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justinedelarge) wrote2012-10-27 12:46 am
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 18: Clean You Up, Baby Boy
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 2750
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just for fun.
Summary: Ever wonder how Dean started talking dirty? The genesis is in the way Sam and Dean make their feelings for each other physical. This story has dirty talk, all the feels you can handle, infinite love and even a plot that develops into a nail-biting narrative, with the best kind of hurt/comfort.
Chapter Summary: Sam and Dean reconnect in a physical fashion.
You can read the entire story up until the most recent chapter here:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/411362
Previous chapter here:
http://justinedelarge.livejournal.com/20793.html
Chapter 18: Clean You Up Baby Boy
Dean gave Sam another pain pill, and made him drink the entire glass of water. “Hey, before we get you cleaned up, what say I help you walk a little?” Dean remembered his checklist, and that was the one thing he hadn’t done for Sam.
Sam looked less than enthusiastic, but nodded ok.
Dean put his arm around Sam and helped him to his feet. “Inside or outside?” It was cold outside, but Sam had been stuck inside all day, so he indicated toward the outside with his head.
“Ok, but we’ll make it quick.” Dean helped Sam walk toward the door, down the steps and outside along the side of the house.
Their breath was visible in the crisp night air, mouths puffing white vapor like tiny chimney stacks.
Dean held Sam close, walking with him slowly.
Sam shuffled slowly, every step clearly painful for him. He was sore in more places than his ribs. Dean didn’t even know what all they had done to him. But he was basically one solid bruise.
Dean held Sam close, his flank pressed to Sam’s, walking in perfect lockstep. Sam leaned on him heavily, his hand pressed tight to Dean’s waist.
They moved out of the line of sight of the house, past a work shed.
Sam slowed, moved to the side.
He leaned against the cold metal of the work shed, and pulled Dean close with his good hand.
“Sam. Are you sure? You’re all messed up.”
Sam slipped his hand along the back of Dean’s neck, urging him closer.
Dean kissed him.
Sam opened to him like nothing had ever happened. No. Like it had all happened, and Sam had forgiven him. For all of it.
Dean couldn’t hold back the sob that spurted out of him, wild and sudden.
Sam stroked his face. Dean rested his forehead against Sam’s, body shaking. “Sammy… I… oh god, Sammy.”
Sam tipped Dean’s face towards his, took his mouth in his again, told him with lips and tongue and fingers that it was ok.
Dean shivered, but it had little to do with the cold.
Sam kissed him like he never thought he would have the chance to kiss Dean again. Like it was a second chance.
Like Dean was his reward.
~
Dean walked Sam back to the house. Entering it was like diving into a heated swimming pool. The warmth of the fire and the central heating washed over them, stripping the November chill from their skin.
“Hey, me and Sam are gonna go upstairs for a while. Gotta clean him up, get him into some clean clothes.
John walked up and gave Sam a kiss on the forehead. “He take his pain pill?”
Dean gazed at John evenly. “Of course.”
Dean snatched up the bag the doctor had left for him on the couch. “Want to try walking up the stairs?” Sam tapped his fingers on Dean’s waist once for yes.
And he did it. He walked slowly all the way up the stairs, Dean holding him steady.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Sam was sweating like he’d run three miles.
“Christ, Sam, you don’t have to impress me.” Dean scooped Sam up into his arms, not caring about the expression of protest on Sam’s face, and carried him into the bedroom.
Dean ran warm water into the first of two rigid plastic basins the doctor had provided, added a squirt of mild soap, and set a bath sponge inside.
Then he flushed the note Sam had written down the toilet.
He carried the first basin back to the bedroom, setting it on the end table. He filled the second basin with warm water with no soap, added another sponge and set it next to the first. He lay a stack of clean towels on the bed next to Sam, and unfurled a thick, soft blanket.
He turned to shut the bedroom door…and noticed something different.
There was now a deadbolt on the inside of the door.
He stared at it for a moment.
Sam stared at it too, with a questioning expression.
Then Dean turned the knob, and the deadbolt snicked into place.
“Ok, Sam, you ready?”
Sam grinned up at him, looking both happy and a little shy.
Dean laid towels out on the bed, and helped Sam to lie on top of them, on his stomach. Sam hissed at the movement, and lay flat, panting, until the pain subsided.
Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Ok. This part might kinda suck.” He stretched Sam’s arms overhead and pulled his sweatshirt off. The movement pulled Sam’s ribs, and he cried out.
“Sam, you’re wearing button-front shirts from now on until you’re better and that’s that.” Dean blew out his breath, shaking a little.
Dean carefully pulled Sam’s sweatpants and underwear off, tugged his socks off, and tossed them all in the laundry along with his socks. He pulled the warm blanket over Sam, making sure he was completely covered.
He moistened the sponge in the warm water and stroked the soapy sponge along Sam’s back, trying not to notice the livid marks and wonder what caused them, stretching his arm out, cleaning his armpit, which made Sam laugh—and that made him swear wordlessly, breaking into a sweat again that made Dean have to redo his forehead.
Dean sponged Sam’s left deltoid and bicep, trailing lightly along the mottled bruises, skipping the forearm encased in the cast, and cleaned off his hand. He repeated this with clean water, and every so gently dried Sam off with the clean towel.
He pulled the blanket to the side, so he could do the left side of Sam’s ribs. Seeing the visible damage, the skin a solid, angry purple, Dean cursed under his breath. Gently, so gently, he swept the sponge along Sam’s cracked ribs, barely touching his skin.
Sam turned his head to watch Dean, following Dean’s every move, reassuring him with his eyes that it was ok. That he was grateful.
Dean barely touched his ribs with the towel, and pulled the blanket back over so Sam wouldn’t get a chill. The last thing Sam needed was to catch a cold.
He moved the blanket off Sam’s left leg. When he moved the warm, wet sponge down his thigh, Sam shifted a little. When he moved it toward the center, along the inner thigh, Sam made a little sound.
“You ok?”
Sam’s cheeks were flushed. He nodded.
Dean’s hands shook a little. He repeated the process with the clean-water sponge and dried Sam’s leg off.
When he did Sam’s left foot, Sam squinched his face up tight, trying not to laugh.
“You always were ticklish.” Dean was rougher here, knowing that this would tickle less, and seeing that his feet were unscathed, so he did not have to worry about hurting him.
Dean repeated the same process on the other side. Again, when he hit the inner thigh, Sam squirmed a little, and his breathing changed.
Dean bit his lip.
“Ok, Sam. Gotta move you onto your back.”
He pulled the blanket off, lay down on the bed next to Sam, drew his upper leg over Sam’s left thigh, brought his right hand along Sam’s chest, held him close to his body, and in one smooth movement, rolled himself and Sam over.
Sam stared up at him like he was magic.
“Did that hurt?”
Sam shook his head no, in absolute wonder.
“Awesome.”
With Sam on his back, it was clear to see. Sam was fully, gloriously erect.
Dean licked his lips.
“Right. Gotta… yeah, need to finish this. Ok.” Dean tugged the blanket up over Sam to keep the chill off, leaving his chest exposed.
Sam watched Dean, a curious expression on his face.
Dean moved the sponge over Sam’s face, cleaning it delicately. When he'd used the clean-water sponge and toweled his face dry, he moved on to Sam's chest. When he passed the sponge over his right nipple, Sam made a soft sound.
Dean swallowed.
He continued with his doctor-appointed task, brushing the sponge over Sam’s skin. He passed the sponge lightly over Sam’s left nipple.
Sam bit his lip, watching Dean.
“Sammy…” Dean breathed.
Sam laid his right hand on Dean’s arm. Tapped once. For yes.
Dean dipped the sponge in the warm water again, tugged the blanket down lower, wiped the sponge along Sam’s stomach. It fluttered at the touch.
He wiped Sam’s stomach clean, took up the clean-water sponge, wiped him clean again, and stroked the towel across Sam’s skin.
Sam’s breathing quickened.
Dean tugged the blanket lower. Sam’s cock popped into view. Hard, perfectly sculpted, curving gently towards Sam’s belly.
“So beautiful.” Dean didn’t even know he’d said that out loud until he saw the expression of pleasure and pride break across Sam’s features.
Sam moved his right thigh up, giving Dean a better view.
“You like it when I look at you.”
Sam blinked, a slow flutter of his long eyelashes, and lay his hand on Dean’s. Tapped once. For yes.
So Dean looked. He didn’t see the bruises marring Sam’s skin, livid red and purple on his thighs, chest and belly. He saw only Sam, the impossible sleek beauty of Sam, back home with Dean where he belonged, warm and safe in his bed, opening himself to Dean’s gaze, so clearly, so visibly wanting him.
“Jesus, Sammy.”
Sam bent his knee, stretched it up higher. Tapped once for yes.
Dean dipped the sponge into the warm water again. Drew the dripping sponge over Sam’s cock.
Sam gasped, instinctively arching up as he always did when Dean so much as ghosted his fingers over him—and winced as the sharp pain shot through him.
“Gotta keep still, baby boy.”
At the sound of that endearment, that command, Sam’s eyes went dark. He slowly, carefully, moved his arms up, not over his head and crossed at the wrists like he might have done before, but bent at the elbow.
The other way was too reminiscent. And they both knew it.
Dean licked his lips again. “Gonna hold real still for me? Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Sam nodded, eyes never leaving Dean’s face.
Dean ran the sponge between Sam’s legs, rubbing gently.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, breathing fast. Then he opened them again. Moved his hips slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to convey his meaning.
“That feel good?”
Sam nodded.
Dean dipped the sponge in the water again. Moved it between Sam’s legs, warm water dripping over Sam’s balls, down the crack of his ass.
Sam bit his lip and thrust his jaw into the air, trying his best to lay still.
Dean worked the sponge harder, stroking Sam’s cock, moving it between his cheeks, pressing with his middle finger right against Sam’s hole.
Sam gave a soft moan.
“Shhh, baby boy.” Dean lay down next to Sam, and sealed his mouth over Sam’s lips. Sam licked up into Dean’s mouth like he was starving for it.
Dean kissed Sam for a long, long time, like he needed nothing more. Finally, Sam made a low whine and pushed up into Dean’s hand.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” Dean whispered.
Sam ran his right hand through Dean’s hair, and whispered, “Need you.”
And Dean melted. Held Sam’s face in his hands and kissed him slow and sweet. The faint tinge of blood spilled over his tongue from Sam’s cracked lip, but Sam held the back of his head hard, and would not let him go.
With great effort, Dean pulled free. “Gonna take care of you.” He kissed Sam’s throat. “Always take care of you.”
He slid down, settled between Sam’s legs.
Sam brought his right hand to his mouth and bit down on the meaty part of his index finger as Dean took the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth.
He kept his mouth soft and wet for Sam, all yielding, silken flesh and luxurious swipes of his tongue. He groaned at the taste of him, lapping greedily at the beads of pre-come rising from the slit one after another.
Dean lay between his little brother’s legs and worshipped his cock. Every slow rise and fall of his mouth was like a prayer murmured to God thanking him for returning Sam to him, every slow, languorous lick of his tongue a hosanna. His warm breath, his fingers stroking Sam’s thighs, his soft moans, a litany of fervent praise.
And Sam, stretched out for his big brother, his Dean, let the pleasure rise through him, beating back the pain like it was a tiny gnat, nothing to him now. He knew nothing but the glorious feeling of Dean’s mouth on him, Dean’s hands on him, anchoring him to this world, keeping him safe, sparking such intense pleasure in him that he could only remember three words: love, and Dean, and please.
“Wanna make you come for me, baby boy. Come in my mouth. Need to taste you so bad.” Dean’s whisper sank through Sam’s skin, moved beneath the surface and set it all off. Sam gasped, hands digging into the blanket, teeth clenched, trying to stay quiet as he fell apart beneath Dean, trembling as he came in Dean’s mouth, flooding over Dean’s tongue in pulse after pulse, bitter and sweet and better than anything.
Dean moaned, and swallowed, and swallowed again, taking Sam inside him like a sacrament.
Sam pulled at Dean’s shirt. His eyes were wide. “Please,” he whispered in a cracked voice.
Dean stripped his t-shirt off, squirmed out of his jeans. Green-striped tube socks still on, he straddled Sam’s hips, spat into his hand, and stroked his cock.
Sam stared up at him, rapt, face so full of love that Dean could hardly bear it. Didn’t deserve it. He worked his cock hard and fast, shuddering, then rolled his fingers over the crown once, twice, three times and was spilling over his hand, shooting onto Sam’s chest and stomach, whispering Sam’s name.
After his vision returned to normal, Dean lay alongside Sam and cleaned him off again with the sponge.
Sam’s eyes were clenched tight, his breathing labored and shallow.
“I hurt you. Oh god, I hurt you.”
Sam’s eyes flashed open, and he frowned at Dean. Raised his hand to Dean’s chest and thumped twice for no.
“Is it… is it laying flat?”
One big thump for yes.
“Ok, let’s get you dressed, and I’ll take you down to the recliner.”
Sam looked mournful, but tapped once for yes. He wanted to sleep next to Dean, but the pain was too severe.
Dean dressed Sam in clean underwear, wool socks and soft plaid pajamas. He put on clean boxers, sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
He brought Sam to the bathroom and let him pee in private, and they brushed their teeth in the sink together.
Just to be safe, he carried Sam downstairs.
John was already in bed, but Bobby was at his desk poring over an old book of Japanese text. He watched Dean settle Sam into the recliner.
Dean went upstairs to grab all the bedding, and found Bobby adding more wood to the fire. “Damn cold tonight. This should help.”
Dean covered Sam with two thick blankets, and put a pillow behind his head, and set the recliner back at the exact angle that Sam had liked best. “How’s that?”
Comfortable, warm, but locked into an island of brown vinyl, Sam gave a melancholy smile, full of gratitude, tinged with pain, and aching with sadness.
Bobby cleared his throat. “Made you two some warm milk.” He held two ceramic mugs out.
He gathered up his books as Dean settled himself on the couch, getting as close to Sam as he possibly could.
“Night, boys.” Bobby turned off the lights, and let them drink their warm milk alone in front of the fire. They had barely finished when their eyelids got heavy and they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
~
The next morning, they awoke to a cold fireplace, the sounds of John bustling around the kitchen making bacon and eggs, and no Bobby.
He showed up after everyone had finished breakfast. “John, could you give me a hand?”
John went out to the truck, and they came back carrying a large piece of furniture.
Bobby directed John to set it down in the living room.
It was a wide, two-cushion reclining love seat.
On to chapter 19 here:http://justinedelarge.livejournal.com/21394.html
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I really loved your writing of Dean in theselast two chapters, especially the scene in the kitchen when they tried to apologize.
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And Bobby! Oh *happy sigh* I just could not love him more.
Wonderful, wonderful chapter - thank you so, so much.
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Still loving this series a lot! Dean so gently taking care of his Sammy pushes so many of my buttons. Looking forward to more!
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The hurt/comfort and schmoop and love between our boys and it makes me wanna cry.
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This story is amazing. It started out one way and then took a turn that wrenched my heart out and continues to squeeze every emotion out of it.
And Bobby. That man... *sniff*
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<3
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Bobby what are you doing?
Glad Sammy's mad at Dean anymore.