Sam stood in the warm waning light of the setting sun in Dean's kitchen and felt his stomach twist nervously at Dean's words: 'how about we get some dinner started,' with we being the major culprit of that sudden onset of anxiety. He was a terrible cook, completely awful if he was being totally honest, and the prospect of making an entire meal, even with Dean's help, was more than a little daunting. True, he had cooked Dean that breakfast of French toast just last Saturday, but that was really the only recipe he knew how to make without burning the goddamn house down or giving someone food poisoning.
He pulled his face back from Dean's, distracted for a moment by the play of the day's dying light reflected in those remarkable green eyes. "I don't know if you want me cooking for you, Dean," he said with a shaky laugh, "I almost caught my kitchen on fire just trying to boil water. Twice."
Dean smiled, delicate and utterly sexy wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes with the sincerity of it, and he pushed away from Sam's body slowly.
"I have faith in you, Sammy," Dean said gently. "And a fire extinguisher in the pantry," he said, not so gently but with an open mouthed and teasing smile.
He made his way back to the fridge and started pulling ingredients out much as he had last time. "It'll be a breeze, I promise, and I'll even let you do body shots if you can keep the destruction to a minimum."
Sam's eyes grew wide as items materialized onto the counter. Was there a blender there before? How could he be sure that the cutting board was sanitary? Did Dean really need so many sharp knives? He gulped and slipped his hands into his pockets in an effort to look small and forgettable. Of course he hadn't gained all that weight from not eating, but his aversion to his own charred food drove him to cheeseburgers and pizza joints back then. Even now, he had take out from the organic cafe down the block most nights and, honestly, even he couldn't fuck up a salad.
"Ya know," he started, tiptoeing backwards from the kitchen, "I'm gonna put my stuff away and change before -"
"Oh no you don't!" Dean swept across the tiles and grabbed Sam to him, not at all impressed with the escape strategy.
Discarding the tie, Dean unbuttoned Sam's shirt, exposing the tank top underneath. Loose articles could be a hazard and he wanted Sam as comfortable as possible. Dean felt cooking and sharing food was almost as important as good sex and he was about to impart that lesson to Sam.
As he continued to divest him of his dress shirt and then drag him back towards the counter, Dean's voice became as soothing as it was commanding.
"Tonight you are going to make the best spaghetti sauce I've ever tasted and you will be so proud of yourself that you'll let me fuck you right here on the kitchen floor as a reward for a job well done."
Sam blushed instantly, the red creeping into his hairline and to the tips of his ears. "Not that I'm complaining, but who actually gets the reward? I mean that sounds awesome but are we talking food 'job well done' or Dean-not-choking-me-for-ruining-dinner 'job well done?' Because I'm happy either way, I just want to be clear about who's getting what…"
Sam stopped talking when he realized that Dean was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Are you done?" Dean asked with a mischievous tilt to his head. "Because I'm hungry and stalling will only make me cranky." He leaned in and quickly pressed his teeth to Sam's bare shoulder. "And I really want dinner before dessert this time."
Sam groaned, trying to sink closer to Dean, but was quickly met with a tisk and a wagging finger. "Ah ah ah, baby boy," Dean scolded, "Not until you finish making dinner!"
Sam tried for a pout, knowing it was Dean's weakness, but Dean only chuckled and turned him around to face the counter. "Save it, Sammy. Those puppy dog eyes aren't gonna work on me this time."
Sam sighed in defeat and looked down at the countertop, trying to deduce from all of the ingredients what exactly it was he'd be making. The pasta sauce he knew as much just from Dean already telling him, but the rest was a mystery. Spaghetti maybe? "Okay," he said, shaking the tension from his hands and shoulders, "What first?"
Dean came up beside him, depositing a large handful of plum tomatoes beside the cutting board, followed next by an onion and a thick head of garlic. Sam looked at the vegetables and then at the wide array of very sharp looking knives arranged by blade length on a cloth towel near his right hand. He gulped and glanced over his shoulder to see Dean open a large bowl of seasoned olive oil and inhale the spicy scent.
Dean's eyes met his for a moment. "What're you waiting for there, Sammy?" he asked, setting the bowl down to turn the broiler to high. "Get to chopping!"
Sam nodded dutifully and looked back to the cutting board. He set one of the tomatoes on the board and grabbed one of the larger knives, curling his hand around the blade tightly. He tried to hold the rolly tomato still, thinking of the best way to go about slicing it up, then shrugged and decided to just go at it.
"Whoa, whoa there, baby boy!" Dean said, suddenly at his side. "That's a helluva good way to lose a finger. Here, hold the knife like this instead and make sure you curl your fingers under so you don't cut yourself. A trip to the ER wasn't in my plans tonight."
Sam gave him a small smile and tried to do like Dean instructed, but he couldn't quite get a good hold on the little tomato; his long fingers kept getting in the way.
Dean chuckled lightly and moved behind him, settling his body right against Sam's back. He looped his arms around, his hands coming up to cover Sam's. "Here, like this," he said with a low, amused voice.
Sam swallowed thickly, acutely feeling the press of Dean's groin against his backside, but tried his best to be a good student. He blinked and looked down to where Dean's hands entwined with his own, Dean's dark from the sun and calloused from his work. They were as gentle as they were forceful and he moved their hands together to slice through the soft flesh of the tomato with smooth, even strokes.
"There you go, Sammy," Dean said against the back of Sam's neck, making him shiver. "Nothin' to it."
Suddenly slicing the tomato felt like an intimate act and Dean's thumb, drawing the occasional small circle on his wrist, was an illicit lover leading him into temptation. After a few passes, Dean stepped back to let Sam try by himself but the sticky pull of attraction and arousal draped itself between them like wet mist.
Hyper aware now of Dean's movements around the space, Sam used the same technique Dean showed him while his imagination filled in the gaps where's Dean's flesh had been pressed to his. While Dean splashed a bowl with a few generous shakes from a bottle of olive oil, Sam squished all the juice out of one section by holding it too hard, his hands itching to caress Dean's skin with the same force.
He stiffened in a delicious anticipation when Dean stepped near again and found that he was cutting lopsided chunks, his mind more interested in the smell of Dean's hair as he reached across Sam for the bread knife than in the smell of chopped vegetables. Frustration trickled in as he was then ignored on behalf of a loaf of Italian bread and he finished chopping the tomatoes and the rest of the vegetables as quickly as he could and without much finesse.
With the vegetables diced within an inch of their lives and tossed in a large bowl, Dean directed Sam to the stove, where a large saute pan sat, already warming the oil covering the bottom. Without hesitation, Dean sunk his hand into the bowl of veggies letting the tomato, onion and garlic swallow him up before turning over the mixture and grabbing a small handful to throw into the pan. Sam's jaw tightened at the sizzle and heat in Dean's eyes.
"You gotta ease your way in when it gets just the right kind of hot," Dean said, stepping closer to Sam and giving the bowl a shake as an offer to try. "You have to feel it and want it to be good. That's when it's best."
Watching Dean watch him, Sam buried his hand in the cool, wet bowl and pulled back with the same sized handful before turning to the pan and sprinkling the ingredients into the oil. They took turns from then, one adding, one stirring, all the while Dean murmuring encouragements to Sam, 'doing so good, Sammy' and 'it's beautiful, right.'
And it was beautiful; the aroma of sauteing garlic, Dean's cologne and Sam's want filled the kitchen in waves and left Sam's mouth watering. When Dean turned down the heat, preparing to move on, Sam leaned in, desire finally overruling obedience. He caught Dean against the counter, the bowl of ground turkey bumping the shorter man's elbow as he was pushed back, a knowing chuckle escaping him before melting into a moan.
Sam's hands were on Dean, one curling behind him to caress the skin on his back under his shirt even as the other forced the button and fly of his jeans down.
"But I'm hungry, Sam" Dean growled, his own hands busy too with miles of skin and hair and clothes. "Maybe I should just eat you," Dean wondered against Sam's neck before sweeping his leg and knocking Sam onto the floor and onto his back.
Sam let out a surprised grunt when he landed just as Dean dropped to his knees between Sam's legs and began to work his belt, fingers urgent but coordinated. Sam jerked his hips up involuntarily, biting his bottom lip between his teeth to stop a desperate gasp from tumbling from his mouth. Suddenly taking control didn't have any appeal for Sam. After his stressful week and the swirl of worry about Dean and his well being, lying back and letting go called to him, whispered all the dirty things he wanted to have done to him. His need was immediate.
Dean chuckled, reaching his hands out to grasp the top of Sam's now undone slacks, tugging them down along with his boxers in a series of pulls and yanks until they were off completely and both men were panting and flushed with anticipation.
Dean sat back on his haunches, his eyes raking over Sam laid out before him, clad in his white ribbed undershirt and nothing else. With his hair mussed and a little wild and a faint sheen of perspiration slicking across his forehead and neck, Sam really did look good enough to eat.
Dean curled forward, using one firm hand on Sam's chest to press him to the floor and brought the other to wrap around the base of Sam's cock. He dipped down, whetting his lips before swirling his tongue around the swollen head, eagerly lapping up the precome that dribbled out of the slit.
Sam moaned loudly, his hands coming down to tangle in Dean's short hair, trying to push Dean's mouth further onto his dick. But Dean held off, letting just the very tip of his tongue dip into that now copiously weeping slit. He wanted this as much as Sam did, had been looking forward to it for fucking days, but tonight he wanted to take Sam apart slowly. He wanted to push Sam so far, to drive him so close to the edge and then ease him back so many times that Sam would be desperate and begging for release and would just fall apart under Dean's hands right there on the kitchen floor.
He swallowed thickly, bringing the heel of one hand down to press against his own aching dick where it strained against his underwear poking through his open jeans while the other tightened its grip around the thick base of Sam's cock. Sam keened sharply, arching his back up off the floor. Dean pulled his hand up from where it pressed against his own erection to rub soothing circles across Sam's lower belly, the muscles there already tight with building tension.
Dean released the squeeze he had around Sam's cock and Sam panted out a harsh, ragged breath as if he had been holding it in the entire time Dean's hand had been on him; perhaps he had. Dean moved his head down again, but instead of sucking down Sam's cock, he canted to the left, burying his nose in the sparse and coarse hair in the crook of his thigh, pulling in a deep scent of Sam's musk.
Sam bucked his hips up with a moan, his cock bobbing with the movement and slapping up against Dean's temple. Dean hummed appreciatively and sucked a red mark into the sensitive skin right next to Sam's sac.
"Fuck, Dean!" Sam cried out, his hands instantly coming down to pull at Dean's hair. "Oh god, please, Dean, please."
Dean smirked wickedly. We're getting there, baby boy, he thought to himself, bringing his mouth down to press wet, lingering kisses along the inside of Sam's thigh then moving higher to Sam's belly, pushing up the hem of his tank and flicking his tongue out to dip into his navel.
Dean's hand snaked back between them, curling his fingers around Sam's hot, steely shaft again, turning his wrist to twist up and down the length slowly. "Take your shirt off, Sammy, " he murmured in between biting kisses to the sharp jut of Sam's hip bone.
Sam complied immediately, crossing his arms across his middle to lift the tank top off from the bottom, wriggling and huffing impatiently when it caught between his shoulder blades and the floor. Dean chuckled and sat forward, helping to get it up over Sam's head with one hand while the other continued to stroke his cock.
Sam's thighs trembled under those slow, teasing pumps of Dean's fist, and he let out an unsteady moan, his hips humping up off the floor. Dean could feel from the way Sam's dick spasmed in his hand how painfully close he was, but he was far from letting Sam have his release - he wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He gave one last twist then lifted his hand from Sam's straining member.
Sam wrenched his head up, his face open and desperate. "God, Dean, please don't stop," he begged "I'm so fuckin close." His hands moved down to give himself the relief Dean denied him, but Dean brushed them away.
"Not yet, baby boy," Dean crooned, pulling back to tug his own clothes off, his heart pounding hard enough to make him lightheaded. "I wanna hear you beg for it."
Sam looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, his chest and dick flushed an angry red. "I am, Dean," Sam panted, "I'm begging you right now. Please let me come."
Dean swallowed against the rush of saliva that suddenly filled his mouth from the desperation in Sam's voice, but shook his head. "I'm gonna make it so good for you, Sammy," he said, bringing a hand up to cup Sam's cheek.
Sam turned his face into the touch, looking up at Dean with those incredible eyes and Dean's heart skipped a beat. "You trust me, right?" Dean asked him, reaching his thumb down to caress Sam's soft pout from where his palm still rested against his cheek.
Sam blinked up at him, a haze of arousal settling in his eyes from the glide of Dean's thumb. He was quiet for a moment, seemingly considering Dean's question and Dean felt an agonizing regret burn in his chest for even asking it. But soon Sam nodded with a smile, soothing away Dean's guilt instantly.
"Of course, Dean," Sam answered.
Dean grinned and slipped his thumb between the seam of Sam's lips, feeling an electric and white hot bolt of desire shoot straight down to his cock when Sam sucked it all the way in, laving his tongue all around the thick digit with a muffled moan.
"Well that's good to hear," Dean rasped, slipping his free hand down to his own aching cock, smearing the gathering precome all around the head and down the sides as Sam continued to suckle his finger. "Cause I'm gonna take you so high, baby boy. I'm gonna make it feel so fucking good. You just hold it off as long as you can, okay?"
He slowly drew his thumb away and began moving his body back down between Sam's spread thighs when he caught sight of the bowl of dipping oil he had prepared earlier sitting on the edge of the counter.
He reached a hand up, stretching to slip two fingers into the fragrant liquid with the intention of making Sam his meal since he had so effectively distracted him from his real dinner. Hunger pooled hot and insistent in his gut and he brought his wet fingers down, trailing them around Sam's right nipple then lower over his trembling stomach, dragging them all the way down Sam's dick and swirling the oil around the swollen and leaky cockhead.
Sam whimpered beneath him, his whole body vibrating like a tightened bow string about to snap as Dean began licking up the oil he had just laid down, starting with Sam's cock and moving back up, not lingering in any one place for too long, until he stopped to suckle at Sam's nipple, savoring the delectable taste of basil and rosemary and Sam's sweat, driving himself as crazy with desire as he was Sam.
He reached his hand up to the bowl again for more oil, but blindly this time, as he slotted his lips against Sam's, working his mouth with gentle strokes of his tongue. Sam whined out a moan right down Dean's throat and wrapped his strong arms around Dean's back, eager and searching fingers dipping in between his ass cheeks with no warning. Dean jerked closer to Sam's touch, inadvertently tugging the plastic bowl of oil right off the countertop.
The whole thing, oil and all, splashed down on top of them, instantly coating Dean's shoulder and all of Sam's heaving chest with the slippery fragrant fluid. The bowl bounced harmlessly down by Dean's hand and rolled across the tile, leaving a slick and oily trail as it went. Neither man hardly even noticed and Dean made the most of the mess they suddenly found themselves in.
He spread his knees between Sam's legs, forcing Sam's thighs to open even more, and smudged his hands through the oil coating Sam's chest, massaging it into his skin past his navel and letting it drip between his legs. He dipped down for a taste after every other pass, making sure to deliberately rub his stomach against Sam's cock with the movements.
"Good god, you're so beautiful, Sam." Dean watched his own hands caress each patch of muscle, the pale skin glowing with flavorful slick and he couldn't help but sigh. Did Sam know yet how beautiful he really was? Dean pushed Sam's knees back and apart, letting his oily fingers caress Sam's low hung balls and then trail over the furled skin further down between his cheeks.
"Tell me how beautiful you are, Sammy," Dean asked of him, fingers of one hand teasing Sam's hole as the other teased the tip if his own hard cock.
When answered with a huff and a self-depreciating half smile, Dean asked again more forcefully as he pushed one finger in to the first knuckle. "Answer me."
Grunting at the intrusion and the burning pleasure of it, Sam opened his mouth and let the first thing that popped into his head fall from his lips, "I… I'm beautiful… because y-you think I am," he stuttered along with Dean's teasing in and out motions, that thick, blunt finger never pushing more than half way in.
"That's cheating, Sam," Dean laughed, moving his free hand to Sam's dick, sliding up and twisting once with a palm slick with oil before moving away. "Come on, Sammy, you're beautiful. Touch yourself and see."
Sam's hands instantly fell to his dick seeking relief but were batted away with another laugh. "Too easy, tiger. Try again," came Dean's soft but firm rebuke.
Dean dipped his head down, running his tongue over oily skin to savor the spice and Sam again, watching from under his lashes as Sam's arms crossed over his chest. His hands started at his muscled shoulders, massaging the oil in himself before moving slowly down over hard nipples to pinch and pull, arching his back with a gasp.
"Tell me," Dean demanded.
"I'm strong," Sam started after a beat, his hands growing more confident as he spoke. "I work hard to be strong. I'm smooth and hard a-and tight." His voice pitched up at the end as Dean finally pushed his one finger in to the last knuckle, grunting at Sam's choice of words.
Dean then made short work of finding that pulsing bundle of nerves, pressing against it mercilessly before replacing his finger with his cock, further prep be damned. His dick ached far too much to be denied the tight heat of Sam's hole any longer.
Sam cried out, his hands flying up to grip at Dean's slippery shoulders, the tendons at his neck standing out starkly when Dean entered him so unexpectedly. He stared up at Dean, wide-eyed and devastatingly desperate, his hair damp with sweat and oil.
"Beg, Sam," Dean commanded through gritted teeth, taking a long, slow stroke, fighting for every inch as he pushed in that tight ring of muscle, his knees slipping back on the tile as he shoved forward. He pressed against Sam's prostate hard before demanding, "Ask again."
And Sam did.
The keening, desperate sound ricocheted through Dean's head, down his belly and landed with a heavy thud against his balls. Now his body screamed for release, demanded that he pick up the pace and slam in hard but he held back. The squirming figure beneath him was too perfect a vision to rush.
But suddenly Sam sat up and pushed Dean back and away, turning over onto all fours. He lowered his chest to floor and pressed the top of his head against the cabinet for leverage. Presenting himself for the taking, Sam's hole was throbbing and shiny and heartbreakingly gorgeous and right in Dean's view.
"Goddamit, Dean! Please!" Sam's voice was gravelly and shaky, a husky whine that hadn't filled it before making the plea a mournful command of its own. "I can't take it anymore! Please, let me come."
Dean stared dumbly for a moment, lost in the sight of Sam's gaping hole, slick with oil and Dean's own precum, begging him to partake. Sam was indescribably transcendent.
"DEAN!"
Dean snapped into motion. Standing, he braced his forehead on the countertop and straddled Sam's hips before bending his knees in a squat to bring his dick flush against Sam's ass. He watched in stunned fascination as he sank his cock straight down and into Sam's waiting hole, the move garnering groans from both men. Dean knew he wouldn't last long. He snaked one hand down to strangle the base of Sam's dick to hold him off just a little longer before moving his knees and hips, chasing pleasure.
Almost instantly the kitchen was filled with the sound of slapping skin, grunts and curses as Dean rode Sam hard. Sam's litany of begging and whining only increased as Dean's thrusts moved from fast to hard to brutal.
"I love to fuck you, Sam," Dean whispered down to him. "So goddamn tight and needy, baby boy. I'm gonna fucking break you."
Sam answered by punching the cabinet door and swearing back.
"So strong, Sam, but you let me have you. Fuck but it's beautiful. I can't wait to come inside you and watch it all drip right out of you." Dean felt his balls tighten then and finally released Sam's dick, his hand instantly replaced with Sam's, jerking and stroking with a wild abandon. Sam's asshole clenched and squeezed around Dean's cock in a stranglehold with each pump of his first.
And then it was Dean's turn to beg.
"Come with me, Sammy, please. God, fuck… please come.. SAM!"
Sam utterly fell apart under those words. He screamed out Dean's name in a broken and desperate cry of relief, coming so hard he saw stars. Cum erupted from the end of his cock in powerful spurts, splattering the tile floor beneath him and even the underside of his jaw. He somehow managed to remain propped up on his knees, even as his whole body shook and threatened to give out from under him, needing to give Dean the release he was still attempting to pound out of Sam's ass.
Sam reached up between his spread thighs, wrapping a hand around Dean's balls where they slapped heavy against his own, giving them a gentle but firm tug down. It was all Dean needed.
Sam felt Dean slam down with a rough finality, the force of it driving Sam's knees against the tile hard enough that he knew he'd have bruises come tomorrow. His spent and soften dick gave another weak spurt of cum when Dean roared out a growl as he came, the sound of it reverberating through the entire kitchen and echoing deep into Sam's chest.
A heated liquid rush suddenly warmed Sam from the inside out as Dean spilled into him and it was then that his legs finally gave out, dumping both men down onto the floor in a slippery tangle of limbs. They lay there panting for a moment, Dean grabbing up Sam and holding him to his heaving chest, combing oily fingers through his already wrecked hair.
"Well damn, baby boy," Dean said, his voice scratched and raw, "I'd say that's the best fucking meal I've ever had."
"Damn but I needed that," Sam chuckled breathlessly, nuzzling closer to Dean's sweaty chest. The scent of burning garlic suddenly hit his nose from the pan still warming on the stovetop and he glanced up at Dean with one eyebrow arched. "Is it salvageable?" he asked about their actual dinner.
Dean shook his head with a laugh, stretching an arm out to turn the burner dial to the off position before settling back down on the floor to squeeze Sam close again. "Next time we'll start with something really easy like Hamburger Helper. But I think tonight we're ordering in. Whatever you want Sammy, I'm buying, 'cause hell it's the least I can do after that performance."
He ruffled Sam's hair and Sam smiled, stroking his oil stained cheek against Dean's chest, smearing more of the fragrant and mouthwatering mess into his tanned and freckled skin. "Alright," Sam agreed, "but who's gonna go get the phone?" Both of their mobiles were in the living room, the equivalent of a hundred fucking miles away to Sam's overworked and exhausted body.
Dean groaned out a sigh that Sam could feel rumble across his cheek. "Rock, paper, scissors?" he asked.