shouuuuuld i post the rest of this truly shameful porn to ao3 or just here, seeing as it is entirely without merit or dignity? i recently rewatched 2.10 hunted and was like i should do a coda and remembered i did do a coda but it turned into just porn and it was so porny i hid it away in my google docs and i realize most of my recent output has been less smut centered and/or the smut has been less graphic and this is....both of those things. an homage to j2′s questionable acting choices when sam gets dean untied/the iconic face grab.
anyway. here is 2k of what is a 5k porn extravaganza shamelessly sexualizing the intense emotions of a complex episode <3 lmk if you think it deserves to go to the tumblr misfit club or to ao3
Sam talks the whole speed-drive back to the motel. He’s rambling breathlessly, explaining how he got past Gordon’s traps, about some girl named Ava and how he’s not the only one with visions. Even from his peripheral, Dean can see how wired Sam is, leg bouncing and hands flailing in gesticulation, cheeks high with color.
Dean’s listening, he absolutely is, because he wants to know every millisecond of how Sam spent his time away from Dean, and because it’s not often he sees Sam, composed, sweet Sam, strung out on adrenaline like this.
Dean’s listening, but in this frayed way, because Sam might be riding the easy high of an escape well-made, but Dean’s tension-strung on the sounds of those blasts, on the sight of Gordon’s rifle aimed at Sam’s head, on the ringing silence of the motel room when he woke up to it empty.
Once they’re back inside the room, Dean uses his best in-charge voice to say, “Alright. Why don’t you take a shower, then I’ll patch you up, and then—”
Sam’s big, broad hands grip Dean by the shoulders, turn him roughly around, and then Sam’s kissing him like he’s going for broke. He’s so warm, his boy is, always been so fucking warm. Dean groans, and the rumble of emotions he’s been wrestling with rising in a frantic wave, the way it feels sometimes when he’s in the middle of a hunt, this surge of energy.
Dean puts his hands on Sam’s little waist, and shoves at him, hard, harder, until Sam’s stumbled all the way back against the nearest wall. Sam pants at him, all fuck-me-eyes and parted lips. Dean shoves a leg between Sam’s, and presses at him until Sam widens his knees enough he slides down the wall slightly, more level with Dean and more disarmed by the off-balance.
Once Dean has Sam where he wants him, Sam sinks his teeth into his lip and rests his hands on Dean’s hips, waiting. His face is still blood-streaked and whatever energy horniness is lending him, his body is still shaking finely in exhaustion; Dean can see it in his shoulders.
“I can’t believe you,” Dean gets out, finally.
Sam reacts, but only to the fact that Dean has spoken, not to anything he’s actually said. He worries at his lip, then wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and tugs until Dean tilts forward helplessly. Sam kisses Dean’s neck, over the sweat and grime, loving at the skin with soft lips and a wet tongue. He kisses up the line of it, nipping at Dean’s ear.
“Had to come get you,” Sam breathes, and more kisses follow. “So fucking scary—You’re okay, God. Fuck—”
Another surge of feeling and Dean shoves his hand up the front of Sam’s t-shirt, all the way up to his chest and slams Sam against the wall, hard enough Sam makes a sound, then grins brightly at Dean. Dean crowds into him.
“I’m okay?” Dean snaps. “Do you have any—I heard those traps go off and I—” He stops to collect himself, and Sam hands are all over him, soothing noises coming from his reddened mouth. Dean puts his other hand on Sam’s throat. “Who do you think took Gordon out when he was sharpshooting you, huh? It was me, that’s how he got me.”
“No!” Dean interrupts, wild. “I don’t want your apology, I don’t care that he got me. I—what I’m saying—” His nostrils flare. “Don’t you ever fucking run off on me again, Sammy.”
Sam licks his lips, eyes hooded and hands tight on Dean’s hips. “Dean—”
Dean crowds in even closer, speaking directly into Sam’s mouth. Sam keeps trying for a kiss and Dean keeps evading him. “What I’m sayin’—I’m sayin’ you’re only safe with me, you got it? I take care of you. I do.”
Sam whines and wriggles a little, like he knows he can’t move like this and wants to anyway.
“Shoulda let me kill him,” Dean breathes, licking up the blood dried across Sam’s face. “Swear to God, Sammy.” He holds Sam by the jaw and moves him as he pleases while he kisses and licks mindlessly. “You ain’t ever running off like that.”
Sam wriggles again. “Or what? You’ll kill me?”
Dean bites his cheek. “Not funny. Or what? Or I’ll hole us up somewhere so far off there’ll be no place you can go anyway.”
Sam’s breath hitches and Dean can hear him thinking over how serious that threat is. “I knew you’d find me.”
“Then why’d you fuckin’ leave?” Dean asks and continues without waiting for a response. “He was gonna kill you, man. He almost did. Why would you do that? Leave me, when you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you? Huh? You that stupid?”
Sam swallows audibly. “Not stupid,” he says, then more urgently, “Dean, I’m fine. I’m okay, we get into shit all the time, okay? I’m alright.” He’s speaking in a rush, words tumbling out and body going restless. Sam grabs Dean’s hand under his shirt and drags it down to his jeans, over the bulge of his cock, half-hard and hot even through the denim. Sam repeats, breathless, “I’m okay.”
Dean groans, and slips his hand from Sam’s jaw back to his throat while he undoes the button and zip on Sam’s jeans.
Sam sucks in air through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he says, “Yes.”
“Off,” Dean grunts, tugging at Sam’s jacket and shirt.
While Sam does that, Dean cups his palm over the familiar shape of Sam’s cock in his boxers, squeezing and circling with his palm, cradling him as he gets harder and harder. Dean could do this, get Sam hard, on repeat for hours and hours and be content. Almost rivals making Sam come.
Once Sam’s shucked off his jacket and shirt, Dean goes straight for a nipple while he tugs Sam’s cock out of his boxers and through the open fly. Sam moans, nice and open, isn’t even being difficult about letting Dean hear him, good boy.
Sam’s got a great dick, thick and curved and smooth, with one vein Dean likes to trace, and he leaks sticky and wet from the get go. Dean moves up to kiss Sam’s mouth while he gives his cock a hello with his fingers, rubbing all over it, cupping Sam’s heavy balls and tugging at the trimmed hair of his pelvis.
“Stop teasing,” Sam whispers, strained. “Not tonight, Dean, I—”
“Not gonna tease,” Dean promises, and means it. He wraps his fist around that pretty dick and tugs firm and fast.
Sam inhales in little hitches, eyes slipping nearly shut as his chin tips up and his chest heaves, ribs bumping under Dean’s free hand, which is roaming greedily. At one point, Sam’s hand wanders down to Dean’s jeans, brushing over the straining line of Dean’s cock in question. Dean knocks his hand away and Sam doesn’t even fight it, just gnaws at his lip and clutches Dean’s shoulder instead.
“Fuck,” Sam mutters, looking down at where Dean’s fist is flying over his wet cock. Dean watches Sam watch, and sways at the arousal crashing over him in waves. Sam breathes harder. “Fuck, yeah. Dean—”
Dean hums and strokes faster, concentrating over the head. Sam’s head knocks back and his eyes widen slightly, mouth gaping. “If—um, like that—Gonna, gonna—” Sam tries, entirely incoherent. His cock is swelling even harder in Dean’s hold, thighs spreading and going stiff.
Dean almost never lets Sam get off this easy and quick, even when he isn’t purposefully teasing. He doesn’t think he’s gotten Sam off fast and no fuss by hand in months. Dean kisses Sam’s mouth, his own dick hot in his jeans and his pulse pounding in his wrists and temple.
It’s been maybe three minutes since Dean got Sam’s dick out, but then the average hunt gets both of them wound up, and this wasn’t even close to average. Sam hisses, chest going blush-red, and muscles spasming in his flat stomach.
“Sammy,” Dean moans, wretched. He tangles his free hand in Sam’s hair and like that, Sam’s eyes roll back and his hips pump and thick jets of come fly up onto their bodies.
Sam’s hand snakes down to cup his own balls, something he does every once in a while, automatic and nasty, that always threatens to end the natural order of Dean’s brain function.
“God, yeah,” Dean whispers, kissing eagerly at the stretch of Sam’s throat while he keeps tugging Sam’s cock. “Yeah, keep coming, baby.”
Sam makes a sound that’s high and strangled and embarrassing, and thus hot enough to make Dean’s dick flex. Sam’s free hand sinks into Dean’s hair, and his nails scratch Dean’s scalp through the last milliseconds of the orgasm. Dean keeps playing with Sam’s cock, his fingers absolutely creamed up and sticky, until Sam bites his shoulder and bats his hand away.
“Skin,” is the first thing out of Sam’s mouth, his hands scrambling at Dean’s clothing.
Dean groans, and definitely gets jizz all over his clothes as he strips, and can’t care less. Sam kicks off his boots and jeans, and then he’s on Dean, pressing as much of their bodies together as he can. Sam walks them back and knocks Dean onto the bed, clambering onto him immediately.
“Love fucking you so much,” Sam mutters into Dean’s mouth, hands rubbing up and down Dean’s arms and then flanks, all indulgent and sweeping.
Dean laughs a little. Sam gets a bit loopy, all sweet and dirty and saying whatever comes to mind, when he blows hard enough. The laughter doesn’t even faze Sam, he keeps rocking on top of Dean, even grabs one of Dean’s and puts it on his ass.
This Sam is fucked into pure being. Dean can do this for Sam. He’d never guess the boy moaning over him, cock out and sticky with come, the boy smiling while he kisses Dean, spent the past two days spiraling down because their father wants—wanted—him dead. Dean stiffens at the thought, banishing it away by slipping his hand under Sam’s boxers and stroking the velvety thin skin around his hole, tracing through the fine hairs there.
Sam bites his lip and rubs a thumb over Dean’s nipple, thigh sliding between Dean’s to press down onto Dean’s cock. “Wanna fuck me? You can,” he offers, like Dean couldn’t guess by the whorish way he’s squirming for it.
Dean always wants to fuck Sam. If Sam bent over in the middle of a hunt or the middle of an argument or the middle of a goddamn grocery store, and said, “Do it,” Dean would get his cock out in record time. It’s a constant state of being.
These hunters cropping up and coming after Sam, crying abomination, like Dean Winchester isn’t walking around defiling his own baby brother as a matter of habit. Dean outpaced Sam in corruption a long time ago, from the very first moment Sam pressed his lips to Dean, quick and clumsy, and pulled away, eyes a nervous question, and Dean just tugged him back in for another kiss, wetter and rougher.
“Wanna fuck your mouth,” Dean grounds out, and Sam’s eyes light up.
“Fuck yeah,” Sam agrees, starting to slide down Dean’s body.
Dean grabs him by the hair and yanks to stop him. Sam stills with a small sound, brow furrowed in confusion.
Sam is—very pretty. On a matter of principle and Sam being his bitchy kid brother, Dean can’t say that very much, but every time he looks at him it smacks Dean over the head. Sometimes he wonders what college was like for Sam before Jess, if he made the rounds through a couple frat houses or something, because fuck, a boy that pretty doesn’t go unnoticed and Sam, despite his posturing, really likes sex. Maybe his standards were lower back then.
Dean shuts his eyes, heart pounding.
Sam goes for his throat, loving on it, apparently unperturbed by Dean losing his grip in the middle of sex. Which, actually, fair enough. Sam’s working on a mark over Dean’s pulse, wet and noisy, as Dean rights himself.
“Get on your back,” he instructs roughly.
Sam laughs a little and his face appears in front of Dean’s. “Bossy tonight,” he teases, like that isn’t how they both usually prefer it anyway. He gives Dean a quick kiss, and before pulling away mutters, “I missed you,” as if they weren’t apart for a matter of days.
Then, also as if he didn’t just drop an anvil on Dean’s chest, Sam slides off of Dean and to the side, laying flat out beside Dean. There’s nothing to do but scream or keep screwing his brother, so Dean lifts up and stretches out over Sam, effectively switching their positions. Sam raises his brow and puts a hand on Dean’s ass, tugging, clearly expecting that Dean is going to move up to fuck his mouth.
Dean snorts, to make Sam blush indignantly, because Dean’s…fucked up. Then Dean softens his face and cups Sam’s cheek with his hand briefly before putting his index finger to the seam of Sam’s lips.
“Open up, Sammy.”
Dean gets to watch Sam’s pupils dilate that last impossible amount, so that his eyes are almost entire black. Sam more relaxes his mouth than opens it, but that just means it’s a clinging, smooth slide into it when Dean pushes his finger. Dean waits, and Sam sucks, just like that, without having to be asked. He’s breathing harshly through his nose, but so is Dean.