Supernatural ficlet, "Requited" (Sam/Dean, NC-17)
I'm going to the Special Hell. No, really. Okay, so maybe I was already going there, but now I deserve to go there. God, how can they make incest so fucking hot? I'm only human!
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Requited
Author: _arby_
Pairing: Sam/Dean slash
Length: ~700 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wincest, angst
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with them. (heh.)
Summary: They probably had a word for what Dean was at Stanford, something like latent homosexual.
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Dean wondered if Sam knew about him. If he could see right through the thin disguise that Dean wore like his leather jacket as he tried to pick up girls, not really caring if he failed. They probably had a word for what he was at Stanford, something like latent homosexual. Sometimes he thought Sam saw everything with those sharp green eyes. Then he felt worse than ever, because if Sam knew how Dean felt about him, the kind of things Dean thought about him, there was no hope.
Sam was too good for this life. He knew it, and yet Dean couldn't help but cling to his little brother, dragging him down into the lonely, desperate chase of it because he needed Sam, he couldn't do it alone any more. And Dad was off God only knew where, fucking around as usual, leaving them to their own devices as he had so many times before. There had never been anything else in store for Dean. But Sam had a chance to make a different sort of life for himself, to get out, and if it weren't for Dean he could have done it. Thinking about it made Dean feel guilty, and feeling guilty always pissed him off.
"Dean?" Sam was staring at him suspiciously.
"What?" Dean rolled his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Why do you always assume something's wrong?"
"Because you're frowning and muttering to yourself, that's why."
Dean said nothing. He looked away, trying not to act shifty and probably failing. He cranked up the Sabbath and started beating time against the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at Sam(my). His brother was staring out the window distantly, as if his feelings were hurt. Well, too bad. Dean couldn't share everything with him - wasn't that the problem?
* * * * *
That night the dreams were bad for Sam, as always. He lay awake in the dark, pretending to sleep even though they both knew the truth, trying not to hear the little sounds Dean made as he jerked off. He'd been hearing them since he was twelve and Dean was sixteen, though surely Dean had started masturbating before then. Maybe he'd done it silently before, Sam didn't know. Since they'd almost always had to share a room, there was no getting around it.
It would be easier if it wasn't so hot, the stifled gasps and breathy whispering, so quiet under his breath that Sam strained despite himself to hear what he was saying, and sometimes the slight rustle of the sheets as Dean came, and then the long intake of breath as he recovered. Usually Dean would turn over almost immediately, pretend to have been sleeping, and truly be asleep within minutes, while Sam lay awake for another hour, desperately fighting his own raging erection. But his overly vivid imagination insisted on showing him Dean's face as he touched himself, his lips so full and red, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, that chest bare revealing hard nipples, the gorgeous length of his perfectly muscled arm snaking down beneath the sheet tented by his hard cock, and finally giving in Sam would find his own hand on himself and it only took a few strokes before he was closing his eyes shooting painfully hard into his boxers oh god Dean he heard himself moan it aloud and shocked opened his eyes to see Dean smiling at him, proud and a little shy.
Sam was mortified. This wasn't happening. He was a sick, sick person for wanting his own brother like this, for being glad that Dean was sliding over to his bed and taking Sam in his arms, and as Dean looked at him so full of love and kissed him full on the lips opening them gently with his tongue and Sam was melting into it he almost forgot to hate himself for a minute, it felt so good and so right.
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Requited
Author: _arby_
Pairing: Sam/Dean slash
Length: ~700 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wincest, angst
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with them. (heh.)
Summary: They probably had a word for what Dean was at Stanford, something like latent homosexual.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dean wondered if Sam knew about him. If he could see right through the thin disguise that Dean wore like his leather jacket as he tried to pick up girls, not really caring if he failed. They probably had a word for what he was at Stanford, something like latent homosexual. Sometimes he thought Sam saw everything with those sharp green eyes. Then he felt worse than ever, because if Sam knew how Dean felt about him, the kind of things Dean thought about him, there was no hope.
Sam was too good for this life. He knew it, and yet Dean couldn't help but cling to his little brother, dragging him down into the lonely, desperate chase of it because he needed Sam, he couldn't do it alone any more. And Dad was off God only knew where, fucking around as usual, leaving them to their own devices as he had so many times before. There had never been anything else in store for Dean. But Sam had a chance to make a different sort of life for himself, to get out, and if it weren't for Dean he could have done it. Thinking about it made Dean feel guilty, and feeling guilty always pissed him off.
"Dean?" Sam was staring at him suspiciously.
"What?" Dean rolled his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Why do you always assume something's wrong?"
"Because you're frowning and muttering to yourself, that's why."
Dean said nothing. He looked away, trying not to act shifty and probably failing. He cranked up the Sabbath and started beating time against the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at Sam(my). His brother was staring out the window distantly, as if his feelings were hurt. Well, too bad. Dean couldn't share everything with him - wasn't that the problem?
* * * * *
That night the dreams were bad for Sam, as always. He lay awake in the dark, pretending to sleep even though they both knew the truth, trying not to hear the little sounds Dean made as he jerked off. He'd been hearing them since he was twelve and Dean was sixteen, though surely Dean had started masturbating before then. Maybe he'd done it silently before, Sam didn't know. Since they'd almost always had to share a room, there was no getting around it.
It would be easier if it wasn't so hot, the stifled gasps and breathy whispering, so quiet under his breath that Sam strained despite himself to hear what he was saying, and sometimes the slight rustle of the sheets as Dean came, and then the long intake of breath as he recovered. Usually Dean would turn over almost immediately, pretend to have been sleeping, and truly be asleep within minutes, while Sam lay awake for another hour, desperately fighting his own raging erection. But his overly vivid imagination insisted on showing him Dean's face as he touched himself, his lips so full and red, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, that chest bare revealing hard nipples, the gorgeous length of his perfectly muscled arm snaking down beneath the sheet tented by his hard cock, and finally giving in Sam would find his own hand on himself and it only took a few strokes before he was closing his eyes shooting painfully hard into his boxers oh god Dean he heard himself moan it aloud and shocked opened his eyes to see Dean smiling at him, proud and a little shy.
Sam was mortified. This wasn't happening. He was a sick, sick person for wanting his own brother like this, for being glad that Dean was sliding over to his bed and taking Sam in his arms, and as Dean looked at him so full of love and kissed him full on the lips opening them gently with his tongue and Sam was melting into it he almost forgot to hate himself for a minute, it felt so good and so right.