Fanfic - SPN: Sam/Dean. 018. Content.
Oct. 31st, 2006 04:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
writingbyebonioTitle: Together and Now
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Prompt: 018. Content. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100moods, challenge table here.
Word Count: ~770 words.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst. Wincest. Graphic m/m sex. Missing scene. Spoilers for "Scarecrow" and the "Pilot".
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: Dean's POV. Sam and Dean really reconcile after the events of "Scarecrow". And do so almost entirely without words.
Author's Notes: Unbetaed.
They'd settled into some roadside motel half a day's drive west of Burkitsville and fell quickly asleep in their designated beds. They weren't exhausted. Nothing got done today except torching a tree and sending a girl off to Boston on the Greyhound. But sleep without a case wracking their brains was rare. They'd also just reconciled, if that was the right word, and despite all his jokes about doing fine on his own, Dean always slept better knowing Sam was only one bunk over.
Sometime during the night, though, Dean felt the bed dip beside him. He knew, even through the haze of his light sleep, that it was Sam. He knew the sound of his breath and the scent of soap and nightsweat on his skin, but Dean didn't say anything, didn't move.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, hesitantly.
"Yeah, Sam?" His voice was a sleep-rough whisper.
Sam shifted from sitting to lay behind him, their bodies still separated by cool air. Then Sam reached out to brush his hand over his shoulder and Dean fought to keep his breathing even.
It had been a long time.
Sam wasn't the boy he knew like that, the boy who knew him like that. Not anymore.
Sleepy tender touches in the dark didn't mean that Sam was really with him, that he was really here to stay. And as he lay breathing Sam in and soaking up the warmth of his hand, Dean remembered Sam's words earlier, about doing this together. But he knew "together" really meant "together until".
Together until we find Dad. Together until the Demon is dead. Together until I can go back to my apple pie life. Together until I find a new homecoming queen to wed.
Together until I can leave you again.
Sam didn't have to say it. Dean heard it all anyway.
But then Sam was leaning in, his heat radiating against Dean's skin, and his voice was husky and pleading.
"Dean?"
"Yeah."
It was almost a sigh, but really it was just his answer to Sam's unasked question.
Sam was kissing his shoulder, then, the crook of his neck, and his hand was sliding over Dean's chest and down, lower. Dean was already half-hard, his cock pressing up against the cotton of his shorts and the glide of Sam's hand. He knew his breath was heavier, louder, as his hips began to roll with the movement of Sam's hand. And when Sam pulled him closer, their bodies meeting halfway, Dean couldn't help his sharp intake of breath when he felt the hard length of Sam's cock against his back, barely restrained by the cloth of his boxers.
Sam was so slow and gentle tonight, like he was in some dream that might fade if he moved too fast or gripped too hard.
When Sam's thumb tugged at his shorts, Dean lifted his hips and used his own hand to help with their slide down. And when he felt Sam pull back a bit to slip out of his own shorts, Dean reached for the lotion on the bedside table, pressing it into Sam's hand when it came snaking back around his body.
Sam's lips fluttered kisses on Dean's shoulder as he slicked his hand and cock before setting one finger at Dean's entrance.
Dean felt the curve of Sam's finger sliding into him, felt his muscles adjust only slightly before another of Sam's fingers pushed into him and slid over his hot spot. He gasped. It was enough. He was ready. As ready as he could be. As ready as always, for Sam. And the sway of his hips told Sam what he needed to know.
They didn't need words before, and this was just like before, even after so long.
Sam's cock pressed at his entrance, his hand wrapping around Dean's dick, and Sam pumped him slowly, as he pushed his way in, steady, no hurry tonight. Dean was nearly face-first in his pillow with Sam's thigh between his and the burn was so sweet, so good, that he was glad there was something to muffle his moan.
Sam slid in and out of him, breathing hard, body warm against Dean's back, hand slick on Dean's cock. They just fit so right together. Dean knew it. Had known it all his life.
He'd stopped caring what the world thought long ago.
And as they rocked into each other, pleasure peaking with soft cries and breathless affirmations, Dean put away his doubts of futures that might never come to pass and reveled in the feel of home. The home he'd found in Sam.
Author:
eboniorchidFandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Prompt: 018. Content. For
100moods, challenge table here.Word Count: ~770 words.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst. Wincest. Graphic m/m sex. Missing scene. Spoilers for "Scarecrow" and the "Pilot".
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: Dean's POV. Sam and Dean really reconcile after the events of "Scarecrow". And do so almost entirely without words.
Author's Notes: Unbetaed.
They'd settled into some roadside motel half a day's drive west of Burkitsville and fell quickly asleep in their designated beds. They weren't exhausted. Nothing got done today except torching a tree and sending a girl off to Boston on the Greyhound. But sleep without a case wracking their brains was rare. They'd also just reconciled, if that was the right word, and despite all his jokes about doing fine on his own, Dean always slept better knowing Sam was only one bunk over.
Sometime during the night, though, Dean felt the bed dip beside him. He knew, even through the haze of his light sleep, that it was Sam. He knew the sound of his breath and the scent of soap and nightsweat on his skin, but Dean didn't say anything, didn't move.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, hesitantly.
"Yeah, Sam?" His voice was a sleep-rough whisper.
Sam shifted from sitting to lay behind him, their bodies still separated by cool air. Then Sam reached out to brush his hand over his shoulder and Dean fought to keep his breathing even.
It had been a long time.
Sam wasn't the boy he knew like that, the boy who knew him like that. Not anymore.
Sleepy tender touches in the dark didn't mean that Sam was really with him, that he was really here to stay. And as he lay breathing Sam in and soaking up the warmth of his hand, Dean remembered Sam's words earlier, about doing this together. But he knew "together" really meant "together until".
Together until we find Dad. Together until the Demon is dead. Together until I can go back to my apple pie life. Together until I find a new homecoming queen to wed.
Together until I can leave you again.
Sam didn't have to say it. Dean heard it all anyway.
But then Sam was leaning in, his heat radiating against Dean's skin, and his voice was husky and pleading.
"Dean?"
"Yeah."
It was almost a sigh, but really it was just his answer to Sam's unasked question.
Sam was kissing his shoulder, then, the crook of his neck, and his hand was sliding over Dean's chest and down, lower. Dean was already half-hard, his cock pressing up against the cotton of his shorts and the glide of Sam's hand. He knew his breath was heavier, louder, as his hips began to roll with the movement of Sam's hand. And when Sam pulled him closer, their bodies meeting halfway, Dean couldn't help his sharp intake of breath when he felt the hard length of Sam's cock against his back, barely restrained by the cloth of his boxers.
Sam was so slow and gentle tonight, like he was in some dream that might fade if he moved too fast or gripped too hard.
When Sam's thumb tugged at his shorts, Dean lifted his hips and used his own hand to help with their slide down. And when he felt Sam pull back a bit to slip out of his own shorts, Dean reached for the lotion on the bedside table, pressing it into Sam's hand when it came snaking back around his body.
Sam's lips fluttered kisses on Dean's shoulder as he slicked his hand and cock before setting one finger at Dean's entrance.
Dean felt the curve of Sam's finger sliding into him, felt his muscles adjust only slightly before another of Sam's fingers pushed into him and slid over his hot spot. He gasped. It was enough. He was ready. As ready as he could be. As ready as always, for Sam. And the sway of his hips told Sam what he needed to know.
They didn't need words before, and this was just like before, even after so long.
Sam's cock pressed at his entrance, his hand wrapping around Dean's dick, and Sam pumped him slowly, as he pushed his way in, steady, no hurry tonight. Dean was nearly face-first in his pillow with Sam's thigh between his and the burn was so sweet, so good, that he was glad there was something to muffle his moan.
Sam slid in and out of him, breathing hard, body warm against Dean's back, hand slick on Dean's cock. They just fit so right together. Dean knew it. Had known it all his life.
He'd stopped caring what the world thought long ago.
And as they rocked into each other, pleasure peaking with soft cries and breathless affirmations, Dean put away his doubts of futures that might never come to pass and reveled in the feel of home. The home he'd found in Sam.
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 01:00 am (UTC)