Cyndra Rae (cyndrarae) wrote,
Cyndra Rae

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SPN fic: Blow hot, blow cold (Dean/Sam)

Title: Blow hot, blow cold
Rating: R
Summary: Coda to SPN E413: After School Special. Sam was in greater agony than he let show. Except Dean saw it anyway.
Warnings: Wincest. No graphic sex but nudity and, ahem, ice.
Author Notes: Advantages of staying home sick, you get some writing done, no matter how crappy or short or both hehe ;)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. CW/Kripke: please to not be suing. You can keep it if you want.
Word Count: 2185


So this was embarrassing.

It was bad enough he’d got his balls handed to him by a little girl, literally and painfully. It was bad enough he couldn’t stand without hunching, couldn’t sit without feeling the terrible urge to keel over.

“Trust me,” said Dean.

Like Sam could ever not?

“This will help.”

That was Dean, offering him a chilled bottle of their favored scotch not to drink but to hold between his legs, Dean, with his eerily straight not-Deanlike-at-all face. Anyone who knew Dean Winchester would expect him to be doubling over with laughter right about now – except his expression was nowhere within miles of even the vicinity of humor.

Sam squinted. Maybe he should hold back on the trusting just yet.

Sam got not just suspicious when his brother wasn’t his usual predictable self – he worried. And this was almost as if Dean had figured out after all these years that his words didn’t quite get to his little brother as much as his silence did.

And maybe it did help, the chilled scotch that is, maybe it didn’t. It sort of hurt all the same, a furious and insistent throb that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard or how often he squeezed and un-squeezed around the damn bottle. What did help was watching Dean losing his temper on his behalf. Again.

“That ghost is dead. I’m gonna rip its lungs out!”

Least that much was predictable, something Sam secretly felt glad for. And if it weren’t for that conspicuously missing smart-assed wisecrack that he knew had got to be there, right there, riding the tip of Dean’s tongue…

They talked about the case, reaching for an answer that seemed so close and just out of their grasp. They talked about depressed Barry and his depressed bones, about possessed kids and the potentially haunted bus they all rode, about ghosts getting creative and of course the fucking awesome lives the Winchesters continued to lead. Twenty-five years, and still counting.

Eventually Dean took a seat next to the Chevy, pulled out a Jack Daniels from his cooler and fell strangely quiet. And Sam squeezed harder, wincing. It was coming, the classic kicked nuts joke all big brothers of the world know and none could possibly contain for so long. This was it. It had to be.

Dean took a long swig, watched Sam press a fresh swab of cotton on his punctured shoulder and he put the whisky down. Sam watched as Dean wiped his lips and looked around, possibly to detect any other presence besides them in this secluded patch of woods on the outskirts of Fairfax, Indiana. Yep. Dean Winchester was up to something.

“Right,” Dean started, as if in continuation to a conversation he’d had in his head and didn’t care that Sam wasn’t exactly privy to it. And he stood up. “Let’s take care of this.”

“Take care of what?”

Dean smirked then, in a sexy and decidedly purposeful way, and just like that – Dean morphed seamlessly from big brother to occasional lover, within the split second. Sam felt his heart give a little jump. Just a little.

Five minutes later, their sleeping bags were joined and spread out on the dewy forest floor, and Sam was being led to lie down on it on his back. He didn’t have the will or the energy to resist and went where the older man took him. Soon as the back of his head hit the ground, he felt his boots being removed. And when Dean’s hands landed on his waist, Sam gasped.


Not now. He was freaking black and blue down there.

“Shh… just relax,” said Dean and unbuckled Sam’s belt carefully. His hands were steady as he gingerly peeled the layers from over Sam’s groin. Sam helped but reluctantly, lifting his hips off the ground with a protesting grunt Dean simply ignored.

When it was done, Dean rose and walked out of Sam’s line of sight, making the younger man nervous. Here he was, lying boneless and vulnerable in plain sight for any unsuspecting campers that passed them by, maybe kids. Half naked and not the right fucking half at that.

Sam drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling his face burn. He tried to pull his shirt down to cover himself but the damn thing was too short to serve the purpose. “D-Dean…”

“Right here, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was a soft rasp as he finally walked back where Sam could see him.

The blond dropped to his knees between Sam’s outstretched legs and put something down on the side that clanked. Sam made the effort to raise his head, curious to see what it was – it was an ice bucket.

And he chortled, a short parched noise that was more scared than amused. “What are you planning to do to me?”

Dean smiled as he pulled off his bulky leather jacket and kept it on the side. Then he casually pulled Sam’s legs further apart, making space for himself so he could lie down on his front until he was leaning on his elbows right over Sam’s crotch, perilously close to his still red and sore genitals.

“Kiss and make it better?”

Sam laughed. “Right now, not even air can touch me down there without making me scream.”

“Sure about that?”

Sam didn’t get a chance to so much as frown. A drop of freezing cold water dripped onto him and he gasped. A cool breeze followed, deliberately glided over and under his naked organs, and it took Sam a while to realize it was coming from Dean’s mouth shaped into a mischievous little ‘o’. After the initial shock wore off and the drop of water warmed itself borrowing the heat off his skin, it started to feel good, prompting Sam to softly whimper, the sensations new and oddly soothing. This, coming especially from Dean, the big brother who seemed to have forgotten to do soothing of late.

Sam closed his eyes, let his head fall back on the ground and surrendered.

More dripping followed, gentle and teasing all at once. Sam imagined the cubes of ice clasped in Dean’s fist as he held them suspended over Sam’s most intimate parts bared to Dean’s lingering eyes. The ice melted and liquid splotched over his slightly exposed glans making him tremble, sliding down the shaft and onto the scrotum, moving under the force of gravity to find its way through the pruned bush of pubic hair, and to the keenly responsive patches of skin underneath. Sam’s mouth fell open as the agony from before started to rapidly be replaced by something far more intense and demanding his attention – the cold-hot-cold play screwing with every single nerve ending in his body.

“Ah, Dean…”

Sam tried to close his legs but realized he couldn’t. Dean held one thigh down with one of his legs and practically leaned the rest of him against the other. He was making these quiet shushing sounds, whispering sweet comforting nonsense, and his gaze was fixed intently on Sam’s cock and balls almost as if he was talking to them.

Sam gave up trying to get away, not that he really wanted to anyway. The cold water felt good, but it was nowhere near as fantastical as what followed next.

Something cold and solid, colder than the drops of water, was suddenly brought in direct contact with his ball sac. Sam almost didn’t feel it for the first split-second or so, and then he leapt off the ground almost entirely.

“Ah, no… Dean that hu… that… ooh…”

“Does it hurt?”

Sam thought about it, least tried to. “N-N-uh… no…feels good.”

Dean smirked, and started to ice-bathe his little brother’s genitals leisurely. The rest of Sam broke into goosebumps from the chill and the multitude of sensations it accompanied – cold, pain, embarrassment, cold, abating pain, blinding relief, cold, eroticism, prickling hot throbbing that refused to let him get actually hard and still he squirmed feeling hot… so fucking hot and bothered…

“Shh… easy, Sammy, be still…”

Being still was damn near impossible. Sam was flying, he could see stars behind his closed eyelids and his breaths were getting shallower by the second. He fisted both hands on his sides into the ground, plucking at the wild grass with displaced vengeance. And still Dean continued to stroke every inch of his groin with melting cubes of ice, back and forth and up and down and all over again. Tormenting little suckers.

Dean blew over the wet, trembling skin, coaxing the trickling rivulets of water one way then another. Both his hands were chilled as he switched the ice from one to the next, pushing Sam’s knees down nonchalantly as they popped up now and then.

“In a moment, you won’t feel any pain. I promise…”

Sam should have heeded that warning. It was Dean’s way of preparing him for what was to come but he was too far gone to listen. If he’d been in any position to achieve an erection at all, he would have exploded by now. Needless to say, he didn’t see it coming. Dean held a fresh cube of ice with a thumb and a forefinger, and started to drag it down from the perineum to the lower cleft of Sam’s butt. And by the time Sam realized where it was heading, it was already done.

Dean calmly parted Sam's butt cheeks and pushed the cube in through the blinking orifice.

“Ah! Fuck! Dea… ah!”

A massive shudder grabbed Sam and shook him apart from head to his frantically curling toes. His eyes flew wide open even though he couldn’t be sure what he was seeing among the bright sparkly lights. His hands came off the ground to claw at Dean’s shoulders and whatever part he could grab and hang onto for dear life.

Dean chuckled. God how Sam wanted to fucking kill him! Okay maybe not. The ice inside him was melting mercilessly as it slithered down further and further. He wanted it out, he needed more in… God… Sam didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

Meanwhile, Dean stretched out beside him, still holding one of Sam’s legs down with one of his. He propped his head up on one elbow as he lay on his side, smiling subtly, watching Sam. And that was all he did. Watched.

Sam wheezed, narrowing his eyes at his brother feverishly. Drops of sweat beaded his temple that Dean casually wiped away with the freezing tip of his right hand thumb.

“Little girls sure don’t like you sporting a pair of nuts, do they?”

There it was. At last. How Dean had possibly managed to resist for so long, Sam would never know. He just laughed shortly and shook his head, mostly since he found himself agreeing with Dean anyway.

“Whatever. Fuck you.”

Dean chuckled again. “That’s exactly what you cannot do, sweetheart.”

Sam breathed in and out deeply, wincing as his body heat continued to make the ice bleed inside him, sending tiny shivers up his spine with every new drop of tricking water.

“You can fuck me, if you want.”

Dean stopped smirking, and Sam looked sideways at him. Their eyes met, the dark molten ring of lust unmistakable in his lover’s sea green eyes. Sam expected to be flipped onto his stomach or maybe pulled up to his hands and knees any moment now. But that moment never came.

Dean leaned in and kissed Sam, softly, chastely, on his quivering lips. Sam whimpered again but participated as much as he could, as much as his heaving lungs would let him.

“I can wait,” Dean whispered. And he continued to kiss Sam, kiss him like he hadn’t in a long, long time. Not since he came back from hell, at the very least.

Dean shifted and Sam was finally able to pull his legs together, squeezing cautiously so as not to undo any of Dean’s hard work. His bruised balls were numb, as was his limp dick. Numb, distracted, and completely painless.

“Wanna camp out? It’s gonna be a beautiful night.”

Sam swallowed the swift flurry of emotions down. They hadn’t camped out just for the sake of camping out and not like on a hunting trip since he was twelve. Sure he’d been haunted by the miseries of his childhood for the last three days, guess Dean was on a nostalgic trip down memory lane of his own.


Sun was down, and dusk was darkening the peaceful woods surrounding them. Sam caught himself yawning, free for now of most his ailing except for the punctured shoulder. That still smarted a little. But it’d be nowhere near as much fun if it was ice-bathed, so he kept his trap shut. Besides, tomorrow Dean would blow cold again, and come morning all the gentleness and affection displayed tonight would be long forgotten. Least until next time Sam got stabbed, strangled, had his balls handed to him by a little girl.

Warm arms wrapped him up against his big brother’s solid chest and Sam drifted away.

*** END ***

A/N: Please let me know what you think?

Tags: fandom: supernatural, fic: spn: blow hot blow cold

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