Title: Long Way Home
Warnings: incest, explicit sex, underage (Sam is 14)
Spoilers: none (pre-series)
Word Count: 2,064
Summary: For this prompt at spnkink_meme: Sam/Dean - carsex, bottom!sam, oblivious!john. John's driving through the night, so the boys build themselves a nice bed in the backseat and snuggle up. The last things they have on their minds, however, is sleep - when John stops for a bathroom break, Dean lubes the two of them up and slides inside of his brother. They're under the blankets, so John can't see, and they can't make any obvious movements - just the two of them slowly rolling their hips, Dean buried deep inside, and Sam feeling his brother move inside of him with every bump in the road.
The world outside flies by in a blur of dreary grey and white, mile after mile of desolate landscape left behind in their rear-view mirror. Once night falls and the last bit of daylight vanishes passed the horizon, the chill in the air just can’t be denied any longer. Dean rummages around in the trunk at the next rest stop and gathers up all the blankets he can find, returning to the backseat with them piled high in his arms. They’ll be driving through the night; that much is obvious by the determination in his father’s eyes as the man slides behind the wheel and the engine roars to life once more.
Dean spreads a quilt over the bench seat and settles back against the crux of the door, firmly planting one foot on the floor as his brother scoots closer and curls up between his spread thighs. Sam at fourteen is as quiet as he is passionate, emotion and conviction burning hot within him, teenage rebellion at its best – or worse, depending on how you look at it. Dean just hums thoughtfully deep in his throat and tugs three comforters over the both of them, tucking the material tight around the warm, pliant mound of his brother’s body.
Sam settles down with his cheek pressed to Dean’s chest and sighs deeply, his breaths gradually evening out like it does when he’s asleep. The glow of the new moon is shimmering off of the snow-capped countryside, casting otherworldly shapes across Dean’s vision that twist and shift, the shadows speaking a language all their own in spite of the night’s silence. He soon loses track of time and miles, but his attention snaps back into focus when Sam fidgets against him.
Sam slides his arm down to Dean’s side and threads their fingers together, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. It’d be an innocuous enough gesture except that a split-second later, Sam rotates his hips and presses his crotch against Dean’s thigh, his very obvious erection digging onto the flesh even through too many layers of cotton and denim. The movement is barely perceptible – it certainly shouldn’t be from the front seat, anyway – as Sam slowly rolls his hips against Dean’s leg again, and then again once more.
Dean slides his free hand down the length of Sam’s back and then slips his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rest upon the warm, bare flesh there. This thing between them is still so new – and wonderful and terrifying and insanely awesome – so it’s not clear what Sam’s end game is, what exactly he’s got in mind. Dean absently traces his fingertips along the strip of exposed skin and snuggles further down into their makeshift bed, wordlessly giving his little brother permission to take anything and everything he needs.
Sam’s heart is hammering against Dean’s chest so hard that the sound and sensation fills all of his senses, nearly blotting out everything else. Dean hesitates for a few long moments before he pushes the pads of his fingertips under the waist of Sam’s briefs, then further down to tease along the cleft of his ass. Dean feels more than hears the sharp inhale of breath where Sam’s lips are practically pressed to the soft skin under his jaw. There are so many layers of blankets covering them that any movement beneath would be impossible to detect, but with Dad literally less than three feet away, Dean can barely breathe around the thrill of excitement coursing through his veins.
Before his brain can catch up to the sensations tugging at his body, the car begins to slow and veer slightly to the right. Dean’s gaze snaps up just long enough to see a gas station bathed in bright light a few yards up ahead. He hurries to shut his eyes again, desperately hoping that Sam has the presence of mind to do the same. The silence is nearly deafening when the car comes to a stop and then dips and lifts as Dad throws the door open and steps out. There’s a too-long moment of hesitation before the door slams closed again. Dean clearly envisions his father pausing to check on them and, seeing that they’re asleep, heading inside for a quick bathroom break. Still, he waits – the longest five-count of his entire life – before blinking his eyes open and sitting up a bit.
“Sammy, what’re you tryin’ to do to me?” he whispers. Despite his words, he cranes his neck to make sure Dad’s completely out of sight before hauling Sam upright enough to smash a rough kiss against his lips.
Sam moans softly into it, already panting and grinding his crotch against Dean’s hip again. “’m sorry,” Sam breathes, pulling away enough to raise his eyes to meet Dean’s. “It’s just been too long. I need you, Dean. Please?”
“What’ya want, little brother?” Dean whispers.
“Need you inside me,” Sam replies. “Do you have any stuff with you?”
“Yeah, but… but Dad’s gonna-“
“Dad has no idea,” Sam cuts in, sounding nearly frantic. “He probably didn’t even remember we were back here till he pulled over.”
Dean bites back a groan of equal parts frustration and anticipation as he flails one arm down to rummage around in his backpack. Dad’s been gone for at least a minute now, and they damn well better be asleep – pretending to be asleep – by the time he gets back. A second later, he breathes an audible sigh of relief when his hand closes around the small tube of KY. Somehow – and he’s honestly not even sure how – Sam’s shifted over enough now so that Dean’s chest is now pressed to his brother’s back.
Together, they fumble with one another’s clothes beneath the covers, pushing frantically at denim and cotton until Dean’s aching cock settles against the curve of Sam’s bare ass-crack. He puts just enough space between them to blindly fumble with the tube and smear some of the clear gel onto his fingers. Normally, he’d be painstakingly careful; the few times they’ve done this, they had hours to spare and so Dean had spread his little brother out on the mattress and worked him open slow and meticulous, one finger at a time until he was sure Sam was ready.
But now, “Hurry Dean, I can take it,” Sam says, a hasty – but hopefully genuine – reassurance before Dad returns. His inner muscles pulse and clench around Dean’s fingertips, all warm and wet and tight, and they both bite back moans of anticipation this time. “C’mon, we don’t have much time.”
It’s like sinking into a warm bath after coming in from the freezing cold – every inch of Dean’s skin suddenly alight with pleasure and sensation as the thick, rounded head of his cock pushes passed the natural resistance of his brother’s body. A quiet sob of pleasure-pain catches in Sam’s throat, but he still forces an exhale through pursed lips and pushes his hips back to meet Dean halfway.
“I’m okay,” Sam hurries to assure him.
Dean catches a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye and gasps softly as he spots Dad leaving the gas station. “Shh, just relax. Dad’s on his way back.”
Though his heart is about to pound right out of his chest, Dean remains perfectly still, eyes shut and lips slightly parted, arms wrapped tight around his brother. The car dips again under Dad’s weight a split-second before the roar of the engine slices through the night’s silence once again. Dean slips his arm further down and trails his fingertips along the underside of Sam’s erection, just a whisper-soft touch that sends a small tremble through Sam’s body. He presses a kiss to the soft skin at the nape of Sam’s neck and smiles at the quiet sigh of contentment that escapes his lips in response.
Dean slides his hand along his brother’s cock, tracing his fingers along the contours of Sam’s skin, closing his eyes to imagine the beautiful arousal-darkened skin pulled taut over stiff flesh, blood pumping hot and hard through an intricate maze of veins. He wiggles his other arm under Sam’s torso and slips one leg between Sam’s thighs, slotting their bodies together all the way from shoulders down to ankles.
Every bump in the road now seems magnified about a million times over, the vibration of the engine alone enough for Dean’s breath to catch in his too-tight throat. Sam threads his fingers with Dean’s and together they stroke his erection slow – almost lazy – and in time with the barely-there roll of Dean’s hips. It’s too much and it’s not enough and it’s perfect – just like it’s always been.
It began with a hunt gone terribly wrong; twelve stitches and a half-bottle of whiskey to dull the pain. And Sam – Sam, with his startlingly steady hands despite his sheet-white face – pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead after patching him up, uttering the words that still echo in his memory months later.
Dean, I swear. If I lost you… I can’t. I won’t.
Dean buries his nose in the soft hair at the nape of Sam’s neck and breathes him in, slides his free hand up to rest over the frantic patter of his brother’s heart. He presses a kiss to the warm skin there and then another, and another until his lips are resting against the shell of Sam’s ear. “Sammy,” he murmurs. “Baby, I love you…”
Sam’s breath quickens where his back is pressed flush against Dean’s chest; his cock twitches in Dean’s fist and a warm, slippery drop of pre-come pulses from the tip. It’s incredibly sweet how much Dean’s words affect him, how deep the emotion runs within him, how strong the invisible thread that binds them together truly is.
Dean tightens his grip just under the swollen crown and starts to squeeze rhythmically, purposefully rubbing his index finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves there on every stroke. He’s barely moving his hips – not crazy enough to risk Dad catching them – but the pleasure is still breathtaking, firing sparks like static electricity up and down his spine every time he moves. It’ll be hell to clean up, but it’s far too late to think about that now. Sam’s body seizes tight a split-second before the first spurt of sticky-wet heat erupts over Dean’s fist.
He does his best to work his brother through it, but his own climax hits seemingly out of nowhere and he’s suddenly coming too, abruptly stilling his movements as he unloads again and again into Sam’s clenched channel. It is like it’s always been – the two of them clinging to one another, bodies entwined, fingers clutched together, hearts beating in rapid tandem – the unspoken shame of what they’ve done blotted out by the surge of love between them.
Sam draws in a slow, deep breath and lets it out shakily, finally loosening his vice-tight grip around Dean’s hands. He’s still trembling, so Dean slides his arms up slightly and clasps his hands together over his brother’s heart to steady him. The even purr of the engine slowly fills his senses and Dean soon finds himself ebbing in and out of sleep, soothed by the warmth and safety of his brother’s yearning tangled around him.
Dean sucks in a startled gasp when the car hits a rough patch of ice on the road and the car suddenly slows to navigate over it. “Boys? You okay?” comes the voice from the front seat.
“Y-yeah,” Dean stammers. “We’re good.” His voice is utterly wrecked – low and gravel-rough – but hopefully that’s explainable enough if it seems he just woke up.
“Sit tight, we’re almost home,” Dad replies.
Though their destination escapes him at the moment, Dean still settles down again and presses a chaste kiss to his brother’s temple. They’ve torn through four different cities and over a dozen motels in the last three months, but it doesn’t matter, not really. They could circle the country forever but ‘home’ will always be wherever Sam is.
The world goes on spinning and still they keep on fighting. Still, Sam is the only light cast in the darkness, the only good in a world ridden with evil. Still, Dean holds on tight because nothing would matter anymore – to either of them – if he ever let go.