(Supernatural Fanfiction) Chuck Made Them Do It: Chapter Four

Chuck Made Them Do It: Chapter 4

Rating: NC-17 (Overall, including this chapter)
Characters: Sam/Dean
Summary: Lunch break. 

Of course, Dean had barely started the engine before Sam was all over him again like a puberty stricken rabbit dosed with Viagra.  “Sam, what the—?” Dean exclaimed before falling into an incoherent mess as Sam stuck his hand down Dean’s pants.  It took an embarrassingly short time to bring Dean off, of which he had several comebacks to justify himself, (the best of which being he was already about to explode), but Sam kissed him sloppily, forcing all words out of Dean’s head.  Grinning like an idiot, Dean buckled his seat belt and shifted the Impala into drive.  He pulled back onto the highway.  Sam went back to his book.

They had a few hours of peaceful quiet before Sam’s growling stomach broke the silence, followed by Sam’s whiny, “I’m hungry.”

Dean sighed and kept his eyes peeled for the closest eatery.  He pulled off twelve minutes later and followed the signs to a small Mom and Pop diner, the kind that seemed to sprout like weeds all over America.  Sam sighed audibly when Dean pulled into a parking space, but otherwise kept all bitching to a minimum as they got out to the car and entered the restaurant.  With a similarity that in itself was almost supernatural, a nondescript, middle-aged, overweight waitress approached their table within minutes of their sitting down, took their drink orders and handed out much stained paper menus.

Sam ordered a salad.  Dean ordered a bacon cheeseburger with fries.

They waited for the food to arrive before talking about anything important.  Namely, Chuck.

“Do you think he’s writing about us right now?” Sam asked in his whispery ‘I smell a conspiracy’ voice.

Dean shrugged, face grim.  “Most likely.  The little bitch probably has something really nasty up his sleeve for us, too.”

Sam shuddered.  He didn’t need to say anything.  Dean knew how creepy it was. As far as Dean was concerned, Chuck had gone completely off the deep end with this incestuous gay crap.  And for what?  A fanfic?  Dean learned what those were when they originally started hunting for Chuck a few years back.  And then he got an hour long seminar on the crafting and appreciating thereof from Becky when they met her.  And for kicks, Dean popped into a panel discussing the practice at that Supernatural convention they were tricked into attending.

So yeah.  He knew all about fanfiction.  Which made what Chuck was doing all that much worse in his mind.

“I hope it was frickin’ worth it,” Dean muttered into his fries, visions of guns and gutting dancing in his head.

“What?”  Sam asked.

Dean shook his head.  “Nothing.”

They returned to their food in silence.  Dean was on his last french fry when Sam cleared his throat loudly.  Dean looked up.

“How long are you going to do that?”  Sam asked, eyebrow raised in cynicism.

Dean blinked.  “Do what?”

“Rub on my leg like that.”

Dean stopped.  He took situation of himself.  Sure enough, he had been unconsciously rubbing his leg against Sam’s like a couple playing footsy.  He jerked his leg back to his side of the booth.

“Holy shit, Sam!”  Dean gasped.  “How long have I been doing that?”

Sam thought.  “Umm, since our food got here?”

Dean glanced at his watch.  Half an hour.  “Holy shit,” Dean repeated.

Of course, Sam jinxed it.  “What is Chuck going to make us do this time?” he whined, rolling his eyes.  A silence descended on them.  They looked at each other for a moment.  Then, they stood up simultaneously from the table.  Sam hooked a thumb over his shoulder and said, “Bathroom.”  Dean dug into his pockets, pulled out a wad of cash, and threw it on the table.  He took off in a mad dash after his brother, barely registering their waitress’s grunt of surprise.

Like in the shower that morning, once they were in the men’s room, their minds switched to autopilot.  Sam leapt on Dean, mouth plastered to his like they were welded together.  Dean tangled his fists into Sam’s hair, a small part of himself both hating and reveling in that his little brother was so much taller than he was.  Sam clutched at Dean, hands twisting in the material of his T-shirt underneath his leather jacket.  He thrust his hips against him, a low moan echoing in the back of his throat.

Then they heard talking from behind the door.  They stared at each other—wide eyed and breathing hard.  “We should probably lock the door,” Sam said.

“Good idea,” Dean muttered behind Sam’s back as the taller man went to do just that.  Dean looked around.  What the hell was he doing?  Having sex in some greasy, dirty diner bathroom like some addict?  And with Sam no less.  No, if he and Sam were going to have sex at all, it was going to be somewhere classy, like an upscale hotel room, or maybe the Impala.

Sam was back, running finger through Dean’s hair.  “I want,” he moaned.  All thoughts of classy flew out the window.

Dean maneuvered Sam to the sink counter.  He pressed into him until he knew his brother was leaning against it, and they pawed and petted each other until they started pulling off clothes.  Jacket’s and shirts piled up on the grungy countertop.  Bare chest to bare chest, Dean looked up at Sam and hesitated.  It was one thing to appear fully naked in a shower for a surprise blowjob, but it was quite another to undress your own brother in some sleazy diner and ask if you could fuck him in the ass.  Which was the exact moment Dean realized that that what was going to happen.

He was going to fuck Sam.

Sam must have realized that too, but showed no signs of apprehension about it.  He grabbed Dean’s face, kissed him, and started undoing his own belt buckle.  Dean watched as he kicked his shoes off and lowered his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion.  His cock was hard and standing at attention.

Dean looked at his brother in all his naked glory, then looked down at his socks.  “Dude.  You’re leaving your socks on?” he questioned.

“Dude,” Sam mimicked, “this floor is gross.”

Dean scoffed.  “You’re such a girl, Sam.”

Sam frowned. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Huffing, he turned his nose up in the air.  “Whatever.”  Softening, he looked back at his brother. “Kiss me?

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

And so he did.

They kissed and pawed and groped until Sam was flushed and panting and Dean was sweating with desire.  Sam opened Dean’s pants and stroked him to full hardness.  Groaning, Dean grabbed Sam’s hips and turned him around.  He rubbed against his backside and his skin was so hot and so smooth.  Sam gasped, bracing his hands against the mirror, completely bent over now, thrusting himself against Dean.

Even in his lust-induced fog, Dean had sense of mind enough that if he plowed in unprepared, he could really hurt Sam (not to mention himself).  He fumbled a hand into his jeans pocket—nothing.

“Sam,” he whispered.  “Do you have—um…”

“Lotion,” Sam finished for him, grabbing for his discarded jacket as he spoke.  He tossed the small white bottle behind him, knowing Dean would catch it.

Dean flipped open the cap and squirted a healthy amount onto his fingertips.  He reached his finger into Sam, and wiggled and stroked and moved until Sam was gasping and twitching and begging, “Pleas, please, please.”  So Dean emptied the rest of the small bottle onto his cock and he entered Sam and Sam was still begging “Please more,” And when he started to move Sam moved with him, meeting him, and it was tight and hot—so very, very hot, and he was being squeezed from all sides in a way he never thought possible.

And Sam was really crying out now, making all kinds little gasps and moans, cutting off as soon as Dean thrust in full tilt only to start back up against when Dean slid partially out.

Dean was chanting, crouched low over Sam’s body, holding his brother’s waist tightly against himself.  He slid one hand around Sam’s front and found him hard and leaking. He fisted him, and stroked in time to his own thrusts.  Sam choked out a gasp so loud that Dean looked up and caught their entwined reflections in the mirror.  He stared, transfixed at their combined images, thrusting and moving together in time.  Sam’s face was flushed in the mirrors, and his eyes black and foggy as they too stared into Dean’s.

With a shout, Dean came.  He fell, gasping against Sam’s back, vision going dark for a moment.  Finally, Sam grunted beneath him.

“Mm, what?” Dean asked.

“You’re heavy,” Sam answered, and twisted out from underneath him.  Dean caught himself on the counter, and carefully stood up, not trusting the strength of his legs after that amazing orgasm.  He took a moment to recollect himself, then looked at Sam.

Sam was already pulling on his jeans.  He had his back turned to Dean.  Dean frowned.

“Sam?” Dean ventured.  “Are we—I mean, I’m—Are you?”  He couldn’t say it.  But Sam got his meaning.  He turned and looked at Dean for a long moment before bending back to him.  He kissed him, slow and hard, and Dean really liked the way Sam tasted.  Sam pulled back.

“Yeah, we’re good.  But I’d really like to leave this diner now.”

Dean jumped up.  He had completely forgotten where they were.  With a panicked glance in Sam’s direction, he quickly started pulling on his discarded clothing.  He hated pulling his boxers up with his cock still sticky with lotion and Sam, but he wanted out of that bathroom as quickly as possible.  Sam apparently did too, because in a matter of a minute they were both dressed and unlocking the restroom door.

Their waitress stood on the other side, hands on her hips and a scowl to shame a vampire on her face.  She growled one word.

“Out.”

The boys squeaked and hurried towards the exit.  Everyone was looking at them—even the dishwasher boy stood near the entrance to the kitchen, arms still soapy with suds, starting with hate at their retreating figures.

As they reached the exit, Dean glanced over to the line of booths up against the front windows.  A girl in the farthest boot grinned broadly at him and flashed two thumbs up.

Dean winced and exited the restaurant, Sam hot on his heels.

Previous chapter      Next chapter (coming soon!)

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Author: Eris O'Reilly

I'm a writer, artist, knitter, crocheter, cat wrangler, zombie hunter, and law enthusiast. Also, I am a complete and utter fangirl. I like silliness.

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