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Burnin' For You

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Sam’s in the library reading when his stomach lets out an alarmingly loud growl. Now that he’s paying attention, he can tell that Dean is cooking something that smells amazing, and he puts his book aside in favor of seeking out company and delicious food.

Padding through the bunker on socked feet means that Sam gets to enjoy the view from the kitchen doorway for a few moments. Dean is standing in front of the stove, his (and Sam’s) favorite worn gray sweat pants hanging low on his hips. He’s wearing the apron Sam bought him a couple of years ago, the purple one that says “Kiss the cook”, and his back and shoulders are bare. Sam can hear him humming softly under his breath as he takes a handful of herbs from one of the various containers on the counter and adds it to the pot, making Sam’s mouth water for an entirely new reason as he crosses the kitchen.

Dean doesn’t startle or jump when Sam wraps his arms around him, proving what Sam had suspected--that Dean knew he was there along. Sam’s already half hard and Dean knows that too, if the way he subtly arches back against him is any indication. Sam doesn't say anything at first, just holds Dean close, chin on his shoulder, marveling that they get to have this--that Dean is here, in their kitchen, in their house. In the home that they'd made for each other, together. After a few minutes Dean sighs.

"You want something, Sammy?" It's playful, relaxed, and Sam wants to stay in this moment, safe and happy, forever.

“Smells good,” Sam says at last, nosing at Dean’s jawline, and Dean laughs.

“It’s my chili, of course it does.” Dean turns slightly to offer Sam the spoon he’d been stirring the pot with and Sam opens his mouth obediently to take a bite.

And immediately coughs, gasping for breath as the fiery heat of the chili takes him by surprise. Dean laughs again, but once Sam adjusts to the sensation he can tell that the liquid napalm Dean is concocting is good. Smoky, with undertones of garlic, onion, and cumin, the flavors all blending and complementing each other perfectly.

“Ghost peppers,” Dean says smugly. “Seemed appropriate, somehow.”

“More,” Sam demands, and Dean feeds him another bite. Sam’s mouth feels like it’s on fire, but the taste is so good he can’t help but want more.

“It’s not too much?” Dean asks, serious this time, and Sam shakes his head. “I’ve got cheese and sour cream here to cut the heat a little if you need it.”

“Hot, but I can handle it,” Sam says, nipping at Dean’s throat. “And it’s not the only thing that’s hot…” His hands slide under the apron to scratch over Dean’s bare nipple and cup Dean’s cock, squeezing gently.

Dean moans softly, trapped deliciously between Sam’s hands and the thick, hot line of Sam’s dick pressing into him. Sam rolls his hips into Dean, pushing between his ass cheeks to rub over Dean’s hole. Dean moans again, soft and helpless to resist. “Sam…”

“Mmmm?”

“Kinda...kinda busy here.”

Sam bites down harder and the spoon in Dean’s hand clatters into the pot as his hand tangles in Sam’s hair, pulling him closer.

“Chili’s always better after it sits awhile,” Sam points out breathlessly. He lets go of Dean reluctantly to push the pot off the heat, then spins his brother around for a real kiss then falls to his knees to nuzzle at the hard flesh straining against the drawstring of Dean’s sweats.

Fuck, Sam,” Dean groans, knees going weak as Sam tugs the soft material down. Sam grins up at him as he licks a hot stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock, the taste of bitter salt mingling with the taste of Dean’s chili and doing nothing to cool the burning in his mouth. He takes Dean in, eager for the taste and feel of his brother heavy on his tongue, stretching his lips wide as Dean clutches at his hair, dragging him closer, pushing deeper.

But Sam is just getting started when Dean’s grip changes. He’s still frantic, but now he’s trying to push Sam away. “Sam, what the fuck--”

Sam rocks back on his heels, looking up at Dean in surprise. “Oh my God, why is my dick on fire?” Dean looks around frantically. “I need--get some water, Sam! Something! Oh, fuck!

The realization hits Sam and he grabs Dean’s hand while trying not to laugh. “No water, Dean. Water will just make it worse,” he says, holding both of Dean’s hands in his. He stands up and digs his free hand into the bowl of sour cream sitting on the counter.

“What the--don’t you dare, Sam!” Dean shouts hysterically, but Sam ignores him while slathering the cool white cream all over Dean’s dick--everywhere his mouth had touched. “Shit, that’s cold!” Dean twists one hand free of Sam’s grip and grabs his wrist. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands. “What the fuck?

Sam struggles to keep a straight face as he explains. “Capiscum is oil based,” he says, letting go of Dean’s dick. “Water will just spread it around. But it binds with the fats in dairy, which is why people drink milk when something is too spicy.” Sam gives Dean a quick kiss before striding over to the sink for a couple of towels and some soap, then makes quick work of cleaning the mess he’d left behind. Dean sighs in relief as the agonizing burn immediately begins to subside.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, slumping back against the counter and staring at the mess of sour cream, spit, and precome all over the floor, Sam’s hands, and the towels. “What the hell just happened here?”

“I guess there was enough oil coating my mouth to transfer,” Sam says ruefully. He wipes his hands and tosses the towels in the sink while Dean slowly and painfully pulls his sweats back up. When he’s dressed Sam pulls him close. “I had no idea that could happen,” he admits. “I’m really sorry.”

“Not your fault, little brother,” Dean says, reassuring. He seems well on the way to recovery, the pain fading quickly. “But lets not do that again.”

“No more blowjobs?” Sam falls back, feigning shock. “But Dean--”

“Smart ass,” Dean says affectionately. “Cut it out or I’ll eat all the chili myself.”

“No way.” Sam lunges for a bowl, wrestling playfully with Dean as they jostle each other for the first helping.

Later, when they’re washing up the dishes, Sam nudges Dean suggestively. “What do you say we finish up what we started?”

“Only after you brush your teeth,” Dean says fervently, and Sam can live with that.