Dean liked to call the backroad to Bobby’s place “Lover’s Lane.”
It was sappy as shit and it made Sammy squirm when he asked him if he knew where they were when they’d turn onto the rough-paved road, Baby bouncing on each dip where pavement had been ripped away. He’d tighten his grip on the wheel in anticipation, feeling the heat raise in the cabin as Sammy prepared himself for the backseat. His thighs would part and he’d prop his elbow up on the door panel, staring out the window and throwing sly glances at Dean until they’d pull off to the side of the road.
From end to end it was a thirty minute drive, though for anyone who didn’t drive like they’d been given a death sentence it was closer to an hour, and just when they were ten minutes from Bobby’s they’d end up at a slight clearing in the treeline just wide enough for Baby to slot into.
Dean drummed the beat of the song playing on the radio, but he wasn’t hearing it in the slightest. He heard his blood rushing in his ears, he heard his jeans tightening, he heard his heart pick up the pace in his chest as he anticipated what would come next. Dean could have sworn he could smell Sammy’s arousal, some Hannibal Lecter-type shit that might not kill Sammy’s boner but would deflate it just a bit.
His cock strained in his jeans imagining Sammy with one of his own, fucking Dean into the next century like it was nothing and bugging him until he was ready for more. Sometimes he wondered what it might be like if he had a pussy and Sammy could do whatever he wanted to it, what it would feel like to have his baby brother really inside him without the aid of a dildo. Real deal Sammy meat, not just his fingers or his tongue. But, if he had his own pussy, he wouldn’t mind having Sammy’s fingers and tongue inside of him at all.
Dean didn’t reach in between his legs to start palming himself through his jeans no matter how much he wanted to, just in case Sammy wanted to get on his case for trying to kill them before they could reach their spot.
They’d christened it Lover’s Lane on Sammy’s sixteenth birthday, an evening so unseasonably hot that even with the windows rolled down it was unbearable. Something about the heat and the desperation settled deep into their bones and, just ten minutes from Bobby’s, Dean pulled off onto the shoulder and slid Sammy into his lap, fucking him until he was listing towards the open window. He still said it was his favorite birthday, even nearing ten years later.
Dean sped up as they neared the shoulder, unable to tolerate how his erection squeezed against the front of his jeans, begging for release. He wanted to fill Sammy up with his jizz and watch him blush when they got to Bobby’s, embarrassed even though Bobby was oblivious to the fact that Sammy had just been creampied by his brother. If he did know, he sure wasn’t saying anything about it.
He was careful to maneuver Baby into the clearing, turning off the headlights and turning down the radio while Sammy crawled into the backseat. Dean followed after he’d switched the station to something more appropriate, and he kissed Sammy like a diver searching for air. Sammy couldn’t spread his legs far, but Dean was able to fit in between them as he slid one hand down the front of his shirt, moving further and further down until he reached the hem of his jeans.
Dean popped the button with ease, making quick work of the zipper as Sammy pulled him closer, coaxing Dean’s tongue into his mouth. He raised his hips and let Dean tug his jeans and underwear down to his ankles, throwing his neverending legs over his shoulders and slotting his head in between his thighs.
Sammy huffed out a breath as Dean rolled the tip of his tongue across his clit, wetting it before he popped it into his mouth and started to suck on it. He grabbed Dean’s headrest for support and spread his thighs wider. That was always his move, tempt Dean closer so he could squeeze his head between his thighs until it popped. It wouldn’t be the worst death and it’d be a funny anecdote at his funeral which he could only anticipate would be Sammy and Bobby standing by a fresh grave dug on the side of the backroad he loved so dearly. What a time to learn that two boys he’d known for their entire lives were fucking each other raw most nights since they were teenagers.
For once, Sammy wasn’t talking to him while he sucked his clit and teased his tongue down his slit, moving lower and lower until he reached his entrance. His slick was dribbling down to his hole and Dean felt remiss to not take that as an invitation to fuck him in the ass, though maybe once they were at Bobby’s they could figure something out.
Dean dove past his lips and licked at his entrance, enjoying the way he squeezed around the tip of his tongue. Sammy exhaled shakily and closed his thighs gently around Dean’s head, letting him go easily and tightening his grip on the headrest.
“It’s really not fair,” Sammy moaned as he slipped his hand between his thighs, jerking at his clit with unsteady fingers. If Dean wasn’t supporting his weight he would have shoved Sammy’s hand away and made him wait to come.
“Wha?” Dean asked, his tongue still plunged into Sammy.
“That I come faster than you. What if I want you to eat me out for more than three minutes?”
Dean wasn’t counting, but it felt like he’d been tongue-fucking him for five minutes at the bare minimum. He pulled back, making Sammy almost whine at the lack of contact. His cock started leaking in his jeans.
“You want me to get lockjaw? Then you won’t get eaten out for weeks!” Dean felt proud, but Sammy cocked his head like the smug little shit he was. His cock ached.
“How are you gonna get tetanus from eating me out?”
“... Shut up.”
Sammy might have continued to make fun of him for mixing up lockjaw and TMJ but Dean dove right back in, grabbing the undersides of Sammy’s thighs and pulling him up to meet his mouth. He was leaking slick, wetting his pussy and his inner thighs with copious amounts of come. He was built to be a perfect little fucktoy and Sammy knew it, acting like a brat because he knew he could. The joke was on him, though, a bratty Sammy only made Dean harder.
He gripped Sammy’s thighs so hard he left white halos around his fingertips, closing in on his orgasm and refusing to stop until he came in his jeans. Dean moved back up to Sammy’s clit and started circling his tongue around it again, sucking it like he could imagine himself sucking Sammy’s hypothetical cock. He throbbed in his jeans and rutted forward into nothing, still envisioning filling Sammy up with his come. Later he’d find a way to get Sammy on his hands and knees, if he was able to hold himself up by then.
Sammy cried out when Dean finally made him come, squeezing his head between his trembling thighs as he panted through his orgasm. Dean grabbed Sam closer and tried to milk a few last moans out of Sammy to finish himself off.
He wanted to take his cock out of his pants and shove it into Sammy, use him like a fleshlight until he came, yet he couldn’t do it. Dean was so close, and all it ended up taking was picturing Sammy ass-up begging for Dean to knock him up for him to jizz. He choked out a moan that came out muffled, his mouth still on Sammy’s clit, and he eventually slid forward, coasting up his body until Dean was pressed up against him.
Sammy lied down in the backseat after he felt sated, his eyes half-lidded and a pleased smile spreading across his face. Dean settled on top of him, his head resting on Sammy’s chest. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, soft and regular. Sappy shit. He’d make an exception for Sammy.
“Bobby’s not expecting us for another hour, right?”
“Nah,” Dean said against his chest.
“Just wanna lie here for a second? Then you can fuck me when he goes to bed?”
Dean felt himself getting hard again just thinking about it.