I love me some kink, AHAHA, but sometimes simple is perfect *_* and omg, I could not resist this prompt, even if it kinda ran away with me. It kind of melds in "falling asleep on each other’s shoulders in a public place", too. :D
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"Why, why, how did you fuckin' talk me into this, Sam--"
The plane judders a little, picking up speed on the runway and Dean shuts up abruptly, going pale.
"Because you told me you can drive across the entire country before sunset tomorrow and for some reason, I don't believe you, and the once-in-a-decade ritual isn't going to wait, and nor will the big monster you were so excited about hunting in the first place."
Dean's gripping the armrest so hard his fingernails are little circles of pink on the inside surrounded by squeezed-white flesh, and Sam kind of wants to pry his hands loose because it looks like it hurts, but Dean's clearly not really in the mood to be touched. He makes a low growling noise. "Changed my mind. Monster can carry on killing, we can stay right here--oh fuckin' Jesus Christ Sammy no way this is even getting off the ground, we're gonna--"
The plane rumbles into a faster gear, and Dean shuts up again, this time closing his eyes along with his mouth, and really, Sam does feel a little sorry for him. The plane is most definitely getting off the ground, and at that first sensation of lifting, Dean's eyes fly open and he flails a hand out, clutching blindly at Sam until he's got a hand fisted awkwardly in Sam's t-shirt, and Sam figures now he's okay to be touched.
"Get me, get me the fuck out--" says Dean, panting, then he shoves his fist in his mouth and breathes harshly around it, until he's properly hyperventilating and Sam's actually a little worried that his brother's head might explode.
He quickly wraps one hand around Dean's own where it's grabbing at him, and puts the other flat on Dean's back and rubs firm and soothing. It feels kind of nice to be able to touch Dean like this without Dean making snarky comments at him, though at the same time seeing Dean so scared and non-functional kinda freaks him out; always does whenever Dean isn't in control, isn't the one Sam can look to but the one looking to Sam.
He does his best. "Breathe, dude, we're good, we're fine, people do this hundreds of times, we're not gonna crash; we have angels on our side, anyway, no way they'd let anything happen, seriously, the worst that's going to happen is that dude over there is going to give us a black eye for - I think he's mouthing the word faggots to his wife--"
That's not strictly true, but they are getting a very disapproving stare indeed from the guy across the aisle, and it gets Dean's eyes open and his breathing slows a bit. "What?" he demands, though he doesn't let go, and his fingers spasm tighter in Sam's shirt with every tiny movement of the plane. "What's his problem, huh?"
"Probably all the - y'know, clutching," says Sam, rubbing a thumb over the back of Dean's hand, and Dean scowls but doesn't move his fingers from their death-grip on Sam's shirt.
Dean makes a dismissive noise. "What, a guy can't, fuckin' - touch his brother during emotional trauma without being gay?"
"Or maybe he can sense they fact we are actually kind of gay together normally. Incesty sin rising up off us in waves."
"We're not being gay right now! I'm too busy trying to not die in this fucking death trap of a stupid fuckin' human invention to even think about your dick, sorry Sammy, but--"
Sam/Dean, somebody mistaking Sam and Dean as a couple on an airplane... 1
--
"Why, why, how did you fuckin' talk me into this, Sam--"
The plane judders a little, picking up speed on the runway and Dean shuts up abruptly, going pale.
"Because you told me you can drive across the entire country before sunset tomorrow and for some reason, I don't believe you, and the once-in-a-decade ritual isn't going to wait, and nor will the big monster you were so excited about hunting in the first place."
Dean's gripping the armrest so hard his fingernails are little circles of pink on the inside surrounded by squeezed-white flesh, and Sam kind of wants to pry his hands loose because it looks like it hurts, but Dean's clearly not really in the mood to be touched. He makes a low growling noise. "Changed my mind. Monster can carry on killing, we can stay right here--oh fuckin' Jesus Christ Sammy no way this is even getting off the ground, we're gonna--"
The plane rumbles into a faster gear, and Dean shuts up again, this time closing his eyes along with his mouth, and really, Sam does feel a little sorry for him. The plane is most definitely getting off the ground, and at that first sensation of lifting, Dean's eyes fly open and he flails a hand out, clutching blindly at Sam until he's got a hand fisted awkwardly in Sam's t-shirt, and Sam figures now he's okay to be touched.
"Get me, get me the fuck out--" says Dean, panting, then he shoves his fist in his mouth and breathes harshly around it, until he's properly hyperventilating and Sam's actually a little worried that his brother's head might explode.
He quickly wraps one hand around Dean's own where it's grabbing at him, and puts the other flat on Dean's back and rubs firm and soothing. It feels kind of nice to be able to touch Dean like this without Dean making snarky comments at him, though at the same time seeing Dean so scared and non-functional kinda freaks him out; always does whenever Dean isn't in control, isn't the one Sam can look to but the one looking to Sam.
He does his best. "Breathe, dude, we're good, we're fine, people do this hundreds of times, we're not gonna crash; we have angels on our side, anyway, no way they'd let anything happen, seriously, the worst that's going to happen is that dude over there is going to give us a black eye for - I think he's mouthing the word faggots to his wife--"
That's not strictly true, but they are getting a very disapproving stare indeed from the guy across the aisle, and it gets Dean's eyes open and his breathing slows a bit. "What?" he demands, though he doesn't let go, and his fingers spasm tighter in Sam's shirt with every tiny movement of the plane. "What's his problem, huh?"
"Probably all the - y'know, clutching," says Sam, rubbing a thumb over the back of Dean's hand, and Dean scowls but doesn't move his fingers from their death-grip on Sam's shirt.
Dean makes a dismissive noise. "What, a guy can't, fuckin' - touch his brother during emotional trauma without being gay?"
"Or maybe he can sense they fact we are actually kind of gay together normally. Incesty sin rising up off us in waves."
"We're not being gay right now! I'm too busy trying to not die in this fucking death trap of a stupid fuckin' human invention to even think about your dick, sorry Sammy, but--"