SPN drabbles
Two short semi-kinky fics written a while back, for blindfold_spn .
PG-13 and NC-17, respectively. Unbetaed and wildly PWP.
Sam kind of knew it was coming, so she isn't surprised when she comes back to her room after classes to find her door open, the lock picked.
Dean is on a bar stool by the kitchen counter, eating Sam's cheerios. Milk is dribbling down her chin before she wipes it away carelessly with the back of her hand.
"Hey."
Dean only reacts by looking up and grunting, as if this isn't the first time they see each other in close to a year.
Sam goes to the couch and throws her bag down. Takes her sweater off, too.
Dean is wearing an undershirt (their dad's probably) and nothing underneath. Her tits are small so she doesn't really need the brah for support, but her big aereolas are visible beneath the thin fabric.
Sam walks over to stand opposite her, to really look at her. Dean's fingers are dirty around the spoon. Her arms are mottled with scrapes and bruises. Sam can see the arteries above her collarbone pounding underneath freckled skin, even if Dean is feigning indifference.
"How's Dad?"
Dean pushes the empty bowl away and finally looks at her. Her hair is slightly greasy, and growing too long, falling into her eyes.
"What do you care?" she says, looking both offended and pleading.
Sam sighs. This is how it goes. Everytime Dean comes to visit. They can't do without each other, but they can't talk, either.
Dean rubs her hand over her face, "Fuck, I'm sorry-"
But Sam reaches across the table and draws her in for a kiss before she can finish the sentence. The angle is awkard but she doesn't let Dean go for a long time - kisses her sister open-mouthed and hungry.
When she finally pulls away she pulls her t-shirt over her head in the same motion, unlatches her brah and lets it fall away. She rubs an absent hand over her breasts, trying to relieve some tension. She resists the urge to undo her pants, to touch herself right here, in the living room, in front of her sister watching her with unashamed wanting.
Dean's breath is loud in the quiet. Sam tries to stay still. She never feels more naked than when her sister is watching her like this.
"Come on." Dean says, after a while, and jumps off the bar stool, "Let's go to your bedroom."
...
The third time it happens, Dean is prepared.
The door is locked and the window is boarded up. Dean is naked - he's not letting Sam ruin another of his favorite shirts.
He listens to the groaning and panting from the bathroom, and then it stops and he hears the click of the lock, sees the doorknob turning slowly.
His body is pumping with adrenaline, and he can't help feeling a sick thrill of excitement.
He barely gets a glimpse of Sam - eyes yellow, sharp teeth bared - before he's pushed hard, landing ass first on the floor, wincing with pain as Sam crawls on top of him and roughly spreads him out.
"Fuck, Sammy."
He says it without meaning to, and instantly Sam's sharp teeth are closing over his throat, pressing against his windpipe. Dean can hear his own labored breathing, can feel his pulse thudding frantically against the pin-prick of Sam's sharp incisors.
Fuck, he already knew he wasn't allowed to speak, he learned that the last time. He swallows convulsively against the obstruction and wills himself to tip his head back, baring his throat.
Sam grunts and adds a little more pressure - his teeth almost breaking skin - a final warning before he lets go.
Then Sam's claws are scratching long lines on his skin, leaving five red points where he grips Dean to hard, teeth gnawing lightly at his fingers, his jaw, the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. He's supernaturally strong and he manhandles Dean easily, forcing him unto all fours, then pressing him down against the floor, flipping him over like it's nothing.
Sam slides his tongue between Dean's cheeks, bites his nipples, buries his nose in his armpit and bites the tender skin there. He licks long stripes up his cock, turns Dean over and thrusts against him, his cock rock hard against Dean's ass. But none of it long enough to offer any relief.
It was like this the last two times as well, Sam pushing him around, biting and licking him with no real intent, apparently just for his own pleasure.
Dean is already achingly hard but he knows he's probably not going to come, knows that Sam won't let him get himself off. Dean can't imagine ever getting used to it, even if it's the third time, now.
PG-13 and NC-17, respectively. Unbetaed and wildly PWP.
Sam kind of knew it was coming, so she isn't surprised when she comes back to her room after classes to find her door open, the lock picked.
Dean is on a bar stool by the kitchen counter, eating Sam's cheerios. Milk is dribbling down her chin before she wipes it away carelessly with the back of her hand.
"Hey."
Dean only reacts by looking up and grunting, as if this isn't the first time they see each other in close to a year.
Sam goes to the couch and throws her bag down. Takes her sweater off, too.
Dean is wearing an undershirt (their dad's probably) and nothing underneath. Her tits are small so she doesn't really need the brah for support, but her big aereolas are visible beneath the thin fabric.
Sam walks over to stand opposite her, to really look at her. Dean's fingers are dirty around the spoon. Her arms are mottled with scrapes and bruises. Sam can see the arteries above her collarbone pounding underneath freckled skin, even if Dean is feigning indifference.
"How's Dad?"
Dean pushes the empty bowl away and finally looks at her. Her hair is slightly greasy, and growing too long, falling into her eyes.
"What do you care?" she says, looking both offended and pleading.
Sam sighs. This is how it goes. Everytime Dean comes to visit. They can't do without each other, but they can't talk, either.
Dean rubs her hand over her face, "Fuck, I'm sorry-"
But Sam reaches across the table and draws her in for a kiss before she can finish the sentence. The angle is awkard but she doesn't let Dean go for a long time - kisses her sister open-mouthed and hungry.
When she finally pulls away she pulls her t-shirt over her head in the same motion, unlatches her brah and lets it fall away. She rubs an absent hand over her breasts, trying to relieve some tension. She resists the urge to undo her pants, to touch herself right here, in the living room, in front of her sister watching her with unashamed wanting.
Dean's breath is loud in the quiet. Sam tries to stay still. She never feels more naked than when her sister is watching her like this.
"Come on." Dean says, after a while, and jumps off the bar stool, "Let's go to your bedroom."
...
The third time it happens, Dean is prepared.
The door is locked and the window is boarded up. Dean is naked - he's not letting Sam ruin another of his favorite shirts.
He listens to the groaning and panting from the bathroom, and then it stops and he hears the click of the lock, sees the doorknob turning slowly.
His body is pumping with adrenaline, and he can't help feeling a sick thrill of excitement.
He barely gets a glimpse of Sam - eyes yellow, sharp teeth bared - before he's pushed hard, landing ass first on the floor, wincing with pain as Sam crawls on top of him and roughly spreads him out.
"Fuck, Sammy."
He says it without meaning to, and instantly Sam's sharp teeth are closing over his throat, pressing against his windpipe. Dean can hear his own labored breathing, can feel his pulse thudding frantically against the pin-prick of Sam's sharp incisors.
Fuck, he already knew he wasn't allowed to speak, he learned that the last time. He swallows convulsively against the obstruction and wills himself to tip his head back, baring his throat.
Sam grunts and adds a little more pressure - his teeth almost breaking skin - a final warning before he lets go.
Then Sam's claws are scratching long lines on his skin, leaving five red points where he grips Dean to hard, teeth gnawing lightly at his fingers, his jaw, the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. He's supernaturally strong and he manhandles Dean easily, forcing him unto all fours, then pressing him down against the floor, flipping him over like it's nothing.
Sam slides his tongue between Dean's cheeks, bites his nipples, buries his nose in his armpit and bites the tender skin there. He licks long stripes up his cock, turns Dean over and thrusts against him, his cock rock hard against Dean's ass. But none of it long enough to offer any relief.
It was like this the last two times as well, Sam pushing him around, biting and licking him with no real intent, apparently just for his own pleasure.
Dean is already achingly hard but he knows he's probably not going to come, knows that Sam won't let him get himself off. Dean can't imagine ever getting used to it, even if it's the third time, now.