SPN: Unspeakable
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: alwaysbeenagirl!Sam, Dean
Referenced characters: John
Pairings: girl!Sam/Dean
Contains: AU, genderswitch, sex
Rating: R
Summary: He has to treasure this. For the Porn Battle!
Her skin is warm, warmer where the sun touches it. Dean can't help but touch, can't help but follow his fingers with his mouth. She tastes of soap and coffee and grass and Sam, and Dean wants to tell her he'd do anything for her, he wants to say he loves her, but she already knows and there's all this skin to touch, to kiss, to lick, instead of all the talk-talk-talking they do lately. Dad's not far away, but not too near, either, and they can take this time for them.
He wants to tell her to stay. He's told her before, though, breaking past his own hesitancy to speak. She just shook her head, gave him the look he can never say no to, and shushed him. So he shushed.
She can't stop him telling her like this, though, with his hands and his mouth, with his body. She's always been able to understand what he isn't saying, and he guesses she must know now. He tugs her hair free from the ponytail, lets her hair spill free, and pushes her down to lie in the grass, and every movement and every gesture and every breath says stay.
"Dean," she whispers, and he stills her mouth with a kiss before she can say anything else. He kisses her all over, pushing her clothes up to bare skin -- pushes her skirt up and her legs a little apart and settles there, kissing her belly and her hip and the insides of her legs until she makes a soft pleading noise. Then he tugs her underwear down and licks her, tasting her, committing to memory in case this last plea goes unacknowledged by her.
He knows her so well, knows exactly what to do -- though it's a revelation every time, the way she moans and the way her fingers try to grip in his too-short hair, the way her hands cup his head and the way she holds on, the way she arches... He groans and licks into her, licks her clit, treasures up every sound and every movement she makes.
"Dean," she whispers again, but he doesn't hush her now because he wants to hear, wants to lock it safe inside his head and keep it there, always.
When she comes, if it sounds like a sob, neither of them comment on it after.
Main characters: alwaysbeenagirl!Sam, Dean
Referenced characters: John
Pairings: girl!Sam/Dean
Contains: AU, genderswitch, sex
Rating: R
Summary: He has to treasure this. For the Porn Battle!
Her skin is warm, warmer where the sun touches it. Dean can't help but touch, can't help but follow his fingers with his mouth. She tastes of soap and coffee and grass and Sam, and Dean wants to tell her he'd do anything for her, he wants to say he loves her, but she already knows and there's all this skin to touch, to kiss, to lick, instead of all the talk-talk-talking they do lately. Dad's not far away, but not too near, either, and they can take this time for them.
He wants to tell her to stay. He's told her before, though, breaking past his own hesitancy to speak. She just shook her head, gave him the look he can never say no to, and shushed him. So he shushed.
She can't stop him telling her like this, though, with his hands and his mouth, with his body. She's always been able to understand what he isn't saying, and he guesses she must know now. He tugs her hair free from the ponytail, lets her hair spill free, and pushes her down to lie in the grass, and every movement and every gesture and every breath says stay.
"Dean," she whispers, and he stills her mouth with a kiss before she can say anything else. He kisses her all over, pushing her clothes up to bare skin -- pushes her skirt up and her legs a little apart and settles there, kissing her belly and her hip and the insides of her legs until she makes a soft pleading noise. Then he tugs her underwear down and licks her, tasting her, committing to memory in case this last plea goes unacknowledged by her.
He knows her so well, knows exactly what to do -- though it's a revelation every time, the way she moans and the way her fingers try to grip in his too-short hair, the way her hands cup his head and the way she holds on, the way she arches... He groans and licks into her, licks her clit, treasures up every sound and every movement she makes.
"Dean," she whispers again, but he doesn't hush her now because he wants to hear, wants to lock it safe inside his head and keep it there, always.
When she comes, if it sounds like a sob, neither of them comment on it after.