Once for memories, twice for pleasure.
Title: Once for Memories, Twice for Pleasure
Author: hellsprayer
Pairing: Sam/Dean, pre-series.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bottom!Sam, underage (Sam's 17)
Time-set: The night before Sam leaves for college.
Summary: Dean could feel Sam's pulse under his tongue and beating anxiously against his lips. He bears his teeth, biting down onto Sam's smooth skin, sucking Dean-sized bruises on his neck and collarbones -- marking him. He can go all the way to California, Sam can. But that doesn't make him any less Dean's.
It was still that night. Everything was. Like the Earth had stood still just for them. Like time froze, just for a while, so they could have a little more time together. Because in exactly twelve and a half hours, Sam would be on his way to California. On his way to leaving Dad, this life, and most importantly Dean behind. And that, didn't sit well with Dean at all.
Dean's got his hands on either side of Sam's face, stroking his thumb over his cheek slowly, gazing at him. And like this, in the dark with just the moonlight, he looks too beautiful to be real. And he is. His eyes glow almost, his hair falling stupidly perfect on his forehead, brushing his eyebrows when he moved his head.
Without much warning, Dean's lips crash Sam's and it hurts painfully good. His tongue invades Sam's mouth, sliding over his teeth and gliding over his tongue. And it wrings a moan out of Sam that vibrates through Dean's body like energy -- like life. Dean could feel Sam's pulse under his tongue and beating anxiously against his lips. He bears his teeth, biting down onto Sam's smooth skin, sucking pretty Dean-sized bruises on his neck and collarbone -- marking him. He can go all the way to California, Sam can. But that doesn't make him any less Dean's.
He works at Sam's mouth; kissing, licking, panting against Sam's lips and he pulls back, breathless. And he's staring down at Sam again, mentally capturing his face, his body, everything.
"By this time tomorrow," Dean says, then leans down again, kissing Sam. But it's softer this time; tender, almost, "you'll be gone."
Sam doesn't reply. There's no need to. Instead, he lets Dean lift his shirt over his head and lays still as he kisses lines up the center of Sam's midsection, over his belly button, and on every inch of bare skin. His tongue is hot against Sam's stomach and it's moving painfully slow, like he's trying to make a point. Like he's wants to scream remember me, as if Sam could ever forget.
With one hand, he pins Sam's hands above his head, gripping his wrists together firmly; and with the other he works at his belt, fumbling with the buckle.
There isn't any fight left in either of them, and it shows. Sam wants to tell him that it's just school, it's not forever. Tell him that they're both probably making this into something more than it should be, that all of this is stupid, but he can't talk right now. Not with Dean kissing his neck like he is, breathing heavily against his skin. Sam lets his eyes close and his body relax as he lets Dean go to work.
"Don't move," Dean whispers, filthy almost, against his earlobe. He sucks on it for a second, then kisses Sam's cheek, and then his lips before beginning to lower himself. Dean takes some time on Sam's chest, flattening his tongue against his skin, tasting him and making it last as he licks a line down to Sam's lower abs. He kisses just centimeters above his waist line and Sam bucks a little in anticipation.
And when he's ready, Dean unhooks Sam's belt and the button on Sam's jeans. Again, he kisses Sam's stomach all the way to the denim. He pulls down Sam's zipper with his teeth, smirking at himself. He tugs at Sam's pockets, pulling his jeans lower and lower until they were at knee-level and out of the way of Dean's wanting mouth.
Teasing, is what he was. He rode Sam's boxers up high enough to kiss Sam's inner thighs, biting a little, and smearing his lips everywhere except where Sam really wants his lips to be. Then Dean works on his other thigh, makes sure to breathe a little heavier over Sam's cock. That forces a moan out of Sam and it's like rewards to Dean. He moves a little higher, licking at Sam's hipbones, kissing them, and biting hard enough to bruise them -- and he hopes he does.
Then his hand slides up and under Sam's boxers, takes a firm grip around the base of his cock and oh --
Sam squirms with pleasure as Dean jerks him faster and faster until it feels like his whole body's vibrating. Dean adjusts his body, pulls down Sam's boxers, too, and continues. Picks up right where he left off. His hand grips Sam's dick, strokes him in an upbeat manner. Quicker and quicker. Harder and harder. More, Dean, please.
And the suddenly he comes to a dead stop, leaving Sam panting, practically begging for more. But patience is a virtue, right?
Fast, Dean strips of his clothes, throwing them haphazardly on the ground somewhere near Sam's. And he's already hard, moving closer to Sam and settling between his legs. Dean leans forward, kissing his brother roughly before sitting back. He brings his fingers to his mouth slicks them before easing them, a little too quickly, into Sam.
Almost instantly he feels Sam tense up, his whole body tightening, and breath halting. So Dean leans in, takes grip of his hair and whispers, "Relax, Sammy," and he kisses his cheek, pleased when Sam lets out a breath slowly.
"Good boy," Dean says, and his words just roll off his tongue. He licks his lips, bites down on his bottom one, as he just watches Sam's face. How his eyes were closed tightly with his head thrown back and his hair messy. How he grits his teeth whenever Dean pushes deeper and how his mouth drops into an 'O', with a silent scream when Dean goes from one finger to two, and from two to three.
When Dean feels he's ready, he pulls his fingers back, and takes note of how Sam huffs at the sudden emptiness.
Dean goes up again, right by Sam's ear, and asks softly, "You ready?" And Sam nods slowly, keeping his eyes closed, but still managing to press his lips to Deans for reassurance.
Then Dean's sitting back again on his knees, angling himself up with Sam, entering him slowly. Sam's head flops to the side, hair flinging across his face, as he mumbles nonsense into the pillow. Dean takes hold of his hips, tightening grip around his bones, pulling him closer, harder and harder. Sam's legs tighten around Dean's back, and he pushed into Dean and there was no way to tell where Dean ended and Sam began anymore. They were one rhythm; a wave, if you will, of pleasure and need and want.
"Fuck, Dean, yes... ohmygod, faster," Sam groaned, reaching for Dean's shoulder until he finally pulled him back down on top of him. Dean bites at Sam's bottom lip and grips at his hair for good measure. Sam digs his nails into Dean's back, forcing him deeper and deeper. And it feels like they're dying, maybe. The tugging they feel in their stomachs and the heaviness in their hearts had to add up to something, right?
With his freehand, Dean lets it slide between him and Sam, taking hold of Sam's cock and jerking him as quickly as he was pushing into Sam. Faster, maybe. And Sam can't handle it. His head flies back and Dean can feel him tense up again. His mouth drops, and the moon highlights his jawline and his profile. Damn, he's beautiful.
And then Sam's screaming -- screaming louder than he should and Dean has to kiss him again just to keep him quiet. Sam moans and pants into Dean's mouth as he comes over his brother's hand and his stomach. Sam's stiffens, squeezing Dean's shoulder, then suddenly he's lax, coming down from his orgasm.
But a second later it's Dean's turn, so he speeds up a little, getting the most out of it and he bites down on Sam's neck as he releases, still grinding between Sam's legs until he can't move anymore. And then they're both still for a second, huffing against each other.
Dean pulls out of Sam, but doesn't move much. He lays his head in the center of Sam's chest, petting his hair. Sam's eyes are already closed and his breath has began to even out.
In his ear, Dean can hear Sam's heartbeat as clear as day. And it's so even that it reminds him of ticking on a clock.
And then it strikes him again, hits him hard like a brick, that in eleven hours now, Sam'll be gone. So he pulls Sam a little closer, settles down, and even though it kills him to say it, he whispers, "G'night, Sammy," before he allows himself to fall asleep to the sound of Sam's heart.