Stress Relief

Stress Relief

Word count: 1433

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Not mine. Don't sue.

Summary: Sam needs some stress relief before the big fight with the demon - set before "Salvation" - no spoilers

A/N - Written for shay_renoylds who asked for "I would love a little Sam/Dean my dear. That's right. Sam-I'm-such-an-uke-Winchester on top." Hope this suits!

For the third time that night, Sam woke up whimpering from a nightmare, and Dean thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown, or maybe just give up and kill something.

He knew it wasn't Sam's fault - that finding that woman pinned to the wall had reawakened bad memories for Sam. But with Dad in the next room over, he didn't dare try anything that he knew would calm Sam enough to let him sleep.

Instead, he lay awake and rigid in his own bed, grasping at the covers till his hands went numb, and fought the urge to get up and go to Sam, to offer him the comfort of a warm body in bed with him if nothing else. "Sammy?"

"Dean? What - I did it again, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You think it's worth it to try and sleep again? Or maybe you should go for a walk or something?"

Sam's voice was rough when he replied. "You know what would help."

Dean felt his heart ache a little bit more. "We can't, Sam. Dad'll hear us, and god only knows what he'd do. You know as well as I do that we can't let him know that we've been sleeping together - he'd never understand."

The other bed creaked, and Dean could just barely see a shadow as Sam sat up on the edge of the bed. When he stood, Dean figured that he was going to go to the john, or maybe for that walk. He wasn't prepared for Sam to climb on top of him and pin him to the bed. "I don't care what Dad thinks. I can't help if I can't keep my eyes open, and if I don't get some sleep..." The end of the sentence was left off, but Dean knew what he meant. If Sam didn't get some sleep and soon, he was going to be more of a liability than a help.

"We can't -" But what he was saying was cut off as Sam leaned forward and kissed him gently.

"We can - we just have to be quiet." Sam didn't give Dean a chance to argue. Instead, he kissed him again, one hand still pinning his shoulder to the bed, the other moving restlessly over his chest. When it brushed one of Dean's nipples, he groaned softly and gave up the struggle.

Dean could feel Sam smile against his mouth, but he didn't say anything else, just kissing a slow path down his neck. When Dean arched into the caress, though, the headboard banged against the wall, and both of them froze. "Crap," Dean whispered.

When Sam knelt back up, Dean could feel his heart stop and then start thumping twice as hard. He didn't need this the way that Sam did, but it didn't change the fact that he was hard and wanting now, and it was going to be even harder to stop than it was not to start in the first place.

Sam climbed off him, and Dean bit his lip, only to gasp in surprise when his wrist was taken in a hard grip and he was pulled to his feet. "You need to stay quiet, Dean," Sam whispered, while pushing him gently across the room to the dresser.

It was only as Sam guided him so that he rested his hands on the cheap particle board and stood behind him that Dean realized what he was going to do. Well, this was different - usually Sam wanted to be fucked, not do the fucking.

Then he could feel Sam slide down his body as he sunk to his knees and Dean stopped thinking entirely. All he could do was focus on the feeling of Sam's hand - oh, big hands, pushing down his boxers and then parting his cheeks, and oh, god, they didn't do this near often enough.

Sam's tongue, thick and wet and agile as fuck, was moving over his hole, moving in him, and Dean had to bite down on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to moan, to shout, but he couldn't. All he could do was grip the top of the dresser hard enough to make his knuckles creak and fight to keep silent.

When Sam stood up again, Dean couldn't keep back the moan of disappointment. He could come from being rimmed alone, had done more than once, but instead Sam's heat disappeared from behind him and there was the sound of him digging in one of the bags.

Oh, Christ, yes, he was going to get fucked. He loved it when Sam took the initiative like this - had more than once had to fight the urge to beg for it. But Sam only did it when he had to be on top.

And then there was a slick finger sliding into him, and Dean bent further forward, spreading his legs wider in silent invitation, his own hard cock pressed up tight between the dresser and his belly. The finger didn't much more than enter and retreat, and then Sam's hands were on his hips, pulling him up and back, and there was a broad blunt pressure at his hole.

He couldn't keep back the hiss as Sam pressed through the ring of muscle at his entrance. With such minimal prep, it hurt a bit, but Dean didn't really care, because Sam was pressing into him, filling him in all the good ways. He didn't stop until Dean could feel his balls pressed against his ass, Sam's hips snug against his own. Then there was the briefest hesitation, and Dean nodded frantically, not trusting himself to say anything out loud.

Sam's hands tightened on his hips, and then he was being fucked; long and deep and hard and slow. Sam's pace was relentless, driving him on. Through sheer force of will, Dean kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't escape the high pitched whine that rose in the back of his throat.

A deep throaty chuckle came from Sam, and he shifted just slightly. Now his cock was pounding right into Dean's hotspot on every stroke, and there was no way, just no way at all, that he was going to be able to hold back. He couldn't let go of the dresser without losing his balance, so he finally opened his mouth. "Please, Sammy, please..."

The only response was for him to be pulled further back, so that he wasn't even getting the friction from the dresser on his dick, and he was dying, here, was going to lose it in a matter of seconds if Sam didn't touch him.

"Don't come. I want to suck you off," Sam whispered, and Dean let his head drop forward, hanging between his arms. God, he didn't think he could wait, but Sam had asked - Sam had ordered him not to come and Dean knew how much Sam needed this. Dean always gave Sam what he needed, and so he didn't argue, just held on for dear life.

It didn't take much longer, thank god, because if it had, no force on earth would have held back his climax. Three, maybe four more of those long dick strokes that Sam was so good at, and then Sam stopped moving, grunting softly as Dean could feel him coming.

Sam didn't even take a moment to recover before he was slipping out of Dean's body and turning him around. One look at him on his knees, and Dean was grabbing his cock to keep from coming before Sam even touched him. Then Sam's warm, slick mouth was slipping down over his cock, and Dean was panting with the effort not to scream.

Slow, slow, slow... and then he was practically down Sam's throat and he couldn't hold back, couldn't even try anymore, his hands in Sam's hair and he was fucking Sam's sweet mouth and okay, so he was growling but at least he wasn't screaming and then he was coming and coming and coming...

He came back to himself sitting on the floor in front of the dresser, Sam lightly smacking his face. "Dean? C'mon, Dean, talk to me, here. Dad's gonna be pissed if I broke you."

"Shut up, Sammy. Can't a man bask in the afterglow a little?"

Sam snorted. "Not sitting on the floor, he can't. Let's go back to bed, okay?"

Dean smiled and climbed to his feet. With luck, Sam felt enough in control now to be able to sleep through the night.

"Bed sounds like a winner of a plan, Sam."