Title: Your Kink Is Not My Kink (Or Maybe It Is)
Summary: Written for this prompt on the spn-kinkmeme:
Dean loves food. Dean loves to cook for Sam. Dean loves the bunker kitchen. Sam just loves Dean in his apron and likes to fuck his older brother on every available surface in said bunker kitchen.
Warnings: Wincest, misuse of pie filling, rimming
Dean likes to cook. He knows it’s maybe a little odd for someone with his background, but he figures that’s actually part of it--he’s spent so much time eating salt with a side of grease in shitty diners that it’s only natural he’d want something good when he got the chance. He’s spent years thinking about all the things he’d make if he ever got access to a really nice kitchen--and the one in the bunker definitely qualifies.
The other reason Dean likes cooking is Sam. Sam was too little to remember much about that time, but Dean used to cook for them a lot when they were younger. Their Dad rarely worried about food as much as booze--if Dean and more importantly Sam were gonna eat, Dean was going to be the one to take care of it. He'd never admit it now, but he even did a little research, learning about how things went together--this makes that taste better, don't ever use that thing one with this other thing--the basics, so that they wouldn't starve or die of food poisoning while dad was gone. He did his best with what they had, and one of the greatest feelings in the world, back then, was Sammy looking up at him with those wide, tip-tilt eyes and that sweet little smile, saying this is good, De, can I have more?
Over the years, Sam has, of course, developed other ways to express his gratitude that Dean also enjoys very much. One of Dean’s all time favorites still involves Sam looking up at him with wet, tip-tilt eyes, mouth cock-swollen and red as he moans so good De give me more while Dean does his level best to keep from coming right then and there. If that’s not incentive to keep doing what he’s doing, Dean doesn’t know what is.
This morning, Dean's cooking something new, a special request from Sam. He'd gotten his ingredients together, looking forward to the challenge, and put on his Kiss the Cook apron. Sam wandered in a little later, eyes going dark and hungry as soon as he saw what Dean was wearing.
“That an invitation?” he’d teased, and Dean swallowed hard at the feel of his not so little brother’s already half hard cock pushing between his ass cheeks, his hands locked on Dean’s hips. Sam didn’t wait for an answer, bending slightly to nuzzle right behind Dean’s ear, that spot that always drives Dean crazy. Dean can’t help the sound he makes--breathy, undignified, completely involuntary.
“Mmmm that’s what I thought,” Sam said silkily. His hands slid forward, under the apron, so close to where Dean suddenly needs them to be. “Question is, where, exactly, am I supposed to Kiss the Cook?” He moves lower, one hand working the button on Dean’s pants, the other slipping under Dean’s t-shirt and dragging it up. Dean’s breath stutters, catching in his throat as he tries to focus on stirring the filling for the strawberry-rhubarb abomination Sam had insisted on. The sound he makes when Sam grinds against him might be Sam’s name, but he can’t make any promises.
“Here?” Sam muses, nimble fingers teasing Dean’s nipples into hard, aching peaks. His other hand slides into the open V of Dean’s pants, pleased sound vibrating against Dean’s neck as he discovers that Dean had picked a really good day to go commando. “Or maybe here?” He tugs Dean’s cock so that’s it’s pressed up against Dean's flat belly, playing with the slick that’s leaking from the tip as Dean throbs helplessly in his hand, biting his lip to keep from moaning.
“Sam…” Definitely Sam’s name, definitely a moan. Dean’s trying to focus, he’s trying to keep stirring Sam’s pie but Jesus fuck Sam’s hand is huge and warm and Dean’s knees are starting to go a little weak.
“Hmm, no.” Sam pulls his hands back to Dean’s hips, soothing away the distressed noise Dean can’t help making with a quick kiss to Dean’s temple. “That’s not quite it either.” Dean hears Sam’s knees hit the floor behind him, and then Sam’s working Dean’s pants carefully down over his hips.
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean groans, spoon clattering against the side of the bowl. “Sam, I--”
“Just keep going, Dean,” Sam says mildly, and now both hands are on the heavy muscle of Dean's ass, spreading him wide. “I think I figured it out.”
Dean picks the spoon up again shakily, jerkily stirring the filling so it doesn't congeal into a thick, useless mess as he leans heavily against the counter and tries not to whimper. “Good,” Sam murmurs, and Dean can feel his Sam's breath ghost warm and damp over his hole. “So good, Dean.” His tongue flicks out to taste the puckered flesh, and Dean can’t help the moan that leaks out from behind clenched teeth. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely the spot,” Sam breathes, and Dean can practically hear the smug smile in his voice right before he swipes his tongue over Dean’s hole again, spreading Dean open and sealing his wet, open mouth over Dean's hole to circle his tongue around the rim.
Dean makes a cut off choking sound, swallowing a curse, unable to stop his hips from rocking back as he begs fuck Sam fuck I need more” Sam gives it to him, God does he, licking over Dean’s perineum, teasing Dean’s rim with the tip of his tongue before finally sliding in as deep as he can get. Sam gives himself over completely to what he’s doing, fingers digging deep into the meat of Dean’s ass, holding him still so that he can work at the tight furl of muscle over and over again, licking and sucking at it as Dean moans and writhes above him, tries to take him deeper. Sam hums approvingly, tongue deep inside Dean’s body, letting the vibrations of it shoot straight to his own dick as well as Dean’s, both of them thick and hot and leaking.
Finally Sam pulls back, jaw aching as he stands up. Dean whimpers shamelessly, pushing back against him, searching over his shoulder for Sam’s mouth. Sam works his own jeans open as he swallows down the desperate sounds Dean can’t seem to help, moaning into his Dean's mouth as the pressure on his cock finally eases. He gives into temptation, rutting against Dean for a moment as they kiss, head of his cock catching briefly on the swollen, puffy rim of Dean’s hole before Sam eases back with a ragged gasp.
“You like that, Dean?” Sam whispers against the corner of Dean’s mouth as he slides two fingers right into his brother’s body, spreading him wide, driving sounds from Dean that Dean will absolutely deny later. “Like me tongue fucking your ass? Got you all nice and wet, just gonna slide right in, fuck you right here against the counter--” and yeah, Dean is right on board with that, just like he’s been every other time Sam’s fucked him against the counter or the table or the pantry door. What he’s not sure he’s on board with is Sam’s hand leaving his hip to snake around him and into the bowl of pie filling Dean had stopped stirring way back when because Jesus fucking Christ Sam’s tongue. “Just need a little lube--”
The words are barely out of Sam’s mouth when Dean feels the head of Sam’s dick prod at his entrance, sticky-slick, hot and hard. The press of it makes him feel empty-- he needs Sam inside him now. “C’mon Sam, need it, god, need it, please,” Dean says, begging shamelessly now. At least he thinks he says it out loud. He’s not sure he can form actual words at this point, but Sam gives him what he needs anyway, works his way in with slow, steady thrusts, opening Dean up around him as he pushes deep and deeper. He drops his head to Dean’s shoulder when he bottoms out, sucking in deep, ragged breaths as he smears words and sounds over Dean’s skin.
“So fucking tight, Dean, Jesus, so goddamn tight, gonna make you feel it for days--” Sam pries one hand off Dean’s hip, slides it around to grip Dean’s cock. He strokes hard, root to tip, gathering slick from the head and bringing it to Dean’s lips. Dean opens automatically, desperate for anything Sam wants to give him, licks and sucks, moaning as he works Sam’s fingers. He’s surprised by how good it tastes, tart-sweet pie and a hint of bitter salt going together better than he could have imagined. Sam lets Dean lick his fingers clean as he rocks in and out of his sensitive hole, dragging slow and rough over his inner walls and grazing his prostate with every stroke, whispering praise and love in his ear. Dean tries to push back, to take him deeper, harder, faster, but Sam won’t be hurried, won’t give him anything more until Dean’s done. As soon as Dean cleans the final bit of red from the webbing between Sam’s fingers, Sam pulls back til only the head of his cock is holding Dean open before shoving back in, setting a hard, fast rhythm that he matches with his hand on Dean’s cock. Starbursts explode behind Dean’s eyes and he’s coming with a strangled, broken scream in seconds, barely touched. It’s like a hit through a bulletproof vest, knocks the breath right out of him and nearly sends him to his knees if Sam weren't holding him so tightly in place.
Sam groans almost painfully behind him, working Dean through the aftershocks, driving home even harder as Dean’s muscles clench and flutter around him. He grinds out Dean’s name as he fills him in hot wet spurts that drag out every sensation, white hot sparks dancing along every nerve until Dean feels nearly flayed with it.
Finally Sam slumps against him, elbows hitting the counter on either side of Dean as he holds him close, both of them gasping as they try to come down enough to speak.
“Get off me, you Sasquatch,” Dean wheezes after a moment, elbowing Sam almost gently in the ribs.
“Sorry,” Sam mouths along the back of his neck, and straightens up on sex weak knees with a sigh, pulling out of Dean gently. Dean can feel Sam’s release inside him, and the realization of what Sam did suddenly hits him. He turns around to face his brother, incredulous.
“Did you--did you just fuck me using pie filling as lube?” He doesn’t quite mean for there to be so much outrage in his voice because to be perfectly honest it’s probably not the weirdest thing they’ve used in the last twenty or so years. But Sam smirks and laughs anyway.
“Would you care if did?” Sam asks, smirk widening. He lets Dean sputter in disbelief for a moment before he pulls up the jeans still pooled around his ankles. Dean sees the reddish stain where Sam had wiped his hand on the fabric about the same time Sam picks up the clear bottle he’d dropped on the floor earlier. “I used this,” he admits with a disgustingly smug grin. “But you know….” Sam leans around Dean to scoop a fingerful of pie filling from the neglected bowl on the counter. “This actually isn’t half bad. You could definitely eat pie out of my ass later if you wanted to.”
Dean just watches, open mouthed, as Sam sucks his finger clean, letting it go with an obscene pop before he turns to walk away. “I need a shower,” he tosses over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Dean takes a moment to kick off his jeans and toss his t-shirt and apron in the corner, shaking his head and grinning in disbelief. And he grabs the bowl of pie filling as he hurries after Sam, because some offers are just too damn good to pass up.