it's for deirdre_c's prompt of: For his birthday, Sam gives Dean a coupon book of sexual favors, and Dean's allowed to redeem one a
week day hour.
uninspired title is uninspired.
Warnings: Um, kinky stuff with prostates and panties and some schmoop thrown in because i'm incapable of not doing that, apparently.
Rating: NC17, so very much so
Summary: This could, quite possibly, go down as the most ridiculous thing he's ever done.
This could, quite possibly, go down as the most ridiculous thing he's ever done. He made it out of motel room stationery and fastened all the papers together with a stapler he found at the front desk.
He feels all of ten years old again, in a grade school where he doesn’t know anyone, creating a coupon book for Mother's Day that he plans to give to Dean.
Practically every project like that in grade school, he'd given to Dean. Valentines. Christmas cards. Halloween baskets to collect candy.
Only this time, he's 29 and his brother's turning 34, and the coupons aren't for chores around the house.
Sam's face flushes as he holds the makeshift booklet in his hand and wonders at his sanity.
He'd convinced himself it was stupid to buy gag gifts from a convenience store. And other than that, what do you get the hunter who has a transient life and can use fake credit cards or money scammed from hustling pool to get whatever he wants?
They had only recently started fooling around again and despite their history and past issues, it's been good. If Sam's being honest with himself, it's been fucking awesome. They're connected again and on the same page and it's so amazing to be in sync with another person, especially Dean.
The idea had crossed his mind one night when he'd held Dean down, forearms stapled to the mattress, while he fucked him pretty much speechless, and they'd both come so hard, so fast, they'd lost a few minutes of time afterward.
So Sam had started thinking. About actually tying Dean down. Maybe finding a pair of handcuffs. Or leather straps. That had led to thoughts of Dean tying him down and thank God he had been in the shower, 'cause his dick jerked up so hard, he'd have likely been arrested for public indecency if he was anywhere else.
But he couldn't for the life of him come up with a way to ask Dean if he'd be on board with that. Any of that.
The Winchesters really have set the bar for denial and repression.
The coupon book came about when Sam had mindlessly palmed through a display rack in the lobby of some motel and he'd found a bunch of vouchers for restaurants and tourist attractions and since it had been early January, it only made sense to aim for Dean's birthday.
Only, the coupons, such as they were, kind of got a little out of hand.
Once Sam let his mind wander, he wrote down everything he's ever wanted to try or even marginally considered sexually. The damn booklet is thick -- he almost couldn't get a staple through it. It's probably thicker than it should be, considering some of the stuff made him squirm as much as it turned him on, but if Dean's good with it, Sam's totally game.
It should be weird, but somehow it makes perfect sense that he do this with Dean.
Now he just has to determine how to give it to him and to somehow convince his brother not to mock him forever and really consider the possibilities.
In retrospect, tossing it across the table at a Denny's with a mumbled happy birthday really wasn't one of Sam's better ideas, but in his defense, the place is practically empty and Dean is far less likely to completely freak out and walk away before he gets his Grand Slam breakfast and Sam had lost way too many hours trying to figure out how to do this right, so he decided to just do it.
Sam watches his brother frown and read the cover, which just says, Redeemable wherever and whenever, all or none, in Sam's scrawl.
The first couple have Dean rolling his eyes and quite frankly, that's what Sam expected to happen when he wrote down 40 kisses in a day and Hand holding at the movies.
"So for my birthday, you turned yourself into a girl? Wow, Sammy, just what I always wanted," Dean quips.
Sam ignores him and glances back down to the booklet. Dean takes the hint and keeps flipping. The farther he goes, the more his expression changes. Dean goes from outright derision to mild interest to fidgeting in the booth.
His next question is quiet. "You serious?"
Sam nods and adopts Dean's tone when he answers. "Totally."
Sam shrugs flippantly. "What do you get the guy who has everything?"
Dean scrutinizes him in a way that makes Sam think he can see right through him.
"So this is all just for me, then?" Dean asks.
And if Sam's being honest with himself, part of the reason he did this was so they would end up here. He takes a breath and dives in. "It's actually stuff I've always wanted to try. And I'm serious about the all or nothing. We can do every one of them or none of them. That part is up to you."
Dean's eyes are still narrowed.
Sam clears his throat. "I've never actually had the balls to even consider half of that stuff before and the people I've been with, well, a lot of it just wouldn't have come up. You know, ever. I know it's stupid, but it just somehow made sense to put this together for you, so that we, you know…" Sam stops for a second and against his better judgment adds, "it's different now 'cause it's you."
Sam lets that hang in the air between them and looks away and isn't even completely sure he adequately expressed what he meant. He thinks for Dean's 35th birthday, he'll just get him some more skin mags and be done with it.
The waitress chooses that moment to fill their coffees without a word and Sam risks a glance at his brother.
Dean's demeanor has turned soft, almost fond and he drops the coupons into the front pocket of his jacket and once the waitress has moved away, says, "We gotta make Lincoln before dark, so eat up and go to the bathroom now. I'm not stopping a hundred times between here and there."
When Dean stretches, his legs bracket Sam's under the table and he keeps them there -- the inside of Dean's left calf rubbing the outside of Sam's right -- and that connection, actual touch, outside of a motel room very rarely ever happens. A funny, warm sensation fizzes in Sam's chest and he hopes maybe this birthday gift was the right way to go after all.
The routine salt and burn in Butte turns into the biggest cluster fuck Sam's ever been a part of and they both end up pretty ripped up by the time the lighter hits the bones.
The spirit of the rancher had been particularly violent and vehement and Sam had more than once thought they'd see the inside of either a hospital or a morgue before the night was done.
It's left him shaky and jittery and freaked out and scared.
Dean's equal parts jumpy and quiet on the ride back to the motel and Sam decides it's best to leave him to it and gives his brother first shower.
By the time's Sam's done his own clean up and wearing just the goofy pajama bottoms Dean got him as a joke at Walmart, Dean's standing at the foot of the bed with an unreadable expression on his face.
Sam tilts his head, about to ask if everything's okay, when Dean holds up a finger and murmurs, "No talking."
Sam nods and Dean passes him a slip of paper that says One all night cuddle in Sam's handwriting.
It had been more than a month. Sam had truly thought they were done with the coupon book because nothing had been said since the Denny's breakfast.
He'd been feeling pretty disappointed and let down, but didn't mention a thing because the whole idea was really quite a long shot anyway.
The fact that Dean starts with this coupon, right when Sam really needs it, speaks volumes to their parallel mindset.
Sam's chest feels like it's going to break open and his eyes sting, much to his mortification. He knows if he cries, this is gonna be done before it even gets off the ground, but the emotions are almost too much for him at the moment.
Instead of standing outside the bathroom door like some kind of mute simpleton, he takes one long stride into Dean's personal space, murmurs, god yes, and scoops his brother up, so Dean has to almost stand on his tiptoes to fit. Sam wraps his arms around Dean's waist, locking them together -- chest to chest, foreheads to shoulders -- and Dean doesn't fight it, actually leans into the contact with a deep exhale and seems to settle in.
They conform like two pieces of a puzzle and Sam's breath gets incredibly shaky against Dean's t-shirt and he knows they need to be lying down for this, because he doubts his ability to remain upright for much longer. It's not only too much of what he needs after the hellish hunt, but it's what he's wanted to able to do for so long, the culmination leaves him breathless.
He maneuvers the two of them onto the bed with a whispered, lie down, and sinks into the mattress against Dean, twisting his arms and legs around his brother and through it all Dean remains pliable, accommodating, oddly docile.
Once Sam stops moving, and has them lined up face to face, breathing the same air, Dean reacts like a barnacle, hitching against Sam with an iron grip, digging into the muscles of his bare back with strong fingers and ducking his chin against Sam's neck.
Sam loses track of how long they lie there, sharing space and air, Sam's nose buried in Dean's hair, inhaling shampoo and soap and Dean's skin.
Neither of them are hard -- this isn't about sex. It's a different kind of reassurance; it's stargazing, and the last of the Lucky Charms, and being able to fight off the devil's hold with memories of army men, and a wink in heaven's green room all rolled into one.
Sam eventually whispers, "For the record, this coupon doesn't have an expiration date and can definitely be used with other offers."
Dean huffs against Sam's clavicle. "No talking."
Sam chuckles, the soft strands of Dean's fresh-from-the-shower hair tickling his nose, and he runs a hand up and down his brother's back, softly scraping the Metallica t-shirt.
Dean squirms for a second and pulls back only far enough to make half-hearted eye contact. "You okay? Need stitches or anything?"
Sam rubs his nose in between Dean's eyebrows and mumbles huh uh. "You?"
Dean ducks back down against Sam's chest and says, "M'good."
The quiet descends only for a few minutes before Dean inhales -- huge and jittery, "Don't let go, 'kay?"
It's the most insecure and anxious Sam has heard his brother since before he lost him to hell. His answer is instinctive. "Dude, the coupon says all night."
Sam's not sure the quivering from Dean is laughter or something else, so he nuzzles between his brother's temple and the pillow until he finds his ear. "But coupon or not, letting go isn't gonna happen. Ever."
Dean's sigh seems almost cleansing in its depth and he snuggles closer.
Sam's achy and he can feel the bruises forming -- pretty much all over -- but the soreness and pain can't compete with the sensation of his brother locked in his arms, both of them choosing to be right, exactly here.
It's a while before Sam sleeps, but it's the first time he's been kept awake by simple, bright joy, instead of hurt and sadness.
He thinks he could get used to the new lullaby.
After that, the coupon book becomes quite a topic of discussion.
"You serious about the pissing?" Dean asks out of nowhere at a highway rest stop between bites of his cheeseburger.
Sam's road weary and his joints are tender from being cramped in the Impala for four solid hours, so it takes him a second to determine what his brother's referencing. When he does, the realization sends a quick jolt up his spine and he remembers writing two little words on a slip of paper months ago: piss play. He clears his throat around a french fry and is impressed that his voice is so steady. "We can try anything in there if you want."
Dean nods and chews for a minute. "S'gotta be in the shower, right? You're not thinking on the bed?"
Sam stops eating for fear of choking on the food. "Not without a tarp."
Dean scoffs. "C'mon, Sam. It's not like it's our bed or anything. We're not gonna use it again."
"I am not leaving a mess like that for housecleaning. Just. No."
Dean drags a fry through a puddle of ketchup and murmurs, "Killjoy."
And that ends that conversation, but Sam's intrigued and fascinated that Dean's not only thinking about the coupons, but actively talking about them, too.
Three days later, Dean hands Sam a slip of paper that says prostate milking, proclaiming that the headboard's perfect, and Sam has no idea what the construction of a headboard has to do with it, until he finds himself trussed up alarmingly well -- completely naked -- a short while later, but by then, his brain has pretty much shut down to anything other than the fact that it's his prostate that Dean's gonna milk.
Sam shivers in the warm room, remembering his initial thoughts about Dean tying him up and he's so ready for this he's almost mindless with it.
Dean has somehow found leg ties -- Sam has no idea where -- that are secured under his knees and attached to the rungs at the head of the bed. Dean's pulled them tight enough and wide enough that Sam's stretched pretty open, knees almost to his chest. His wrists are shackled above his head but Dean's tied them in a way that gives Sam the opportunity to grip the slats of the headboard if he wants.
It would actually take some serious effort to get free -- he's pretty much wholly at his brother's mercy -- and the thought alone sends a blurt of precome dribbling out the slit of his hard cock onto his stomach.
Dean steps up to the bed, still fully clothed, with a bottle of lube in his hand and leans into Sam, mouth against his lips. "Did you start without me, baby brother?"
Dean's lewd smirk is the only warning Sam gets before his brother licks up the puddle of precome from his abs.
A shocked sound jerks it way out of Sam's throat and he tries to arch up into the feeling of Dean's tongue on his stomach, but he doesn't have a lot of leverage with his knees tied the way they are. "D-Dean…"
"You look fucking good like this, Sammy," Dean says, pulling back, voice a little rough.
Sam grunts and yanks a bit at the bindings on his wrists, almost without thinking about it, because he wants to get his hands on Dean. The chafing sensation shimmies down his spine.
Dean watches the movements with a knowing eye as he squirts lube onto his fingers. "You like this don't you? Like being tied up for me."
Sam writhes, panting, so caught and so fucking turned on.
"Okay," Dean soothes. "Okay."
A warm, wet finger swirls around the rim of his ass and Sam mewls, stupid sound slipping out unconsciously, and he relaxes, opens up, wants so badly to get fucked.
Dean's finger slides deep, easily, in one go, and it's good, God it's so good, even that slight stretch, but it's not enough.
"M-more," Sam whispers.
Dean shakes his head.
Sam's mouth opens and he tries to buck, to push up, to get Dean's finger to at least move. "No more," Dean tells him.
Sam shakes his head, hair sweaty against the pillow, "Want you to fuck me, Dean, please…" It's sick, but once he gets this far, spread wide and impaled, Sam loses any and all sense of shame or inhibition or modesty. And his brother's one of the few people who've ever been able to take him to this place.
As fucked up as that is.
"Says milking, not fucking, Sammy."
"No," Sam protests, wanting so much more, clenching his ass against Dean's finger trying to get it. "No, Dean," he whines. "No."
"Shhhh," Dean murmurs. "It's alright. I just wanna play a little. See what this is like. Don't you wanna see what this is like, Sammy?"
It's the damn cajoling voice he always used to get Sam to do something when they were kids. It worked when he was younger and it's just as effective now.
Sam inhales, shaky, still can't stop his spine from undulating against the sheet, but tries to calm down, swears he hears Dean whisper that's my boy, but can't be completely sure in his revved up state.
Dean's free hand moves across Sam's chest, tips of his fingers grazing Sam's nipples every so often and the electric zing that connects to his dick isn't helping the situation. "D-Dean," Sam moans. "You can't…"
And then the fucking finger inside him starts a slow, lazy grinding against that spot, the one that makes Sam almost seize up and Dean says, "There it is."
Sam's used to Dean just grazing his prostate, with his cock or finger, so the jolts are incendiary but also momentary. This focus, this careful, considerate attention might just drive him mad. It almost tickles, brings a warm sensation to his stomach and a shivery feeling to the head of his cock.
Something's building, he knows it, his body's preparing him for…fuck, something, he just can't be sure of what. No one's ever done this to him before, so it's really new territory.
"Gotta go slow, Sammy," Dean explains calmly, like he's not altering everything Sam's known about himself. "This isn't wham, bam, thank you, okay?"
Sam's melting. It's the only way he can explain it; he's liquifying into the mattress in some no name motel in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere, at the hands of his big brother, and all that's gonna be left of him is a gooey pile of clear fluid. And there's not a damn thing he can do to stop it. Not that he wants to.
His cock jerks up in the air, connected to his stomach by a thick string of precome.
Dean huffs a laugh. "Your dick knows what's good for it."
Sam chances a glance at Dean and finds his brother's expression completely absorbed in what he's doing to Sam. It's an odd combination of fond, turned on and proud all in one and Sam shakes with it, his nipples tightening and ass clenching around Dean's finger.
Dean's eyes connect with his and the green is so dark, so provocative, Sam can feel his dick spill in response. "Making a mess," Dean notes, still moving just the tip of that finger -- buried deep in Sam's ass -- so very, very slowly.
Sam really didn't know his brother could be so incredibly meticulous and single-minded.
Sam can see the outline of Dean's dick inside his jeans and God, he wants that. Wants the stretch and friction and burn. "Dean, come on," he whispers. "I know you wanna fuck me."
Dean's shrug is so self-effacing it's almost ridiculous. "Wanna watch this more."
And shit, Sam can feel sweat gather in his armpits and groin and back of his knees. His toes curl with the waves of shimmering pleasure Dean elicits with each brush of his prostate and he has no idea how long it's been -- time got lost in the heat and warmth and pulse -- and it's so fucking hot that Dean's so caught up in all of this he's setting aside his own needs.
The deliberate, precise, relentless pressure against such sensitive nerves is like nothing Sam's ever felt before -- and he's a little scared where it might end. "D-Dean," his voice quivers.
"You're fine," Dean assures. "It's okay. You got a little more in you."
The urge to pee rises up sudden and unbidden and Sam jolts. "Dean," he pants. "Dean, I gotta p-piss…"
Dean never even breaks the smooth rhythm of his finger. "No, you don't."
Sam squirms. God, he's gonna wreck the bed. "Y-yes I do, Dean, please…"
Dean shakes his head slowly, so focused on the clear liquid oozing from the tip of Sam's dick. "You went when we got here, you're fine. That's just what it feels like when you do this."
Sam wants to believe him, but shit, that flicker in his gut is there and he knows what it is and doesn't want to piss all over his stomach. He gets frantic. "D-Dean…"
Dean scoops up a palmful of the precome from Sam's abs and takes Sam's cock in his hand and says, "Let it go, Sammy. Let it go, baby."
The twin sensations are so vastly different and feeling Dean's hand on his dick for the first time since this started is almost like he's never been touched there before. The force of his orgasm is like every natural disaster in the book and comes up from what feels like his very soul. His entire body convulses, yanking hard against every rope tethering him to the bed, his teeth chatter and even his toes seem to spasm. He rides it, Deans finger and Dean's hand for what seem like endless minutes. He's pretty sure he may black out for a little while.
He's gasping when he finally opens his eyes and rasps, "Untie me, Dean, please…"
It takes only a few flicks for the ties to give and Sam wonders for a brief second if he could have gotten lose, but he abandons higher thought processes to sit up -- swaying a little when dizziness hits and his body unlocks from the position he'd been in -- and wraps himself up in his brother.
Sam's shaking, his muscles still aren't his own, quivering and panting against Dean's t-shirt, arms locked around Dean's back.
"Hey you," Dean's voice is soft against Sam's cheek. "You okay?"
Sam can only nod spasmodically.
"That was so fucking hot, Sam."
Sam just gulps in deep, unsteady breaths of Dean's scent.
"You'll do me next time? I wanna know what that's like…"
Sam concedes with a jerk of his chin.
"Did I leave you speechless, baby brother?" Dean teases.
Sam just hitches nearer, can't find his voice to reply.
Dean chuckles, hauls Sam a fraction of an inch closer with a hand across his lower back and buries the fingers of his free hand into the hair at Sam's nape and just holds on, just sits, just stays.
And Sam's not sure what he enjoys more from that coupon -- the orgasm or the aftermath.
Dean's been weird for three days. Weird like a little jumpy. Weird like a little schizo -- he seems distracted, stopping in the middle of sentences and staring without blinking at things. Weird like gazing at Sam and jerking his eyes away when Sam catches him at it.
It makes Sam hellishly nervous because he knows it means Dean's wrestling with something and he's so scared it's got something to do with the booklet. They'd been exploring some pretty crazy shit recently and Sam wonders if the whole thing has pushed Dean too far.
He really doesn't want to stop because it's opened up so much -- so many new reactions and responses from both of them -- Sam doesn't want to give that up. He's never been this free with anyone else, this uninhibited, this secure to experience whatever and wherever their minds can come up with and take them.
But Dean means more to him than sexual exploration and if he can keep his brother from living with such agitation, he knows what he has to do.
They're an hour or two outside of Little Rock and in between cases. They've been mindlessly watching some inane sitcom and Dean's been more antsy than ever.
Before the credits roll, he hops up from the bed and almost paces back and forth for a bit before going into the bathroom. Sam figures this is it. He can't let his brother keep going like this, so he's gonna call an end to it here and now. He tries not to feel disappointed and sits up a little straighter against the headboard to wait.
Dean emerges just a few minutes later and walks right up to Sam's side of the bed. He inhales sharply. "Sam."
Sam wants to save him from actually having to say it. "Dean, hey, listen, it's okay."
Without another word, Dean hands Sam a slip of paper with quivering fingers. Sam takes it and reads panties. It's surreal to expect one outcome and get something completely different, downshifting that fast leaves Sam a little disoriented. He's stymied for a few seconds before he feels a grin bloom on his face. He looks up. "Yeah?"
Dean won't make eye contact, but he nods.
Sam scoots closer to the edge of the bed -- closer to Dean. "You or me?"
Dean's still shaking, still looking at the floor when he points to himself.
A tingle of worry wiggles around in Sam's belly at his brother's less than enthusiastic behavior. "You sure?"
Dean's trembling -- really shuddering -- so much that Sam's uncertain that he even wants this. "'Cause you really don't seem that into it…"
Dean struggles with the button on his jeans and pulls the zipper down a fraction of an inch, revealing pink silk.
A bolt of want hits Sam so fast, he loses his breath for a second. "Oh, shit," he whispers, mouth watering.
Dean takes a step back, mumbling you're right, it's dumb, and Sam suddenly gets the whole thing with crystal clarity.
Dean's scared. He obviously wants this, but he's petrified Sam will think he's deviant, that he's wrong somehow, messed up for wanting it. That explains the bizarre behavior over the last few days. It also shows Sam that they've hit on something that, despite everything else they've explored with this whole coupon book thing, is a serious soft spot for Dean. A vulnerability because he wants it so much. Something he fears judgment, reprisal for. Sam's more than willing to prove his brother so very wrong on that.
"Hey hey hey," he says, grabbing Dean's thighs to keep him from getting away. "Don't you dare go anywhere. Come here."
Dean tries to jerk back, bats at Sam's hands with a quiet, "Sam…it's…I'm…"
Sam dodges because Dean's not really trying. "Stop. Stop. Just listen."
Dean doesn't let up, still attempts to wiggle free and Sam realizes words aren't gonna get it done. So he leans forward, just a bit and licks the shaft of his brother's soft dick through the pink silk. It's then that Sam sees it. Telltale markings on the material. Tiny little frays that a person would only notice up close. Marks that demonstrate wear. Small snags in the fabric that speak to denim being pulled up over the fine cloth. More than once. This isn't the first time Dean's had these on.
Sam pulls back. "You wear these a lot?"
Dean lurches like he's been shot and freezes solid.
Sam figures that's all the answer he's gonna get and bends forward for another bite.
Dean gasps, a sharp shock of air through his lungs, barely manages to whisper, "S-Sam…it's…y-you don't have to…"
Sam can feel the twitch of Dean's cock through the silk as it fills, hardens -- Dean's stomach fluttering against Sam's forehead with each stuttering breath. Sam grins up at his brother, and he knows it's more dirty than reassuring. "You gonna get your pretty panties all wet for me, Dean?"
There's a beat. A second in time, hanging in the air, where this could go either way. Then, "S-Sammy," Dean almost chokes. "Y-you don't think I'm…that it's…"
"I think your dick trapped in that silk is one of the fucking hottest things I've ever seen."
The noise Dean makes is unlike anything Sam's heard from his brother before. It's difficult to qualify; it's relief, deliverance, excitement and gratitude all rolled up in a sound, in an almost mewling whimper, from deep in his brother's throat.
"You mean it?" Dean murmurs jaggedly, amazement and hesitancy warring for dominance in his tone.
Sam takes his brother's wrist, puts Dean's hand over his crotch, where his dick is threatening the resiliency of his zipper and asks, "What do you think?"
Dean lights up. Literally glows. When he says Sammy with such reverence, Sam's done with the nice portion of the program.
He drags Dean onto the bed with him and things get really wild really fast.
Sam's growls get rid of these and Dean loses his t-shirt and jeans in the next blink.
Dean lies back, spreads himself out on the bed as Sam's loosening his jeans and Dean whispers, "Don't make me take 'em off, Sam, please don't…"
And fucking Christ it's too much. Sam can't even remove his own clothes before he locks himself between Dean's thighs, panties rubbing against Sam's bare cock, and asks, "You want me to fuck you in your panties, Dean?"
Dean arches his entire body and Sam reaches for the lube. "Want me to just slide 'em to the side to get at you?" Sam slicks his dick with a palmful of lube. "Hmm? Want me to fuck you like a little girl in your panties?"
Dean practically sobs, opens his legs wide and moans, "Please, Sammy, oh God…"
Sam does as he promised, uses four fingers to fist the silk over Dean's ass and yank it to the side. That's all the more prep Dean gets before Sam's wet dick pushes inside, all that heat just sucking him right in.
Dean chokes on a breath and keens at the penetration, but his cock, blood red and thick, doesn't flag, soaks the pink silk with precome, outlined so obscenely. Dean pushes his palms flat against the headboard as Sam slams in to the hilt. His brother's bowed so beautifully for him, Sam can't help but lick a trail from sternum to ear, where he whispers, "That's my baby girl. Gonna take it all."
Dean chants ohgodohgodohgod as his nipples peak and he flushes with the rush of orgasm. He's frozen, lower back bent in a hard curve as he convulses and quivers and comes.
Sam barely thrusts three times before the sight and feel of Dean clenching around him pulls Sam's balls up and he spills in five powerful spurts inside his brother. They're both suspended, in the rictus of pleasure for a few seconds before they collapse, shuddering, gulping air like men who nearly drowned, Sam on top of Dean.
It's a while -- Sam doesn't really know how long -- before either of them move.
When Dean twitches, Sam rolls to his right, softening dick pulling out with a wet sound and he buries his face in the pillow with a "fuck that was hot."
Dean curls into Sam's side, puts his face against Sam's bicep. Sam can feel, more than hear Dean ask, "Yeah?"
Sam turns so he can face his brother and answer, "fuck yeah." When he sees Dean's stunned expression he says, "Jesus, I didn't even kiss you. C'mere."
And Dean goes, so willingly, so readily, it spins Sam's head a little. Sam licks his way into Dean's mouth and knows he'll never tire of his brother's taste.
Sam can't help but reach down, feel Dean's sodden panties and he murmurs, "Made a mess of your panties, didn't we?"
Dean shivers, can't hide it and Sam fucking loves it.
"Don't take 'em off to sleep, okay?" Sam asks against Dean's mouth.
Dean moans softly, still sucking on Sam's lips.
"Was that a yes?" Sam asks gently.
Dean nods, rubbing their mouths together, enhancing the tingle.
They go to bed that night with one more layer than they're used to between them. When Sam fucks Dean again -- panties still on -- in the middle of the night, neither of them are that upset about the flimsy barrier.
Sam wakes on a Monday with a coupon stuck to his forehead. He's too afraid to ask what Dean used as adhesive -- he's pretty sure it's spit -- so he pulls the paper from his skin and reads 40 kisses in a day.
Dean's propped up on his elbow next to him in bed and he tells Sam, "I fucking dare you."
Dean's going for cocky but the look in his eyes says he's wanted to use this coupon for a while now.
Sam doesn't want to lose the expression, so he's not gonna call him on it. Instead he leans up, brushes a soft kiss to Dean's forehead, touches a quick one to the tip of his nose and sweeps his mouth against his brothers lips, all in relatively quick succession.
Even Dean can't hide his adoration after that and a warmth pools low in Sam's stomach when he sees it.
Feeling ornery Sam quips, "You gonna count 'em off?"
Dean huffs what sounds like a surprised laugh and says, "You little bitch," as he rolls out of the bed.
Sam calls jerk to his brother's retreating back because he knows he's supposed to and when he can just make out the quiet three Dean murmurs before closing the bathroom door, Sam thinks this fucking coupon book might just be the best damn present ever.