dime_liora | Playing House

Title: Playing House
Author:

dimeliora
Fandom: SPN
Wordcount: 4,768
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Prompt(s): Written for the SMP

smpc
Summary: To Sam, this is the kinkiest thing they have ever done. Hands down.

This is, without a doubt, the kinkiest thing that they have ever done. Sam is standing in the kitchen looking at the groceries spread out over the counter and wondering how exactly he got talked into this.

He’s not sure.

Dean, despite his big talk and more extensive experience, is usually not the one who comes up with the adventures when it comes to the bedroom. His brother is flexible, willing, and generally eager. They’ve done more in the last two years since they started sleeping together than Sam could have ever imagined. If they’ve seen it in a porno, been exposed to it during a case, or simply imagined the possibility it could be hot Sam has pitched it and Dean has agreed.

This fantasy though, this particular kink, is all Dean. It’s the first time his brother has ever suggested what they should do together without Sam prompting, and Sam wasn’t about to turn it down or get judgmental after everything that Dean had done for him.

With that being said this is a bit different than tying each other up or giving each other handjobs in the theater. There’s an element to this that Sam isn’t certain he can put his finger on. Because it doesn’t fit with Dean. It doesn’t fit at all.

Sam starts chopping up potatoes. He lays bacon in the pan and turns back to the knife work as the slices start to sizzle and pop. This whole thing required a lot more research than Sam expected, and it occurs to him that this should be easier. That it shouldn’t be so confusing and new.

And that really only ups the excitement.

Dean still isn’t back from wherever he’s gone. Sam finally gets all the potatoes chopped into little pieces, almost perfectly evenly sized, and then he flips the bacon and digs through the fridge for eggs. He may not do much complicated cooking, but Sam certainly knows how to make an omelet. They were cheap and could be made on a hotplate with a single pan.

He keeps an eye on the bacon while he cracks eggs and adds milk and water. He fluffs them instead of whipping them, and then puts the mixing bowl to the side and rinses off the green pepper.

It’s a mindset. That’s what Sam’s learned. When they do things like this it’s all about the mindset. They play characters all the time, slipping in and out of people’s lives and wearing different names and masks so that they can slide through the sheep like costumed wolves.

The kitchen is nice. Not crazy affluent or super high tech, but homey and well kept. The little towels match the pot holders, and there’s an impressive collection of utensils and tools that Sam is not capable of utilizing to their full potential. The stove is gas, which means the owners pay two bills for energy. There are forced air heating units at floor level as well as radiators in the house. No vents for air conditioning. It makes sense. They’re pretty far north, so the summers are probably reasonable. Lots of time sitting out on the front porch, catching the breeze and watching the sun go down.

The kitchen, the porch, and the living room have the most signs of use and traffic. He drew the line at using a stranger’s bedroom, so he’s only scoped out the guest room at this point. It’s nice. Big billowy curtains and a soft, clean bed. The carpet is thick and Sam’s toes automatically curled in it when he stepped in the first time. Half of his mind is still there, studying the scene and planning out the best responses and actions to what he assumes will be Dean’s approach.

The other half of him is flipping the bacon out onto folded up paper towels at the crunchy but not quite burned point. He dumps the potatoes in the bacon grease and seasons them before putting another pan on the stove to let it reach the correct temperature.

His mind is apparently too scattered, because he’s surprised when hands land on his waist. Sam is ashamed that he jumps a little, and Dean catches the hand wielding the spatula towards his face.

“Hi honey. I’m home.”

Dean is smirking, and Sam considers twisting his wrist to slap his brother in the face with the spatula. Instead he leans forward and plants a kiss on Dean’s lips.

“You scared me.”

It’s true and not true, but in a domestic situation this is what someone would say. In a positive tone. Sam puts on a smile and Dean quirks one eyebrow and then squeezes Sam’s nose.

“Sorry sweetheart. What’s for dinner?” Dean pushes up a bit, peeking over Sam’s shoulder, and his mouth curls into a huge grin at the sight that greets him.

“Breakfast.” Sam doesn’t have to say it, it’s obvious, but he gets a little bit of pleasure from knowing that he’s surprised Dean and that the surprise is going over well.

“Want my omelet extra firm. With ham.” Dean kisses him again, lips chaste but lingering, and Sam kisses back with his hand twisted so that he can rest it on Dean’s hip and hold the spatula all at once. It’s weird. Off.

Sam likes it more than he thought he would.

Dean finally pulls back and winks at Sam before dropping into a chair at the kitchen table and toeing his boots off. He pulls one foot up into his hands and rubs at it, and Sam winces when he sees how greasy and messy Dean’s fingers are. The socks will never get clean again. Did Dean really spend this time working on the Impala to complete the fantasy?

“Hey. Wash your hands you pig.”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean ducks when Sam throws the spatula and gets up in one fluid motion to go to the bathroom and wash his hands.

Sam can hear the water running, and he turns back to the stove and grabs another spatula before stirring the potatoes and greasing the empty pan with butter, dropping the peppers and ham into it. He waits for them to cook a little before taking them out and pouring in the egg mixture.

At some point Sam hears the water shut off and knows that Dean is in the kitchen watching him cook. Sam tries to think of something smart to say and comes up empty. Instead he falls back on his knowledge of sitcoms and movies.

“How was your day?”

Dean moves then, opening the fridge and digging around until he finds a beer. He pops it open with his ring and then takes a long drink before hopping up onto the counter to sit perched on the edge where he can watch Sam more comfortably.

“Pretty good. Spent most of it working on that stupid Camaro. I swear the Johnson kid thinks that car is immortal.”

“With you around isn’t it?” Sam tests the eggs and then folds them over. Smiles at the perfect coloring and then frowns when the omelet collapses a little and extra raw egg oozes out.

Goddamn omelets.

“No. One day I’m gonna tell him he has to take it to a dealership and leave me alone. Let me work on cars people actually give a damn about.” Dean takes another long pull from his beer and Sam feels a lop-sided grin spread over his face at the sight of Dean’s feet swinging above the floor.

“Sure you will. Because you hate money.”

Dean drinks again and then points at Sam.

“How was the trial?”

For half a second Sam is flummoxed. He assumed that Dean would ask him about housework or something similarly sexist and degrading. He casts about for a clear answer and finds one buried under some back corner of his brain.

“By the book. Judge ruled in our favor and another idiot teenager texting and driving has to pay damages and medical. Nothing too spectacular.”

Dean scratches the back of his neck and then drinks again.

“Did his parents look pissed? I know you told me their little angel could do no wrong.”

Sam feels his smile turn wry, and he stirs the potatoes again before sliding the first omelet onto a plate and pouring the second one. His is peppers only.

“Yep. But whether they’re pissed or not their insurance is going to have to pony up. Which is great for Mrs. Pendergast because she really needs all that physical therapy. Here’s hoping that they at least ground him, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Out of the corner of his eye Sam sees Dean sneaking his hand close to the bacon to steal a piece, and he whaps his brother’s hand with the spatula and gives a real smile when Dean pulls his hand back with a hiss and puts on a wounded face.

“Sammy. I’m hungry and it’s right there.”

“So is the rest of dinner which will be ready in just a few minutes. Set the table.”

Dean pouts for another second, but when Sam is not moved he hops down from the counter and opens the cupboards. Sam starts removing the golden brown potatoes from the pan and dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl to get the grease off while the second omelet finishes cooking. He can hear the clinking of cups and silverware behind him, but this step of the cooking process requires too much focus for him to look over and see Dean actually setting a table.

The final omelet comes off onto the plate, and Sam distributes the bacon evenly and then lifts both plates. He watches Dean drop a serving spoon into the bowl of potatoes and follows his brother over to the table before putting the two plates down.

Dean has set it perfectly. Even folded the napkins carefully in the spot the plates will go. Sam is baffled.

How long has Dean fantasized about this?

“You want me to get the hot sauce?”

Dean looks up from where he’s straightening his fork and grins at Sam.

“Hell yeah. Get the milk too.”

Sam collects both of them and comes back to the table. He gives Dean the hot sauce and pours them both a glass of milk before returning the half gallon to the fridge. When he gets back to the table Dean is already taking a huge bite of the omelet.

He drops into the chair beside Dean and starts into his own meal. The potatoes are perfectly done and Sam is more than a little smug that his first attempt has gone so well.

Also, he’s wondering when the other shoe is going to drop and Dean is going to approach the reason that they’re here in the first place. The anticipation is killing him.

“Hey Sam, I was thinking we could dig Die Hard out and watch it after dinner. Would you be ok with that?”

Sam swallows his bite of omelet and turns his gaze on Dean. His brother looks eager and excited, like a kid at Christmas, and Sam can’t help but return the smile.

“Yeah. We can do that. That would be fine.”

Dean grins and takes another huge bite of his omelet.

“Awesome. Hey, you know if you wanted I could get started on painting the guest room this weekend. If you finally picked a color.” Dean’s knuckles knock Sam’s when he decides to pick the pepper shaker up at the same time Sam takes the salt. It’s subtle and sweet.

“I was thinking this Sherwin Williams color. Repose Gray. I’ll show it to you later. Let you have final say.”

Dean shakes his head and then talks with his mouth full. Sam resists the urge to slap his nose like a bad dog.

“Nah man, you’re better at that shit. You got an eye for it.”

Sam feels his eyebrow rising. That’s a pretty crazy guess for Dean. Even when he was at Stanford Sam never had anything to do with interior design.

“Sure.” Sam twists the fork in his fingers, feels the weight of the metal, and then digs into the potatoes and takes a big bite. When he looks up Dean is grinning at him, egg stuck to his lower lip and an almost manic gleam in his eyes. Sam reaches out and swipes the bit of egg off with his thumb before going back to his meal.

“So, Sammy, what’s for dessert?”

And Sam, who has always wanted to give Dean exactly what he wants in the way he wants it, smiles back as sweetly as he can manage.

“Dishes. Which you have to do because I cooked.”

The outraged noise is the best he’s ever heard.

----

Sam is sprawled on the couch, a copy of On the Road hanging from his fingertips as Dean’s heavy head slowly kills all feeling in his left leg. His brother is taking up most of the couch, one leg hooked over the back of it and the other stretched out and lying on the armrest.

On the screen John McClane has just sent the terrorist down in the elevator. Dean is laughing like it’s the first time he’s seen the ridiculous sign. Sam goes back to his book, fingers sinking in Dean’s hair and moving slow and soft over his brother’s scalp. He rubs idly, memorizing the texture of Dean’s hair all over again, the shape of his skull. There’s a bump there that Sam knows is a mole hidden by the thick swirl of hair there.

“What are you reading?”

Sam flips another page and then licks his lips.

“Jack Kerouac. A collection of stories about him traveling.”

He can feel Dean’s skeptical look, and Sam shifts the book enough to see Dean’s face and confirm his suspicion.

“That is more interesting than Die Hard? Really?”

Sam clears his throat, lifts the book and focuses on the passage he knows best. The one that he memorized when he was young.

“I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.”

Dean is just looking at him. There’s no reflection of the feeling Sam always has when he reads that passage on Dean’s face. His brother is simply staring at him, expression maybe a little questioning, but mostly flat.

Sam feels…flattened. A little betrayed. He can’t really explain it properly. Dean is just looking at him.

And then slowly, oh so slowly, Dean reaches up and plucks the book from Sam’s hand. He drops it to the floor and then threads his fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and pulls him down enough that he can do a half sit up and meet Sam in the middle.

Their lips stay simply pressed together for a minute before Dean tilts his head and opens his mouth. And then they’re really kissing, and Dean seems hungry and desperate for it. His brother’s tongue slides against the underside of his upper lip and then brushes his teeth and the roof of his mouth.

Sam lets him. Twists his head at an uncomfortable angle to keep the kiss going, to keep the contact, and then Dean breaks it and rests with their lips pressed together.

“Hey Sammy. About that dessert you cheated me out of.”

Sam shakes his head. Sits up and stretches his neck left and right.

“No. Not on my couch. Get up and get in the bed like a civilized adult.”

Dean practically trips over himself jumping up, and Sam can’t believe how eager he is. His brother is bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for Sam to join him, and Sam holds out one hand and watches as Dean takes it and leads him up the stairs to the guest room. Their bedroom. The walls are warm and neutral, and Sam looks around at them again and digs his toes into the carpet as he watches Dean pull the blankets down and expose the gray-blue sheets.

Sam licks his lips, steps forward, and pulls Dean in again. Kisses him slow and soft. Hands wander aimlessly over clothes, and Dean’s slide up under Sam’s shirt while his own work on the fastening on Dean’s jeans. He pops the button, works the zipper down, and runs his fingers along the line of Dean’s boxer briefs feeling the skin and hair versus the elastic.

They stay there, fingers touching soft and brief, and Sam disengages just long enough to let Dean pull his shirt up over his head before he goes back to pushing Dean’s jeans and underwear down. Dean is hard, very hard, and Sam gets just a brief touch of his fingers to Dean’s cock before his brother pushes back. He’s breathing hard, the hem of his shirt rubbing against his cock and darkening where pre-come leaks and rubs. There’s a flush in Dean’s cheeks, and his lips are just a little bit swollen.

“Sammy. Wanna take a shower?”

It’s a curveball, and Sam takes a breath and considers before he answers.

“No. We’ll shower after. I can’t go to the office tomorrow smelling like sex.”

Dean’s grin gets dirty and broad, and he pulls his shirt off and then steps back until his knees are pressed against the bed and his hands are hanging out in the air beckoning Sam onward.

And Sam responds, unbuttons his pants and drops them pushing his boxers off as well, then throws them into the laundry basket and crosses the room to Dean. His brother’s mouth is hot and waiting for him, and Sam locks on to Dean like a lifeline.

The making out goes sideways when Dean tugs on him, and they bounce on the bed and land with Sam on his right side, left hand stroking Dean’s face as he kisses him. Dean stays there for a minute, and then he goes down and to the side, mouth moving hotly along Sam’s jaw, his neck, the soft skin below his ear.

Sam tilts his head back, moans, and grips Dean’s shoulders tight as his brother makes his way down his body. Dean’s mouth is teeth and tongue, soft and wet versus sharp and quick. He moves fitfully, body twisting and turning, his skin rubbing against Dean’s and his nerves lighting on fire. Dean keeps moving, teeth scraping one of Sam’s nipples, tongue brushing the areola, and fingers pinning Sam down so that he can’t get any friction on his cock. Can’t get all the contact he wants.

The sheets are cool, and Sam turns his head and stares into the blue-green of the comforter, the darker blue of the pillows. Dean’s mouth is still moving, still sliding, and Sam tangles his fingers into his brother’s hair and grips as Dean mouths at his hip, takes little nips and licks, drives Sam up the fucking wall.

He wants to get aggressive, to pull Dean into place and shove into his brother’s mouth, but that’s not really the point of this fantasy. That’s not the kink.

They have no usual sex. Nothing to compare this to as a baseline. For two years, since the very first time that Sam reached over in the night when Dean was covertly jerking off and helped his brother finish to today, they have explored every kink that even mildly interested them.

Except this one. Except normality.

Dean’s tongue runs along the head of his dick and Sam gasps, jerks, and looks down to see his brother grinning at him. It’s then, as if something has made him more observant despite the fact that the majority of the blood that should be flowing through his brain is currently in his dick, that Sam sees that Dean is wearing a wedding ring.

A wedding ring.

Sam surges forward, dick bouncing off Dean’s lips and sliding across his jaw, and Dean grins saucy and smooth. He must realize what Sam’s just seen.

“Hey now, calm down, I’ll get you there.”

And Sam does. He relaxes into the soft bed and lets Dean do the work. He watches Dean’s pink lips part around the head of his dick, watches how Dean keeps eye contact while he slides his mouth down Sam’s shaft. His brother’s fingers grip his dick loosely, making up for the length that he can’t swallow, and Sam enjoys the dual sensations of wet mouth and fingers slick with spit. He makes tiny little thrusts, not trying to get off only trying to enjoy.

When Dean nudges him Sam rolls over and spreads his legs. Pushes himself up onto his knees when Dean reaches out for one of the blue pillows and slides it under Sam’s hips. He takes the friction of the pillowcase on his cock as Dean kisses and nibbles his way along the backs of Sam’s thighs before dragging the flat of his tongue over Sam’s right ass cheek.

“Dean. Can we do the room in two colors?”

His brother groans, scrapes his teeth against Sam’s ass cheek before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, sure, we can do two colors.”

Dean slips his tongue around the rim of Sam’s hole, pushes delicately and then gives a long and firm lick. Sam is squirming, humping the pillow, and he fights to make his voice sound normal.

“It’s just that I think two colors will make it really unique.”

“Whatever you want sweetheart.”

Dean dips his tongue into Sam’s hole, wriggling it against the firm muscle until he can get it in and circle it around. His fingers are pressing on the rim now, gently pushing and stroking it as his tongue fucks into Sam.

“Maybe something to add a little pop. Really bright white molding.”

Dean groans behind him, and Sam looks awkwardly over his shoulder to see that Dean is furiously jerking off as his tongue slips out of Sam’s asshole.

“Sam. Please. Can we talk about redecorating later? When I’m not hard enough to use my dick as a hammer?”

He thinks about that for a moment, really considers it, and then grins.

“What about changing the carpet?”

Dean’s tongue brushes against him again, and then Dean is reaching past Sam to fumble in the nightstand drawer before pulling out a little bottle of lube. Dean slicks up his fingers and then dips his tongue back into Sam while he works the lube onto his cock.

Sam is moaning, driving his cock into the pillow, and he can only make broken sentences.

“It’s just- hey what about- I was thinking- oh fuck, yes, wiggle it.”

Dean is really going to town, jaw stretched as he buries his tongue as deep into Sam as he can get it and pushes with his slick fingers against the rim. Sam can feel himself relaxing, opening up, and Dean’s tongue pulls out of him and is replaced by fingers.

Sam rolls a little, twisting his body and feeling the way Dean’s two finger press and twist inside him. He stares up at Dean’s flushed face and moans, the pillow under his ass slightly damp from all the pre-come and spit that’s rubbed against it.

“What were you thinking sweetheart?”

He ignores the term of endearment in the interest of fucking himself further down what is now three fingers spreading him open.

“Carpet. Changing carpet.”

Dean smiles, mouth slipping up Sam’s cock, past to the stomach, and then tracing a little circle around Sam’s bellybutton.

“Yeah. I think we should definitely change the carpet.”

Sam can’t make more platitudes about interior decorating. Whatever it was that turned Dean onto this kink Sam is officially behind it. Domesticity is awesome.

The head of Dean’s cock presses against Sam’s hole, and he takes a deep breath and relaxes as Dean hooks his arms under Sam’s legs and pulls him closer and up a little. And then Dean is sliding into him, cock pushing through the resistance and then slipping deep into Sam. He can tell that Dean is all the way in when his brother stops moving and gives him a moment to adjust.

“Cream.”

Dean pulls back a little, hands sliding up Sam’s sides before he plants them down the bed for leverage.

“Doesn’t match grey the right way. Too yellow.”

His brother pushes forward, cock sinking deep and pressing against Sam’s prostate, and in response Sam tightens his thighs on Dean’s side and pushes back.

“White carpet is asking for trouble.”

Dean moans, eyes closed and head tilted back just a little as he grinds his hips against Sam to enjoy the sensation of being buried inside him.

“What about a light blue?”

Sam’s breathing is ramping up again. Dean starts to move, pushing and pulling inside of him, and Sam slips his left hand along Dean’s arm until he feels the firmness of Dean’s ribcage. His right hand dips between them to grip his own cock and start jerking off.

“That’s a- a great idea. We’ll pull up the old to save money and then hire someone to-to- oh god- to install the new.”

Dean drops his forehead to Sam’s shoulder, covered in a thin film of sweat as the late day sun filters through the gap in the curtains and dances along his skin highlighting his freckles and the brighter parts of his hair.

“Yeah. And when that’s done we’ll talk about- about-“ Dean speeds up, getting close, and Sam pushes back riding him and stroking himself all at the same time. “About remodeling the kitchen.”

Sam is so close, so very close, and he can tell from the way Dean’s breath is hitching, how his brother’s hips stutter and lose rhythm, and how Dean’s teeth slide against Sam’s skin that Dean is too.

“Do you think we-we could-Dean- let’s get a dog.”

His brother comes inside of him, hips slamming in and mouth opening wide on Sam’s shoulder. Sam follows suit a moment later when Dean’s fingers clumsily brush his cock in an attempt to help. He spills over his fingers and Dean’s, feels the splashing against his stomach and inside of him, and lets out the breath he was apparently holding.

They stay locked like that for a few minutes, Dean breathing harshly against Sam’s shoulder as he makes tiny movements with his hips, and Sam sucking in air as his muscles flutter around Dean.

And then his brother slips out carefully and drops down beside him. They lay side by side, Dean’s fingers entangling with his own and becoming a physical link as they recover.

“Hey Sammy?”

Sam just barely manages to summon up the strength to turn his head. He’ll need a washcloth soon. The come is cooling on his skin and he doesn’t particularly enjoy the feeling.

“Yeah?”

“You really feel that way? Like we’re some kind of homeless wanderers disappearing into the landscape?”

He thinks about it for a minute. This has been fun, pretending that they’re two normal Joes with normal lives. That they have a home they sleep in every night and jobs they go to in the morning. That they think of little touches like matching hangers in the coat closet, or get mad about banal stuff like running out of paper towels.

It’s a nice fantasy. And it’s weirdly attractive. Years ago Sam would have told Dean they couldn’t do this one. He would have seen it as a betrayal of his own dreams and desires. Would have considered it a terrible tease for what he couldn’t have.

But now.

“I feel like a wanderer, yes, but not the rest of it. Not anymore.” Sam squeezes Dean’s hand once, feels Dean squeeze back. “Not the homeless part, and definitely not part of the landscape.”

His brother lets go of his hand and stands, making his way towards the bathroom to get Sam a washcloth.

“Good. Otherwise I ain’t doing my job.”

Sam doesn’t have a witty comeback for that.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: "Sing"-Travis

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

paperbackwriter.livejournal.com

Okay...I'm incoherent...that was amazing and hot but OMG I'm weeping! My heart is just breaking for them but also swelling with all the loving feels! That is damn clever, Hun. I like a lot : ) xx

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These fragments I have shored against my ruins.

Playing House

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