"Those Who Favor Fire" (Sam/Dean slash)
Title: "Those Who Favor Fire"
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 1300
Summary/Author's Notes: Remember when the fandom was shiny and new, and every other story was a "The First 'X' Number of Times Sam and Dean Had Sex' fic?" Well, I'm feeling retro.
Additional Author's Notes: The fic works as a standalone, but it has a Robert Frost title because it's technically part of my "The Woods Are Lonely" series. Timewise, it falls in the middle of Season Two (December, 2006).
~ ~ ~
They didn't fuck the first time. Dean, thank God, didn't ask anything stupid like 'Are you a virgin here?' or state the obvious, like 'You've never been with a guy before.' He just focused his gaze on Sam's face as he slid a finger behind Sam's balls and then further back. Sam flinched involuntarily when Dean reached his target, and Dean gave a little nod that meant, 'not this time,' before he laid a line of scorching kisses down Sam's sternum and over his belly, then took him into his mouth. Dean had been with a guy before, Sam guessed that from the moment Dean laid a hand on him, and may God and all the girls he'd slept with forgive him, but it was the best damn blowjob he'd ever gotten.
~ ~ ~
They didn't fuck the second time either, but Dean asked every stupid question in the book and threw in some ribbing on the side.
"You're a virgin here?" he asked, lubed finger lightly circling Sam's opening.
"Shut up, Dean."
"Like, no penetration? Ever?" he demanded, distracting Sam from the weirdness of that fingertip slipping in.
"Shut up, Dean."
The finger slid deeper. "You never even tried it on yourself?"
"Shut up, Dean."
"Or, you know, a girl could have..."
Sam lifted his head from the pillow. "Look, I'm vanilla, okay? No one's ever compl--oh, God."
Dean's teeth flashed in the dim light. "Do you hear me complaining?"
~ ~ ~
The third time, they fucked.
Dean set a bottle of lube and condoms--a whole box of condoms--on the nightstand before he stripped down and nodded at Sam to do the same. Sam would rather die than admit he was jumpy, but seriously, who was he kidding?
Dean kissed and teased him just enough to get both their motors going, then guided Sam to lie on his back, legs sprawled awkwardly.
"Condom," he ordered, snapping his fingers.
"Uh…foreplay?" Sam suggested.
Dean was already mouthing his way down Sam's chest. "Rim job."
Sam handed over the condom, shivering as he felt the warm probe of Dean's tongue through the barrier. He wasn't jumpy ten minutes later, but it took Dean an hour to get to the fucking anyway.
They used up half the box.
~ ~ ~
The fourth time was the start of the Neck Thing. Not the start, really, because Dean figured out early on that Sam had a thing for having his neck stroked or licked, but it was the first blatant manipulation of the Neck Thing. Sam woke up one morning half-erect, moving languidly and arching into Dean's lips on his throat, dimly hearing Dean whisper, "Let me in, Sammy," and feeling a gentle penetration when he did. Rationally Sam knew the almost imperceptible movement of the fingertip within him was what was making his cock harden and swell, but he could almost believe it was just the lips and fingers stroking over his neck and the voice in his ear coaxing him to open wider.
~ ~ ~
The fifth time was…different. The hunt had been too easy and Dean was still jazzed up, adrenaline pumping with nowhere to go. Dean reached for him, and Sam belatedly, unexpectedly freaked about the whole fucking-his-brother thing. Dean just pinned him against the wall, setting his teeth at Sam's throat and shoving a hand down his jeans, and Sam's memories of the next few hours got a little blurry. He remembered wet heat and pressure, Dean's voice saying hot, filthy things like 'Spread for me, Sammy, show me what I'm gonna get,' and 'Yeah, can't get enough of it, can you?', fingers stroking over his pulse point and his own rough voice pleading, 'Fuck me, Dean, just fuck me,' clawing at Dean's back and bucking his hips to signal, Harder, harder, harder.
"What the hell was that?" Sam demanded afterwards, limp in the afterglow.
"You got off on it," Dean pointed out before he threw a leg over Sam's and fell asleep.
The fifth time was the time Sam learned there was a difference between getting fucked and getting topped, and he kinda liked both of them.
~ ~ ~
The sixth time was the morning after the fifth time. Sam was reading at the motel room's little table, pointedly not remembering how Dean had bent him over it, when Dean sidled up behind him.
"You freaking about last night?" he asked.
Sam closed his book as Dean's thumb circled the spot just below his ear. "Should I be?"
"I hope not," Dean murmured. "Because you were fucking hot last night, Sammy."
Lassitude spread through Sam as Dean repeated the caress, starting in on a low, dirty recitation of exactly how hot Sam had been. It wasn't until Dean breathed, "C'mon, Sammy, do it, take it out," that Sam realized he was rubbing himself through his jeans, legs spread wide on the chair, already heading for a repeat of last night.
"Uh," he started.
"You really liked it, huh?" Dean said smugly.
"It'll wear off or something," Sam assured him, staring accusingly at his dick with its Pavlovian tendencies.
"Not if we keep practicing." Dean was sucking a hickey at the base of Sam's throat. "C'mon, Sam, do it."
Sam unzipped his jeans and gripped himself. Dean was still behind him, broad strong hand spanning Sam's throat to rub the tendons on each side with fingers and thumb, and Sam started wondering if his brother was even kinkier than he'd guessed.
"Dean," he said, crooking a finger over Dean's hand to pull it a fraction of an inch away from his windpipe. It came out like question, not a warning.
"What?...Oh, Christ, Sammy. I wouldn't do that to you if you asked." Dean laughed shakily. "The last thing we need is for you to start liking it."
Sam's hand found its way to his cock again. "I would if you wanted to."
"Christ, Sam," Dean groaned again. "How about you get down there and blow me instead."
Sam went to his knees right there on the dingy carpet. It was the first time Dean had asked for anything for himself, and the excitement as Dean's low groans washed over him had nothing to do with the thumb still stroking rhythmically at his throat.
~ ~ ~
The seventh time Sam was on top, intransitive verb and prepositional phrase indicating that he'd done the fucking, not transitive verb indicating that he'd topped. The getting fucked and the Neck Thing were fun and all, but there were balance-of-power issues that had to be headed off before Dean started feeling entitled to Sam's ass whenever he wanted. It went better than he'd expected, and it wasn't until later that he figured out that Dean's groans and thrusts had pretty much walked him through it without making him feel like an idiot. Normally Sam was quicker on the uptake, but who would have expected Dean to show some tact?
"So, you've gotten fucked before," Sam said when it was over. "Ever bottomed?"
Dean yawned and shoved a hand through sweat-spiky hair. "Bottoming is for pussies, Sam."
"So what you're saying is, I'm going to be your first," Sam translated. "You're almost like a virgin."
Dean snorted. "Dude. You want my cherry, you're gonna have to quit quoting Madonna and learn some technique."
"Like we don't both know you'll give it up after a six pack and 'Night of the Living Dead' marathon," Sam pointed out.
"Bite me," Dean groaned, rolling onto his stomach as Sam started fingering him open again.
"All part of the technique," Sam promised.
~ ~ ~
Sam didn't top in the transitive verb sense until around the tenth or eleventh time, but it was totally worth the wait.
~ ~ ~
Thanks for reading, and all my fic may be found here.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 1300
Summary/Author's Notes: Remember when the fandom was shiny and new, and every other story was a "The First 'X' Number of Times Sam and Dean Had Sex' fic?" Well, I'm feeling retro.
Additional Author's Notes: The fic works as a standalone, but it has a Robert Frost title because it's technically part of my "The Woods Are Lonely" series. Timewise, it falls in the middle of Season Two (December, 2006).
~ ~ ~
They didn't fuck the first time. Dean, thank God, didn't ask anything stupid like 'Are you a virgin here?' or state the obvious, like 'You've never been with a guy before.' He just focused his gaze on Sam's face as he slid a finger behind Sam's balls and then further back. Sam flinched involuntarily when Dean reached his target, and Dean gave a little nod that meant, 'not this time,' before he laid a line of scorching kisses down Sam's sternum and over his belly, then took him into his mouth. Dean had been with a guy before, Sam guessed that from the moment Dean laid a hand on him, and may God and all the girls he'd slept with forgive him, but it was the best damn blowjob he'd ever gotten.
~ ~ ~
They didn't fuck the second time either, but Dean asked every stupid question in the book and threw in some ribbing on the side.
"You're a virgin here?" he asked, lubed finger lightly circling Sam's opening.
"Shut up, Dean."
"Like, no penetration? Ever?" he demanded, distracting Sam from the weirdness of that fingertip slipping in.
"Shut up, Dean."
The finger slid deeper. "You never even tried it on yourself?"
"Shut up, Dean."
"Or, you know, a girl could have..."
Sam lifted his head from the pillow. "Look, I'm vanilla, okay? No one's ever compl--oh, God."
Dean's teeth flashed in the dim light. "Do you hear me complaining?"
~ ~ ~
The third time, they fucked.
Dean set a bottle of lube and condoms--a whole box of condoms--on the nightstand before he stripped down and nodded at Sam to do the same. Sam would rather die than admit he was jumpy, but seriously, who was he kidding?
Dean kissed and teased him just enough to get both their motors going, then guided Sam to lie on his back, legs sprawled awkwardly.
"Condom," he ordered, snapping his fingers.
"Uh…foreplay?" Sam suggested.
Dean was already mouthing his way down Sam's chest. "Rim job."
Sam handed over the condom, shivering as he felt the warm probe of Dean's tongue through the barrier. He wasn't jumpy ten minutes later, but it took Dean an hour to get to the fucking anyway.
They used up half the box.
~ ~ ~
The fourth time was the start of the Neck Thing. Not the start, really, because Dean figured out early on that Sam had a thing for having his neck stroked or licked, but it was the first blatant manipulation of the Neck Thing. Sam woke up one morning half-erect, moving languidly and arching into Dean's lips on his throat, dimly hearing Dean whisper, "Let me in, Sammy," and feeling a gentle penetration when he did. Rationally Sam knew the almost imperceptible movement of the fingertip within him was what was making his cock harden and swell, but he could almost believe it was just the lips and fingers stroking over his neck and the voice in his ear coaxing him to open wider.
~ ~ ~
The fifth time was…different. The hunt had been too easy and Dean was still jazzed up, adrenaline pumping with nowhere to go. Dean reached for him, and Sam belatedly, unexpectedly freaked about the whole fucking-his-brother thing. Dean just pinned him against the wall, setting his teeth at Sam's throat and shoving a hand down his jeans, and Sam's memories of the next few hours got a little blurry. He remembered wet heat and pressure, Dean's voice saying hot, filthy things like 'Spread for me, Sammy, show me what I'm gonna get,' and 'Yeah, can't get enough of it, can you?', fingers stroking over his pulse point and his own rough voice pleading, 'Fuck me, Dean, just fuck me,' clawing at Dean's back and bucking his hips to signal, Harder, harder, harder.
"What the hell was that?" Sam demanded afterwards, limp in the afterglow.
"You got off on it," Dean pointed out before he threw a leg over Sam's and fell asleep.
The fifth time was the time Sam learned there was a difference between getting fucked and getting topped, and he kinda liked both of them.
~ ~ ~
The sixth time was the morning after the fifth time. Sam was reading at the motel room's little table, pointedly not remembering how Dean had bent him over it, when Dean sidled up behind him.
"You freaking about last night?" he asked.
Sam closed his book as Dean's thumb circled the spot just below his ear. "Should I be?"
"I hope not," Dean murmured. "Because you were fucking hot last night, Sammy."
Lassitude spread through Sam as Dean repeated the caress, starting in on a low, dirty recitation of exactly how hot Sam had been. It wasn't until Dean breathed, "C'mon, Sammy, do it, take it out," that Sam realized he was rubbing himself through his jeans, legs spread wide on the chair, already heading for a repeat of last night.
"Uh," he started.
"You really liked it, huh?" Dean said smugly.
"It'll wear off or something," Sam assured him, staring accusingly at his dick with its Pavlovian tendencies.
"Not if we keep practicing." Dean was sucking a hickey at the base of Sam's throat. "C'mon, Sam, do it."
Sam unzipped his jeans and gripped himself. Dean was still behind him, broad strong hand spanning Sam's throat to rub the tendons on each side with fingers and thumb, and Sam started wondering if his brother was even kinkier than he'd guessed.
"Dean," he said, crooking a finger over Dean's hand to pull it a fraction of an inch away from his windpipe. It came out like question, not a warning.
"What?...Oh, Christ, Sammy. I wouldn't do that to you if you asked." Dean laughed shakily. "The last thing we need is for you to start liking it."
Sam's hand found its way to his cock again. "I would if you wanted to."
"Christ, Sam," Dean groaned again. "How about you get down there and blow me instead."
Sam went to his knees right there on the dingy carpet. It was the first time Dean had asked for anything for himself, and the excitement as Dean's low groans washed over him had nothing to do with the thumb still stroking rhythmically at his throat.
~ ~ ~
The seventh time Sam was on top, intransitive verb and prepositional phrase indicating that he'd done the fucking, not transitive verb indicating that he'd topped. The getting fucked and the Neck Thing were fun and all, but there were balance-of-power issues that had to be headed off before Dean started feeling entitled to Sam's ass whenever he wanted. It went better than he'd expected, and it wasn't until later that he figured out that Dean's groans and thrusts had pretty much walked him through it without making him feel like an idiot. Normally Sam was quicker on the uptake, but who would have expected Dean to show some tact?
"So, you've gotten fucked before," Sam said when it was over. "Ever bottomed?"
Dean yawned and shoved a hand through sweat-spiky hair. "Bottoming is for pussies, Sam."
"So what you're saying is, I'm going to be your first," Sam translated. "You're almost like a virgin."
Dean snorted. "Dude. You want my cherry, you're gonna have to quit quoting Madonna and learn some technique."
"Like we don't both know you'll give it up after a six pack and 'Night of the Living Dead' marathon," Sam pointed out.
"Bite me," Dean groaned, rolling onto his stomach as Sam started fingering him open again.
"All part of the technique," Sam promised.
~ ~ ~
Sam didn't top in the transitive verb sense until around the tenth or eleventh time, but it was totally worth the wait.
~ ~ ~
Thanks for reading, and all my fic may be found here.