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"Dean."
The faint squirming of a young boy could be seen from the corner of the older's eye as he drove, hands firm on the wheel. "Dean."
"Dean, unless you want me to piss all over the goddamn Impala, pull over."
Blue skies rolled by, bright with the time of day, fluffy clouds parting the seas of blue. Dean had to focus on it, anything but Sam. He stared at the road signs, the bright yellow lines on the road, anything.
"Well, maybe you should've thought of that two-hundred miles ago," he retorted, desperately keeping his eyes on the road. Dean knew that the second he gave in, looked, it'd be over. And there's nowhere to pull over, it's a long, busy stretch of road. "You're gonna have to hold it. Sucks."
The squirming only got worse, goddammit, and Sam was fucking whining, bigger goddammit. The road was becoming increasingly hard to focus on, not with the melody of Sam's borderline moans reaching his ears. Even the familiar rumble of the Impala couldn't drive it out. "Do you want me to ruin your fucking seats, or do you want to fucking pull over?" Came the annoyed teenage voice, words tight and an octave higher than normal. Dean reached one hand down to tug at his pants, loosening some of the pressure, only wishing he could free it from it's denim cage.
"If you piss on my goddamn seats, you're licking it up. Also, language, asshole," Dean piped back, even if it was hypocritical. He glanced up to read the road sign, seeing that there was a turn in about a mile. With crossed fingers, Dean followed down the straight road. This would be an unnecessary detour- who knows where they would head up, but he really wasn't up for cleaning piss. Even if it was his fault, because he rushed Sam out the door, but Sam should have gone before. And maybe a tiny part of him liked seeing it, the desperation, but that's between Dean and the grave.
"Dude, for real, I'm going to fucking explode, holy shit," Sam whimpered, hands unashamedly moving to cup at his crotch, legs held tightly together. The road was steadfast, the rushing of other cars beside them, but all of Dean's attention was on his brother. It really shouldn't turn him on as much as it does, the way Sam was, but it fucking did. Bad enough they were brothers, and Sam was underage, but Dean had a thing for piss? Fucking great, another thing to add to the fucked-up list. He nearly felt like he was gonna cum in his own pants, like a damn teenager. Dean's hands shook on the wheel as they finally found the exit, quickly turning in.
There was a muted whine as the Impala bumped over what Dean hoped was a rock, pulling into a bumpier road. With every bump and turn, Sam shuffled more, until he was literally holding his dick. "Dean- I don't-" his words were cut off by a groan, one hand cupping his bladder, the other cupping his cock. They were getting into some real backwoods shit now, instead of the mostly smooth, busy highway. It may have been empty but that means roadwork wasn't a priority.
A dip came, a pothole, and Sam let out the most sinful whine Dean had ever heard. He shifted, grabbing his dick with one hand and heavily palming. "Fuck- Sammy, c'mon, I'm finding somewhere, holy shit, your killing me," the words tumbled out, some blending into incomprehensible messes. Finally, a place Dean deemed private enough came up, but when he pulled over, it was too late.
Maybe he should've just let Sam go, pissed and continue on the road, but if he had, he might've crashed the car. It was mesmerizing as he watched the squirming turn into full-on gasps, Sam biting his lip, still holding his legs together firmly.
The wetting was slow, spreading like thick honey. Sam was letting out desperate keens, head hanging in shame as he let his jeans get soaked. Dean had never been so glad to see Sam wearing tight jeans, he could practically see everything. "D-Dean-" Sam stuttered out, feet rubbing against the bottom of the Impala. The older was helpless to only watch, watch the puddle of piss form, hand absentmindedly on his own cock.
"Oh, shit, baby boy," he whispered, and then he was leaning over, grabbing Sam's chin with his spare hand. Dean had to force him, but he pulled the younger towards him until they were kissing. It was heated, filled with dizzy lust and loss of control, and it entirely fit the situation. Dean was practically rutting in his jeans when it was over, noticing that Sam had finally stopped.
"I'm sorry, De," he whimpered, puppy dog eyes wide. "Warned you, I tried, I'm sorry." And it damn near broke Dean's heart. He wasn't upset, at all, and Sam knew it, but the latter was still embarrassed. Dean let his hand travel to Sam's crotch, gripping at the wet fabric there, fast movements matching his own.
With a shake of his head, Dean shushed Sam, leaning forward to lean on his shoulder and whisper to him. "No, no, doin' perfect, little brother. So pretty, so, so pretty, huh?"
"De-" a loud moan sounded from his mouth, and he was coming. Dean felt the fresh, warm wave of liquid take over the rapidly cooling piss, and with a wave of arousal he came over the edge too. Right in his damn jeans.
But, the elder couldn't bring himself to care as he pulled back to see Sam. His face was pulled into a post-orgasmic haze, eyes cloudy, legs slack. Dean took his wet hand and wiped it on his jeans, shifting in his seat to rest for a second before pulling out. They had no time to waste- Dad was waiting, he reminded himself-, even if all Dean wanted to do was rest with Sammy for hours. The uncomfortableness of wet jeans would have to be dealt with. When they went to the next gas station, he'd clean up. For now, however, this was perfect. Even if the seats were probably going to be permanently ruined.