Title: Hands, Guns, and Oil
Warnings: Again with the hand kink? What is wrong with me? Also? Sam's a pushy bitch, just the way we like him.
Spoilers: First season standard.
Word Count: 2,519
Notes/Prompt(s): Remember my beta from the last fic? Well, the lovely and talented weimar27 prompted me with this one, then read it through.
Summary: So Sam's left to just try to ignore it whenever Dean fondles his vaguely penis-shaped weapons and seriously contemplate whether his level of frustration counts as blue balls or not.
Hands, Guns, and Oil
Being raised into hunting left them with some unusual habits.
When Sam got angry, even when he was at Stanford and striving for normalcy, he'd list off creatures and how to kill them. The familiarity of it soothed him, even while the habit itself annoyed him. And if he thought about killing the source of his anger in similar ways, well, thinking about it never hurt anyone right? It was kind of therapeutic.
Dean's initial response to most things, when they were on the road, was silence. If Sam pissed him off or annoyed him just a little too much – if Sam, God forbid, made him feel anything unbefitting of his manly ways – he'd lapse off into a silence so loud, it would have given Jess and her silent treatment a run for its money. But that was only a short term reaction. As soon as they'd stop at a hotel, Dean would have the guns out.
That's what he did when he got stressed. He'd pull out the guns, break them down, and clean them. Not that they ever needed cleaning. Sam and Dean had been trained early on to properly maintain their weapons. But it seemed to have a calming effect on Dean, so Sam never called him on it.
It's just a part of who Dean is. He'd never thought about it before, but ever since he hit the road with his brother again, ever since he left normal behind for good, it had bothered him.
At first, he'd thought it was just Dean. Whenever those guns would come out for a cleaning, Sam would get just as bothered and pissy as Dean. He figured it was just because he was getting used to having a big brother for the first time in three years; Dean's whole purpose in life seems to be to make Sam's life harder, after all. It was some sort of Pavlovian response to react to Dean's anger with his own.
This theory held up until they faced that Phantom Traveler. Dean was still so freaked when they got to the hotel that he'd spent the first half hour back cleaning the same long barreled shotgun.
There's no telling how long that would have continued, either, because after that half hour, Sam was so bothered by it, he tackled Dean. Just like that. One second he'd been sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to concentrate on the nightly news and clenching his jaw. The next, Dean was under him on the ground, eyes comically wide.
"What the hell, Sam?" he'd shouted, surprised enough to let his volume get out of hand.
Sam didn't respond, just shoved at Dean's shoulders again, and then they were wrestling right there on the ground, knocking into the table and chairs, spitting and snarling at each other. This continued until Dean clocked him one, fist glancing off his chin in a deliberate move. Not to injure, just to threaten.
Sam froze and for a second, all he wanted was to slam Dean back into the ground and… he didn't even know. But that was enough to snap him out of it.
"Oh, God, Dean," he'd gasped out, horrified at himself. "I- I don't know why I did that. Sorry."
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean had said, though his look was wary, as if he expected to have to hit him again. "Long day, messed up case. Just… get off me, okay?"
"Yea, yea, sorry," Sam repeated. He offered his hand to Dean once up and his brother had looked at it as if unsure he could trust the gesture. But he'd let Sam pull him up and then he'd put away the guns and gotten out a beer, so Sam guessed it really wasn't a big deal.
But that wasn't the case. He'd been fine when they got back, happy even. Seeing Dean freaked had freaked him out a little, sure, but once they were off the plane, Sam had found the humor in the situation like any good little brother.
He had no idea where that aggression had come from, except it had probably been provoked by Dean and that gun.
But sitting there together watching whatever the hell was on after the news – seriously, was this an infomercial? – Sam still wanted to throw Dean down and tussle some more. He was pretty sure that wouldn't be appreciated, though, so he'd excused himself to the bathroom for a shower.
Which is when he discovered that he was hard. Too hard for it just to be some adrenaline induced erection from wrestling with Dean.
Well that was just great.
That's where Sam is now. Turned on by his brother's favorite form of stress relief – well, second favorite, but Dean didn't seem as interested in leaving Sam alone since he took him away from Palo Alto, so he didn't disappear for one night stands very often – and betrayed horribly by his (stupid, stupid) cock.
He's not really surprised by it. He wasn't a virgin before he left for college, but he had never had regular sex until Jess. His body just didn't like the whole suddenly going cold turkey thing.
And Dean, the idiot, had spent half of Sam's teenage years sexualizing guns, making cracks about their shafts and how you had to stroke them just right when you clean them. Normal, juvenile sex jokes that any guy would crack to make his pubescent brother uncomfortable. Maybe he hadn't intended for Sam to think about how phallic they are every time he picks one up, but that's what his teasing had achieved none the less.
So Sam's left to just try to ignore it whenever Dean fondles his vaguely penis-shaped weapons and seriously contemplate whether his level of frustration counts as blue balls or not.
By the time they left Lawrence and Missouri Mosley behind, it was just ridiculous. Dean had set about cleaning their whole arsenal and Sam had spent an hour trying to watch TV Land reruns while really watching the sweep of Dean's fingers up and down metal shafts and pushing the cleaning rod down the different barrels. His fingers were coated with gun oil after a little while, slick looking and Sam would be able to smell them for hours. Sometimes Sam would get a whiff of it after the fact, in the car or at a diner, and he'd be half hard before he could place what it was he was smelling.
Sam had thought several times about jumping in the shower for a little relief. He had shot that idea down each time because there's no telling how long Dean would keep at this and wouldn't it just be perfect for him to take care of his little problem just to have it come up again as soon as he left the bathroom?
He's contemplating it again when Dean announces, "I'm catching a shower," and begins to pack everything away.
Sam is struck by a wave of annoyance – "I get first shower," on his lips – but he represses it. Dean hadn't known what he'd been thinking – thank God – and it's not like he couldn't take care of business well enough out here.
As soon as Dean's in the bathroom and Sam can hear the sound of running water, he's got his fly undone and his eyes clenched shut. That first touch is like heaven and he wraps one hand fully around his leaking cock and gives a few firm tugs.
"Stupid, fucking Dean," Sam gasps. He swipes his thumb across the head and that's enough, he's curling over himself and letting go. He'd be embarrassed if he hadn't been sporting a hard on for an hour.
The come down is kind of awesome – the only good thing about all this frustration is how fulfilling it is to take care of, even if only for a while – and he sighs and blinks dazedly at the wall. He still hears the shower in the background.
Except… it's louder now.
He glances to the bathroom door and freezes. Dean's standing in the doorway, still dressed, staring at Sam with an impossible to read expression.
"Wha- I thought you were showering," Sam manages somehow.
"Forgot my shampoo," Dean explains and his voice is steady but kind of insubstantial. "Sammy, were you just- did you just think about me when you jerked off?"
And yea, Sam could probably just die right now, thanks.
He figures he's got two options here. Either he could own up to it or take off running. He kind of likes the sound of that second one, but that probably wouldn't be the smartest decision, considering he still has his cock in his hand, which, along with his shirt, is covered in his own come.
"I- uh." Damn it, his upstairs brain doesn't like working this soon after an orgasm. "You were cleaning the guns."
Dean's eyes narrow.
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
Oh, great, he just outed his newest kink and now he has to explain it, too.
"It's… been awhile," Sam admits and hates himself a little. "When you clean the guns it just, I don't know, gets to me a little."
"A little." Dean's face gives nothing away. "This what the moods have been about?"
Sam shrugs and curls in on himself a little more. Dear God, why isn't he putting his cock back in his pants yet? But he can't bring himself to do it with Dean staring at him like that, his hand cupping more than holding now. Preserving a little dignity, if he has any left.
"I hadn't realized it was bothering me until-"
"Until that demon on the plane."
Sam could see the realization in Dean's eyes as soon as he worked it out. If anything, his expression got even more closed off.
"That's what that fight was about? Sam, did you get off on that?"
"What? No, Dean! I just-"
"It just turned you on," Dean interrupts. "I've been turning you on for months and you've been, what? Jacking off as soon as you're alone?"
Said like that, it sounds a lot more messed up than it is.
Sam doesn't reply. He just stares sullenly at his big brother. At least he fully appreciates the phrase "caught with a dick in your hand" now.
"You hot for me Sammy?"
And Sam's definitely not answering that, because, while it's technically true, it's really taking their relationship to a whole new level of codependency that Sam had been quite sure he'd left behind three years ago.
Dean seems to mull his own question over, as if he hadn't properly thought about it before asking. Then he shrugs and mutters, "Yea, I can work with that," and pulls off his shirt.
Sam's not quite sure how they got there, but suddenly Dean's kissing him and he was right, that is all new levels of fucked up, but it's also really, really good so he goes with it. Dean's pushing him down but then Sam's on top and they're struggling in a whole new way that feels uncomfortably natural, clothes flying off as they roll back and forth.
It really is just like when they wrestle, too, except instead of grabbing and pulling to hurt, they're doing it for other, better reasons. Being pinned isn't such a bad thing except Sam's always bristled in the face of authority so he can't very well just let Dean hold him down. He kind of wants to, but what he really wants is to pin Dean down and rock into him until they're both coming undone.
So that's what he does. He slams Dean down and is half surprised himself at the vicious growl that escapes him. It's enough to still both their movements and Dean's looking up at him, eyes intent. His head is tilted back a little, to properly look at Sam who's looming above him now, and his throat is bared. Sam really, really wants to bite it.
Dean doesn't struggle, then, and he lets his legs fall open, thighs parting and Sam can't breathe for a second. He doesn't think he's ever loved Dean more, but he really can't think about that right now because this is weird enough already.
He slides in between Dean's legs and collects his brother's wrists into a one handed grip. His other hand finds the small of Dean's back and pulls until they're slotting together just right and-
"Yes," Sam can't help but hiss. It's perfect.
Dean's panting underneath him and just staring at him now. Sam can't take his eyes off him. It's the single most erotic thing he's ever done as he starts rolling his hips into Dean's, eye contact never breaking. It takes a while to get off like this – especially after he'd already come so soon before – without either of them touching themselves. Sam shifts his hold from Dean's back to his thigh as he grind their cocks together, their movements slow, almost lazy considering how frantic they were at first.
Dean's mouth is hanging open, little gasps hitching his breath every now and then and Sam wonders what it would be like to slide into. Those lips around his cock, those green eyes staring up at him… Sam groans and before he realizes what he's doing, he's pulled one of Dean's hands up to his face and is sucking on two of the fingers.
They still taste like gun oil and that should be gross but it just makes him groan again and suck harder. Dean makes a choked noise underneath him so he pushes his own fingers into Dean's mouth.
God, if what Dean's doing with his tongue feels half as good as what Sam is doing with his, then they are both very lucky men. And Sam really can't wait to get in that mouth.
Dean comes first, with a muffled cry. He arches into Sam and when he's done riding the aftershocks, starts twirling his tongue around Sam's fingers and humming, which is all the push Sam needs before he's adding his own mess to Dean's stomach.
Sam forces himself to fall sideways instead of straight down. Their legs are tangled and Sam still has his fingers in Dean's mouth and Dean's in his own. He flexes his index finger against the warm flesh of Dean's tongue and is rewarded with a final, firm suck before Dean takes his own hand back and pulls away from Sam's.
"So, that was…"
"Awesome," Sam supplies and he can't help grinning like an idiot.
Dean quirks a brow at him but agrees with a soft, "Yea, awesome."
"We gonna do it again?" Sam asks.
"If you want, Sammy, yea."
And yea, that grin? Not going anyplace soon.
"Yea, I want, Dean," he says.
He crowds closer to his brother, throwing one arm across his chest and shoving the other under the pillows. Dean grumbles, says something about cuddling and not being a girl, but shuts up fast when Sam starts nuzzling and licking behind his ear.
Eventually, they fall asleep.