paxlux Sam/Dean and Sam/Andy/Dean, rated PG-NC-17 and contain incest.Title: Warmth
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Sam makes a mistake.
Dean's still asleep when Sam opens the door to the backseat and leans over him, long arm stretching for the bag holding his clothes. Which is currently tucked behind Dean's knees.
He cracks an eye half-open and scowls up at him.
"Sorry, sorry, I'll just- I'll be gone in a minute."
There's a heavy thud of canvas against the back of Dean's legs, and he almost gets a face full of hair.
One of Sam's over-long legs pushes the door wide, and a bite of cold comes with it, Dean makes a grumbling complaining noise, which is too tired to be an actual word, and tips his head out of the wind, nose brushing Sam's cheekbone.
For one strange second he's breathing into Sam's mouth.
Sam misinterprets the gesture. There's a flicker of surprise, and then something else. Something Dean can't fathom half-awake.
He's still trying to catch up when Sam closes the gap to nothing.
The edge of his collar brushes against Dean's jaw, a cold-dry rasp of fabric against his skin, and he thinks he makes a noise.
Sam's mouth is warm, and he tastes like coffee. It's more than a handful of seconds of uncertain pressure. Too much to explain away, far too much. Sam makes a noise, deep in his throat, soft like it hurts.
It makes him pull away, mouth stunned and half open, the rest of his face is almost expressionless. Though Dean knows him well enough to find the faint tremble under the skin. He thinks the flatness is more shock than intent. Like he never meant to, never, ever meant to.
And now he's just waiting for Dean to break him completely.
He's still leaning over, shielding Dean from the early bite of the wind, and the sharpness of the air, and there's nothing coming off of him but warmth.
Dean thinks maybe Sam is the only warm place he knows.
"Go get me coffee," he tells him, shoves his head back under his coat, and breathes in the smell of leather.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Haste
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Dean asks, Sam gives.
Dean says 'here,' he says 'now', like he owns him, fingers already pulling open the buttons of his jeans, where he's leant back into the cold dirt of the basement wall.
He gets Sam to his knees with just a look, and then he's pushing his jeans down at the front, other hand in Sam's hair, pulling just enough to get him close.
Sam does the rest, hands awkward, hurried, but not quite knowing where to grip, where to hold him.
When Dean drags his cock out of his jeans, Sam opens his mouth.
It's bigger than he expects, no real way to accommodate it inside his mouth, tongue too dry at first, overwhelmed by the living warmth and the taste of it. He's not sure what to touch, how to do this when he's on the other side, no way to make his own mouth work like he knows he likes.
But Dean's breathing like it's everything. Like just this, just Sam's fucked up effort to try and do this is more than enough.
Sam tastes denim when he slides down, the tight edge of Dean's jeans, not pushed down low enough. It's all too quick, too clumsy. There's no control in the way Dean's hand is shoved in his hair, the way it's encouraging Sam into things he doesn't really know how to do.
He can't quite work out when to breathe, when to slide down, where to put his tongue and when to suck. He ends up groaning instead, clumsy slide of mouth that, by the noises Dean makes, is good enough, more than good enough.
Better when Sam shifts his weight, when he puts his hand on the wall, and leans in.
It makes Dean's hand close tight in his hair, then fall free on a curse, to slide down the side of his face, thumb rubbing against where Sam's mouth is stretch open round his cock. Sam takes him in as far as his mouth, and his slick wet hand, will allow. But isn't ready for the startled shove of hips, and the solid weight that pushes in. He doesn't resist it, doesn't resist the way Dean stills and comes, he lets his brother push finger marks into the back of his neck, lets him shake his way through orgasm, while Sam swallows awkwardly around him.
Until Dean sways backwards, leaves Sam on his knees, mouth open, feeling more helpless than he has for years, while Dean curses in a wrecked voice, leans back against the wall, and stares down at him like he's never seen him before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: What's Mine is Yours
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Andy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "I can't watch you two any more," Sam says simply.
Andy's surprised when Dean's hand slides into his hair. Because Sam's still in the room, and he doesn't usually start anything while his brother's-
He tips his head back, and finds Dean watching him
Andy goes very still, because it isn't Dean, it's Sam, it's Sam's hand in his hair, long and warm and spidery where it tangles, but loose like it belongs. Andy can't take his eyes off of Dean. Who's just watching from where he's crouched by the table, arm still half in his bag, watching.
"I can't watch you two any more," Sam says simply. His voice is soft over Andy's head. His hand isn't pulling now, it's just moving, dragging hair the wrong way in tingling waves. Andy moves his head back into it on reflex, catches himself.
But he doesn't miss the way Dean follows the movement, eyes hot and tight, but not jealous. It's nothing like jealous, which is the only flavour colouring Sam's voice right now.
"I can't just leave every time you-" Sam's fingers skate down the edge of his throat and Andy shivers.
Dean's closer than he was before, face too blank to help with Andy's uncertainty for one long second, and then he fists a hand in Andy's t-shirt, pulls with just enough pressure that he can reach his mouth.
It's fierce wet pressure, and then words hissed against the corner of his mouth. Pushed there in one breath.
"Do you want him, do you want Sam?"
Andy thinks Dean wants him to say yes. Which is good, because Andy's not sure he remembers how to say anything else.
"Yes," Andy manages, he's rewarded with a tight catch of hands and the warmth of Dean's mouth, quick and hot and greedy before he's pulling away again. Far enough to watch, still close enough to touch. Though he doesn't, he doesn't try, just kneels there, still and intense. Sam is dragging his t-shirt up in one long, easy, movement. Before his hands drop and grip his waist, longer than Dean's, less afraid to dig in where he's soft.
And Dean's watching, watching everything.
"Oh god-" the rest catches in his throat, but the press of bare chest against his back, against his shoulders, is a weight that can't be anyone but Sam.
"Make him," Sam says suddenly, and Andy is briefly bewildered until Sam reaches out. He touches Dean, touches the edge of his face, thumb pressing his lower lip down onto his teeth, before pulling his mouth open, and arousal digs so deep that Andy can't breathe for a long second.
"Jesus Sam-"
"He wants you to."
Dean doesn't say a fucking word, just swallows, edge of his jaw twitching, and Andy figures that if he didn't want to he'd say something. He wouldn't just- he'd say something.
"Make him," Sam says again, softer this time, though his hands tighten on Andy's waist.
Andy groans and stares down at Dean for a long second.
"Open my jeans."
Dean shudders and obeys, hands smooth and competent. A quick brush-push of knuckles against his cock takes Andy from half-hard to something closer to needy.
"Fuck, fuck-"
"You've never done this with him?" Sam sounds honestly surprised, and Andy thinks he should be insulted by that because jesus.
But he shakes his head.
"Ever done this with anyone?" Sam's more curious now, fingers push-digging into the edge of his jeans.
"I made them like me," Andy says breathlessly. "I never made them- god I never made them."
Sam's already pushing at the edges of his jeans, thumbs drifting on skin, then catching and easing them down at the back.
"I want you to make him."
And yeah, Andy feels like a creep for how badly he wants that- but he's never, not once.
And Dean's hands are still, slip-shifting on his jeans.
"Dean..." he manages, because Andy can't, he fucking can't do this without some sort of sign.
Dean stares at him for a long moment, and then, so quick and brittle Andy barely catches it, he nods. Which has given him permission to do- fuck to do anything he wants. And he thinks maybe he's too dizzy to properly process what that means.
But Sam's mouth is already open on his throat, dig of teeth and wet slide of tongue and his brain is gone, completely and utterly gone. His hands push his jeans and shorts to his thighs, and Dean drags them the rest of the way without being asked.
"Open your mouth," Andy says simply and Dean does, on a quick little shudder that Andy is going to remember for a really, really long time. His hand finds Dean's hair, fingers trying to catch in the impossible shortness. "Keep it open." He sounds breathless and shaken. But that's nothing, nothing, compared to the way he sound when Sam reaches out a hand, catches the back of Dean's head and pulls him forward. His mouth is sudden heat around Andy's cock, and when Sam's hand slips down and rubs at the edge of his cheek Andy loses all the air in his chest.
"I want to fuck you while he's sucking you off," Sam's voice is deep and raggedly blunt.
Andy's breath lodges in his throat, a twisted little thump of anxiety and bright hot arousal, so messed up together he can't even hope to untangle them, and he skids across Dean's tongue, harder and deeper than he means to.
"Can I do that? Will you let me do that?" Sam presses in behind him, all heat and warm scrape of jeans pulled tight over his own cock, harder than it has any right to be- and jesus Sam Winchester is not like other men.
Andy loses all his breath in one go.
"Yes," he manages, barely, stupid reckless agreement because he wants, he fucking wants.