his brother—or have his brother fuck him and Dean doesn’t know which of those ideas he likes better—but he does. He and Sam always had a really close relationship and they’ve spent their lives having people telling them that they’re unnaturally close which they deny with every fiber of their being. Even though it’s true.

When push comes to shove, though, Dean doesn’t want to have any distance between him and Sam. Hell, sometimes he thinks that the only way he’d ever be happy is if he could just unzip Sam’s skin and step in there with him. It’s a scary thought but while Dean can deny those feelings to everyone and anyone that would like to butt in where they’re not needed, all he has to do is look over at Sam and he can’t deny them to himself.

And it’s not like Sam’s ever done anything to discourage Dean’s disturbing desires, either. No, all too often, Dean will think that he’s finally got himself under control only to look over at find Sam staring at his crotch like it’s a five course meal, his tongue flicking out to moisten his bottom lip and Dean’s got to jump to his feet before Sam notices the immediate boner. And then there’s the times that Sam makes sure he has to piss when Dean’s taking a shower and their motel’s so cheap that it doesn’t even have a curtain. Dean tries to pretend he’s cool with it and only mad because Sam’s letting out the steam that Dean had to work hard to build up but they both know that Dean doesn’t dare turn around and face Sam.

Not that Dean doesn’t do the same thing right back. It’s only fair after all—and he usually one-ups Sam by walking around naked after a shower because as long as he doesn’t look at the heat in Sam’s eyes and focuses on the TV or something, he can make that jaunt across the room to his duffle.

They just both pretend that he’s naturally that big and not, say, hypothetically, half-hard.

The worst, though, are the nights. On this him and Sam agree that it’s probably crossing a line so by mutual unspoken agreement, they try to limit themselves to showers and other fairly private areas but sometimes, a man just can’t help himself. They both understand that as well.

It’s just awfully hard not to join in when the star of your dirty, sick and twisted fantasies is jerking off in the bed next to you. It’s times like those that both he and Sam swallow whatever other issues they might have and just go for it, pretending that the cover of darkness hides them from each other. The room’s always filled with the whisper of palm against dick and the half-aborted moans and sighs as well as their accelerated breathing but they either keep their eyes trained on the ceiling or closed up tight because otherwise, the whole charade that it isn’t happening would be over. Or, at least, Dean does. He’s not sure if Sam follows the same rule or not because Dean’s usually too busy beating himself off to thoughts of Sam fucking him into the mattress with that gigantic cock he’s glimpsed a time or two in the shower.

They’ll come close together, the bedframes squeaking as they try to pass off that involuntary final jerk of the hips as a shift in sleeping position. Then there’ll be nothing but the smell of sex and the stench of shame. Dean’s actually gotten quite used to it.

That was, of course, before everything changed—before Sam had to go and nearly get himself killed again. The last time Sam did that, Dean had sold his soul to get him back. This time, Dean doesn’t have to do that—doesn’t even have that option—but fuck all if he’s letting this continue one more minute. If anything, that fucking poltergeist just reminded Dean of the fact that he and Sam toss the dice on their lives nearly every single damn day, fighting the evil creepy crawlies of the night and all they’ve gotten for it is a lot of dead relatives and friends and a big huge X on their very existence.

So who the fuck cared about what the world thought? There was hardly anyone left alive to even judge anymore.

Sam had stiffened as the first thing that Dean did once he got their dragging asses back to the motel was shove Sam’s obnoxiously large but hot ass up against the wall. He’d slammed the door with his foot, staring Sam down with his fists knotted in Sam’s flannel shirt and cut Sam off as he’d started in with the confusion. “Dean, what—wh—mmmph!”

Occupying Sam’s mouth is a good way to stop him from talking and Dean congratulates himself for his forward thinking. It’s even got the added bonus of Sam grabbing Dean like a treasured toy he thought might get taken away and nearly hauling Dean off his feet as he kisses back.

From there, it’s only a quick pull and an awkward shuffle before they’re both being dumped on the bed, neither one willing to let go of the other long enough to bother to look where they’re going. It’s hard to walk with your brother attempting to stick his tongue down your throat while his hand refuses to let go of your ass.

Dean bounces on the bed, not even minding as Sam lands on top of him, and scrambles backward to be towards the middle rather than the edge. He’s not exactly planning this out but he’s thinking that it’s about to get a little rough and a lot wild and he’d rather be on the mattress rather than off of it. At this point, though, Dean’s fairly certain that even if he and Sam did roll off the bed, they’d just keep right on going on the floor. A flat surface is a flat surface.

Sam’s yanking at Dean’s T-shirt, dragging it upward to expose his stomach and Sam gives Dean one last hard kiss, flattening him to the bed and then he’s dipping his head down to lick a wet stripe from naval to nipple. Sam sucks the nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it until Dean’s grinding his hips against Sam’s because his jeans are too damn tight. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean rasps, his hands burying in Sam’s ridiculously thick hair and tugging the way he’s always wanted to do. “Sammy.” Sam growls at the name and pushes a hand between them to grab at his own cock. “Oh, fuck that’s hot…” Dean says, staring at how Sam is trying hard to keep himself from coming.

Dean rolls them both, bringing his knees down on either side of Sam to hold him in place while Dean divests himself of his shirt layers—too many damn clothes, what the hell was he thinking?—and then starts helping Sam do the same. They struggle together on the bed, wrestling with the shirts while copping more feels than absolutely necessary. Dean’s fascinated with the groove at Sam’s hip, with how the muscle of Sam’s stomach heaves up and down, with how Sam’s nipple hardens when he runs his thumb over it.

The bulge of Sam’s cock is pushing against Dean’s ass and he rocks on top of it, listening to how it makes Sam pant harder. Sam grabs Dean’s ass with one big hand and leans up to bite at Dean’s jawline. “Oh, God, Dean…” He’s probably leaving hickeys but Dean doesn’t care—just like he doesn’t care that Sam’s gripping his back hard enough to bruise. Dean likes it and he gives it right on back. He scrapes his hand down Sam’s chest and nips at Sam’s skin, leaving marks wherever he likes.

He doesn’t know where to start first. There’s so much that he wants to do to Sam—so much he wants to touch and lick and fuck and turn around to have it done right back to him—that Dean’s head is spinning. He pushes Sam back to the bed, trying to get some perspective but Sam just won’t stay there—he comes right back up and flips Dean around so that Dean’s back to being flat on the bed with Sam kneeling over him, his legs spread. Dean does the only thing he can think of: he pushes his hand right into the inviting gap of Sam’s too loose jeans and grabs a hold of the hard cock inside. Sam gasps and drops down to his elbows, whining as he rolls his hips, humping Dean’s hand.

It’s the fucking hottest thing that Dean’s ever seen. He can’t believe that he’s here, lying on a bed with Sam above him trying his damnedest to fuck Dean’s hand. Dean thinks that he’s going to explode from tension that he’s been bottling all these years coming right to the forefront. Either that or come in his pants.

Sam bites down on Dean’s shoulder, hard enough to hurt, but Dean’s wires are so fucked up that his body’s mistaking it for pleasure—a counterpoint to his already raging arousal. Dean whimpers, sounding so weak and submissive, he can’t even believe that it came from his own throat. He chokes back the next one and strokes his hand over Sam’s dick, hoping to get an identical sound from Sam. Sam continues gnawing on Dean, until Dean moves his hand backward, brushing over his balls. The moment that Dean’s finger presses against Sam’s hole, tapping over it, Sam mewls and jerks his head up, his eyes closing as he trembles. “Want me to fuck you?” Dean offers. He has no idea if he’d even be able to get his cock inside of Sam without coming at this point, but the offer sounds dirty and hot and has the effect of making Sam shudder.

Sam collapses on top of Dean, his arms wrapping around Dean’s body like an octopus as he kisses Dean hard and wet, his tongue missing and sliding over Dean’s lips before slipping between them. “Wanna fuck you,” Sam whispers, his hips grinding against Dean’s in a dirty promise.

Dean’s body jerks as he shivers, “Fuck, Sam,” and he pulls his hand back to grab Sam’s cock. Neither one of them are going to make it if they keep this up. “Roll over,” he says, pulling at Sam’s belt with his free hand. When Sam doesn’t do as he told—instead dropping a hand to Dean’s cock and making him see stars—Dean shoves Sam’s shoulder and topples him. “I said ‘roll over!’”

He crawls over top of Sam, unzipping Sam’s jeans to pull out the cock that Dean’s only caught glimpses of before. He’d known that the thing is big—it’s been damn near filling his entire hand. Sam does the same, impatiently yanking on Dean’s fly and hauling out Dean’s cock so that he can get his hand around it. Dean groans, burying his face against Sam’s neck as Sam moves his hand up and down Dean’s cock, milking him. Dean returns the favor, making Sam writhe and bounce around on the bed. Just like Dean’s, he’s probably too keyed up to even hope to sit still.

Dean wants to pull Sam’s pants the rest of the way down and fuck him silly—get inside of him—or get his own off and spread himself on Sam’s cock but he can’t stop touching Sam long enough to do so. He’s pressing hard, desperate kisses to Sam’s lips, Sam kissing him right back, and Dean’s getting close to coming just from having Sam’s hand on his cock. It’s awkward as all hell, the angle off and no space for Sam to really go to town but just the fact that it’s Sam’s hand is enough to take Dean to the edge.

Precome dribbles from Sam’s slit, slicking Dean’s grip and Dean’s hit with a thought that almost makes him come right then and there: he wants to know what Sam tastes like. He breaks away from Sam’s lips and pants as he stares down at how Sam’s cock is sliding in and out of his fist. Fast on the heels of the previous thought is another one, just as powerful: there’s nothing stopping him.

Dean grips Sam hard and nearly folds himself in half to bring himself face-to-face with Sam’s cock. Sam’s still got a tight hold on Dean’s cock and he’s stroking Dean hard and fast enough to make Dean’s vision narrow, but he’s also starting to babble. “Oh shit, Dean—yes—fuck—please—God, do it, please—fuck!”

Dean surges forward before he loses his nerve, trying to shove Sam’s cock in his mouth. He misses at first, in too much of a hurry, and Sam’s dick leaves a smear of precome against the side of Dean’s face before Dean backs up and tries again. The head pops into his mouth and there’s a spurt of something bitter before Dean’s choking as Sam’s cock rams down his throat. Dean pulls away, gagging, and pins Sam’s hips to the bed. “Oh, fuck, sorry. Sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry…” Sam’s carding his fingers through Dean’s hair with one hand while the other gives Dean’s a few strokes of apology.

Grinning, Dean runs his hand up over Sam’s dick before coming back down to circle the base with his fingers. “Just don’t try to kill me with your dick, Sammy.” Sam groans, closing his eyes as his back arches but his hips stay on the bed. Dean takes that as a good sign and lowers his mouth back down, trying to fit as much as he possibly can as Sam twitches beneath him. He’s not exactly good at this—he keeps trying to swallow too much and ends up gagging and there’s so much saliva dripping down that even Dean’s hand is getting wet—but Sam’s not complaining.

“Oh, fuck, oh, god, oh Jesus,” Sam whispers, a breathless litany interspersed with gasps and whimpers until he degenerates completely into wordless moan. He tugs on Dean’s hair, trying to pull him upwards and Dean’s well aware of what he’s saying—Dean’s just not going to listen. The first spurt is bitter and salty and Dean nearly chokes on it before remembering to swallow. It’s followed by two more that fill Dean’s mouth and dribble out because he’s unable to hold it all. Dean grinds against Sam’s hand, so damned turned on, that all he has to do is push himself as far as he can manage onto Sam’s cock and give one more thrust of his hips and then he’s coming, coating Sam’s hand and spilling onto his thigh.

Sam’s cock falls out of Dean’s mouth to thud against Sam’s belly, wet and sticky, and Sam squirms at the sensation. “God, Dean…” he moans and pulls Dean up for a kiss. His tongue flicks at Dean’s, hungry to get a taste of himself and Dean obliges, pushing his tongue into Sam’s mouth for him to suck on.

When they break, they’re panting like they just ran a marathon and Sam lifts up the hand that had just been on Dean’s dick to stare at how Dean’s come is covering his fingers. Dean bites his lip as his cock jerks and he pushes Sam’s hand towards his mouth. “Lick it, Sammy,” he orders breathlessly. Sam catches his eye and obeys, tongue licking out to tease before he just pops three fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. Dean rolls his hips encouragingly against Sam’s thigh, wondering how long it’s going to be until he can go again.

If they have to wait too long, Sam’s going to kill him with sheer hotness. “Fuck, Sam…”

Sam nods like he agrees and pulls his fingers out of his mouth. Unfortunately for Dean, he uses them to reach between Dean’s legs and play with his spent cock. A shiver races up Dean’s spine and he hisses as he jerks away from Sam’s touch. “I get to suck you next,” Sam pronounces and Dean whimpers as another aftershock rockets through his nerves. Like he’s going to argue with that.

“Think I might have some lube in my bag,” Dean confesses and from the way Sam’s lips curve at that, Dean thinks that it’s a good thing that they just finished a hunt because it’s going to be a long damn time before they manage to get out of bed to do anything.

They’ve got a lot of time to make up for, after all.

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