Supernatural, Sam/Dean, bootkink - Knockin' Boots
Knockin' Boots - R
Dean has had those damn boots for as long as Sam can remember. Since before Stanford probably and Sam doesn’t know how Dean’s feet haven’t grown when Sam himself had to go up at least two sizes while at college. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about them, they were just boots - dirty and old and had a knick in the toe from when Sam was practicing throwing knives and maybe slipped a little. It was Dean’s fault, he shouldn’t have been in the way, okay? But they’re reliable, like Dean. Sam knows their width and their tread when they’re on a hunt, can follow them knowing they’ll lead them right to his brother.
Maybe he has a thing and maybe he knows that it’s weird to have a thing but it’s just. His brother is sexy as Hell, Sam’s not blind. And maybe he likes watching him wrap those long fingers around the laces, those fingers that have held Sam when he was sick or sad, that have stitched him up, that have cradled his cock in his hand and brought him to orgasm. When Dean’s cleaning his guns and he’s got his feet propped up on the table, pistol and oil covered cloth in his hands, maybe Sam wants to run his tongue along the worn leather - the taste of mud and graveyard dirt and all.
Maybe when Dean comes back to the motel room after a night out at the bar Sam grabs him, throws him down on the bed and climbs on top of him. Maybe he rips out the lace of one of his boots and ties his brothers wrists together above his head with it. And maybe before Sam’s slicked up Dean’s cock and worked a few fingers into his own ass to stretch and crook, after he’s sunk down into Dean’s lap, maybe he left Dean’s boots on and maybe he arches his back, long arms stretched behind him and maybe caresses them when he comes.