SPN: Kissing Death
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Sam, Dean
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Contains: Breathplay, incest, sex
Rating: NC17
Summary: Since he died, nothing cuts deep enough. For someone on comment_fic.
Sam is behind him, pressed up against his back. He's still wearing his pants but they're undone and his cock is hard and digging into Dean's back, so Dean can totally deal with that. Sam's holding both ends of the cord in one hand, touching him with the other, and it's driving him fucking crazy -- the tease of the cord around his neck, there but no pressure behind it, and Sam tugging at his nipple, pinching, sparks of pleasure that don't quite sink in, that don't cut deep enough. Sam's hand is on his cock now, thumb rubbing over the tip, and it's good but it's not enough, not now.
"Need more," he says, in a voice already wrecked, arching into Sam's touch, trying to lean forward into the cord at his neck.
"Wait," Sam says, soft, "wait, and let me take care of you, Dean."
Dean makes this noise that's almost a sob, but he'd never call it that, and stills, letting Sam touch him. It's maddening, Sam's hands on his skin and Sam's cock pressed up against him, rubbing against him just a little, and he wants, oh, he wants.
"Good boy," Sam whispers, and Dean starts to shake. Sam holds him still, grips him so tight, and slowly pulls on the cord. Dean drags in one last proper breath, eyes fluttering shut, and lets himself lean all his weight against Sam. "Open your eyes," Sam says, commands, and Dean does, looks at them in the mirror, looks at the thick cord around his neck and Sam's hands and Sam's face and his own, his mouth open in a gasp of pleasure, of pain.
"Sammy," he mouths, bucking a little, and Sam smiles the kind of smile you should never see on your little brother's face. He touches Dean properly now, jerks him off hard and fast, and Dean can do nothing but give in. Little noises escape him, a waste of air, but the pleasure finally reaches him now, cuts into him and forces him to respond. He's a mess of pre-come now, and Sam's whispering something low and savage and wanting, and he's so close and it's nearly enough --
"Come for me, Dean," Sam says, almost growls, and Dean is helpless.
Main characters: Sam, Dean
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Contains: Breathplay, incest, sex
Rating: NC17
Summary: Since he died, nothing cuts deep enough. For someone on comment_fic.
Sam is behind him, pressed up against his back. He's still wearing his pants but they're undone and his cock is hard and digging into Dean's back, so Dean can totally deal with that. Sam's holding both ends of the cord in one hand, touching him with the other, and it's driving him fucking crazy -- the tease of the cord around his neck, there but no pressure behind it, and Sam tugging at his nipple, pinching, sparks of pleasure that don't quite sink in, that don't cut deep enough. Sam's hand is on his cock now, thumb rubbing over the tip, and it's good but it's not enough, not now.
"Need more," he says, in a voice already wrecked, arching into Sam's touch, trying to lean forward into the cord at his neck.
"Wait," Sam says, soft, "wait, and let me take care of you, Dean."
Dean makes this noise that's almost a sob, but he'd never call it that, and stills, letting Sam touch him. It's maddening, Sam's hands on his skin and Sam's cock pressed up against him, rubbing against him just a little, and he wants, oh, he wants.
"Good boy," Sam whispers, and Dean starts to shake. Sam holds him still, grips him so tight, and slowly pulls on the cord. Dean drags in one last proper breath, eyes fluttering shut, and lets himself lean all his weight against Sam. "Open your eyes," Sam says, commands, and Dean does, looks at them in the mirror, looks at the thick cord around his neck and Sam's hands and Sam's face and his own, his mouth open in a gasp of pleasure, of pain.
"Sammy," he mouths, bucking a little, and Sam smiles the kind of smile you should never see on your little brother's face. He touches Dean properly now, jerks him off hard and fast, and Dean can do nothing but give in. Little noises escape him, a waste of air, but the pleasure finally reaches him now, cuts into him and forces him to respond. He's a mess of pre-come now, and Sam's whispering something low and savage and wanting, and he's so close and it's nearly enough --
"Come for me, Dean," Sam says, almost growls, and Dean is helpless.