Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth
Warning: Sex happens
Word Count: 1000
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just for fun.
Summary: Ever wonder how Dean started talking dirty?
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth
The scent of fresh orange filled the kitchen when Sam got home from school. Dean leaned over the card table, painstakingly peeling an orange in one unbroken spiral.
Sam swung his backpack, laden so heavily with books the straps strained under the weight, to the floor and sat in the chair kitty-corner from Dean.
"What are you doing?"
"Practicing sutures." Sam grabbed another orange out of the bowl, and ripped the peel off in great chunks, stuffing a segment into his mouth.
"On an orange."
"Yeah. You stitch the peel back. If you do it right, you can't even see the seam. So like when you get your face sliced open during a hunt for being a dumbass, I can keep you looking pretty." Sam slumped in his chair, shooting Dean a dirty look, and concentrated on eating his orange, pretending not to watch.
Dean threaded a small half-circle needle with silk from the suture kit. Sam watched out of the corner of his eye. Dean slipped the needle into the white pith and began suturing it back together. His fingers were delicate for such a masculine teenage. It only took a few minutes for Sam to soften from the verbal jab and watch Dean work, rapt, sucking on orange segments.
When he was done, a few areas showed gaps and tears, but where he had placed the sutures exactly right, the peel looked perfect, as if it had never been torn.
Sam stared at his older brother with something he would hesitate to call "awe" but Dean recognized it for what it was and smirked.
Sam leaned forward. "Show me?" Dean peeled another orange, and patiently but thoroughly, showed Sam how to do running subcutaneous sutures on a piece of citrus.
When Dean strutted through the door after his date with a local hottie, John was on the phone, hammering out the details of the lead he'd gotten on a possible demon sighting. Sam was stretched out on the threadbare sofa, bare feet hanging off the end, reading a thick book on Haitian vodoun. Dean flashed a blinding grin at Sam, who just shot him a sullen look in response and ignored him.
"Shove over, Francis." Dean pushed Sam's legs off the couch, pivoting him in place, and flopped down next to him.
"Ugh. You fucking reek of sex, dude." Sam pulled his legs up and tucked them underneath, retracting from Dean.
Dean's lips twitched, and he scratched his stomach. "How would you know, Sammy?"
"Because my brother's a fucking slut, that's how I know." Sam's face reddened. "Smell it on you. All the time." Dean tried to look him in the eye, but Sam turned his head away and refused to meet his gaze.
Dean just looked at Sam for a long moment. Watching. Noticing. Thinking. Until Sam squirmed, uncomfortable under Dean's curious scrutiny. Then he leaned closer to Sam.
"Wanna know what it's like?"
Sam dropped his book.
"No. Gross." Dean just looked at him, his green eyes glinting.
"What it feels like to stick your fingers inside a girl?" Dean couldn't believe what he was saying. Contrary to public opinion, Dean was actually more than a little shy. But the look on Sam's face was like the first hit of the best drug in the world. Dean swallowed, and pushed a little farther. "Get her wet for you?" Saying the words to Sam made him feel all shivery. Dean licked his lips, still looking at Sam, and that was all it took. Sam was caught on the hook.
"See, a girl's got lips too, kinda like this"-Dean brushed the back of his fingers against his mouth- "but down there. And you gotta push past them to get inside. And on top is the clit. It's like a tiny little dick. So yeah, they like it when you get your fingers in, but to really make 'em squirm, you gotta use your thumb to rub their clit."
Sam squirmed on the couch, ruddy patches rising on his cheeks. Dean had just meant to embarrass his little brother, but…something else was happening here. Something he didn't want to stop. It was like the air was suddenly thick between them.
"And if you really want to make a girl lose her fucking mind, you gotta lick her." Hearing those words, Sam's lips parted, the tip of his tongue darting out unconsciously. Dean's cock twitched at the sight. "They love that."
The breathiness in Sam's voice got Dean rock-hard instantly.
"Go crazy for it. Grab your hair. Make these little sounds. If you lick them real nice, you can make them beg." Sam shifted in place, and Dean just knew Sam was making room in his jeans for his cock getting hard. Hard because of Dean. What Dean was saying.
"Like…how?" Sam's face was bright red, but he didn't look away in embarrassment. The combination of innocence and boldness hit Dean like a freight train. He'd never been so hard in his life.
"Like… 'Please, god, please, fuck me.'" Dean rubbed his hand on his thigh, desperate to touch Sam, not daring to do any such thing. Sam's pupils were huge and dark.
"They… they actually say that?" Dean leaned in a little closer, swiping his tongue over his lower lip in his unconscious habit. Sam's eyes darted down to watch, transfixed.
"They do to me." Dean couldn't help the cocky smirk. It was part of his nature. And he was proud of how good he was. He waited until Sam looked up again and met his gaze. "I can make them beg, Sammy. 'C'mon… fuck me. Need you inside me. Want you to fuck me so hard.'"
Sam was trembling so hard Dean could feel the vibration through the cushions. And then he jumped up from the couch and pelted upstairs.
John poked his head in from the kitchen. "Christ, Dean, are you giving your brother a hard time again?"
Dean just grinned, and thought, you have no idea.
John threw the last of their things into the trunk of the Impala, and placed the cooler full of sodas and deli sandwiches on the front seat. Sam and Dean fought too much over who got to ride shotgun, so John had mandated the front seat was for food and storage, and the back seat was for teenage boys. Particularly on cross-country trips like this one, where they would try to sleep in the car when they could to save money.
Sam threw himself into the back seat with a whoof. Dean smacked his shoulder. "Stop touching me." Sam glared at Dean. He'd been testy for weeks, ever since Dean talked him up on the couch. They both knew why, without having to say a word.
"You sure about that?" Dean's lip curled up in a slow, sweet smile, and Sam erupted in a fit of blushing.
"You boys be good, alright? Otherwise, it's gonna be a long trip." John clicked his seatbelt secure, and turned the Impala onto the endless stretch of black asphalt.
They'd been driving all day, pulling in at rest stops to stretch their legs and eat lunch, and now it had gotten dark. John drove with one elbow out the open window, cool night air blowing through, classic rock playing on the radio. Heart's Magic Man came on, and John turned the volume up.
Dean took advantage of the opportunity.
He leaned against his half-asleep brother, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Hey, Sam."
"Mmm?" Sam said sleepily.
Dean leaned closer and whispered in Sam's ear, "That girl in Branson? Best little cocksucker I ever saw. Been meaning to tell you about it."
Sam snapped to attention, staring at Dad's face in the rear view. John's eyes were fixed on the road, paying no attention to the quiet teenagers in the back seat.
"He can't hear us over the music. It's ok." Sam swallowed hard, neck arching at the warmth of Dean's breath moving over it.
"I know you've never fucked a girl. But you ever get your dick sucked, Sammy?" Sam shook his head, hair flying into his eyes. "Didn't think so. Too bad. You're just too damn shy, Sam. You're a good-looking kid."
Sam stole a glance at Dean. "You think so?"
"Shit yeah. You're MY brother, after all."
Sam was quiet. Dean waited and held his breath. "So… what's it like?"
Dean breathed out. "A blow job? It's awesome. It's like kissing and jacking off mixed together. But they don't actually blow. Weird they call it that. Should call it a suck job. See, you kind of tuck your lips around your teeth so they don't hurt" (and Dean knew perfectly well he should say "she tucks her lips" but that's not what he said at all) and take just a little in your mouth at first and suck. And move your tongue on the bottom part. You know, on that part that feels really good when you jack off." And Dean knew Sammy jacked off, had listened to him in the night, his soft little gasps like sobs, curled up tense and miserable in his sheets, wanting to slip in next to Sam and wrap his fingers (god, his mouth) around Sam's cock and make him shudder and come just for him.
And Sam was shivering. Listening to his big brother talk dirty.
"Then you take it deeper. Keep your lips tight around it and move your mouth up and down and suck." Sam shivered harder. "And you move your tongue. If you practice, you can take it all the way down. They call that deep-throating." Sam's breath was coming faster now. Just from Dean's words. It was like Dean was touching Sam all over, just with his voice. Making him crazy. Dean knew the effect he had, and loved it. Knew all the signs. And Sam was flashing every single fucking one of them. Dean took a deep breath to steel himself—this could go so wrong, so quickly—and then brushed his mouth against Sam's ear.
Sam fucking moaned.
Dean nearly came instantly.
Their eyes met. Neither looked away. They had just crossed a thin, invisible line. No going back now. And Dean wouldn't have gone back if a horde of demons had dragged him.
And it made him even bolder.
Dean's lips ghosted over Sam's neck as he whispered, "It feels really good, Sammy. So good. Someone's mouth on your cock, all warm and wet, looking up at you, watching you watch them suck you off, taking it so good for you..." And with that, Sam shuddered, digging the nails of his left hand into Dean's thigh, and gasped, "Dean."
"Holy shit… Sammy… did you just…" Dean ran his fingers through Sam's floppy hair.
Sam buried his face into Dean's shoulder, seized by shyness. "Yeah."
"I didn't even touch you."
"Liked what you said." Sam's voice was muffled by Dean's flannel shirt.
Dean felt dizzy, euphoric. "You came in your jeans…just from me talking dirty." Sam snuggled closer.
"I'll ask Dad to find a rest stop. Get you cleaned up." Get him some relief too. He was so hard he was about to poke a hole in his jeans.
"Hey, Dean? What you said?"
Sam looked up at Dean, eyes huge, and whispered, "When we stop…will you teach me? How to suck your cock?"
And with that, Dean no longer needed to stop for relief. Just for a wet towel.