InsaneJournal

[SPN fic - Another Motel Room - Sam/Dean - NC-17]
Title: Another Motel Room
Author: Lily, annabeth_fics
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wincest (Sam/Dean)
Genre: slash
Warnings: incest, language, graphic explicit sex. :D
Spoilers: Um...for “Provenance” maybe? I don’t really think there’s any, and this takes place somewhere in the first season.
Notes: Um...I wrote porn. Porny incestuous porn. Pretty much a PWP. There’s a little bit of roughness, but nothing too bad, and it’s all consensual.
word count: 4069


Another Motel Room

It’s hard to say what starts it, what breaks down the final walls. Sam and Dean have been travelling together for months recently, and for years in the past. Some things never change: Dean’s sense of humour, the colour of Sam’s eyes, Dean’s latest conquests. But one night they’re just driving, driving like usual, nothing different, nothing special. There’s nothing really to explain why Sam glances over at Dean in the driver’s seat and suddenly sees him like he’s never seen him before.

That’s not true, of course. They’re brothers, so they’d have been seeing each other for years even if they hadn’t been on the road with their father for decades. But maybe that’s why it doesn’t even strike Sam as strange, to look at Dean and suddenly see for the first time ever what makes him so attractive to women. He’s got that gorgeous, classic profile, and those lips that really do look like they belong on a woman. But right now none of that matters. Right now all Sam can think about is how tired he is, and how beautiful Dean’s mouth is, and how he’s suddenly got an erection.

Sam looks down briefly and muffles a sigh; his jeans aren’t really doing much to conceal his embarrassing problem. He darts a look at Dean, but his brother is staring straight ahead a bit like a zombie, eyes glazed in the street lights, hands loose on the wheel. Dean’s been driving his baby for so long that he probably could do it in his sleep, although he wouldn’t, because Sam swears Dean loves that car more than anything or anyone.

He’s wrong, of course -- Dean loves Sam more than anything or anyone. The Impala is a very close second, however.

But Sam doesn’t know that yet, and although he’s about to find out, he doesn’t know that yet either. He tries to be discreet, adjusting his cock through the worn denim, but it’s been aeons since they’ve bought new clothes, and frankly these jeans are a little short and now, more than a little tight in the crotch. Sam stifles a groan at the feel of his hand against his cock, and shifts the thigh closest to Dean up and over so that his hips are now facing the window more than his brother.

But when he looks over at Dean again, a bit of the blankness in his eyes is missing and there is the slightest wry twist to those lips.

Sam can feel himself flush from his forehead to his navel: Dean knows.

“Problem, Sammy?” his brother quips in a voice hoarse with exhaustion. He gives Sam a wicked grin. “Thinkin’ about some chick we saw in that last pit stop?”

But Dean’s green eyes are twinkling in a way that Sam recognises. Any second now Dean’s going to torture him with some horribly embarrassing comment; this is pretty standard behaviour for Dean. He quirks his mouth at Dean, curling his lip and wrinkling his nose a little; this is pretty standard behaviour for Sam.

“Not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business,” Sam grates through clenched teeth.

“Ah, but it is my business, baby,” Dean says, and pulls the car off the highway, throwing it into park and resting both arms on the wheel as he turns to face Sam. “Been awhile since I’ve seen you react to anyone, kiddo,” he says, and his eyes dart briefly but noticeably to Sam’s lap. For some reason this makes Sam’s cock harden even more: I’m ready, it’s saying. Sam leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, refusing to look at his brother.

“Just shove it, Dean, all right? I’m tired and cranky and I could really give a flying fuck what you think.” But even Sam knows this is all bullshit. Sam’s always been the brilliant one, the one who went to college, and the one who can see the writing on the wall in this situation. Somewhere along the line Dean lost that “he’s my brother” glamour and turned into someone else, someone that Sam doesn’t know. Well, not exactly: Sam still knows Dean emotionally, of course, but he no longer screams “family” when Sam looks at him.

Now that face is unfamiliar in its familiarity; it’s beautiful and refined and so fucking sexy Sam wants to come just picturing Dean’s trademark smirk, or hell, better yet that time with the pen cap and the sexy smile and...</i>fuck</i>. Sam can feel the precome dampening his boxers. If he gets any more aroused it’s going to show through that denim, more than just the shape of his cock, but the smell and wetness of it too. And he can only imagine what Dean could think up to torture him with then.

“Aww, Sammy, it’s just like when you were little. You get so pissy when you’re tired.”

If you only knew, Sam thinks. It’s not pissiness, it’s arousal and embarrassment, and I bet if you had wood you’d be showing it off like you’re some kind of stud, but fuck that shit, I’d really rather keep this to myself.

“Can we just drive,” Sam says instead. “I’d really like a nice bed right about now, I’m totally wasted.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you want,” Dean says, and winks at Sam. If Sam didn’t know better he’d swear that was a leer. But he puts the car in gear and pulls back out onto the deserted highway, and they drive about another twenty miles before Sam spots a turnoff promising ‘”food-gas-lodging.”

Dean parks the Impala with his usual carelessness -- not about the car, but about how many parking spaces she takes up -- and they go in. Dean slaps down a fraudulent credit card and the woman at the desk glances at it, then smiles at them both.

“King size bed?” she inquires, undressing them with her eyes. And Sam wants to sink through the floor, because he’s still fucking hard as a rock and he bet this woman knows it, too, and that doesn’t help her mistaken assumption. Sam’s not as quick as he usually is to correct her, and he doesn’t think Dean notices, but he’s wrong again: Dean’s more observant than Sam gives him credit for.

“Man, I’m totally beat,” Dean says, and flashes that gorgeous pick-up smile. “Could we have two beds though, if it’s not too much trouble?”

She flutters her hands a little and the tops of her cheeks redden just a little. “Of course, honey,” she says, and passes over a key card. “Have a nice night, boys,” she says, and gives them a wink that Sam almost misses. Fuck, this woman thinks they’re just shy and they’re going to share a bed anyway. He feels his own cheeks burn, but he turns away from her and concentrates on walking in such a way that -- hopefully -- won’t aggravate the bloody erection that will not fade.

“I call window,” Dean says, and grins over at Sam. “Gotta keep an eye on things, and you know, can’t really trust you for that in your current...condition.” Now it’s Dean’s turn to wink, and again Sam can feel the blush spreading all the way down to his abdomen. He doesn’t know it yet, but Dean’s going to find that fucking attractive as hell, later.

The beds are pretty damn wide, more than enough room for both of them in one, even with Sam’s freakishly broad shoulders and just as freakishly long slender legs. Dean claps him on the ass on the way in, and says as he heads for the bathroom, “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll be in the shower for awhile.” He slams the door, but Sam doesn’t hear him latch it. He doesn’t really notice the lack, though, busy as he is concentrating on willing the erection to go away. No matter what Dean thinks Sam is going to be doing, there’s no way in hell Sam is jacking off with Dean knowing about it.

That’s a little too weird, even for them. And then when Sam flops onto the bed, and his hand goes automatically to his cock, he realises that just maybe fucking his fist while Dean thinks about him doing it might be the biggest turn on of all.

Which is why he doesn’t go through with it. He closes gritty eyes and rubs his cock just a little bit, feeling the shape through the denim, and enjoys the way it feels before he starts to doze. He really is too tired to get off, even if his cock is still, pardon the Dean-like humour, “up for it.”

His hand falls to his hip and Sam falls asleep with his mouth partly open, entirely unaware of the slight damp of his crotch, and of the fact that Dean’s in the shower, jerking off.

---

When Sam drifts towards wakefulness, he becomes aware that he’s bloody cold, lying on top of the blankets, and harder than ever. He can’t remember his last dream, so he chooses to imagine that he was dreaming about Sarah. He opens his eyes and after adjusting to the dark, he can see Dean is a curled shape under the blankets of the other bed, facing the window, just like he said he would. His breathing is deep with a little guttural hiss, and Sam remembers that sound from every night of his childhood, and every night of the last several months. But now it sounds more like a melody to come by than a lullaby, and Sam groans quietly, gnawing on the skin of his knuckles.

After a few moments, he figures he might as well take care of business, and it’s not like Dean is facing in Sam’s direction anyway. It’s nothing new to be jerking off in some stale motel bed with Dean only a few feet away, Sam knows they’ve both done it, hell, he caught Dean at it once, walking in to take a piss, and there was Dean outlined in the pale shower curtain, a hand wrapped around his cock.

That thought brings Sam to full hardness, and now he has to unbutton his jeans or else pretty soon things are going to be painfully desperate. When he undoes the buttons, and opens his fly, his cock is flat against his belly, and Sam can no longer deny that for some reason thoughts of his brother are making him more aroused than he’s been in years. Kissing Sarah didn’t even give him an erection, and the last time he was this hard was months before Jess died.

Sam’s just about to palm his cock in earnest when Dean shifts in the other bed. The springs wince loudly, and then Dean’s harsh breathing is a lot closer to Sam. Fuck, is all Sam has time to think before Dean’s talking.

“Whatsamatter, Sammy?” he says in a croak. “Couldn’t get it all taken care of earlier?”

Sam just closes his eyes and thanks God that the room is dark and Dean won’t really be able to see much, like the hectic cherry red blush on his skin, or the fact that his cock is dripping steadily against his belly. Getting caught by Dean might just possibly be the hottest thing ever.

“’m sleeping,” he tries, but he knows it’s unsuccessful. Dean knows him WAY better than that.

“Fuck that,” Dean says, and the laughter in his voice is clear. “I won’t stop you. Whoever this chick is, she must be fucking hot, and I wonder why I don’t remember her?”

And now Sam knows, that to his utter mortification, that Dean knows there’s no girl. Dean catalogs every pretty thing with tits wherever they go; he would’ve noticed anyone that Sam had noticed. Which makes Sam wonder just what Dean’s thinking, and if there’s any way out of this with his pride intact. It only takes a split second for Sam to realise that Dean’s never going to let him live this down; it’s one of Dean’s greatest pleasures in life, tormenting his younger brother.

But Sam takes great pleasure in being taller and broader than Dean, even if it does mean Dean often calls him a freak.

“Ah, I know,” Dean says slyly, and then there’s more shrieking springs and Dean’s walking across the room, and Sam only has a moment to notice that Dean’s fucking naked before a lamp comes on. And then he sees how Dean’s cock is proudly standing up as well, and it finally sinks in that maybe Dean has just been making fun the way he always does -- but maybe he feels the same way.

And Sam’s not one to question something he believes in, and he believes in Dean. He trusts Dean; it’s the reason why he goes along with all the crackpot stories about things he’s into, and identification cards that read “bikini inspector.” And now more than anything, he wants to believe that Dean is hard as fuck because he’s been dreaming of Sam.

Doesn’t stop the lick of raspberry red that blooms over his belly and his chest, and Sam isn’t quite sure, but he’s relatively certain that Dean’s eyes narrow appreciatively before Dean is standing over his bed, smirking at him.

“Thought this is what you might like,” Dean says, and then he sits down on the bed, knees tucked up under him, and runs calloused fingers across Sam’s belly, just avoiding his cock. “Fuck, Sam, you look good enough to eat, all red like this.” And then Dean’s spreading out, lying across Sam’s chest, legs hanging off the edge of the bed as he stakes his claim on Sam’s mouth.

This is a kiss that leaves all the others choking in its dust. It’s not perfect by a long shot, but it tastes like heaven and hell all at once, and it’s the hottest thing Sam’s ever felt. They haven’t been asleep long, which is a good thing, because it means that Dean’s mouth is only a little sour, yet even that doesn’t matter much, because this is research they’ve never done before.

This is research that Sam’s pretty sure Dean could get used to. And his cock is hard against Sam’s thigh, and his lips are fucking hot from sleep, and wet against his own, and Sam gives a breathless sigh into Dean’s mouth and surrenders. There might be a hell, and they might be going there damn quickly at this rate, but it doesn’t matter: this feels right. An extension of a relationship that has always been Sam’s most solid and dependable. Even at Stanford, estranged, Sam knew that if he needed his brother for anything, Dean would be there as fast as he could.

The kiss breaks naturally, and Dean cups one palm over Sam’s cock and the other tightens on the sharp protruding bone of his hip, and then Sam is struggling to get a grip on his brother. He stops to wonder briefly where all the layers he’d been wearing have gone, before Dean -- being Dean, and also being wired into Sam’s brain -- looks up through his eyelashes and gives Sam the most wicked fucking grin.

“Took you long enough to notice,” he says with laughter in his voice, and then Sam drags him back up to his mouth, and the laughter disappears. This kiss is like a frenzy, like a hunt, a battle; the rough stubble on Dean’s chin abrades his own, because Sam is usually far more cleanshaven than Dean. Dean flips them over, so that Sam is now sprawled atop of Dean, and Dean reaches up and tangles his hand in Sam’s hair, which is falling sweaty over his face and into his eyes. His other hand is still gripping Sam’s slim hip for all he’s worth.

“Dean,” he breathes, and closes his eyes and throws his head back, and just enjoys the feel of Dean’s tongue as his brother lets go of his hip, braces himself and leans up to trace patterns on Sam’s abdomen. Sam is almost ashamed of the fact that he recognises all kinds of sigils and symbols that Dean’s making with his tongue. Lines of sticky saliva cool on his belly and then Dean adjusts them again, so that Sam is sitting across his hard thighs and Dean is sitting up, arms wrapped around Sam’s waist. They kiss like there’s no tomorrow, like there’s nothing to fear and only this is all they will ever feel. They kiss like it doesn’t matter that the woman from downstairs somehow knew this was how this night was going to go.

And Dean lets go of Sam’s lips and Sam tilts his head to the side, and Dean sucks hard on the porcelain column of his neck. Sam gasps a little and his cock is pressed against Dean’s hard stomach and it’s kissing Dean’s cock the way their mouths were just seconds before. Dean thrusts upward against Sam’s cock, hips powerful enough to move them both, even though Sam is bigger and heavier. Somehow it doesn’t matter, though, in the haze of arousal clouding Sam’s brain. He can remember that the last time Dean had been able to manhandle him they’d been kids; Sam just thirteen years old. He hit fourteen and had a growth spurt so powerful he grew taller than his sixteen year old brother.

Sam responds to Dean’s demand by thrusting back against his brother, and the friction is wonderful and a little painful, but that’s easily relieved; Dean reaches down between them and spreads their precome over each other, and now their cocks slide together like a dance, and Sam moans low in his throat. He’s embarrassed to admit he could come just like this. But Sam’s been to college and he knows a thing or two. He doesn’t know if Dean’s ever been fucked by a guy before -- and let’s face it, he strongly doubts it -- but Sam sure as hell isn’t going to consummate this relationship by being bottom the first time.

It’s kinda funny, really, but Sam trusts Dean with his life, just not his ass; at least, not the first time. They kiss frantically again, thrusting against each other, taking turns; Dean will upthrust with his powerful pelvis and hips, and then Sam will thrust down onto his brother, and he pauses to nip at Dean’s lower lip, and then he wraps both hands in Dean’s short hair and bites down on Dean’s exposed neck, which earns him a hiss of pleasure and also,

“Vampire,” from his brother, who, frankly, is doing too much thinking. He bites harder, but not hard enough to draw blood, just hard enough to mark. He’s gripping the back of Dean’s neck now with both hands, powerfully enough to bruise. And Dean is rumbling low in his throat, his cock straining against Sam’s, and these are down and dirty kisses now. Dean can barely catch his breath, and Sam knows he’s doing something damn right, because Dean’s not even trying to make any smartass comments.

Sam’s lips are swollen and raw from kissing and rubbing against Dean’s silky shoulders, and he figures it’s time to get serious, no more of this pussy mutual masturbation crap. He pushes Dean down onto the bed and shoves his legs as wide apart as they’ll go, and then dips his head down and runs his tongue straight down the shaft of Dean’s cock, over his balls, and into the salty hollow of his ass.

Dean practically shouts, which is the most gratifying thing ever, and then Sam lifts his head, hair even more sweat-damp, and face shining, and looks at Dean. He’s really got only enough ability to speak to say,

“Lube?” and Dean nods weakly towards his pack abandoned on the floor. Sam looks at it for a moment, then grins, and reaches down with his freakishly long arms and rummages around until he finds it. Dean’s got an arm wrapped around his torso to keep him from falling off the bed, and then Sam’s back against Dean, sweaty slick skin melding together from hips to nipples. He slicks up his fingers and sinks one up to the second knuckle in Dean’s ass and Dean jerks his hips upwards, fucking himself onto Sam’s finger.

Sam knows he should prepare Dean more, but he just can’t fucking wait, and he knows Dean isn’t going to complain; pain doesn’t affect him much and Sam would bet money that Dean likes it a little rough. So he lubes up his cock and pushes hard into Dean, then pauses for a moment to look at his brother.

Dean’s got his eyes closed and he’s breathing roughly through his mouth, and then he hitches his pelvis up and hooks his knees over Sam’s shoulders, and then Sam’s cock just sort of plunges inside without much effort. Buried to the balls inside Dean, Sam rocks forward, and Dean groans, pushing back against Sam. Somehow, despite the fact that neither of them has done this before, they find the rhythm pretty quickly, and Sam times each thrust to match with Dean’s arch of his hips off the bed, and it’s really the sexiest thing ever, looking down at Dean sprawled naked and wanton and impaled on his cock.

He pulls out and thrusts back home, stroking Dean from the inside, and Dean’s mouth is open and he’s breathing so hard Sam figures any second he’s going to come. He starts to pump Dean’s cock along with fucking his ass, and Dean is writhing against Sam’s skin, and he’s really pushing his ass up on Sam’s cock, he’s so into this Sam could stop moving and Dean could probably fuck himself on Sam’s cock. Without warning, Dean rears up and Sam finds himself lying flat on his back, Dean’s knees on either side of him, his head almost sliding off the bed as Dean lowers himself up and down on Sam’s cock.

Apparently, even as the bottom, Dean can’t stand not being in control. Sam doesn’t mind, though; he’s too busy watching his cock disappear into Dean’s body and Dean stroking his own cock now, and Sam’s eyelids are lowered and he’s panting heavily, sweating like crazy, skin flushed and damp and it feels so fucking good, that it only takes a moment or two more of the physical and mental stimulation before Sam is coming like never before, pouring his entire essence and soul into his brother’s body.

Dean throws his head back, throat working, Adam’s apple jumping, as he comes over his own stomach and Sam’s, the sticky come wreathing Sam’s treasure trail. There’re bruises on Dean’s sides where Sam must have gripped too hard, and Sam can almost feel the stars of colour that are going to mark his neck tomorrow. Looks like a lot of his shirts are going to be buttoned up for awhile. He’s softening inside Dean, and then his older brother lifts up and pulls himself off Sam’s cock, and Sam can only breathe heavily, wondering where Dean finds the energy to gather Sam up his arms until they’re cuddling so close that Sam can’t even tell them apart anymore.

The sweat on their skin is mingling and sticky, and Dean’s come is tacky and fusing them both together, which is both disgusting and alluring.

“Shower?” Sam rasps, his throat dry and sharp from the fucking.

“I want to feel you on me always, Sammy,” Dean says in an uncharacteristic bit of honesty. Sam sighs but tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair, stroking his scalp, and closes his eyes. Dean adjusts them just enough that Sam’s head is no longer in danger of falling off the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t see the longing glance that Dean gives him, the way that those green eyes are murky and sad. He doesn’t know that Dean is still expecting Sam to leave when this is all over.

But Dean doesn’t know that everything’s changed now. Sam couldn’t go back if he wanted to. And when Dean whispers,

“Sleep, baby,” Sam is almost too tired to smile, but not quite, and maybe they’re sticky and sweaty and probably smelly as hell, but Sam falls asleep to the rhythm of Dean’s heartbeat and the knowledge that it beats perfectly in tandem with his own.

end.