SPN Fic: I Like to Know You're There
So, I wrote more in my WiP and then I wrote porn. Well, pornishness, anyway? As you do.
Title: I Like to Know You're There
Genre: Wincest (Sam/Dean)
Spoilers: Takes place post The End
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 1300
Summary: There was a time, Dean remembers, when he would have given a limb to keep Sam at his side. He's not exactly sure when that changed.
Author's Notes: I can't decide whether or not this is a sequel to this story. Maybe? I'll leave it up to you.
I Like to Know You're There
There was a time, Dean remembers, when he would have given a limb to keep Sam at his side. He's not exactly sure when that changed. Maybe halfway through his stint in Hell. Maybe after. The when isn't as important as the simple fact that, when Sam walks away, Dean doesn't have to fight himself to let it happen.
And when Sam wants to come back, much as it hurts, Dean can't bring himself to say anything but no. That, too, is significant. Not on the personal level Dean assumed it would be. More in a this is possibly the turning point of the Apocalypse sort of way.
Hell, the past, the present, the future. It always comes back to Sam in a way that makes Dean think that the universe is trying to pull one over on him. Sam and Dean Winchester: Creation's most elaborate practical joke.
If Dean's fixation with Sam is a tad unhealthy, well, at least it's not without justification.
Thing is, with Sam back, it's weird. Weird in a way that has to do with Sam's guilt, Dean's anger and the fact that Sam just takes it. Dean doesn't know if Sam wants Dean to forgive him or punish him, trust him or keep him in line and Dean's not sure he can actually do any of the above. What he wants to do is fight. Throw a few punches, maybe bloody Sam's lip. Anything to break the goddamn tension.
What he ends up doing is throwing Sam against the wall and shoving his tongue down his throat, which is nearly as violent and at least twice as fucked up. They don't do this. They do stuff sometimes, maybe, but not this.
They don't kiss like it's something they both want.
"Sam." Dean pulls back only far enough for air. His lips brush against Sam's when he says his name.
"Yes." Sam says it like Dean asked a question and he hears his own voice echo, Sam said yes.
That word hits Dean in ways that it shouldn't. It isn't victory, triumph, relief or fear that runs through him, but something undeniably carnal and raw. Dean wraps his hands around the back of Sam's neck, presses his thumbs under the curve of Sam's jaw until he can feel his pulse.
"Only me, Sam. You only say yes to me."
He can tell the moment Sam gets what he's talking about because Sam manages to look surprised and irritated at the same time.
"Jesus, Dean."
"I mean it." Dean tilts Sam's head down more, irrationally annoyed that Sam is taller than him for this. Like he hasn't been taller than Dean for years now.
"Yeah," Sam says finally and Dean wonders what the pause was for. "Only you." He squeezes Dean's hips hard and adds, "As long as you are with me."
They kiss on it like one of them is a demon and it's really up for grabs as to who that would be at this point. Messy and wet and Sam's lip does end up bloody when Dean bites down hard and that-
That apparently works for Sam, which shouldn't really surprise him.
Dean uses one hand to tug Sam's jeans open, the other threading through his hair to hold Sam where he wants him, angling his head for better access to Sam's mouth. He gets Sam's fly undone and slips his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Sam is already hard, his cock hot and smooth in Dean's grip and this, at least, is familiar. He knows the right rhythm and pressure to use, the quickest way to get Sam off. It's knowledge he's had for years.
What's new is the way he swallows the sounds Sam makes, feels every gasp and groan against his lips and it's so far past wrong it might actually come back around to right when Sam moves one of his hands from Dean's hip to palm him through his jeans. With the way Sam is licking into his mouth, filthy and lewd, the simple pressure of his palm is enough and Dean is barely able to finish Sam off before his own orgasm hits him.
The kissing doesn't stop after they come, though the desperate edge is gone, which might be more worrisome than anything else that's happened so far. Dean pulls his hand from Sam's pants and half wipes it on Sam's shirt, clutching at his waist. And they stay like that for a while, making out deep and lazy and slow until the sticky discomfort of Dean's pants starts to penetrate the haze of his mind.
"Jesus," Dean says when he's moved his head back far enough that he's breathing fresh air. He keeps his eyes closed. "What the fuck are we doing?" The question is more rhetorical than anything else and far too late. He knows what they were just doing. He even has a vague grasp on why, which doesn't do a whole lot to ease his mind.
"I'm not sure that even makes the top ten list of the more fucked-up things we've done," Sam says. His voice is low and rough in a way that Dean wishes he didn't notice.
Dean knows he's going to notice from here on out.
"Sam." Dean finally opens his eyes and Sam is looking down and away. No, not away. He's looking at where Dean's hand rests at his waist. His eyelashes look absurdly dark and long from this angle.
"Is this really- Is this really any worse than where we've been?" Sam looks up and now it's Dean who has to look away.
"Depends," he says finally. "That wasn't, like, some sort of penance or whatever, right?"
Sam starts laughing and the fact that it has a definite hysterical edge to it doesn't make Dean feel like any less of an idiot.
"Yeah," Sam manages. "Yeah, filthy sex with my brother is a totally appropriate punishment for destroying the world. Kudos, Dean. You would've made a great parent."
"Christ, Sam." Dean turns away, unsure of who he's more disgusted with. Sam catches his arm and Dean stops, but doesn't turn back around.
"Were you trying to punish me? Was that it? What was that to you?"
"I don't know." Dean moves to run his free hand through his hair, looks at it and thinks better of it. He finally faces Sam again and Sam lets go of his arm. "We need to find a way to make this work. For us to work together. I can't. I don't know what that was."
Sam nods like that made sense, all traces of humor gone from his expression. "So maybe it is what it is. Maybe at this point we just have to go for broke."
"You know that's fucked up, right?"
"And?" Sam raises his eyebrows. "We're pretty fucked up, Dean. Welcome to our lives. It's not like denying this, this thing between us is going to get us anywhere better."
Dean considers that, but doesn't come up with any sort of acceptable answer. "This doesn't make things okay. We aren't okay yet."
"I know."
"Yeah, so." Dean sighs and starts off towards the bathroom. "Dibs on the shower." He's officially too tired to think about it anymore.
"Okay."
It's stupid, as stupid as anything else that's happened so far, but it makes Dean sad that Sam doesn't even try to argue his way into the first shower. Which is why Dean stops and walks back, pulls Sam down into one last kiss and whispers, "We're in this together, Sammy. From here on out. I promise."
That's what he tells himself, anyway.
Title: I Like to Know You're There
Genre: Wincest (Sam/Dean)
Spoilers: Takes place post The End
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 1300
Summary: There was a time, Dean remembers, when he would have given a limb to keep Sam at his side. He's not exactly sure when that changed.
Author's Notes: I can't decide whether or not this is a sequel to this story. Maybe? I'll leave it up to you.
I Like to Know You're There
There was a time, Dean remembers, when he would have given a limb to keep Sam at his side. He's not exactly sure when that changed. Maybe halfway through his stint in Hell. Maybe after. The when isn't as important as the simple fact that, when Sam walks away, Dean doesn't have to fight himself to let it happen.
And when Sam wants to come back, much as it hurts, Dean can't bring himself to say anything but no. That, too, is significant. Not on the personal level Dean assumed it would be. More in a this is possibly the turning point of the Apocalypse sort of way.
Hell, the past, the present, the future. It always comes back to Sam in a way that makes Dean think that the universe is trying to pull one over on him. Sam and Dean Winchester: Creation's most elaborate practical joke.
If Dean's fixation with Sam is a tad unhealthy, well, at least it's not without justification.
Thing is, with Sam back, it's weird. Weird in a way that has to do with Sam's guilt, Dean's anger and the fact that Sam just takes it. Dean doesn't know if Sam wants Dean to forgive him or punish him, trust him or keep him in line and Dean's not sure he can actually do any of the above. What he wants to do is fight. Throw a few punches, maybe bloody Sam's lip. Anything to break the goddamn tension.
What he ends up doing is throwing Sam against the wall and shoving his tongue down his throat, which is nearly as violent and at least twice as fucked up. They don't do this. They do stuff sometimes, maybe, but not this.
They don't kiss like it's something they both want.
"Sam." Dean pulls back only far enough for air. His lips brush against Sam's when he says his name.
"Yes." Sam says it like Dean asked a question and he hears his own voice echo, Sam said yes.
That word hits Dean in ways that it shouldn't. It isn't victory, triumph, relief or fear that runs through him, but something undeniably carnal and raw. Dean wraps his hands around the back of Sam's neck, presses his thumbs under the curve of Sam's jaw until he can feel his pulse.
"Only me, Sam. You only say yes to me."
He can tell the moment Sam gets what he's talking about because Sam manages to look surprised and irritated at the same time.
"Jesus, Dean."
"I mean it." Dean tilts Sam's head down more, irrationally annoyed that Sam is taller than him for this. Like he hasn't been taller than Dean for years now.
"Yeah," Sam says finally and Dean wonders what the pause was for. "Only you." He squeezes Dean's hips hard and adds, "As long as you are with me."
They kiss on it like one of them is a demon and it's really up for grabs as to who that would be at this point. Messy and wet and Sam's lip does end up bloody when Dean bites down hard and that-
That apparently works for Sam, which shouldn't really surprise him.
Dean uses one hand to tug Sam's jeans open, the other threading through his hair to hold Sam where he wants him, angling his head for better access to Sam's mouth. He gets Sam's fly undone and slips his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Sam is already hard, his cock hot and smooth in Dean's grip and this, at least, is familiar. He knows the right rhythm and pressure to use, the quickest way to get Sam off. It's knowledge he's had for years.
What's new is the way he swallows the sounds Sam makes, feels every gasp and groan against his lips and it's so far past wrong it might actually come back around to right when Sam moves one of his hands from Dean's hip to palm him through his jeans. With the way Sam is licking into his mouth, filthy and lewd, the simple pressure of his palm is enough and Dean is barely able to finish Sam off before his own orgasm hits him.
The kissing doesn't stop after they come, though the desperate edge is gone, which might be more worrisome than anything else that's happened so far. Dean pulls his hand from Sam's pants and half wipes it on Sam's shirt, clutching at his waist. And they stay like that for a while, making out deep and lazy and slow until the sticky discomfort of Dean's pants starts to penetrate the haze of his mind.
"Jesus," Dean says when he's moved his head back far enough that he's breathing fresh air. He keeps his eyes closed. "What the fuck are we doing?" The question is more rhetorical than anything else and far too late. He knows what they were just doing. He even has a vague grasp on why, which doesn't do a whole lot to ease his mind.
"I'm not sure that even makes the top ten list of the more fucked-up things we've done," Sam says. His voice is low and rough in a way that Dean wishes he didn't notice.
Dean knows he's going to notice from here on out.
"Sam." Dean finally opens his eyes and Sam is looking down and away. No, not away. He's looking at where Dean's hand rests at his waist. His eyelashes look absurdly dark and long from this angle.
"Is this really- Is this really any worse than where we've been?" Sam looks up and now it's Dean who has to look away.
"Depends," he says finally. "That wasn't, like, some sort of penance or whatever, right?"
Sam starts laughing and the fact that it has a definite hysterical edge to it doesn't make Dean feel like any less of an idiot.
"Yeah," Sam manages. "Yeah, filthy sex with my brother is a totally appropriate punishment for destroying the world. Kudos, Dean. You would've made a great parent."
"Christ, Sam." Dean turns away, unsure of who he's more disgusted with. Sam catches his arm and Dean stops, but doesn't turn back around.
"Were you trying to punish me? Was that it? What was that to you?"
"I don't know." Dean moves to run his free hand through his hair, looks at it and thinks better of it. He finally faces Sam again and Sam lets go of his arm. "We need to find a way to make this work. For us to work together. I can't. I don't know what that was."
Sam nods like that made sense, all traces of humor gone from his expression. "So maybe it is what it is. Maybe at this point we just have to go for broke."
"You know that's fucked up, right?"
"And?" Sam raises his eyebrows. "We're pretty fucked up, Dean. Welcome to our lives. It's not like denying this, this thing between us is going to get us anywhere better."
Dean considers that, but doesn't come up with any sort of acceptable answer. "This doesn't make things okay. We aren't okay yet."
"I know."
"Yeah, so." Dean sighs and starts off towards the bathroom. "Dibs on the shower." He's officially too tired to think about it anymore.
"Okay."
It's stupid, as stupid as anything else that's happened so far, but it makes Dean sad that Sam doesn't even try to argue his way into the first shower. Which is why Dean stops and walks back, pulls Sam down into one last kiss and whispers, "We're in this together, Sammy. From here on out. I promise."
That's what he tells himself, anyway.