Sam blames it on witches. (It's always witches)
When the witches said there thing, and Sam flew back a good ten feet, Dean had cried out and Sam had been braced for a world of hurt. Other than the expected bumps and bruises, though, it looked like whatever they had tried failed.
Well, until he was researching those damn witches' whereabouts the next day.
He never knew how much he said that one little phrase until his body was ready to go off at every utterance.
Damn kinky witches.
"They're most likely near the river bank, which is a good thirty miles in either direction" Sam points to the area on the map pulled up on his laptop screen, "but get this-"
It's like someone flipped a switch. One moment he's innocently sharing his research, noticeably not hard, and the next moment, it's like his blood's on fire and his cock's straining against the unforgiving fabric of his pants.
"But get what, Sam?" Dean snaps. He's irritated, he hates witches on the best of days, but one of them managed to put a ding in the Impala's hood, so he's livid, out for witch blood like the witch hunts of the dark ages.
Sam takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. He shifts slightly and all that does is make him have to bite his lip to hold back a moan.
"T-there's an abandoned house along this ridge"—God, does he hope Dean doesn't notice the subtle shake of his fingers—"that I bet they're hiding in."
"Great," Dean claps him on the shoulder, "let's go!"
And Sam would be all for that, but the, ah, situation in his pants isn't exactly going down, and the last thing on earth that he wants is for Dean to accuse him of having a boner due to research.
"Yeah, but get-" a thrill goes down his spine and his cock jumps, Sam reprimands them both, he was not going to say that, "getting—um, getting there without being seen would be too hard in daylight, see?" He points to the map again, "No tree cover. We should wait until night fall."
"Mh," Dean eyes the terrain critically for a moment and Sam prays to whatever God that's up there that he won't want to do it anyway, "okay, let's go get some grub at Rosie's, they have thirteen different kinds of pie." Dean wiggles his eyebrows and Sam wouldn't be surprised if Dean had a boner right now. At least Sam's erection was witch induced.
"Not hungry," Sam shifts and—yup, shouldn't have done that—"I'm just gonna see what else I can find on these guys."
Dean nods sagely, "After what they did to my Baby, we need to go terminator on their asses."
Sam would snort, or roll his eyes, or make some snippy comment about Dean's unhealthy love for his car, but if he opens his mouth, all that's going to come out is a whimper or a groan and he can't really have that.
"I'll be back"
Sam does manage to roll his eyes at that one without any embarrassing sounds, but it's just because Dean's impersonation of the terminator is just that ridiculous. When the door finally closes, Sam lets out a sigh of relief that immediately turns into a moan.
He pushes his chair back and glances down and yep, that's a stiffy alright, already a wet spot starting to form on his pants where the head of his dick is. Sam lets a hand slowly undo the zipper and the movement has him throwing his head back as his witch induced hard on springs free.
Sam roughly pulls back his underwear and then it's just his hand on his cock and he's already so close. Teetering right on the edge. Just a few good pulls and… nothing.
Sam makes a sound of pure annoyance. He wants to come, he's close as it is, his member throbbing in his hand, hot and heavy, balls draw up tight. But it's like the witches invested in a magical cock ring to go with the magical boner and Sam is going to kill them. Who ever heard of fucking 'but get th—
That's it.
Sam's hand stops moving, he's looking down at his swollen cock, feeling a blush already forming, he whispers "but get this" and there it is, that hot rush of arousal, hardening his dick even more. Sam keens.
"But get this…but get this—fuck yes—but get this" he's chanting it, getting louder and louder and not caring as his hand runs over his cock, swiping over the head and smearing the pre-come down his shaft, making a slick, hot channel.
"B-but get this—" he's so close, just one more, "BUT GET THIS!" he screams it, and then he's shaking, coming so hard he doesn't know what to do but ride it out, white across his vision, hot come all over his hand and shirt.
He's still panting hard, but he has the sense of mind to get to the bathroom with a new change of clothes—never mind that his legs almost give out as he walks over.
They gank the witches that night, Sam steadily avoids using that phrase until every last one of them is done for. Over all it's a job well done.
If Sam happens to still get a thread of arousal every time he mutters 'but get this…' while explaining something, no one has to know. And if he's using the phrase twice as much now, well, Dean will never notice.
this is all fuckyeahdestiel's fault over on tumblr. she said she shipped Sam/but get this... and so I wrote Sam/but get this... I don't even know what I'm doing any more.
hate it? detest it? want to shoot it with salt rounds and start spouting off latin? let me know!