Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 100: Touch Me Heal Me

[justinedelarge]

Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 100: Touch Me Heal Me
Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count:3,557
Warning: None
Summary: Sam and Dean re-establish their unbreakable bond.
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.

Dean swayed on his knees, clinging to Sam as tight as he could without hurting him. The pain of having lost him, even for just a few minutes, the demon's sick perception of them staining Sam, the sickening sensation as his entire world fell away in that moment. Don't touch me. Just… don't.

"Dean." Sam breathed his name, melting into him.

Dean gripped Sam even tighter, guttural, anguished sobs torn from him.

"You're never going to lose me. Never. I promise." Sam stroked Dean's hair, soothing him, letting him cry freely. No telling him to walk it off, man up, big boys don't cry. He gave Dean the respect of being strong enough to not be strong, letting him purge his emotions in the way the human body was designed to—through tears.

"Sam…" Dean could only get out the one word, pulling at Sam, needing more.

Sam peeled off his flannel and tugged his shirt off over his head, and did the same to Dean. He moved back into Dean's arms again, giving him skin on skin contact.

Dean inhaled deeply, the warmth and softness of Sam's bare skin a balm for the wound that hurt so fiercely.

Sam pressed himself closer, letting his body show him what Dean needed to know. To feel.

Slowly, Dean's sobs subsided. He grabbed a handful of flannel shirt and wiped his face. Once the immediacy of his emotions had eased, he was able to focus again. On Sam.

"You ok?" Dean meant now the rest of it. The other parts of Nathaniel's memory Sam was obliged to live through to get to the memory he had gone into that psychological snake pit there to find.

Sam nodded, putting on his best smile.

And Dean saw right through it.

"Sammy?"

Sam closed his eyes. "I don't want to remember." He shook his head. "Don't make me remember."

Dean's jaw twitched, remembering what Nathaniel had said Sam had witnessed. We three… were Azazel. We tortured and raped his soldier as punishment. Sam, having to experience that. As if he were the one doing it.

It all washed over Dean, all at once, the things Sam had been forced to endure in his almost seventeen years of life. The demon blood forced into his body as a baby, when he was too helpless to know what was happening or defend himself. Their mother, Sam's mother, burning on the ceiling above baby Sam's head, that moment not fully understood by his undeveloped brain but scarring him forever nonetheless. Growing up without so much of a memory of Mary. Forced by fate and circumstance to enter the life of hunting. Sam, a pawn in the devil's own game. No, not a pawn. Something more powerful. A Knight.

Then Sam being taken. Abducted, tortured, because of the sins of the father. Nearly drowned, over and over. And then this. To save others (always to save others Sam would do anything to ease a living creature's pain or free it from a trap like nearly breaking his neck climbing down that hillside to rescue the dog with a broken leg), Sam had gotten inside the memories of a demon. THE demon, second only to Lucifer himself. Sam, who couldn't bear others in pain, having to see and feel himself being so cruel.

Suddenly, nothing else mattered but showing Sam how much love Dean had for him. Being gentle and kind to him. No pain. No more pain. Not for Sam.

Dean trembled from the sheer emotional rawness of it all. His gaze traveled from Sam's eyes to his mouth, then back up. "May I?" His voice was a whisper.

Sam blinked, puzzled at Dean's request. "You don't have to ask."

Dean asked again. "May I."

Sam closed his eyes, realizing what Dean was doing. And why. Don't touch me. Just… don't. "It's ok now, Dean. I'm ok—"

But Dean wouldn't move until Sam answered the question.

"Yes."

Dean raised his hand, ghosted his fingertips over Sam's cheek, such tenderness in the gesture, in his eyes. He cradled Sam's jaw in his hand, tipped his face up, and brought his mouth down on Sam's.

So soft. So gentle.

Dean kissed his Sam like he was making a sacred promise.

Sam made a quiet sound in the back of his throat. Dean pulled away, searched Sam's face for any signs of (sorrow… shame) distress or distance.

There were absolutely none.

Dean rose to his feet and extended his hand to Sam. Asking.

And Sam said yes.

Once he'd stood up completely, Dean's arms were around him, one at his back, the other sweeping behind his knees, lifting him like he weighed no more than a puppy. His eyes seemed lit from within, living green like the light of the aurora borealis flickering over a thick carpet of pure snow, unsullied by the passage of man or beast.

Dean carried his Sam down the hall to the bedroom. Inside, he laid Sam on the bed in a graceful motion. He stripped himself bare before Sam. And waited.

Sam took off the rest of his clothes and kicked them over the side of the bed. "Dean?"

Dean drank in the sight of Sam, bare before him. And again, he asked, "May I?"

Sam nodded, caught by the intensity of Dean's expression.

Dean sank to his knees before Sam. Sam moved to the edge of the bed, legs spread, already hard for Dean, always hard for Dean. Dean laid his hands on Sam's thighs and tipped his face up towards Sam. His wet eyes gleamed.

Sam bent down and brought Dean's mouth to his, showing him how willing he was.

Dean trembled like a low-level electrical current was coursing through him. Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair and moaned as Dean's hands moved over him, stroking his skin so softly, so gently, barely touching him and somehow making every nerve spark to life beneath him, creating surprisingly intense pleasure with such a light touch.

Dean stroked Sam's arms, curling his fingers around to caress his back, drifting his fingertips over his chest, over his flanks, touching him everywhere he could reach, all the while his gaze locked onto Sam's face, looking him in the eyes, watching for any hint of discomfort. Of resistance. Of "No."

He saw none of that. Only Sam's love for him, pure and powerful.

He exhaled, the last traces of fear disappearing like the puff of smoke from a lit match rising into the air, twisting and fading into nothing.

He placed his palms on Sam's inner thighs, touching him lightly, still asking. Sam spread his legs wide. Saying yes.

Dean bowed his head and began to pray.

Dean had loved Sam many times before, poured all the love he felt out of himself into Sam's body, made it physical so he could give it as a gift. But none of those times were like this. Dean pressed his mouth to Sam's skin, strummed his fingers over Sam's body, listened to the sounds it made, the vibrations thrumming through him, feeling the resonance of Sam's emotions rising, his nerves firing. Every touch a question, listening for the answer.

And Sam said yes. With his head thrown back, sounds of pleasure gleaming on his lips like jewels, the sheen of sweat painting his body, the shivershake of his thighs, he said yes, and yes, and yes.

Dean left nothing untouched. He explored Sam's body as though it were the first time he had been permitted to do so, as though he was afraid he'd never be allowed to do it again.

He worshipped Sam. He exhaled warm breath over Sam's skin, pressed soft kisses on every inch of Sam's body, the passage of time entirely forgotten. He took Sam's cock into his mouth, moaning at the pleasure of it, the feeling of Sam inside his mouth and throat. He invented new tricks with his tongue and mouth to pleasure Sam's cock, making him writhe and gasp, fingers knotting in the sheets, green eyes either closed in bliss or looking up at Sam, letting Sam see his lips stretched around him, see what Dean was doing for him.

He brought his mouth lower and lapped at his hole, taking his exquisite time, absolutely lost in the feel of it, of kneeling before Sam with his mouth sealed over his hole, sanctifying something many would find base, like Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

He stroked Sam's thighs, licked Sam soft and open until he was shaking from head to toe, slicked up his fingers and laying alongside Sam, mouth on the hollow of his throat, he slipped two fingers inside Sam, pressing slowly, gasping as Sam's tight ring clamped down on him, twitching with the pleasure he was giving to Sam.

He worked his fingers inside Sam nice and slow, knowing how much Sam loved it when Dean used his hands like this, not as a substitute for his cock, just loving Dean's fingers, strong and capable with a gun or a tool, inside him, fixing him up and making him right.

Dean curled his other hand around Sam's cock, sliding and gripping and stroking him, his strong fingers moving on him, all the while murmuring, "I love you, love you so much, so beautiful when you come for me…" until Sam erupted in shivers, chanting his name, back arching, coming hard and long, nothing else existing for him but Dean.

And then he did it all again. Sam fell back on the bed, gasping, and Dean's mouth was already moving over his flesh again, licking his belly and chest clean, eyes closed with the pleasure of it, opening again to drink in the sight of Sam. He rolled Sam onto his stomach and lavished the back of him with as much attention as he had paid the front, worshipping him with breath and tongue and fingers, tasting every inch of him, pressing kisses into the soles of his feet, mouth working his way up Sam's inner thigh so slowly, nibbling with his teeth lightly, tracing sigils with the tip of his tongue, bypassing between Sam's legs and working his way down the other thigh, holding Sam still and lapping at the crease behind his knee until Sam was gasping and squirming, and back up again, until Sam was hard for him again. Then he buried his face between Sam's ass cheeks and ate him out like it sent shivers of pleasure directly to his cock, like he was desperate for it, making hungry little sounds that made Sam thicken even more for him, stabbing his tongue up inside Sam, spreading his cheeks wide open and lapping at him, fingers digging into the meaty flesh. He tugged Sam up onto his knees with his chest pressed against the mattress, and fucked him with his tongue, only the tip able to breach him but trying his level best to thrust it all up inside him. He sucked Sam's balls into his mouth, tugging at them gently, licking them, then returned his attention to Sam's hole, soft and pink and open.

All the while, his own cock bobbed hard and heavy between his legs, untouched.

"Dean." Sam's voice was all aching need and blissed-out sex god. "Fuck me. Please."

"No."

Sam craned his head to look over his shoulder at Dean in surprise.

"Not tonight." Dean settled Sam down on his side and curled up behind him. "I'm not going to fuck you." He stroked Sam's flank and kissed the back of his neck. "I'm going to make love to you."

Sam shivered.

Dean slicked up his cock and lay back down. He finessed Sam like it was his first time, pressing his cock gently against Sam's entrance "God, Sam…I need you so bad." He barely moved, waiting for Sam to respond. Sam twisted his upper body so he could kiss Dean. Dean pressed his hand over Sam's throat, gentle but possessive. "I need you." Uttering those words seemed to undo Dean as much as the physical and emotional pleasure of being with Sam. Admitting to Sam in words that he needed him.

He moved his hips forward, a tentative motion. "Sammy…may I?

"Jesus, Dean, yes." Sam arched his back, pressed against Dean, breaching himself on Dean's cock.

Dean grabbed his hip. "Shhh, baby. Go slow."

Sam shivered again at Dean calling him baby.

Dean chuckled. "You love it when I call you pet names, don't you, Sammy."

"Yes," Sam breathed.

Dean pushed forward, just a little, entering Sam a little deeper. "Baby boy."

Sam bit his lip and sighed.

Dean pulled out and pushed in again, a little deeper than before. "Sweetheart."

Sam arched his neck, baring his throat. Dean stroked his fingers along Sam's chest and covered Sam's throat with his hand. Not in a way that implied cutting off his air. In an "I will protect you where you are most vulnerable" way. "Precious," he whispered.

Sam swallowed hard, a surprising surge of emotion welling up inside him at that. Dean had never called him that before.

"Please. Dean. I need you." Suddenly the need raged in Sam, the need to be filled by Dean. Completed. Made whole.

"I got you, baby," Dean murmured, the words somehow perfectly right and perfectly pure on his lips, not a hint of smarmy porno to it. Hand splayed wide at the base of Sam's throat, he entered Sam all the way, sliding up inside until he was all the way in. They inhaled at the same time, held their breath for the same beat, exhaled in unison.

"You feel so good, Sammy," Dean whispered. "So beautiful." Sam purred at Dean's praise. "I need you so much." Dean rocked into Sam, body pressed up against him, curling his pelvis to push himself inside. No rush, no speed, just moving inside Sam. Breathing in perfect timing with each other.

Finally Sam groaned, wanting more. He shifted so he was on his back and Dean slid down and braced himself on his right arm, pulled Sam's left leg up over his left arm so his calf was against Dean's bicep. Dean gripped Sam's thigh and thrust into him. Sam groaned, gripping his cock and working it. "Go slow, baby," Dean said again. He moved inside Sam, taking his time, reveling in the sight of Sam splayed open wide for him, flicking his thumb over the head of Sam's cock and making him shudder, then batting Sam's hand away playfully and shushing his whine of protest. "Gonna make this last." He tugged on Sam's balls, stroked his belly, traced his initials carved into Sam's skin, and ground himself inside Sam, taking his time, loving him thoroughly and well.

Sam shifted again so they were face to face. He stroked Dean's back with soft hands, caressing his face, petting his hair, letting Dean enter him slowly again, eyes locked on Dean's. Dean moved up over Sam, pushed Sam's legs back until his thighs were parallel to the bed, canting his hips up so Dean could go deep, kissed him slow and sweet and ground his hips in slow circles, Sam's cock hard between their bellies wet and leaking. Dean stayed like this for a very long time, tasting Sam's mouth, exploring it like it was brand-new, grinding into him, hands tangled in Sam's hair, drinking in Sam's little gasps and moans.

Dean shifted and went even deeper. Sam groaned.

"You like that?" Dean's voice wasn't cocky. He was checking with Sam, making sure Sam liked it. Making sure Sam thought it was good. That they were good.

"Oh my god, yes," Sam breathed. Dean gave a soft laugh and rolled his hips again in the way that made Sam groan. He took his time, moving them into a series of positions, some they had tried before, inventing new ones. Dean wasn't chasing an orgasm, not demanding Sam come for him. He was making love to Sam with his entire being, breathing in perfect sync with him, needing to be inside him, to be joined with him for as long as it felt good for both of them.

Sam was used to the pattern of build and epic release. But Dean had already given him that. This was something deeper. Pleasure, yes, profound pleasure. But it was more. It was Dean making damn sure Sam felt how good it was between them. How right.

And Sam showed Dean how good it was. How right. He opened to Dean completely, holding nothing back, not just showing him with his body and his sounds, but telling him in words. "I need you," he whispered. "I need this. Forever." Dean closed his eyes at that like it hurt, hurt in a good way, blew out a shuddering breath, absorbed the praise like he was starving for it. "That feels so good, Dean. You feel so good." Sam reached up and placed both palms on Dean's face. "This is good. This is right."

"Yeah?" Dean, still unsure, his soul-deep insecurity tugging at him.

"I'll show you," Sam murmured.

Sam changed position so he was on top, riding Dean, going harder and faster now, thighs stretched open wide, Dean thrusting up into him, hands gripping Sam's ass.

Dean shifted, found a new angle that made Sam's toes curl. Sam clenched down with his inner muscles, making Dean gasp. He curled his hand around Sam's cock. "You gonna come for me again, Sammy?"

Sam panted, "Yeah. Are you gonna come for me?"

Dean stopped breathing as his orgasm erupted. All the deferred gratification, and the intensity of the relief from the terror of the moments before, rendered Dean mute, cords of muscle in his neck straining, face bright red, unable to make a sound, shaking to pieces beneath Sam.

Sam pressed his palms to Dean's temples, Dean's orgasm kicking his own off into full release. Moments unspooled within his mind, like what Dean had shown him, a long series of moments from his entire life, this time starting from the beginning and moving forward. He gave them to Dean like a gift.

He showed him.

Dean's eyes went wide.

Dean. Dean's arms around Sam as a little baby, solid and strong even then, cradling him. Playing trains with him on the threadbare carpet. Dean's face, rapt, as Sam took his first steps, toddling toward Dean. The sound of Dean's voice reading Where the Sidewalk Ends to him: No teacher, preacher, parent, friend or wise man can decide… what's right for you-just listen to the voice that speaks inside. The first time he beat Dean at chess and Dean didn't even let him win because he said that cheapened true victory, and how Dean's face lit up with pride at Sam's accomplishment. Bringing Dean a glass of ice water when he was so sick with the flu, the warmth and pride it gave him to take care of Dean for a change. Counting the spray of freckles across Dean's nose as he lay fast asleep on the couch in front of the TV. Dean laughing at Sam's jokes so hard he peed his pants and had to change. Dean, smiling like a fool whenever Sam came into the room. Finding Sammy crying into his pillow after an 8th grader called him a freak, and playing with his hair to soothe him, telling Sam he wasn't a freak at all. Saying hi to him first in the hallway at school, even though he was taller and older and so much cooler. Holding Sam close at night and humming him to sleep, and how Sam vividly pictured Dean's love and protection as an impenetrable fortress, seething monsters down below unable to get in, and Sam safe and warm behind the towering walls. Dean singing along to Led Zeppelin in the back seat of the Impala, better than Robert Plant, arm slung over Sam's shoulders. Sitting in the very first row for Our Town, and being the first on his feet to applaud during the curtain call. Kissing Sam for the first time, how impossibly soft and strong his mouth felt, how the sense of yes and right and home soared within Sam. Coming for Sam when he was taken, how he slipped through the darkness like Sam's own avenging angel, killing his abductors, saving him. Standing with him in the shower, washing his hair so gently, making sure no water got into Sam's face to trigger a flashback. The feeling of astonished gratitude (how am I this lucky?) Sam felt when Dean entered him. The way Dean said his name, the leaping joy and light within Sam every time he did. Every single time.

Dean's eyes flew open. Sam was looking right at him. Into him. He gasped, the immensity of it all crashing over him, knocking loose all of Dean's fear and self-doubt, washing it away, feeling the blazing light of Sam's love for him, knowing absolutely how deep it ran. How endless it was. How impenetrable.

Dean was unable to tell when he ended and Sam began.

Sam dissolved into Dean. One soul, two bodies.

On the bedside table, nestled side by side, the knives sang to each other, resonating with the power of Sam and Dean joined as one.