Title: Mixed Signals 1/1
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Summary: Everything was great until the Sheriff's car appeared.
Notes: Written for challenge #1 - Broken, at kaz2y5.
Dean threw one last blistering look over his shoulder before limping past the badly painted door into the motel room. Dropping his bag on the foot of the bed and slipping out of his coat, he gingerly unzipped his jeans and began to peel them down. The snick of the bolt told him that Sammy was in the room and he finally let a portion of his frustration loose.
"I can't believe you actually fucking bit me, dude! I know I taught you better manners than that."
Dean's jeans snarled around his ankles as they met his boots, and he dropped down onto the bed with a sharp hiss.
"I think you broke it."
Sam snorted, even as he moved forward and dropped to his knees, automatically helping to get Dean's boots off.
"Drama queen. I didn't even break the skin, and it was your fault, hitting me on the head like that. What did you expect?"
The lace on Dean's left boot came loose. Sam pulled it off and carefully set it to one side, then peeled away the underlying threadbare sock. His fingers found the first signs of a hole at the back of the heel and he immediately checked the skin for blisters.
Once he'd made certain that Dean's heel and ankle were undamaged, he started in on Dean's right bootlace, too-short nails trying to pick the tangled knots free.
Dean swatted him on the back of the head. Again.
"I was seconds away from coming my brains out into that smart mouth of yours when a Sheriff's car pulled out right in front of us. That tap was the signal for you to ease off and stay down, out of sight. Are you telling me you forgot this shit already? Dude!"
Sam tugged the second boot free and dropped it next to the first one, eager hands making swift work of the bunched-up jeans. Once free, they were tossed up onto the bed beside Dean's bag, and then Sam was inching closer with intent.
Hands with just the faintest hint of new-growth calluses cupped Dean's knees and eased them further apart as Sam moved in and pouted. A glance up through his lashes let him see the hunger in Dean's eyes, laced through with pain and frustration.
The pout worked like it always had, softening Dean's glare and drawing out a crooked half-smile.
"Yeah, whatever… asshole. Don't know exactly what you plan to do down there - I told you once already, I think you broke it."
They both studied the damaged organ in question and it twitched, valiantly rising to meet the demands of its audience.
"Well, whaddaya know? Must have been the shock of being bit that made it go to ground," Dean said, one hand curling under Sam's jaw to tilt his head back.
"Stick those teeth in me again like that, for any reason, and I'll knock them down your throat so hard you'll choke on them. We clear?"
Sam tried to nod but Dean's fingers dug in tight, nails pressing pale half moons into his cheeks. Instead, he slid his fingers up the inside of Dean's thighs until the tips of both thumbs brushed the base of Dean's cock.
"Sure, Dean, I promise not to bite - so long as you promise you will when it's my turn."
Dean laughed and tugged Sam's face towards his crotch.