The windows of the Impala were completely fogged over from Dean tormenting Sam. He'd told Sam to strip completely naked. All his clothes were in the front seat, boots and all.
'S'ok, Sammy. This road is deserted. No one's gonna come by."
And he'd had Sammy writhing on his lap for the better part of a half-hour. First working his slick fingers on his cock until Sam swore, not ready to beg yet but losing his everloving mind wanting to come.
Then working his slick fingers inside Sam's ass, fucking him nice and slow, reveling in the expressions of pleasure moving over Sam's face. He could do that for hours. He had done that for hours, in that really nice hotel they stayed at in Boston.
He fucked Sam with his fingers until Sam was gasping, head resting on his shoulder, and murmured, "Ok. Fine. Please."
"You really get off on making me talk dirty, don't you."
"Yup." Dean smirked.
"Please fuck me."
"Not until you say it like you mean it."
And Dean worked another finger inside Sam (four, Jesus Christ look at that thing of beauty), and Sam went fucking nuts, rising and falling on Dean's hand like it was his dick, his cock angry red and swollen, harder than Dean had ever seen it, making little grunts, gyrating his hips like a high-class whore.
And that's where Dean loved to get Sam. Right there where his inhibitions fell away, where he put aside the shyness and the fear and just let himself become the primal creature that reveled in his physical beauty and sexual responsiveness. Where he'd do anything for Dean.
And that's right when the cop's flashlight tapped on the window.
"What are you two up to in there?"
Sam and Dean froze. The light shone in through the window, and even with the fogged-up glass, the cop could damn well see what they were up to.
"Open the door. Stay where you are."
Dean swore and opened the door. Sam stayed where he was, naked, straddling Dean, still fully clothed except for his cock sticking out of his unzipped jeans.
The cop surveyed them, biting his lip.
"Couldn't save it for the motel?"
Dean read the cop's expression, and did the only thing he could think of. He stroked Sam's lower back, ran his hand down his flank. "Could you?"
The cop put his hand on his nightstick. He blinked.
"We'll get dressed and be on our way, officer. If you'd be kind enough to not give us a ticket…well, we'd really appreciate it."
The cop, tall and muscular, in his late twenties, couldn't take his eyes off Sam.
Sam blushed bright red.
Sam's eyes went wide in shock. He stared at Dean.
Dean smiled, a sweet dark smile that made Sam shiver, a warm sensation unfurling in his stomach.
"You want me to?" Sam's breathing got faster.
Dean's tongue swiped across his lower lip.
"You want me to." Sam whispered. "While he…"
"C'mon, Sammy. Put on a good show for the nice officer." Dean's mouth twitched.
The warmth low in Sam's stomach flared into heat. His expression went feral.
Sam started moving again, moving on the fingers that were still inside him. He took his hands off Dean's shoulders and ran them over his chest, leaning back against the driver's seat, turned slightly so he could look at the officer watching them.
His fingers tightened on his nightstick as Sam pinched both nipples hard, hard enough to make him gasp.
Sam wagged his hips up and down, groaning as Dean's fingers penetrated him.
"I think you're ready for my cock. Aren't you."
"What do you say?"
Sam blushed harder. Dean was going to make him say it while the cop was right there.
"Please fuck me."
The officer groaned and palmed his cock.
"Come on. Fuck me. I need it. Please. Need your cock inside me."
And that's all Dean could stand. He pulled his fingers out and positioned Sam over his cock, also angry red and painfully erect.
Sam sank down on Dean's thick cock with a groan, taking him all in one slow, smooth motion.
"Goddamn." The cop had his cock out now, working it nice and slow.
Sam kissed Dean sweet and dirty, sucking on his tongue. "You want a show? You got it."
And Sam went to town. He rode Dean's cock like it was the best thing he'd ever felt, his back arching, curling, hips circling, snapping down hard and fast, then slowing, grinding on Dean until Dean cursed, hands gripping Sam's ass hard enough to leave bruises.
And the sounds he made. Mother of all that's holy, the sounds. Sam wasn't quiet, but this was a whole new level. And they weren't meaningless porn sounds, either. It was as if being watched, being TOLD to put on a show had freed something in Sam that had always wanted to be let loose. Given the keys to the car.
Every little sensation of pleasure was given voice. Soft, breathy gasps, low aching moans, sharp cries when he rode Dean nice and hard, surprised noises when the pleasure seemed to hit a level Sam hadn't ever felt before.
And the words. Oh god and fuck and you feel so good and god your dick is fucking huge and love this love you inside me want you inside me all the fucking time and the kicker, the thing that made Dean's insides turn to honey, the please baby wanna come for you don't tease me anymore oh god please, wanna come so hard for you, I'll do anything you want just please let me come…"
"For chrissakes, show some pity. Let the man come." The cop's voice was low, insistent.
And Dean took pity on his poor baby brother, face all red, hair sticking to his sweaty neck, writhing on his cock like such a good boy, waiting for permission to come, desperate for it but waiting until he was allowed…
Dean pulled Sam close so their cocks were touching as Sam rose and fell, rubbing against each other. "Yeah, sweetheart, love you so fucking much, come on, baby, come for me, come on my cock…" And before the words had left his mouth, Sam was shuddering, screaming, thrashing on his lap, muscles clenching so hard that Dean's orgasm was ripped out of him, leaving him helpless, gasping for air, vision all silvery white, hips driving up so hard he actually lifted Sam up, all 230 pounds of spasming muscle.
"Fuck. Jesus FUCK." The cop stripped his cock furiously, the other hand braced on the Impala, gasping as he spilled into the dirt.
The three men panted, trying to catch their breath, sweat cooling on their faces, gradually coming down. Dean held Sam, stroking his hair, mouth warm against his neck.
Dean expected the cop to say, "Be on your way" or "Next time keep it zipped until you get to where you're going."
What he said was "Thank you." His voice was a whisper. "Thank you."
He zipped himself back up and turned to go. After a few steps he stopped and turned back around.
"You're very lucky." He looked at Dean first, then Sam. "Both of you." He paused, as if weighing what to say next. "Most of us…most of us never get to have what you have."
Without realizing they were doing it, Sam and Dean tangled their fingers together, squeezing gently.
The cop got into his car and shut the door. Sam pulled on his jeans t-shirt and boots in the back seat, then got out and settled into the passenger seat.
The cop watched them pull back out onto the two-lane highway snaking through the trees. He waited until they were out of sight before he let the tears come.