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justinedelargeAuthor:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Spoilers: Seasons 1-5
Word Count:3760
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.
Summary: Sam and Dean reconnect. Sam makes a decision.
Master post of all chapters here
They set the knives on the bedside table.
Sam’s face was tired beyond comprehension, making him appear older than his years. He lit a candle and turned back toward Dean. The warm light transformed him, erased the signs of the heavy burden he bore, depicting him as angelic, his smooth, pink cheeks, dark hair clinging in damp strands to his forehead, his wide eyes and lush eyelashes, his bow-shaped, pink mouth.
Dean’s breath caught in his throat. All the love he had for Sam, had ever had—from the moment John placed this squirming little bundle into his arms and told him to take his brother outside, this bundle that stopped squirming and smiled as soon as Dean wrapped his little arms around him, to this moment now, facing an unbeatable enemy and insurmountable odds—-all the love he had for Sam surged in him, dismantled language and thought and awareness of time.
There was only now.
He breathed out the only word left in his vocabulary. “Sam.”
Sam smiled at him, soft and sad and filled with so much love it hurt. “Dean.”
The call and response they’d made all their lives. Sam and Dean. The only words that truly mattered, except the linking word, “loves.” But even that word failed, threw its hands up at the impossibility of what was asked of it and stalked away, unable to carry the scope and significance of this thing between the two of them.
This thing that demons were trying to take from them.
Dean reached for the words (I’m not going to let him have you, Sam) and they were simply not there. Vowels and consonants and social agreements on meaning were crude tools. He let them go.
He told Sam with his eyes, his hands, the sound of his breathing. He took Sam’s face in his, cradling it in his palms, his brows coming together with the force of what he needed to convey. He breathed in and out, a tremulous sound, and put his mouth on Sam’s. Claiming him. The love inside him expanded outward like a thunderclap, a tsunami, the Genesis wave racing around the planet, ringing through the Sanctuary, reverberating through Amarillo, beyond. The kiss heard ‘round the world, he thought in a sudden burst of language memory, and almost dissolved into laughter. But Sam’s soft shiver, the taste of the moan on his lips, given to Dean, breathed into Dean’s mouth like a gift, stilled the laughter.
Sam kissed him back, fingertips pressed lightly against Dean’s throat, sending sparks through Dean. There was no measure by which to gauge time passing. It might have been ten seconds or an hour. They just kissed, like nothing else in the history of humankind had ever mattered as much as this.
Finally, after ten seconds or an hour, Sam broke the kiss, stepped back, and stripped himself bare for Dean. Standing before him naked, he lifted Dean’s shirt over his head and pulled it off.
Sam trailed his fingertips over Dean’s skin, barely touching, the sensation far more intense than if he’d made full contact. Dean shivered. Sam looked at him—really looked at him—drinking in every freckle, every little scar, every inch of skin, tracing it with his fingers. Only when he had seen and touched every inch of exposed skin did he sink to his knees and pull down Dean’s sweatpants, pull off his socks, and repeat the entire process on Dean’s lower body. His fingers ghosted down the twin grooves of his abdomen, traced his own initials, Dean’s favorite scars now, brushing his fingertips over the tiny blond hairs on his stomach and thighs, the heavier, darker ones on his calves.
What Sam was doing was worship. He tore his gaze away from the flesh he was touching to gaze up into Dean’s sea-green eyes, rapt. He worshipped him with his fingers, his gaze, and finally, his mouth. He bent forward until his chest touched his thighs like a penitent, curled his hands around Dean’s ankles and pressed his mouth to his right foot. Then his left.
Dean shivered at the sight, the feel, the import of Sam kissing his feet, brushing his mouth over Dean’s bare toes, kissing each one. He kissed the tops of his feet, tongue extended slightly, the warm, liquescent center of his soft, dry mouth on Dean’s skin. He kissed Dean’s ankles, his shins, the caps of his knees. He wordlessly asked Dean to turn, bent double again, and kissed each Achilles tendon, mouth brushing up the backs of his calves one at a time, lingering at the crease at the back of each leg, driving a gasp and shiver out of Dean, breath teasing the soft blond hairs on the back of his thighs.
His hands cupped Dean’s ass, dropped down to his thighs, pressed outward. Urging. Asking.
Dean moved his right foot to the side, parting his legs for Sam, allowing him access.
Sam breathed out, warm air moving against Dean’s center. He pushed with his palms, gently, opening Dean up to him, and kissed him, kissed the most intimate part of his body, kissed it like it was a perfect pink rose. Kissed it like it was a holy act.
Sam moaned then, emitting a sound of pleasure and reverence so keen it bordered on pain. He let his tongue escape his mouth, licking against Dean’s hole, which quivered and opened to Sam as if that was its natural state. Sam moaned again, fingers tightening on Dean’s ass, and lapped at him, making greedy little sounds of pleasure that had Dean’s cock jerking and slapping against his belly. Sam worshipped Dean in this most intimate of ways for a long, long time, and even when he pulled his mouth away, Dean could feel the reluctance to stop sparking off Sam.
Sam turned Dean around again, still kneeling. He looked up at Dean, just looked at him like he wanted to burn the image onto his retinas. Then he leaned forward and curled his tongue over the tip of Dean’s cock, lapping up the drop of pre-come bejeweling the tip.
He took Dean’s cock in his hands, and looked at it, memorizing every detail. He brought his mouth down, and worshipped Dean’s cock.
It wasn’t just sex (as if sex with Sam was ever just sex) but true, honest worship. Love, such radiant love, pouring out of him. Kneeling before him not just to be able to put Dean’s cock in his mouth, but to physically demonstrate his devotion to Dean. Sam’s mouth on him, tongue tracing every vein of his cock, felt like a prayer.
Dean’s legs shook, not just with the immensity of pleasure shooting through his body, but the intensity of emotion moving back and forth between them, feeding, building. Sam’s mouth pulled at him, his tongue stroked him, with greater urgency, wordlessly asking Dean to come, to pour him out a blessing.
Dean shivered uncontrollably, hands moving on Sam’s damp hair, biting back the sounds he wanted to make, only allowing soft gasps to escape. Sam kept his mouth soft and wet, his tongue pliant and velvety, because Dean’s cock was inside his mouth, and Dean’s cock was precious. He looked up at Dean, a plea in his eyes. Dean pushed his hips forward and let his head fall back, letting go, allowing the pleasure to spill over, surging into Sam’s mouth, thick and wet. Sam swallowed it down like he was thirsty for it, needed it desperately, suckling at him with a groan, pleading for more.
Dean gave him everything he had to give. Sam sucked at the tip of his cock, drawing out the last drops, drinking it down like an antidote.
Dean pulled Sam up and into his arms, kissed him like he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He tugged Sam onto the bed, started to move between Sam’s legs, but Sam flipped him over onto his back. He bent down and brought his lips to Dean’s throat.
Dean laid back and let Sam have what he wanted.
Sam repeated what he had done on the lower half of Dean’s body, kissing and licking every inch of his flesh: soft kitten licks along his collarbone, twirling his tongue in the crook of his elbow, even sucking each finger into his mouth in turn. He nipped at the sensitive flesh of Dean’s wrists and forearms, and repeated the same thing on the other arm. He stroked and kissed Dean’s chest, sucking on his nipples, breath tickling his stomach, mouth moving along his rib cage. All the while, his hazel eyes were wide open, taking in every image, memorizing the taste and feel and sight of Dean.
He tugged at Dean, urging him to roll over onto his stomach, and he followed the line of each muscle with his mouth, tongue and fingers, tasting the sweat on his skin, eliciting shivers and soft sounds from Dean. Again, like he couldn’t get enough, he moved between Dean’s legs, lapped at him, softening Dean with broad flat strokes of his tongue, then tensing his tongue and working it inside him until Dean was writhing and moaning and fully hard again.
Then and only then did Sam spread himself out and offer himself to Dean.
Dean, pupils blown wide, high from the altered state Sam had put him into, kissed and licked his Sammy like Sam had done him. Sam arched his back, writhed, giving himself to Dean wherever Dean put his mouth. When he got to Sam’s cock, sucking it into his mouth in one smooth, seamless motion, Sam bit his hand, trying to hold back from making a sound. Dean turned, straddling Sam’s head, and gave him the best pacifier he knew. Sam opened his mouth, took Dean’s cock and sucked it, not fast and hard, but like he wanted to make it last forever.
Dean followed the pace Sam set, licking at him lazily, flicking his tongue over the head, twirling his tongue in the slit, pulling off to rub it over his lips, then nursing on it again. They sucked and licked and loved each other for what felt like forever.
Sam pulled his mouth off Dean’s cock and reached for Dean’s hole again. Dean obliged, shifting position, curling up tighter, giving Sam what he wanted. Sam groaned, sealing his mouth over Dean’s hole, licking and sucking at it. Dean pulled up on Sam’s hips, making him curl in on himself, giving him access to Sam’s hole. They lapped at each other, taking their time, reveling in how the motions of their tongues sent the other one shivering, groaning quietly, thighs trembling, cocks twitching. Sam made little whimpers that hit Dean like a punch to the gut, making him want to do anything to keep them coming in a steady stream.
Dean luxuriated in the feel of Sam softening beneath his tongue, the tight little ring opening, snapping shut again, then unfurling even wider, letting him taste the impossibly soft flesh inside the outer ring. Dean groaned, wanting to do this forever and needing to be inside that silken, taut channel fucking yesterday.
Sam sensed it, and swung his legs down to the bed. Dean crawled off and turned back around. Sam went to the dresser and retrieved the lube where he’d hidden it from John. He handed the bottle to Dean, laid down on the bed and spread his legs for Dean, hazel eyes locked onto green.
Dean groaned at the sight, and slicked up his fingers. Sam was so soft and ready, Dean was able to slide two fingers inside him with barely any effort at all. Dean blew out a breath, and worked his fingers inside Sam, just the way Sam liked it. Sam arched his back, driving himself down on Dean’s fingers, looking up at him, eyes huge, staring at Dean like he was about to disappear.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sammy.” Dean kissed him, soft and sweet.
The look remained in Sam’s eyes. Dean pulled his fingers out, gripped Sam’s shoulders. “I’m never going to leave you, Sam. Ever.” Sam blinked rapidly, breathing out through his nose, the way he did when he was struggling to handle strong emotion.
“Even if you say yes to him, Sammy, even if you turn bad. I’m never going to leave you.”
Sam lunged at Dean, pulling him into a fierce kiss, arms locked around his neck. Then he pulled his mouth away and just hugged Dean, clinging to him gasping for air like he was drowning.
“I got you. I got you, Sammy. It’s ok.” Dean kissed the top of Sam’s head, his ear, whatever he could reach.
“Dean.” Sam pulled at Dean’s face, careful not to touch his stitches. Dean rolled on top of Sam, and nudged his thighs open. He positioned himself at Sam’s entrance. Sam spread his thighs wider, hands still on Dean’s face, pleading with his whole body. Dean slid inside, slow and steady.
Tears began to run down Sam’s face. Dean stopped. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” Sam gasped. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Dean frowned, but trusted Sam was telling the truth. And his body was showing no signs of distress—no jerking or flinching, no seizing up of the tight ring of muscle. Dean resumed his movement, sliding into Sam all the way, panting at the feel of his incredible internal heat, so tight, so slick. So utterly his.
Sam moaned, the pleasure of Dean inside him evident on his face, but the tears kept falling. Sam tipped his head forward, took the amulet into his mouth, held it there, brass cold and sharp on his tongue, as Dean rocked into him. His hands roamed all over Dean’s body, caressing him like his fingers needed to feel Dean’s skin just like he needed Dean inside him. He rocked in sync with Dean’s movements, sucking on the amulet.
Dean stayed close, pressing against Sam as tight as he could, kissing the tears from his cheeks, willing them silently to stop falling. Eventually, they slowed.
Dean moved inside Sam slowly, grinding his hips, until the tears stopped and the whimpers started again. “Sam…” he breathed.
He praised Sam with his mouth, his hands, his whole body. Sam shook and shivered beneath him, burrowing his face in Dean’s chest and breathing in his scent. Dean made love to Sam, slow and sweet, promising forever with every brush of his lips and roll of his hips. And unlike John, Sam could count on Dean’s promises. He would never leave Sam. That was a stone fact.
Sam’s whimpers went higher in pitch, grew needier. Dean held off as long as he possibly could, keeping Sam writhing on the edge of coming, until Sam’s arms and legs relaxed and he submitted to Dean’s sweet form of torture, giving himself over to it completely. Dean took hold of Sam’s cock and worked it with one hand, slowly, so slowly, bringing Sam to the edge of coming and backing off, again and again. It wasn’t about control. It wasn’t even about making Sam’s ensuing orgasm off-the-charts powerful. It was Dean needing to see, hear, feel how Sam fell apart for him, see Sam so open and vulnerable, feeling so intensely because of Dean, shuddering at the lightest touch of his hand on Sam’s cock, groaning and holding his thighs open wider for Dean to thrust deeper, taking him, claiming him.
Finally, Sam couldn’t take any more. He didn’t have to say much. He didn’t even say what Dean expected. (Dean. Please.)
Instead, he said, “I love you.”
Dean fell forward, his amulet gently striking Sam’s chin, taking Sam’s mouth in his, tears spilling down his face now. They moved as one being, generating the heat and friction they needed, moving in perfect harmony, perfect rhythm. It felt to Dean like his heart skipped a beat, then another, then several, his blood skidding uncontrolled through his body like a fallen ice skater sliding across the ice, felt like Sam’s heart did the same, their bodies stilling, the pleasure stopping all other functions, no sound, no air, only Sam and Dean, just Sam and Dean, coming simultaneously, unable to make a sound, a blessing since if they had, they would have screamed the roof down, just pleasure whiting out their vision, nothing but light all around them, gleaming out of them, muscles straining to push their bodies together into one flesh, shuddering as all nerves fired at once, Dean sending pulse after pulse of come inside Sam, putting himself inside Sam (this is my blood this is my body)… and then a violent thump as their hearts slammed into motion again. Sound returned, the whoosh of blood moving through their veins, gasping to get air into their lungs.
Sam sobbed against Dean’s chest, clutching Dean to him, huge shuddering sobs.
Dean couldn’t keep the tears from coming. “I love you so much.” Dean’s shoulders shook. “So much.”
“I love you too.” Sam hiccupped, crying. “Always. No matter what happens.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen, Sammy. I’ll keep you safe. I’d do anything for you. I’d die for you. You know that.”
Sam nodded. He knew.
They held each other, mingled tears streaking down Sam’s face, into his ears, making him laugh and wipe them away. Dean held his weight off Sam enough that Sam was able to breathe just fine, and somehow, they fell asleep like that, with Dean inside Sam. Sam finally roused, and shook Dean’s shoulder. Dean laughed softly. “Love falling asleep inside you, baby boy.”
Sam smiled at that. He picked up his t-shirt and used it to wipe Dean’s chest, carefully removing all traces of his come on Dean’s skin. Then he pushed at Dean gently. “Cold. Blankets.”
Dean moved up so Sam could pull the blankets down so they could climb into bed properly. Blankets settled over them, Dean murmured something incoherent, pulling Sam into his arms.
“I love you, Dean.” Sam’s voice was soft, with a faint hiss of sadness beneath.
“Love you too, Sammy.” Dean smacked his lips sleepily. “My Sammy.” He promptly fell asleep and began to snore quietly.
~
Sam lay on his side and watched Dean sleep for a long time. Tears streaked down his face in an unending line, wetting his pillow. Finally, he slipped out of bed, and pulled on his underwear and socks, alert for any break in Dean’s snoring. He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out his flannel-lined jeans, his thickest sweatshirt, and his blue flannel overshirt. Without making a sound, he dressed himself, zipping up his boots quietly and strapped on his knife.
He walked toward the bedroom door, and turned to look back at Dean, sprawled out in bed, his head and arm on Sam’s pillow. Sam’s cheeks gleamed, wet with tears streaming down his face, his mouth pressed together tightly to keep ugly sobs from erupting.
Dean was sleeping peacefully, face bathed in candlelight, the perfect lines of his mouth highlighted, his scruff thickening into what another couple of days without shaving would become a short beard. His bruises had faded, and his cut was healing well, the beauty of his face emphasized, not marred, by the line of sutures on his chin. Sutures he had needed because of Sam. They hurt him because of Sam.
He couldn’t let Dean be hurt anymore because of him. Couldn’t let the poison in his blood get into Dean. Couldn’t be with Dean in all the ways they had been together, because of the evil flowing through his veins, the corruption inside him. Unclean.
Dean was too beautiful, too perfect, too good for Sam to ruin him. Sam loved him too much to do that to him. He knew John’s plan to purge his blood would not work. There was no hope for him there. Ever since he’d learned he had demon blood in him, he’d been fighting the urge to burn it out of him, blast it out of him, drown or tear or cut it out of him, for Dean. To protect Dean. Because Dean took Sam’s body into his own, and Sam’s body was tainted.
As far as they knew. But one thing gave him a ghost of a shred of hope.
Where there is pure love, corruption cannot remain.
He didn’t know what that meant exactly. But there was only one way to find out.
He kept looking at Dean, not wanting to tear his eyes away, struggling to bring himself to do what he knew he had to do. To reach down and do what was brave. What was right. He finally understood what Dean had meant about wanting to wait until Sam turned 17. Sometimes you have to do the right thing even when it’s the last thing you want to do. When it rips your heart out to even think about it.
He looked at Dean for what could be the last time, head shaking with the effort to not go back to him, fall on the bed, wake him, tell him not to let him leave, cuff their wrists together, keep him at Dean’s side. “I love you,” he whispered. Then he turned away, walked out of the bedroom and shut the door.
He leaned against the wall, body trembling violently, chest heaving, until he regained enough composure to walk to the kitchen. He scrawled a note and left it on the kitchen counter. Then he put on his coat and walked out the front door.
He moved down the hallway silently, moving like he’d been trained to, past the door behind which Reggie and Bobby slept, past John’s door. With the grace and skill of a cat burglar, he moved through the common room without making a sound that would alert Danny and Juliane. He passed through the sigil-lined hallway, through the front office and into the parking lot. His breath was a dragon’s snort, white smoke billowing into the cold night air. He felt his fear surge within him, freezing his limbs. He closed his eyes and thought of Dean, safely sleeping in a soft, warm bed behind him. He found his bravery in the midst of the sea of fear, and walked forward across the salt line.
He knocked on the door of the car parked by the motel entrance, where the demon watchman sat staring at him with obsidian-black eyes.
“Azazel.”
The demon stared at Sam with his cold, dead eyes.
Sam pulled himself up to his full height.“Take me to him.”
