Supernatural Slash Fiction: "Timeout, Truce, No Take Backs" (Sam/Dean, R)
Title: Timeout, Truce, No Take Backs
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: R
Summary (1x17 "Hell House" coda): After the prank war, some apologies were in order.
Author's Notes: Written for silverbullets and the prompt of "Making up." It's been awhile, to say the least, so let's hope this doesn't suck…
x-x-x-x-x
"I still can't believe you put itching powder in my clothes," Sam said.
Dean glanced over at him, and then back at the road. "Yeah," he said. "I kind of regretted it when you came out of the bathroom in that towel."
"Kind of?" Sam said.
"Well, yeah." Dean shifted in his seat. "I didn't want to back down, but it was pretty damned distracting. I suddenly wanted to be doing something totally different, but still…"
"Your competitive nature got in the way," Sam finished for him. "That's why we swore off pranking after the last time."
"I know. It gets out of hand."
"Like, immediately."
Dean frowned. "The itching is gone, though, isn't it?"
"Two showers and a contaminated laundry bag later, sure," Sam said. He looked out the window at the millionth tumbleweed rolling past, watching it spin gently over the desert floor. It gave him an idea. "But I know how you can make it up to me…"
Dean had planned on driving for a few more hours, but what the hell-at least Durant was in a different state. They stopped at the first motel they found.
"So," Dean said, closing the motel room door behind them, "should we-"
"Yes." Sam tugged Dean over to the bed and lay down, stretching himself along the length of it and lifting up his shirt just enough to let a sliver of skin show.
Dean shucked off his jacket and dropped it on the floor. "Well, all right."
He got down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Sam's belly. The sight of it pulled him like a magnet, and then he was drowning in the feeling of it against his lips. He kissed his way along it slowly, pushing Sam's shirt up to reveal more. So smooth and warm. He fumbled with Sam's belt and wrestled his jeans open, kissing down farther and farther. He stroked Sam's belly, stopping when Sam jerked.
"Your hand's kind of rough," Sam said.
"Probably Superglue."
Sam sighed. That one was his fault. "We really only hurt ourselves, don't we?"
"It's okay." Dean went back to nuzzling Sam's skin. "I have two of 'em." He brushed his left hand across Sam's belly to prove it, loving the way Sam shivered under his touch and made a noise halfway between a gasp and a groan.
Every kiss was an abstract apology, every worshipful sweep of Dean's tongue an admission of the treatment Sam actually deserved. As Dean moved lower, Sam shook with anticipation, his body suddenly restless.
"Shhhh, I've got you," Dean murmured, before licking up the length of Sam's cock and taking it into his mouth.
Dean didn't even try to keep things slow after that, not with the way Sam writhed and moaned under his attentions. He listened as Sam's breathing grew faster, tangled, tight, then drove him over the edge so sharply that it took an arm across Sam's stomach just to keep him on the bed.
Afterwards, Dean moved up to lie next to Sam, brushing his fingers across Sam's hip and side before wrapping his arm around Sam's chest.
"Better?" he asked, his voice sounding husky and distant even to his own ears.
Sam lay there, as blissed-out and warm from the feeling of Dean next to him as from the sex itself. "Yeah," he breathed, rubbing Dean's arm and waiting for the energy he needed to return the favor.
He'd never have admitted it, but he found himself thinking that if this was what it took for Dean to treat him this way, then the itching powder had been worth it.
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Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: R
Summary (1x17 "Hell House" coda): After the prank war, some apologies were in order.
Author's Notes: Written for silverbullets and the prompt of "Making up." It's been awhile, to say the least, so let's hope this doesn't suck…
x-x-x-x-x
"I still can't believe you put itching powder in my clothes," Sam said.
Dean glanced over at him, and then back at the road. "Yeah," he said. "I kind of regretted it when you came out of the bathroom in that towel."
"Kind of?" Sam said.
"Well, yeah." Dean shifted in his seat. "I didn't want to back down, but it was pretty damned distracting. I suddenly wanted to be doing something totally different, but still…"
"Your competitive nature got in the way," Sam finished for him. "That's why we swore off pranking after the last time."
"I know. It gets out of hand."
"Like, immediately."
Dean frowned. "The itching is gone, though, isn't it?"
"Two showers and a contaminated laundry bag later, sure," Sam said. He looked out the window at the millionth tumbleweed rolling past, watching it spin gently over the desert floor. It gave him an idea. "But I know how you can make it up to me…"
Dean had planned on driving for a few more hours, but what the hell-at least Durant was in a different state. They stopped at the first motel they found.
"So," Dean said, closing the motel room door behind them, "should we-"
"Yes." Sam tugged Dean over to the bed and lay down, stretching himself along the length of it and lifting up his shirt just enough to let a sliver of skin show.
Dean shucked off his jacket and dropped it on the floor. "Well, all right."
He got down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Sam's belly. The sight of it pulled him like a magnet, and then he was drowning in the feeling of it against his lips. He kissed his way along it slowly, pushing Sam's shirt up to reveal more. So smooth and warm. He fumbled with Sam's belt and wrestled his jeans open, kissing down farther and farther. He stroked Sam's belly, stopping when Sam jerked.
"Your hand's kind of rough," Sam said.
"Probably Superglue."
Sam sighed. That one was his fault. "We really only hurt ourselves, don't we?"
"It's okay." Dean went back to nuzzling Sam's skin. "I have two of 'em." He brushed his left hand across Sam's belly to prove it, loving the way Sam shivered under his touch and made a noise halfway between a gasp and a groan.
Every kiss was an abstract apology, every worshipful sweep of Dean's tongue an admission of the treatment Sam actually deserved. As Dean moved lower, Sam shook with anticipation, his body suddenly restless.
"Shhhh, I've got you," Dean murmured, before licking up the length of Sam's cock and taking it into his mouth.
Dean didn't even try to keep things slow after that, not with the way Sam writhed and moaned under his attentions. He listened as Sam's breathing grew faster, tangled, tight, then drove him over the edge so sharply that it took an arm across Sam's stomach just to keep him on the bed.
Afterwards, Dean moved up to lie next to Sam, brushing his fingers across Sam's hip and side before wrapping his arm around Sam's chest.
"Better?" he asked, his voice sounding husky and distant even to his own ears.
Sam lay there, as blissed-out and warm from the feeling of Dean next to him as from the sex itself. "Yeah," he breathed, rubbing Dean's arm and waiting for the energy he needed to return the favor.
He'd never have admitted it, but he found himself thinking that if this was what it took for Dean to treat him this way, then the itching powder had been worth it.
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