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justinedelargeAuthor:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Spoilers: Seasons 1-5
Word Count:4700
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: 4700 words of Sam and Dean loving up on each other
Master post of all chapters here
Sam turned up the thermostat to 80 so the heat blew through the floor vent in the bathroom, quickly filling the space with warm air. He pulled out the tweezers from their post-hunt care kit and set it on a clean dry cloth on the top of the toilet tank.
He started with Dean's face, dabbing it carefully with a clean white washcloth dipped in the sinkful of warm water. "At least your stitches weren't messed up." Dean had turned his head to the side, and taken the brunt of the impact with his hands, protecting his face. Sam's careful stitches were still perfect, the cut healing beautifully.
Miraculously, Dean's hands had no more than minor scratches, although they would be bruised in the morning. His face had a few nicks from the shattered glass. The blood on his face, mostly wiped away already, came from a laceration on his scalp. They both knew from experience that a minor scalp wound could easily produce a frightening amount of blood.
He cleaned the dried blood from Dean's skin, turning his face from side to side to make sure he got it all. He probed gingerly along Dean's hairline. "You've got glass powder in your hair."
"That means a shower."
"That means a shower." Sam smiled. "But I'm not done yet. Close your eyes." Carefully, he tugged Dean's shirt over his head, pulling the neck wide so it didn't dislodge glass dust that could fall into Dean's eyes, and painstakingly checked his upper body for embedded bits of mirror, touching every inch of his skin lightly with his fingertips. Where he found a shard or lump of glass, he pulled it out with a deft motion of the tweezers.
He winced at the bruising already showing on his chest and right side. He pressed against Dean's ribcage, and had him bend and twist. The twitching of his facial muscles revealed discomfort, but there was no sharp pain indicative of broken ribs. Sam took a deep breath of relief, expanding his chest unconsciously as if to remind himself he could breathe freely, that his own ribs weren't still battered and bruised.
He knelt and pulled off Dean's boots and socks, brought his hand to Dean's belt buckle, then paused. His thumb twitched.
"Sam?" Dean's voice was rough.
Sam looked up at him, hair hanging in his face. Gazing up at Dean, he settled into his kneeling position, a subtle shift, but one that transformed the pose from practical to symbolic. Sam knelt before Dean, hands reaching up, knuckles brushing against his bare skin. The penitent kneeling before the worshipped. Looked up at Dean, lips parted, so many words trying to spill out that none of them made it through.
Dean swallowed hard. "It's ok, Sam."
"I mean it, I—"
Dean put his hand on Sam's head. "I know."
Sam blinked hard a few times, then unbuckled Dean's pants and removed them slowly, folding them over and setting them to the side so no glass dust got onto the tile floor. He checked Dean's lower body, trying to ignore Dean's natural, glorious reaction to being naked in front of Sam until his task was done. He pulled out a few bits of glass, Dean trying not to wince as the tweezers dug in. Sam gently moved Dean in a circle, making absolutely sure he got everything. "OK. Shower."
Sam stripped quickly and stepped into the shower with Dean. Dean was able to wash himself, but let Sam do it. "Close your eyes," Sam said again. He nudged Dean backward into the spray, tipped his head back and guarded his forehead with the palm of his hand. With exquisite care, he rinsed the glass dust out of Dean's hair. Dean kept his eyes closed, felt Sam's hands leave his scalp and return, thick and slippery with shampoo, Sam's body close against his. Dean's cock jumped, eliciting a low chuckle from Sam. "Wait your turn," he said, eyeing Dean's erection.
"Did you just talk to my dick?"
"Why not? You do."
"Gonna tell it what a good boy it is, Sammy?"
Sam's fingers froze, just for a split second, then resumed moving over his scalp, lathering his hair up. His cock twitched, heavy and hard against Dean's thigh.
A smile spread over Dean's mouth, pink and wet from the spray. He started to open his eyes.
"Uh-uh. Keep 'em closed."
"Ok." Dean complied.
"Good boy." Sam's voice rang against the hard tiles. Dean bit his lower lip. Sam's fingers moved over his throat, his right hand still working in Dean's hair. He stroked his fingers over his Adam's apple, played across the hollow of his throat. His right hand moved to the base of Dean's scalp, scratching lightly with his fingernails.
Dean shivered.
"Doing so good for me, Dean." He spoke slowly. "You like it. Having your eyes closed. Not being able to see what I do next." Sam's hand dropped lower, fingernails scraping lightly over Dean's chest. Dean gasped at the feel of Sam's mouth closing over his right nipple, gasped again as Sam's hand stroked his inner thigh.
"Sam."
Sam stood close again, bringing both hands up to lightly scratch and massage his scalp, letting his cock bob against Dean's, the warm water running down Dean's back. He breathed out over Dean's mouth, not quite kissing him. Dean lunged forward, tried to claim Sam's mouth, but he pulled back. "Shhh. Careful. Hold still."
Dean let Sam tip his head back so the spray washed through his hair, moaning with the pleasure of it. "Gonna do it again," Sam whispered. "Make sure you're nice and clean." Dean groaned.
Sam worked more shampoo into Dean's hair, the lather thicker and richer the second time. He bumped his hips forward, rocking against Dean, sliding his cock against him, slipping against his lower abdomen where Sam's initials marked him.
"Sam," Dean breathed. "Kiss me."
As though he'd been waiting for those words, Sam surged forward, took Dean's mouth in his. Dean's hands went around Sam, slid up his wet skin, gripping the lean muscles of his upper back, sliding back down to grip his smooth, firm ass. He moaned into Sam's mouth. "Christ, I need you so bad."
"Me too. But wait. Just—hang on. Not done."
Sam rinsed Dean's hair again. When the last of the suds swirled down the drain, he whispered, "You can open your eyes now."
Dean did so. Sam's cheeks were stained pink, pupils wide, wet hair sticking to his forehead. His cock was so hard the tip was red, and his chest was flushed with blood.
"Sam." The sound was a plea, a sob, a prayer.
"Let me finish taking care of you."
Dean showed superhuman willpower by not pressing Sam against the shower wall and fucking him using just the conditioner that Sam was working into his hair. He held still and let Sam lather up his body, apologizing with soft whispers and kisses on his neck at the sting of the soap in his cuts. He let Sam wash him clean, Sam whispering words of praise. "Doing so good, Dean."
Sam shampooed himself with lightning speed as Dean soaped up his body, running his hands all over Sam's skin. Sam shivered, laughed, held Dean back. "Not in here. Too slippery. You could get hurt." Sam rinsed himself off, smacked the shower off with the flat of his hand and pulled Dean out onto the thick bath mat. He toweled Dean off first, pressing the towel softly against his skin, not wanting to cause him discomfort.
Then he knelt again in front of Dean, not even bothering to dry himself off. Water droplets ran off his hair, trailing down his neck, dripping over his chest. He placed the palms of his hands flat on Dean's stomach. "Let me."
"Yeah, Sammy. Sure." Dean shook his head, confused by Sam's tone. Sam sucking his cock was a normal occurrence, not something he had to insist on.
Sam ghosted his fingers over Dean's cock like a sculptor dusting a soft brush over the curves of a marble sculpture. Face upturned, he brought his wet mouth to Dean, opened to him, took him inside, surrounding him with softness and warmth. His lips and tongue stroked him, luxuriously soft. He moved his mouth on Dean like an apology, a promise, a benediction.
Dean shuddered, the memory of the others too close, closed his eyes against it. Sam hummed, a low sound of pleasure, curiously soothing. He opened his eyes, saw Sam on his knees, Sam's mouth on him. The memory rattled, shook loose, lost its grip. Sam blinked slowly, long eyelashes fluttering, love coming off him in waves. He drew back, dragging his tongue along the underside of Dean's cock, lips clinging in a silken circle. When he tasted the precome pearling in the slit, Sam moaned, licked it off, hands slipping around to gently cradle Dean's ass. He brought his mouth back down, back arching as he took Dean deeper, eyes locked on Dean's. He pulled back slowly, caressing Dean's cock with his mouth, his tongue, the silken walls of his mouth tugging at him softly.
Dean's eyes fluttered, emotion flaring as it hit him what Sam was up to. He was deliberately doing what those men had done, sucking him off in the bathroom. Sam still wanting to do that, even after knowing, hearing in such detail. He was not repelled by what Dean had done, accepting that part of his past, but claiming him completely and utterly, with such love it brought tears to Dean's eyes. Sam went to his knees before Dean and sanctified that act forever.
The memory of those few desperate acts of survival thinned, became transparent, disintegrated into nothingness. The only one who had ever been on his knees before Dean was Sam. Only Sam.
Shocky heat bunched and coiled at the base of Dean's spine, spreading outward. Dean pulled back, not wanting to come yet, wanting to fuck Sam pliant and begging for it and moaning his name. But Sam looked up at him, all wide eyes, pink cheeks and cock-swollen mouth, and said, "Please."
And Dean could never deny Sam something he wanted. He let Sam take him in his mouth again, and Sam made a happy sound low in his throat. Dean's orgasm surged from someplace deep inside, not just rooted in his cock. Sam moaned as the taste flooded his mouth, hands tightening on Dean's hips, taking him as deep as he could, showing him how much he wanted it, spreading his knees wider, his untouched cock bobbing, pulling back to nurse on the head and working the base with his hand, so the last of it spurted on his tongue, lips working, mouth pulling, tongue stroking the underside, coaxing more out, drinking Dean down.
Dean stroked Sam's wet hair, chanting his name, spilling into his mouth, no shame in the act, nothing but pure love and breathless pleasure and sheer awe at how lucky he was to have Sam, as the white light danced behind his eyelids.
Sam pressed his forehead against Dean's bare thigh, panting. Dean tipped his face up, pulled him gently to his feet. He kissed Sam, kissed him so slow and sweet and thoroughly it made him dizzy, clinging to him so as not to stagger and fall to the side. He finally released Sam's mouth.
Sam dropped his head forward. "Jesus. Dean."
Dean stroked Sam's flanks and trailed his fingers along the curve of his ass. He licked his lower lip in that unconscious way he had. "Gonna let me inside, Sammy?"
"Yeah."
Without a word, Dean picked Sam up in his arms and carried him into the bedroom, not allowing a single murmur of protest out of him. He settled Sam down on the mattress and sprawled over him, holding him down, his soft cock nestled on Sam's stomach. "I should tie you to the bed. Make sure you don't leave again in the middle of the night." Dean's eyes gleamed dark green.
Sam made a soft whimper.
"Spank your ass raw. Make you say you're sorry." Dean was teasing—but he wasn't. The pain was still there in his eyes. The agony at waking up to find Sam had left him behind. The grief and terror that goaded him to smash plates and glassware, flickers of anger still left over, so extreme was his distress waking up alone, without Sam.
"You should." Sam's voice came soft and breathy.
"What?" Dean loosened his hold on Sam's shoulders.
"I deserve it." Sam squirmed, turned over, raising his hips up. "Do it. Punish me for leaving. Go ahead. I'll take it." He craned his head back to look Dean in the face. "I'll be good."
Dean sat back on his heels and rubbed his hand over his mouth. Sam spread his legs wider, dropping his chest down and resting his cheek on his folded arms, raising his ass higher, offering himself up to Dean. "Hard as you want," he murmured. "I'll take it all."
Dean bit his lip, rubbed his damp palms on his thighs, his soft cock surging, showing renewed life at the sight of Sam offering that to him. His bare ass with its perfect pale skin, upturned, waiting for Dean to spank him. His apology offered through submission. Emotion welled up within him, tugging at his riptide-strong desire to spank Sam's ass candy-apple red, pulling it in the other direction. "Sam. No." He turned Sam over onto his back, and gathered him up into his arms. "I can't do that. Can't ever hurt you because I'm mad." He squeezed Sam tighter, stroking his wet hair. "I could never punish you, Sammy."
"It's ok. You—"
"Not when I'm… not for real. We can try that later. If you want." The way Sam swallowed hard, mouth parted, told Dean everything he needed to know about whether Sam wanted that. For a split second, he reconsidered, getting a vivid flash of Sam squirming at each strike of his palm, all the sounds he'd make. He closed his eyes, forced the urge down. "I'd do it if you liked it. But not to punish you. I'm never gonna hit you when I'm mad. Not even like this." Dean pulled back and brushed his knuckles over Sam's cheek. "I fucking love you, ok? I love you so much, I—" His voice broke. His throat worked, trying to keep his emotion in check. He touched Sam's mouth with his fingertips. "Just… don't ever do that to me again, Sam."
"I won't."
"You swear it." Dean's lashes were wet with tears.
Sam's eyes welled up with tears when he saw he'd made Dean cry. "I swear. I'll never leave you."
Dean lay Sam down on the bed, and just looked at him. Looked at him like he had sprung from the ether, brand new and fully formed. He touched Sam's face, so lightly he could barely feel it. He didn't say anything for a long time, just touched him, his face, his neck, his chest.
"I thought I was never going to see you again. I thought—"
Sam gently tugged Dean to him and kissed the tears from his mouth, his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Sam, I can't, I can't without you…"
"I'll never leave you again. I swear." Sam clutched Dean's amulet, the most sacred symbol he knew. "I swear on this."
Dean made a choked sound, half-sob, half-laugh. Then he lay his Sammy down on the bed and worshipped him, with the slow sweep of his seagreen eyes, the eloquence of his fingertips, the patience of his warm breath ghosting over his skin. He woke every nerve ending, sang to it wordlessly, breathed his gratitude over it, made it dance with pleasure. He brought his lips, soft and supple, into play, murmuring sounds of praise into Sam's skin, the vibrations penetrating his body. He murmured hymns of love into the tiny bones behind Sam's ear, the proud jut of his hipbone, the silken crease behind his knee. His tongue sang harmony, trailing along his skin, tattooing serpentine patterns, filigree and conjuration, tasting the salt rising from him, as the heat in the room increased from the warm air rushing in through the vent, from the desire suffusing Sam's body.
He touched and tasted and breathed in everything. Every part of Sam. He kissed his eyelashes, the tip of his nose. He knelt on the mattress and kissed Sam's feet, stroked them, saw (not for the first time) how perfectly formed they were, strong and symmetrical, with even, well-shaped toes that did not overlap. Even Sam's feet were beautiful. He pressed the instep of his right foot against his cheek, stroking his ankle. Sam made a soft little sound. He took Sam's foot in his hands and brushed his lips over the tops of Sam's toes, watching Sam's face. Sam made a breathy little moan, eyelids fluttering.
Dean didn't have a thing about feet. He had a thing about Sam. Doing anything and everything that made Sam utter that sound, and all its intoxicating variants. So he went with it. He opened his mouth and coiled his tongue around Sam's little toe. Sam gasped, back arching, hands gripping the blankets. Dean held Sam's right ankle firmly, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth, and took his little toe into his mouth.
"Ah. Ah. Dean." Sam's eyes were wide with surprise at how good it felt.
Dean twined his tongue over it, sucking gently, shivers of pleasure running up his spine at the sounds it was driving from Sam. He moved to the next one, licking at it, then taking it into his mouth, and the next one in turn. Sam panted, whimpered, moaned. Dean pressed his mouth to the arch of Sam's foot, sealing his lips against it, dragging his tongue along the underside. Sam jolted, hands scrabbling at the blankets, making a cry of such urgency Dean could not help but smile. He did it again, and again, until he swore Sam was about to come just from that.
"Hang on tight, sweetheart." He opened his mouth and slowly engulfed Sam's big toe, sucking it down just like he did to Sam's cock.
"Fuck." Sam writhed, shivers running through him, shoulders lifting off the bed then falling back down. "Dean."
Dean kept sucking it like it was his cock, eyes locked onto Sam's, drinking in the fierce pleasure ripping through Sam. Sam's cock jerked, precome surging from the slit. Dean moved his mouth up and down, lapping at it, sucking as he took it inside, sucking harder as he pulled off. Sam was leaking steadily, thrashing beneath him, tearing the sheets from the bed.
"Fuck, fuck, Dean, fuck, I'm gonna come." Sam's voice was high, disbelieving.
Dean pulled his mouth off slowly. "Not yet. Shh. Not yet." He made a mental note, however, on his "Rock Sammy's World" to-do list. Make Sam come just from sucking on his toes.
He lowered Sam's right leg to the bed, and closed his hands around his left ankle.
"Oh god. I can't. I'll die."
"You said you'd take it. If I spanked you. As much pain as I told you to take, right? Take this instead." Sam's eyes widened. "Can you? Take as much pleasure as I want to make you take?"
Sam whimpered. Nodded. "Yeah."
"Don't come until I tell you."
Sam nodded, cheeks bright red. "I promise."
Dean brought his mouth down, gave Sam pleasure so intense he didn't know what to do with himself. Dean played the nerves in Sam's foot, seemingly connected in a direct line to his cock, like a master, augmenting the tricks of his lips and tongue with a stroke of his hand over Sam's inner thigh, a brush of his fingertips over the head of his cock, pressing his thumb into the soft flesh of his perineum. Sam writhed and moaned and cried out, again and again.
Dean slowed, letting Sam catch his breath, stroking his thighs, and then resumed his onslaught, until Sam was begging, unashamed and desperate.
"Dean, please, I can't, please let me come, Dean, fuck me, please, make me come for you."
Dean looked up at Sam, a wolfish intensity in his eyes, and pulled his mouth away long enough to say, "Not yet."
Sam dropped his head and wailed, shuddering, thrashing, as Dean sucked on his big toe, lashing it with his tongue, pulling hard like he was trying to draw the come out of him. Sam's stomach was wet with precome, his chest flushed pink, his balls full and achingly ready, his cock engorged with blood, bobbing, needy.
It was glorious.
"I can't, Dean, I can't…"
"You said you could, Sammy. You said you'd take it."
Sam panted, swallowed hard, nearly in tears. "Ok. Ok, Dean."
"Just a little more. Can you do that for me, baby boy?"
Sam's head fell back at that term of endearment, his cock jerking and slapping against his belly. He closed his eyes, took a shuddering breath, then another, slower and deeper, and a third, slower and deeper still, consciously relaxing his body. His fingers opened. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Dean. "I'll take it. As much as you want."
Dean put him to the test. He didn't hold back one iota. He let Sam show him how much he meant it, how sorry he was for leaving him behind, through pleasure, not pain. He licked and sucked Sam's feet, tonguing the line where his toes met his feet, sending violent shivers through him. He sucked his balls, heavy and full, into his mouth, Sam grinding his hips in little circles, making deep, primal sounds. He spread Sam's thighs open wide and lapped at his hole, softening him, opening him up, reveling in the feel of him under his tongue, the achingly delicious cries he made, settling in and licking him like he could spend hours doing it, fingers teasing the base of his cock, rolling his balls in his hand, slicking up his finger and working it inside Sam, just one, pushing and curling and twisting, unleashing all the tricks he had.
Sam sweated and panted and cried out, nearly screaming when Dean brought him right to the edge and held him there, struggling so hard not to come—but he took it. He took it all. Dean tried to make him lose it, really tried to make him come without permission. But Sam just took it, took it for Dean, showed him how deep his love was, how his word was his bond. He shivered and shook and danced under Dean's tongue and fingers. But as he had sworn, he did not come without permission. He showed Dean he would keep his promises.
"Jesus, Sammy," Dean breathed in admiration, sitting back on his heels.
"You aren't mad at me anymore?"
Dean didn't realize tears had started rolling down his face until they ran down his neck. He wiped his face with both hands, and lowered himself alongside Sam. "No, Sammy. God no. I'm not mad at you, baby."
"Then…please." Sam took Dean's hand and placed it on his cock. It was huge and hot in Dean's hand, thicker than he'd ever felt Sam's cock get. His need for Dean was palpable, so sharp it bordered on pain. "Dean, please."
"Anything." Dean's lips were soft against Sam's neck. "I'll do anything you want."
Sam spread his legs, pulled Dean on top of him. "I need you, I need you so fucking bad, Dean, please, I'm sorry, please…"
"Shh, baby. You don't have to apologize."
"I thought you were dead, Dean, I thought he killed you, I need you.."
Dean sobbed again, tried to kiss Sam through the sobs, hurriedly slicked himself up, lowered himself over Sam, pressed himself to Sam's entrance. He brushed Sam's hair out of his face, caught, rapt, by the color of his eyes, like sunflowers floating in a deep blue lake. "I love you." He thrust forward, just an inch, just enough to breach his entrance.
Sam burst into tears.
Just like the first time.
But these tears were more fierce and wild, ripped from a much deeper well. Sam had been hollowed out by pain and fear and keen sorrow, had shown character and bravery in the face of true evil and impossible odds. The tears from before were those of a boy in the arms of his true love. These tears were the soul cry of a man in the arms of his other half, never again to be parted.
Dean entered Sam slowly, all the way, bringing Sam's thighs back underneath him, wrapping his strong arms around him and cradling him. He sank deep into him, his own tears falling freely.
He didn't fuck Sam. He didn't make love to Sam.
He was love, for Sam. So young, just two decades on this earth in this body, but he was old in his love for Sam, old beyond counting, old like the sea.
Their love was old. Older than they were in these perfect young bodies. Dean felt it, how far back it stretched. Just for a second. That was all he could bear.
Sam felt it too. His breath stopped, just for a second, as it hit him. stars forming God lonely in the void so lonely wanting to know itself exploding into fragments all shards of the same oversoul all part of the whole but separate distinct some shards shivering breaking once more breaking into twin souls, mated belonging to each other since before the quantum possibility of the beginning of time soul mates before the Earth's crust had cooled always been you always been you always been you
"Sam." Dean's voice was wrecked, his tears falling onto Sam's face.
"Dean."
If they ever made it to old age, where senility stripped away (mercifully) the memory of all they had suffered, the last two words they would ever know would be Sam and Dean.
Sam moved under Dean, the motion sparking nerves inside both of them. Dean rolled his hips, grinding into Sam, wanting to stay as deep inside him as possible.
"It's too much." Sam gasped. "Too much."
Dean understood, pulled back onto his heels, spread Sam's thighs wide and took hold of his cock with a firm grasp. Sam sobbed, grateful that his release was finally at hand. He looked up into Dean's face, that beautiful soft dusting of freckles over his cheeks and nose, his green eyes gleaming with tears, his perfect pink mouth open with pleasure.
Dean snapped his hips forward and slid his hand down Sam's cock. "Come for me. Want you to come so fucking hard for me, baby boy."
Sam's eyelids slammed shut and the world turned to white fire, roiling and pouring down like a waterfall, silver sparks misting at the edges like spray. He stopped breathing, his bodily functions channeled toward more important things. His body tried to jackknife, then arched, arms flung wide, hips jerking up helplessly, fucking up into Dean's fist, onto Dean's cock. Dean worked Sam's cock nonstop, slamming into him. "Yeah, like that, baby, so fucking beautiful when you come for me…" Sam sucked in a huge breath as his body stuttered and regained motor control, and screamed, screamed again, as the orgasm blew out his sense of where his body ended until he swore he could feel Dean's orgasm firing, sparks erupting, gold-tinged with green flecks, could feel Dean's release, centered more in his cock and his heart than Sam's full body supernova, feel Dean's (our) cock spurting deep inside him (us) until he felt it one in two bodies we are one until he didn't know whose scream was ringing in his ears, his or Dean's.
In Bobby and Reggie's apartment down the hall, Bobby groaned and tugged the pillow over his head even harder.
"At least we have earplugs," Reggie muttered from the other bed.
"Well, they ain't big enough."
