dragonspell: (Jensen laugh)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2011-07-29 10:59 am

Roadside Service | Sam/Dean | NC-17 | 2370 words

Title: Roadside Service
Author: [personal profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Impala!sex, dirty talk, riding
Summary: “Get in the backseat, Sam,” Dean repeats, slower this time like Sam is touched in the head. There’s rain soaking through Dean’s clothes because he might have been fast but there’s just no way that he could avoid the downpour outside. Under normal circumstances, Dean would be bitching up a storm at getting the upholstery all wet. “There’s no room up front.”
Word Count: 2370
A/N: Written for a July 2011 [livejournal.com profile] blindfold_spn prompt (Sam/Dean Impala!Sex )

It hasn’t stopped raining since they killed that vengeful sprite a hundred miles back. It’s as if the sprite had been sucking up all the moisture for miles around and now that it’s gone, Mother Nature’s trying to make up for lost time. Sam peers out the windshield, trying to see if he can tell the difference between the road and the field they are supposedly driving by because he isn’t quite sure how Dean is keeping them on the pavement.

Dean, for his part, is scowling at the rain, cursing under his breath about the fact that he can’t do 80. They’ve been traveling along at about 45 mph for the past few hours and Dean’s impatience is starting to show in his white knuckles. It isn’t until the Impala pulled off the side of the road, though, her wheels crunching on the gravel, that Sam realizes that something is really up. “Dean?”

“Fuckin’ rain,” Dean snarls. “Can’t get anywhere. We should have stopped at that motel thirty miles back.”

Sam blinks. “Dude, it’s two. I thought you wanted to be in the next state?” That’s the plan, anyway. Dean had wanted to be across the state line before nightfall.

“Yeah, well, got some other pressing matters, Sam.” Dean shifts the Impala into park and kills the engine. He leans back in the seat, stretching out his legs, and groans, his head tilted towards the ceiling.

“Are…” Sam shifts around to face Dean. “Are you okay?” He’d seen the sprite hit Dean with a nasty spell right before it died, blowing Dean back about ten feet, but Dean had gotten right back up and stabbed the thing. He’d insisted that he was fine, just pissed, but Sam really should have known better. If Dean had been hurt by the blow, he would have denied it anyway, just like always. Dean opens his mouth and Sam glowers. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, calling Dean on his usual shit before Dean even gets a chance to start.

Dean looks pissed for a moment before snorting, dismissing the whole damn thing. “Just get in the backseat, Sam,” he says and Sam’s left alone in the car as the driver’s side door squealed open.

“What?” Sam stares at where he could just barely see Dean outside the rain-streaked windows and then unbuckles his seat belt to turn around and stare some more when Dean dives into the Impala’s backseat and hurriedly shuts the door behind him. “What?”

“Get in the backseat, Sam,” Dean repeats, slower this time like Sam is touched in the head. There’s rain soaking through Dean’s clothes because he might have been fast but there’s just no way that he could avoid the downpour outside. Under normal circumstances, Dean would be bitching up a storm at getting the upholstery all wet. “There’s no room up front.”

A stray thought smacks Sam upside the head and his heart skips a beat before he’s scrambling for the door into the rain and then climbing into the backseat on the other side of the Impala. Damp, he crawls forward on the vinyl, his knee wedged in the crease and his back bowed as he tries to keep his head down. “Are you…? We…?” Sam keeps trying to get out a full sentence but each time, his brain is waylaid by the very thought that he’s trying to convey and he has to start over.

“Shut the damn door, Sam,” Dean growls and shrugs out of his overshirt. Sam’s mouth goes dry and he pulls his feet in, half-turning to sit down, and slams the door behind him. Dean’s tugging off his T-shirt, baring his stomach as his head disappears and Sam moans softly, already pulling at his own clothes.

This is Sam’s wettest wet dream coming true. Dean never lets them have sex in the Impala. If Sam even tries to start something, he just shoves Sam away, bitching about the upholstery again or possibly making a joke about how it would be an awkward threesome what with the Impala watching. Sam has been dreaming about this moment for years and he wonders if he somehow missed that it was his birthday. Or maybe they've already stopped for the night and he's dreaming. His hands are trembling, he’s so damn excited, and he’s about to come in his pants.

Sam gets caught in his shirt for half a second and he struggles before managing to tear it over his head. When he gets his full line of sight back, he sees that Dean has quirked an eyebrow. “You alright there, Sam?” Dean asks but as far as Sam’s concerned, he has no right to, not when his fingers are unzipping his jeans in the backseat of the Impala. “Try not to hurt yourself until after I get a chance to ride your dick, okay?”

Sam groans, his hips bucking upward as a sharp shot of desire stabs into his lower gut, and Dean smirks at him because he knows exactly what he just did. Fucker.

Dean kicks off his jeans and knees on the seat, completely naked and Sam’s trying hard to take him all in and still manage to have enough fine motor skills to get off his own clothes. He fumbles at his zipper and Dean just rolls his eyes. “If I wait for you, Sammy, it’s gonna be Christmas before I get your dick inside me.” Sam closes his eyes, fighting back a new wave of arousal, and he feels something hot and heavy straddle his lap. Dean swears as he bumps against the ceiling but sure hands deftly undo Sam’s belt and open the fly of his jeans to wrap around the throbbing length of Sam’s cock. “And as much as I like presents, I’m thinking that I’m not going to be able to wait that long.” Sam moans, his head rolling against the back of the seat and Dean chuckles. “Feel good?”

Sam’s tempted to snap something scathing, toss a comeback in Dean’s face, but he just doesn’t have it in him. Not when Dean’s running his fingers over Sam’s dick like that and he’s already starting to rock his hips in an altogether too familiar rhythm. Sam bites his tongue and runs his hands encouragingly over Dean’s naked back, hoping that Dean will stop teasing soon and take what he wants already.

There’s a snap of a lube bottle and Sam forces his eyes open and his head up because he thinks that next to the orgasm itself, this is his favorite part. He loves watching the look on Dean’s face when he first pushes something inside of him—the way his eyes flutter and his mouth drops open, his entire face going lax before slowly tightening back up again because he loves it. He’ll deny it until his face turns blue but Sam knows better because there’s no way that Dean can hide that initial bit of ecstasy.

It’s why Sam never pays any attention to Dean’s occasional bitching about ‘always’ having to bottom. Sam keeps offering but Dean rarely takes him up on it and Dean’s only fooling himself if he thinks that Sam doesn’t know the reason why.

Despite Dean’s earlier words, he takes an extra minute to play with himself, his own fingers pushing in and out of his ass until Sam’s tempted to just shove his hand away and take its place. He lifts his hips underneath of Dean, gripping Dean’s thighs tightly. “Dean…” he pleads and Dean cracks a grin.

“Did ya want something, Sammy?”

Sam groans and pulls Dean down for a kiss, trying to put all of his built-up frustration and arousal into it. Dean quickly takes charge, a hand burying in Sam’s hair to yank his head back as Dean roughly slides his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam submits because it’s easier and he doesn’t have the ability to argue at the moment—it’s too hard to focus when Dean is literally inches from his dick and lubed up enough for Sam to just slide right in.

“Been thinkin’ of this for hours,” Dean mutters as he finally gets the show on the road, grabbing Sam’s cock and lifting up to line himself up with it. They never bother with a condom anymore. Dean claimed that they were getting too expensive but Sam’s sure that there’s another reason that Dean won’t confess to. “You and your fucking monster cock sittin’ right there next to me…” Sam gasps as tight heat envelopes the head of his dick and shudders as Dean easily slides his way down to settle back against Sam’s hips. They’ve done this so many times that they could do it in their sleep but Sam doesn’t think that he’ll ever get tired of it. This thing between them—Sam needs it like air.

Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and buries his face against Dean’s chest, breathing in the scent of sweat and rain and the faint hint of the cheap soap from the last motel. There’s a tang of gun oil and grease and it’s just so Dean that Sam’s afraid that he’s going to come. He holds Dean immobile and tries to get himself under control.

“Damn octopus,” Dean says as he rolls his hips. He might not be able to thrust like he wants to what with the confined space of the Impala and the even tighter restraints of Sam’s arm, but Dean is nothing if not endlessly adaptable. Fighting off the pleasure that’s surging through his nerves, Sam whines, his hips twitching with each circle that Dean completes.

“Come on, Sammy, fuck me like you mean it.” Dean braces an arm against the top of the Impala, trying to keep himself from banging into it as he thrusts harder, faster.

His eyes are rolling into the back of his head—Dean, Impala, and heat—but Sam can’t let a challenge like that go unanswered. He clamps his hands around Dean’s waist and braces his legs against the seat to snap his hips upward, slamming into Dean again and again until Dean is panting on top of him. “God, fuck, yeah, just like that—Jesus.” Dean’s hand squeaks against the vinyl by Sam’s shoulder as Dean shudders and rocks himself downward, clenching around Sam. His hand slips and he falls forward but jerks himself back up, shoulders banging against the Impala’s roof. “Goddamned—” With Dean momentarily pinned, Sam thrusts harder and Dean’s curse trails off into a moan. “Oh, fuck, Sammy…”

Dean’s hand clenches in Sam’s hair, pulling and Sam winces at the pain even as it sends another rolling shock of arousal through his body. “There,” Dean rasps, holding himself still on top of Sam. “Right fucking there!”

Sam pants and does as he’s told, hammering away in the exact position that Dean wants until Dean squirms, throwing them both out of place. “Can’t take much more of that,” Dean says before his teeth sink into the join of Sam’s neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. Sam shudders as Dean nips his way up Sam’s throat, leaving a trail, and Sam turns his head to return the favor, nuzzling in under Dean’s jaw and scraping his teeth against the rough but sensitive skin. Dean hisses, his hips rolling tightly against Sam’s before he goes back to riding out Sam’s thrusts. “Attaboy, Sammy… Fuck, yeah.”

Sam’s going to come. He knows he doesn’t have a prayer of holding back, of making this last, because Dean’s writhing in his lap and they’re fucking in Dean’s precious Impala, about to get her seats all dirty because Dean was so desperate for Sam’s cock that he couldn’t wait and decided to mount Sam right then and there. Sam can’t count the number of times he’s jerked off to this exact scenario and that’s only adding to the feeling of having Dean hot and writhing in his lap. He fumbles between them, sliding a hand against their sweaty bodies to grab a hold of Dean, trying to at least make him come before Sam.

Dean jerks upward, his back banging against the top of the Impala again, and he swears. “Fuck, shit, Jesus Christ, I’m gonna… God, Sam…” Dean draws out Sam’s name like his own personal prayer and it pushes Sam over the edge of that line that he was trying to toe. Sam whines as he comes, his eyes closing as he sinks against the seat and slams upward into Dean’s tight heat. “Holy fuck, are you…?” Dean gasps and fingers rub against where they’re joined, pressing downward as Sam pulses. “Jesus, you are…” Dean’s arms brace against either side of Sam’s head as Dean fucks himself on Sam’s cock, riding it while it’s still hard. “Give me some friction, Sammy…” he whispers, teeth scraping over Sam’s ear.

Still dazed and flying high from the rush of orgasm, Sam tightens his hand on Dean’s cock and shudders as Dean uses him to get off, fucking back onto Sam’s spent dick then forward into Sam’s curled fist. “Fuck,” Dean whimpers, his voice tight as he comes, splattering onto Sam’s chest and clenching tightly around him. Aftershocks ripple through Sam’s body, overstimulation making him twitch and jerk beneath Dean until Dean finally collapses on top of him in a gasping, messy pile.

“God, yeah,” Dean breathes. His arms slowly slide downward to rest against the seat as he sprawls on top of Sam.

Sam licks his lips and wishes that he had a camera because he loves Dean’s pleased smile and slow blink and he knows that it’s going to be over way too soon. As soon as Dean realizes that he’s leaking spunk and lube and it’s not all staying on Sam’s thighs, he’ll snap back into his right mind and freak. For the moment, though, he’s nice and sated and Sam can feel his heart beating against Sam’s own. They’re both a mess and in desperate need of a shower that’s going to be a long time coming but Sam thinks that’s just fine.

He tilts his head back and listens to the rain still pouring down outside.

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