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kathierif_ficTitle: Miami Vice
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be and never were.
Warnings: Incest
Word Count: 1,380 words
Summary: After getting arrested, Dean is getting interrogated.
Author’s Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kink_bingo, prompt: Roleplay/AU (misc.).
~*+*~
“Dude.”
Dean shifted slightly in the hard chair he was sitting in. The metal of the cuffs was chafing the skin on his wrists, had for what felt like hours now, and he knew that they were reddened and would bruise if he would stay in the cuffs for much longer.
“Very Miami Vice.”
“Shut up.”
The cop was tall, taller than he was. He was wearing a cheap suit, and his pale yellow tie was slightly askew. His hair had been slicked back, and he looked vaguely pissed off already.
Dean smirked. He hadn’t even started yet.
“Dean Winchester.”
It wasn’t a question, and Dean just leaned back in his chair and smirked. The cop stood on the other side of the table, waiting, but two could play that game.
Dean wouldn’t say anything.
“So, Mr. Winchester…” He was looking through a thick file he was holding. Dean craned his neck slightly, but he still couldn’t read what was written on it. “…Care to explain why you were digging up a grave to defile the body of the newly decreased Mrs. Quatro?”
Dean frowned. “What?”
Before he could react, the cop had taken two steps around the table – his legs were freaking long, and he was even bigger from up close and personal as he was leaning over Dean threateningly.
One of his hands tangled in the front of Dean’s shirt, and he found himself pulled up to his feet.
“Dude,” he said, slightly breathlessly, and held his bound hands up in front of him, barely grazing the front of the man’s shirt.
The cops’ eyes narrowed even more than they already were. “Hands off,” he hissed. “Or I’ll add assault of a police officer to your list of charges, and believe me, Dean, the list is getting long.”
Dean couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, but before he knew it, he found himself thrown over the small table and pressed face first into it.
“Not so cocky anymore, are we?” The cop breathed into his ear as he pressed Dean into the piece of furniture. Dean chose not to reply, struggling instead to get his hands under his face, to protect himself. He shoved back slightly, colliding with a hard-muscled body – and froze.
The cops’ muscles weren’t the only thing hard on him, he realized, but before he could do anything, he was pressed into the table again, and the freaking cop was rubbing against his ass like a dog in heat.
“Whoa,” Dean gasped, but before he could do, say or even think anything, his feet were kicked apart. The cuffs around his wrists jingled slightly and clanked against the surface of the table as Dean tried to get away, but the cop was pressing his whole weight down on him.
He wasn’t only huge, he also was freaking heavy.
And if the heavy breathing close to his ear was an indicator, he also was turned on beyond belief by Dean’s wriggling and squirming.
Dean hesitated for a moment, but his goal was to escape from this interrogation room and to return to his car, his job, his daily life. He needed to get away. People were depending on him. His family was depending on him.
Taking a deep breath, he deliberately pushed his ass back against the man’s groin, rubbing himself against his hard dick slightly.
The startled groan told him that his assumption had been correct – the man was hot for him. Dean smirked slightly as he continued to push his hips backwards. He just needed to get out of this room, and the rest would be a piece of cake.
Briefly he wondered if there was a camera, but even if there was, he couldn’t worry about it right now. He had to take it one step at the time.
Looking down at his hands, he focused on the dark ink still clinging to his fingertips while deliberately widening his stance a little bit, to get a better angle.
Another broken moan brought him back to the task at hand, and he arched his back and leaned up on his elbows as much as he could, to glance over his shoulder with an amused smirk.
The cops’ eyes were almost closed, his mouth was hanging slightly open, and a slight sheen of sweat was covering his face. His nose was kind of hawkish, Dean noticed absent-mindedly, hawkish and big.
Only when the man swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving and pulling Dean’s eyes down, from his nose over his thin mouth to his pale throat, Dean realized that he’d stopped moving. He cursed himself silently when he was pressed face-down into the table again and his pants were yanked down.
“Dean…”
Dean took a deep breath and consciously relaxed against the touch of cool fingers on his ass, spreading him, and then he could feel the heat of the other man’s erection rubbing against his ass and in between his thighs. He hadn’t even realized that the guy had taken off his pants; he realized and gave himself a mental slap. He needed to pay better attention to his surroundings. Dad would be disappointed if he knew.
But then, Dad would be disappointed if he saw Dean like this anyways.
He shifted again, trying to get his legs closer together, to create more friction and get this over as soon as possible. He could feel the wetness of pre-come being smeared over his skin, and then, one of the hands was worming its ways underneath him, where the edge of the table was still biting into his stomach, and he was yanked up by the hips, into the contact, and he groaned loudly as a big hand was wrapped tightly around his cock, coaxing it into hardness.
“Dean.”
“Yeah,” Dean grunted, still fighting for his equilibrium, to catch his breath and to get back into control of the situation, but the pent up stress and the manual stimulation distracted him to the point where he could only think about the sensation of a broad palm cupping his dick, stroking it just like Dean liked it, and it made thinking and planning a little hard.
He grimaced as the thrusts against his body became more forceful, but shorter, and the hand that was still pressing him down dug almost painfully into his back before the insides of his thighs were coated with warm stickiness.
“Dude,” he gasped, but the hand around his dick didn’t stop. Instead, it picked up speed, until Dean came with a strangled grunt and collapsed on the table, into the puddle of come.
He stayed like that for a moment, waiting for his racing heart and his breathing to calm down again. Only then did he lift his head.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam murmured and fumbled with the knot of his tie. “You?”
Dean rattled his cuffs slightly. “A little help here?” he asked hopefully, and Sam rolled his eyes and struggled to pull up his pants and to get the key to the cuffs from his pocket.
Dean gave him a smirk and stretched. “Seriously. Defiling Mrs. Quatro?” he asked.
Sam nodded and sat down in the chair Dean had occupied earlier. His pants were still around mid-thigh, but he didn’t seem to care about the fact that his slowly softening cock was still out. “You were,” he said quietly.
“Dude, was not!”
“You so were.” Sam glared at him, his brows pulled down over his eyes, and for a second, he looked like the cop he’d pretended to be and not Dean’s little brother, but then the moment was gone and Dean felt a wave of love crash through his chest and make his heart contract almost painfully. “You were singing along with the radio. I call that defiling.”
Sammy was his brother, the only family he had left. He was the single most important person in Dean’s life, and he was the only one Dean would play this version of cops-and-grave-robber with when Sam asked. He would do everything for Sammy.
“A tribute,” Dean replied, his smirk softening slightly. “Bitch.”
Sam looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then something unreadable flickered over his face, and he just replied, “Jerk.”
It was everything Dean wanted.
~End.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be and never were.
Warnings: Incest
Word Count: 1,380 words
Summary: After getting arrested, Dean is getting interrogated.
Author’s Notes: For
kink_bingo, prompt: Roleplay/AU (misc.).~*+*~
“Dude.”
Dean shifted slightly in the hard chair he was sitting in. The metal of the cuffs was chafing the skin on his wrists, had for what felt like hours now, and he knew that they were reddened and would bruise if he would stay in the cuffs for much longer.
“Very Miami Vice.”
“Shut up.”
The cop was tall, taller than he was. He was wearing a cheap suit, and his pale yellow tie was slightly askew. His hair had been slicked back, and he looked vaguely pissed off already.
Dean smirked. He hadn’t even started yet.
“Dean Winchester.”
It wasn’t a question, and Dean just leaned back in his chair and smirked. The cop stood on the other side of the table, waiting, but two could play that game.
Dean wouldn’t say anything.
“So, Mr. Winchester…” He was looking through a thick file he was holding. Dean craned his neck slightly, but he still couldn’t read what was written on it. “…Care to explain why you were digging up a grave to defile the body of the newly decreased Mrs. Quatro?”
Dean frowned. “What?”
Before he could react, the cop had taken two steps around the table – his legs were freaking long, and he was even bigger from up close and personal as he was leaning over Dean threateningly.
One of his hands tangled in the front of Dean’s shirt, and he found himself pulled up to his feet.
“Dude,” he said, slightly breathlessly, and held his bound hands up in front of him, barely grazing the front of the man’s shirt.
The cops’ eyes narrowed even more than they already were. “Hands off,” he hissed. “Or I’ll add assault of a police officer to your list of charges, and believe me, Dean, the list is getting long.”
Dean couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, but before he knew it, he found himself thrown over the small table and pressed face first into it.
“Not so cocky anymore, are we?” The cop breathed into his ear as he pressed Dean into the piece of furniture. Dean chose not to reply, struggling instead to get his hands under his face, to protect himself. He shoved back slightly, colliding with a hard-muscled body – and froze.
The cops’ muscles weren’t the only thing hard on him, he realized, but before he could do anything, he was pressed into the table again, and the freaking cop was rubbing against his ass like a dog in heat.
“Whoa,” Dean gasped, but before he could do, say or even think anything, his feet were kicked apart. The cuffs around his wrists jingled slightly and clanked against the surface of the table as Dean tried to get away, but the cop was pressing his whole weight down on him.
He wasn’t only huge, he also was freaking heavy.
And if the heavy breathing close to his ear was an indicator, he also was turned on beyond belief by Dean’s wriggling and squirming.
Dean hesitated for a moment, but his goal was to escape from this interrogation room and to return to his car, his job, his daily life. He needed to get away. People were depending on him. His family was depending on him.
Taking a deep breath, he deliberately pushed his ass back against the man’s groin, rubbing himself against his hard dick slightly.
The startled groan told him that his assumption had been correct – the man was hot for him. Dean smirked slightly as he continued to push his hips backwards. He just needed to get out of this room, and the rest would be a piece of cake.
Briefly he wondered if there was a camera, but even if there was, he couldn’t worry about it right now. He had to take it one step at the time.
Looking down at his hands, he focused on the dark ink still clinging to his fingertips while deliberately widening his stance a little bit, to get a better angle.
Another broken moan brought him back to the task at hand, and he arched his back and leaned up on his elbows as much as he could, to glance over his shoulder with an amused smirk.
The cops’ eyes were almost closed, his mouth was hanging slightly open, and a slight sheen of sweat was covering his face. His nose was kind of hawkish, Dean noticed absent-mindedly, hawkish and big.
Only when the man swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving and pulling Dean’s eyes down, from his nose over his thin mouth to his pale throat, Dean realized that he’d stopped moving. He cursed himself silently when he was pressed face-down into the table again and his pants were yanked down.
“Dean…”
Dean took a deep breath and consciously relaxed against the touch of cool fingers on his ass, spreading him, and then he could feel the heat of the other man’s erection rubbing against his ass and in between his thighs. He hadn’t even realized that the guy had taken off his pants; he realized and gave himself a mental slap. He needed to pay better attention to his surroundings. Dad would be disappointed if he knew.
But then, Dad would be disappointed if he saw Dean like this anyways.
He shifted again, trying to get his legs closer together, to create more friction and get this over as soon as possible. He could feel the wetness of pre-come being smeared over his skin, and then, one of the hands was worming its ways underneath him, where the edge of the table was still biting into his stomach, and he was yanked up by the hips, into the contact, and he groaned loudly as a big hand was wrapped tightly around his cock, coaxing it into hardness.
“Dean.”
“Yeah,” Dean grunted, still fighting for his equilibrium, to catch his breath and to get back into control of the situation, but the pent up stress and the manual stimulation distracted him to the point where he could only think about the sensation of a broad palm cupping his dick, stroking it just like Dean liked it, and it made thinking and planning a little hard.
He grimaced as the thrusts against his body became more forceful, but shorter, and the hand that was still pressing him down dug almost painfully into his back before the insides of his thighs were coated with warm stickiness.
“Dude,” he gasped, but the hand around his dick didn’t stop. Instead, it picked up speed, until Dean came with a strangled grunt and collapsed on the table, into the puddle of come.
He stayed like that for a moment, waiting for his racing heart and his breathing to calm down again. Only then did he lift his head.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam murmured and fumbled with the knot of his tie. “You?”
Dean rattled his cuffs slightly. “A little help here?” he asked hopefully, and Sam rolled his eyes and struggled to pull up his pants and to get the key to the cuffs from his pocket.
Dean gave him a smirk and stretched. “Seriously. Defiling Mrs. Quatro?” he asked.
Sam nodded and sat down in the chair Dean had occupied earlier. His pants were still around mid-thigh, but he didn’t seem to care about the fact that his slowly softening cock was still out. “You were,” he said quietly.
“Dude, was not!”
“You so were.” Sam glared at him, his brows pulled down over his eyes, and for a second, he looked like the cop he’d pretended to be and not Dean’s little brother, but then the moment was gone and Dean felt a wave of love crash through his chest and make his heart contract almost painfully. “You were singing along with the radio. I call that defiling.”
Sammy was his brother, the only family he had left. He was the single most important person in Dean’s life, and he was the only one Dean would play this version of cops-and-grave-robber with when Sam asked. He would do everything for Sammy.
“A tribute,” Dean replied, his smirk softening slightly. “Bitch.”
Sam looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then something unreadable flickered over his face, and he just replied, “Jerk.”
It was everything Dean wanted.
~End.