We Made a Hell of a Team Back There
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
W/C & Warnings: 494; Um, this is embarrassing, but I have a thing for writing crazy!Dean who in turn has a thing for metaphoric cannibalism. Also, mentions of blood kink, I suppose. Sex, and graphic, but writing the words "cock, dick, asshole" etc weird me out, so I had to get creative.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in any way, shape, or form.
--
We’re together for the first time in years
and every thought of you consumes me whole, I love you so.
We own the road, or the road owns us; we never really knew, never really cared, and sure as hell haven’t started to now. You are to the passenger seat what a heart is to the chest. What I’m meaning to say is you belong there.
I was never good at analogies, you know this.
You know the way I look at you. You know the way I swallow, slow and sensual, to see you do the same. It’s a game between the two of us; I never know if I’m winning or losing, but I know I’m getting closer to you.
That’s alright with me.
You don’t know everything, though. You don’t know all the words to the third song on my favorite mix tape. You never bother to learn. You don’t know all of what I want to do with you. How I want to wear your skin, become your bones, drink my fill of our mixed blood; you can't possibly imagine all the ways I want to moan with your breaths.
You never bother to learn.
These are such unbecoming thoughts for a friend, a brother, a soldier. I try to hide them away in the cigar case in the glove box. I feel like, if I stick them in there with all the other fake “me”s, maybe one of them will take these thoughts. Maybe one of them will act on it.
Maybe one of them will fuck you
until you’re screaming.
You never bother to learn, but if you tried? Well, if you tried, you wouldn't even know the half of it. You are to the passenger seat what a heart is to a chest, and what your claw marks are to my skin. What I’m saying is, you all belong there. You are to my aching flesh what alcohol is to a wound, baby brother; you sting, dull the pain, bring the pleasure of numbness to me, a blessing.
I want to get my body drunk off of the
moonshine between your thighs.
We own the road, and the road owns us; it's no longer a question of who is whose owner. It’s the same with you and me: I own you, you own me, we own each other. I want to pin you down to the bed beneath me, (or the car behind you, or the bathroom counter in front of you) and take you over and over again. Fuck you till you’re hoarse, limp, useless, and completely dependent on me. I burn to make you mine, mark you up, slide you up and down, on and off of me, delicious sin, wonderful gasps and moans. I imagine you ripping the bed sheets, staining them up, marking them as much as I have you.
I want to leave the world a message:
This is my baby brother.
You can’t touch him.
He’s mine.
We’re together for the first time in years
and my only thoughts are to consume you whole, I love you so.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
W/C & Warnings: 494; Um, this is embarrassing, but I have a thing for writing crazy!Dean who in turn has a thing for metaphoric cannibalism. Also, mentions of blood kink, I suppose. Sex, and graphic, but writing the words "cock, dick, asshole" etc weird me out, so I had to get creative.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in any way, shape, or form.
--
We’re together for the first time in years
and every thought of you consumes me whole, I love you so.
We own the road, or the road owns us; we never really knew, never really cared, and sure as hell haven’t started to now. You are to the passenger seat what a heart is to the chest. What I’m meaning to say is you belong there.
I was never good at analogies, you know this.
You know the way I look at you. You know the way I swallow, slow and sensual, to see you do the same. It’s a game between the two of us; I never know if I’m winning or losing, but I know I’m getting closer to you.
That’s alright with me.
You don’t know everything, though. You don’t know all the words to the third song on my favorite mix tape. You never bother to learn. You don’t know all of what I want to do with you. How I want to wear your skin, become your bones, drink my fill of our mixed blood; you can't possibly imagine all the ways I want to moan with your breaths.
You never bother to learn.
These are such unbecoming thoughts for a friend, a brother, a soldier. I try to hide them away in the cigar case in the glove box. I feel like, if I stick them in there with all the other fake “me”s, maybe one of them will take these thoughts. Maybe one of them will act on it.
Maybe one of them will fuck you
until you’re screaming.
You never bother to learn, but if you tried? Well, if you tried, you wouldn't even know the half of it. You are to the passenger seat what a heart is to a chest, and what your claw marks are to my skin. What I’m saying is, you all belong there. You are to my aching flesh what alcohol is to a wound, baby brother; you sting, dull the pain, bring the pleasure of numbness to me, a blessing.
I want to get my body drunk off of the
moonshine between your thighs.
We own the road, and the road owns us; it's no longer a question of who is whose owner. It’s the same with you and me: I own you, you own me, we own each other. I want to pin you down to the bed beneath me, (or the car behind you, or the bathroom counter in front of you) and take you over and over again. Fuck you till you’re hoarse, limp, useless, and completely dependent on me. I burn to make you mine, mark you up, slide you up and down, on and off of me, delicious sin, wonderful gasps and moans. I imagine you ripping the bed sheets, staining them up, marking them as much as I have you.
I want to leave the world a message:
This is my baby brother.
You can’t touch him.
He’s mine.
We’re together for the first time in years
and my only thoughts are to consume you whole, I love you so.