Fic!
Title: While you were sleeping
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17 (I think, just to be safe)
Warnings: Wincest
Disclaimer: This SO happened! Ok it didn't, I made the whole thing up.
Summary: Dean wishes it never happened and Sam is trying to convince himself he feels the same way.
A/N: I was watching S1 Phantom Traveller tonight, and this came to me out of nowhere, and it was written in about an hour. And I'm tired, and sick, and I apologize if it's really bad lol.
And you know the scene where Dean's asleep on his stomach in the black t-shirt and shorts, and Sam walks in the door? Yeah, this is what really happened ;)
***
You've been awake all night, watching him sleep. Trying not to think about it.
You tried watching bad tv in an attempt to distract yourself, but you failed miserably. You even tried to sleep, even though you knew it wouldn't happen. Even the George Foreman infomercials failed to distract you for more than five minutes.
You wonder how he can sleep after all that's happened, and you wish you could be more like him. You wish you could just switch off, forget, and go to sleep.
Sitting in the armchair at the end of the bed, you tilt your head back and sigh softly. You're tired, exhausted, and you wonder if you're always going to feel like this. Like...what? Hurt? Rejected? Stupid?
You just want to close your eyes and block it all out.
Instead you look over at Dean, who is still asleep, and in the same position he's been in all night. Flat out on his stomach, his arms folded under his head, completely relaxed. And completely unaware of how you're feeling right now, and how you've been feeling for two days, five hours, and four minutes. Not that you're counting.
A small smile forms on your lips as you see him stir and reach up to scratch his ear. That's twelve times he's done that now. You don't know why you're keeping track of it, but it's a record. He usually doesn't get past ten. And you know this because you watch him every night. Have done since you he hauled you away from Stanford and back into his life.
You watch as he settles back into sleep, his body shifting against the mattress as he gets comfortable, your gaze following the lines of his body as he moves. A wry smile forms on your lips when he turns his head away from you and you see the back of his neck. You can see the mark you left two nights ago, and even though it's fading, it's still there, a reminder. A reminder of what you can never have again.
Then your smile disappears and you close your eyes as you think back to that night. The best - and worst - night of your life.
Dean was drunk, and so were you. He knew what you wanted, it's what you've always wanted. And he'd always known. But this time he was drunk enough to let you have it.
But you don't allow yourself to think about that now.
Instead you think of the morning after. Was it only yesterday? And you fight back the lump that's beginning to form in your throat. Dean wanted it, he said so himself, so why did he act the way he did? So distant, so cold. His words come back to haunt you.
"We're not talking about this again Sammy. It didn't happen, and it'll never happen again, understand? It was a mistake."
"But Dean..." You had uttered quietly, an almost desparate pleading in your voice.
"No Sam. No. Forget it ever happened."
And just like that, you watched him walk out the door. And you had barely spoken more than two words to each other since.
You want to ask him why. Why he regrets it. Why he wanted it. Why he thinks you'll be able to forget it. But you know you won't ask him. You'll keep quiet, and you'll let Dean call the shots like you always do. You know you'll both never talk about it again, it's easier that way.
Again, you try and push those thoughts out of your head and you watch him as he mumbles quietly in his sleep. The sunlight is already streaming in through the window, and you know he's going to be awake soon. You also know that you shouldn't still be here staring at him when he wakes.
So you tell yourself to move.
But you can't.
You haven't allowed yourself to look at him like this, to remember it, to re-live it, for the last two days. But you can't help yourself, and you stay where you are. He looks so peaceful, relaxed, content, vulnerable. And God, he looks so good.
Turning your gaze away from him, you close your eyes and you finally allow yourself to remember.
You remember the feel of his skin, how it felt to have your body pressed up hard against his. How it felt to have his hands roaming all over your body.
You remember the taste of his skin, and the way he threw his head back when you sank your teeth into the back of his neck, your hips driving forward hard as you slammed your cock deep into his ass.
You remember it so clearly, and you still feel it, still taste it, still want it. You had him pressed hard up against the wall, your cock buried balls-deep in his ass, and it felt so wrong.
But God, it felt so right.
You bite your lip as you remember the low deep groans that escaped his mouth as you licked and sucked at his skin. You remember the feel of his long hard cock thrusting forward into your hand. The way he reached back and tried to hold onto you as you pounded him harder and harder against the wall, again and again.
Why Dean, you think to yourself, as your eyes open and you look over at him. Why'd you do it if you didn't want it?
Your tongue slides out of your mouth and you lick your lower lip as your gaze lowers to his ass. You remember how hard he pushed himself back onto your cock, how desperate he was to have it, the way he kept moaning "Harder Sam, harder".
You try to block it all out, but it's all coming back to you now.
His knuckles white and his fingers searching, he had tried to grab onto the surface of the wall, onto anything, your cock pushing him closer and closer to the wall, and closer and closer to the edge. You bite your lip again and close your eyes as you remember how fucking good it felt to fill his ass with your come. And even better to hear him groan out your name as he came hot and hard all over your hand.
You remember thinking how fucking happy you were right at that moment.
Your bodies pressed together, slicked with sweat. Your face resting in his neck and your lips pressed gently to his skin as he leaned his head back against your shoulder. You stayed that way for what seemed like hours, in complete silence. Your breathing the only sounds filling the air.
And then, the next morning, it all came crashing down.
With a quick shake of your head, you're up and out of that chair and you're standing at the end of the bed. You stare down at your brother and you wonder if you were better off not having it at all.
You're still confused, and you wonder if Dean is more confused than you are. But you'll let it go for now, because you count yourself lucky enough to have even had it at all. And if Dean wants to forget, then so will you.
You see him begin to stir, and you wipe quickly at your eyes as you head for the door. You don't want him to see you like this. So you go out and get some coffee, anything to give you a bit of space, some time to compose yourself.
***
When you come back you slam the door loudly on purpose. You want him to be awake when you walk in. You're cool calm and collected now, and ready to face him.
You hesitate and take a deep breath before walking around the partition separating the door from the room.
You stand there and you watch him. Wishing things were different. But you know they never will be, so you're going to act like nothing has happened, like you don't care, like it meant nothing.
Because that's what Dean wants.
And you'd do anything for your brother.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17 (I think, just to be safe)
Warnings: Wincest
Disclaimer: This SO happened! Ok it didn't, I made the whole thing up.
Summary: Dean wishes it never happened and Sam is trying to convince himself he feels the same way.
A/N: I was watching S1 Phantom Traveller tonight, and this came to me out of nowhere, and it was written in about an hour. And I'm tired, and sick, and I apologize if it's really bad lol.
And you know the scene where Dean's asleep on his stomach in the black t-shirt and shorts, and Sam walks in the door? Yeah, this is what really happened ;)
***
You've been awake all night, watching him sleep. Trying not to think about it.
You tried watching bad tv in an attempt to distract yourself, but you failed miserably. You even tried to sleep, even though you knew it wouldn't happen. Even the George Foreman infomercials failed to distract you for more than five minutes.
You wonder how he can sleep after all that's happened, and you wish you could be more like him. You wish you could just switch off, forget, and go to sleep.
Sitting in the armchair at the end of the bed, you tilt your head back and sigh softly. You're tired, exhausted, and you wonder if you're always going to feel like this. Like...what? Hurt? Rejected? Stupid?
You just want to close your eyes and block it all out.
Instead you look over at Dean, who is still asleep, and in the same position he's been in all night. Flat out on his stomach, his arms folded under his head, completely relaxed. And completely unaware of how you're feeling right now, and how you've been feeling for two days, five hours, and four minutes. Not that you're counting.
A small smile forms on your lips as you see him stir and reach up to scratch his ear. That's twelve times he's done that now. You don't know why you're keeping track of it, but it's a record. He usually doesn't get past ten. And you know this because you watch him every night. Have done since you he hauled you away from Stanford and back into his life.
You watch as he settles back into sleep, his body shifting against the mattress as he gets comfortable, your gaze following the lines of his body as he moves. A wry smile forms on your lips when he turns his head away from you and you see the back of his neck. You can see the mark you left two nights ago, and even though it's fading, it's still there, a reminder. A reminder of what you can never have again.
Then your smile disappears and you close your eyes as you think back to that night. The best - and worst - night of your life.
Dean was drunk, and so were you. He knew what you wanted, it's what you've always wanted. And he'd always known. But this time he was drunk enough to let you have it.
But you don't allow yourself to think about that now.
Instead you think of the morning after. Was it only yesterday? And you fight back the lump that's beginning to form in your throat. Dean wanted it, he said so himself, so why did he act the way he did? So distant, so cold. His words come back to haunt you.
"We're not talking about this again Sammy. It didn't happen, and it'll never happen again, understand? It was a mistake."
"But Dean..." You had uttered quietly, an almost desparate pleading in your voice.
"No Sam. No. Forget it ever happened."
And just like that, you watched him walk out the door. And you had barely spoken more than two words to each other since.
You want to ask him why. Why he regrets it. Why he wanted it. Why he thinks you'll be able to forget it. But you know you won't ask him. You'll keep quiet, and you'll let Dean call the shots like you always do. You know you'll both never talk about it again, it's easier that way.
Again, you try and push those thoughts out of your head and you watch him as he mumbles quietly in his sleep. The sunlight is already streaming in through the window, and you know he's going to be awake soon. You also know that you shouldn't still be here staring at him when he wakes.
So you tell yourself to move.
But you can't.
You haven't allowed yourself to look at him like this, to remember it, to re-live it, for the last two days. But you can't help yourself, and you stay where you are. He looks so peaceful, relaxed, content, vulnerable. And God, he looks so good.
Turning your gaze away from him, you close your eyes and you finally allow yourself to remember.
You remember the feel of his skin, how it felt to have your body pressed up hard against his. How it felt to have his hands roaming all over your body.
You remember the taste of his skin, and the way he threw his head back when you sank your teeth into the back of his neck, your hips driving forward hard as you slammed your cock deep into his ass.
You remember it so clearly, and you still feel it, still taste it, still want it. You had him pressed hard up against the wall, your cock buried balls-deep in his ass, and it felt so wrong.
But God, it felt so right.
You bite your lip as you remember the low deep groans that escaped his mouth as you licked and sucked at his skin. You remember the feel of his long hard cock thrusting forward into your hand. The way he reached back and tried to hold onto you as you pounded him harder and harder against the wall, again and again.
Why Dean, you think to yourself, as your eyes open and you look over at him. Why'd you do it if you didn't want it?
Your tongue slides out of your mouth and you lick your lower lip as your gaze lowers to his ass. You remember how hard he pushed himself back onto your cock, how desperate he was to have it, the way he kept moaning "Harder Sam, harder".
You try to block it all out, but it's all coming back to you now.
His knuckles white and his fingers searching, he had tried to grab onto the surface of the wall, onto anything, your cock pushing him closer and closer to the wall, and closer and closer to the edge. You bite your lip again and close your eyes as you remember how fucking good it felt to fill his ass with your come. And even better to hear him groan out your name as he came hot and hard all over your hand.
You remember thinking how fucking happy you were right at that moment.
Your bodies pressed together, slicked with sweat. Your face resting in his neck and your lips pressed gently to his skin as he leaned his head back against your shoulder. You stayed that way for what seemed like hours, in complete silence. Your breathing the only sounds filling the air.
And then, the next morning, it all came crashing down.
With a quick shake of your head, you're up and out of that chair and you're standing at the end of the bed. You stare down at your brother and you wonder if you were better off not having it at all.
You're still confused, and you wonder if Dean is more confused than you are. But you'll let it go for now, because you count yourself lucky enough to have even had it at all. And if Dean wants to forget, then so will you.
You see him begin to stir, and you wipe quickly at your eyes as you head for the door. You don't want him to see you like this. So you go out and get some coffee, anything to give you a bit of space, some time to compose yourself.
***
When you come back you slam the door loudly on purpose. You want him to be awake when you walk in. You're cool calm and collected now, and ready to face him.
You hesitate and take a deep breath before walking around the partition separating the door from the room.
You stand there and you watch him. Wishing things were different. But you know they never will be, so you're going to act like nothing has happened, like you don't care, like it meant nothing.
Because that's what Dean wants.
And you'd do anything for your brother.