She looks incredible, chrome gleaming in the low light of evening, and Dean brings Sam out to show her off, grinning as their hands twine together on the way out to load in. They run down a Kansas highway, doing 90 and listening to her purr, and the whole time Sam’s hand is on Dean’s thigh, kneading softly; he knows they’re going nowhere and he can’t wait to get there. They screech to a halt by the side of the highway and Dean’s them out of the front seat and into the back; Sam lies out along the leather, Dean biting down his neck to his shoulder, his hands wandering the length of Sam’s body and hips motoring just as fast and smooth as the Impala’s pistons move. All that pounding and all that elbow grease, all the power and the passion he poured into the car he pours into Sam’s body now, kissing him hard, pushing him down and bearing into his body with the fury of a storm. And Sam cries out, purrs and molds around him just like the car does, and together they ride and rock late into the night, a perfect combination, perfectly tuned.
Beneath a cut for father/son incest…
Dean stared up in speechless disbelief, the shock of what Gabriel was proposing —no, what he was going to do— too much for him to process and he lost the precious few seconds he’d need to stop the man, “Oh, fuck no!”
Gabriel, predictably, didn’t listen, smirking as he flipped the bottle of chocolate syrup and squirted a healthy amount onto Dean’s chest before he could do anything to stop him, Dean yelped at the cold sensation and tried to snatch the bottle away from his deranged lover.
"Not," Dean growled as Gabriel twisted out of his grip and continued a line down to Dean’s stomach, letting the syrup pool there, "Not in the car, you’ll ruin the upholstery!"
"And it’ll be your fault for moving too much," Gabriel snapped the lid shut the bottle disappearing as suddenly as it’d appeared, shifting to straddle Dean more comfortably and dragging one finger through the chocolate oozing down Dean’s skin before bringing it to his mouth.
"So stop squirming," Gabriel leaned down and blew out a warm gust of air that made Dean shiver, sly tongue coming out and licking up a drop sliding down his ribs, "and let me clean you off."
Scott wants to lick his lips, but when his tongue darts out he tastes chrome, and the metallic bitterness on his tongue makes his stomach curl. He pants, his breath fogging up the glossy surface, and his neck hurts where Jackson’s hand cuffs him down; despite himself he’s enjoying this, loving the powerlessness of it, loving not having to control himself for the first time in ages. Because Jackson knows what he is now — hell, Jackson wants to see it, and when Scott goes feral and balls up his fist to avoid scratching Jackson’s precious car with a wolf’s claws, Jackson growls, “Do it, just fucking do it.”
All this while Jackson’s fucking him, hot shifts of hip against Scott’s own, cock thick and long as it reams into him, making the car’s frame squeak and Scott growl. and Jackson himself continues to murmur angry, heated exhortations at Scott to keep him on the edge — of Jackson’s car, of orgasm, of transformation.
Dean didn’t bother to check the back seat when he stumbled sleepily out of the motel room, in the mood for a late-night burger; Sam and Bela nearly cried out in surprise when the car door opened, but Sam silenced Bela’s mouth with his own, whispering “Shh” into her lips. The vibrations of the car set the rhythm of heat going through them again, and now they’re desperate for release, Sam quietly pumping into her as they lie flat against the seat’s leather. Bela tries to moan into his mouth, but Sam bites her lip, a warning as well as a tease. Her legs squeeze his, her feet hooking over his ankles, and their bodies find an easy angle to move together without making the seat creak too much. The angle’s too good, actually — they’re close, and thank God Dean starts the radio when he does, because Bela’s soft cry as orgasm ripples through her is drowned out in AC/DC’s shrieks.
Adam pushes his back against the window, lets Sam stretch out over the seat, and gasps as Sam eases down his jeans and runs hungry hands over his thighs. “Sam,” he gasps when Sam’s big wet mouth envelops the head of his cock, and then “God” when it slides down over his shaft. He can’t make any more words after that — he just gasps, and grunts and moans, at each mind-blowing suck and lick against him. Sam’s incredible, his mouth is so deep and wet, and Adam feels at home in a way he hasn’t felt in years; when he comes it’s with a wail of helpless need, and he drags his fingers through Sam’s hair, pulling him up for a kiss, shaking and grateful and happy. He whispers a thank-you into Sam’s mouth, and the answer he gets — “you’re welcome, little brother” — nearly brings him to tears.
The car creaks on its axles as Stiles crashes down onto the hood; it’s been sitting alone and untouched too long, and Peter takes especial joy in taking and breaking things that belong to Derek, now that Derek’s refused him. That might just apply to Stiles too, Stiles thinks with a wild lurch of fear and excitement as Peter sinks lips (not teeth, Peter’s listened to him) into his neck. And Stiles doesn’t mind being broken, not like this — he’s already made the heroic call, already said no to the bite, but the tension between him and Peter has been burning him up ever since the psychotic (fucking sexy) bastard stole him away. “Shit,” he murmurs, trying to find a handhold on the smooth chrome, “shit, shit, this should not feel good,” but it does, and Peter grinding into his crotch, hard-on a shock of warmth against Stiles’, feels even freaking better. Stiles is an inch away from begging Peter to fuck him, but he manages to be strong, just clinging to Peter’s muscled shoulders to keep himself from sliding all over the car and closing his eyes — and even without begging, he’s pretty sure Peter’s gonna give him exactly what he wants.
Sam tries to look like he’s having a nightmare, biting his lip and moaning, though he slits his eyes open every so often to check on his face in the rear view mirror; Dean and Cas glance back at him, glance at each other, but say nothing, and Sam figures he’s in the clear.
It’s getting damn hard, though, because Gabriel’s mouth on his cock is sinfully wet and unrelenting, and it’s absolute torture not to arch up into him. But Gabriel’s got to keep his head down, and he does it so well that Sam doesn’t even have to move; his cock is enveloped, bright intense pleasure shoots up his spine, and all he can do is tangle his fingers in the seatbelt and try desperately not to call out Gabriel’s name.
Gabriel swirls his tongue around Sam’s cockhead; the Impala growls and vibrates under Sam’s ass; it’s too much, and Sam makes a soft, choked noise, forgets to keep his eyes closed, and locks up as orgasm washes over him. He doesn’t know if Dean and Cas notice, but they don’t say anything, which is good, because Sam’s lost his ability to speak.
This was a one-in-a-million prompt, so I had to jump the queue to post a fill!
The Slinky’s curves are more impressive, but the Samulet’s are rounder, and they slide easily over the Impala’s seats as her motor revs excitedly. Pendant gleaming, the Samulet whispers to the Slinky, “Hit the gas, baby.” The Slinky springs downward, landing on the pedal, and the Samulet throws her string back in bliss as the Impala gets moving. Together, all three of them vibrate with the engine’s growls, and the Slinky pumps the pedals and twists herself out of shape to take the Samulet inside her.
"Oh, God, yes!" the Samulet screams as she’s pulled tight into the Slinky’s sweet tunnel. Wrapped around each other, riding in the driver’s seat, they’re both seeing rainbows and burning up gasoline as the Impala takes them forcefully, with a growl, into the night.
Derek’s car wasn’t exactly built for this, but Stiles doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything other than Derek’s teeth scraping his throat and the way Derek’s cock grinds up inside of him. Stiles has to brace himself against the roof to keep from bumping his head, nails scratching at the fabric and rubbing smears in the fogged rear window, but he’s still slumped over and he’s going to be cramped as hell later.
Derek doesn’t stop thrusting up into him though and Stiles doesn’t want him to, ever. For all that it’s uncomfortable now, it’s worth it to be Derek’s for a few short moments – and Stiles is definitely okay with the sex part as well.