stripytights

Title: Switching It Up
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1823
Content notes: dildo (I laughed, that's what counts)
Summary: Sam has had it his way all too long in the bedroom and Dean is wresting that back.

Notes: I had a spare hour and this is what came out. With that caveat, please forgive my sense of humour, and take this as it's meant- an aberration.

"Oh come on," Sam says, and yeah he can't help a frown tugging at his face, and goddamn it how is Dean the only person in the world who can reduce him to feeling like a teenager again while they talk about who gets to fuck who in the bed they're going to share tonight.

"Don't 'oh come on' me," Dean says, then reconsiders and gives a filthy grin. "I take that back Sammy. Come on me all you want actually," and he snickers like that's the funniest thing he's ever said, then sobers back up and gives Sam a look. "Dude, it's been weeks," he says, like he's trying to be reasonable about this. "It's definitely my turn okay. Seriously you've had it your way for months it feels like."

Sam can't help it, he looks at Dean sideways. "Go on," he says, "you totally can tomorrow."

"You said that last week," Dean points out. "Fair's fair, switching it up is only right," and his mouth is set in a way that means no more discussion, and because Dean's driving right now and because Sam's got better things to do, he drops the argument for now. He stares out of the window and tries not to feel unreasonably grumpy, because while he likes it both ways- and he really really does- lately he's just not been in the mood. Dean's been accommodating about it- as far as Dean is ever accommodating, and it's hardly a hardship to him but a man has needs, as he tells Sam all of the time- before buying pie and eating it whole without the benefit of a fork, before drinking illegally distilled moonshine sold by some dubious farmer and generally before he whacks it to three minute looped porn when Sam is feet away, because Dean's too much of a jerk to wait for a ten minute shower to end.

This explains why Sam doesn't attach much importance to Dean's so called needs. His wants however are a whole different story, so when Dean fucks off to get some beer in, and maybe some food in, Sam gets himself ready, no matter that it's mid-afternoon and they should be researching not fucking. Showers and shaves, and doesn't bother getting dressed, chucks himself down on the bed naked because subtlety gets you nowhere sometimes. The afternoon is sticky hot though, and the fan is cool and without knowing it, he must have fallen asleep, because suddenly a change in air pressure wakes him up and he can't remember where he is for a second, until a dripping wet Dean falls on him, and Sam reacts instinctively, rolls himself over, fumbles for a knife until it sinks in properly that this is Dean, and he almost works up enough will to be angry, but can't quite manage it when Dean kisses him hard and deep and still so fucking soft, tongue working in his mouth, and hand smoothing along his jaw, endlessly repeating the motion, and yeah it'd take a stronger man than Sam to stay annoyed.

He manages a good impression of it though, holds his pissed face for a moment long, then lets it go in a laugh that eases the tension in Dean's shoulders like magic, because sometimes of the two of them it's Dean who doubts that Sam could ever want him, and it takes more and better words than Sam possesses to tell him how now that he has this, nothing is ever making him let go. "You're late," he says instead- the room is darker and cooler now like Dean's been gone for a couple of hours.

"Bought something on the way," Dean mumbles against his mouth, and Sam can't help grinning.

"You mean you paid for it?" he says, because that's a pretty big test of love right there.

"You dissing me Sam?" Dean says, and Christ his fingers are spreading Sam apart, sliding in him slick and ready, and Sam pushes back as best as he can, feels a sharp twinge of pleasure as Dean works them deeper, faster. He's caught up in the moment, letting himself fall apart, but he clings on just enough to remember how this was supposed to go.

"I thought you wanted to be fucked tonight," he says, because Dean had been pretty insistent on that earlier.

"I do, it's my turn you dick-hog," Dean says, and he's teasing now, slowing down and drawing it out. "I just gotta surprise for you. Close your eyes," and Sam closes them, slides behind the darkness, extra-sensitive, feels Dean fumbling at something or the other, and then the cool slick slide of plastic, hard and unyielding, so different from Dean's fingers or his cock, and he can't stop the instinctive jerk away, until Dean slides a hand down his side, holds him still while he pushes in, and Dean has the best ideas sometimes, and he doesn't even realise that he's saying that out loud, until Dean's snickering and saying "damn right I do."

Then it's in fully, hard press up tight against him, flared base preventing it from sinking right in, because that's just an ER trip waiting to happen, and Sam drops his face into the pillow and breathes deep as it settles inside him. "How do you want to do this?" he asks, imagines how this could go down (his mental Dean sniggers at go down,) imagines Dean riding him on the bed, rocking down on Sam's dick, as Sam scrambles against the bed, tries fruitlessly not to clench down on the length of hard plastic in his ass.

See the thing is they'd figured out long ago that if you can't be honest when you have a dick up your ass (and it's attached to your brother) then you kind of have a problem. So no matter the lies, no matter the secrets they keep, no matter how much they fight, they've learnt that in the space of time they spend like this, the secrets have to go. But when Sam figured out he actually liked being fucked a little bit too much, his first instinct had been to keep that a secret because that was embarrassing and Dean would never let him hear the end of it, would never stop crowing that it had been his dick that did it. So he just let it creep in to their sex life, didn't struggle so hard to flip Dean over and fuck him into the mattress, make him jerk his hips back into Sam's cock and take every inch deep enough that he sweated and cursed and groaned for more. Began losing fights and giving in, until after a time he got his own way most of the time, and Jesus he doesn't know why it feels so good but it does, like he's getting worked over inside and out, the best gym visit he's ever had and once he left off worrying about what it meant about him, he enjoyed it even more.

The problem was; though it was terrific while it lasted, all too soon something began to change. When Sam tried to throw a fight, or pretend to fall off a bed just so Dean could pin him, he found Dean rolling off before him, or pretending his leg was cramped (it was definitely pretending- the open mouth and agonized expression were clearly an artistic representation of an emotion,) and yeah the balance was swinging enough that most nights Dean was getting fucked properly, and hell it wasn't like Sam minded that, because watching Dean coming apart under his hands was all kinds of ridiculously hot, it was just given the choice he'd like it to be in his favour. It got to the point where it was practically a slap battle over who got face down, ass up the fastest, like some sort of wall had broken down between them, and maybe it was Winchester family genes that had hit them both the same way but they both wanted it bad and were willing to play dirty to get it.

Looked like Dean had solved that particular problem at least for tonight, Sam thought hazily, because whatever was in his ass wasn't nearly as good as something real but it was scratching an itch, filling him up while Dean slicked him up and slid right on, stuffed himself with Sam, his own dick bobbing untouched between them hard and wet, so blood flushed it looked painful, and it was so good that he was reminded all over again why he wasn't always sad when Dean lost their mock battles. Looks like Dean agrees a thousand percent, eyes shut as he clenches hard, moves his hips in tiny movements, and then demonstrates the perks and benefits of being decently flexible, twists a little and with strong fingers draws out the fake dick and thrusts it back in, small jerky movements true, just enough to have Sam wanting more and he's torn between trying to get more of it up his ass, and fucking Dean properly. Dean makes that decision for him, clearly can't focus on both activities at once, and works harder on Sam's dick, mouth open for real now like he can't get enough air no matter how much he tries, and he has his hand around his dick hard enough that it looks like it should hurt, stripping it ruthlessly, thumb working over the head, smearing the pre-come over the whole of his dick, and Sam can't tell if it's minutes or hours until Dean comes, spattering Sam's chest, hand still working restlessly, squeezing out the last few drops, until he slumps down a bit still gasping in air.

"Come the fuck on you jerk," Sam said, hands on Dean's hips still, fingers digging in deep, because he wasn't done yet and Dean's trying, Sam can tell he is, tightening back up around him, but he doesn't want to move, so Sam practically has to lift him off, skin dragging against skin, let him tumble onto the bed, and then get back to fucking him properly, slamming in deeper and harder, aware all of the time of how stretched he is himself, and it's the awareness of that, taken from both sides that sends him over the edge finally.

He finally peels himself off Dean, and tidies them up a bit because Dean the lazy bastard is just lying there, arm thrown across his eyes, and a smug grin on his face, then flops back down- arm against arm, sticky and sweaty hot still. Dean nudges him a bit and when Sam looks he's holding up a fist in the air. "One, two, three," Sam says, and shakes out his hand to indicate paper. Dean's devolved to scissors like always, and Sam smiles a smug grin of his own. "Maybe later," he says and goes to sleep.

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