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rockstarpeach at 03:47pm on 25/08/2013 under character: dean winchester, character: sam winchester, fic - spn
rockstarpeach at 03:47pm on 25/08/2013 under character: dean winchester, character: sam winchester, fic - spnWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elveys_stuff who asked me for “Dean/Sam sex on the hood of the Impala…” About a million years late. And shit, I can’t even tell you how much trouble I had with this story! I wrote – I’m not kidding – three different fics, all of which I deleted, because they sucked so hard. I would get to the sexing and Dean and Sam would be arguing and snarking and ‘Oh, that feels good! You’re so mean to me!’ and… yeah. I’m having such a hard time getting the boys happy these days.
Anyway, this is my best shot. Fluff, porn, curtain!fic.
Title: All The Way Home
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word count: 1800
Summary: Curtain!Bunker!fic, with a side helping of Impala!Sex. Dean and Sam are settled into their lives as acting Men Of Letters. They still like to go for drives, on occasion.
***
Dean’s a nester.
Sam’s known this about him since before he could even spell the word.
Dean denies it, plays it off, but he likes to make his home wherever he goes. He likes to make his mark, likes the time and the space to unpack his guns, set them up along the closet wall, ordered by ease of use. He likes his own groceries in the fridge and his own soap in the shower.
Hell, give him a land line and a bartender who knows his standing order and Dean will roll over and lick your palm.
So this new home base of theirs, this mystical, magical, out of the fucking blue and wondrously welcoming new home base of theirs – it’s a godsend. Or… actually it’s probably sent by someone who cares a hell of a lot more than God does. Point is, Sam’s never seen Dean look quite so… settled.
He’s calm, he’s focused, he’s relaxed. Of course they still hunt, there’s plenty to do but for the first time in a long time, they hunt because they want to, not because they have to. They’re not chosen anymore, they’re not singled out. They’re just hunters again. Hunters who take down ghosts on Monday afternoons and barbeque burgers on Thursday nights.
Dean’s in his element, been wanting to settle down somewhere for as long as Sam can remember, but he’ll never, not for one second, be happy to stay in one place.
Neither of them will.
And so they drive.
For all that the bunker is their house these days, the Impala is their home. As comfortable as Dean is with his shower and his mattress and his high end kitchen, he’s never as happy as he is when he’s behind the wheel of his baby, open road ahead. When she purrs, so does Dean.
Dean shifts in his chair, adjusts his crotch and bites his lip. The book that’s open in front of him is a decades old account of a Rugaru hunting, but Sam knows that what he’s really look at is the just as old playboy Dean’s got tucked inside the book.
Sam smiles to himself and closes his file.
They could both use a break. And he’s read about all he can handle for one day about the possession and exorcism of virgins.
“You want to hit the road?” Sam asks. His voice is sudden, loud in the overly quiet room and Dean jerks, blinks. Then he smiles slightly, slowly and when he puts his own book down his smile grows.
“Fuck yeah.”
***
It’s been hours.
Sam doesn’t even know how many, all he knows is that it’s light outside and it wasn’t when they got into the car. They’ve been driving fast, long, Dean’s foot hard on the peddle and Boston blaring out through the tinny speakers. Sam’s hair is a mess from the wind – Dean wouldn’t let him wind up the window – and that last, tiny thread of tension is well and truly gone from the line of Dean’s shoulders.
When Dean pulls the car over to the side of dusty back road, when his lip curls up in a sideways smirk and he playfully elbows Sam and then full on smiles, it’s not a surprise. Not even a little.
“Backseat?” Sam asks, unfastening his seatbelt.
Dean shakes his head.
“Hood,” he says. It’s pitched low, comes out scratchy. Whether it’s from desire or because hasn’t spoken since just after midnight, Sam doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care, either. It’s hot as fuck and Sam can’t get out of the car fast enough.
The sun isn’t very high in the sky yet, but the road stretched out in front of them is well lit, the soy fields lining the horizon are clear. Anyone could drive past, could easily see them together. They usually fuck with Sam’s long limbs twisted and spread out along the bench seat in the back, sometimes Sam gets on Dean’s lap in the driver’s seat.
Sometimes, when it’s dark or they’re parked under a tree or behind a shed, they’ll do it on top of the car. But broad daylight on the side of the road? That’s a new one.
Sam’s dick is so hard it hurts.
Dean gets out of the car more slowly, stalks around his open door, hips cocked and legs easy and more bowed than usual. Sam opens his pants as fast as he can, pulls them down to his thighs and leans forward, elbows braced on the hood.
“No,” Dean says and Sam frowns and looks over his shoulder. “Pants off. On your back.”
Sam shivers and bucks forward, drags his leaking cockhead along the hot, sleek metal of the car’s frame. God, yes.
He turns to do as Dean asked and then he pauses, pants around his ankles as he looks around them. It’s not quiet, not really. He can hear birds, crows he thinks and the wind whips through the rows of soy, rustling the leaves. There’s traffic, low and rumbling from the major highway half a mile over.
They’re not alone, this isn’t private. A quick fuck with their pants around their thighs and their privates hidden against the car is one thing. But Dean wants him naked and open and spread out where anyone could see?
There’s a background hum, Sam can feel it rather than hear it and it takes over his body, renders him mute while he stands motionless for an eternal four seconds, lips parted slightly while he watches Dean unzip and pull himself out.
Dean’s hard, swollen and red and the tip is glistening with pre-come and Sam licks his lips as the hum turns to sound and a car zips past them. Sam blinks and shakes himself, scrambles out of his pants and tosses them carelessly to the ground before he climbs up onto the hood of the car.
He doesn’t care if anyone sees them. In fact, he sort of hopes someone does, because Sam knows he’s hot and he knows Dean is hot and together they’re fucking incendiary and sometimes, Sam likes to show off.
The look on Dean’s face, the way his eyes skitter and flash, the way his chest rises and falls with effort as he steps closer, closes in on Sam… Sam sighs and closes his eyes and lies back, waits for Dean’s touch on the outsides of his thighs, as Dean presses himself between them.
God.
Sam hasn’t had a lot of lovers in his time, but he’s had his share. And none of them, not a single one, has come after him with the desire he sees in Dean every single time they’re together. It’s heady, intoxicating. It makes Sam’s knees weak, his chest tight.
Dean doesn’t bother prepping him, just lifts his legs and leans forward, slides along the crack of Sam’s ass and then dips and curls.
It hurts when Dean pushes in, but not too much. He goes slow, eases back and forth and lets his natural slick ease the way. Sam’s used to this, his body knows to relax and let Dean in and the instinct to push and draw himself closed is almost non-existent, now.
“Fuuuuck,” Dean hisses as he bottoms out. His fingers dig deep into Sam’s ribs and he rocks back and forth, once, twice before he catches Sam’s prostate and Sam screams and bucks wildly underneath him.
Sam might hope somebody sees them, somewhere in the back of his sex-addled brain, but he still kind of wants to get this shit done as quickly as possible. And Dean’s a great lover, so is Sam, but if there’s something they’re good at besides putting down demons, it’s quickies.
He clenches, twists and his mouth falls open when Dean hits him over and over in just the right spot. He tilts his hips up, moans when Dean grabs his cock, hot fist squeezing down around him and jacking up and down.
“Shit. Sammy… Sammy.”
God, that’s a rush.
Dean gets so lost in it. He fucks like he’s on a mission, like Sam’s the only thing in his world. And Sam doesn’t like to dwell on it, but he’s seen Dean fuck before. With other people, Dean always has fun. Dean’s so fucking happy when he fucks, like it’s a Goddamn ride at Disneyland. But Sam’s the only one who’s ever made him this desperate for it, this focused.
“Harder,” Sam gasps, word coming out like a whisper, just a breath against Dean’s lips when Dean leans down to kiss him. “So close, Dean.”
“Yeah,” Dean breathes back, nods his head and takes Sam’s lips again. “Yeah, Sam, come on.”
Sam’s fingers flail and scramble, grab for Dean’s back as his legs lock together around Dean’s hips.
“Come on,” Dean says again and he flicks his wrist, cants his hips and Sam throws his head back and comes. It’s short, abrupt and it’s over in seconds. Dean knows better than to keep touching him after an orgasm that sudden and quick and it’s only a few more thrusts before Dean pauses, growls and empties himself inside Sam.
There’s another hum, more rumbling and the sound of a revved up engine as another car flies past.
Sam’s dick twitches one more time.
“Scrambled eggs,” Sam says, once he finds his voice. It’s rough and hoarse, but that’s okay.
“Huh?” Dean asks. He gently pulls free, rubs his fingers soothingly over Sam’s abused rim while he kisses just behind Sam’s ear. He stands on shaky legs and pulls Sam’s pants up off the ground.
“Eggs,” Sam says again. “And bacon and pancakes. We should stop by the grocery store on the way home.”
Dean snickers, helps Sam’s rubbery legs into his jeans.
Sam’s always been into health food, but since Dean started cooking Sam has to admit, there are definitely times for exceptions.
“Admit it,” Dean says, taking Sam’s hand and hefting him up off the car. “You only want me for my cooking.”
Sam laughs and looks down at Dean’s crotch, where he’s tucking himself back in.
“Among other things,” he answers.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, gesturing for Sam to get into the car, as he does the same. “I’ll cook you breakfast, princess. But first, my baby needs to stretch her legs.”
Sam doesn’t mention the fact that the Impala has been ‘stretching her legs’ for the past six or seven hours. He doesn’t confirm or deny how important Dean’s culinary skills are to their current relationship. He doesn’t say anything at all, just grins and puts his hand on Dean’s thigh and takes a deep breath as Dean pulls them back out onto the road, hits the gas and drives.
END
elveys_stuff who asked me for “Dean/Sam sex on the hood of the Impala…” About a million years late. And shit, I can’t even tell you how much trouble I had with this story! I wrote – I’m not kidding – three different fics, all of which I deleted, because they sucked so hard. I would get to the sexing and Dean and Sam would be arguing and snarking and ‘Oh, that feels good! You’re so mean to me!’ and… yeah. I’m having such a hard time getting the boys happy these days. Anyway, this is my best shot. Fluff, porn, curtain!fic.
Title: All The Way Home
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word count: 1800
Summary: Curtain!Bunker!fic, with a side helping of Impala!Sex. Dean and Sam are settled into their lives as acting Men Of Letters. They still like to go for drives, on occasion.
***
Dean’s a nester.
Sam’s known this about him since before he could even spell the word.
Dean denies it, plays it off, but he likes to make his home wherever he goes. He likes to make his mark, likes the time and the space to unpack his guns, set them up along the closet wall, ordered by ease of use. He likes his own groceries in the fridge and his own soap in the shower.
Hell, give him a land line and a bartender who knows his standing order and Dean will roll over and lick your palm.
So this new home base of theirs, this mystical, magical, out of the fucking blue and wondrously welcoming new home base of theirs – it’s a godsend. Or… actually it’s probably sent by someone who cares a hell of a lot more than God does. Point is, Sam’s never seen Dean look quite so… settled.
He’s calm, he’s focused, he’s relaxed. Of course they still hunt, there’s plenty to do but for the first time in a long time, they hunt because they want to, not because they have to. They’re not chosen anymore, they’re not singled out. They’re just hunters again. Hunters who take down ghosts on Monday afternoons and barbeque burgers on Thursday nights.
Dean’s in his element, been wanting to settle down somewhere for as long as Sam can remember, but he’ll never, not for one second, be happy to stay in one place.
Neither of them will.
And so they drive.
For all that the bunker is their house these days, the Impala is their home. As comfortable as Dean is with his shower and his mattress and his high end kitchen, he’s never as happy as he is when he’s behind the wheel of his baby, open road ahead. When she purrs, so does Dean.
Dean shifts in his chair, adjusts his crotch and bites his lip. The book that’s open in front of him is a decades old account of a Rugaru hunting, but Sam knows that what he’s really look at is the just as old playboy Dean’s got tucked inside the book.
Sam smiles to himself and closes his file.
They could both use a break. And he’s read about all he can handle for one day about the possession and exorcism of virgins.
“You want to hit the road?” Sam asks. His voice is sudden, loud in the overly quiet room and Dean jerks, blinks. Then he smiles slightly, slowly and when he puts his own book down his smile grows.
“Fuck yeah.”
***
It’s been hours.
Sam doesn’t even know how many, all he knows is that it’s light outside and it wasn’t when they got into the car. They’ve been driving fast, long, Dean’s foot hard on the peddle and Boston blaring out through the tinny speakers. Sam’s hair is a mess from the wind – Dean wouldn’t let him wind up the window – and that last, tiny thread of tension is well and truly gone from the line of Dean’s shoulders.
When Dean pulls the car over to the side of dusty back road, when his lip curls up in a sideways smirk and he playfully elbows Sam and then full on smiles, it’s not a surprise. Not even a little.
“Backseat?” Sam asks, unfastening his seatbelt.
Dean shakes his head.
“Hood,” he says. It’s pitched low, comes out scratchy. Whether it’s from desire or because hasn’t spoken since just after midnight, Sam doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care, either. It’s hot as fuck and Sam can’t get out of the car fast enough.
The sun isn’t very high in the sky yet, but the road stretched out in front of them is well lit, the soy fields lining the horizon are clear. Anyone could drive past, could easily see them together. They usually fuck with Sam’s long limbs twisted and spread out along the bench seat in the back, sometimes Sam gets on Dean’s lap in the driver’s seat.
Sometimes, when it’s dark or they’re parked under a tree or behind a shed, they’ll do it on top of the car. But broad daylight on the side of the road? That’s a new one.
Sam’s dick is so hard it hurts.
Dean gets out of the car more slowly, stalks around his open door, hips cocked and legs easy and more bowed than usual. Sam opens his pants as fast as he can, pulls them down to his thighs and leans forward, elbows braced on the hood.
“No,” Dean says and Sam frowns and looks over his shoulder. “Pants off. On your back.”
Sam shivers and bucks forward, drags his leaking cockhead along the hot, sleek metal of the car’s frame. God, yes.
He turns to do as Dean asked and then he pauses, pants around his ankles as he looks around them. It’s not quiet, not really. He can hear birds, crows he thinks and the wind whips through the rows of soy, rustling the leaves. There’s traffic, low and rumbling from the major highway half a mile over.
They’re not alone, this isn’t private. A quick fuck with their pants around their thighs and their privates hidden against the car is one thing. But Dean wants him naked and open and spread out where anyone could see?
There’s a background hum, Sam can feel it rather than hear it and it takes over his body, renders him mute while he stands motionless for an eternal four seconds, lips parted slightly while he watches Dean unzip and pull himself out.
Dean’s hard, swollen and red and the tip is glistening with pre-come and Sam licks his lips as the hum turns to sound and a car zips past them. Sam blinks and shakes himself, scrambles out of his pants and tosses them carelessly to the ground before he climbs up onto the hood of the car.
He doesn’t care if anyone sees them. In fact, he sort of hopes someone does, because Sam knows he’s hot and he knows Dean is hot and together they’re fucking incendiary and sometimes, Sam likes to show off.
The look on Dean’s face, the way his eyes skitter and flash, the way his chest rises and falls with effort as he steps closer, closes in on Sam… Sam sighs and closes his eyes and lies back, waits for Dean’s touch on the outsides of his thighs, as Dean presses himself between them.
God.
Sam hasn’t had a lot of lovers in his time, but he’s had his share. And none of them, not a single one, has come after him with the desire he sees in Dean every single time they’re together. It’s heady, intoxicating. It makes Sam’s knees weak, his chest tight.
Dean doesn’t bother prepping him, just lifts his legs and leans forward, slides along the crack of Sam’s ass and then dips and curls.
It hurts when Dean pushes in, but not too much. He goes slow, eases back and forth and lets his natural slick ease the way. Sam’s used to this, his body knows to relax and let Dean in and the instinct to push and draw himself closed is almost non-existent, now.
“Fuuuuck,” Dean hisses as he bottoms out. His fingers dig deep into Sam’s ribs and he rocks back and forth, once, twice before he catches Sam’s prostate and Sam screams and bucks wildly underneath him.
Sam might hope somebody sees them, somewhere in the back of his sex-addled brain, but he still kind of wants to get this shit done as quickly as possible. And Dean’s a great lover, so is Sam, but if there’s something they’re good at besides putting down demons, it’s quickies.
He clenches, twists and his mouth falls open when Dean hits him over and over in just the right spot. He tilts his hips up, moans when Dean grabs his cock, hot fist squeezing down around him and jacking up and down.
“Shit. Sammy… Sammy.”
God, that’s a rush.
Dean gets so lost in it. He fucks like he’s on a mission, like Sam’s the only thing in his world. And Sam doesn’t like to dwell on it, but he’s seen Dean fuck before. With other people, Dean always has fun. Dean’s so fucking happy when he fucks, like it’s a Goddamn ride at Disneyland. But Sam’s the only one who’s ever made him this desperate for it, this focused.
“Harder,” Sam gasps, word coming out like a whisper, just a breath against Dean’s lips when Dean leans down to kiss him. “So close, Dean.”
“Yeah,” Dean breathes back, nods his head and takes Sam’s lips again. “Yeah, Sam, come on.”
Sam’s fingers flail and scramble, grab for Dean’s back as his legs lock together around Dean’s hips.
“Come on,” Dean says again and he flicks his wrist, cants his hips and Sam throws his head back and comes. It’s short, abrupt and it’s over in seconds. Dean knows better than to keep touching him after an orgasm that sudden and quick and it’s only a few more thrusts before Dean pauses, growls and empties himself inside Sam.
There’s another hum, more rumbling and the sound of a revved up engine as another car flies past.
Sam’s dick twitches one more time.
“Scrambled eggs,” Sam says, once he finds his voice. It’s rough and hoarse, but that’s okay.
“Huh?” Dean asks. He gently pulls free, rubs his fingers soothingly over Sam’s abused rim while he kisses just behind Sam’s ear. He stands on shaky legs and pulls Sam’s pants up off the ground.
“Eggs,” Sam says again. “And bacon and pancakes. We should stop by the grocery store on the way home.”
Dean snickers, helps Sam’s rubbery legs into his jeans.
Sam’s always been into health food, but since Dean started cooking Sam has to admit, there are definitely times for exceptions.
“Admit it,” Dean says, taking Sam’s hand and hefting him up off the car. “You only want me for my cooking.”
Sam laughs and looks down at Dean’s crotch, where he’s tucking himself back in.
“Among other things,” he answers.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, gesturing for Sam to get into the car, as he does the same. “I’ll cook you breakfast, princess. But first, my baby needs to stretch her legs.”
Sam doesn’t mention the fact that the Impala has been ‘stretching her legs’ for the past six or seven hours. He doesn’t confirm or deny how important Dean’s culinary skills are to their current relationship. He doesn’t say anything at all, just grins and puts his hand on Dean’s thigh and takes a deep breath as Dean pulls them back out onto the road, hits the gas and drives.
END
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