Dean Leaves His Mark On Sam And Arizona

Prompt: I like the idea of Sam and Dean being stuck in the car, Dean with a horrible/extremely messy cold, and having just ran out of tissues. So now he has to find a way to contain his explosively messy sneezes. *waggles eyebrows*

s/d

"Aw, dabbit."

"What?"

"Last wudd."

Sam glances over and sees a clean tissue in one of Dean's hands and an empty Kleenex box in the other. "You went through the whole pack? That was brand new."

"Epic sdottidess, dude."

Sam schools his eyes to the double yellow lines and pushes out a loud breath to temper the tantalizing sound of Dean blowing his nose.

"Goodbye, falledd soldier. You served bee well." Dean twists around back and stuffs the tissue out the rear window.

"That's a bad cold."

"Thagks for the dews flash." Dean drags his arm across his forehead and shivers. "Seriously, there better be a friggid' botel up here subbwhere, 'cause I abb hurtid'."

"Yeah," Sam sighs. "I know." He pats Dean's thigh.

"Ehhh... ugh. Crap. Eh-HHH... IH-HHHH-HIDDGSHSHSHH!"

Sam squeezes the steering wheel.

"Dabbit." Dean's cupping his nose with one hand, sweeping the seat with the other. He pops open the glove compartment and roots around, snuffling.

"There's gotta be a gas station coming up."

Dean shakes open a folded piece of paper. He tilts his head to read it, then grunts in relief. "Thagk God." He smears his nose with it, wipes off his catching hand. "Old directiods," he explains.

"Very resourceful." Sam crests a hill and takes in a new expanse of rocks and cacti.

"Rrg." Dean jiggles his nose with the flat of his palm. "It wod't quit. I'b soh-HH... sorr-ETDZZHZHZHTT!"

"Sorry for being sick? Come on, that's nuts."

"Dude. It's like if you wedt aroudd with doe shirt odd add little tassels odd your dipples."

"You don't feel well. I totally get it. God, don't worry about me. Just rest up, OK? My nipples and I are fine."

"You should do that subb tibe."

Sam watches him scrape the office paper under his red nose. "Tassels?"

"Too gay?"

Sam huffs out a laugh. "Not my style."

"Ow." Dean's nostrils are glowing like a string of chili-pepper light bulbs. "Doe. You're fired." He dangles the paper out the rear window and lets go.

"You're running out of options here."

Dean hunches forward and rips a harsh cough into his fist. Snuffling, he sends a hand under the seat.

"Ew. What's down there?"

Dean slaps a half-used matchbook on the seat between them, a stick of chewing gum with no wrapper, a flashlight, four sticky M&Ms, and finally the prize: a rumpled napkin. "Yes." He smoothes it out lovingly on his knee, stretches it taut between his hands. When he blows it's a thick, rich crackle that Sam tries not to hear.

"Uhhh... hgh." He doubles the napkin over and presses it to his flaring nostrils. "AT-SHSHSHHSSHHHOOO!"

Sam rubs a hand over his scalp.

"Ugh. Already? Seriously?" Dean holds out the sodden napkin mournfully. "Dot a dry corder odd this thigg. You are the weakest ligk." He tosses it out, then turns to Sam and sniffles. "Cadd I really dot opedd by owed widdow? I got aches, badd. That shit's harder thadd it looks."

"How'd the ear infection and bronchitis work out for you last time?"

"It's the desert. I'b hot." He shudders. "Add cold. Dabbit."

"You up on your meds?"

"Doe, because I love feeligg like crap so buch. HH... oh, fuck bee."

"All in good time."

Dean swivels helplessly in his seat, a fist jammed up under his nose. "HH-HHH..." He squints, shoulders caving in. "AHHH-HH..."

Sam snaps a finger and points. "Shirt. Do the shirt."

Dean scoops it up and buries his face just in time. "EH-DDCHCHCHCHHH! TZZHZHHZHH!" His flushed abs relax into smoothness, then clench again. "HESSHSHSHSHSHHHH-oo!" Panting, he honks into the sweat-damp fabric and peels it carefully over his head. "Dabb, Sab. You're a gediuss." He holds up the soft material and grins. "You doe how buch sdot I cadd fit idd this thigg?"

Sam's pants are way too tight. He smiles. "Awesome. Feel better soon."

Makeout

Prompt: Sneezy Dean and sneezekink!Sam all happy somewhere unhurt and not-in-bed and having shy sweet this-is-new making out, possibly outside in the dark against a bar wall with their smexy coats on.

s/d

"Smoky in there."

"Yeah." Sam's eyes twinkle but his face stays straight. He glances out over the parking lot and shuffles from side to side.

Dean settles back against the brick wall and coughs into his shoulder. His breath puffs out white under the streetlights.

"I don't like the sound of that."

Dean pinches his nostrils clean and sniffs. He studies Sam's gelled hair. "That how it's gonna be now?"

"What?"

"You gonna rock the whole mother hen routine?"

Sam purses his lips, dimples popping out adorably. "What, I can't take care of you?"

"What's to take care of?"

Sam snorts. He takes a step closer. "You," he murmurs, "are getting sick."

Dean frowns in theatrical confusion and pats his own belly and face. "That's funny. I don't feel sick."

"You're such an ass." Sam tugs lightly at the edges of Dean's leather jacket. "Ever since our dip in the lake you've been sounding more and more like Johnny Cash."

"Burning ring of firrre..."

Sam chuckles. "Like horrible, off-key Johnny Cash." He buttons up Dean's coat with careful fingers. "There."

"Hmm." Dean tucks a lock of hair behind Sam's ear. "I feel better already." Sam's palms are gentle on his ribcage. Dean nuzzles up into his forehead and thumbs his cheekbones. Sam's lips graze-

"EH-TCCHCHSHSHOO!" Dean blinks at the phlegm on Sam's beige-jacketed shoulder, then snickers helplessly. "Oh my God. Bullseye."

Sam looks like he's been shot. Crimson-cheeked, he pushes a hand through his hair and rubs his mouth.

"What?" Something turns over in Dean's mind. He digs up a napkin and dabs at the fabric. "Hey. Remember that thing you told me..."

"It was true." Sam meets Dean's gaze, his face a stony challenge.

"About how sneezing made you kind of..."

"Yeah." A muscle in Sam's jaw twitches. His eyes stray to Dean's nose. He's breathing hard.

Dean points at Sam's shoulder, eyebrows raised. "So was that...?"

"Good. Yeah. Shut up." Sam flattens him against the wall and presses kisses all over his throat.

"Ungh." Dean's nose starts pulsing. "Kinky." He cradles Sam's skull, then gasps and coughs from deep inside his chest.

Sam straightens and frowns at Dean. His hair's sticking up on one side. "Are you all r-"

"HEDZZSZSZSSHSH!"

"Ohh, you have to not do that." Sam grinds into him hard.

The tingling is overwhelming. Dean rushes the napkin to his face. "KKTCHCCHRRRGH! EH-XXXXT! IDJJJSHSH-uh! Uhh. HH-HH-TDZCHCHCHHCHCHT!"

"Wow." Sam's flush against him, stiff cock poking into his hip. Briefly he steeples his hands around his own mouth and nose, as if to compose himself. "OK." He takes a step back and cool air floods in against Dean's legs. "OK. Yeah, you shouldn't be out here."

"'Scuse bee." Dean fills the napkin, then another.

"Mmmf." Sam turns and swings his arms, claps his hands. A laughing group of students trails by across the street, bundled against the November air. Dean hooks one of Sam's belt loops and reels him back in.

"Where were we?" He sniffles in Sam's ear and kisses his jaw.

"Uhn."

Sinuses prickling, he slips his hands into Sam's back pockets and scoots him in against his groin.

"Ngh. You're gonna get-"

"Ahh-hh..."

"Oh, fuck. Gonna get worse..." Sam wraps his Sasquatch arms around Dean, tucks him tight against his body.

"Is thihh-... iss hug therapihhh... IHH-HHHH..."

"Something like that," Sam husks, voice resonating in his chest.

"HHH-HHXTZXTZTZZ! EHHT-TCHCHCH-TCHSHSHSHOOOO!"

Sam's warm all around him, gripping him. They stay there, quiet and still.

"Sab?"

"Yeah."

"I dod't feel so good."

"I know. I suck." Sam rubs his back.

Dean buries his dizzy head in Sam's armpit. "Fiddish up if you wadt. I'b OK for a biddut."

"Oh, yeah, no, I... yeah."

Dean tilts back for a view of Sam's face. It's tomato red. "Did you...?"

"You're really, really hot."

Dean coughs happily into his shoulder. "Dabb." He unzips Sam's breast pocket and stuffs in the last clean napkin. "OK. You cadd take care of bee dow."