Untitled Coda to SPN 4.05
Title: Untitled Coda to 4.05
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,195
Warnings: Nothing explicit. Spoilers for season 4, I guess.
A/N: I realize that codas are suppose to come somewhat sooner after the end of an episode, but I epic fail at punctuality, m'kay? I guess this also counts as my SPN debut, which is unfortunate because it's not by far the first thing I've written. Also, this is completely un-beta'd; I just wanted to get it posted. Feedback is ADORED.
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They haven’t had sex since Dean got out of Hell. They haven’t had the time or the opportunity and so many other things have been on their minds.
And Sam still can’t get over the fact that Dean is real, is here.
They’re both in a good mood by the time they drive into town, and Sam can’t help but smile at Dean, at everything he says, everything he does. Truth is, he’s glad to be back on a job like this, glad to get away from everything for a while. So when Dean stars working on Jamie, Sam’s still smiling, because that’s Dean, that’s his brother, and the banter and the bad pick-up lines are enough to keep him amused, keep him happy because Dean is happy.
It doesn’t stop the pit of jealousy from hardening in his gut, though.
And when Dean, God help him, goes on about his virginity being intact, Sam laughs and pretends he doesn’t mind that Dean’s going to go fuck some random chick he’s never going to see again. There’s a glint in Dean’s eye that Sam’s seen too many times, and he can’t stand to be there any longer.
***
They finish the job and Sam figures that he’s been pulling enough shit with Dean lately that he should probably just let this go, and he says farewell to Jamie and even hums along to BTO on the way out of the state; and apparently Dean’s picked up more of Sam’s mood that he thought, because after about a half hour of silence Dean says, “I didn’t sleep with her, you know,” like it’s an isolated statement, just a little fact that Sam might want to know for no particular reason.
Sam stares incredulously at Dean, stammers, “What? But I thought-”
Dean cuts him off with a stern “No.” But then a smirk creeps onto his face and he adds, “Still a virgin, Sammy,” and he’s back to acting like the whole thing is a game, like he’s just waiting for the next hot chick to come his way, like he doesn’t know that Sam’s sitting right next to him, wanting to fuck the smirk right off of his face.
***
They don’t talk about it again, not for a while. Dean is back to business as usual, and Sam keeps looking for hunts on the side, and they keep on the lookout for news about Lilith; but their guards drop as nothing seems to be happening and Dean hasn’t seen Castiel and Sam hasn’t seen Ruby in weeks, not since Dean caught Sam on Waterman.
The virginity thing bothers Sam, though, for some reason he can’t really explain. It’s not like he ever had Dean’s virginity in the first place (Dean having his is another story altogether, and what of his doesn’t Dean have?) and he obviously never thought about it until Dean brought it up. But now he feels like he should have some sort of claim on it, feels possessive like he hasn’t since Broward County, and every day that passes it just keeps building.
So when they end up in Warroad, Minnesota, and Dean starts talking about their latest witness and about how some wrongs still haven’t been righted, Sam can’t hold it in any longer.
“Jesus, Dean,” Sam mutters, anger making his voice short.
“What?” Dean asks playfully. “It’s true. Not for much longer, though,” he adds, smirking.
Sam’s chair scrapes across the floor as he stands. He starts pacing, one hand on his hip, one rubbing his aching temple.
“Look, just shut up about this, Dean, okay?” Sam nearly pleads, and Dean just doesn’t get it.
“Why, Sammy? Jealous of my purity? You know, you’re not far behind-”
“You wanna know why, Dean?” Sam interrupts, gives Dean a look that actually prompts Dean to answer, “Why?”
The smirk slides off Dean’s face as Sam walks over to him, purposeful, determined.
“This is why,” Sam snarls, and he grabs Dean’s chin, tilts his face up, and kisses him, hard.
Sam’s lips are rough against Deans, commanding, and Dean makes a startled noise that gets lost in his throat and tries to move away, tries to breathe, but Sam’s holding him firmly in place, tongue running over Dean’s bottom lip, demanding entry. Dean can’t do anything but open his mouth, let Sam in, and Sam takes advantage, running his tongue over Dean’s teeth and gums and over his tongue, breathing into Dean’s mouth.
Sam’s other hand moves to the back of Dean’s head and braces it, pushes Dean closer, deeper, and Dean’s body arches off of his chair, a groan escaping his lips.
Sam breaks the kiss and Dean whimpers, tries to follow Sam’s mouth, but Sam mouths across Dean’s jawbone, bites down once on Dean’s earlobe, harder than he needed to.
“You think you’re a virgin again, Dean?” Sam growls, dirty, into Dean’s ear, and Dean shudders. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move, but Sam can sense his answer, albeit more unsure, now.
Sam’s voice is cold when he says, “Then we’re just going to have to do something about that, aren’t we?” And Sam grips Dean’s arms, hoisting him effortlessly to his feet.
“What the-” Dean splutters, makes an undignified noise of protest to such treatment, but Sam grabs the collar of his jacket and pulls Dean into him, bends down and sucks on Dean’s neck, kisses him again, pushes him toward the bed. When the back of Dean’s legs hit the mattress, Sam all but throws Dean onto it, releasing his collar and following Dean down.
“Sam,” Dean gasps, almost a question, but then Sam is straddling his hips, leaning over him, and the only thing he can think about is Sam licking into his mouth, wet and warm and pressing, and he kisses Sam back, needy, desperate.
“Sammy,” he pants into Sam’s mouth, body arching into his brother’s.
Dean’s hips buck up into Sam and Sam presses back down, grinding into Dean’s rapidly hardening cock. Dean whimpers at the contact, and Sam leans down to his ear again.
“Haven’t forgotten this, have you? It’s not too much for your precious virgin body?” he spits out, and presses down again, harder this time, slowly rolling his hips forward, grinding their erections together.
“God, Sam,” Dean keens, head thrown back, rocking against him.
Sam stands suddenly, pushing off of the bed, and Dean cries out, snaps his head up to look at Sam, feels desire so strong it nearly makes him sick. Sam has taken off his t-shirt, and his hair falls into his eyes as he works at his belt buckle, unzips his fly, kicks off his jeans and boxers.
Before Dean can do much more than stare, Sam moves back to the bed, and he finds the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulls it off. His fingers start to work on Dean’s jeans, and Dean raises his hips and lets Sam hook his fingers under his boxers and pull both down, over his knees and off into a clump on the floor.
Dean’s laying naked and exposed on the bed, and Sam pauses for a moment, takes it in. Takes Dean in.
And he never really realized before that Dean’s body is indeed perfect again-no cuts, no scars, no evidence of their lifestyle. His body is planes of smooth skin over muscle, jutting hipbones, dark smear of ink. Sam used to know Dean’s body better than he knew his own (knew every detail of every story behind every scar) and this change that he can’t explain, can’t make sense of, didn’t see happen, makes him think that there’s some divide between them now, that Dean’s history has been erased while his own is written irrefutably in jagged script across his skin.
And for a split second, Sam feels like there’s something wrong between them for the first time in his life.
Then his eyes travel to Dean’s left arm, where Castiel’s handprint is seared into his flesh: raised, angry scars that are a single imperfection on an otherwise pristine body, and the sight of them make him want to mark Dean, reclaim him, show everyone and everything that no one touches Dean but him, that Dean is his.
But then Dean whimpers, gasps out, “Sammy, please,” bucking his hips into empty air, and everything leaves Sam’s mind except giving Dean what he wants.
He’s back to the bed in seconds, standing over Dean, and Sam runs his hands up Dean’s thighs, over his hipbones, the muscles of his abdomen. Dean makes an impatient noise as Sam’s hands slide past his cock, not touching, and Sam chuckles, low in his throat. He climbs back onto the bed as his hands slip higher, tracing Dean’s ribs, grazing his nipples. Dean’s breath catches, and Sam smiles (almost smirks) and leans down to catch Dean’s right nipple between his teeth. Dean’s body convulses, accompanied with a cut-off moan, and Sam laps at the already-bruising flesh, tongue running warm and slick over Dean’s skin.
By this time Dean’s cock is so hard that it aches, and he’s begging, rutting up against Sam’s body in a voiceless plea. Sam kisses Dean’s mouth, swallows his exhales, and wraps his hand around Dean’s cock.
Dean makes a strangled sound, half a groan, half a choked-out “Fuck,” and rocks into Sam’s hand as Sam pumps his dick, tight and slow.
Sam watches Dean, caught up in everything; relearns the sounds he makes, what he likes, memorizes the lines and angles of this new body that’s all Dean but at the same time isn’t.
The possessiveness returns to Sam as Dean molds under his hands, and there’s so much he wants, and he picks up his pace, bringing Dean almost to the edge before he leans down again.
“I’m going to fuck you, Dean,” Sam whispers matter-of-factly into Dean’s ear. “Gonna fuck you so good that nothing else you get will ever be like this.”
“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean breathes, desperation making his words short. “Yeah, just fuck me already.”
Before Dean even finishes speaking, Sam shoves a spit-slick finger into Dean, burying it in one thrust. Dean inhales against the pain, and Sam doesn’t move until Dean’s ready, other hand still slowly stroking his cock.
“Move,” Dean tells him, and Sam does, slowly drawing his finger out, thrusting it back in, adding a second. He scissors them inside of Dean, opening him, and his other hand moves from Dean’s cock to his hip, bracing Dean on Sam’s thigh.
Dean is rocking up, meeting Sam’s movements, but before Dean is ready Sam begins to add a third finger, and he feels Dean’s body quiver in pain beneath him.
“C’mon, Sam, slower,” Dean gets out, and an inexplicable anger erupts in Sam’s mind, forcibly reminded of Dean’s virginity theory, how Dean almost threw it away.
“Why, what’s wrong Dean?” Sam asks, mock confusion in his voice. “Can’t handle it?” And he shoves all three fingers deep into Dean, burying them.
Dean hisses through his teeth, but he’s still rocking on Sam’s fingers, and Sam smiles sardonically. “God, Dean, so needy,” he says, and Dean mumbles something that Sam actually thinks might be agreement, and then, louder, “Just do it already, Sammy.”
Sam immediately repositions themselves on the bed, crawls between Dean’s legs and lifts them up to rest over his shoulders. He takes a few seconds to smear his precome down his cock, and then he’s pushing into Dean, one long, slow thrust, and he can’t help the loud moan that escapes his lips. Dean sucks in air at the dry friction, shuts his eyes against the burn, but relaxes into it, pushing back on Sam.
Sam senses the change, knows Dean’s ready, and after a few shallow thrusts starts fucking Dean in earnest, building his rhythm, getting deeper and deeper. He feels Dean try to shift under him, and Sam adjusts the angle; and when he thrusts back in Dean cries out at the shock of pleasure, and Sam keeps hitting his prostate thrust after thrust.
Dean is muttering nonsensically but Sam knows what he wants, and he braces himself on one arm and gets the other between them, pulling on Dean’s cock in time with his thrusts.
Dean throws his head back against the bed and tries to breathe, squeezes his eyes shut, and five thrusts later he’s coming over Sam’s hand, leaking onto his stomach, smearing his come between them.
“Sam,” Dean whispers, nothing but an exhale, and Sam looks up at him and a second later he comes. Dean rocks with him as Sam comes down from climax, and doesn’t immediately protest when Sam sags against him, spent.
“Christ, Dean,” Sam exclaims, voice low and raspy, when he pulls out of Dean a few moments later and flops beside him on the bed, mess be damned.
“I know,” Dean smirks. “Pretty good for my first time, yeah?”
But he’s breathless and contented, and Sam’s pretty sure that there’s a self-satisfied note in voice that says he was planning this all along.
Sam doesn’t even have the energy to hit him.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,195
Warnings: Nothing explicit. Spoilers for season 4, I guess.
A/N: I realize that codas are suppose to come somewhat sooner after the end of an episode, but I epic fail at punctuality, m'kay? I guess this also counts as my SPN debut, which is unfortunate because it's not by far the first thing I've written. Also, this is completely un-beta'd; I just wanted to get it posted. Feedback is ADORED.
___________
They haven’t had sex since Dean got out of Hell. They haven’t had the time or the opportunity and so many other things have been on their minds.
And Sam still can’t get over the fact that Dean is real, is here.
They’re both in a good mood by the time they drive into town, and Sam can’t help but smile at Dean, at everything he says, everything he does. Truth is, he’s glad to be back on a job like this, glad to get away from everything for a while. So when Dean stars working on Jamie, Sam’s still smiling, because that’s Dean, that’s his brother, and the banter and the bad pick-up lines are enough to keep him amused, keep him happy because Dean is happy.
It doesn’t stop the pit of jealousy from hardening in his gut, though.
And when Dean, God help him, goes on about his virginity being intact, Sam laughs and pretends he doesn’t mind that Dean’s going to go fuck some random chick he’s never going to see again. There’s a glint in Dean’s eye that Sam’s seen too many times, and he can’t stand to be there any longer.
***
They finish the job and Sam figures that he’s been pulling enough shit with Dean lately that he should probably just let this go, and he says farewell to Jamie and even hums along to BTO on the way out of the state; and apparently Dean’s picked up more of Sam’s mood that he thought, because after about a half hour of silence Dean says, “I didn’t sleep with her, you know,” like it’s an isolated statement, just a little fact that Sam might want to know for no particular reason.
Sam stares incredulously at Dean, stammers, “What? But I thought-”
Dean cuts him off with a stern “No.” But then a smirk creeps onto his face and he adds, “Still a virgin, Sammy,” and he’s back to acting like the whole thing is a game, like he’s just waiting for the next hot chick to come his way, like he doesn’t know that Sam’s sitting right next to him, wanting to fuck the smirk right off of his face.
***
They don’t talk about it again, not for a while. Dean is back to business as usual, and Sam keeps looking for hunts on the side, and they keep on the lookout for news about Lilith; but their guards drop as nothing seems to be happening and Dean hasn’t seen Castiel and Sam hasn’t seen Ruby in weeks, not since Dean caught Sam on Waterman.
The virginity thing bothers Sam, though, for some reason he can’t really explain. It’s not like he ever had Dean’s virginity in the first place (Dean having his is another story altogether, and what of his doesn’t Dean have?) and he obviously never thought about it until Dean brought it up. But now he feels like he should have some sort of claim on it, feels possessive like he hasn’t since Broward County, and every day that passes it just keeps building.
So when they end up in Warroad, Minnesota, and Dean starts talking about their latest witness and about how some wrongs still haven’t been righted, Sam can’t hold it in any longer.
“Jesus, Dean,” Sam mutters, anger making his voice short.
“What?” Dean asks playfully. “It’s true. Not for much longer, though,” he adds, smirking.
Sam’s chair scrapes across the floor as he stands. He starts pacing, one hand on his hip, one rubbing his aching temple.
“Look, just shut up about this, Dean, okay?” Sam nearly pleads, and Dean just doesn’t get it.
“Why, Sammy? Jealous of my purity? You know, you’re not far behind-”
“You wanna know why, Dean?” Sam interrupts, gives Dean a look that actually prompts Dean to answer, “Why?”
The smirk slides off Dean’s face as Sam walks over to him, purposeful, determined.
“This is why,” Sam snarls, and he grabs Dean’s chin, tilts his face up, and kisses him, hard.
Sam’s lips are rough against Deans, commanding, and Dean makes a startled noise that gets lost in his throat and tries to move away, tries to breathe, but Sam’s holding him firmly in place, tongue running over Dean’s bottom lip, demanding entry. Dean can’t do anything but open his mouth, let Sam in, and Sam takes advantage, running his tongue over Dean’s teeth and gums and over his tongue, breathing into Dean’s mouth.
Sam’s other hand moves to the back of Dean’s head and braces it, pushes Dean closer, deeper, and Dean’s body arches off of his chair, a groan escaping his lips.
Sam breaks the kiss and Dean whimpers, tries to follow Sam’s mouth, but Sam mouths across Dean’s jawbone, bites down once on Dean’s earlobe, harder than he needed to.
“You think you’re a virgin again, Dean?” Sam growls, dirty, into Dean’s ear, and Dean shudders. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move, but Sam can sense his answer, albeit more unsure, now.
Sam’s voice is cold when he says, “Then we’re just going to have to do something about that, aren’t we?” And Sam grips Dean’s arms, hoisting him effortlessly to his feet.
“What the-” Dean splutters, makes an undignified noise of protest to such treatment, but Sam grabs the collar of his jacket and pulls Dean into him, bends down and sucks on Dean’s neck, kisses him again, pushes him toward the bed. When the back of Dean’s legs hit the mattress, Sam all but throws Dean onto it, releasing his collar and following Dean down.
“Sam,” Dean gasps, almost a question, but then Sam is straddling his hips, leaning over him, and the only thing he can think about is Sam licking into his mouth, wet and warm and pressing, and he kisses Sam back, needy, desperate.
“Sammy,” he pants into Sam’s mouth, body arching into his brother’s.
Dean’s hips buck up into Sam and Sam presses back down, grinding into Dean’s rapidly hardening cock. Dean whimpers at the contact, and Sam leans down to his ear again.
“Haven’t forgotten this, have you? It’s not too much for your precious virgin body?” he spits out, and presses down again, harder this time, slowly rolling his hips forward, grinding their erections together.
“God, Sam,” Dean keens, head thrown back, rocking against him.
Sam stands suddenly, pushing off of the bed, and Dean cries out, snaps his head up to look at Sam, feels desire so strong it nearly makes him sick. Sam has taken off his t-shirt, and his hair falls into his eyes as he works at his belt buckle, unzips his fly, kicks off his jeans and boxers.
Before Dean can do much more than stare, Sam moves back to the bed, and he finds the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulls it off. His fingers start to work on Dean’s jeans, and Dean raises his hips and lets Sam hook his fingers under his boxers and pull both down, over his knees and off into a clump on the floor.
Dean’s laying naked and exposed on the bed, and Sam pauses for a moment, takes it in. Takes Dean in.
And he never really realized before that Dean’s body is indeed perfect again-no cuts, no scars, no evidence of their lifestyle. His body is planes of smooth skin over muscle, jutting hipbones, dark smear of ink. Sam used to know Dean’s body better than he knew his own (knew every detail of every story behind every scar) and this change that he can’t explain, can’t make sense of, didn’t see happen, makes him think that there’s some divide between them now, that Dean’s history has been erased while his own is written irrefutably in jagged script across his skin.
And for a split second, Sam feels like there’s something wrong between them for the first time in his life.
Then his eyes travel to Dean’s left arm, where Castiel’s handprint is seared into his flesh: raised, angry scars that are a single imperfection on an otherwise pristine body, and the sight of them make him want to mark Dean, reclaim him, show everyone and everything that no one touches Dean but him, that Dean is his.
But then Dean whimpers, gasps out, “Sammy, please,” bucking his hips into empty air, and everything leaves Sam’s mind except giving Dean what he wants.
He’s back to the bed in seconds, standing over Dean, and Sam runs his hands up Dean’s thighs, over his hipbones, the muscles of his abdomen. Dean makes an impatient noise as Sam’s hands slide past his cock, not touching, and Sam chuckles, low in his throat. He climbs back onto the bed as his hands slip higher, tracing Dean’s ribs, grazing his nipples. Dean’s breath catches, and Sam smiles (almost smirks) and leans down to catch Dean’s right nipple between his teeth. Dean’s body convulses, accompanied with a cut-off moan, and Sam laps at the already-bruising flesh, tongue running warm and slick over Dean’s skin.
By this time Dean’s cock is so hard that it aches, and he’s begging, rutting up against Sam’s body in a voiceless plea. Sam kisses Dean’s mouth, swallows his exhales, and wraps his hand around Dean’s cock.
Dean makes a strangled sound, half a groan, half a choked-out “Fuck,” and rocks into Sam’s hand as Sam pumps his dick, tight and slow.
Sam watches Dean, caught up in everything; relearns the sounds he makes, what he likes, memorizes the lines and angles of this new body that’s all Dean but at the same time isn’t.
The possessiveness returns to Sam as Dean molds under his hands, and there’s so much he wants, and he picks up his pace, bringing Dean almost to the edge before he leans down again.
“I’m going to fuck you, Dean,” Sam whispers matter-of-factly into Dean’s ear. “Gonna fuck you so good that nothing else you get will ever be like this.”
“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean breathes, desperation making his words short. “Yeah, just fuck me already.”
Before Dean even finishes speaking, Sam shoves a spit-slick finger into Dean, burying it in one thrust. Dean inhales against the pain, and Sam doesn’t move until Dean’s ready, other hand still slowly stroking his cock.
“Move,” Dean tells him, and Sam does, slowly drawing his finger out, thrusting it back in, adding a second. He scissors them inside of Dean, opening him, and his other hand moves from Dean’s cock to his hip, bracing Dean on Sam’s thigh.
Dean is rocking up, meeting Sam’s movements, but before Dean is ready Sam begins to add a third finger, and he feels Dean’s body quiver in pain beneath him.
“C’mon, Sam, slower,” Dean gets out, and an inexplicable anger erupts in Sam’s mind, forcibly reminded of Dean’s virginity theory, how Dean almost threw it away.
“Why, what’s wrong Dean?” Sam asks, mock confusion in his voice. “Can’t handle it?” And he shoves all three fingers deep into Dean, burying them.
Dean hisses through his teeth, but he’s still rocking on Sam’s fingers, and Sam smiles sardonically. “God, Dean, so needy,” he says, and Dean mumbles something that Sam actually thinks might be agreement, and then, louder, “Just do it already, Sammy.”
Sam immediately repositions themselves on the bed, crawls between Dean’s legs and lifts them up to rest over his shoulders. He takes a few seconds to smear his precome down his cock, and then he’s pushing into Dean, one long, slow thrust, and he can’t help the loud moan that escapes his lips. Dean sucks in air at the dry friction, shuts his eyes against the burn, but relaxes into it, pushing back on Sam.
Sam senses the change, knows Dean’s ready, and after a few shallow thrusts starts fucking Dean in earnest, building his rhythm, getting deeper and deeper. He feels Dean try to shift under him, and Sam adjusts the angle; and when he thrusts back in Dean cries out at the shock of pleasure, and Sam keeps hitting his prostate thrust after thrust.
Dean is muttering nonsensically but Sam knows what he wants, and he braces himself on one arm and gets the other between them, pulling on Dean’s cock in time with his thrusts.
Dean throws his head back against the bed and tries to breathe, squeezes his eyes shut, and five thrusts later he’s coming over Sam’s hand, leaking onto his stomach, smearing his come between them.
“Sam,” Dean whispers, nothing but an exhale, and Sam looks up at him and a second later he comes. Dean rocks with him as Sam comes down from climax, and doesn’t immediately protest when Sam sags against him, spent.
“Christ, Dean,” Sam exclaims, voice low and raspy, when he pulls out of Dean a few moments later and flops beside him on the bed, mess be damned.
“I know,” Dean smirks. “Pretty good for my first time, yeah?”
But he’s breathless and contented, and Sam’s pretty sure that there’s a self-satisfied note in voice that says he was planning this all along.
Sam doesn’t even have the energy to hit him.