Fandom: Pairing: Supernatural: Sam/Dean
Words: 1173 words
Concrit: Please. If you spot a typo, feel free to tell me in comments.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks/Kinks: Wincest, mild watersports (but nobody gets peed on!)
Summary: Sam is injured. Dean takes care of things and administers his own special brand of sleeping pill.
Notes: Written for my kink_bingo card (here), prompt #5 'Watersports'.
Bandaged hands held carefully in front of his chest, Sam followed Dean into their latest badly decorated motel room. He was tired and sore, still partially numb from the anaesthetic he had gratefully accepted before the nurse at the clinic had used tiny stitches to close the lacerations on his palms and fingers.
Dean's furious stream of insults and obscenities, on a constant loop since Sam had leapt into the fray and grabbed the sword blade with both unprotected hands, wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. Individual words and broken phrases stood out from the soothing rumble as Sam gingerly lowered himself onto the bed without using his hands.
"-idiot… n't trust… shoot you myself… need… piss… bed bef- Hey! You still awake in there?"
Sam jumped when Dean swatted the back of his head, his focus jerked away from where he'd been tracing the hypnotic crisscrossed patterns of his stark white bandages.
"Wha-? Oh, yeah. Sleep now. Good. 'K?"
Dean stared for a moment and then shook his head and grabbed Sam's elbow to help him back up off the bed.
"Sleep soon, yes. But first, you're going to get undressed and take a piss. I don't want you waking up in the middle of the night and forgetting you're one of the walking wounded. You scream like a little girl."
Too tired to argue or put up any kind of defence beyond an easily deflected elbow aimed at Dean's ribs, Sam allowed himself to be stripped down to his boxers and shuffled into the bathroom.
At the first sight of the toilet, his full bladder made its presence known. He reached for his fly but Dean stopped him by the simple expedient of wrapping one arm tightly around Sam's torso, trapping his left arm along his side and grabbing the wrist of his right in an unshakeable grip.
"Dude, the state you're in right now, I'd be surprised if you could even find your dick, let alone do anything with it besides making a mess. Let me."
Dean's hand on his cock was nothing new. Hell, they'd woken up with matching woodies just this morning and had enjoyed a very satisfying mutual jerk-off session. This, however, was a part of the problem now facing Sam.
Having Dean's hand wrapped around it made Sam's cock want to sit up and beg for more of the same. It was a situation that was hardly conducive to peeing.
Dean's dark little chuckle into his ear didn't help any. Neither did the erection that nudged up between his ass cheeks as Dean pushed in to layer himself along Sam's back from nape to knees.
"Dean," Sam whined, "I just want to take a piss and go to sleep."
"I know it. I also know that if you go to bed right now you'll lie there all night, too uncomfortable to sleep and too damn stubborn to do anything or say anything about it." Dean lifted his hand to hover in front of Sam's face. "Lick."
Dean returned his hand to Sam's half-hard cock and tugged once, twice, and twice more. Despite Sam's best intentions and the exhaustion softening his bones, the traitor between his legs filled and rose to the occasion.
"You always sleep better after an orgasm, Sammy boy, so just sit back and let the master drive."
Sam snorted in amusement but leaned back into Dean's embrace, sinking gratefully into the spreading warmth of arousal. He could feel Dean's hips rocking rhythmically, Dean's own erection tracing and retracing the groove between his buttocks.
His orgasm was just beginning to build, a hot ball of pleasure growing at the base of his spine alongside the deep, dull ache of his distended bladder, when Dean stopped moving and spoke.
"We're facing the wrong way for this."
Sam stared dumbly at the toilet bowl in front of him.
"Just… Here, like this…"
The hand on his cock tugged sideways and the hips behind his nudged and bumped him into a ninety degree turn to the left, until they were facing the tiny shower cubicle in the corner.
"Trust me, it saves on clean up."
Dean's hand was already back into its fast, tight-gripped rhythm before Sam had a much of a chance to process what he'd heard.
"Wait. Jesus! You… you've done this… be-before?"
The hand on his cock got tighter and faster and Sam's world began to blur at the edges.
"I've done kinky shit you couldn't even spell, college boy. Now shut your hole and get with the program."
When he opened his mouth to argue - or maybe to ask for details, he wasn't entirely sure - teeth nipped warningly at the tendon along the side of his neck.
"Focus, Sammy. Feel it? All that pressure, building up inside? You need to pee so bad, but you have to come first. And you will. You're nearly there; just one…last…twist and-"
Sam shook and twitched and fought to stay on his feet as the orgasm rolled over him, and then realised Dean was still rocking against his ass, still whispering in his ear.
"There you go. I bet you think you can't take any more, bet you think it's all over. But it's not, Sammy, not yet. Your bladder's still full and you cock's so soft now and sensitive and there's no way you can hold back any longer."
Dean's left hand finally let go of Sam's wrist, dropping down to press hard against the base of his stomach, and the added weight was enough to break through the last remnants of his control.
The release burned from the inside out. It was like a second sharper yet more subtle climax, coaxed out of his overworked nervous system by the steady flow through his prostate and cock, and by the touch of Dean's hands.
Well, that, and the way Dean finally shuddered to his own completion down the back of Sam's shorts as Sam emptied his bladder against the shower's rear wall.
"You… twisted fuck. Where-?"
A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted Sam's almost incoherent interrogation of his brother, and Dean snorted.
"You can pick my psyche apart tomorrow, smartass. Can you stand up by yourself okay?"
With the aid of an elbow propped against the wall, Sam just about managed to keep his balance as Dean shimmied out of his jeans and then efficiently stripped Sam of his boxers.
He used the damp cotton to wipe smears of his come off Sam's back and his own stomach, then slung his arm around Sam's shoulders and led him back to the bed.
When he was satisfied that Sam was settled comfortably with his bandaged hands carefully supported by stacked pillows and towels, Dean leaned down, clamped his hand around Sam's lower jaw and squeezed threateningly.
"You ever do anything as stupid as grabbing a mystical fucking sword again and I swear I'll kill you myself, hear me?"
Sam's only response was another yawn, swiftly followed by a soft, whiffling snore.