Supper Time

[justinedelarge]

Title: Supper Time
Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 580
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own.
Summary: Food porn. Literally.

Who cooks: Sam makes the salad, and the best omelets. Dean makes the rest, because he had to learn to cook early, or else they would have survived entirely on canned and boxed food.

Who lets Dean eat his dinner off his naked body: That would be Sam. The first time it happened, Dean made sliced ribeye steak with a mustard/rosemary sauce that was so delicious, he joked about wanting to lick the plate. So Sam stood up, stripped his shirt off, moved plates and utensils out of the way and lay down on the table. With a mischievous grin, he reached over to Dean’s plate and laid out the strips of steak along his taut stomach, and upended Dean’s plate over him, dripping the sauce all over his chest and belly.

Dean’s mouth fell open. After he had eaten every juicy red strip of steak and lapped the sauce from Sam’s skin, punctuated by the most gorgeous moans, Sam’s stomach fluttering under each slow stripe of Dean’s tongue, Dean fed Sam his own steak, strip by strip, dripping the sauce into Sam’s mouth, licking up the drops that went astray. Then he stripped off his clothes, pulled Sam’s jeans off, crawled on top of Sam facing the other way and they sucked each other off right there on the dining room table.

They both came so hard they shook the plates off the table, smashing to the wooden floor below.

“You can eat your food off me any time you want,” Sam gasped, when they’d mostly caught their breath.

And Dean took him up on that. His favorite was homemade macaroni and cheese, cooled down so it wouldn’t burn Sam’s skin. Beef stroganoff with extra sauce, dripping down Sam’s sides, Sam laughing as Dean licked it away, leaking between his legs, all over his cock and balls, making Sam arch his back and beg for Dean to let him come as Dean lapped up every drop. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t eat off Sam. Spaghetti heaped on Sam’s belly, Dean slurping up the long noodles and lapping the tomato sauce with long thorough scrapes of his tongue that left Sam shivering. Scrambled eggs nibbled from the gentle curve of Sam’s lower back. Dean even ate sashimi, lifting each strip of raw fish laid out in a row on Sam’s inner thigh with a broad stripe of his tongue.

And Dean would feed Sam by hand, or using his mouth, picking up strands of noodles and holding them over Sam’s mouth, making him raise up to take them into his mouth, pushing the last bit in with his tongue, licking the sauce from Sam’s lips.

They didn’t even bother with plates after a while. Just the pot or serving dish with the meal inside, set on the corner of the table. Sam would strip off all his clothes and lay down on the table, presenting himself to Dean. And after the main course, Dean would pour bourbon into Sam’s belly button and suck it down, then he’d tip the bottle over Sam’s parted lips, telling to open up, and pour his shot directly into his mouth.

And dessert. Ice cream melting down the crack of Sam’s ass. Chocolate pudding smeared over the muscular lines of Sam’s back. Cheesecake rubbed thick and white over Sam’s cock.

And that’s why even though they missed the convenience of eating out, they almost always stayed in for dinner.

Besides, there were hardly any dishes.