electricalgwen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
electricalgwen) wrote2009-11-06 07:39 pm
electricalgwen) wrote2009-11-06 07:39 pm
Ficlet: Awkward (Dean, Sam/OMC, NC-17)
I really am trying to do my ten-minues-a-day writing for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wrisomifu. Unfortunately, I keep starting various stories and not finishing them. Last night, though, I wrote something like 675 words in a rush in response to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
essene's request for comment porn, so I thought I'd tidy it up and post it here. Summary: Dean walks in on Sam.
WARNING: PWP. Really. If that's not your thing, please do not read. :)
Dean sinks the last shot, smirks and holds out his hand.
The marks give him dirty looks, but they pay up, and take their complaints over to the bar. Dean downs his last mouthful of beer and looks around for Sam. He doesn’t like to rush out, too obvious, but there’s no point sticking around waiting for trouble. Soon enough, the guys at the bar will have some liquid courage in them, maybe find some buddies to teach pool-hustling strangers a lesson.
Sam’s not where Dean left him. He’s not at the bar, and a quick scan around the room fails to reveal him. Must be in the john.
Dean already knows there’s a back door to the place, out past the washrooms. Probably best to leave that way anyway. He sneaks a sideways glance at the bar. Nobody’s watching; he slips around the corner and walks quietly down the hall. His shoes squeak on the sticky floor.
The door to the men’s room swings open silently, and Sam’s name dies on Dean’s lips.
Because yeah, Sam’s there, with his dick out, which is pretty much what Dean expected to find, but he really hadn’t expected the other guy.
The one on his knees in front of Sam.
Sam’s head thumps back against the wall, long line of throat exposed and vulnerable, his breath coming in harsh pants, as the guy slurps and moans around his dick. He can’t get all of it in his mouth – Sam is proportional, Dean’s brain helpfully notes – and he’s jacking the base with one hand, the other hand anchoring him on Sam’s hip.
The guy pulls back, tongue swirling around the head, and then swallows Sam right down, taking him as deep as he can. Sam – jesus, Sam growls and grabs the guy’s head, winding his fingers in the dark hair, fucking into his mouth, harder, faster. His eyes are clenched shut, his cheeks are red, and little choked-off whimpers escape him.
Dean’s frozen in the doorway, torn between needing to get out of there, needing to get Sam out of there, worrying about the marks down the hall, wondering how come he never noticed Sam was bi… and while his higher brain functions run round in circles screaming at each other, he’s just standing there, watching some random stranger suck his baby brother off.
It should not be one of the hottest things he’s seen in his life.
The guy lets go of Sam’s hip, dropping his hand to his own dick. Sam’s pace falters and his hands change emphasis, pulling at the other man’s hair. The guy releases Sam’s dick with a wet pop, head falling to rest against Sam’s hip as he rapidly jacks them both off. Sam grunts, his spine curls forward, and he opens his eyes as he starts to come.
His eyes are wide and frantic, pupils blown, as they lock unerringly with Dean’s. Dean thinks there’s shock, horror, possibly shame there, but it’s hard to see any of it past the mix of desire and desperation and oh-thank-god-relief as Sam comes and comes all over his own shirt and the guy’s shoulder, dick jerking and twitching, mouth falling open as little aftershocks run through him.
Sam falls silent and slumps against the wall, looking exhausted and uncertain and much less happy than anyone who just had an orgasm that good should look.
The other guy moans loudly and the slap-slap of his hand stills as he finally gets there too. Dean watches splatters of his come landing on Sam’s left shoe.
He doesn’t trust his voice, just tips his head towards the back door and leaves. And if he’s slightly more bow-legged than usual, nobody’s there to see. The music’s blaring good and loud from the Impala’s speakers by the time Sam joins him, sliding flushed and wordless into the passenger seat, and Dean turns it up even louder as they peel out of the parking lot. You couldn’t have a decent conversation if you wanted to.
wrisomifu. Unfortunately, I keep starting various stories and not finishing them. Last night, though, I wrote something like 675 words in a rush in response to essene's request for comment porn, so I thought I'd tidy it up and post it here. Summary: Dean walks in on Sam.WARNING: PWP. Really. If that's not your thing, please do not read. :)
Dean sinks the last shot, smirks and holds out his hand.
The marks give him dirty looks, but they pay up, and take their complaints over to the bar. Dean downs his last mouthful of beer and looks around for Sam. He doesn’t like to rush out, too obvious, but there’s no point sticking around waiting for trouble. Soon enough, the guys at the bar will have some liquid courage in them, maybe find some buddies to teach pool-hustling strangers a lesson.
Sam’s not where Dean left him. He’s not at the bar, and a quick scan around the room fails to reveal him. Must be in the john.
Dean already knows there’s a back door to the place, out past the washrooms. Probably best to leave that way anyway. He sneaks a sideways glance at the bar. Nobody’s watching; he slips around the corner and walks quietly down the hall. His shoes squeak on the sticky floor.
The door to the men’s room swings open silently, and Sam’s name dies on Dean’s lips.
Because yeah, Sam’s there, with his dick out, which is pretty much what Dean expected to find, but he really hadn’t expected the other guy.
The one on his knees in front of Sam.
Sam’s head thumps back against the wall, long line of throat exposed and vulnerable, his breath coming in harsh pants, as the guy slurps and moans around his dick. He can’t get all of it in his mouth – Sam is proportional, Dean’s brain helpfully notes – and he’s jacking the base with one hand, the other hand anchoring him on Sam’s hip.
The guy pulls back, tongue swirling around the head, and then swallows Sam right down, taking him as deep as he can. Sam – jesus, Sam growls and grabs the guy’s head, winding his fingers in the dark hair, fucking into his mouth, harder, faster. His eyes are clenched shut, his cheeks are red, and little choked-off whimpers escape him.
Dean’s frozen in the doorway, torn between needing to get out of there, needing to get Sam out of there, worrying about the marks down the hall, wondering how come he never noticed Sam was bi… and while his higher brain functions run round in circles screaming at each other, he’s just standing there, watching some random stranger suck his baby brother off.
It should not be one of the hottest things he’s seen in his life.
The guy lets go of Sam’s hip, dropping his hand to his own dick. Sam’s pace falters and his hands change emphasis, pulling at the other man’s hair. The guy releases Sam’s dick with a wet pop, head falling to rest against Sam’s hip as he rapidly jacks them both off. Sam grunts, his spine curls forward, and he opens his eyes as he starts to come.
His eyes are wide and frantic, pupils blown, as they lock unerringly with Dean’s. Dean thinks there’s shock, horror, possibly shame there, but it’s hard to see any of it past the mix of desire and desperation and oh-thank-god-relief as Sam comes and comes all over his own shirt and the guy’s shoulder, dick jerking and twitching, mouth falling open as little aftershocks run through him.
Sam falls silent and slumps against the wall, looking exhausted and uncertain and much less happy than anyone who just had an orgasm that good should look.
The other guy moans loudly and the slap-slap of his hand stills as he finally gets there too. Dean watches splatters of his come landing on Sam’s left shoe.
He doesn’t trust his voice, just tips his head towards the back door and leaves. And if he’s slightly more bow-legged than usual, nobody’s there to see. The music’s blaring good and loud from the Impala’s speakers by the time Sam joins him, sliding flushed and wordless into the passenger seat, and Dean turns it up even louder as they peel out of the parking lot. You couldn’t have a decent conversation if you wanted to.
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Also, I love your icon. *g*
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um, epilogue? *puppy eyes*
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Hmm, maybe...
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HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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I don't write PWP very often, but once in a while it just hits the spot. *g*
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My friend was doing NaNoWriMo but there was no way I was up for that. I'm not even all that good at Wriso, to be honest. :)
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What does Wristo mean? lol ;)
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