Characters: Sam/Dean (Slash, PWP)
Summary: (Mid-S2 timeframe) Dean brings Sam back from the inferno of desert heat.
Author's Notes: Written for the "Fire and Ice" prompt at 60_minute_fics, and also for my spn25 table ("Heat"). Sidelined for an entire day trying to get the title and summary!
Dad once said that the end of the world must look like Texas. Right or wrong, it doesn't matter— regardless of what it looks like, Sam swears the end of the world's got to feel just like Phoenix. It's one hundred and twenty degrees right now, the air so hot and dry his skin aches like he's holding it over coals.
Every stoplight threatens to overheat both him and the engine. "Jesus, Dean—we'll never make it out of here alive. Let's find a motel with air-conditioning and call it a day," Sam groans. He can't even raise his head from where it's leaning against the window.
"You hate this, so you want to stop and settle down in it?"
"No," Sam says, and then "Yes" as he thinks it over. "This probably goes on for miles and miles, through the rest of the desert. Better to stop in the city than break down later, hours away." He glances over and Dean's nodding in agreement. Sam's heart lifts inside his sweaty, barely-moving chest.
The Pink Flamingo Motel. Sam hopes the temperature makes up for the tackiness. And that the rooms aren't some relation to the color pink…
Sam's lying down on the front seat when Dean returns with a key. "Number nineteen," Dean announces, trying to move Sam out of the way so he can sit down.
Sam raises his head for Dean, then drops it right back into Dean's lap. He's waiting for Dean to move the car across the parking lot and unlock the motel room door. Then Sam can pour himself across the scorching asphalt and maybe make it all the way to the bed before his brain explodes.
"Told the office the A/C had better work," Dean says. He parks the car and pats Sam's shoulder. "Ready? Don't want to leave you out here. You might melt."
When Dean opens the car door, the heat surges in like a gust from a blast-furnace. Sam smells hot air and the baked tar of the parking lot. He pushes himself upward, edging through the passenger door onto shaky legs. His feet stick to the asphalt surface as he crosses over to the motel room and stumbles inside after his brother.
The bed. Southwestern bedspread, all geometric turquoise and tan. Sam doesn't care—he falls onto it and waits for the world to stop spinning behind his eyes. He can hear Dean moving around, turning on the air-conditioner and banging his way back outside.
Shortly afterward Dean comes back and marches over to the bed. "Turn over, Sammy," he says, urging him with a touch.
Sam rolls himself face up, eyes still closed. Firm hands pull up his shirt and work it off of him, before moving on to his shoes and pants. The air no longer burns, instead stroking Sam's skin like mist. He feels the weight of Dean joining him on the bed, followed by the warmth near his face as Dean comes closer.
"Try this," Dean murmurs.
The kiss is all confusion at first, almost as much as that first drunken time over a year ago that led them down this path. But like before, Sam's mesmerized by the sensation— not from the forbidden headiness that overwhelmed him back then, but from the warm-cool-cold shifting across his tongue as he realizes Dean's holding a piece of ice in his mouth.
Well damn. That's worth going after.
Little by little the kissing brings Sam around again. His body remains immobile, but the rest of him wakes up as his interest begins to mount. He tongues into Dean, chasing that sweet, icy relief as Dean fumbles with something off to the side of the bed. Sam hisses in surprise as frozen fire touches his belly-button, burning, piercing, and then Ohhh. It settles in and melts the weakness from Sam's bones.
Dean presses closer—shirtless himself, Sam realizes—and then shifts down with delicious slow licks. His cold-wet tongue sweeps flat across Sam's nipples, first one and then the other as Sam's skin tingles in response. Sam moves his hand to the back of Dean's neck, brushing across the nape and stroking in encouragement as Dean keeps moving down.
Dean steals a quick moment to reach for another piece of ice and pop it into his mouth. Then he curls his tongue around the tip of Sam's cock and swirls as Sam shivers at the touch. Dean repeats the movement a couple of achingly deliberate times, before sucking the head of Sam's cock between warm-cold lips to slurp and nibble in earnest.
Sam goes from hard and leaking to God, right now in an instant, desperately wanting to fuck Dean's mouth.
"Dean…" he grits out.
That's all it takes before Dean surrounds Sam's cock with a wonderful, alien coldness Sam has never felt before. He bucks and thrusts into it, warming it with his own heat and friction until Dean flicks his tongue at the underside of Sam's cock. Then Sam's coming, arching up and flooding Dean with his release while Dean swallows around him and grips Sam's ass cheeks tight, thumbs brushing lightly over the puckered hole between them.
Sam lies there spent, legs shaking as he winds down. Dean softens his touch, his movements becoming more measured until he pulls off completely. But it's clear within seconds that he isn't done.
Parting Sam's legs with strong fingers, Dean leans down and pushes back until Sam's thighs lift up and fall to the side. Then that pure, cool sensation is right up against Sam's skin.
Lips first, then flat, teasing tongue. Sam moans out loud at the feel of it, rolling his hips forward. He needs more contact, needs more of everything Dean's doing. Dean stops for a moment, moves, shifts, and now it's even colder and slicker than before. Sam recognizes the texture of lube, but the temperature is soothing, so perfect he could bathe in it right now.
It brings him the first hint of energy he's had all day: "C'mon Dean," he rasps, "c'mon, do it—I'm ready."
The heat of Dean's cock slicing into him, breaking through that chilly barrier, raises goosebumps all along Sam's chest. He reaches for Dean, guiding his brother's hips with sudden strength.
Dean holds himself up, elbows locked to keep from collapsing onto Sam. He seems unsure how to work the unfamiliar angle, so Sam takes over—hooking his hands around Dean's ass and pulling Dean into him in a sharp, steady rhythm. Sam watches Dean's eyes drift shut and head tilt back, and he knows those signals like he knows his own body, knows how close Dean is right now.
He cants his hips and tightens his muscles up hard, and Dean gasps—his face almost surprised as he comes in a rush before leaning down swiftly to capture Sam's mouth again.
By now Sam doesn't even care that the kiss—and Dean—are nearly as scorching as the sky outside this room.
"Better?" Dean whispers afterward, lying next to Sam but touching only where their lips and fingers meet.
"Yeah," Sam answers, already half-sleep. "You fixed me," he says with a tired smile.
Sam drifts away wordlessly then under the softness of Dean's kiss.
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