Fic: Paranormal Phenomena, Sam/Dean, NC-17
Paranormal Phenomena
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 2000 words.
Set in current canon, so (mild) spoilers through the beginning of S8. Mostly, though, this is just smut.
Written for salt_burn_porn and temporalranger's prompt of you're something like a phenomena. Um, yes, my brain ran somewhere weird with that.
Sam’s dreaming of a living room. The crazy-counterpaned windows and the long golden stripes of afternoon light they cast across the room are from the house he shared for a while with Amelia, and her cherrywood dining table is there, set with a lunch he doesn’t feel hungry for just yet. But the curve of the floor down into the den where Sam’s sitting belongs to somewhere else, one of those countless shabby rentals that he grew up in. So does the quilted blue couch he’s sitting on, patched and vaguely familiar, and Dean who’s sitting with his dirty boots propped on the coffee table. This is the Dean who raised him half-singlehandedly, who schlepped pizza boxes after school and worked double-time on their father’s cases on weekends so Sam could go on field trips and dream of bigger things. Dean’s just said something blisteringly funny and probably a little rude, and they’re laughing like idiots, goofing around on the couch like Sam’s a kid again.
Dean's pulled a sheet over his head and he raises his arms, advancing on Sam. “I’m a freaking ghost, Sammy,”
and Sam remembers this now, nineteen-year-old Dean horsing around with the sheet from their shared bed thrown over his shoulders for a cheap Halloween costume. Sam’s older brother grinned so bright, while Sam laughed and laughed until Dean came to wrestle him down onto the bed. The memory feels like it belongs to another world. When Dean tugs the sheet to one side to wink at him he’s Sam’s new-old brother, face creased from a year in purgatory in ways Sam hasn’t yet gotten used to, who’s still wearing a much younger man’s grin.
“Sammy,” Dean hums at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” says Sam, memories fading away into the dream. “You’re absurd. Developmentally arrested.” His brother flickers, insubstantial in the sunlight for a moment. Sam’s not sure if that’s normal, but Dean seems unfazed.
“Yeah, but you’re hot for my bod,” says Dean, all casual confidence that makes Sam want to bite at his full mouth.
“Keep dreaming. I’m into adults who don’t have the mentality of a ten-year-old.” Well, it’s not like he’s going to just let Dean know. His brother’s head’s big enough as it is.
Dean shifts the sheet around his shoulders so Sam can see a long stripe of his bare chest and flexes dramatically. “I’m all man where it counts, baby,” Dean says, and it’s true, Sam’s still so attracted to the heavy muscles that make up Dean’s body even if they’re more padded then at nineteen, but Sam can’t help but feel a pang in his chest. This is the problem, he wants to say, not to this Dean but the one in the real world.
Dean crooks his head to one side, his silhouette flickering thoughtfully. He snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face. “C’mon, Sammy, it’s like I’m not even here. Where’s your head, dude?”
Fuck Dean, seriously. Going off for a year and coming back all blazing with gladiatorial spirit and empty like a sieve. Sam’s sore of forever cutting himself on the broken pieces. With the sheet draped casually around Dean’s shoulders like a toga, Sam can imagine it: his brother, the arrogant Roman. But the bend of Dean’s strong, bare arm as he props his chin on his fist nonetheless makes something warm and interested curl in Sam’s stomach.
“Thinking about you,” Sam tells him, truthfully.
“Whatever, thinking’s for squares, Sammy.” Dean flaps a corner of his sheet and it’s pale and jittery like a real spook. He wiggles his fingers at Sam. “Woo, I’m a ghost,” Dean says. “Let’s have sex.”
“All right,” says Sam, who doesn’t really see the point of fighting Dean on something he’s going to get anyway. Just because this is Dean’s idea doesn’t mean Sam can’t roll with it.
“Fuck yes,” Dean says, and pounces, pushing Sam back onto the couch which is now a bed, purple-pinstriped pillows tumbling off the mattress from the force of Sam’s body falling back. Dean clambers on top of him, straddling his lap with a rakish grin. Sam can feel where Dean’s already kind of firm and chubby against his thigh and that and the power of Dean’s shove, the heavy weight of Dean on his body, dumps arousal in a hot rush into his veins, making him shiver. Sam shouts and bucks, not inclined to be brought down that easy, rolls Dean off to the side before Dean can pin him and throws his body over Dean’s, making Dean grunt. Sam starts licking Dean’s ear and stubbled jaw and trying to kick his boots off with the spare sliver of his concentration.
Dean wriggles under Sam and croaks “You’re fucking heavy,”, starts shoving at Sam while Sam tries to be as heavy as possible and sloppily grinds their hips together, sharp jeans and belt buckles pushing roughly into flesh and the drag of fabric and Dean’s warm hardening dick against his, so fucking good. Dean fucks his hips up against Sam’s, legs tangling, but fights dirty, gets his arms up under Sam’s shirt and starts tickling the hot skin there. Sam yelps, unprepared, and jackknifes away, giving Dean a chance to escape, and it’s on, they’re tussling on the bed like horny teenagers, and Sam kind of loves this. Chest against chest, grinding his fattening dick into the warm heavy weight of Dean’s thigh, bulge in Dean’s jeans pressing into Sam’s stomach, shucking each other’s clothes, panting into each other’s faces, scrabbling for momentary dominance.
Dean gets Sam trapped against the headboard, Sam’s body twisted hard against the mattress with his arms trying to brace his head, completely fucking tangled in Dean’s trailing ghostly bedsheet. Dean’s got one of Sam’s legs pulled up tight, hitched over Dean’s shoulder, shoving him further up the bed with every thrust of his hips, and Dean’s fucking the hard bulge of his cock right between Sam’s legs against Sam’s trapped hard-on. Sam can feel his lungs being squeezed with every thrust, feels half-fucked into the headboard already and the position makes his spine ache but his body’s tingling all over. Dean’s rubbing right against the sensitive space behind Sam’s dick and it feels so fucking good. Sam tosses his head, gasping, scrabbles to get his belt and fly open.
“So pretty, yeah,” Dean croons, grinning like he thinks he’s won, and pleasure’s fizzing like champagne in Sam's blood but he clamps his legs around Dean’s torso and twists with his whole body, throwing Dean off, Dean’s image flickering in surprise, because Dean had to fucking taunt him.
In the end Dean gets him pinned again, back flat on the mattress with Dean crouched over Sam’s hips, mostly because they’re naked by now and Sam just fucking wants to come, half-frantic with the perpetual tease of his brother’s body rolling against his own. Sam can feel the precome from his aching dick leaking slippery and wet over his thighs, and his nipples are stinging below his rucked-up shirt from Dean biting him. Dean’s still got that sheet wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, white and stark above the heaving blotchy-red flushed V of his chest. Sam rakes his nails down Dean’s hairy thighs, all he can reach with his brother’s heavy hands pinning his shoulders down with impossible strength, and squirms.
“Just, c’mon, do something-” Sam huffs and Dean lowers his hips and rocks their groins together, Sam’s dick sliding slip-slip-slippery against Dean’s balls and cock, making them both shudder. Dean lets up on Sam’s shoulders, reaches one hand down to jack Sam’s dick, hot firm hand and his thumb rubbing just under the leaking head. Sam’s legs twitch involuntarily, breath stolen for a second with how bad he wants to come.
“Fuck, yeah,” Dean rasps, rough-voiced, eyeing Sam’s twitching dick hungrily. He smirks, slow firm pulls of his fist on Sam’s dick so direct and real after ages of teasing and Sam’s toes are curling in the sheets.
Sam lets his eyes roll shut with a sigh. “I fucking love you, Dean.”
“Yeah?” Sam can hear the grin in Dean’s voice, smug as hell, and Sam loves it, loves the hot weight of his brother over him, loves the way this dream-Dean knows how to jerk Sam’s dick exactly right. Dean shifts over him, sitting up and pulling his own dick away from where he was rubbing it against the cut of Sam’s hip, and Sam’s eyes snap open when he feels his dick get nudged against Dean’s ass. Dean’s biting his lip absently, teeth bared, cupping Sam’s dick with one hand behind himself to press the hard shaft into the hot space between Dean’s asscheecks, Dean slowly rocking his hips back against it. Sam’s breath punches out of him at the sight.
Dean’s eyes glance up to meet Sam’s wide ones. “Yeah? You want it,” Dean says, grinning, little furrow of concentration between his brows.
“Yes. Yeah,” Sam pants desperately at him, fingers winding in the sheets, stomach flipping.
Dean licks his lips and starts jacking his own dick carelessly with his left hand, rocks up a little higher and tilts his hips, oh, Sam can feel the head of his dick sliding hot between Dean’s asscheeks, pressing into the dimple of Dean’s hole -
“Wait,” Sam says, strangled, muscles straining his neck, trying to remember what they should do first, lube or- “Wait-”
But Dean rolls his eyes, says “I’m dead, remember? You can’t hurt me,” and sinks down on him.
Sam groans, voice cracking, fuck fuck fuck, Dean’s ass just sliding open for him, hot and heavy muscle at the ring and smooth walls further in, god. He clutches Dean’s thighs helplessly, feels the hard muscles there working as Dean fucks himself down onto Sam’s dick and Sam tries not to come. Dean sighs and pops his neck when he’s taken Sam in all the way, hips pressing down on Sam’s pelvis, hot glove of his brother’s flesh tight around Sam’s dick. Dean rocks his hips once, experimentally, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut at the drag of flesh around his dick - it’s been a few months. Then Dean braces a hand on Sam’s chest and starts shoving his hips up and down forcefully, fucking himself on Sam’s cock.
“Dean!” bursts out of Sam on a moan, eyes wide, hands clenching. He starts rocking up helplessly into the heavy weight and pressure of his brother and the fierce barely-slick drag of Dean’s ass on his flesh. Dean’s moving over him in short, fast jerks, ass closing rhythmically around Sam’s dick as Dean pulls partway off and then shoves his hips back down. It’s fucking furious, Sam can hear the bed squealing over the hammering of his heart and the slap of their skin together, and he pushes up harder.
“Yeah, come on,” Dean bites out, jacking his dick furiously. Sam can see it leaking white over Dean’s fingers, wants a taste, wants to come, wants his brother in a way bigger and hotter than just this, hammers his hips up hard as he can with Dean’s weight on him and gasps to see Dean’s head roll to the side, Dean’s mouth falling open like he’s close, like he’s gonna blow his load all over Sam - fuck, Sam can feel Dean’s ass squeezing tight -
“Goddamnit, Sammy, I would have died for you,” Dean says, shooting white over his own stomach, and that slams into Sam’s veins like ice as the clenching muscles of Dean’s ass drag him over the edge and Sam comes.
***
Sam wakes panting into his pillow with, Dean, the real Dean, sawing logs in the next bed. Sam gulps, sits up, takes a minute to smooth his hair and his thoughts before he goes to get new underwear. Weird fucking dream. Really wierd.
Sam/Dean, NC-17, 2000 words.
Set in current canon, so (mild) spoilers through the beginning of S8. Mostly, though, this is just smut.
Written for salt_burn_porn and temporalranger's prompt of you're something like a phenomena. Um, yes, my brain ran somewhere weird with that.
Sam’s dreaming of a living room. The crazy-counterpaned windows and the long golden stripes of afternoon light they cast across the room are from the house he shared for a while with Amelia, and her cherrywood dining table is there, set with a lunch he doesn’t feel hungry for just yet. But the curve of the floor down into the den where Sam’s sitting belongs to somewhere else, one of those countless shabby rentals that he grew up in. So does the quilted blue couch he’s sitting on, patched and vaguely familiar, and Dean who’s sitting with his dirty boots propped on the coffee table. This is the Dean who raised him half-singlehandedly, who schlepped pizza boxes after school and worked double-time on their father’s cases on weekends so Sam could go on field trips and dream of bigger things. Dean’s just said something blisteringly funny and probably a little rude, and they’re laughing like idiots, goofing around on the couch like Sam’s a kid again.
Dean's pulled a sheet over his head and he raises his arms, advancing on Sam. “I’m a freaking ghost, Sammy,”
and Sam remembers this now, nineteen-year-old Dean horsing around with the sheet from their shared bed thrown over his shoulders for a cheap Halloween costume. Sam’s older brother grinned so bright, while Sam laughed and laughed until Dean came to wrestle him down onto the bed. The memory feels like it belongs to another world. When Dean tugs the sheet to one side to wink at him he’s Sam’s new-old brother, face creased from a year in purgatory in ways Sam hasn’t yet gotten used to, who’s still wearing a much younger man’s grin.
“Sammy,” Dean hums at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” says Sam, memories fading away into the dream. “You’re absurd. Developmentally arrested.” His brother flickers, insubstantial in the sunlight for a moment. Sam’s not sure if that’s normal, but Dean seems unfazed.
“Yeah, but you’re hot for my bod,” says Dean, all casual confidence that makes Sam want to bite at his full mouth.
“Keep dreaming. I’m into adults who don’t have the mentality of a ten-year-old.” Well, it’s not like he’s going to just let Dean know. His brother’s head’s big enough as it is.
Dean shifts the sheet around his shoulders so Sam can see a long stripe of his bare chest and flexes dramatically. “I’m all man where it counts, baby,” Dean says, and it’s true, Sam’s still so attracted to the heavy muscles that make up Dean’s body even if they’re more padded then at nineteen, but Sam can’t help but feel a pang in his chest. This is the problem, he wants to say, not to this Dean but the one in the real world.
Dean crooks his head to one side, his silhouette flickering thoughtfully. He snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face. “C’mon, Sammy, it’s like I’m not even here. Where’s your head, dude?”
Fuck Dean, seriously. Going off for a year and coming back all blazing with gladiatorial spirit and empty like a sieve. Sam’s sore of forever cutting himself on the broken pieces. With the sheet draped casually around Dean’s shoulders like a toga, Sam can imagine it: his brother, the arrogant Roman. But the bend of Dean’s strong, bare arm as he props his chin on his fist nonetheless makes something warm and interested curl in Sam’s stomach.
“Thinking about you,” Sam tells him, truthfully.
“Whatever, thinking’s for squares, Sammy.” Dean flaps a corner of his sheet and it’s pale and jittery like a real spook. He wiggles his fingers at Sam. “Woo, I’m a ghost,” Dean says. “Let’s have sex.”
“All right,” says Sam, who doesn’t really see the point of fighting Dean on something he’s going to get anyway. Just because this is Dean’s idea doesn’t mean Sam can’t roll with it.
“Fuck yes,” Dean says, and pounces, pushing Sam back onto the couch which is now a bed, purple-pinstriped pillows tumbling off the mattress from the force of Sam’s body falling back. Dean clambers on top of him, straddling his lap with a rakish grin. Sam can feel where Dean’s already kind of firm and chubby against his thigh and that and the power of Dean’s shove, the heavy weight of Dean on his body, dumps arousal in a hot rush into his veins, making him shiver. Sam shouts and bucks, not inclined to be brought down that easy, rolls Dean off to the side before Dean can pin him and throws his body over Dean’s, making Dean grunt. Sam starts licking Dean’s ear and stubbled jaw and trying to kick his boots off with the spare sliver of his concentration.
Dean wriggles under Sam and croaks “You’re fucking heavy,”, starts shoving at Sam while Sam tries to be as heavy as possible and sloppily grinds their hips together, sharp jeans and belt buckles pushing roughly into flesh and the drag of fabric and Dean’s warm hardening dick against his, so fucking good. Dean fucks his hips up against Sam’s, legs tangling, but fights dirty, gets his arms up under Sam’s shirt and starts tickling the hot skin there. Sam yelps, unprepared, and jackknifes away, giving Dean a chance to escape, and it’s on, they’re tussling on the bed like horny teenagers, and Sam kind of loves this. Chest against chest, grinding his fattening dick into the warm heavy weight of Dean’s thigh, bulge in Dean’s jeans pressing into Sam’s stomach, shucking each other’s clothes, panting into each other’s faces, scrabbling for momentary dominance.
Dean gets Sam trapped against the headboard, Sam’s body twisted hard against the mattress with his arms trying to brace his head, completely fucking tangled in Dean’s trailing ghostly bedsheet. Dean’s got one of Sam’s legs pulled up tight, hitched over Dean’s shoulder, shoving him further up the bed with every thrust of his hips, and Dean’s fucking the hard bulge of his cock right between Sam’s legs against Sam’s trapped hard-on. Sam can feel his lungs being squeezed with every thrust, feels half-fucked into the headboard already and the position makes his spine ache but his body’s tingling all over. Dean’s rubbing right against the sensitive space behind Sam’s dick and it feels so fucking good. Sam tosses his head, gasping, scrabbles to get his belt and fly open.
“So pretty, yeah,” Dean croons, grinning like he thinks he’s won, and pleasure’s fizzing like champagne in Sam's blood but he clamps his legs around Dean’s torso and twists with his whole body, throwing Dean off, Dean’s image flickering in surprise, because Dean had to fucking taunt him.
In the end Dean gets him pinned again, back flat on the mattress with Dean crouched over Sam’s hips, mostly because they’re naked by now and Sam just fucking wants to come, half-frantic with the perpetual tease of his brother’s body rolling against his own. Sam can feel the precome from his aching dick leaking slippery and wet over his thighs, and his nipples are stinging below his rucked-up shirt from Dean biting him. Dean’s still got that sheet wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, white and stark above the heaving blotchy-red flushed V of his chest. Sam rakes his nails down Dean’s hairy thighs, all he can reach with his brother’s heavy hands pinning his shoulders down with impossible strength, and squirms.
“Just, c’mon, do something-” Sam huffs and Dean lowers his hips and rocks their groins together, Sam’s dick sliding slip-slip-slippery against Dean’s balls and cock, making them both shudder. Dean lets up on Sam’s shoulders, reaches one hand down to jack Sam’s dick, hot firm hand and his thumb rubbing just under the leaking head. Sam’s legs twitch involuntarily, breath stolen for a second with how bad he wants to come.
“Fuck, yeah,” Dean rasps, rough-voiced, eyeing Sam’s twitching dick hungrily. He smirks, slow firm pulls of his fist on Sam’s dick so direct and real after ages of teasing and Sam’s toes are curling in the sheets.
Sam lets his eyes roll shut with a sigh. “I fucking love you, Dean.”
“Yeah?” Sam can hear the grin in Dean’s voice, smug as hell, and Sam loves it, loves the hot weight of his brother over him, loves the way this dream-Dean knows how to jerk Sam’s dick exactly right. Dean shifts over him, sitting up and pulling his own dick away from where he was rubbing it against the cut of Sam’s hip, and Sam’s eyes snap open when he feels his dick get nudged against Dean’s ass. Dean’s biting his lip absently, teeth bared, cupping Sam’s dick with one hand behind himself to press the hard shaft into the hot space between Dean’s asscheecks, Dean slowly rocking his hips back against it. Sam’s breath punches out of him at the sight.
Dean’s eyes glance up to meet Sam’s wide ones. “Yeah? You want it,” Dean says, grinning, little furrow of concentration between his brows.
“Yes. Yeah,” Sam pants desperately at him, fingers winding in the sheets, stomach flipping.
Dean licks his lips and starts jacking his own dick carelessly with his left hand, rocks up a little higher and tilts his hips, oh, Sam can feel the head of his dick sliding hot between Dean’s asscheeks, pressing into the dimple of Dean’s hole -
“Wait,” Sam says, strangled, muscles straining his neck, trying to remember what they should do first, lube or- “Wait-”
But Dean rolls his eyes, says “I’m dead, remember? You can’t hurt me,” and sinks down on him.
Sam groans, voice cracking, fuck fuck fuck, Dean’s ass just sliding open for him, hot and heavy muscle at the ring and smooth walls further in, god. He clutches Dean’s thighs helplessly, feels the hard muscles there working as Dean fucks himself down onto Sam’s dick and Sam tries not to come. Dean sighs and pops his neck when he’s taken Sam in all the way, hips pressing down on Sam’s pelvis, hot glove of his brother’s flesh tight around Sam’s dick. Dean rocks his hips once, experimentally, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut at the drag of flesh around his dick - it’s been a few months. Then Dean braces a hand on Sam’s chest and starts shoving his hips up and down forcefully, fucking himself on Sam’s cock.
“Dean!” bursts out of Sam on a moan, eyes wide, hands clenching. He starts rocking up helplessly into the heavy weight and pressure of his brother and the fierce barely-slick drag of Dean’s ass on his flesh. Dean’s moving over him in short, fast jerks, ass closing rhythmically around Sam’s dick as Dean pulls partway off and then shoves his hips back down. It’s fucking furious, Sam can hear the bed squealing over the hammering of his heart and the slap of their skin together, and he pushes up harder.
“Yeah, come on,” Dean bites out, jacking his dick furiously. Sam can see it leaking white over Dean’s fingers, wants a taste, wants to come, wants his brother in a way bigger and hotter than just this, hammers his hips up hard as he can with Dean’s weight on him and gasps to see Dean’s head roll to the side, Dean’s mouth falling open like he’s close, like he’s gonna blow his load all over Sam - fuck, Sam can feel Dean’s ass squeezing tight -
“Goddamnit, Sammy, I would have died for you,” Dean says, shooting white over his own stomach, and that slams into Sam’s veins like ice as the clenching muscles of Dean’s ass drag him over the edge and Sam comes.
***
Sam wakes panting into his pillow with, Dean, the real Dean, sawing logs in the next bed. Sam gulps, sits up, takes a minute to smooth his hair and his thoughts before he goes to get new underwear. Weird fucking dream. Really wierd.