Pairing: Sam/Dean (Slash, Humor)
Summary: (established relationship) Sam's tries to get Dean's attention, but it's not working out the way he planned.
Disclaimer: Neither Supernatural nor its characters are mine, I'm sorry to say.
Author's Notes: Happy late birthday to aeroport_art! This one seems like a good match for you, and I hope you like it!
This combines the fake-prompt of "None" for 60_minute_fics and from my spn_25 table, "Tease."
The way just anything sexual catches Dean's eye, you'd think he'd have noticed this by now.
'This' is Sam— shirtless Sam to be exact. He's lying on the bed in an overheated motel room, jeans-on/shirt-off like he's the come-on in a cologne ad.
Dean's over at the table sharpening knives, like that can't wait until tomorrow. Sam pushes up slowly against the pillows, all muscled-smooth ready and casual as can be. He leans and shifts, biceps flexing in a drawn-out stretch.
Dean tilts the knife toward the light, whistling under his breath.
Eyes narrowing, Sam strokes idly up his own chest, rubbing a nipple with rough-tipped fingers.
"CSI's on," Dean comments, leaning sideways to turn on the TV.
Sam sits up roughly and strides off to the bathroom, where at least the shower's always ready to lend a guy a hand.
What's gotten into Dean? Sam wonders. His brother's acting weird.
Last night was a bust— Sam even went to bed first, hoping the hint would get Dean moving.
Instead, Dean stayed up watching Letterman while Sam fell asleep. In the morning Sam woke up to Dean's feet on the next pillow instead of Dean.
That might just prove to be a punishable offense.
Sam gets up to take a shower— a real one this time, prompted by the sticky air— and Dean just lies there sleeping like the dead. It's enough to seriously piss a guy off.
Out of the shower, Sam combs through his hair and brushes his teeth. He fixes the towel around his waist, as low as he can, and steps out to try again.
Dean's awake, dressed and ready to go somewhere already. Sam lifts his chest for show and pitches his voice down into low, husky promise: "What's the rush?"
Dean freezes for a moment, eyes caught on Sam, and Sam knows he's noticed. About damn time he thinks, smiling slowly— hip threatening to lose the towel.
"Gonna get coffee," Dean says suddenly, and he's out the door while Sam just stands there looking after him.
You fucker, Sam thinks, but that's the whole problem— Dean isn't, and they're not.
Dean is going to pay…
Here's what it all comes down to later in the day, when Sam's feeling fed-up and thoroughly jerked around. They're at a diner and Sam's ordered a milkshake, and now he's eating it with his finger pressed over the top of the straw so he can trap the milkshake inside there with the vacuum.
He swirls his tongue around the bottom of the straw, then pulls it in and sucks the liquid up through broadly pressed-out lips. He hollows his cheeks and looks at Dean from under his fringe of bangs, reveling in this sensual attention to the straw.
He can hear Dean's breath coming quicker.
"Gonna eat your fries?" Dean asks, and fuck if that isn't just the wrong, totally wrong—
"I hope you choke on them," Sam mutters.
He's halfway to the motel before he even realizes he left Dean waiting for the check. Hah— serves Dean right.
Unlike his brother— who's giving Sam blue balls and a headache— lotion never lets you down. Thank god they've got a stash.
Sam's naked on the bed now, working himself over while thinking vengeful fantasies about Dean. He strokes and lifts, fists and groans and twists, and then the sound of the door swinging open brings everything to a halt.
Dean stands there in the doorway, brought up short just staring at Sam. His mouth is open, eyes riveted on Sam's hand as it starts moving again.
"Shut the door," Sam growls at him pointedly.
Dean closes it without looking.
In a heartbeat, he's over by the bed, pulling off his boots and pants. He reaches for the lotion, slicking himself up and parting Sam's legs to move between them.
"And what makes you think I'm going to let you?" Sam asks.
"The way you've been flaunting it? I'm pretty sure you want this."
"Well I used to, before you changed my mind by being such a dick. I've got it covered on my own now, though."
"Sammy," Dean pleads, running his hands over Sam's stomach and sweeping over his cock.
"Dean," Sam says flatly. Payback's a bitch, and you bought the ticket.
Dean smiles suddenly, hands stroking up Sam's thighs. "I was just teasing," Dean says lightly. "I wanted to make you ache for it long enough for the build-up. Intensity sex is great."
"Any sex is great," Sam argues, "and you owe me two days' worth already."
"I'm gonna fuck you so good you'll barely be able to take it," Dean counters. "But I'll keep going until you've had enough to make up the difference."
"You're on," Sam says, pulling Dean close.
It turns out that everything Dean says is true— a total of three times before the afternoon's done.
Afterwards, Sam lies there with Dean's face against his neck. He is so turning that around on Dean about five weeks from now…
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