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Thrust and Drag

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"So I guess we just wait?" Sam says, slumping back in his chair. His eyes are intent on Dean. They usually are.

"Yeah." Dean sighs as he leans back against the wall of the surveillance van. He's been wound up tight ever since they sent Charlie in, not that Sam blames him. It feels pretty shitty, like they're taking advantage of somebody innocent and inexperienced instead of handling it themselves, even if they both know they didn't really have a choice. They can't do what Charlie can. She knew the risks and volunteered of her own volition, but that doesn't mean they have to be happy about it. Of course, there's 'not happy' and there's 'antsy to the point of fucking up the mission', and Sam can tell Dean's riding dangerously close to the latter. His jaw is clenched too hard, fingers drumming anxiously against his knees and his body coiled like he's ready to spring into action and burst into the building, consequences be damned. Dean needs a distraction.

"So… all tattoos are sexy, huh?" Sam asks lightly, spinning in his chair to face Dean who's staring intently at the computer screen. Dean pulls his gaze away to look at Sam, the faintest hint of a blush beginning to bloom on his cheeks.

"What part of this never happened did you not understand?"

Sam gives him a shit-eating grin, knowing it'll drive Dean crazy. The truth is, seeing Dean flirt with that security guard through Charlie was shockingly hot. He's used to seeing Dean chat up women, but he's never actually seen him turn his charm onto a dude. If Dean's in the mood to get off with a guy, well, Sam's right there, and he's been up for it since he was sixteen—no seduction required. Clearly he's been missing out.

"I've got a tattoo," Sam offers, his voice low and slipping into a seductive register that Dean clearly recognizes, judging from the slight widening of his eyes and the way he licks his lips as his gaze flicks down to Sam's chest. This is hardly their first rodeo.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Dean replies, playing at unimpressed, though Sam's not fooled for a second. "I've got the same one."

"You do, don't you?" That fact has always made Sam a little hot under the collar, their matching anti-possession tattoos right over their hearts. They could have put them anywhere, and they didn't need to get them in the same place. Dean can pretend all he wants that it doesn't mean anything, but they both know better.

"What about my body?" Sam asks, changing tactics. Dean's brow furrows but he gives Sam the once-over he was angling for, and Sam doesn't miss the way Dean not-so-subtly readjusts himself as he takes Sam in. Sam's body has changed a lot over the decades, but the one thing that hasn't changed is Dean's appreciation of it.

"What about it?" Dean's voice is gruff, but that does nothing to hide his desire. Sam smothers a smug smile.

"Well I can't say I hit up the gym three times a week, what with every big mouth in America out for our blood, but I'd say hunting keeps me pretty fit, yeah?" Sam lifts up the bottom of his flannel, showing off abs he knows are impressive. He's not quite as shredded as he was when he was soulless—needing sleep has really cut into his workout time—but he's seen the way Dean's gaze takes him in whenever Sam's changing or stepping out of the shower.

Dean rolls his eyes, but he's flushed, and his dick is unmistakably hard. "Fuck off, dude. Quit screwing around."

"Actually, I thought we could screw around a little more."


Sam slides off his chair and onto his knees, and the van's so small it conveniently places him right between Dean's spread thighs. Dean swallows heavily, his dick visibly twitching in his jeans.

"Sam!" Dean hisses, sounding almost scandalized, which is kind of hilarious coming from Dean. "We're in the middle of a fucking operation."

"Yeah, one that we have zero control over right now. Charlie's got at least another eight minutes on the clock." Sam grins up at Dean as he rubs his hands against Dean's knees and slowly slides them up his thighs towards his fly. "Bet I can get you off in three."

"I—" Dean's expression spasms, clearly torn between being responsible and not fucking around during a hunt, and his personal philosophy of never turning down free sex. Sam undoes Dean's jeans and fishes out his dick, hard and leaking. Sam's mouth waters.

"Come on, Dean," Sam whispers as he slowly fists his brother's cock. "It'll be quick. You're too fucking tense, man. You're sharper when you're relaxed."

"When was the last time I was fucking relaxed?" Dean gripes, but he's already staring hungrily down at Sam. It's been too damn long since the last time they've done this—not since before Bobby died. At first Dean had been too obsessed with vengeance and Dick Roman, and then Sam was busy having his psychotic break, and then they'd started suspecting Bobby might be haunting them and had come to the mutual tacit decision to keep things strictly fraternal just in case. And thank fucking god they hadn't started screwing around the second Sam was sprung from the loony bin, because Bobby finding out about them would have been a nightmare for them all. But Bobby isn't here right now—which is a whole other problem for them to deal with later—and that means they are well and truly alone for the first time in months. Yeah, this isn't exactly the best timing, but with the way their lives tend to go, Sam doesn't know when—or if—he'll have another chance to get his mouth on his brother. As fucked up as it is, they both need this connection, so Sam is gonna grab any opportunity he comes across with both hands.

"Okay, yeah," Dean finally breathes. "But you said you could finish me off in three minutes, Sammy, so you better make them count."

Sam grins before opening his mouth wide and swallowing Dean down. Dean curses, his hands flying to the edge of his seat and gripping it tight as he stares down at Sam with lust-blown eyes. For all that Dean is the one with the pouty, "cock-sucking" lips, Sam's the one with the bigger mouth and the complete lack of a gag-reflex. He's always enjoyed giving head, to men and women both, but there's something so oddly satisfying about sucking cock, feeling the slick slide of a shaft against his lips and tongue, sliding into his throat. Generally speaking, he prefers to draw this part out, to really work Dean over until he's panting and squirming, so fucking desperate to come that he forgets he's supposed to be the tough older brother who doesn't do things like whine and beg for his little brother to make him come. But they don't have time for that now, and even if they did, it's been too long since they've had this—Sam doesn't think he'd be able to make this last even if they had the time.

So Sam uses all the tricks that he knows drive Dean wild. They've been doing this off and on for about a decade, and Sam knows all of Dean's sensitive spots almost better than he knows his own. He knows Dean likes his blowjobs wet and messy, with lots of spit for a smooth glide and because the slick, sloppy sound of a mouth on his cock really gets Dean going. He likes it when Sam chokes a little, and he gets off on being held down with Sam's hands on his hips while Sam controls the pace, and he loves when Sam looks up at him from beneath his lashes so Dean can see just how much Sam enjoys having Dean in his mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, Sammy, I—" Dean's already a mess, lost in the crest of pleasure as he stares helplessly at Sam, his hands twitching and fluttering uselessly at his sides. He's always been weird about putting his fingers in Sam's hair when Sam's blowing him, some annoying protective-older-brother instinct preventing him from grabbing hold. For Sam's part, he's always really got off on a bit of hair-pulling—what's the point of having longer locks if his partner isn't gonna grab hold and fuck his face? God, Jess used to really dig in, winding her fingers in his hair and grinding her clit against his tongue just so, and Sam would come humping the bed with his face buried in her cunt, happy and very satisfied. Sam makes a note to figure out a way to work through Dean's strange hang-up, but it's gonna have to be later, when they're not parked in a van outside Leviathan HQ and in the middle of a pretty fucking important operation.

He redoubles his efforts, feeling Dean's thighs strain and tense beneath his palms where Sam's got him pinned, knowing he's almost there. Slowly, Sam slides off Dean's dick with a filthy pop, staring up at Dean as he rubs the head of Dean's cock against his lips, smearing them with salty precome.

"Come on Dean, I want you to come down my throat."

Dean gasps, then groans, and Sam sinks back down just in time for Dean to empty himself down Sam's throat. He swallows it all down, licking Dean's cock clean as he slides off, aware of the ticking clock. His own dick is throbbing in his jeans, practically begging Sam to shove a hand down the front of his pants for a bit of friction, but he's got a feeling he's gonna have to wait. Sure enough, he's only just zipped Dean back up, Dean staring down at him in a way that makes it clear he's eager to return the favor, when Charlie's voice fills the van.

"Hey, guys."

The both startle into action, Dean's face flushing red in a way that just makes Sam want to get him dirty all over again. Sam scolds himself for his one-track mind and does his best to focus on Charlie's good news. Just a taste of Dean after months without and already he's strung out and desperate for his next hit. It'd be a problem, if Sam wasn't aware it's the same for Dean.

"Sorry, uh… we got interrupted before I could…" Dean begins somewhat awkwardly less than ten minutes later as they speed down the highway towards the airfield where Dick's mysterious case is arriving.

Sam laughs, amazed at how difficult it still is for Dean to talk about this thing they've been doing for nearly half their lives.

"Don't worry about it, man. I was the one who started it knowing we were under a time crunch."

"Yeah, but." Dean frowns, brow furrowed as he swerves onto the off ramp, and Sam realizes Dean isn't just annoyed that he was the only one that got off, but that he didn't get a chance to touch the way Sam did. Sam grins, a little giddy.

"There's no reason we can't pick up where we left off once we get the case and get Charlie out."

Dean hesitates. "Well, there's Bobby."

True. And god, Sam really hopes Bobby's managing to hold it together back at Roman Enterprises. He knows from all his years of hunting just how easy it is for a spirit to turn vengeful. They're running out of time with Bobby, but neither him nor Dean have been able to let go. It's gonna end badly, it always does.

"So we'll leave him in the car."

Dean flashes him a look, one that says we can't just lock Bobby in the car, he's family! and also god, I really want to get naked with you right this second.

"C'mon, we won't keep him in there forever! It won't kill him to give us some privacy."

Dean grumbles, and Sam can tell he's won Dean over. But Sam doesn't even have time to gloat about it, because they're pulling into the airport, and it's time for stealth operation part two.

His hand is on the door handle, about to open it, when Dean tugs on his arm, pulling Sam in for a hot, hard kiss, full of all kinds of filthy promise. He gives Sam a heated look, and then he's gone, creeping towards the employee entrance, already focused on the hunt. Sam grins and follows him.

They'll pick this up later.