A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know. Warning for underage, incest, extreme boy/boy. But that's why you're here, right?
X equals negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus four a c all over two a. The quadratic formula. Downfall of ninth graders everywhere. Not only was it difficult to understand logistically, but it had almost no pattern to remember it by. Sam wrung his hands. He had to have it memorized by yesterday, and school didn't wait for things as trivial as "demons" and "unsuccessful banishings." When Dad had discovered their ritual hadn't done the trick, he disappeared once again-not that it would help Sam's memorization skills or anything. Sam was, however, close to banging his head on the table. It was a difficult task, granted, but far from impossible.
He picked up his pencil. He set it down. This was not going to get any easier.
"Hola Sammy!" Point exactly. Dean strode into the kitchen, completely unaware of Sam's inner turmoil. He cracked the refrigerator open and grabbed a beer by the neck (opening it skillfully), before coming to sit at the table across from Sam.
"Ohhh," Dean said, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he peered at the papers. "Geometry. Yuck." He tipped his bottle to Sam and took a nice long drink, which ended up being about three quarters of the bottle. Sam just did not want anything to do with him now, but if he said just as much he might as well be asking him to stay.
"Done cleaning your guns, Dean?"
"Oh, I have a different gun I'm thinking of cleaning." He said seductively, towing off a shoe and placing his foot on Sam's thigh. Sam tried to hide the flush that immediately crept up his face and neck, but thereafter gave up.
Plan B. "Then maybe you could help me. We're learning the quadratic formula." Sam said, attempting to keep his composure as Dean's foot wandered further. Sam felt about ready to cry out of frustration. If Dean hated anything it was schoolwork, but if he didn't duck out now, he wasn't prepared to. He already seemed rather riled up, and Dean always got his way.
Sam watched Dean bite his lip unconsciously, sending electric sparks down his spine. He could feel himself getting hard but he really needed to know the goddamn quadratic formula. Willing it away wouldn't work with Dean's foot seeking purchase, but the man pulled away abruptly.
"Aha!" Dean said, face glowing from the shine of the light bulb practically hovering above his head. "I remember. I remember how I remembered it. Hmm..."
Sam couldn't tell if the older man was pulling his leg or not, but he automatically felt the relief slip out- prematurely. "Thank god," he whispered.
Dean ran a hand through his golden brown hair and at once scooted his chair closer to Sam's, slightly placed behind him. Trying to look very studious, he pointed at the lone equation on the page. His other hand drifted to the base of Sam's neck, playing with the curls there.
"There was once a negative boy- that's you Sammy," Dean started, running his finger along the correlative math equation. "-Who couldn't decide whether or not to get down with his radical brother. Negative b plus or minus the square root of."
Sam had followed the trail of Dean's finger, aware of the distracting ones now tracing patterns on his bare skin. He should've worn a turtle neck. With a scoff he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, attempting to dissuade his pleasure, "Very pious of you, adding yourself into the equation." But Dean just shushed him and placed his head in the crook of Sam's hunched shoulders.
The room was feeling more heated than before, and that wasn't just because of the one-hundred degree heat. Sam had more trouble than before trying to concentrate, what with his neglected, yet tented, dick and his brother sitting so close he could taste it, licking vaguely at that spot just below his ear. He needed this quadratic thing done.
"He decided to be too square. Aw, that's a shame, a real negative that is. Why so tense, huh little brother?"
Dean's hand slipped down Sam's back, tracing the lanky form, hardly well-developed muscles at all, but not lacking potential. At fifteen Sam had already far surpassed Dean in height, maybe even book smarts, but it was no surprise that Dean could still make him his little bitch, crying his name out into the night when Dad wasn't home- and when he was, only much quieter. Dean loved his stretched out form though, it made for better flailing or tying up. And when those beautiful, long legs wrapped around Dean's waist for a better drive it just drove the older man wild. Honestly, he'd do anything just to see those deep green eyes looking up at him as his cock got sucked, but right now he was playing to Sam's weakness. The greatest and most terrifying of them all- hormones.
"B squared minus four a c."
"Four a c?" Sam questioned through the haze. He could already smell the all too familiar musk in the cramped kitchen space, on the plastic chairs, at the flimsy table that he was sure wouldn't hold two people.
"Well, he decided to give in eventually. But only for a cock-suck."
"Did he?" Sam asked, voice quivering with some type of need or another.
"Oh yeah," Dean replied, dropping on his knees to the linoleum floor and angling Sam's chair to a better, more appropriate slant. As seductively as possible Dean ran his hands up and down Sam's inner thighs, avoiding his cock completely. Through the Bermuda shorts Dean placed kisses and bites, crawling his way up to his prize. If Sam's expression was anything to go off- and it usually was- Dean was getting his way tonight. For the sake of math, of course.
With a hand skilled beyond belief, Dean unzipped the shorts and reached a hand in his boxers. "There you are," he whispered, grabbing the hard shaft and running his hands up along it. Sam had his eyes screwed up, but it was so much more fun when he watched. Dean's other hand trailed up the thin shirt to his nipples, finding them and pinching down so that Sam hissed out delicately. With no more time to lose Dean delved down on the throbbing cock, already leaking juicy precome.
"Fuck Dean!" Sam spit, eyes fluttering open as he bucked his hips sharply. Sam must be real tightly wound if he was swearing during the throes, usually one of Dean's better attributes. Shouldn't have delayed themselves this much yesterday.
Dean swirled his tongue up around the base, breathing against the silky curls. He knew Sam liked to feel the back of his throat, so he took it all the way down. Bringing his way back up slowly, Dean licked the head, using his mouth like suction. He fucked his own mouth on Sam's cock, feeling the boys legs tense up, practically shaking for want to come.
"Gonna come Dean." He said tightly through his whimpers and moans. "God I fucking love you." With that he shot himself dry, Dean doing his best to catch it all and drink it down. He continued to suck until Sam became flaccid in his mouth, and then released him with a slight 'pop.' He thought he heard Sam mumble something breathlessly like, "four a c."
Dean stood up and licked his swollen lips as Sam put himself away. The older man made to turn and leave but Sam pulled him closer and pressed their lips together sloppily, trying not to get turned on by the taste of himself on his tongue.
"I love you. I really do." Sam said against Dean's lips when they finally pulled apart.
"I know." Dean said, eyes flashing lustfully at the teenager, and Sam remember Dean's own hard-on. Dean grabbed the front of Sam's shirt and began dragging him back to his temporary bedroom.
"But Dean," Sam protested meekly. "What's two a?"
"When it was all over," Dean said roughly, ramming Sam against the door and making him shiver, "the two decided to ass-fuck. It got pretty amplified." A wicked gleam crossed Dean's eyes.
And Sam had a feeling he'd never forget the quadratic formula again.