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The Winchester brothers sat in Ketch’s fancy office in the Men of Letters headquarters, waiting to hear his news. They both held delicate looking china teacups and saucers that strikingly contradicted their grubby, faded jeans and flannel along with every other shiny, technical, modern aspect of the building.
“Boys, the Magic Item has finally been located,” Ketch said after taking a sip of earl grey.
“Really? Where?” Sam sat up straighter and saw his brother copy his movement out of the corner of his eye. They had enlisted the Men of Letters to assist in finding the Magic Item, as their efforts had been fruitless so far.
“Overseas. Berkshire, England.”
“Where in Berkshire?” Sam asked.
“We are not entirely certain. We have it narrowed down to the small town of Newbury. Our intel places it with one of the contestants of the upcoming season of the Great British Bake-Off; however, we do not know which one.”
The brothers glanced at each other frowning.
“A baker…has the Item…the very, very important Item…in England…and you don’t know which one.” Dean stared at Ketch incredulously.
“Precisely. We obviously assume they are not human; perhaps demon, witch, shifter, chupacabra.”
Sam smirked and Dean covered his sudden outburst of laughing with an obnoxious cough.
“I’m beginning to think you don’t even know what that is,” Dean managed through suppressed giggles.
Ketch looked at him stonily. “I don’t begin to trouble myself with all the ridiculous activities you American’s carry on with.”
“Awesome, so some of your people can go fetch it?” Dean barreled on, waving his hand flippantly.
Ketch raised an eyebrow. “Firstly, the Men do not fetch ,” he said with thick disdain. “Secondly, our British members are rather busy with more important matters at the moment; you two will have to retrieve it yourselves.”
Sam turned to watch the smile slide off Dean’s face as he audibly gulped. “Us…fly…to England.”
“Indeed. You’re not…frightened of flying are you, Dean?” Ketch smirked malevolently, clearly noticing Dean’s pallor.
“N-no…of course not,” Dean stammered.
“So, what’s the deal, we just go to this baking show set and try to talk to the contestants?” Sam interjected before Dean could embarrass himself further. He could hear the gentle tinkle of the teacup shaking on its saucer in his brother’s hands.
“Ah, here’s the interesting bit.” Ketch took a frustratingly long sip, pausing to pour more tea from the intricately painted teapot and add a lump of sugar, apparently reveling in their tension. “The show is very protective of spoilers being leaked; therefore, the producers keep tightly restricted access to the set. We pulled strings to have you two submitted as contestants so that you are able to infiltrate the show and investigate the other contest-”
“You want us to go on a…televised baking show,” Sam blinked, eyebrows raised.
“And Castiel will be joining you. We want to ensure you are…successful,” Ketch continued as if Sam had not interrupted.
“What, you think we won’t be able to find the Item?” Dean growled defensively.
“Frankly, I doubt either of you possess any baking ability, and if you can’t find the perpetrator expeditiously, you will need to compete on several episodes of the show. I am certain Castiel will be meticulous and take the task at hand seriously .”
“Ketch, I can’t believe I’m saying this but, you’re right; we can’t bake at all. In fact, we’ve never baked. This idea is ludicrous,” Sam said, glaring at Ketch.
“That’s not true, I made that birthday cake for you that one year,” Dean corrected, turning towards his brother.
“That was over twenty years ago, and all you did was add water and an egg to a boxed mix,” Sam ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Still baking,” Dean grumbled defensively.
“You fucking burnt it, Dean.”
“You still ate-”
“Well then, you boys best get to practicing. Here are your boarding passes and passports; you leave in three days,” Ketch interrupted with a tone that strongly suggested the meeting was over.
Dean’s leg was vibrating as he sat in the middle seat of the plane between Sam and a harassed looking woman of around 70. He was humming the refrain of Some Kind of Monster with his eyes closed, when they hit a bump of turbulence. He instinctively threw his hand out to grab Sam’s.
Sam couldn’t help but grin. “I can’t believe the Ambien didn’t work. Go back to The Unforgiven that one’s more soothing.”
“Nothing is working, fucking Ketch, fucking England, this is bullshit !” His voice was rising and the woman shot him a dirty look. “Sorry ma’am,” he mumbled sheepishly.
“Just take some deep breaths, it’s going to be a long flight.” Sam shifted his hand to squeeze Dean’s and rub his thumb over his knuckles.
“He didn’t even seat us with Cas.” Dean peeked over the seat in front of him to look at the angel four rows up. “Look at him over there all comfortable and calm with his empty seat buffer,” he grumbled, “just...staring ahead, not reading, not trying to talk to his seatmate...like a sociopath.”
“I’m more concerned about having to learn how to bake,” Sam said, returning to the Mary Berry cook book in his lap and flipping to the baking section. Between cleverly disguising and packing their hunting essentials, and the many, many heated arguments around Dean not being able to stay home or fly Baby over to the UK to make him more comfortable, there ended up being very little time to practice. Everything Sam tried turned out to be a burnt, stuck-to-the-pan, bitter, stodgy, soggy-bottomed disaster.
“You worry too much.”
“I dunno man, you didn't even practice anything.”
“I read some instructions; how hard could it be?”
Sam snorted laughter, wondering how Dean will spend his time after he’s immediately kicked out of the competition. “Whatever you say.”
Ignoring Sam, Dean continued his tirade. “Also, what is with the names he gave us? Felix and Chester Cock burn? Fucking Cock-burn !”
“It’s pronounced Coh -burn,” Sam said absently, looking at the ingredients for choux pastry.
“Oh, that little shit did that on purpose to fuck with us, mark my words.” Another rattle of turbulence shook the plane causing Dean to yelp and resume humming Metalica. “C’mon Sam, can’t I drink?”
“No, not with a sedative in your system, we’ve been over this.” Sam continued reading, stir vigorously with a wooden spoon until the mixture forms a soft ball.
“Don’t go back into research mode, distract me,” Dean whined, tugging Sam’s hand back into his own.
Sam sighed closing the book again, knowing that his attempts were futile. “How?”
“I dunno, think of a way to calm me or give me another pill.”
“Fuck no, you’re not having any more.”
“I know…” Dean’s eyes flashed mischievously and he whispered close to Sam’s ear. “Let’s go to the bathroom and join the mile-high club.”
Sam’s eye roll said no, but his smirk said maybe. “You are so fucking predictable; no way.”
“C’mon Sammy, just a blow job then?” he whispered close, warm breath and tongue tickling the edge of Sam’s ear. They heard a disgruntled huff to Dean’s left. Dean dropped his voice even lower. “Don’t you want my big, fat cock in your mouth, little bro?”
Sam closed his eyes to his brother’s low, growling voice and the feel of his tongue now traveling to his neck. “Ok, ok if it will calm you down and shut you up. You go first, I’ll be there in five,” he hissed.
Dean looked positively giddy. “Excuse me ma’am I need to go to the bathroom .”
Sam shook his head, bitch face plastered on, as Dean shuffled passed the poor woman.
After five minutes, Sam theatrically said something about also needing to use the washroom and sheepishly hustled to the back of the plane, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers.
“Dean? ” he said in a carrying whisper.
Dean’s arm popped out of one of the washrooms and grabbed Sam, pulling him inside.
“Oh God, it’s so much smaller than I imagined,” Sam said, ducking his head and looking around the tiny room with disgust.
“Don’t be a princess,” Dean murmured, slipping a hand behind Sam’s head and tipping his face down to kiss him.
Sam closed his eyes to the offensive, fluorescent, overhead lighting and kissed his brother back, quickly pushing his tongue between his plush lips. He stepped forward slightly, pushing Dean into the far-too-close wall, causing the cheap plastic to indent and make a relatively loud, deep popping sound. He roughly kissed Dean’s neck making sure to bite in the right places; he wanted this to be as quick as possible to avoid embarrassment.
Dean moaned, hands running down to grip Sam’s ass. “Fuck, Sammy, I’m already hard. Must be the cabin pressure.” He pressed his cock into Sam’s partially firm one.
“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your recent search history? Busty Asian Beauties in Cockpits?” Sam mocked, hastily unbuckling Dean’s belt.
As Dean chuckled, Sam undid his jeans, and yanked them down with his boxers. Dean bit his bottom lip as Sam lowered himself somewhat ungainly onto his knees in the cramped space. Sam tried not to think about the sticky, filthy floor and all the potential infections he could contract as he treated his brother’s cock to light licks. He began licking the head, swirling his tongue slowly while looking up at Dean, knowing that his brother liked to be teased a bit as an appetizer. Dean hummed in approval, slipping his hand in Sam’s hair.
Sam finally swallowed Dean’s cock into his mouth, sucking him hard. Dean’s head snapped back and he let out a loud moan. “ Fuck Sam, don’t make me scream my head off here.” Sam grinned around his brother’s cock and began sucking and licking, moving his lips up and down his shaft, fast.
The plane shook again, causing Dean to shout and throw his arms out to brace himself, showering Sam’s head with paper towels from the dispenser. It also had the added effect of jamming Dean’s cock into the back of Sam’s throat. “S-sorry baby!” Dean stammered sheepishly as Sam gagged and coughed.
“S’ok, just be quiet!” Sam hissed, stroking Dean’s cock and wiping his eyes with a paper towel before slipping it back into his mouth and getting his rhythm back.
The delicious noises coming from Dean, his strong hands fisting his hair, the perfect, thick cock, heavy in his mouth, now stretching his throat in a way he could control; Sam was completely hard. He ignored it as long as he could until he finally acted against his better judgement and pulled off. “Do you want to fuck me or get fucked?”
Dean’s eyes snapped open, lit up with excitement and lust. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope.” Sam licked his fingers and pressed the pad of his index and middle finger against Dean’s perineum, cupping his balls.
“Oh my God, fuck me,” Dean panted, pushing his jeans down so that he could spread his legs further.
Sam pulled a small packet of travel lube out of his pocket, tore the corner off with his teeth, and squeezed some onto his fingers. He massaged Dean’s hole and slipped a finger in feeling Dean clench and relax around it.
Dean pressed his fist against his mouth. “You fucking boy scout, how are you so prepared?” he managed through stifled moans.
“You’re predictable, remember?” Sam smirked, quickly adding a second finger, knowing that his brother could take it. Dean leaned on the soap dispenser to steady himself causing some soap to drip onto the floor after the little wrrrr of the automatic sensor.
Sam scissored his fingers inside his brother stretching him so that he quickly loosened up. “Lean forward on the sink.” Sam breathed, standing up and immediately smacking his head on the shallow roof of the cramped washroom. “OW FUCK!” The lights flickered sadly as Sam rubbed his head.
“Shhhh!” Dean hissed mockingly, between loud chuckles.
Sam bent Dean roughly over the sink and smacked his ass disciplinarily. He pushed three fingers inside of his brother, fucking them in and out with more urgency.
Dean’s laughter quickly transformed into moans. He arched his back, allowing Sam better access, hands gripping either side of the small sink. Sam’s agile fingertips found and massaged his prostate. Precome began dripping from his dick, joining the soap on the floor. “Jesus, get that cock out and fuck me, Sammy.”
Sam’s pants and boxers were quickly shoved around his knees. He squeezed half the rest of the lube on his cock, rubbing his hand up and down, relishing in the attention after being bound tight in his jeans for so long. The other half was squeezed and rubbed on Dean’s hole. He shuffled forward to line himself up rather awkwardly, and pushed himself inside of his brother.
Dean’s head fell towards his chest breathing in deeply, making a keening noise in the back of his throat as he adjusted to Sam’s cock. He pushed himself back so that Sam’s cock slid further inside. Sam groaned. He reached forward to grip Dean’s shoulder as he pulled back and thrusted forward; back and forth. “Christ Dean, that tight ass.”
“I know you love it, bitch,” Dean grinned, eyes shut with pleasure.
Sam fucked him harder, pushing him down against the sink to angle in deeper, hunching over him to avoid further head trauma. Dean’s temple was pressed against the warped mirror and if the tap was digging into his chest, he wasn’t complaining about it.
Sam’s shirt began to cling to him as the tiny room quickly filled with sweaty steam. “Pound me like you mean it, Sammy, I’m close,” Dean groaned.
Sam propped a foot up on the metal toilet and shoved Dean forward, the whole side of his face now smashed against the mirror. He thrusted into him as hard as he could, given the ridiculous space and his trapped legs. “Fuck, yeah, Dean, you feel so good.”
Dean lifted his hips to slip a hand around his cock and started stroking. Sam took Dean’s cue and began pacing his thrusts faster, feeling himself creep closer and closer to his own orgasm, the tight grip of Dean’s hot ass unbearably gratifying.
“I’m gunna come, fuck Sam,” Dean blurted out. Sam heard the plastic around the sink crack away from the wall as Dean shot his load fairly accurately towards the drain.
Sam’s balance toppled as Dean buckled around the broken sink. His foot slipped into the blue chemical shit in the toilet bowl as he felt the waves of Dean’s orgasm clenching around his cock. “Shit, fuck!” he swore loudly as he came hard into Dean’s ass, hands flinging out and punching more dents into the walls.
They heard a sharp rap on the door. “Is everything ok in there?” an agitated female voice shouted.
“Uhhnn , Dean!” Sam moaned involuntarily as the last jolt of pleasure coursed through him.
“Yes!” Dean hastily yelled back as he pushed Sam out and away from him and righted himself to pull his pants up. “Shit fuck? That’s a new one,” Dean said, grinning broadly.
“Uggghh fucking gross; it’s gone through to my sock!” Sam whined, pulling his foot free and seeing the liquid soaked into his shoe and the cuff of his pants.
Dean attempted to reattach the sink, but the fixture had completely snapped. It hung sadly against the wall, full of his come. He grabbed a handful of paper towel off the floor to half-assedly wipe it up as Sam pulled up his pants.
More pounding issued from the door.
“COMING!” Dean shouted, tossing the paper towel and missing the garbage bin.
“Holy shit, look at us,” Sam said anxiously, looking from himself in the mirror to Dean’s red dripping face, re-buckling his belt.
Dean shrugged, beaming at his brother. “That was fucking awesome, Sammy.” He mopped Sam’s long damp hair aside and he greeted him with a sweaty, impatient look.
“Well, drink it in cause it’s never happening again.”
Dean opened the washroom door to see the perturbed flight attendant, her toe tapping the carpeted floor. “He uh…was sick and I had to…come hold his hair.” Dean rushed.
Sam slipped out behind him and hastened to his seat, noticing many faces turning to stare at him and not just because of the squelching sound happening every other step.
“Oh, and the sink was like that when we got in there!” Dean called over his shoulder.
Sam slunk down in his seat as far as he could, his hand covering his flushed face. Dean plopped down beside him looking relaxed and blissful.
“You boys are just disgusting,” the old lady sneered.
“Mind your own business,” Dean smirked, before putting his head on Sam’s shoulder and quickly passing out.
Sam avoided her glare and returned to the cookbook, turning to the ever so intricate patisserie, mille-feuille. ‘8 hours to go.’ Sam thought wearily.