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justinedelarge) wrote2012-10-02 11:38 pm
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 4: Go Cowboys
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is at the age of legal consent)
Word Count: 2800
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters and plot.
Summary: Dean discovers just how much delicious dirty talk has been buried deep inside him, demanding expression.
Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off Dean, sitting across the diner’s narrow table from him, shoveling French fries into his mouth with the shyest smile Sam had ever seen on him. When he stuck two fingers into his mouth and sucked the salt off, entirely out of habit, Sam made a little sound.
Dean looked up. Sam’s face was flushed, mouth parted, eyes locked on Dean’s lips wrapped around his fingers. Dean flashed to where his mouth had just been (wrapped around Sammy’s cock in the truck stop bathroom, hard tile against his knees, stripping his own cock furiously, the helpless choked sounds his Sam made, shaking like he was going to fly apart, and then oh Christ the taste of him, that taste he’d imagined so many times, flooding his mouth), and he turned bright red all the way to the tips of his ears.
“You’re blushing.” Sam took a fry from Dean’s plate, having only crumbs remaining of his grilled cheese and onion rings.
“So?” Dean tried to play it cool.
“You never blush.”
Dean pursed his lips, opened his mouth… “I got nothin’.”
Sam focused on eating his fry, then peeked up at Dean through his thick eyelashes. “”S cute.”
“What’s cute?” John slid in next to Dean, smelling of WD-40 and gasoline.
Now it was Sam’s turn to open his mouth and have nothing come out.
Dean came to his rescue. “Sam’s got the hots for the waitress.” He took a big drink of his Coke and grinned at Sam.
“Dean!” Sam knew how to play it. He widened his eyes just a little and sat up straight.
“Likes her ass. Thinks it’s cute.”
“Shut UP!” Sam blushed, which was a regular occurrence for him.
John took one look at Sam’s stricken face and roared with laughter. “Wondered when you were gonna get there, kiddo. I was getting worried. There’s a lot more to life than studying and hanging out with Dean.”
Sam huffed and fussed and looked embarrassed.
John signaled to the waitress. “Can I get a cup of coffee—black—and a menu, sweetheart?”
The waitress, who did in fact have a cute ass, got that special kind of flustered that women got when a Winchester directed the full force of their charisma onto them.
John started debating with Dean about the maintenance interval for the Impala’s timing chain. Sam was instantly bored, and excused himself to go wander through the massive store inside the truck stop.
Sam had never seen anything like it. It was like the Great Mall of America for truckers. In addition to the usual oils and automotive fluids, this place had everything the long-haul big rig trucker could ever need. Aisles of replacement truck parts. Utterly ridiculous trucker novelty items. Bedding. Clothes. Books and DVDs. Audio CDs. A small grocery store’s worth of canned and refrigerated food. And things Sam didn’t even know existed. An entire range of appliances that plugged into 12-volt cigarette lighters: pizza ovens, coffee makers, crock pots, stoves, coffee makers, little refrigerators, grills, TVs, frying pans, even popcorn poppers.
Sam wandered the aisles, taking it all in.
He stopped in his tracks in front of the bedding. “Whoa.” Amongst the travel pillows and microfiber throws, there was a Dallas Cowboys Bed-In-A-Bag. Queen flat and fitted sheets, two pillowcases, and matching comforter, with the logo and team name emblazoned on each.
Sam and Dean had decided that just because they didn’t actually have a home, that shouldn’t stop them from having a home team. So they picked the Cowboys, declared them the best team in the NFL, and watched the games whenever they got the chance.
Sam traced his finger over the thick plastic case enclosing the bedding. They only brought a couple of thin blankets with them, shipping what little they owned ahead to Bobby, and the weather had turned colder than John expected. And the heater in the Impala only worked intermittently.
“Cowboys fan?” A thin, nasal voice sounded in Sam’s right ear. A trucker in his late fifties stood in the aisle, impressive gut extending over his Lone Star State belt buckle.
“Yessir.” Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Me and my brother.”
“Well, y’all have excellent taste.”
Sam glanced back at the plastic cube of bedding. Nothing in his pockets, and he knew John would never part with any of the meager cash he had left for something as frivolous as that.
The trucker grabbed a pillow from the pile. “So, you been keeping up with the games?”
Sam lowered his head. “Nosir. We…my dad and us, we move around a lot.” Sam looked out the window at the Impala. Even in the growing twilight, one could easily see into the front seat and the pile of belongings stacked there.
The trucker took that information in, looked at the boy in front of him, a little thin for his age, in torn jeans a half-inch too short for his long legs, and a faded t-shirt.
He worked at the wad of gum in his teeth. “On some kind of road trip?”
Sam blinked in gratitude for the lie. “Yeah. We’re headed out to see my Uncle Bobby in South Dakota.”
“Nice country.” An awkward pause. “It’s getting late. Where y’all staying tonight?”
Sam said nothing, embarrassment dulling his features.
The trucker looked at him evenly. “Sleeping in the car? Well, that’s a fine way to save some money.” Sam’s face brightened. “Hell, I sleep in my car every damn day.” The trucker stuck out his hand. “I’m Bud.”
Sam shook it. “Sam.”
“Sam. Good solid name for a boy.” Bud thrust the pillow he was holding into Sam’s arms. “Hold that.” He grabbed up the Bed-In-A-Bag and two more pillows, and started toward the cashier. “Well, you coming or what?”
Sam followed, “Hang on, wait a minute—“
“Nope. You’re gonna take it. Cold night tonight.” Bud looked down at Sam. “And I know a little something about traveling on the road, kid. Makes you feel pretty lonely, just you and the dark and the road going on and on. My secret? Good pillows. Good blankets. Nice sheets. Makes a world of difference, even if you’re just stretched out on a back seat.”
Bud paid for everything, walked Sam out to the car with the pillows and bedding, and handed Sam the receipt. “You show that to your daddy, let him know you didn’t steal it.”
“He’s gonna ask. Why.”
Bud swallowed his gum, and stood there for a moment. “I had a boy. Little younger than you. And he died.” Bud chewed his lip and breathed in hard and sharp through his nose, then gave Sam a small, sad smile. “His favorite team was the Cowboys.”
~
Bud stood with Sam as he rearranged items in the truck and back seat. The larger items that had been underfoot, Sam moved to the trunk, with the room he made by pulling out all the bags of clothing and towels. Those, he laid out on top of the smaller items, until he had made a nest of soft items just about even with the back seat.
Bud said, “Hold on just a minute.” He walked to his rig carrying his new pillow, moving remarkably fast for such a big man, and returned with something large and blue in his arms. “Here. Y’all need this more than I do.” It was a thick rectangular piece of foam. He helped Sam fold it and arrange it across the entire back seat and bags of clothing and all, so it made a soft, smooth, even surface. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. It’ll almost be like sleeping in a real bed, kid.” Bud glanced at his watch. “Hey, I’m running a little behind. Time to head out. Y’all take care of each other, alright?”
Sam was seized with a strong desire to hug the man, but thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea.
And then he did it anyway.
~
Sam tucked the fitted sheet around everything and smoothed it down, spread the flat sheet on top of that, and laid down the Dallas Blue and white comforter on top. The two pillows, he tucked into the pillowcases and propped them against the far door (making sure the door was good and locked).
By the time John had finished his burger and Dean had convinced him that the timing chain wasn’t quite ready to be replaced, Sam had finished putting it all together.
Dean just stared, eyes wide, at the fully decked out Dallas Cowboys bed now part of the Impala, while Sam explained everything in a breathless voice.
Once John realized 1) the items were purchased legitimately 2) the man was not a pedophile and 3) he’d driven off 10 minutes earlier, he softened.
“That’s actually really nice, there, Sam. I should have thought of that.” John looked at the bed, all set up and ready to go, and the light dancing across his youngest son’s face, the surprised happiness and pride on the face of his eldest, and suddenly blinked his eyes furiously a few times. “You two are going to sleep nice tonight.” He ruffled Sam’s hair. “Good job, son.”
John may not have noticed how Sam’s face blossomed under the warmth of his approval and praise.
But Dean did.
John had them change out of their jeans into their sweatpants (which Sam had wisely not used as padding, but had kept out where they could easily get to them). Sam insisted that Dean get in first, pulling the corner of the sheet and comforter down for him, standing outside to take his shoes, one at a time, beaming as Dean crawled between the sheets and laid his head down on the brand-new pillow. Sam slipped Dean’s sneakers into the front seat, sat on the edge and tugged his own shoes off, then laughed as Dean grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him backwards into the car.
Dean threw the bedding over Sam. They both snuggled down, reveling in the softness, warmth, and general Cowboy-ness of the entire setup.
“You nice and warm?” John’s face was soft, and the love in his voice was unmistakable.
Sam and Dean nodded in unison.
“Mind if I play a little music?”
“Nope.” Dean spoke for both of them.
John flipped through the box of tapes, and popped in Led Zeppelin II, turned it on low. Whole Lotta Love came through the speakers. To Sam and Dean Winchester, weaned on their father’s love for 70s rock, it might as well have been a lullaby.
As the Impala rumbled down the road, John tapping his fingers in time to the music, Dean pulled Sam against him, a gangly, floppy haired little spoon to his big spoon. “This is awesome, Sammy.”
Sam snuggled into Dean, drawing his arm around his waist. He sniffed once. Then again.
“You ok? Sammy?”
Sam wiped his eyes. “Best day of my life.”
Dean kissed the back of Sam’s neck, surreptitious, sheltered from the eyes of their father by their position and the dark. “Me too.”
His lips remained on Sam’s skin, breathing warmth over the little hairs along Sam’s neck, until Sam shivered. “Day’s not over yet, Sammy.”
Dean’s right hand settled on top of Sam’s hip. His mouth moved to right behind Sam’s ear. “Can you be quiet?”
Sam nodded.
“I mean, really quiet. Not make a sound.”
Sam nodded again, determined to prove he could by not even saying a word in response.
Dean whispered, “You real sure? ‘Cause I want to make you come again.”
Sam released a soft, shuddering breath. Dean’s fingers drew tiny circles along Sam’s thigh. “I really liked it. Back there. Making you come.”
Sam panted. Dean moved his fingers lower along Sam’s thigh, getting closer.
Dean’s lips right on the soft whorl of Sam’s ear. “Did you like it? Coming for me?” What Is and What Should Never Be played over the hiss of the car heater, hiding the sound of his voice.
Sam drew Dean’s hand up, placed his fingers on his lips, mouthed, “Yes.”
Dean shivered at the unexpected sensuality of it.
“You want to come for me again?”
Sam drew Dean’s index finger into his mouth, sucked on it, nodded, “Yes.”
“Fuck, Sam. You’re so…” A soft gasp as Sam sucked Dean’s finger in deeper, all the way to the base. “When I get you to a real bed with a door that locks, baby boy…”
At that, Sam gasped, arching his back, pressing the curve of his ass against Dean’s crotch.
“Shhh… keep still.”
Sam quivered.
“Dad’s a foot in front of us. I can’t make you come until you keep real quiet and still.”
Sam sank his teeth into the brand-new pillow.
“You can do it,” Dean whispered. “And when I get you all alone, I promise, Sam. You can make all the noise you want.”
Sam carefully turned in place, pressed his mouth to Dean’s ear. “You promise?”
Dean nodded.
“I’m scared I’m gonna scream.”
The thought of that, of his sweet baby brother so wrung out by the pleasure Dean was giving him that he couldn’t stop himself from screaming, nearly made Dean come on the spot.
He turned Sam back around to his original position, pressed his mouth to Sam’s ear. “Gonna make you scream, baby boy. That’s a promise. But right now, you gotta stay quiet for me. Ok?”
Sam sucked in a deep breath, then nodded.
“You need to make a little noise, you bury your face in the pillow.”
The Lemon Song started to play. Dean sat up. “Hey, dad, can you turn it up? We like this song.”
John smiled at the thought that his boys loved the music of his youth as much as he did, and turned up the volume.
The thing about sweatpants is the elastic band makes them very easy to pull down. Not always good in gym class, but ideal when you’re trying to surreptitiously jack off your little brother in the back seat of a car while your dad is driving.
Dean tugged Sam’s sweatpants down underneath the covers, and inhaled sharply when he realized that Sam wasn’t wearing underwear. “Sammy,” he breathed, wrapping his hand around Sam’s hard cock. Sam’s hand scrabbled in front of him, found what he was searching for, pulled out a small bottle of lotion. “You plan this all out?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head no.
Dean quietly squeezed a little lotion into the palm of his hand, slipped it back under the covers and squeezed Sam’s cock.
Sam dug his teeth into the meaty part of his hand, fighting for control.
“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” Dean slid his fist up and down, so slowly, glorying in how it made Sam shake all over. “Christ. So sensitive. Aren’t you.” His soft whisper was masked by the music, Robert Plant moaning, “Squeeze me baby, ‘till the juice runs down my leg.”
“Fuck, Sam. Couldn’t have picked a better song if I tried.” Sam buried his face in the pillow, trying desperately to hold still, as Dean worked his cock, slowly, agonizingly slowly, totally in control. “Keep still, Sam. Doing so good.”
The rush of it, of saying sweet, dirty things in Sam’s ear and Sam having to keep quiet but going crazy for it, of touching Sam’s cock and Sam having to keep still but going out of his fucking mind for it, was dizzying.
“Know the first thing I’m gonna do to you when I get you all alone, sweetheart?” Another shiver. Sammy liked pet names. So good to know. “Gonna take your clothes off, lay you down, spread you wide open…” Sam panted into the pillow, body rigid, stomach quivering, as Dean jacked his cock nice and slow, keeping his motions as non-suspicious as he possibly could. “…and I’m gonna eat your ass out like a girl.”
Sam sucked in a breath, and then made a muffled, choked groan into the pillow, spilling all over Dean’s hand.
“Fuck. Sammy. Love you so much...” Sam had barely finished coming when Dean frantically tugged down his sweatpants and rubbed his cock against the smooth curve of Sam’s ass once, twice, and then he was coming thick and wet against him, biting down hard on Sam’s upper back muscle, hard enough to leave marks that Sam would feel for days.
They lay there, trying to catch their breath without revealing they had lost it in the first place, Dean’s palm pressed possessively against Sam’s still-twitching abdomen, Sam’s head thrown back, the curve of his neck on Dean’s shoulder. Then Dean chuckled. “Looks like we messed up your brand-new sheets.”
Sam pressed Dean’s hand to his lips. “Best day of my life.”
Master post with chapter links
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*I'm greedy, I want more!*
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<3
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The dirty talk was crazy hot but, the parts with John and Bud were lovely and I like how you have them chosing to be Cowboys fans. I just seems like something boys would do.
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Here's a secret