Sweat on your fingertips - Supernatural - Sam/Dean - R - Day 29/30 - Prompt: "tools"
Title: Sweat on your fingertips
Author: deamsgirl
Prompt #: 16 - "tools"
Prompt table: B
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Character/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 246
Disclamer: Supernatural does not belong to me. No profit was made from this story.
Summary: Destruction is not the only thing Dean's hands are capable of.
Dean has watched his own hands tear people to pieces, fingers wrapped around tools of torture, listened to their screams as they begged him to stop. He's seen his skin stained with blood, guts, and sweat more times than he cares to remember, and it still feels like a punch to the stomach every time he thinks about it.
When Sam first pulls him close, he wants to say “no” and push him away; he knows it's the right thing to do, the safe thing, because god only knows what this will do to his baby brother, but the reasons for why not fall flat against Dean's body screaming “I want.” Sam keens beneath him like he's been waiting years for this, and he attacks Dean's mouth with an animalistic fervor that Dean doesn't reciprocate.
“Sammy,” he says against the warm skin of Sam's lips, and runs gentle fingers down the length of Sam's belly. He makes love to Sam like the younger man is made of glass and Sam shudders beneath the careful ministrations until he's coming with a sob that's little more than a hitch of his breath.
For once Dean goes to sleep with the knowledge that destruction is not the only thing his hands are capable of-tonight he wove love with his fingertips. He doesn't dream of the feel of blood trickling down his front, or the tortured cries of nameless souls, and he pulls Sam closer in gratitude.
Author: deamsgirl
Prompt #: 16 - "tools"
Prompt table: B
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Character/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 246
Disclamer: Supernatural does not belong to me. No profit was made from this story.
Summary: Destruction is not the only thing Dean's hands are capable of.
Dean has watched his own hands tear people to pieces, fingers wrapped around tools of torture, listened to their screams as they begged him to stop. He's seen his skin stained with blood, guts, and sweat more times than he cares to remember, and it still feels like a punch to the stomach every time he thinks about it.
When Sam first pulls him close, he wants to say “no” and push him away; he knows it's the right thing to do, the safe thing, because god only knows what this will do to his baby brother, but the reasons for why not fall flat against Dean's body screaming “I want.” Sam keens beneath him like he's been waiting years for this, and he attacks Dean's mouth with an animalistic fervor that Dean doesn't reciprocate.
“Sammy,” he says against the warm skin of Sam's lips, and runs gentle fingers down the length of Sam's belly. He makes love to Sam like the younger man is made of glass and Sam shudders beneath the careful ministrations until he's coming with a sob that's little more than a hitch of his breath.
For once Dean goes to sleep with the knowledge that destruction is not the only thing his hands are capable of-tonight he wove love with his fingertips. He doesn't dream of the feel of blood trickling down his front, or the tortured cries of nameless souls, and he pulls Sam closer in gratitude.