In the Cold Light of Morning (Sam/Dean, R)
Title: In the Cold Light of Morning
Author: gentlezombie
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 975
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Alas, no Winchesters belong to me.
Feedback: Loved and appreciated.
Author's note: This little bit of fic was written as a Christmas gift for a friend. That's my excuse for the schmoop. Title stolen from a Placebo song.
In the Cold Light of Morning
Dean was leaning against his car, hands stretched out behind him on the hood, and his eyes closed against the first few pathetic strands of morning light that tried to penetrate the gray mass of clouds hanging above. He was so freaking tired he didn’t even bother to close his jacket, despite the chilly air, because that would have involved moving, and right now, his vocabulary didn’t include that word. It didn’t include much beyond “coffee” and “bed”, in that order, fuck the alphabet.
Proper ghosts would have turned up at 12 p.m. sharp, done a lil’ haunting and let them actually get some sleep after putting them to rest. But no, ass-o’clock in the morning was apparently the party-time for ghosts, and it left Sam and Dean stuck at diners that didn’t sell coffee for another half an hour yet. If Sam didn’t turn up soon with his caffeine fix, Dean was going to leave him there to keep company to the coffee, and if Dean crashed his car on his way back to the motel, he’d know who to blame.
Snow was falling silently, not yet quite covering the grey concrete of the parking lot. Dean blinked owlishly when a snowflake landed on his nose and another was caught on his eyelashes. He heard a chuckle and turned his head to see Sam standing there, a huge, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. There were dark shadows under Sam’s eyes as well, but his smile was still infectious, and Dean felt the corners of his mouth quirk up of their own accord.
“You look ridiculous trying to look at your own nose”, Sam said, when Dean made a grab for the coffee.
Dean ignored him in favor of feeding his addiction. The first half-mug was inhaled before it even registered that it was scathing hot. He let out a sigh as the dark liquid settled in his stomach and slowly warmed his insides.
“No coffee?” Dean asked. He was starting to feel really articulate.
Sam shrugged and tried feebly to fit his bare hands into his pockets. “Can’t get to sleep if I drink coffee.”
“Freak.”
“You’re the freak, you sleep anytime, anywhere.”
“You forgot “anyone” from the list”, Dean said and winked at him, grinning at his own lame joke. The wink was supposed to be devious, but with his eyes still glued half-shut, it was more like a grimace.
“You’re right, I did.” Sam’s voice was surprisingly serious. “And you know why?”
Dean was suddenly aware that Sam was standing very close to him, and the coffee made room for a fluttering feeling of anticipation. “Enlighten me, why’s that?”
With a quick move, Sam settled himself between Dean and the car, placing Dean’s hands back on the hood on either side of him. Dean turned to stare at him - Sam wasn’t usually keen on public displays of whatever this thing between them was. He forgot his snarky comments as Sam’s hands found their way under his jacket and traced the outlines of his chest and stomach through the shirt.
“Because I’m the only one you sleep with.” Sam’s voice was a deep growl in his ear, and there were fingers feeling his cock through his jeans and working on the zipper, and he wasn’t going to complain that they were probably going to get arrested for indecency, no way with Sam sounding like that.
“I don’t care who you fuck, but I’m the one you come back to, and I think you know it too.” Dean pushed back against Sam to feel the heat of his brother’s body through the layers of clothing, then forward towards his hand, fingers slipping on the hood.
He knew. Sam was the one he’d always come back for, the one he couldn’t get out of his mind, the one whose touch lingered on him, ghost-fingers on shivering skin. So familiar, so much a part of him. He could have reminded Sam that Dean hadn’t been the one doing the leaving here. Maybe it was a part of this all, this thing where sleeping was literal and Dean was the one getting left behind.
“Yeah. I know.” His voice was a strange rasp, the coffee hadn’t helped. The beginnings of a flu. But apparently Sam heard him right, because soon there were fingers on bare flesh, and fuck, Sam’s hands were icy. Dean hissed as he thrust into Sam’s hand, the shock of cold transforming into an intense sensation. Sam’s breath tickled his ear and he felt Sam’s lips on his jaw, dry kisses and a hint of teeth. The ache burning low in his belly had nothing to do with coffee anymore.
It didn’t take long. A bite into the soft flesh under his chin, a practiced twist of hand, and he threw his head back against Sam’s shoulder and came with a choked sound. It could have been a name, but that was something he’d deny vehemently later, and Sam would pretend to believe him. It didn’t matter, because they both knew anyway.
Dean slumped back against Sam and only grunted as Sam cleaned his hand on the inside of his jeans before zipping him up again. “Good morning to you, too”.
Sam flashed him a grin, brighter than it had any right to be in the bleak morning, and Dean decided that it was worth a few frostbites.
On Christmas Eve, Sam found his gift wrapped in red paper in the glove compartment. He eyed the package quizzically - when had they ever remembered family holidays? -, but when he opened it, saw what it was, and looked up to see the lecherous quirk of Dean’s eyebrows, he burst out laughing.
The new, brown leather gloves were warm and soft and big enough to fit his hands.
Author: gentlezombie
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 975
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Alas, no Winchesters belong to me.
Feedback: Loved and appreciated.
Author's note: This little bit of fic was written as a Christmas gift for a friend. That's my excuse for the schmoop. Title stolen from a Placebo song.
In the Cold Light of Morning
Dean was leaning against his car, hands stretched out behind him on the hood, and his eyes closed against the first few pathetic strands of morning light that tried to penetrate the gray mass of clouds hanging above. He was so freaking tired he didn’t even bother to close his jacket, despite the chilly air, because that would have involved moving, and right now, his vocabulary didn’t include that word. It didn’t include much beyond “coffee” and “bed”, in that order, fuck the alphabet.
Proper ghosts would have turned up at 12 p.m. sharp, done a lil’ haunting and let them actually get some sleep after putting them to rest. But no, ass-o’clock in the morning was apparently the party-time for ghosts, and it left Sam and Dean stuck at diners that didn’t sell coffee for another half an hour yet. If Sam didn’t turn up soon with his caffeine fix, Dean was going to leave him there to keep company to the coffee, and if Dean crashed his car on his way back to the motel, he’d know who to blame.
Snow was falling silently, not yet quite covering the grey concrete of the parking lot. Dean blinked owlishly when a snowflake landed on his nose and another was caught on his eyelashes. He heard a chuckle and turned his head to see Sam standing there, a huge, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. There were dark shadows under Sam’s eyes as well, but his smile was still infectious, and Dean felt the corners of his mouth quirk up of their own accord.
“You look ridiculous trying to look at your own nose”, Sam said, when Dean made a grab for the coffee.
Dean ignored him in favor of feeding his addiction. The first half-mug was inhaled before it even registered that it was scathing hot. He let out a sigh as the dark liquid settled in his stomach and slowly warmed his insides.
“No coffee?” Dean asked. He was starting to feel really articulate.
Sam shrugged and tried feebly to fit his bare hands into his pockets. “Can’t get to sleep if I drink coffee.”
“Freak.”
“You’re the freak, you sleep anytime, anywhere.”
“You forgot “anyone” from the list”, Dean said and winked at him, grinning at his own lame joke. The wink was supposed to be devious, but with his eyes still glued half-shut, it was more like a grimace.
“You’re right, I did.” Sam’s voice was surprisingly serious. “And you know why?”
Dean was suddenly aware that Sam was standing very close to him, and the coffee made room for a fluttering feeling of anticipation. “Enlighten me, why’s that?”
With a quick move, Sam settled himself between Dean and the car, placing Dean’s hands back on the hood on either side of him. Dean turned to stare at him - Sam wasn’t usually keen on public displays of whatever this thing between them was. He forgot his snarky comments as Sam’s hands found their way under his jacket and traced the outlines of his chest and stomach through the shirt.
“Because I’m the only one you sleep with.” Sam’s voice was a deep growl in his ear, and there were fingers feeling his cock through his jeans and working on the zipper, and he wasn’t going to complain that they were probably going to get arrested for indecency, no way with Sam sounding like that.
“I don’t care who you fuck, but I’m the one you come back to, and I think you know it too.” Dean pushed back against Sam to feel the heat of his brother’s body through the layers of clothing, then forward towards his hand, fingers slipping on the hood.
He knew. Sam was the one he’d always come back for, the one he couldn’t get out of his mind, the one whose touch lingered on him, ghost-fingers on shivering skin. So familiar, so much a part of him. He could have reminded Sam that Dean hadn’t been the one doing the leaving here. Maybe it was a part of this all, this thing where sleeping was literal and Dean was the one getting left behind.
“Yeah. I know.” His voice was a strange rasp, the coffee hadn’t helped. The beginnings of a flu. But apparently Sam heard him right, because soon there were fingers on bare flesh, and fuck, Sam’s hands were icy. Dean hissed as he thrust into Sam’s hand, the shock of cold transforming into an intense sensation. Sam’s breath tickled his ear and he felt Sam’s lips on his jaw, dry kisses and a hint of teeth. The ache burning low in his belly had nothing to do with coffee anymore.
It didn’t take long. A bite into the soft flesh under his chin, a practiced twist of hand, and he threw his head back against Sam’s shoulder and came with a choked sound. It could have been a name, but that was something he’d deny vehemently later, and Sam would pretend to believe him. It didn’t matter, because they both knew anyway.
Dean slumped back against Sam and only grunted as Sam cleaned his hand on the inside of his jeans before zipping him up again. “Good morning to you, too”.
Sam flashed him a grin, brighter than it had any right to be in the bleak morning, and Dean decided that it was worth a few frostbites.
On Christmas Eve, Sam found his gift wrapped in red paper in the glove compartment. He eyed the package quizzically - when had they ever remembered family holidays? -, but when he opened it, saw what it was, and looked up to see the lecherous quirk of Dean’s eyebrows, he burst out laughing.
The new, brown leather gloves were warm and soft and big enough to fit his hands.