SPN Fic: "Safety"
Title: "Safety"
Author: abrupte
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural.
Genre: Fluff.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Wordcount: 542
Spoilers: None that I can see.
Summary: He's been on the other side of this equation a million times, been the one praying please, god, don't let him be hurt, let him be safe, let him be okay. This time it's Sam's turn.
A/N: Written for medie's "You Must've Been Kissin' a Fool" challenge. The prompt I played with was "Dean/Sam; safety", which you can probably guess because I was too lazy to think of a title besides the prompt. Not beta'd, mostly just written for the fun of it.
†
He's been on the other side of this equation a million times, been the one praying please, god, don't let him be hurt, let him be safe, let him be okay. This time it's Sam's turn, and Dean doesn't flinch as his brother's hands pat him down, searching for injuries, for blood, trying to find the places that make him wince and turn away. There's a few bruises, but that's it, and Dean murmurs, "Sam. Sammy, I'm fine. Chill out, man."
"You scared the crap out of me," Sam says, soft accusation, looking down at Dean.
When Dean laughs, it's a quiet, tired sound. "Payback's a bitch, dude. You're always pulling that shit on me." He reaches up, grabbing a fistful of Sam's t-shirt and tugs him down. "I'm fine. Seriously. I'd tell you if I wasn't."
"No, you wouldn't."
"You're right," Dean says. "But I'm not lying. Swear to god." His hand's still caught in Sam's shirt, holding him close, although he leans back a little to look up into Sam's face. There's some blood smeared on Sam's cheek, but it isn't his.
Sam looks down at him, and he says, "Prove it."
"Prove it?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not fucking you," Dean says. "I'm not dying, but I'm too still too friggen' tired for that right now."
Still, he lets go of Sam's shirt, reaches up to fist hands in his hair, pulls him down until Sam's mouth slides over his. It only takes a second for Sam to push him down onto the mattress, pinning him. Sam's heavy, and every bruise on Dean's body aches as he pulls his brother closer, spreads his legs to let Sam rest between them.
Sam's kiss is rough, desperate, biting at Dean's lips before pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Dean understands. He tugs sharply on Sam's hair, keeps him close even when it hurts, wants to whisper I'm here, see? I'm alright, I can do this, I'm fine but he's too busy sliding his tongue against Sam's. His heart's hammering in his ears, and he's hard even though he's too tired and sore to do anything about it.
They're hanging half off the bed, pressing against one another. One of Sam's thighs rubs up against Dean in a way that makes him gasp and pull away, muttering, "Dude, I said I was too tired. Don't start something I can't finish."
Sam smiles a little then, rolling off Dean and sighing. "You're okay," he says, and this time it's not really a question.
"Yeah, man. I'm tired and I feel kinda like I lost a fight with a mack truck, but I'm alright." He sits up, stretching, then leans over and presses his mouth to Sam's, reassuring, rubbing a hand over that smear of blood on his cheek. "Can we go to sleep now? I'm fucking beat."
Sam nods, leaning up for another kiss before slumping back down to the mattress. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. Just -- I swear to god, Dean, you ever scare me like that again --"
Dean laughs, shaking his head. "You're one to talk, dude. If I had a dollar for every time you scared the shit out of me, I'd never need to hustle pool again."
Author: abrupte
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural.
Genre: Fluff.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Wordcount: 542
Spoilers: None that I can see.
Summary: He's been on the other side of this equation a million times, been the one praying please, god, don't let him be hurt, let him be safe, let him be okay. This time it's Sam's turn.
A/N: Written for medie's "You Must've Been Kissin' a Fool" challenge. The prompt I played with was "Dean/Sam; safety", which you can probably guess because I was too lazy to think of a title besides the prompt. Not beta'd, mostly just written for the fun of it.
†
He's been on the other side of this equation a million times, been the one praying please, god, don't let him be hurt, let him be safe, let him be okay. This time it's Sam's turn, and Dean doesn't flinch as his brother's hands pat him down, searching for injuries, for blood, trying to find the places that make him wince and turn away. There's a few bruises, but that's it, and Dean murmurs, "Sam. Sammy, I'm fine. Chill out, man."
"You scared the crap out of me," Sam says, soft accusation, looking down at Dean.
When Dean laughs, it's a quiet, tired sound. "Payback's a bitch, dude. You're always pulling that shit on me." He reaches up, grabbing a fistful of Sam's t-shirt and tugs him down. "I'm fine. Seriously. I'd tell you if I wasn't."
"No, you wouldn't."
"You're right," Dean says. "But I'm not lying. Swear to god." His hand's still caught in Sam's shirt, holding him close, although he leans back a little to look up into Sam's face. There's some blood smeared on Sam's cheek, but it isn't his.
Sam looks down at him, and he says, "Prove it."
"Prove it?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not fucking you," Dean says. "I'm not dying, but I'm too still too friggen' tired for that right now."
Still, he lets go of Sam's shirt, reaches up to fist hands in his hair, pulls him down until Sam's mouth slides over his. It only takes a second for Sam to push him down onto the mattress, pinning him. Sam's heavy, and every bruise on Dean's body aches as he pulls his brother closer, spreads his legs to let Sam rest between them.
Sam's kiss is rough, desperate, biting at Dean's lips before pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Dean understands. He tugs sharply on Sam's hair, keeps him close even when it hurts, wants to whisper I'm here, see? I'm alright, I can do this, I'm fine but he's too busy sliding his tongue against Sam's. His heart's hammering in his ears, and he's hard even though he's too tired and sore to do anything about it.
They're hanging half off the bed, pressing against one another. One of Sam's thighs rubs up against Dean in a way that makes him gasp and pull away, muttering, "Dude, I said I was too tired. Don't start something I can't finish."
Sam smiles a little then, rolling off Dean and sighing. "You're okay," he says, and this time it's not really a question.
"Yeah, man. I'm tired and I feel kinda like I lost a fight with a mack truck, but I'm alright." He sits up, stretching, then leans over and presses his mouth to Sam's, reassuring, rubbing a hand over that smear of blood on his cheek. "Can we go to sleep now? I'm fucking beat."
Sam nods, leaning up for another kiss before slumping back down to the mattress. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. Just -- I swear to god, Dean, you ever scare me like that again --"
Dean laughs, shaking his head. "You're one to talk, dude. If I had a dollar for every time you scared the shit out of me, I'd never need to hustle pool again."