Incorrigible, NC-17, Dean/Sam, Complete

[ht_murray]

Title: Incorrigible
Author: tru_faith_lost
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Words: 3500
Warnings: Rimming and bareback. Loopy!Dean and Big!Sam. Schmoopy porn and abuse of ellipses.
Summary: A Dean high on muscle relaxants is in need of a bath, but he won't stay in the damned tub. What's a bigger, (yeah, bigger) brother to do? Established wincestuous relationship. First time of sorts.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not for profit or harm.



Incorrigible

"Mm, my neck," Dean sputtered, and for the tenth time in as many minutes, he lurched straight up from his sprawl against the back of the whirlpool tub and tried to climb hand over fist up the chrome shower pole. A three-toed sloth was both faster and a better climber, at that point, even with the pole covered in soap suds.

"Shit." Sam was really hoping Dean was out for the count this time. So, close, too. One second, Dean was sinking down in the four inches of bubble bath Sam had drawn up for him (it started out as a full tub, but Dean was so loopy he nearly drowned in it three times before Sam gave up and let most of the water out, rendering the whirlpool jets useless) and the next his head wobbled up off his chest, chin trailing a little stringer of spit as he tried to make a break for it. Sam couldn't figure it out. Muscle relaxers didn't usually have this much of an effect on his brother, but then, the kind of muscle relaxers he usually took came in a bottle, liquid or pill form. In this case they'd come from an impatient E.R. doctor with a syringe full of what he'd called 'happy juice.' Sam forgot to check and see what was really in the syringe. At that point, he'd been listening to Dean breathe through his clenched jaw, watching him walk half slouched over, and hearing him cuss the poltergeist who tossed him into that wrought iron graveyard fence for over twelve hours. Happy juice had sounded like just the ticket.

The warm bath had been Sam's idea. A Dean hunched over himself in pain was a Dean with a lot of crooks and crevices to grow funk in.

The bubbles were Dean's. "'S complimentary," he'd slurred, emptying the entire bottle into the tub. Then, he'd lurched against Sam's shoulder while Sam struggled to untie Dean's boots, and whispered, "That means 'tss free."

Sam agreed the bubbles were a good idea, not because they should take full advantage of their benefactor's gratitude for solving the hotel's... infestation, but because loopy Dean was touchy-feely Dean, and at least the bubbles removed some of the temptation to touch and feel back. This was not a good time to be starting things Dean wouldn't be able to finish, even if Dean's clumsy groping, slip-slippery fingers all over the fucking place, and day old stubble against Sam's throat had started something already.

"Dean, you'll slip and crack your head open." Sam lurched off the closed toilet seat just as Dean's soap-slick fingers slipped off the shower pole, caught him as he fell back.

"Down boy, down," Dean mumbled under his breath, blowing off half of his bubble beard while still reaching for the pole with splayed fingers. Sam set him down into the diminishing suds.

Sam knew the old saying... he ain't heavy, blah, blah, and he was all for the sentiment, but Dean fucking was heavy, and Sam had wrestled his slippery ass into that tub more than enough times for Dean to get the hint, if he was gonna get it, that that he needed to sit still for the bath to work. Sam's money was on, 'not gonna get it.' He tried one more time to press Dean against the wall of the tub with a hand to the sternum so the warm water could loosen up his sore back, but as soon as Dean started to relax and his chin tipped down, he snorted suds up his nose and bolted up again.

"My neck. Hurts my neck." Dean made to swat at his neck but looked instead like a really fat dog trying to scratch his ear with a hind leg.

By then, Sam's clothes were soaked through, his patience stretched to twanging. "Fine," he relented. "A hot shower, then? If I get in and hold you up?"

"Don't be rid... be rrridick... redick..." Dean floundered to get a handhold on the edge of the tub, tripping over his tongue in the process. "Don't be a dick. I mean, don't be stupid, Sam. Don' needja to hol' me." His mouth snapped open and closed around the syllables like a sock puppet's, and his lips made a pop-pop-popping noise that he must've found fascinating, because he paused halfway out of the water and kept popping them together, cheeks puffed out, and turned his head sideways while trying to look down his nose at them.

Sam knew his brother too well and already had his shoes toed off, soggy jeans peeled and shed. He was only wearing his button down shirt by one sleeve when he scrambled into the tub and saved Dean again, free arm catching him by the waist just as he slid backward with an oomph. Of course, Dean still wouldn't admit he needed the help and twisted in Sam's grasp. They were face to face when Dean tried to push him away and ended up beating against Sam's chest with all the ferocity and coordination of a marionette operated by a preschooler. Sam pulled Dean closer against him so that he could reach over and grasp the sleeve of his shirt in his teeth, pulling it the rest of the way off while Dean muttered something that sounded like 'pudding' into the side of Sam's neck. He tossed the shirt onto the floor, realizing Dean had worn himself out and was leaning heavily against him. Sam waffled with where to put his hands, since every option, at that point, would result in something a little too close to slow dancing for his taste. He was still standing there, with Dean draped over him like he was a towel bar when Dean said, "My back."

"What about it?" Sam forgot the awkwardness and let his arms settle in the small of Dean's back just over the curve of his ass."Does it still hurt?"

"Wash it," Dean mumbled.

"Wash...?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. Turn around."

"No," Dean mumbled, stubbled jaw in the crook of Sam's neck, "like this." And Dean proceeded to wrap his soapy arms around Sam's back, sliding them up and down, up and down until Sam could feel the lather between his shoulder blades.

Sam wanted to say he didn't have any soap, but instead just sighed and reciprocated when he felt Dean's cock prodding into his hip groove as Dean started to shake and whimper. So much for starting things they couldn't finish. At least Sam figured he could help Dean get off, and then he'd likely pass out for the rest of the night, and at least one of them would get a decent night's sleep. Sam worked his hands over Dean's still-tight back muscles, seeking out the knots and working them loose with his thumbs, felt his heart pounding harder against his chest as Dean found a steady rhythm with his hips and slid his hands down to Sam's ass, drawing Sam into the slow grind with him. As much as Sam tried to tell himself it was just about Dean this time, he couldn't turn off the switch that flipped in his gut when Dean reached between them and fisted their cocks together.

With only one hand for support, Dean started to sag, and Sam gave up massaging, grabbed a handful of ass in each hand and held on for the both of them, head tipping back as Dean grunted into his throat. Their hips slid together, dancing like cobra and snake charmer, bobbing, dipping and weaving in search of a longer channel, deeper groove, more, harder, now, and Sam was gasping counterpoint to Dean's stifled grunts when Dean. Just. Stopped. It took Sam a few seconds to realize he was dancing solo, using Dean as his own private stripper pole, but when he did, he glanced down to see Dean squinting unevenly up at him and blinking, his eyes not always opening and closing at the same time.

"'ts good, huh?" Dean asked.

"It was getting there," Sam choked, his balls drawn up tight he could taste them. He finally understood about the 'erections lasting more than four hours' warnings on the Cialis commercials. Men could go blind from this, and Sam swore the edges of the room were already getting fuzzy. Or maybe he just had soap in his eyes.

"Was thinkin'," Dean said.

Swallowing hard to regain some of his composure, Sam said, "I find that hard to believe." Then, he immediately felt like a dick, squeezed Dean's ass affectionately, and said, "About what?"

"Wanna fuck."

Okay, Dean thinking about fucking was not exactly breaking news. Sam failed to see how thinking about it somehow precluded the fact that they were kinda in the middle of it a few seconds ago.

"No, I mean..." Now, Dean turned sheepish, big unfocused eyes dropping to the side, head following like his gaze had actual weight to it, and he rolled his lower lip down over his chin. It was the most sloppy, unromantic expression Sam had ever seen, but for some reason he had the uncontrollable urge to... He tipped his head down without thinking, got his head detoured to the side by Dean's hand, one thumb practically up Sam's nose. "No kissing," Dean reminded him of their one and only sex rule. "'s for girls." God, Sam had never regretted agreeing to that stipulation more than he did just then. It was funny the things a guy would agree to with a mouth on his dick and finger up his ass.

Dean forgot to lower his hand and Sam had steer his chin around it in order to speak. "Sorry. I forgot."

Dean gazed up at him, head bobbing slightly. "Well, don' do it again." He paused for a second like he forgot what they were talking about, then said. "Now, let's fuck."

"Dean, we can't. You're..."

"Yes, we can. Yes, we can!" Dean grinned swaying his hips in time to the chant, one arm raised in the air.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. All the times Dean had suggested they make a video and Sam had refused came back to haunt him, because he'd kill to have this on tape.

Dean went on for a few more seconds, obviously amused with himself. "Yes, we can! Yes, we can!"

"Dean, we're not fucking. Call me crazy, but I think maybe your aim might be off right now."

Dean stopped, as serious as could be with half a bubble beard and one bubble sideburn, and leaned in toward Sam's ear. "That's why I want you to fuck me."

Sam choked again. "What? But you can't... You said I was..." Sam was too big. They'd tried a few times, and it just wouldn't fit. Dean had his own word for it. "Incorrigible." Either it didn't mean what Dean thought it meant, or Dean had decided to define it by the way it felt. It was just what popped out of his mouth, sore, and grimacing, and defeated after over an hour of trying to pop Sam in. It stuck.

Dean shrugged, a gesture that resulted in one shoulder going almost to his ear and the other barely moving at all, "You are. But I'm feelin' pretty," he bobbed up and down a couple of times, and Sam half expected the next words to be 'oh, so pretty.' Instead they were, "purty loose."

Sam's dick had been slowly flagging between them, now it jumped to attention. "Loose as in?"

"As in, maybe you're not so... incorrigible... right now." Sam ignored the attempt at a lewd smirk that looked more like prelude to projectile vomit.

"Not... incorrigible," Sam pondered aloud. Completely abstract definition of the word be damned. He knew exactly what Dean was implying. And he wanted to. Oh, God, how he wanted to. Besides kissing, that was the one thing they'd never quite been able to manage, and while Sam didn't mind bottoming for Dean, the idea of Dean giving it up for him? That got him hard faster than free Skinemax.

But, no. They couldn't. Not like that. Reluctantly, Sam shook his head. "No. I... I can't."

He didn't know what he was expecting, something of an argument, some more pseudo-political chanting maybe. Instead, Dean pursed his lips, shrugged again, and said, "Fine. Wash my back."

"Wait, what?" Sam mumbled. With a lurch in his stomach, he realized maybe he'd underestimated just how much the drugs were affecting Dean's powers of perceptions. This was normally where they bantered back and forth a few times and Sam got his way while letting Dean think he'd won. Dean wasn't supposed to just give up. Things were just starting to get interesting.

Dean turned away from him, and Sam figured that was it, game over. But Dean glanced back over his shoulder for a second, and even shit-faced on muscle relaxers, there was no mistaking that expression. "You missed a spot."

"W-where?" Sam asked, already pretty sure he knew the answer.

Dean grasped the shower pole in both hands and slid down it, bending at the waist so his ass was front and center, slick, soapy, and spread wide enough for Sam to see exactly what he was missing.

"D-dea-dean," Sam stuttered, his own knees suddenly too weak to hold him as he knelt down, drooling with want. "Oh, God." He was suddenly glad he never let Dean win on the whole sex video argument. He realized, on tape, this would look a lot like Sam was worshipping at the shrine of Dean's ass. And okay, maybe he was, but he was doing it safely out of eyeshot for a reason. Well, a reason besides having the best view from there.

And what the fuck was he waiting for?

With a gasp and quick breath, Sam dove in, tongue snaking out as pressed his nose into one cheek and then the other, holding them out of the way with his thumbs, and began to lick up the median. He started slow, took a few seconds to get used to the taste, then decided excessive spit was a benefit just then, aiding to cut the musk to a tolerable level. He plied on the saliva, let it pool in the opening until it started to slide down over smooth perineum, then scooped it all back uphill in long, fast strokes, darting the point of his tongue along the puckered edges with each bob of his chin until Dean was moaning and pressing against him. Adjusting his grip, Sam spread Dean a little wider, used one thumb to stretch the opening, the other to smear in the slick dripping off his tongue. It was easier than he'd imagined, easier than any other time they'd tried. With his dick bobbing against his thigh, and the scent of Dean thick in his nostrils, Sam began to dismiss his inhibitions one deep, penetrating lick at a time, each nudge and stretch more deliberate and decisive. "Loose," he thought. "Pretty loose." A particularly well-aimed swab of tongue made Dean arch back, still clinging to the shower pole to keep his head cracking against the side of the tub. He shoved himself back against Sam's face hard enough to make Sam lose his footing and fall on his ass with a splash, but he kept his hands anchored where they were, inhaled deep like he could maintain the connection by force of suction.

He ended up with a mouthful of nuts, instead, worked his tongue between them, rolled them against the ridges of his soft palate, completely forgetting that Dean wasn't so steady on his pins until the exact moment his fingers slipped off the pole and he landed in Sam's lap, Sam's dick sandwiched where his face had been just seconds before. Oh, yeah, that was just about perfect. Before Dean could struggle to right himself, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's chest, lurched up to his knees, and rolled his hips in quick succession. He groaned into Dean's hair as his dick slid between those muscular ass cheeks, nuzzled at the ticklish spot behind Dean's ear while they rutted together in steadily more frantic movements that splashed water up the sides of the tub and almost onto the floor. "God, Dean," he moaned. "This is just about perfect."

"Okay," Dean grunted, forehead pressed against the backsplash.

Sam stopped. "Wait, what?"

"Kinda...ngh... kinda hard on the knees," Dean gasped.

Right! "Oh, shit..." This time water actually made it to the floor as Sam scrambled out of the tub. "Sorry. Sorry," he apologized groping frantically around for the towel. When he found it, he spun back around, wrapped Dean up in it, and then flung him over his shoulder. "Bed. Now."

"Okay," Dean mumbled, his lips against Sam's wet back. Sam didn't need more permission than that and stutter-stepped across the bathroom tile and into the main room, bounded across the carpet to the bed, then tripped over Dean's duffel bag just before he broke into full body gooseflesh. They landed on the bed hard enough for the mattress to slide several inches off the box spring, and slid to a stop in the sheets, winded and a little bruised.

Sam rolled to the side, palmed over his face. What the fuck was he doing? Was he really desperate enough to manhandle his loopy brother through sex? He wanted it. Sure he did, but they were talking about Dean's ass virginity here, and Sam was practically...

"You're incorrigible," Dean said.

As if Sam wasn't already feeling like a complete dick. "I know. I'm sor..."

"I mean, what's a guy gotta do to get fucked around here?"

Sam rolled back around so fast he got half-wrapped in the sheet, expecting to find Dean smirking at him in some lewd fashion designed to make Sam man up, already. And Sam wasn't about to have it. Not at...

Dean wasn't smirking. He wasn't glaring. He wasn't leering. He was just... lying there, all flushed and loose, eyes searching Sam's. And Sam couldn't help but touch. "Dean." He started to reach, to press just a thumb to Dean's mouth, but as it touched his lower lip, Dean's eyes fluttered shut, and his chin dropped a fraction of an inch. Finished with thinking, Sam hesitated only a second before breaking the only rule they had. He kissed Dean, and Dean kissed him back. Open and hungry, tongues sliding together while their bodies shucked sheets, narrowed distances, and finally hove together. All of Sam's senses swirled together in the kiss, drove him out of his head with hot and white and tacky and musky-- need. He rolled between Dean's legs, felt them part and draw up of their own accord, knees tight against the back of Sam's shoulders, and when Dean took Sam's hand and guided it downward, Dean's fingers were already slick with lube, Sam so lost in the kiss he never even heard the bottle open. And when their joined fingers wrapped around Sam, there was no question where they were leading him. Together.

The first breaching elicited a stifled grunt, and Dean's mouth went slack under Sam's, but Sam stilled his hips and drove his tongue deeper, coaxing, stroking, tasting, until Dean opened for him, above and below. A little more, more time, more care, more bitten off, stilted breaths, and they were together, finally.

And it was everything Sam had imagined it would be, only better, because he could kiss Dean through the worst and make it better. He barely noticed his hips start to move then gain speed, just felt the first time he had to break the kiss in order to pant through the exertion, only to delve right back in again, chest burning and oxygen be damned. He couldn't believe how they fit. God, how tight they fit.

Dean came first, a cry in his throat, toes curled into Sam's flanks, and Sam's eyes slammed shut as he lifted Dean up onto his lap and pulsed deep inside him, great whooping gasps that rippled through his spine, "ahh, ahh, Ngnnah, God!" with the force of it. Muscled arms coiled around Dean, Sam thrust through wave after wave of release until his ears buzzed with static, and he collapsed on his side, pulling out as gently as he could on the way.

They laid together, panting, until Sam thought Dean was asleep, then he nuzzled in closer and stole another kiss before spooning up behind Dean to sleep himself.

"You taste like ass," Dean muttered.

"And you're incorrigible," Sam said, snuffling against Dean's neck.

"I don't think that means what you think it does."

"It means I love you, dumbass."

"I was going to say it meant giant pain in my ass, but okay."

"Okay."

The End

A/N: Yeah, yeah, the 'you taste like ass' like has probably been used a million times already. I just can't imagine him not saying that. What's a girl to do? Obviously, this was just self-indulgent crack smut. Better online than in my head, I suppose. At least I can erase a web file.

A/N2: I've been posting fic with comments disabled for awhile now. That works out well for me, but I'm not going to disable them this time, mostly because I'd really appreciate y'all going HERE to find out how to enter to win a prize package worth almost a hundred dollars, including this:





By doing so you help me meet my fundraising goal so I can focus on training for the Bank of America Chicago Marathon which 3rd_leg and I are running this October to raise cancer awareness and support. I'm leaving comments open here so you can come back and ask questions if you need to. If you do feel the need to comment on the story, I'll do my best to reply promptly. Just understand that training is becoming a second job, so my online time is dwindling by the day. Thanks for reading, and please do check out the raffle.

Comments

[tru-faith-lost.livejournal.com]

Boy, trying days have been going around lately, haven't they? I dunno what's with me and the porn lately. :S But whatever I can do to make your day better. Thank you!