ratherastory: ([SPN] Writing Is Hard!)
ratherastory ([personal profile] ratherastory) wrote2013-03-11 03:51 pm

Happy, Shiny

Title: Shiny, Happy
Summary: Sam is still covered in glitter after getting beaten up by clowns, and Dean really loves his new slinky. Written for [livejournal.com profile] framedhim's prompt of slinky and perfectly paired at [livejournal.com profile] salt_burn_porn.
Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,902
Warnings: None, unless the Sam/Dean pairing didn't give away the fact that this does, in fact, consist of consensual sibling incest.
Neurotic Author's Note # 1: Man, I almost didn't make it. I haven't properly written fic in forever, and this weekend was a doozy. But here, have porn! And glitter. And no beta at all.
Neurotic Author's Note # 2: Life is crazy these days, which is why no fic. I'm hoping that April will prove less crazy. Stay tuned!

The whole clown thing was worth it just to be able to watch as Dean bustles around the tiny shithole of a cabin he and Sam are calling home for the next couple of days trying to stack as many books and chairs as humanly possible into a makeshift staircase in order to "walk" his giant rainbow-coloured slinky down them.

"Four in a row!" he's crowing now, punching the air, expression like a parent whose toddler has taken their first steps. "That's a new record."

Sam chuckles, even though even that makes his bruised ribs hurt like—well, maybe not like Hell, because he remembers what Hell actually hurts like, but they hurt. It turns out that getting your ass kicked by your own childhood nightmares is just as painful as it is therapeutic. He stares at his hand, the scar already beginning to fade a little. If it bleeds, you can kill it, Dean told him, and he's hanging onto those words. He's been starting to wonder if maybe he hasn't been altered beyond recognition, if he might not be cursed to live forever, like in that novel by Simone de Beauvoir he read for his introduction to philosophy class in freshman year.

Sam starts as Dean snaps his fingers about half an inch away from his nose. "Earth to Sammy! You checked out there. You okay?"

He glances again at his hand, clenches his fist around the scar. He can't blame Dean for worrying when he does that, even if it's infuriating sometimes. He's got the Lucifer thing under control. Well, mostly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Well, mostly fine after getting the shit kicked out of me by killer clowns. For the record, I'm upping the percentage of 'clowns that can actually kill you' to at least 30%."

"Fair enough," Dean tilts his head in acquiescence, then nudges Sam back a little on the bed. "Lemme see," he orders, and doesn't bother to wait for Sam to agree before unbuttoning his shirt. "You've still got glitter all over you, dude," he grins, wiping a finger over Sam's clavicle and coming away with rainbow sparkles. He holds up his finger to demonstrate. "You're like a really gay version of those vampires from Twilight. Like, extra gay. And they were pretty gay to begin with."

"Glitter is the herpes of arts and crafts. Touch it once, get it for life," Sam grumbles. His whole scalp still sparkles under the lights, even though he washed his hair four times in the shower and threw out his clothes as a lost cause.

"Real sexy, Sammy," Dean rolls his eyes, then sucks in his breath with a sharp hiss as he shifts aside the chemical cold pack Sam's been holding over the worst of the bruising. "Damn. They really got you good, huh?"

Sam shrugs. "Had worse."

It was the wrong thing to say, because Dean's expression goes deceptively blank. They've both had worse. So, so much worse. So Sam backpedals as quickly as he can, chucking the cold pack aside and hooking two fingers into the belt loop of his brother's jeans.

"Hey, we should find a real staircase for your slinky. See how many it'll go down before it falls over."

It's a tried-and-true Winchester tactic. When all else fails, deflect and divert. It's one of those games they play, one in which everybody knows what's really going on, but the rules dictate that they all pretend they don't. So Dean might not be fooled for a minute, but he plays along, and a moment later he gives Sam his best leer.

"You want to play with my slinky, Sammy? It's a marvelous thing," he quotes the old commercial, and Sam obliges him by rolling his eyes.

"Cute, but I was thinking of playing with something a little more fun than your plastic toy," he says, looking up at Dean through his lashes rather than raising his head all the way, because he knows exactly what effect that'll have on his brother.

Dean clears his throat and shifts his weight as Sam deftly undoes his belt buckle and shoves his jeans down over his hips, intent on the cock that's already beginning to tent the fabric of the boxers underneath. He toes off his shoes without any urging and lets his jeans pool at his feet, and shudders a little when Sam palms his dick through the thin material of his underwear.

"You sure?" he murmurs, and Sam is pretty sure he's referring to the righteous beat-down that he just endured.

"Going to be too stiff to do this tomorrow," he points out, sliding off the bed and onto his knees. "You seriously thinking about refusing my offer?" he grins, wrapping both hands around Dean's hips and maneuvering him until they've switched positions, and Dean's knees abruptly give out and he lands on his ass on the bed. "C'mon," he encourages his brother, tugging off his boxers, and Dean pulls his shirt over his head, not even bothering to undo the buttons.

"You know," Dean closes his eyes, breath catching in his throat as Sam delicately begins licking at the crown of his dick, "I won't ever be doing this for you if I get the crap kicked out of me. I'm going to insist on ice packs and painkillers."

Sam licks a long, wet stripe all the way up his erection, and feels his grin widen at that. "That's because you're old and not nearly as limber as I am. I can't expect you to keep up," he adds, and promptly takes his whole dick in his mouth and swallows, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Dean bucks up against him with a strangled curse.

He devotes all his energy to making his brother come apart at the seams after that, sucking and licking, pinning his hips to the bed with both hands to prevent him from just fucking mindlessly into his mouth. After a moment, though, Dean makes a frustrated noise and reaches down to grab a fistful of his hair, tugging hard enough for it to be painful until Sam eventually pulls off with a wet-sounding pop. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.


Dean pushes himself up onto his elbow, face flushed almost as red as his cock. "Not gonna last if you keep that up—and no, shut up," he warns Sam against making any kind of play on words, and Sam laughs. "Also, how come I'm the only one in here not wearing clothes? C'mere, Sammy," he pulls Sam up from off his knees until he's straddling Dean's lap a little awkwardly. "Pants off. Then your shirt."

For a moment he's all thumbs and two left feet, and he gets tangled in his shirt and can't quite seem to figure out how to get his pants off past his own dick that's been throbbing steadily against the denim of his jeans for what feels like forever. Then he's blessedly free of his clothing, tossing everything vaguely in the direction of the nearest chair, and crawls up the bed to where Dean is waiting for him, idly stroking himself, expression nothing but fond.

"Took you long enough," he starts, but Sam interrupts him by pulling his lower lip into his mouth and biting at it, tugging until Dean starts moving against him again.

For a few moments Dean seems content to kiss him, sliding one hand behind the small of his back, and cupping the back of his head with the other, tongue sliding hot and smooth against him. There's no hurry, somehow, none of the usual desperation or aggression that fuels the sex after a hunt. Tonight Dean is playful, nipping along Sam's jaw and licking at his neck and ear, hands roving to explore every plane of his body, every inch of skin, as if he's discovering him for the first time. Sam isn't even surprised when Dean finally rolls him onto his back, carefully coating his fingers with lube from the night stand, and keeps kissing him even as he eases two fingers at once into him.

Sam bucks against the sensation—at once cold and intrusive and more than welcome, and whatever sound he makes is lost against Dean's tongue. Dean takes his time, making sure to hit Sam's prostate with each slow, sure stroke of his fingers until Sam is writhing under him, eyes slamming shut with pleasure, holding onto Dean's shoulders so tightly he can feel his fingertips digging deep into the muscle. He can already feel heat pooling in the pit of his belly, and he shifts instinctively to accommodate Dean when he pulls out his fingers and lines himself up, pushing in more gently than he usually does.

For a moment they're both completely still, breathing in perfect synch.

"Okay, Sammy?" Dean murmurs, the words hot against his ear.

He nods breathlessly. "Yeah, c'mon."

He locks his ankles behind Dean's back, hips canted as they settle into a rhythm that's only slightly too fast to be entirely comfortable. He can hear the bed creaking a bit under their combined weight, but the sound is distant, unimportant. He opens his eyes long enough to lock gazes with his brother, and the expression on Dean's face alone is almost enough to make him come, even before his brother reaches between them to stroke him in counterpoint to their movements. Sam's eyes slam shut again as he spills hot and wet over Dean's hand, his own fingers gripping Dean's shoulders hard enough that he knows they're going to leave marks after. He clenches hard around Dean's dick after that, letting Dean move faster and faster until he comes with a loud groan and a shudder that makes the whole bed shake under them.

Dean pulls away after a couple of moments, rolling over to lie on his back next to Sam, the sweat already beginning to cool on both their skins. He might or might not be convinced to get up and find a washcloth, but Sam finds he doesn't really mind. The pain from before has subsided in a happy glow of endorphins and a comfortable soreness that he knows he's going to be feeling for a while. He turns his head to look at Dean, and bursts out laughing.

"What?" But Dean doesn't look particularly perturbed.

"You're covered in glitter now. I told you, that shit never comes off."

Dean raises his head just enough to see that he is, in fact, covered in rainbow sparkles. "Huh. At least we match," he says, letting his head fall back on his pillow. "Hey, what's the longest staircase in the world?"

"Straight or spiral?"

Sam gets an elbow in his ribs for his trouble. "Only you would need that sort of clarification. Straight."

"That would be Jacob's Ladder. It's in Mount St. Helena's. You'd have to take a plane to get there," he points out unnecessarily. "But if you want, tomorrow we can look up the longest straight staircase in the continental US. See how many stairs the slinky can manage."

"Awesome," Dean laces his hands behind his head and smiles at the ceiling. "We could make it a road trip, when we're done with freaking Dick Roman. Think we could see the Grand Canyon?"

Sam nods, and carefully doesn't look at his brother anymore. "Yeah, I'd like that."

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