Champaign, Illinois

“Damn,” Sam muttered to himself as the lights in the frat house began flickering. “Hurry up, Dean.”

“Is he almost finished?” asked Paulie. The other four undergrads went with Dean to the cemetery, but Paulie refused to leave Sam’s side ever since Sam had saved him from the spirit hours before.

Sam carefully scanned the area, shotgun full of rock salt at the ready. “Should only be a few more minutes.”

“Because I’m seriously creeped out here, man. This is like a horror movie, and I don’t want to live in a horror movie. An action movie, maybe. As long as I’m the hero, you know? A porno, definitely. But a horror movie? No, thanks. I like taking a piss without having to worry that some psycho with a machete is going to come and chop my dick off.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Good point.” Just then, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and swung to the left. The spirit of Nicolas Townsend was raising its bloody machete to take another swing at Paulie when Sam squeezed off a shot. The ghost disappeared, but not before hurtling Sam clear across the room and into a shelf full of DVDs.

The hit knocked the wind out of him and sent his shotgun flying out of his hands. He cracked open his eyes to see the spirit circling above him, grinning maniacally. Sam flinched away, but before the spirit could do anything else, its eyes widened and the grin slipped off its face. Dean must have finally salted and burned the fucker’s bones.

Leaning his head back against the broken wood, Sam watched Nicolas Townsend wither into nothing, his machete the last part of him to disappear.

Sam must have passed out for a minute because the next thing he remembered was a voice calling, “Sam? Sammy, wake up.”

Forcing his eyes open, Sam saw Dean crouching next to him. Behind Dean, Paulie and the others looked on with worried expressions.

“I’m fine,” he said, allowing Dean and Paulie to haul him up. Once on his feet, he stretched his arms over his head and heard something in his back crack. “I’m okay,” he repeated.

Paulie gripped his shoulder, smiling hugely. “Dude, you saved my life again!” He turned to face the others. “He shot that motherfucker right in the face! It was so sweet. You know what? We need to celebrate surviving, man. Let’s hit the bars. Come on, you guys too,” he said to Sam and Dean. “Drinks on us.”

The four others shouted their agreement. Sam had his mouth open to decline, when Dean spoke up from beside him.

“Sounds good to us. Right, Sammy?” He nudged Sam with his elbow. Sam managed a half-assed smile, which seemed to be all the others needed.

“Awesome. Let’s go get our stuff,” Paulie said before almost tripping over the tattered remains of their former couch. “We’ll have the pledges deal with this shit tomorrow.”

When they were out of sight, Sam turned to face Dean. “What the hell?”

Dean stared innocently back at him. “What? It’s free booze, Sam. Free being the operative word here.” He paused. “And booze. Come on, how often do we get something for saving someone’s skin? I like heartfelt thank yous as much as the next guy, but there are heartfelt thank yous and then there’s free booze.” Dean slapped him on the back. “Anyway, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your number one fan.”

Paulie poked his head into the living room and jangled his keys. “Sam the man! Let’s go, buddy.”

Sam glared at Dean, who was doing a piss poor job of hiding his grin.

*

They didn’t have to wait in line at the bar because Jim, one of the other frat brothers, knew the bouncer. The seven of them muscled up a table. Sam was sandwiched between Dean and some sorority girl named Kristina, who made the mistake of visiting the frat house right before the attack.

“What can I get for my friend Sam?” Paulie asked after they were situated.

“Sam likes vodka,” Dean answered for him.

“A shot of vodka. Make it two shots! Two shots of vodka to start Sam off. And how about you, uh…”

“Dean,” Dean supplied.

“Dean, right!” Paulie said. “Sorry, man. My brain’s totally fried. Near death experience, you know? I’m like…whoa.”

“It’s cool,” Dean said. “And I’ll take a High Life if they have it.”

Sam grit his teeth to keep from smacking his brother across the back of the head. It was obvious that Dean was getting a huge kick out of this. Sam had hated frat guys when he went to school with them, and he had never been comfortable with the kind of fawning attention they were showing him, both of which Dean knew.

Sam tried to convey “I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone” with his face, but Dean just blinked back at him.

Paulie placed two shots down in front of him and raised his own shot full of dark liquid in the air.

“This guy saved my life! Hey, can I get everyone’s attention for a second? This fucking guy right here…” he pointed at Sam while addressing everyone who was within shouting distance over the pounding music. “He saved my life today! Twice! To Sam!”

“To Sam!” Everyone at the table, and some people surrounding them echoed, Dean included. Sam was going to fucking murder his brother when they got out there.

Kristina put a hand on his arm. “You didn’t drink,” she said.

“Yeah, Sam, you didn’t drink,” Dean repeated.

Sam decided that getting through the rest of the day would be easier with alcohol. Taking a glass in each hand, he downed the two shots one after another and slammed the glasses down on the scarred wood of the tabletop. The table cheered as Sam ran the back of his hand over his mouth.

Kristina, who Sam noted still hadn’t taken her hand off of his arm, leaned towards him.

“So you kill ghosts and stuff, like, professionally?”

“Something like that,” Sam said.

“That is so fascinating,” Kristina said, leaning closer still.

“Not really,” he said, and started when he felt a hand squeeze his knee. It was his left knee, though, the one pressed against Dean, and not the one closest to Kristina.

Sam shot a sharp look in his brother’s direction, but Dean was recounting one of their tamer hunting stories to Jaime across the table and wasn’t paying any attention to Sam. Except for his hand - the one not holding his beer bottle – which was slowly working its way up Sam’s inner thigh.

Sam ignored the way his cock twitched beneath the confines of his jeans, reached down and plucked Dean’s hand off of his leg. When the third and fourth shots were placed in front of him, he didn’t even have to think before double fisting and throwing them back.

*

An hour and an unknown number of shots later, Dean’s hand had found its way back to Sam’s leg. Two fingers were gently kneading the crease between Sam’s thigh and groin. Sam tried to pry Dean off again, but this time Dean held on, pinching the sensitive skin hard. Sam jerked away instinctively, his body lurching against the table and sloshing the drinks in everyone’s glasses.

“You alright?” Paulie asked.

Sam felt his face turn red at the curious stares of the other people at the table. He let go of Dean’s hand, and immediately the grip on his thigh gentled back to the careful, two-fingered tease from before.

Clearing his throat, Sam answered, “I’m fine.”

That seemed enough to appease Paulie, because he grinned at Sam and said, “Be honest, man, how many ways can you kick my ass right now?”

“A lot,” Sam replied distractedly.

Paulie laughed, pounded his hand on the table and pointed at Sam. “You rock. And you know what the best part is? You’re a brother.”

“What?” Sam asked, just as Dean’s hand moved the remaining distance and covered his erection.

“A brother!” Paulie repeated. “A fellow Sig!”

“No, I’m not,” Sam answered without thinking, and then immediately regretted it. Paulie would want an explanation and Sam wasn’t in any shape to offer him one, not with Dean trailing blunt fingernails over Sam’s jean-covered cock.

“We were ordered to go undercover,” Dean said.

“Ordered by who?” Jaime asked.

Dean smirked, calm as anything, and took a long sip from his beer. “We’re not at liberty to discuss that information.”

“Shit, that’s so fucking cool! You are so fucking cool, Sam,” Paulie declared, then added conspiratorially, “If that’s your real name.”

“He’s not at liberty to discuss that information,” Dean said again as he used the heel of his hand against Sam’s cock in a hard, slow rhythm that Sam knew would get him off in minutes. Already he was a sticky mess inside his jeans.

Sam grunted softly and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. His head dipped, his eyes drifted half-shut and his hips responded with tiny, barely perceptible thrusts in counter rhythm to Dean’s strokes.

“Are you okay, Sam?” Kristina asked.

The hand on his cock stopped, all the pressure gone before Sam had time to react.

God, there’s wasn’t a word for how dead Dean was going to be.

“Sam?” Kristina repeated. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said again, his breath catching in his throat as Dean’s hand touched his knee. When did that part of him get so sensitive?

“He needs another shot!” cried someone whose name Sam couldn’t remember.

A glass appeared in his hand and he stared at it doubtfully. He’d lost count of how many he’d had a long time ago, but the way everything was fuzzy around the edges probably meant that he’d had enough.

“Take it, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was low and intimate, his lips skimming the shell of Sam’s ear and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“I fucking hate you,” Sam said, voice pitched so only Dean could hear. The vodka tasted as harmless as water when it slid down his throat.

“You love me.” Dean’s hand running from Sam’s knee to the top of his thigh punctuated that statement.

Sam was about to reply when he felt a hand creep up his other, previously unmolested leg. With a feeling of dread, he slowly turned and looked over at Kristina.

“Uh…”

“Are you dating anyone, Sam?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, wincing when the word came out too fast and about an octave too high. “Yeah, I am. Sort of.”

Dean’s hand found its way back to Sam’s dick and cupped it in his wide palm.

Sam was way too drunk to deal with this. Tension ran through his whole body and he waited for the two hands groping him to meet somewhere in the middle.

“Well,” Kristina responded with a small, seductive smile, “I don’t see her anywhere. Do you?”

“Oh God,” Sam groaned, pressing his hand against his eyes. He was turned on like crazy despite himself by Dean’s hand on his cock and Kristina’s soft, full breasts against his arm. This could only happen to him. “Listen,” he said, almost reluctantly shifting away from Kristina and her fantastic breasts, “I’m not really…”

“Do you want to dance?”

Sam paused in the middle of what was sure to be an awkward brush-off. “Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted to dance,” she said.

“Uh…”

“Dance with the girl, Sam,” Dean said, giving his cock a few slow tugs.

“What?” Sam said. He was hard as a rock - his dick ached inside his jeans - and Dean wanted him to dance?

“Go ahead,” Dean said. “I’ll be right here.” The tip of his tongue peaked out to quickly swipe at his bottom lip and Sam suppressed a groan. Dean was getting off on this as much as he was.

Filled with confidence at that realization, Sam stood up and let Dean’s hand slide off of his body.

“Alright,” he said, not breaking their gaze, “let’s dance.”

Then Sam ruined the moment by trying to take a step, his first since he’d started knocking back shots, and promptly losing his footing.

“Whoa,” Dean said, smirking, and reached out to steady him with a hand on his hip. Two fingers slipped under Sam’s shirt and brushed against his bare skin. “Be careful.”

He glared at Dean while Kristina took his hand and led him to an empty place on the floor. Her arms stretched up until they crossed behind his neck and Sam placed his hands on the curve of her waist.

The music was some pounding rap song that Sam had never heard before. Around them, people were shouting the words and cheering, but Kristina just smiled and ground against him. Shifting their position, Sam turned them so that he could see their table over Kristina’s head. Sure enough, Dean sat facing them, sitting slouched in the seat with his legs spread wide.

Their eyes locked through the smoke and darkness and Sam’s own drunken haze. One of Sam’s hands drifted under the slinky material of Kristina’s shirt and ran over the smooth skin of her back.

Sam couldn’t dance for shit, but he did his best to put on a show for Dean. He knew he had to look ridiculous, but Dean wasn’t laughing. His gaze was hot as he tracked Sam’s movements intently, only looking away when he tilted his head to take a drink from his beer.

They danced together for two songs, but at the beginning of the third Dean stood up and made his way towards them.

“Yeah,” Sam murmured, watching Dean’s slow prowl towards them with growing excitement.

His heart hammered in his chest and he tangled his fingers in Kristina’s long, dark hair and held on, following her lead through the heavy bass of the song’s chorus.

“You don’t look so hot, Sam.” Dean said when he reached them. He pressed a companionable hand against Sam’s stomach, and Sam felt all the muscles there tense. Dean turned to Kristina and shrugged. “He never could hold his alcohol.”

Wrapping his other arm around Sam’s waist, he maneuvered him out of Kristina’s grasp.

“But…” she said, looking confused.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean promised with a charming smile. “Don’t want Sammy here to heave all over that pretty little outfit you’ve got on.”

Sam leaned heavily into Dean’s side and held onto his shoulders as they made their way across the bar and to the single stall bathroom.

“Lightweight,” Dean explained to a curious group of people watching their progress.

As soon as Dean locked the door, Sam was on him, pushing him against the grimy tile wall, right below a markered declaration that “Tony wuz here.”

“You’re such a bastard,” he said, even as Dean positioned his thigh to rub Sam’s cock just right. “Gonna kill you.”

Dean snickered while undoing his jeans. “I can’t help it. You’re so fucking easy when you’re drunk. I bet you wanted it, didn’t you? You wanted me to pull your cock out and jerk you off at the table. You wanted me to get you off while that girl flirted with you, totally clueless. Just the thought of it makes you crazy.”

Sam groaned at the image Dean’s words conjured in his head. He wouldn’t admit it, but something about the idea of Dean making him come with Paulie and Kristina and everyone else none the wiser around them turned Sam on in a way he couldn’t put to words.

“Dean,” Sam said then, giving up on bravado and thrusting against Dean’s thigh desperately, “Please.”

“Alright. Alright, Sammy,” he said, pushing Sam’s jeans half-way down his legs and reaching his hand into Sam’s boxers.

Letting his forehead clunk against the wall, Sam’s hips stuttered and he heaved a long, shaky sigh when Dean’s hand wrapped tight around his cock.

“Jesus, you’re ready to blow. This must have been pretty painful with those jeans on, huh?” Sam could feel Dean’s smile against his collarbone.

“Hate you so much,” Sam replied, his hips rocking into the sweet pressure of Dean’s hand.

“You loved every second,” Dean said and gave Sam’s cock a squeeze. “Do it, Sam. Fuck my hand. Get yourself off.”

Clever fingers hitched up Sam’s shirt and thumbed his nipple, sending sharp spikes of pleasure straight to his cock and making him groan and buck helplessly.

He bit his lip and managed to hold off for a few deliriously good minutes before Dean’s tight, sure grip sent him spiraling over the edge. He came with a relieved shout that Dean swallowed in a kiss, hard and messy, as he milked Sam’s cock with long, steady pulls, prolonging his orgasm until it was almost painful.

“God,” Sam panted, his chest heaving from the aftershocks. “God.”

Dean gave him a shit-eating grin and leaned forward to lick a wet stripe up Sam’s neck. “I told you, it’s the vodka. Makes you my bitch.”

Sam felt Dean’s erection nudging his stomach and moved away when Dean tried to kiss him again.

“Get back here,” Dean said. He reached out for Sam, but Sam stopped him with a hand on his chest.

As he watched Dean’s nervous expression, it was Sam’s turn to smirk.

“What are you doing?” Dean demanded.

Sam let his grin widen. “We’re done.” Going to the sink, he cleaned himself off and re-fastened his jeans.

“No, you’re done,” Dean said.

“You too,” Sam argued. “Because I’m not touching you until we get back to the motel.”

A look of dismay passed over Dean’s face. Sam glanced down at the jutting outline of Dean’s hard cock, the tip of it peaking out from the hole in his navy boxers, before gazing at Dean from beneath lowered eyelids.

They stared at each other for several seconds before Dean broke.

“Shit!” He hissed as he pulled his pants up and buttoned them over his erection. “Fine, let’s go back.”

“But Kristina…” Sam said, a laugh bubbling below the surface.

“Fuck Kristina,” Dean said vehemently, ripping off a piece of paper towel and wiping his wet hand. “Now, Sam. Move!”

Sam laughed and drunkenly followed him out the door.

LEAVE A COMMENT