Fic: What Matters Most (2/8)
What Matters Most a gift for lucilla_darkate
Author: chaosrosa aka gestaltrose
Title: What Matters Most (2/8)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 see complete warnings.
Word count: 1650 or this part
Beta: Lucie actually betaed three quarters of this and then real life interfered… go figure. My lovely ~biza then came through and went over the whole thing.
Warnings for this chapter: drinking, cursing, oral sex, incest, slash, underage. This was completed last year so it might be rough compared to what you’re used to from me. Also, this isn’t a death fic but neither is it my normal happy ending.
Warnings for whole fic: Spoilers for part of Season One, Slash (boy/boy everyone, Cursing, Incest, Bloodplay, Drunkenness, Alcoholism, Rimming, Frottage, Hints of Dom/sub, oh hell I’m sure I missed something. . . just be warned
Notes: See part one for disclaimer, summary and full notes
Part One
Coming home drunk, Dean was trying to be quiet. Sam knew this because Dean was making a god awful racket and then telling himself to be quiet.
Lying on his bed, Sam wondered what Dean would do this time. Go to bed or come into his room. The dark shadow filling his doorway was his answer.
Dean just stood there dripping on his floor. He didn’t come in and he didn’t say anything. Finally, Sam turned and looked at him. “Are you coming in or what?”
Entering the room, Dean crossed through the blue light of the moon shining through his window. He was crying, Sam was pretty sure, judging by the look on his face more than the tracks of water down it. Dean stood beside his bed and seemed to be trying to get himself under control. “Sa-a-m-m-m-y,” Dean’s voice hitched through his name and Sam gave up. He wasn’t going to fight this anymore.
“Come here.”
Dean went to get in his bed, still soaking wet. “No, Dean. Strip. You are not getting my bed all wet.”
Giving Sam a deer in the headlights look, Dean nevertheless tried to get his clothes off. He couldn’t manage the shirt let alone his pants. Seeing Dean getting his arms tangled in it and then starting to struggle, Sam got up and helped him.
“Shhh, here.” Sam calmed Dean and then got him untangled. Sam ran his hands down Dean’s smooth sides unsure of whose breath hitched. Unbuttoning the jeans, Sam slid his hands down underneath them and grabbed Dean’s ass, for which he was rewarded with a moan.
Finishing getting Dean undressed would have been funny if the whole situation didn’t feel so desperate. As soon as Sam got the last of Dean’s soaked clothes off of him, Dean started shivering.
Getting Dean into bed, Sam slid in beside him and pulled him close. It took a while but the shivering subsided, then it was as if he had broken his brother, but not in the way he wanted. Dean cried.
Sam brushed his hand over Dean’s head.
“Sorry, so fucking sorry. You should hate me. I hate me.” On and on Dean mumbled through his tears.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Should. I hit you.”
“I deserved it. Come here,” Sam said as he pulled Dean up so that they were face to face. Running his fingers over Dean’s cheek, Sam leaned over and licked a tear off of his chin, just before it dropped. Dean’s breath caught and Sam could smell the alcohol.
“Sammy.”
“Shh, let me take care of you.” Sammy stilled any protest by kissing him. The thought flickered through his head that he was glad Dean hadn’t puked and then all coherent thought left.
Tongues tangled and teeth hit. It wasn’t how Sam had wanted Dean to come to him, but he couldn’t stand to see him hurting like this. “DeanDeanDean,” he chanted as he ran his large hands over his brother. Noticing Dean’s breath growing more and more ragged, Sam pulled back.
“You, ‘kay?”
Dean was flushed, taking in oxygen like he hadn’t had any in a year. He was hyperventilating. Fuck. Sam got up and found an empty fast food bag in the garbage. Shaking it out to make sure it was truly empty, Sam ran back to his bedroom, trying not to slip on the wet trail that Dean had left on the floor when he had come in.
“Here.” Sam thrust the bag at Dean, who was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to catch his breath.
Dean looked stupidly at the bag and then up at Sam.
Motioning for Dean to put the bag up to his face and breathe into it, Sam started babbling. Telling Dean about how hyperventilating raised the level of oxygen in the blood and any other details that popped into his head.
Breathing into the paper bag, Dean calmed some. Enough to say something into his bag.
“What?”
Taking the bag out of his mouth, Dean told him he was a geek.
Sam nodded. He was studying to take his SAT’s and he hadn’t mentioned it to Dean or Dad, knowing it would be a waste of time to try to explain that he wanted something other than this life.
Dean let the bag fall to the floor. Beaming up at Sam, he slid back into bed and patted beside him.
Rolling his eyes, Sam stepped over to his bed but was stopped before he could get in. Stopped by Dean’s hand on his dick. Oh holy fuck. Quicker than Sam had thought possible, Dean had his pajama bottoms around his ankles and had his mouth on Sam’s cock.
Sam gasped. He might have said something but he had no clue what. His entire attention was on his cock and what Dean was doing to it. Dean’s mouth, his tongue, his fingers. Sam groaned. Holy fucking Mary Jesus Jones, he was going to come. Trying to pull back, he was stopped by Dean’s arm wrapping around his thigh, fingers brushing against his balls. Dean was sucking harder and Sam couldn’t stop his hips from shooting forward.
Coming from his first ever blow job was the best orgasm he’d ever had. The fact that his brother was giving it to him made it kind of weird but it was still the best.
Dean backed off and Sam slumped to the bed, pajama pants still around his ankles. Kicking them off, he crawled in and lay next to Dean. He couldn’t miss Dean’s erection pressed into his hip. Maneuvering until he had more access to Dean, Sam started kissing him. Kissing all of those spots that he had mapped out in his mind whenever he got a good look at his brother, he worked his way down Dean’s body.
He had a scar on his neck, not from hunting but from flipping a knife to show off for some girl, drunk. Sam licked then bit it and Dean moaned and arched up against him. Smiling, Sam continued. There was a cluster of freckles on his chest that Sam stared at every chance he could. Sam moved his lips down to it. While he kissed the freckles he couldn’t help but notice Dean’s nipples.
Sucking on his nipples had Dean mumbling incoherently. Then Sam moved his hand down to wrap around Dean’s cock, smiling as it twitched in his hand. Sam bit down and was surprised when Dean came. Hot come spurting over his hand and both their bellies.
Dean passed out and Sam cleaned them both up. He sat up for a while, trying to decide what to do. Finally he shrugged and climbed back into bed with Dean; it was his bed after all. Having cooled off considerably while he had been sitting, he was surprised when Dean immediately wrapped himself around Sam. Arm over his chest, leg over one of his, Sam was cocooned in Dean’s warmth. Soon he fell asleep.
Waking up, Sam found himself alone. Wondering what Dean was up to, Sam got up, threw on some clothes, and went to look for him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes red from crying. Sam walked up and touched his face, wiping a tear off with his thumb before Dean jerked backwards.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s wrong, that’s why. What happened last night?” Dean sounded like he was accusing Sam of something.
Not fucking again. Sam sighed; he had known it was a bad idea. “What do you remember?”
“I remember you prancing around here like a fucking whore.”
Sam rubbed his jaw and Dean looked apologetic for a moment.
“I . . . I hit you and left.”
Sam nodded. “And then. . .?”
Dean looked at Sam with something akin to panic in his eyes. “I . . . I don’t . . . remember.”
Sam took a deep breath in. Damn.
“Sammy, tell me what I did.”
“Nothing, Dean, nothing happened.” Sam could do this, for Dean.
“Why?” Dean visibly swallowed. “Why were we naked? I thought I had . . . ra--”
Sam cut him off. “No. You were soaked and we couldn’t get you warm. Remember Dad’s lessons on hypothermia? Best way to warm your core up . . .” He let his voice trail off as relief visibly flowed over his brother.
Dean grinned at him and his heart broke a little. “Yeah, that’s right. Sorry ‘bout that, bro.”
“No problem.” He was going to get his applications in to college as soon as he could; there was no way he could live like this anymore.
So, Sam got a full ride to Stanford and took it. Dad was mad, but Dean seemed more relieved than anything. Of course he played it up around Dad that he was upset that Sam was ‘abandoning’ them. Later, however, he cornered Sam outside, this time sober, and told him he was proud and happy that Sam was leaving.
‘Proud and happy’ wasn’t exactly what Dean was feeling and Sam knew it. ‘Disappointed and mostly relieved’ was more like it.
Sam packed his bags, didn’t kiss his brother and left with his father telling him to never come back.
Two nights later, after arriving at Stanford, Sam called Dean.
“Dude.” Dean’s voice sounded rough.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“You drunk?”
“Why? Do you fucking care? Oh wait, that’s right, you left because you don’t. Fuck off, College Boy!” Dean hung up on him.
Sam stared in disbelief at the phone in his hand. Then he got angry. He was going to make a new life here. One without hunting, or brothers kissing, or constantly moving. Normal, that’s what he wanted. If there was a God, just please let him have normal.
Part Three
Author: chaosrosa aka gestaltrose
Title: What Matters Most (2/8)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 see complete warnings.
Word count: 1650 or this part
Beta: Lucie actually betaed three quarters of this and then real life interfered… go figure. My lovely ~biza then came through and went over the whole thing.
Warnings for this chapter: drinking, cursing, oral sex, incest, slash, underage. This was completed last year so it might be rough compared to what you’re used to from me. Also, this isn’t a death fic but neither is it my normal happy ending.
Warnings for whole fic: Spoilers for part of Season One, Slash (boy/boy everyone, Cursing, Incest, Bloodplay, Drunkenness, Alcoholism, Rimming, Frottage, Hints of Dom/sub, oh hell I’m sure I missed something. . . just be warned
Notes: See part one for disclaimer, summary and full notes
Part One
Coming home drunk, Dean was trying to be quiet. Sam knew this because Dean was making a god awful racket and then telling himself to be quiet.
Lying on his bed, Sam wondered what Dean would do this time. Go to bed or come into his room. The dark shadow filling his doorway was his answer.
Dean just stood there dripping on his floor. He didn’t come in and he didn’t say anything. Finally, Sam turned and looked at him. “Are you coming in or what?”
Entering the room, Dean crossed through the blue light of the moon shining through his window. He was crying, Sam was pretty sure, judging by the look on his face more than the tracks of water down it. Dean stood beside his bed and seemed to be trying to get himself under control. “Sa-a-m-m-m-y,” Dean’s voice hitched through his name and Sam gave up. He wasn’t going to fight this anymore.
“Come here.”
Dean went to get in his bed, still soaking wet. “No, Dean. Strip. You are not getting my bed all wet.”
Giving Sam a deer in the headlights look, Dean nevertheless tried to get his clothes off. He couldn’t manage the shirt let alone his pants. Seeing Dean getting his arms tangled in it and then starting to struggle, Sam got up and helped him.
“Shhh, here.” Sam calmed Dean and then got him untangled. Sam ran his hands down Dean’s smooth sides unsure of whose breath hitched. Unbuttoning the jeans, Sam slid his hands down underneath them and grabbed Dean’s ass, for which he was rewarded with a moan.
Finishing getting Dean undressed would have been funny if the whole situation didn’t feel so desperate. As soon as Sam got the last of Dean’s soaked clothes off of him, Dean started shivering.
Getting Dean into bed, Sam slid in beside him and pulled him close. It took a while but the shivering subsided, then it was as if he had broken his brother, but not in the way he wanted. Dean cried.
Sam brushed his hand over Dean’s head.
“Sorry, so fucking sorry. You should hate me. I hate me.” On and on Dean mumbled through his tears.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Should. I hit you.”
“I deserved it. Come here,” Sam said as he pulled Dean up so that they were face to face. Running his fingers over Dean’s cheek, Sam leaned over and licked a tear off of his chin, just before it dropped. Dean’s breath caught and Sam could smell the alcohol.
“Sammy.”
“Shh, let me take care of you.” Sammy stilled any protest by kissing him. The thought flickered through his head that he was glad Dean hadn’t puked and then all coherent thought left.
Tongues tangled and teeth hit. It wasn’t how Sam had wanted Dean to come to him, but he couldn’t stand to see him hurting like this. “DeanDeanDean,” he chanted as he ran his large hands over his brother. Noticing Dean’s breath growing more and more ragged, Sam pulled back.
“You, ‘kay?”
Dean was flushed, taking in oxygen like he hadn’t had any in a year. He was hyperventilating. Fuck. Sam got up and found an empty fast food bag in the garbage. Shaking it out to make sure it was truly empty, Sam ran back to his bedroom, trying not to slip on the wet trail that Dean had left on the floor when he had come in.
“Here.” Sam thrust the bag at Dean, who was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to catch his breath.
Dean looked stupidly at the bag and then up at Sam.
Motioning for Dean to put the bag up to his face and breathe into it, Sam started babbling. Telling Dean about how hyperventilating raised the level of oxygen in the blood and any other details that popped into his head.
Breathing into the paper bag, Dean calmed some. Enough to say something into his bag.
“What?”
Taking the bag out of his mouth, Dean told him he was a geek.
Sam nodded. He was studying to take his SAT’s and he hadn’t mentioned it to Dean or Dad, knowing it would be a waste of time to try to explain that he wanted something other than this life.
Dean let the bag fall to the floor. Beaming up at Sam, he slid back into bed and patted beside him.
Rolling his eyes, Sam stepped over to his bed but was stopped before he could get in. Stopped by Dean’s hand on his dick. Oh holy fuck. Quicker than Sam had thought possible, Dean had his pajama bottoms around his ankles and had his mouth on Sam’s cock.
Sam gasped. He might have said something but he had no clue what. His entire attention was on his cock and what Dean was doing to it. Dean’s mouth, his tongue, his fingers. Sam groaned. Holy fucking Mary Jesus Jones, he was going to come. Trying to pull back, he was stopped by Dean’s arm wrapping around his thigh, fingers brushing against his balls. Dean was sucking harder and Sam couldn’t stop his hips from shooting forward.
Coming from his first ever blow job was the best orgasm he’d ever had. The fact that his brother was giving it to him made it kind of weird but it was still the best.
Dean backed off and Sam slumped to the bed, pajama pants still around his ankles. Kicking them off, he crawled in and lay next to Dean. He couldn’t miss Dean’s erection pressed into his hip. Maneuvering until he had more access to Dean, Sam started kissing him. Kissing all of those spots that he had mapped out in his mind whenever he got a good look at his brother, he worked his way down Dean’s body.
He had a scar on his neck, not from hunting but from flipping a knife to show off for some girl, drunk. Sam licked then bit it and Dean moaned and arched up against him. Smiling, Sam continued. There was a cluster of freckles on his chest that Sam stared at every chance he could. Sam moved his lips down to it. While he kissed the freckles he couldn’t help but notice Dean’s nipples.
Sucking on his nipples had Dean mumbling incoherently. Then Sam moved his hand down to wrap around Dean’s cock, smiling as it twitched in his hand. Sam bit down and was surprised when Dean came. Hot come spurting over his hand and both their bellies.
Dean passed out and Sam cleaned them both up. He sat up for a while, trying to decide what to do. Finally he shrugged and climbed back into bed with Dean; it was his bed after all. Having cooled off considerably while he had been sitting, he was surprised when Dean immediately wrapped himself around Sam. Arm over his chest, leg over one of his, Sam was cocooned in Dean’s warmth. Soon he fell asleep.
Waking up, Sam found himself alone. Wondering what Dean was up to, Sam got up, threw on some clothes, and went to look for him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes red from crying. Sam walked up and touched his face, wiping a tear off with his thumb before Dean jerked backwards.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s wrong, that’s why. What happened last night?” Dean sounded like he was accusing Sam of something.
Not fucking again. Sam sighed; he had known it was a bad idea. “What do you remember?”
“I remember you prancing around here like a fucking whore.”
Sam rubbed his jaw and Dean looked apologetic for a moment.
“I . . . I hit you and left.”
Sam nodded. “And then. . .?”
Dean looked at Sam with something akin to panic in his eyes. “I . . . I don’t . . . remember.”
Sam took a deep breath in. Damn.
“Sammy, tell me what I did.”
“Nothing, Dean, nothing happened.” Sam could do this, for Dean.
“Why?” Dean visibly swallowed. “Why were we naked? I thought I had . . . ra--”
Sam cut him off. “No. You were soaked and we couldn’t get you warm. Remember Dad’s lessons on hypothermia? Best way to warm your core up . . .” He let his voice trail off as relief visibly flowed over his brother.
Dean grinned at him and his heart broke a little. “Yeah, that’s right. Sorry ‘bout that, bro.”
“No problem.” He was going to get his applications in to college as soon as he could; there was no way he could live like this anymore.
So, Sam got a full ride to Stanford and took it. Dad was mad, but Dean seemed more relieved than anything. Of course he played it up around Dad that he was upset that Sam was ‘abandoning’ them. Later, however, he cornered Sam outside, this time sober, and told him he was proud and happy that Sam was leaving.
‘Proud and happy’ wasn’t exactly what Dean was feeling and Sam knew it. ‘Disappointed and mostly relieved’ was more like it.
Sam packed his bags, didn’t kiss his brother and left with his father telling him to never come back.
Two nights later, after arriving at Stanford, Sam called Dean.
“Dude.” Dean’s voice sounded rough.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“You drunk?”
“Why? Do you fucking care? Oh wait, that’s right, you left because you don’t. Fuck off, College Boy!” Dean hung up on him.
Sam stared in disbelief at the phone in his hand. Then he got angry. He was going to make a new life here. One without hunting, or brothers kissing, or constantly moving. Normal, that’s what he wanted. If there was a God, just please let him have normal.
Part Three