Two in one night, cause I've been MIA. Another load of angst-free smut for you. This time, we've got skirts involved.
I own nada.
Dean's always had a thing for legs. Sam knows that, has known that since he was eleven and Dean spent hours waxing lyrical about Mandy Cooper's legs. His brother is a sucker for a good pair of legs in a short skirt.
And Sam's no idiot. Sam knows how to use knowledge like that to his advantage.
It's the reason he's leaning against the table in their motel room in a white shirt, a red and black striped tie, and a thigh-high, red plaid, schoolgirl skirt.
He feels more than a little like an idiot. The woman in the store had given him the strangest look when he bought the skirt and the tie, before handing him his receipt with a knowing wink that had left him flushed until he got home and put the whole ensemble on. And then he was flushing with a whole new kind of embarrassment, because - much as he wanted to say otherwise - the uniform looked good on him. In a freaky, kinky, dirty kind of way.
He figures it's worth it, though, when Dean walks in the door with his head buried in some old articles on the case he's researching, looks up, and promptly drops all his papers, face emptying of blood.
"Sam?"
Sam licks his lips, glances up at Dean through his eyelashes - and that feels completely ridiculous, really, why do girls spend so much time doing it? - and smiles coyly.
"Mr Winchester," he replies, and he can hear Dean swallowing at that. "I'm here for the extra tuition."
Dean blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it again, and just stares for another long moment before collapsing into fits of laughter. Sam shifts on his feet, slightly annoyed but mostly just completely mortified.
"What are you doing?" Dean chokes out around another fit, and Sam rolls his eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
"I'm trying to seduce you," he admits quietly, slumping back against the desk and running a hand through his hair, missing the way Dean's eyes shoot to his thighs as the movement lifts his skirt.
"Seduce me?" Dean asks, almost incredulously. Sam flushes and ducks his head, nodding.
"You never-" he clears his throat roughly, crossing his arms over his chest, "-you never look at me anymore. I know you're not sure you want this, but I am, and I thought..." he trails off slowly, shrugging slightly, and Dean smiles.
"You thought I'd want you more like this?" he supplies, and Sam shrugs again, nodding. "You idiot," Dean continues fondly, stepping forward to close the gap between them and catching Sam's chin in his fingers. "You're adorable."
"Shut up," Sam whines, pulling his face away. "Jerk."
"Bitch," Dean replies, grinning, and Sam's smiling too, smiling at the easy flow between them, at how things feel right again. "Though, I must admit, the uniform looks good on you, Sammy."
Sam glances up at him, a soft blush staining his cheeks, but he knows a prompt when he hears it.
"I wore it 'specially for you, Sir," he shoots back, leaning himself back against the desk lazily, stretching his body out for his brother. Dean's gaze rakes along his torso, down to the hem of the skirt and the expanse of legs beneath it.
"And what are you wearing underneath?" Dean purrs into his ear, running his fingers up Sam's thighs and under the plaid. "How far did you go, Sammy?"
It's not so hard to meet Dean's eyes when he replies, pressing close so he can whisper a brief description of black lace and cotton, of underwear meant for a different body type altogether.
Dean swallows again as he pulls back, eyes dark, and Sam flushes under his predatory gaze, feeling a sudden sense of empathy for the girls who swooned and simpered at Dean in bars. Something inside him is swooning and simpering too, something base and instinctive. But the rest of him is too proud to give Dean that satisfaction, and it's that part that lifts his hands to Dean's shirt, pulls his brother close enough to kiss.
"So, how about that private tuition?" he murmurs, breath ghosting over Dean's lips, and Dean nods slowly, fingers lifting higher to brush over the underwear Sam bought for tonight.
Sam bites down on Dean's lower lip as Dean cups his cock through the thin layers of lace, drags Dean backwards until he can twist him around and push him down into the desk chair by the laptops, dropping into his lap a moment later, legs straddling Dean's thighs. Dean lifts his hands to the back of Sam's neck and runs them higher, tangling into Sam's hair and tugging on it, digging his teeth into the exposed skin of Sam's throat.
Sam's hands drop down to the waist of Dean's jeans, fingers hooking in the belt loops - leverage, dean realises, so he can grind down hard into Dean's crotch, already harder than he has been in months. His fingers slide down further, dragging open Dean's fly smoothly, reaching in to tug Dean's cock out, stroking up and down its length with a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Want you to fuck me," he mutters, leaning in close so the words feel like a secret. "Come on, Dean, I know you want it too."
Dean groans, fingers tightening in Sam's hair as Sam's hand speeds up, twisting each time it reaches the head of his cock, thumbnail rubbing through the slit there teasingly, pain-pleasure sending his hips bucking upwards. Sam laughs shakily, spreading his legs wider.
"Should I take that as a yes?" he asks, and Dean swears, pulling at Sam's hair as some kind of punishment for his teasing.
"Just hurry the fuck up, Sammy," he manages through gritted teeth, and Sam grins, running his tongue up Dean's cheek to his ear.
"I'm already stretched and ready, Dean," he whispers, and Dean almost whimpers at the pulse that sends through his cock. "Just waiting for you to say the word."
There's next to no hesitation before Dean speaks, his voice a low growl.
"Then you'd best get on my fucking cock, boy."
Sam laughs again, one hand fisting the bottom of Dean's dick as he slides the lace to one side and lowers himself down slowly, still wearing that fucking skirt and that fucking underwear. Dean spews out a steady stream of curses and moans as Sam keeps pushing lower, stretching open around his brother's prick.
And then he's inside Sam, properly inside him, and Sam's tense, breath coming harsh and heavy. Dean slides his hands down Sam's back, holds his brother until Sam relaxes under his palms. He keeps his hips still as Sam rocks a couple of times, hissing at the burn, before lifting up and dropping back down onto Dean's cock with a loud whine.
The sound breaks Dean's self control, and he slams his hips up into Sam, startling another whine out of Sam as he angles his next thrust, pushing into the spot that he knows will send Sam over the edge. And sure enough, Sam cries out, hands clenching in the denim of Dean's jeans before lifting to Dean's shoulders and digging into the muscle there.
Dean drops his own fingers to Sam's thighs, curling them underneath the skirt so he can lift Sam with each jerk of his hips. His brother is loose and pliant in his hands, a mess of legs and arms and arousal sprawled across his lap. Sam lets out a low moan with each brush of Dean's cock against his prostate, nails biting into Dean's shoulders and hips rolling down weakly, but it's Dean who controls their fucking, Dean who sets the pace with hard thrusts of his hips.
He wraps one hand around Sam's cock when Sam starts muttering death-threats, and the shift pushes the chair back against the desk, jolting them both. Dean barks out a laugh, but Sam's answering chuckle turns into a moan as soon as it leaves his mouth, Dean's fist stripping over his dick so hard it almost hurts. He arches himself up into the touch, then grinds back down into Dean, and they set up a rhythm that has Sam twisting and begging within minutes, spilling across Dean's hand and the inside of the skirt.
Dean works him through his orgasm, and then rocks his hips hard inside Sam; hard, solid thrusts until he's coming too, spurting up into Sam until there's come dripping down his cock. Sam whimpers lightly, collapsing forward onto Dean's chest as his arms give out, and Dean catches him quietly, arms tight around Sam's back.
"I hope you didn't pay too much for that skirt," he murmurs a moment or two later, and Sam looks up in confusion. Dean shrugs, fingers toying with the hem. "You've covered it in come, Sammy. It's completely ruined now."
Sam stares at him for a minute, and then his shoulders shake with laughter, leaning forward again to bury his face in Dean's chest. Dean smiles down at him, warm and satisfied, and rubs his hand over Sam's back in a slow, familiar movement.