Author's Notes: Not a songfic, but written while listening to 'The House Rules' by Christian Kane on repeat. That song's just been stuck on my mind and I wanted to write a fic that fit it somewhat. I hope I didn't do too bad in getting across what I wanted to.
Thanks for reading!
"Aww, come on Sammy."
Sam sighed, swiveling around on the rickety chair to face his brother. "Dean, I will not be going to some degrading party with you! Stop bothering me. Now."
Dean walked forward, stopping directly in front of Sam before leaning down, smirking, scent of beer and something sweet on his breath as he talked.
"What, ya' afraid Sammy-boy? Don't you wanna see how I live?"
The younger shook his head, brown locks falling into his eyes. "Not really, Dean. I don't see the point. The only reason you go is because you want to get laid and the girls are drunk and sloppy, not to mention they've probably had sex with at least one other person that night, or something of the like."
Dean grinned.
"That's the whole point, Sammy, and it's not exactly like that. Now lets get you out of this house and doing somethin' fun."
With no warning whatsoever he grabbed Sam by the arms, pulling him flush against him. At least he was taller, that was something he could control, unless Dean wore platforms, which he had been known to do on occasion.
The sixteen year old dropped his head resentfully. They had just gotten home after the last hunt and their dad was out god knows where and he just wanted to rest. Dean wanted to party at the local pub. So be it.
Pulling free he went to their shared bed and pulled on the brown leather jacket. It was cold tonight.
Dean beamed like he had just heard his baby purring on the road to nowhere and his brother had said he wouldn't be bitching at him for the rest of their lives. Heaven.
"Now wipe off that look, Sammy. We'll get you right drunk." Putting an arm around his brother he pulled them both out the door and down to where the Impala was parked, gleaming in the moonlight.
Sam let a small smile slip from behind his mask when he saw Dean run a hand down the hood as he passed, looking like he was stroking his dick. Fucking weird.
Dean turned the ignition and the music started blasting and Sam leaned back, closing his eyes. He didn't like the music, no, but he like the feeling. That deep thrumming vibration resonating through the seat, nearly sent him to sleep.
Before he knew it, they were in some no name parking lot, cars surrounding them. Looked like a full house.
Dean looked happy, dragging him from the car. Even from there, Sam could hear the music coming from inside, good ole' fashion country. Not the alternative stuff that was playing these days, but true down and dirty south.
The perfect place for some country boys like them. Or so Dean said.
Pushing open the dingy swinging doors Sam saw Dean breath in deep. He didn't smoke, but he liked the smell of it, the bitter-sweet assault of alcohol, smoke, and musk. Sam would never say so, but he did too.
Den was already at the bar with two bottles, handing one to Sam with a smile.
Sam grimaced. He drank, but never much, and it was usually watered down a little. But Dean had that spark in his eye and and tilt to his mouth that was just asking for a challenge as he took a long swig from the glass.
With a smirk of his own he tipped his head back, eyes sliding shut as the warm-cool liquid ran down his throat, burning it, but it was a good kinda' burn. Felt nice after.
When he set down the half empty bottle he saw Dean standing there, looking for all the world like Sammy had just done him proud, probably had.
With a large calloused hand he clapped Sammy on the back.
Then they were swept away.
Lost to the music, the sheer atmosphere. The noise was a constant beat in the back of his head an the women were brushing past, little bit of skin here and there, flash of a smile before they went to another.
Sam had lost count of the number he had drank, but he was aware, yet the most drunk he had ever been.
He was dancing. Grinding down, no thought of what he was doing, just instinct. He felt the heat of the bodies around him, felt the ghosting touch. Then a hand fell the his hip, spinning him around to fall into a hard chest.
Sam couldn't think, didn't care, just felt the rumble, let those hands guide him as he swayed to the music.
Overwhelming, smog in the air and voices loud and yelling, fights breaking out. He vaguely thought he heard a person go through a window, heard the patrons yelling about getting it fixed.
Didn't matter, cops would get em' after their break time was over. When the sun rose and it would be time for the ranchers to get to work at three, doing the labors that not many could do. Sure as hell no city slickers that were long gone from this place, left at ten.
No, this time here was for the true, the rough. Born country.
He opened his eyes when he heard his name rasped, saw Dean staring at him through half lidded eyes. He was motioning for them to go to the restroom.
Sam nodded, let himself be led to the the splintered door, let himself be pushed up against a stall.
Didn't pause when lips landed on his, skin pricking his own.
He groaned, sliding his hands up and down the clothed sides, feeling the ridges of the muscles and ribs. He could feel Dean's hardened cock against his thigh and began grinding against him, moaning for all he was worth.
Sam wasn't bothered by the sounds of other men and women coming in and out of the room, taking a piss feet from where he was making out with his brother, but they didn't know that.
He felt Dean pull away and gasped, saw Dean's eyes smile for him, licking his lips.
"Let's get outta' here Sammy. I think' ya've learned the house rules."
Sam nodded, head rubbing against the stall behind him. He didn't talk, knew if he did that twang of his would come back full force and even if drunk, Dean would remember enough to tease him about it.
With a grunt he pushed off, grabbing Dean's hand as they once more walked through the swinging door, into the life which was apart from reality. Apart from life. A whole other world.
Down and dirty, rock and roll rodeo. Shit, they were just a couple of good ole' country boys.