lastnightblues: Made by lj user Strikers_Design (ouch)
[personal profile] lastnightblues

Title:  Four Times the Winchesters Talked Dirty (and One Time They Didn’t)
Fandom:  Supernatural
Pairing:  Sam/Dean
Rating:  NC-17, for absolutely filthy language.

Summary:  “It’s stupid, and it always escalates.” A progression of sorts—here there be naughty words!
Notes:  'Nother story from rounds_of_kink
, with the prompt of dirty talk, which isn't something I've tried before, so this was a ton of fun. No spoilers, no angst, no holds barred. Also, quick sidenote:  if anyone reading this would have the urge to work intermittedly as a beta (mostly for SPN fic), I have virtual cookies! And cheesecake! 



            The first time had been quiet. Early morning sunlight just peeking through the windows, both of them too fucking scared and awed—“Too long, should’ve done this-god, want you so much…”—that they could barely find words to speak other than the gasp of names into skin.

            The second time isn’t like that.

            “Shit, Dean-” Sam grits as they topple onto the bed, Dean landing bodily on top of him and their feet still tangled in each other’s jeans. But Dean’s back to kissing him, so Sam decides to forgive him, especially since Dean’s also back to palming Sam’s cock through his boxers and has already shoved his own clothes off, stretching his long, warm, naked body along Sam’s and yeah, Sam can forgive a lot.

            “Like that, Sammy?” Dean grins at his ear, the motion of his hand and hips ruthless and not nearly enough, leaving Sam arching up and grunting for more. “Fuck, you’re—god, fucking desperate for it, huh? Shoulda just pulled over, fucked you in the car.”

            It’s shameless, the helplessly turned on noise Sam makes at that, not wanting to give Dean the satisfaction but unable to stop himself because god. And Dean picks up on it, of course, smug bastard, and he’s smirking as he drags his hand over Sam’s finally, finally freed cock.

            “Does that turn you on, Sam?” Dean rasps, nipping at his jaw, and he doesn’t sound particularly pulled together either, Sam notes triumphantly even as he starts rocking his hips up to meet Dean’s hand.

            “Come on, Dean, you asshole, fuck-”

            “No, I wanna know—what is it about the car that does it for you, huh? Want me to go down on you in the front seat, just pull over and take your cock? Bet I could take you all the way in—that what you want, Sammy? Or maybe I could fuck you in the backseat, huh? Spread you out, get so deep in you, make you come so hard that you can’t even look at the car without thinking about my cock in you, without getting hard for it.”

            Dean’s fist tightens and he’s finally moving faster, thank Christ, and Sam’s not even trying to restrain his hips from snapping up into the warmth—Dean’s hand, warm and rough and slick and he sweeps his thumb just under the head of Sam’s cock and god, yes, theretherethere and they’re moving faster and Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulder to hold steady because Dean’s at his ear and he won’t stop talking-

            “…is that how you want it? Me inside you, making you come until you can’t even move?” His laugh is hoarse and hitching, and the movement rasps stubble against Sam’s cheek when Dean presses his tongue just under Sam’s jaw. “Or is it something else, huh? Is it you in the backseat getting fucked, or is it me? Maybe on the hood?”

Sam doesn’t even bother to hide his groan at that image—Dean spread on that damn car, bent over the hood for Sam to press into and fuck, fuck- skin for him to touch, his. He feels when Dean grins. “Oh—that’s it, huh? You wanna fuck me against the car? Have me stretch for this-” his hand slips faster over Sam’s cock and god, yes, it’s so perfect, thumb slipping there, just right there, over and over, a little more, more, god, “-take your cock? Come for you?” Sam’s so close, so close- “Car could use some fixing up, you know—good wash, some time under the hood… Could show you around, Sammy. Show you what needs attention, needs hands on it. You just have to touch—see what moves, what’ll tremble for you. Sometimes you just gotta- gotta press in, little by little, ‘til you’re full up in. Gotta feel what’s gotten too raw, press in ‘til you get to just the right-”

“So,” Dean says as he pulls back, grinning at the mess of Sam’s come between them and at Sam, who’s still panting from his orgasm. “Wanna hear what I think about?”



            Driving westward across Iowa does little for the imagination, and Sam’s seen enough corn to turn him off the crop forever. The Impala’s speakers crapped out somewhere back in Oshkosh and Dean’s taken over for it, drumming along on the steering wheel to some incomprehensible tune in his head and singing under his breath, and it was okay a hundred miles ago in Dubuque, but now?

            He fucking hates corn.

            “We should find a motel,” Sam says, rather judiciously, he feels. “We’re gonna run out of towns soon.”

             Dean shrugs. “Could just fuel up, grab some coffee, and keep driving. Hit the state line by morning.”

            Oh, and that sounds fun:  a computer with a dead battery, what little scenery they have covered in darkness, and a bored, caffeinated Dean. “We’re not heading anywhere specific. Might as well take the sleep where we can, right?”

            Dean bites his lip, wavering. For someone usually so inclined to sloth, Dean’s got an uncanny affection for pulling all-nighters, but fuck all if Sam’s cramping himself against the window to sleep if he has the option of a semi-comfortable motel bed. There’s one card he can play, and he’s going for it.

            He moves over, sliding across the seat until he’s right up beside Dean. Dean throws him a questioning glance and opens his mouth, promptly shutting it again when Sam’s hand smoothes over his thigh, dangerously close. “Let’s find a motel, Dean,” he murmurs into Dean’s ear, dropping his voice low and rough and grinning as Dean’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “What I’m planning on doing to you?” A laugh, husky, and Dean shivers almost imperceptibly. “Oh, we’re gonna need the space.”


            “I want to fuck you, Dean. I’m going to fuck you, hard, and I’m going to make you beg for more while you come. Let’s find a motel—that way I can get you on a bed, make you spread your legs for me. I wanna watch you fuck yourself open, get ready for me so I can just slide right into your tight ass.” His thumb is moving in rhythmic circles over Dean’s hip and Sam can see Dean working to keep from rutting up into his touch, desperate for contact where he needs it. Sam just grins and nips a little at Dean’s jaw, chuckling when the car’s path swerves minutely.

            “Easy, now. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find a motel, because I want to see you hold yourself open over me and fuck yourself down onto my cock. You want that, Dean? You wanna ride my cock, show me how much you love having me inside you? Oh, I’d make you beg for it, make you ride me, let you get so desperate you’d fuck yourself on me.”

            The line of Dean’s cock is hard and insistent along the seam of his jeans and Sam’s not faring much better, but he’s not stopping now. Dean’s favorite pastime on these trips is teasing Sam and hell if Sam’s letting an opportunity to get under his big brother’s skin pass him by—Dean’s thigh is trembling with the effort to keep from moving and Dean’s glaring at every turn-off that’s not a motel exit. Just a little bit more… “How long do you think you’d last, huh, Dean? With my fingers, my cock inside you, hitting just there inside you—because you know I know exactly where to go—and not moving? How long before you’re riding me with everything you’ve got? I wouldn’t even have to touch you. I’d just watch you fuck yourself up and down, listen to you beg for me, listen to you say my name when you come.”

            Sam sees the exact moment it happens, the way Dean goes rigid and then shudders a second later, sweat beading the top of his lip. Sam has to fight the urge to lean over and lick it off.

            A wet spot is forming across Dean’s jeans as Sam leans back languorously against the opposite door, smirking. “But maybe we should find somewhere to eat first.”



            Dean spears the last of the hashbrowns with his fork, bored. The natives of Circleville, Utah, who have joined them for breakfast aren’t offering much entertainment and this little hole-in-the-wall diner off the highway doesn’t have much by way of pretty young waitresses for him to flirt with, which always riles Sammy up. What is does have, however, is some amazing-looking blackberry pie sitting up on the counter, and Dean’s been laying on the charm heavy to their waitress, Darlene. He thinks he might’ve just sweet-talked her enough that-

            “Here you are, boys,” she says sunnily, dropping two thick, towering pieces of pie onto their table and winking at Dean. “I saw you eyeing that pie up there. Now you don’t worry about that, it’s on me.”

            “Oh, no, Darlene, we couldn’t-”

            “None of that. I don’t see such handsome, polite young men in here every day, so you’ll allow me a little bit of my flirting, won’t you?”

            She’s the other side of sixty, Dean’s estimating, but she’s got laugh lines around her eyes and deep dimples in her cheeks like Sam’s when she smiles, the right kind of wrinkles. Dean likes her. “Don’t you go teasin’ me, Darlene, I know I don’t stand a chance with a woman like you. You’re probably breaking hearts every which way in this place.”

            “Oh, you’re a naughty one,” she chuckles, laying their ticket on the table. “You boys take your time now. And enjoy that pie, it’s homemade.”

            Music to Dean’s ears. He’s about to dig in when he notices Sam watching him with raised eyebrows. “What?”
            Sam snorts, going back to the laptop. “You’re shameless.”

            “Hey, she’s a nice lady. So what if I get pie for brightening her day, huh?” Sam just shakes his head. Dean shrugs and dives in. Heavenly. “So, whaddaya got? Anything freaky?”

            “Maybe,” Sam sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads, “Possible black dog in Idaho… Couple hikers in Tennessee report seeing something that was ‘not a man, but not an animal either’…”

            Dean grunts, licking some blackberry filling off his knuckle. The pause drags on a little too long, though, and when Dean looks up to see what the problem is, he finds Sam watching him, a little flushed. Sam starts when Dean’s eyes meet his and he goes right back to the laptop, but he’s not fast enough, nowhere near. Dean grins to himself; he still has half his slice left.

            “Black dog?” he repeats, feigning interest in just the right way to catch Sam’s attention, to make him look up right as Dean licked his thumb clean of pie filling.

            Sam, for all his smarts, hasn’t caught on that Dean’s got him, and clears his throat. “Yeah, uh… Pocatello, Idaho, just off the interstate… Neighbors have been complaining of a dog howling around some guy’s house at night, but now no one can seem to find the dog or the guy.”

            “Hmm,” Dean hums thoughtfully around his fork, looking up to hold Sam’s gaze and catching a few crumbs of his bottom lip much more slowly than is probably necessary but it makes Sam swallow hard. He continues casually, “We should check in out. I know this great diner just north of Pocatello. Best ham and eggs in the state, possibly the country. And their pie? Life changing, man.”

            “Your concern for this man is overwhelm-”

            “Homebaked crust, warm and just the right side of firm, you know? Hand to god, you’ll just wanna sink into it. And I don’t know what they’re putting in that stuff, but the filling? Christ. Warm and sweet and full—put that in your mouth, swallow it down… I’m telling you, man, that pie? Like a nice, slow-”

            “Dean!” Sam hisses as Dean’s hand starts traveling up his thigh, and if he hadn’t caught on before, he sure as hell knows what Dean’s up to now. “Shut up. Stop eroticizing your pie, man, it’s friggin’ weird. And get your hand off my leg!”

            Dean chuckles. “Relax, no one can see us,” he says, nodding across the room from their table in the corner, where the folksily plaid tablecloth hides Dean’s hand. He starts rubbing rhythmic circles over Sam’s inseam.

            Sam flushes, turned on and annoyed at the same time, and hell if that’s not Dean’s favorite game. “Watch out, Dean, you’ll make Darlene jealous.”

            “I think you can take her in a fair fight, s’long as she doesn’t fight dirty.” Dean slips his hand farther up, stroking the pad of his thumb along the line Sam’s cock. Not quite hard yet, but getting there. “Besides, Darlene’s not the one who’s gonna be sitting next to me when I decide to pull over twenty miles from here, and she’s not the one whose cock I’m gonna suck the second we’re off the road.” Sam chokes a little at that, glancing around to see if anyone caught Dean’s low tone. But their fellow diners continue to eat their breakfasts in peace, and Dean leans in a little closer.

            “Gotta say,” he murmurs evenly, his thumb catching suggestively at Sam’s fly, “this breakfast was pretty damn good, but nothing compares to the taste of you. I’d get under this table right now if I could, fuck all these people watching. Hell—I can already taste you, feel you come in my mouth. Oh, I’ll make it good for you, Sam, you know I can. You know how good I am. You know I can take your cock, and I know how much you love that I fit you in, that I’ll moan around your dick in my mouth because you’re so fucking sexy when you’re turned on. I’m gonna swallow you down and make you come so hard you won’t be able to move, won’t remember how to speak. Want me on my knees for you, Sammy?”

            Sam’s cock is a hard line against his jeans and his eyes are dark where they meet Dean’s. Dean pulls his hand away, sitting back, and there’s a long pause before Sam coughs and says, a little too hoarsely, “So. Pocatello?”

            Dean grins. “You should finish your pie. It was free, after all.”

            Sam tries for a steady voice and fails miserably. “Let’s get it to go.”



            It’s not that Dean thinks Sam’s overly vanilla; in fact, Dean can name more than a few incidents that could prove the contrary, some of which involve ropes and flexibility Dean didn’t know he had and others that even Dean can’t think about without blushing.

            But. Point is, Sam may not be vanilla about sex, but he only goes all Animal Kingdom when they’re alone, so Dean really feels that he can’t be blamed for the squeak that escapes him when Sam tugs him back onto his lap as Dean’s trying to move past him to his own chair or for the choked sound when Sam fits his palm, huge and warm, over Dean’s dick.

            “Can I help you?” Dean asks, glancing quickly around the bar. There’s enough of a crowd—and their table’s tucked enough into the dim corner—that no one’s really noticed that two grown men are now sharing a relatively small chair or that Sam’s started stroking Dean through his jeans.

            “Nah—I like you where you are,” Sam replies casually, giving Dean’s hip a firm squeeze before snatching one of the beers from Dean’s grip. “Thanks for getting the drinks.”

            There are times, Dean knows, when he really shouldn’t push his luck with Sam, because Sam’s no longer fourteen and incapable of putting Dean on the ground. But when it comes to teasing Sam—to seeing how far he can wind Sam up before he’ll spring—Dean has never been able to help himself.

            Their chairs are high, high enough that Dean still has leverage with his feet on the ground—leverage that Dean uses as he shifts purposefully over Sam’s half-hard cock, murmuring, “Little excited for the preshow there, huh, Sammy?”

            He can feel Sam’s smirk. “Who said anything about a preshow?” he asks, and then his fingers start getting real friendly with Dean’s zipper. “I’m thinking I’d like to fuck you right here.”

            Dean sputters through a drink of his beer, coughing. “Wha- Not that I’m against the idea, here, but you do realize where we are, right? You didn’t hit your head or something while I was gone?”

            “Shut up,” Sam answers with a punishing nip at Dean’s ear. “I want to fuck you, Dean, and I want to do it where all these people can see us.” His voice is low and hot, chest rumbling the words through Dean’s body and yeah, Dean’s hard in an embarrassingly short amount of time. “So what I need you to do, Dean, is lean up a little bit—lean up so I can your ass out, get my fingers inside you, so when I fuck you, you’re all open and ready for me. Sound good?” Dean swallows and nods, not trusting his voice. He shifts up, relying on Sam’s knees to support his weight, and sucks obediently at the fingers Sam slides briefly into his mouth.

            The first press of Sam’s fingers into his ass is rough with the angle, but then Sam moves Dean to a better spot and twists his fingers and Dean has to grip the table to keep from keening, because fuck, it hurts and it’s good and Dean’s so turned on he’s barely sucking in air and hell if anyone sees them now. “Shit, Sam, I-”

            “You what, Dean?” Sam murmurs, breath hot across his neck. “You want more? You want my cock in you?” He adds a third finger, pushing in and out with the smallest of movements, always getting so damn close but never getting there. “You what, Dean? You didn’t know I had it in me? I could’ve walked up and bent you over that bar, every single person staring, and you would’ve only begged for more. I don’t need to show everyone who you belong to—I know whose this is.” Sam’s fingers crook inside Dean, hitting his prostate just once, and Dean can’t catch the whimper from escaping his lips. “That’s right, Dean—I know who you belong to, and so do you. Think you could say no if I told you to suck me off right now, in front of the crowd? Think you wouldn’t ask for it, beg for me in your mouth and in your ass?”

            “Goddammit, Sam,” Dean breathes, voice hitching when Sam pulls his fingers out. He can’t see what Sam’s doing, but he hears the quick, quiet sound of Sam’s zipper opening, feels the brush of fabric as Sam pulls himself free and the hard head of Sam’s cock just brushing the edge of his ass.

            The press of Sam’s cock is slow and agonizing and fucking amazing and Dean can’t breathe and he’s never been so fucking full in his life and he just keeps leaning back, letting Sam slide into him, hard and perfect and “god, Sammy, so good.” He’s sitting on Sam, back flat against Sam’s chest, and Sam’s cock is filling him up and when Sam moves, just the tiniest roll of his hips, he hits exactly the right spot and Dean doesn’t know if he can form words anymore, but it doesn’t matter because Sam’s back at his ear, voice a littler gruffer than before.

            “This is why I don’t worry about it, Dean. Because you’re mine, because you slide open for me, so—fuck, so hot and sweet and tight. Because when I make you come, you’ll come for me. That little small town cop yesterday, the one you interviewed for the job? That’s what he was thinking about—about you fucking him, about him fucking you. About your mouth wrapped around his dick. I could see it in his eyes, the way he watched you. That’s why he talked so easily, Dean—he wanted you. And you wanna know why it doesn’t make me jealous? Because,” Sam wraps a hand around Dean’s cock through his boxers, thankfully concealed beneath the table, and it’s a miracle no one’s seen this, how can they not, “he can only want what I have.”

            Dean’s breathing hard and fast, nowhere near enough air in his lungs, heat filling his head, can’t feel anything beyond Sam’s cock rocking into him and Sam’s fingers stroking him and Sam’s mouth soothing over his throat, hear anything outside Sam’s voice rumbling through him. There are people around, some no farther than ten feet away, but they can’t see this—could never imagine this. “How d’you think it would feel if I spread you against that pool table, huh? Spread you out for everyone to see while I fucked you? They were all watching you earlier, they want you just the same, want you the way I have you. Maybe I’d invite them to join—bet they’d love a taste of this ass after seeing me work you open. Keep them coming, not even let you look, let you know who’s fucking you—maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the bartender, huh? All while I watch? Tell them to fuck you harder, because that’s how you like it, right? You want that, Dean? You wanna be fucked wide open? You want me to put you on your knees for them, show them how beautiful you are?”

            He’s going to come. He’s going to come any moment now, come in his pants over Sam’s hands on him and Sam’s cock in him. He’s going to come, and it’ll be a miracle if he can keep from yelling. Maybe from collapsing. He’s going to come, he’s so fucking hard, and Sam’s still talking, “I wouldn’t do it, Dean—fuck, I’m gonna—wouldn’t do it. I like this too much. I love that everyone can look but I’m the only one who can touch, the only one who can do this to you, ‘cuz you’re so fucking beautiful like this—Come for me, Dean, wanna see it, wanna feel you-”

            Dean’s not sure who comes first, if it’s Sam shuddering into him that pushes him over the edge or if his swallowed groan does the same to Sam, but they’re both coming, hard enough to rock them forward in their seats and leave them both hanging onto the table for support.

            Once Dean’s vision starts to clear up again, he glances around the room; they’re far from above being arrested, and he’s not keen on spending the night in jail after coming in his pants. Miraculously, no one’s watching them—or if they are, they’re hiding it well—despite what was one of the fucking best orgasms Dean’s had in years and his ears are still ringing, goddamn Sam.

            And Sam, Dean can tell, is incredibly fucking smug back there. It’s hard to work his way off Sam’s dick but Dean manages, stumbling as he shifts off Sam’s lap. Sam catches his elbow and Dean meets his eyes for the first time since Sam pulled him on. “Wanna get outta here?”

            Sam grins. “In a minute. Gotta finish my beer first.”








“…Dean, what the hell are you doing? Are you still at the library?”


“Yup—got my own little corner here in the records section. I was getting lonely. Started thinking about you. About how much I’d like to-”


“Dude, Bobby’s in the next room right now. He is less than twenty feet away. What’s wrong with you?”


“This’d be a great place to fuck, you know. All quiet. Deserted, but… surprisingly clean.”


“Would you stop-”


“Stop? Sammy, we haven’t even started. And I’m using this big, wide table, perfect if I wanted to throw you down on it and-”


Dean. Stop fucking around and get back here.”


“Oh, can’t do that yet. Little indecent right now.”




“I dare you to take your cock out. Come on, you know you want to—let me talk you through it. I’ll make it good for you.”


 “Yeah, make it good for me later, when you’re not being arrested for indecent exposure six shelves down from the children’s Reading Corner, okay?”


“Eight shelves, and you’re such a spoilsport, Sammy. Don’t even try to act like you’re not hard right now.”


“You can forget about conjugal visits.”


“If you keep quiet enough so that Bobby doesn’t hear, I’ll suck your cock when I get ba- Shit, someone’s coming. Oh, son of a bitch-”

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