Title : Reality is stranger then (slash) fiction
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Rating : NC-17
Warnings : Wincest, dirty talk, masturbation, voyuer!Sam, first time, possible cliché references to store hired porn, fingering, reference to livejournal, brief biting.
Word count : 2,499
Spoilers : Vague for seasons 4 & 5 just to be on the safe side
Beta : wallmakerrelict who helped with structuring and other stuff, love you bb 3
Summary : Sam has discovered Livejournal and has been posting regularly, Dean has been secretly fantasizing about his brother but doesn't know how to tell him, so instead turns to the slash fiction, Sam finds out and what happens next may be just the inspiration he needs for his next story...
A;N : Hi guys sorry this is so so so overdue, my life has been crazy in the best way ever since I started university, that is Australian for college. This is the sequel to Sam/Dean Damn Fangirls! Thank you for all the awesome reviews on the first one I enjoyed writing this and I hope you all enjoy it and this was the fix you were looking for –winks-
It's not like he's never done this before: the whole looking-at-porn-on-the-Internet thing that he supposes everyone has done at one time or another. It's not as if he's ever felt guilty about doing so. Hell, it's no secret that he likes some quality alone time with the latest copy of Busty Asian Beauties when he can get his hands on it.
But this, this is different. This isn't just your run-of-the-mill girl-gets-fucked-by-guy video. It's not even any of the cheesy scenarios played out in the actual cassettes a guy might rent every now and again - there's no girl who orders pizza only to decide that the delivery guy is far more tasty, no bored and horny housewife who hires a handyman and then lets him work on her instead of the roof. No, this is porn alright, but it's not some anonymous person who he likes the look of, who he can jerk off to while pretending that it's really him making them scream like that.
It's porn about him and Sam.
And while there's often no visuals, the words are descriptive enough. Enough to make him fuck his own fist and pretend it's Sam, enough for him to be turned on by the thought of Sam groaning and speaking mindless filth while Dean fucks him, begging, pleading for more because Sam knows that he could never, ever, get enough.
He's building up a rhythm now, stroking himself slow then slightly faster before twisting at the head. Dean's starting to lose awareness of the room around him, eyes closed as he gives in to the fantasy.
"Sammy, Sammy." His voice is breathy and he's glad no one is here to see him like this. Never breaking the rhythm he's settled into, he half-opens both eyes far enough to read the last line of the story
"Dean," Sam moans his brother's name as Dean comes hard inside him, filling him up.
"Mine, Sammy," Dean snarls, "Mine."
The thought of his brother belonging to him - only to him - is enough to send Dean over the edge. He comes with a shout, pleasure crashing through him as his world turns white.
"Fuck," he growls as he comes down from his high and opens his eyes. It's then that he realises that he's come all over Sam's laptop. He growls again, but this time it's with frustration. How the hell is he going to clean that off? Sighing, he heads to the bathroom and goes to grab a clean towel. It's a good thing that these are always complimentary. It gives Dean a moment of amusement to think that this was probably not the way that the manager imagined their guests using them. Still, he's not complaining. It's better than nothing, and with this in mind he turns his attention to removing all traces of evidence from the screen and hoping like hell that Sam won't notice (although, knowing Sam, he most likely will).
A full hour and a half later Dean's done the best he can. The screen is stain-free and the keyboard is only slightly sticky. It's not perfect, but it will have to do. Dean will just say he spilt beer on it when he was researching. Sam will look at him, yell about Dean being inconsiderate and careless, and then drop it... Dean hopes. Although once again, knowing Sam, he might not hear the end of it for days. Dean covers his eyes with his hands and sinks back against the pillow.
He must have been more tired than he thought because a few hours later he sits up with a jolt when he hears a key turn in the lock. Within a few seconds he is wide awake, his hunter's instincts kicking in. He slides himself off the bed and walks over to where the duffel bag is lying on the floor. He pulls out his gun, loads a few silver bullets, and cocks it as he closes the few meters to the door. Whoever or whatever it is struggling with the lock finally succeeds after two attempts; the lock clicks and the door is pushed open. Dean raises the gun higher, ready to shoot to kill if necessary. After all, you never know what might be lurking in the shadows. That's one lesson he's learnt the hard way.
But when he finally sees who it is, Dean breathes a sigh of relief.
"Sammy!"
He lowers the gun, removing the bullets and laying it carefully on the bed. Sam stares at him, eyebrows raised. One hand is raised, palm outwards, in the universal gesture for, "I'm unarmed! Don't shoot!" The other hand is balancing two cups of coffee and a greasy take out bag from a burger joint. Sam places the coffee and bag down on the table and stretches.
"Sorry I was gone so long," he says, "The line for coffee and burgers is unbelievable at 3 in the morning."
Dean nods and rubs his hand across his eyes again.
Normally they wouldn't get takeout at this time, but the day has been extremely long and they haven't had a chance to stop for food. They haven't been able to pick up a pattern to the demon attacks in this town yet, so the morning and afternoon have been spent interviewing the families of the deceased and trying to pinpoint who the next victim might be.
Sam pulls the two burgers out of the bag, handing one to Dean who, despite the sight of the grease stains coating the box, takes it gratefully. Biting into it, he makes a noise of appreciation. When he is finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crumples the wrapper into a ball before tossing it toward the trash can. He misses by a metre.
He looks up at Sam, who is still taking careful bites. "C'mon, Sammy. The world might end tomorrow. Aren't you starving?" he asks, grinning.
"You shouldn't joke about that kind of stuff Dean, especially not since we were the ones who nearly caused the end of the world in the first place."
Still grinning, Dean just shakes his head and reaches for one of the cheap coffees. He stretches out on the bed as he downs the lukewarm liquid. Then he swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, yanking his t-shirt over his head and reaching down to unbutton his jeans. His fingers are working on the button when he pauses and looks over at Sam, who is laying on the other bed, staring at the TV.
Dean wonders what it would be like to have Sam's eyes roaming his body, for Sam's fingers to be undoing the button of his jeans. He shakes the thoughts from his head and gets back to work on the zipper. He pulls his pants off and tosses them to the ground. He places his hands over his briefs, tracing his finger over his dick, and he feels it stir underneath his touch. He's still sitting with his back to Sam as he starts palming himself through his underwear. The TV is turned up loud and he tries to convince himself that Sam won't hear the telltale wet sounds or the moans that he's trying to bite back.
Usually he can take his time when Sam's at the library researching, he likes to take his time, tease himself, as he knows there isn't going to be any interruptions. Jerking off in front of Sam here there though, when Sam could at any minute hear him...Then there's a muffled wumph of static as the TV is switched off, followed by a very awkward silence.
Dean closes his eyes and places his hands on his thighs, hoping to plead innocence somehow. Sam's footsteps fall across the carpet and he stops right in front of Dean.
Dean keeps his eyes closed as if not been able to see Sam will somehow make the awkward situation disappear, but Sam's still standing there and he doesn't seem likely to walk away. Then Dean hears a thump and all of a sudden Sam's on his knees, mouthing Dean through his briefs, mouth hot, the sensation somewhat dulled by the thin clothing. Dean opens his eyes and looks down at Sam as he licks through the material and tries to take what little he can of Dean into his mouth. It feels so good, even with the clothing still sticking to his skin, but Dean wants to do this properly.
He pushes Sam gently away and, with great difficulty, stands up. His thoughts are already a mess. He pulls down his briefs, stripping out of them completely. Sam watches with dark eyes. He's seen Dean naked before - it's kind of unavoidable when you're living in tiny hotel rooms with little privacy. Hell, he's even walked in on Dean and seen him hard, fucking the hell out of some waitress for ten whole minutes before he even realised Sam was there.
But this is different. He's never seen Dean hard for him.
Dean lies back down on the bed, stretched out, and feels Sam climb onto the bed next to him. Sam places his hands on Dean's thighs to keep his balance, before lowering his head and taking as much of Dean as he can into his mouth. Dean moans loudly, his hands clenching the bed sheets tightly. Sam swirls his tongue across the head before licking a stripe down the side, then moving back up again to flick his tongue at the tip and suck hard.
Dean's hands find his brother's hair and tighten there, yanking harder than he intends when Sam finds a particularly sensitive spot. "Fuck, Sammy," he groans. Sam licks over and over at the spot as Dean continues to swear. "Fuck, fuck, Sammy going to make me..."
Dean comes with a loud groan, and the taste is bitter and salty in Sam's mouth as Dean falls back against the sheets. Sam closes his eyes and swallows every drop, licking his lips.
His hands tense on Dean's thighs as he pulls off Dean with a loud pop and rolls over to face his brother, smirking at him.
"Ready for round 2?" he teases.
To Sam's surprise, Dean grins back at him. "Lube is in the bottom of the rucksack."
Sam sits up and walks over to the bag, rummaging through it until he finds the small bottle. He squirts some of the liquid onto his palms and rubs it into his hands. It puzzles him that Dean is turned on by the thought of Sam, but he doesn't think about it too much. Can't really, not with his cock full and throbbing.
He is glad that Dean has lube; he messed around with a few guys when he was at Stanford and learnt the hard way just how painful it is to be on the receiving end without any preparation. Not that Dean needs to know that he's had experience in this. He walks back over to the bed to find Dean lying on his stomach, completely spread. Sam positions himself so he's sitting on Dean's legs, where he's got a perfect view of that pretty little ass the drives the girls wild.
"I'm going to take this slow, okay Dean? Don't want to hurt you."
"M'kay, Sammy." Dean's response is muffled as he has his head down in the sheets.
Sam slowly slides one lubed finger into Dean, who grunts and tightens his hold on the sheets. Dean's body resists for a few minutes then eventually the ring of muscle caves and Sam pushes his finger deeper in, causing Dean to groan softly. "I'm going to add another one, okay?" he says.
Dean continues to groan as Sam works the first finger in and out and gently adds a second, scissoring them. Dean groans louder, "Yes Sammy!" His breath comes in short gasps.
"Never knew you would be such a needy little whore." Sam pushes his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck... Fuck," Dean moans, and from the way he's gripping the sheets he's surprised that they haven't ripped. Not that he would care. It's hard to care about anything but the way pleasure is pulsing through him.
Sam pulls his fingers out suddenly and Dean whines at the loss, feeling uncomfortably empty. Sam smirked, leaning down and whispering in his ear, "Don't worry baby. Going to make you feel real good." He pushes in smoothly, feeling Dean tense underneath him as his body adjusts. He shifts his hips forward slightly, giving shallow thrusts, wanting to ease Dean into it.
"Damn it, Sammy, I can handle it. Please!" Dean groans.
Sam nips between his shoulder blades and pushes in deeper. He starts thrusting harder, building up a steady rhythm. "God, Dean look how easily you're taking this. Such a cock whore."
Dean moans and grips the sheets tighter. "Fuck Sammy yes, your whore."
"Yes," Sam growls, biting down hard on Dean's shoulder blades, "Such a perfect pretty little whore, going to make me..."
Dean groans again, "Sammy do it, come inside me," and that's all it takes. Sam comes with a loud moan.
They stay like that for a while before Sam eases out slowly. Dean rolls over and sits up, shaking slightly. He wraps his fingers around his own flushed cock and jerks himself off before he heads for the shower. Neither of them says a word. Dean isn't sure there are any to describe what's just happened. Once Dean's safely in the shower and Sam can hear the sound of running water, he turns the laptop on.
Sam doesn't know how Dean's been logging on but he has a suspicion that Dean worked out the password. He opens the Internet browser, smiling as he clicks through the history. He shakes his head at his brother's stupidity. Everybody knows that if you look at porn you clear the browser, but that's one lesson Dean didn't seem to learn.
His smile widens as he sees Livejournal on the list. Sam has had an account there for a few months - posted a few stories, made a few friends, all under a fake screen name of course. He can just imagine the reaction of the fangirls if they were to find out that "DeansSammy" was really Sam from the Supernatural books. They're always saying, "Oh, I would give anything for it to be real." Well, to Sam it is real, very real. These people really need to be careful what they wish for. Sam tilts his head, listening to the sound of the running water, judging from the barely audible moans that Dean's going to be in there for a while. He smiles again, hovering his cursor over "post an entry." He clicks and types:
No tell motel Sam/Dean NC-17
He smirks and begins to type. There's no way that anyone can say he's confusing reality with porn.