Rating: R for sexy times
Word Count: 860
Disclaimer: If I owned it, it'd be a hell of a lot happier.
Summary: Written for the following prompt on the Winter/Holiday Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme at hoodie_time: In the winter Dean always fusses extra with the car, what with all the road salt. He's been giving her some maintenance and looove, and he comes inside all sweaty and grimy and sneezy from the cold. Sam is like, UNGH, and there's some attack-making-out.
A/N: This is unbetaed and written quickly this evening because I wanted to contribute something to the winter/holiday meme on hoodie_time. Feel free to point out any glaring mistakes, and I'll correct them. :) I need to find a beta for my SPN fic. Epic fail on my part.
Sam alternates between staring at his laptop screen and glaring at the door that stubbornly remains closed. Dean’s been outside for the last four hours fucking around with his car, and two hours ago Sam waved the proverbial white flag of defeat when it started snowing and braved the frigid temperatures to retrieve his dumbass brother. Any sane person would have come inside, but not his foolhardy brother who doesn’t have the sense God gave a goat. Dean hadn’t bothered to lift his head from underneath the hood, just waved him off with a grunt muttering five more minutes.
“Five more minutes, my ass,” Sam grumbles and gives up the illusion of research. He’s reread the same paragraph for the last hour. Brute force it is, then. It’s been awhile since he’s kicked his brother’s ass, and right now he’s warming to the challenge. His righteous anger that he’s trying to morph into action is derailed when the motel room door is pulled open and Dean ambles inside. “About damn time,” Sam snaps.
Dean grins at him, face flushed from the cold, and shakes his head like a pit bull would shake a bone, sending snow and water flying across the room.
“Nice, Dean,” Sam grumbles as he wipes the droplets of water off his laptop with the edge of his sweatshirt.
Dean flips him off and shrugs out of his jacket, letting it slide off his shoulders and fall to the floor. His gray Henley is damp from sweat, and oil and grease mar the worn material. He sneezes once, and pulls his sleeve over his hand so he can wipe his nose.
Sam tries not to stare. He really does, but he’s only human, and have you seen his brother? Dean shifts as he stretches his arms over his head, muscles rippling under the thin fabric. Sam swallows his want, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as Dean tries to roll the ache from his shoulders. Sam would have been fine. He’s been living in Dean’s back pocket for years. It’s not like he doesn’t notice how attractive his brother is, and if he didn’t notice, people feel the need to point it out all the time just in case Sam needs to be reminded one more time. Strangers at interstate rest stops, hotel room clerks, waitresses and waiters, angels, basically anyone who’s spent more than two seconds with Dean, long enough to get an eyeful.
Then Dean groans, a half sigh breathed from wind chapped lips, and Sam loses it completely. He’s on Dean like white in a snowstorm, wrapping his body around his brother and chasing his lips with his mouth. People might point out Dean’s attractiveness because the man oozes sexuality whether he means to or not. He’s sex on legs, but Sam’s different because he gets to have. He doesn’t have to hide his stares behind his laptop or newspaper. He can take an eyeful and reap the rewards in the soft moans from his brother as Sam pushes him to climax. It’s Sam’s name on his lips when Dean comes over his hand, body trembling from release. If people think Dean’s gorgeous in a leather jacket and jeans, they should see him naked and fucked out, eyes burning bright as he comes back down, relaxing into a boneless sprawl with a carefree smile curving his lips.
“Fucking hell, Dean,” Sam groans before his lips finally find purchase on Dean’s mouth. He kisses almost painfully, and even though Dean’s initially surprised, he recovers quickly, sliding his tongue along the roof of Sam’s mouth in a skilled move that nearly makes Sam’s knees buckle. Sam tries to back his brother up against the wall, but Dean doesn’t go willingly, sliding his right leg backwards for leverage as he grinds his hip into Sam’s jeans covered crotch. Sam growls as he bites Dean’s lower lip before sliding down to lick away the sweat on Dean’s neck. Dean moans, eyes falling shut as he leans his head back to give Sam more room. Sam grins against his skin and slides his arms around Dean’s lower back. He uses the moment of distraction to grip his brother and bodily move him back until he’s pressed against the wall.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Sam murmurs before he devours Dean’s mouth.
Dean grips his shoulders, trying to hold himself up as Sam slides one hand over Dean’s chest and down his stomach before he palms his straining cock through his jeans. “Thought you said I’d freeze to death out there. Now I’m too hot for my own good. Make up your mind, Sammy.”
Sam grins as he licks at the teeth impressions on Dean’s neck. “The perfect contradiction.”
Dean huffs. “Don’t know about all that.”
Sam squeezes his hand just this side of too hard and Dean groans, head dropping back against the wall with a thud. “I do,” Sam murmurs. “My brother, the perfect contradiction.”
“I’d rather be the perfect lay,” Dean mutters.
Sam flicks open the button on Dean’s jeans and leans over, hot breath ghosting over Dean’s ear as he says, “You can be that, too.”