Title: Trapped in Your Arms
Summary: Some fighting in the car gets John angry and they end up lost in the middle of nowhere. Now, John has to find a gas station by foot, so car!smexing ensues.
Warnings: pwp, underage sex (although I don't specify Sam's age, he's around 16)
Prompt: wrong directions
A/N: written for sonnygrl11 for the SpnSpringFling 2011 challenge on LJ. I was actually a pinch hitter and I feel so damn lucky!
It was all Sam's fault, if you asked Dean.
And of course, it was all Dean's fault, if you asked Sam.
What really mattered, though, was that is was their fault and Dad made sure to remind them two or three times for every mile they covered from Shithole, Colorado to Bumfuck, Nebraska.
Either way, whether it was Dean's fault for riling up Sam or Sam's fault for biting the bait and throwing the first (and second) punch, the fact remained that they had made Dad so angry that he'd managed to take the wrong turn at least five different times while shouting and trying to separate the two boys. Now, it was two in the morning, the road was dark and dangerously close to a cliff and they were running out of gas.
Dean was practically bent over the back of the seat, right hand gripping Sam's hair painfully tight, left hand pinching the younger boy's side to the point he almost broke skin and Sam's teeth were locked around the flesh of Dean's right forearm, skin already an angry red, edging towards violet.
"Let go of my arm, you little vampire punk," Dean growled.
Sam's fingers tightened on Dean's arm, grip like a claw, and growled back something that sounded a lot like 'grulghrl', but Dean was pretty sure meant 'let go first, jerk'.
The sudden slam of breaks and the sickening sound of rubber skidding over asphalt had Dean wincing for two entirely different reasons and he froze, his grip on Sam going slack the exact same moment his brother's jaw relaxed.
They were going to have their asses handed to them and possibly be abandoned in the middle of nowhere just because Sam was a delicate princess who couldn't take a joke.
The silence that followed was so heavy and prolonged that Dean started sweating all over again and he gulped trying to decide which would be stupider; open his big mouth and try to apologize or sit back in his seat and pretend nothing happened.
"Get out. Both of you. Now."
The calmness in their dad's voice sent shivers running down his spine and he took one look at Sam's terrified face and nodded at him slightly. Outside, the air was crispy and clean, but the light was minimal with no moon to provide it, only the stars decorating the dark sky.
"Do you know where we are?" John asked, words clipped and low.
"No, sir," Dean answered in unison with Sam.
"Neither do I. Why is that, Dean?"
Dean knew that there was no point in protesting or trying to find an excuse. This part was mostly his own fault.
"I got the mapped ripped while trying to keep Sam's hands away from me."
"And?" John prompted.
"And I got you distracted and forgot to check the map next time we needed to," he said, voice even. At Dad's expectant gaze, he added, "and may have given you a wrong direction, once…or twice."
"Next time I tell you to stop fighting and pay attention," John said addressing both boys, "you do as I say because I'll just throw you out of the car and let you walk. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Dean and Sam said again in unison.
Dean could see the thick vein pulsing rhythmically on Dad's temple and he knew that the older man was trying to rein his temper and he realized that things might be a little worse than he had originally thought.
A few moments passed and not a word was spoken, but it seemed that Dad had come to a conclusion as his shoulders relaxed slightly and he sighed. He turned around and went to the back of the car, opening the trunk and rummaging through it for a few moments.
When he came back, he was holding Dean's Colt and a knife.
"We're out of gas. I'm gonna walk for a few miles, we haven't seen any kind of gas station or town for a long while, there should be something at least in the next 8-10 miles."
"What?" Dean asked incredulous, "can't you wait at least till morning? Dad, anything could happen."
"It won't make a big difference, Dean. Besides, we need to be in Winnebago according to Jim in two days and we've already lost enough time thanks to you two." The jibe was not a subtle one and he could feel Sam ready to open his big fat mouth and get them into real trouble, so he spoke before his little brother ever had a chance.
"And we're supposed to stay here and wait?"
"Yes," John said firmly, handing Dean his gun and Sam his knife. "If you could help not falling asleep that would be better. Although something tells me that this isn't gonna be an issue. Just be careful, okay?" They both nodded at that and before he turned away he looked sternly at Dean and added for good measure, "and if there's anything broken in the car when I come back, so help me-"
"No," Dean said hastily, "no more fighting, I promise."
John studied his sons for a moment longer and then nodded, turned away and started walking towards the-hopefully-nearest gas station.
Dean waited for a good few minutes, until the light from Dad's flashlight was barely visible in the moonless night and then turned and got into the backseat next to Sam.
The silence that followed was neither awkward nor heavy, but Dean couldn't help wondering if they would have apologized to each other by now had they been raised differently. A small chuckle left his lips and he relaxed back on the seat, sprawling as much as he could.
"What?" Sam asked and Dean didn't have to see him to know he was scrunching up his face.
"Nothing, just thinking how there's no way I'm gonna apologize for turning your right side probably blue."
"And what? You expect me to apologize for taking a chunk off your forearm?"
"No, not really."
Without opening his eyes, Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Sam by the back of his neck and dragged him against him. "Shut up and go to sleep, Sammy."
"But Dad said…"
"I can be perfectly alert for the both of us, so you can sleep."
Sam didn't answer but shuffled closer to Dean and pressed against him, nose slightly nuzzling the side of his neck and hands coming up to encircle his brother.
"I said sleep, not cuddle," Dean pointed out with a smirk, but didn't do anything to push Sam away.
"That's how I sleep," Sam remarked.
"Freaking octopus," Dean muttered, but let it go easily enough.
He relaxed against his little brother's embrace, but remained wide awake, senses on alert because they still were stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night and no matter how comfortable he was, Dean wasn't taking any chances, especially with Sam in the car.
That lasted long enough, at least until he felt Sam's lips mouthing his neck. His eyes went wide and suddenly all his focus zeroed on the warm point of contact between their bodies.
"Sam? What the Hell are you doing?"
Sam's lips left his skin long enough to whisper, "can't sleep," and then they went back to mouthing and kissing Dean's flesh.
"Stop it, Sam."
"Are you out of your mind? What if Dad comes back?" Dean tried to disentangle their limbs, but only succeeded in sliding lower on the seat, dragging Sam with him.
"He'll be gone for at least an hour," Sam's voice was entirely too persuasive for anyone's good and the little punk knew what he was doing when he moved his lips to Dean's jaw and started edging towards his mouth.
"We don't know-fuck-that, Sam. We're…oh God, stop it," Dean's voice wavered as his body responded to Sam's touch instinctively, as if it were wired to come alive beneath his brother's hands and lips. "We're gonna be deep shit in trouble if Dad comes back and- and…" the last of his lecture melted into a moan as Sam's tongue traced the shell of his ear and his teeth bit down gently on the lobe.
"I bet," Sam whispered, voice made of sin, moist breath against Dean's ear going straight to his hardening cock, "we even have time for you to fuck me."
"Jesus, fuck!" Dean growled as the last of his resistance melted like a Popsicle on a hot summer's day, and he grabbed the back of Sam's head, not unlike the hold he had on him earlier that night, but this time he dragged him forward and crashed their mouths together in a hard, almost frantic kiss.
He kept repeating to himself that this had to be quick, get it over with as fast as possible, because no matter how good it felt, it was probably the dumbest thing he had ever allowed to happen.
Dean was soon on his back, Sam's bony elbow having found its way twice already to his stomach and Dean wasn't entirely sure if both times had been completely accidental, but the important thing was that Sam had finally straddled his hips and was grinding against him enthusiastically, making the most obscene noises as Dean palmed his ass and fucked his mouth with his tongue.
"C'mon, c'mon," Dean urged, hips working a rhythm, fast and rough, the hard line of his cock rubbing against Sam's ass.
"Want you to fuck me," Sam said again, and Dean had to suppress a shudder because, damn, he wanted, he wanted it like a starved man and Sam had been driving him crazy for the past few days. They had barely been able to steal kisses in the dead of the night for the past week, what with Dad being always around, but Sam had been getting bolder every day, whispering filth in Dean's ear even in the middle of diners, full of unsuspecting people around them, saying how much he wanted him, how his own fingers weren't good enough and Dean thought that he should be given an award for remaining perfectly calm and not throwing his little brother on a table and fucking him raw where everyone, including their own father, could see.
And still, now was not the time, they didn't have the luxury for this, and it was frustrating beyond imagination, but somehow Dean found the presence of mind to shake his head; it would take too long and Sam would have to take off his clothes, and the process of redressing couldn't be quick or inconspicuous if their dad arrived suddenly.
"Then let me suck you," Sam pleaded against his lips, tongues tangling for a moment in an openmouthed kiss, "please, let me suck you."
Dean couldn't even process anything, not with Sam already sliding down, deft fingers undoing his belt and tugging at the zipper of his jeans in a matter of seconds. He tried to shuffle back, make more room for Sam, his head butting against the window as soon as he felt Sam's tongue lapping at the head of his cock, having no idea when his jeans and boxers had been pushed down.
He knew this wouldn't last long, days without Sam's touch and nothing but his own fist had him so wound up that he didn't even allow Sam to set the pace. He just buried his hand in Sam's locks, tightened his grip and held his brother steady before starting to thrust up, fucking Sam's mouth with sharp movements of his hips.
He knew Sam loved it, sick little bastard that he was; as much as he loved fighting and talking back at every turn in their everyday lives, during this, during their time hidden in dark corners and under bed coverings, Sam turned wild once Dean held him down, not fighting against it, but practically craving it, begging for it.
I was obvious by the way he was moaning and writhing, hips snapping every so often, trying to find friction but in the position he was in it was almost impossible.
"Don't you dare come before I touch you," Dean managed to groan in between his panting and moaning, knowing full well that Sam was so turned on that he could come untouched. Hazel eyes met his in the dark and they were glinting and Dean wanted to throw his head back and laugh; Sam couldn't have said 'challenge accepted' any more clearly if had spoken the words.
It wasn't long before he was tugging Sam's head up, a warning that he was close, and Sam complied, moving so his lips were locked around the head, sucking for all he was worth, hand stripping Dean's cock with fast tugs.
Just before the first pulse of come hit Sam's throat, Dean choked out a 'don't swallow' and then he let his brain liquefy and spill out of his cock, his brother doing exactly as he was told, come and saliva gathering in his mouth.
Once Dean came somewhat down of his high, he pulled Sam's head until the younger boy was once again sitting in his lap and he slipped two fingers into Sam's mouth.
"Get them wet, it's all you're getting," he said, voice hoarse as if he'd been the one with a hard dick down his throat. Sam moaned appreciatively though, especially when Dean's other hand went to the waistband of his jeans and made quick work of the buttons and zipper, pushing the material as low as it would go.
As soon as he tugged his fingers from Sam's mouth, his brother was onto him, kissing him without even having the time to swallow Dean's spunk and it was fucking dirty and Dean couldn't help rocking up into Sam, thinking regrettably that if they had more time he could easily get hard and fuck Sam like that.
Instead, he didn't waste any time in palming Sam's ass, middle finger delving between the cheeks, finding the puckered entrance there and rubbing against it for a moment before sliding in with a single thrust. Sam's slight discomfort on his face was at complete contrast with the roll of his hips, ass rocking against his finger trying to take more, deeper. Soon enough, Dean was adding a second one and he was cursing, wanting so damn much to take his time with this, drive Sam crazy, but he was starting to panic at the time that had passed and his other hand found Sam's erection, fingers closing around the length and stroking fast in time with his fingers working Sam's ass.
It didn't take more than a few minutes for Sam to come on Dean's stomach, a stream of filth leaving Dean's mouth at the sight and the feeling of Sam clenching around him as he worked his brother through his orgasm and the aftershocks.
"Fuck, Dean," Sam moaned as he collapsed against his chest, going completely limp.
Dean chuckled and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the sweet smell of Sam's sweat and their combined sex. It was obvious that Sam wouldn't be moving any time soon, so he made sure that they were both clean before cracking a window open in the hopes that by he time Dad came back there wouldn't be any lingering, incriminating smells.
"Go to sleep, Sammy," he repeated and grinned wide when his only answer was an unintelligible 'mrmph'.