JUST A LITTLE FRIENDLY TORTURE
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Dean watched as Sam's tongue chased the dripping ice cream up and down the cone. They were in Savannah, Georgia - damned hot - and the kid was spending more time doing damage control to the cone than he was eating the damned ice cream. And driving Dean freaking crazy while he was at it.
Dean sighed, looked at the Impala, the street, the other cars in the parking lot, the eighteen gazillion kids coming in and out of the Dairy Queen - anything to avoid looking at his brother. Sam's tongue flicking up and down the cone was doing wonderful things to his dick. If he didn't stop, the Dairy Queen was going to get a free show, of the x-rated variety.
Sam smiled at him, ice cream smearing his mouth. "You want some?"
Dean snapped. He grabbed the cone out of his little brother's hand and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.
"Dude!" Sam cried indignantly. "What the hell!"
Dean growled and grabbed Sam by the shirt, pulled him in close and licked the excess ice cream from around his mouth.
Sam snorted with laughter. "Dean, you could have gotten your own cone."
Dean kissed him. "Tastes better this way," he murmured. He pressed Sam back against the car, kissed him again, tongue roving in and around his mouth.
Sighing happily, Sam rubbed up against him, snaking a hand around to grab Dean's ass. Screw the cone.
One long, very hot minute later, there was a raucous yell from a car passing by on the street. "Hey, get a room!"
The brothers broke apart, laughing a little.
"Horny bastard," Sam said breathlessly.
Dean shot him the bird. "Right back at you. Good idea, though."
"What?"
"A room, doofus." Dean grinned. "With a really big bed."
"I thought you wanted to get to Tampa tonight?"
"Oh - yeah."
"Zombies?" Sam prompted him.
"Hmm."
"Dean, zombies. You love killing zombies!"
"Easy kills," Dean said nostalgically. "Yeah. Okay. Tampa."
He looked at his watch. "It's a four, maybe five hour drive. We leave now, we should get there about six o'clock."
"Sounds good."
As they climbed into the Impala, Sam pulled a couple of napkins out of the glove box, wiped away the last of the ice cream and Dean tongue. "You owe me a cone, jerk."
"I'll work it off." Dean started the Impala.
"Oh, yeah?" Sam raised an eyebrow.
Dean gave him a scorching look. "Yeah."
A little shiver of anticipation ran over Sam, but he sighed, made his eyes puppy-dog sad. "I don't know, man, that was a pretty tasty freaking cone. French vanilla."
"My cone is pretty freaking tasty, too," Dean answered, grinning, and Sam hooted with laughter.
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Two hours later, Sam was snoozing contentedly, slumped against Dean, his big brother's arm wrapped around him as they drove down Interstate 75 toward Florida.
It was just over four weeks since they'd left their father and Dean was happy, more happy than he'd been in - well, for longer than he could remember. Sam, too. That tense look was starting to leave him, the one that said he was waiting for the next shit storm to hit - the next move to a strange town, the next bitchy comment from Dad, the next monster to crawl up his ass.
He was starting to look, and act, a little more like the teenager he was. A teenager with a genius brain, phenomenal hunting skills and a little problem with demon blood, yeah, but, basically, still a kid.
The whole John as Sam's future murderer deal? Dean couldn't let himself think about that too much, not yet. The wound was still too fresh.
The man he'd loved, worshipped, for his entire life, wanted to kill his brother - the boy he'd loved, cared for, defended, since the day his parents brought him home from the hospital.
It made no fucking sense. What had changed? What had changed John? Sam's demon blood? No. According to the journal, Dad had found out about that only about three years ago. He'd been down on Sam a hell of a lot longer than that.
Maybe it really did go back to Mom's death.
John had changed back then, Dean had watched it happen. Seeing a loved one die like that, finding out the creepy crawlies in the closet were real and out to get you - shit, you change or freaking die.
But enough to make you believe that killing your son is not only necessary but reasonable?
Crazy.
Aside from that hairball, there was an even bigger question. Would Dean kill their father to protect Sam?
Nope. Not going there. Not today.
The Winchester boys would run. Hunt and run. Stay under their dad's radar. Stay alive.
Someday, they'd have to deal with the 'problem' of John.
And the goddamned demon.
Someday. But not today.
He glanced down at his sleeping brother, kissed the top of his shaggy head. And drove on.
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The blare of an air horn from a semi-truck startled Sam awake and he jerked upright, staring around in confusion.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean said.
"Hey." Sam yawned. "How much longer?"
"Couple hours."
"Oh." There was a definite disappointed tone to his voice and Dean's brow creased. "What's wrong?"
Sam shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just kind of hungry." As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly and he blushed.
Dean laughed. "So I hear."
"Yeah, well, someone stole my ice cream cone," Sam snarked.
"Bitch, bitch, bitch. " Dean shot back. "Can you wait until Tampa?"
Sam's face fell and big brother relented. "I saw a sign for Cracker Barrel a couple minutes ago. How's that sound?"
Sam's stomach growled again. "Sounds great."
"Good. Gotta get you filled up. 'Cause you know, now I think about it, all that growling might get a little distracting tonight."
"What, with the zombies?" Sam asked, confused.
"No, after the zombies."
Oh. "Why?" Sam asked, playing dumb.
Dean shot a sideways glance at him. "Well, after we off the zombies, I'm planning to suck your cock until you can't breathe," he said casually.
Sam's jaw dropped. "Oh . . ." he managed, finally. "Really?"
"Yep. Then I'm gonna fuck your ass so hard you won't be able to walk for a week."
Sam gasped, the words going straight to his dick, making it stand at attention.
Dean laughed out loud at the pole-axed expression on his brother's face.
"Good plan," Sam said in a stifled voice.
Dean chuckling to himself, they drove on for another couple of miles
"Uh, Dean, how far did you say to that Cracker Barrel?"
"Fifteen miles, maybe. Why?"
Sam nodded, considering. "Yeah, that should be long enough."
Suspicious, Dean frowned. "Long enough for what?"
Snake-quick, Sam's hand flashed down and unzipped Dean's jeans, ignoring his exclamation of surprise. Reaching inside his brother's boxers, he closed his big hand around his dick, brought it out of hiding with a gentle pull and twist.
Sam laughed as the Impala swerved, then steadied.
"Knock it off, Sammy," Dean yelped, "before I wreck the fucking car!"
"Really?" Sam asked softly, eyes glinting wickedly. "You want me to stop?"
Watching Dean's face, Sam spat into his hand, then grasped again at his brother's rapidly stiffening member, pumping it adroitly up and down, giving an extra circling twist at the top of the movement, rubbing his thumb just underneath the top of the head.
"Oh, shit!" Dean gave a soft groan, arching away from the seat. He spread his legs to give Sam better access and the Impala lurched a little as Dean's foot momentarily slipped off the gas.
Sam laughed with excitement, hand quickening its movement on Dean's cock. "I don't know, Dean. You look like you're having a pretty good time. You sure you want me to stop?"
"You stop I'll fucking kill you!" Dean groaned. "That's it, Sam, oh man, you got it, that's it. Oh Jesus, Sammy, don't stop . . ."
His brother fully erect now, Sam grunted with satisfaction and slid down on the seat, letting his long legs slip down onto the floor. Breathing fast, face flushed with anticipation, he planted his face in Dean's lap and sucked the tip of his leaking dick into his mouth.
"Hmm." Sam licked it like he'd licked the ice cream cone, knowing Dean's eyes were on his tongue, knowing he'd made the cone connection when Dean let out a laughing moan. "You were right, Dean. Tasty."
Sam grinned up at him (Heh!), then dive-bombed, taking Dean's cock all the way in, the head scraping the roof of his mouth, then moving back to nudge the back of his throat. Dean choked, gasping for air and Sam's mouth, warm and wet, busily sucked up and down his brother's jerking length, wet fingers rolling Dean's warm, tightening balls, Sam sighing, moaning, the sounds driving Dean higher, harder - Dean, goddamn, I love your fucking dick!
Cursing, panting, trying to keep at least part of his upper brain on the road, Dean watched Sam work, sweet-assed boy fucking his soft mouth up and down on his big brother's stiff cock, his fingers kneading the base of the Dean's shaft, his balls, Sam's hazel eyes hot and fierce with need and love.
Dean reached out, ran his free hand through Sam's hair, traced his fingers over his brother's lips, tight around his cock. "Baby," he breathed softly, arching up, shuddering, struggling to keep the Impala steady as Sam's mouth stripped him of all control. "Baby."
Sam gave an answering moan, his own cock throbbing, straining inside his jeans, balls tight and throbbing, begging for release. He pulled Dean's hips closer, dug his nails in, sucked Dean's dick, wet and sloppy, tongue flicking the sides, digging into it, teeth scraping rough and dirty, urgent - more, need more, gimme more more more -
Sam was gone, his whole world his brother's cock, the taste of pre-come filling his mouth, the smell of sex, Dean's hips thrusting, his lover's voice a hoarse, growling rasp. "That's it, Sammy, God, that's it, oh you fucking bitch, oh shit oh shit oh shit . . . "
Gasping now, almost sobbing, Dean grabbed Sammy's head, pushing him down, down, onto his throbbing, weeping dick, groaning as Sam whimpered and moaned and dug his tongue ruthlessly into the leaking slit of Dean's dick, the Impala moving in little orgasmic jerks back and forth across their lane, almost slamming into a car as it roared past them, horn blaring.
"Oh, fuck me! Fuck!" Dean howled.
The Impala swerved across the road, skidding to a gravel scattering halt on the shoulder. Dean shoved her into park, then twisted both hands in Sam's hair, holding him tight, fucking up into his mouth, cursing, yelling, coming with a hoarse scream. Sam frantically sucking, swallowing his brother's thick white cum - Dean Dean Dean Dean - the name a promise, a prayer, filling him with triumph, desperate love - my Dean. Mine, mine, you fuckers, mine!
"Sam!"
The last of his orgasm juddering out of him, Dean groaned and fell against the seat, head back, gasping for air; shaking hands loosening on his baby's head, stroking his hair, comforting, loving him.
His own cock aching, nerves thrumming, Sam swallowed the last of Dean's cum and licked his dick clean, then tucked it gently back into his boxers and zipped him up.
"Sam. Love you, baby, love you." Dean pulled his brother up and kissed him fervently, the taste of his own cum mixing with the sweet taste of Sammy's mouth. After a minute, Sam moved away.
Dean pulled him back, ran his hands under Sam's shirt, stroking, kneading, covered his mouth, sucking Sam's tongue until the boy moaned with need.
"I'll take care of you, Sammy," Dean whispered, hand falling to the boy's zipper.
"No!" Sam jerked away, dark hair falling across his face, lips swollen, eyes luminous. He scooted to the other side of the car, leaning back against the passenger door, and put his hand on his dick, groaning at the sensation of harsh denim against swollen, irritated flesh.
Eyes dark with arousal, Dean leaned forward, reaching out again.
"Let me," he rasped.
Sam slapped his hand away, then scratched his nails across the denim covering his dick, stroked it through his jeans, shuddering. "The next time you touch me," he said thickly, "I want you to be fucking me."
Dean licked his lips, eyes fixed on his young brother's busy hands.
"No lube, Dean."
Sam pulled his shirt up, scored his nails across his nipples, twisting the nubs until they burned.
"Just your tongue. Your cock." He ran a hand down his tight belly, stroked lightly. "And my ass."
Dean drew in a sharp breath.
Sam slipped a hand into his jeans, touched himself, gasped. "Shouldn't you be driving?"
Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Dean turned away from him, grabbed hold of the steering wheel, fought for control.
Once he had it nocked, Dean spoke softly, dangerously. "Sammy?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"Remember I said you won't be able to walk for a week?"
"Uh huh?"
"Make that two weeks."
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