For Medicinal Purposes
Title: For Medicinal Purposes
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,517
Spoilers: General S1/S2, but nothing specific.
Warnings: Crackity crackily CRACK! Consensual incest, cum marking, facials, oral sex, and other inappropriate use of seminal fluid.
Disclaimer Supernatural belongs to Kripke, CW, et al. I own nothing.
Author’s Notes: Have you ever wondered how the boys can have their faces or bodies clawed to ribbons in one episode and then in the next they’re perfectly whole and beautiful with no scars to show for it? I have. Somehow I decided this was how they fixed themselves. I have no excuses, I wasn’t under or over-caffeinated, sleep deprived, drunk, high, or overly stressed. This just came upon me today… ;-)
Summary: Dean has a technique for taking care of injuries that whiskey and sewing thread can’t handle. Sam thinks he’s crazy. Erotic demonstrations ensue!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You have got to be kidding me,” Sam said flatly.
“Wish I was.”
“No, seriously, you found this in the back of some third-rate skin mag, right?”
“Hoodoo woman. After I got clawed up by a zombie. They’re uh-,” Dean huffed out a laugh, “not afraid to use anything, hoodoo priestesses.”
“Healing jizz?”
Dean reflected that, in any other job, in any other life, in any other universe, uttering a phrase like that would only be the prelude to either a really filthy joke or the start of a bad porno. Unfortunately, in his job, he had to say them with a straight face.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve completely lost touch with reality. You’ve been living in a porn world for the past three years, and I’ve just been too blind to see it,” Sam said, throwing up his hands.
“No seriously, read the spell. I told you, I already tried this once-.”
“Jacking off is the only thing you’d do in the name of science, Dean.”
“Would you just shut up the read the damn thing already?”
Sam pursed his lips, rolled his eyes slightly, and took the old piece of parchment from Dean gingerly. He read it at least twice, wincing slightly as he blinked, the claw marks on his cheek pulling. Dean has his own set tracking across his forehead and into his eyebrow, courtesy of shadow demons, and even the most careful stitching was going to leave an impressive set of distinctive scars. That was one thing hunters couldn’t afford, not with all the laws they broke on a daily basis. Having distinguishing marks was a big red flag to authorities and overly-observant civilians.
Luckily Dean had managed to find a way to heal fresh wounds without scarring. The only drawback, if one could call it that, was-.
“The fluid of procreation will become the fluid of regeneration? Seriously?” Sam asked, trying desperately not to laugh as he read the hoodoo recipe through.
“Yeah. Eat the special blend of eleven herbs and spices, then ten minutes with Hustler and give yourself a facial.” Dean was impressed with himself that he managed to get that out without cracking up. It sounded particularly ridiculous spoken out loud.
“Oh my God.” Sam chuckled before breaking off with a short gasp of pain.
“It’s hoodoo. Just be glad it doesn’t involve chickens and goats too,” Dean pointed out.
“You go first. I have to see this in action,” Sam said, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud.
Dean shrugged and grabbed the pouch he’d thrown on the bed, upending half the contents into his mouth. It tasted like cinnamon, kicked him in the back of the throat like chili powder, and smelled like geraniums, filling his nose with the scent of fresh earth and greenery. It dissolved on his tongue almost instantly, and Dean swallowed convulsively, feeling it sliding down his throat.
Warmth suffused him, settling first in his stomach, and then spreading out all over, before settling lower. Much lower. Clothing was suddenly much too hot.
“Uh, ok, bathroom?” Dean said hastily, edging past Sam to get into the tiny tiled box that passed for a bathroom around these parts. He wasted no time in shedding his clothes, shoes hitting the wall with a thump, jacket and jeans thrown in the sink, shirt and underwear tossed on the floor as Dean sighed in relief, finally getting a hand on his urgently-erect cock.
His balls felt tight and swollen, like he’d been holding back for months, and Dean felt his eyes fluttering back in his head when he rolled them gently with his other hand. He wouldn’t ever recommend this as Spanish Fly, as one shot load drained him so much that he could only think about sex wistfully for days, but it was worth it both to heal his wounds… and the intensity of the orgasm.
Dean came back to himself with a start and started stroking in earnest. He circled his thumb around the head, spreading the slick pre-cum there, teasing himself, and reached out almost automatically for the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties, tucked by the john this morning. But his questing fingers encountered nothing, and with a groan, Dean realized he’d taken it back outside to read after his shower because Sam spent so much time fixing his damn hair.
“You ok in there?” Sam asked, sounding concerned.
“Can’t a guy jack off in peace?” Dean groused, trying to muffle a moan as his dick twitched again. He needed to come badly; he felt so full, so urgent… His hand sped up to increase the sensations, but with no additional visual stimulation, and Sam trying to play concerned nurse on the other side of the door, it was hard to get in the right mood.
“Sorry.”
Dean closed his eyes and tried to picture Lilah, the saucy centerfold this month, and for a minute, everything seemed to be clicking. He bucked his hips up into his hand, close to the edge, riding it, loud moans spilling out of his mouth as he felt himself about to let go-!
Bang, bang, bang! “Dean?” Sam called. “You sure you’re all right?”
The edge dropped as Dean’s anger mounted, and he stomped to the door and threw it open, letting Sam get an eyeful of his bloody, bruised, angry, sweaty, naked, and really fucking horny older brother.
“If you want to fucking participate, you’re going to be Lilah,” Dean said, in a tone that booked no opposition. Indeed, it promised spectacularly blood violence if he didn’t get a positive answer five seconds ago.
“Who’s Lilah?” Sam asked, gaping. Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and jerked him down on his knees.
“My centerfold,” Dean growled. Sam hit the floor with a thud and found himself facing Dean’s throbbing cock. He licked his lips slightly and looked back up at Dean, smirking.
“This was all just a booty call, wasn’t it?” Sam asked, looking smug. He wouldn’t have gotten on his knees if he hadn’t wanted it, and Dean knew it very well. For making fun of him earlier, Sam supposed he deserved a bit of a reward.
“Sammy, I swear to God if you don’t put that mouth-. Jesus!” Dean exclaimed, holding himself steady in the doorframe as Sam swallowed him down, pain forgotten as he swirled his tongue around Dean’s thickness, humming appreciatively at the salty taste of his pre-cum. There was an odd, spicy, almost green taste to it, but Sam chalked it up to whatever multicolored concoction Dean had been drinking earlier tonight.
Sam let himself lean forward, losing himself in Dean’s scent, feeling the hardness in his mouth and throat. Whatever joke Dean was playing earlier, now things were back to normal, wrapping up a difficult hunt with pleasurable release that would let them both relax.
Which was when Dean suddenly swelled in his mouth, Sam was surprised when his hair was grabbed and he was pulled back. Dean’s hand flew furiously along his length as he held Sam still.
“Eyes closed, Sammy,” Dean whispered hoarsely. Sam felt his mouth go dry as he let his eyes close, going slack in Dean’s grasp. They hadn’t played this game in a very long time, and its very rarity made heat curl in Sam’s belly. Powerful spurts of warmth striped across Sam’s face, more than he thought possible, until Dean’s odd spicy scent suffused every pore, dripped across his eyes, and slid into his mouth. The taste of it, cinnamon, chili, and geraniums, was suddenly familiar.
Dean slacked his fist slightly, knees rubbery not just in the aftermath of his orgasm, but in Sam’s sudden acceptance of being on his knees. Blinking, Dean slowly lowered himself to Sam’s level and took a long moment to appreciate his brother’s face covered in gleaming white. Wishing he dared take a picture, Dean leaned in to begin to wipe it away. Then he noticed where the sheet of white should have been outlining Sam’s new scars, was instead smooth. And the white was fading before his eyes, absorbing into the red of blood and the purple of new bruises. In less than a minute, it was gone, leaving Sam’s face clear of any scar or wound.
Sam could feel it too, and nearly jumped to his feet to look at himself in the mirror.
“Holy crap,” Sam muttered.
“Told you I wasn’t kidding,” Dean said triumphantly, leaning back on the floor with the air of a victorious general.
“You-. It-. You’re fucking impossible!” Sam declared.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively. He tossed something at Sam, who caught it reflexively. Opening his fist, he saw the half-empty bag that Dean had drunk from a half-hour ago. “Make with the healing jizz, Sammy. My face still looks like hamburger.”
Sam opened his mouth for a clever rejoinder as Dean rose up from the floor. He realized he really didn’t have one, shrugged, and tossed down the balance of the powder.
Grinning widely, Dean pushed Sam back against the wall as the heat began rising between them again.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,517
Spoilers: General S1/S2, but nothing specific.
Warnings: Crackity crackily CRACK! Consensual incest, cum marking, facials, oral sex, and other inappropriate use of seminal fluid.
Disclaimer Supernatural belongs to Kripke, CW, et al. I own nothing.
Author’s Notes: Have you ever wondered how the boys can have their faces or bodies clawed to ribbons in one episode and then in the next they’re perfectly whole and beautiful with no scars to show for it? I have. Somehow I decided this was how they fixed themselves. I have no excuses, I wasn’t under or over-caffeinated, sleep deprived, drunk, high, or overly stressed. This just came upon me today… ;-)
Summary: Dean has a technique for taking care of injuries that whiskey and sewing thread can’t handle. Sam thinks he’s crazy. Erotic demonstrations ensue!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You have got to be kidding me,” Sam said flatly.
“Wish I was.”
“No, seriously, you found this in the back of some third-rate skin mag, right?”
“Hoodoo woman. After I got clawed up by a zombie. They’re uh-,” Dean huffed out a laugh, “not afraid to use anything, hoodoo priestesses.”
“Healing jizz?”
Dean reflected that, in any other job, in any other life, in any other universe, uttering a phrase like that would only be the prelude to either a really filthy joke or the start of a bad porno. Unfortunately, in his job, he had to say them with a straight face.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve completely lost touch with reality. You’ve been living in a porn world for the past three years, and I’ve just been too blind to see it,” Sam said, throwing up his hands.
“No seriously, read the spell. I told you, I already tried this once-.”
“Jacking off is the only thing you’d do in the name of science, Dean.”
“Would you just shut up the read the damn thing already?”
Sam pursed his lips, rolled his eyes slightly, and took the old piece of parchment from Dean gingerly. He read it at least twice, wincing slightly as he blinked, the claw marks on his cheek pulling. Dean has his own set tracking across his forehead and into his eyebrow, courtesy of shadow demons, and even the most careful stitching was going to leave an impressive set of distinctive scars. That was one thing hunters couldn’t afford, not with all the laws they broke on a daily basis. Having distinguishing marks was a big red flag to authorities and overly-observant civilians.
Luckily Dean had managed to find a way to heal fresh wounds without scarring. The only drawback, if one could call it that, was-.
“The fluid of procreation will become the fluid of regeneration? Seriously?” Sam asked, trying desperately not to laugh as he read the hoodoo recipe through.
“Yeah. Eat the special blend of eleven herbs and spices, then ten minutes with Hustler and give yourself a facial.” Dean was impressed with himself that he managed to get that out without cracking up. It sounded particularly ridiculous spoken out loud.
“Oh my God.” Sam chuckled before breaking off with a short gasp of pain.
“It’s hoodoo. Just be glad it doesn’t involve chickens and goats too,” Dean pointed out.
“You go first. I have to see this in action,” Sam said, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud.
Dean shrugged and grabbed the pouch he’d thrown on the bed, upending half the contents into his mouth. It tasted like cinnamon, kicked him in the back of the throat like chili powder, and smelled like geraniums, filling his nose with the scent of fresh earth and greenery. It dissolved on his tongue almost instantly, and Dean swallowed convulsively, feeling it sliding down his throat.
Warmth suffused him, settling first in his stomach, and then spreading out all over, before settling lower. Much lower. Clothing was suddenly much too hot.
“Uh, ok, bathroom?” Dean said hastily, edging past Sam to get into the tiny tiled box that passed for a bathroom around these parts. He wasted no time in shedding his clothes, shoes hitting the wall with a thump, jacket and jeans thrown in the sink, shirt and underwear tossed on the floor as Dean sighed in relief, finally getting a hand on his urgently-erect cock.
His balls felt tight and swollen, like he’d been holding back for months, and Dean felt his eyes fluttering back in his head when he rolled them gently with his other hand. He wouldn’t ever recommend this as Spanish Fly, as one shot load drained him so much that he could only think about sex wistfully for days, but it was worth it both to heal his wounds… and the intensity of the orgasm.
Dean came back to himself with a start and started stroking in earnest. He circled his thumb around the head, spreading the slick pre-cum there, teasing himself, and reached out almost automatically for the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties, tucked by the john this morning. But his questing fingers encountered nothing, and with a groan, Dean realized he’d taken it back outside to read after his shower because Sam spent so much time fixing his damn hair.
“You ok in there?” Sam asked, sounding concerned.
“Can’t a guy jack off in peace?” Dean groused, trying to muffle a moan as his dick twitched again. He needed to come badly; he felt so full, so urgent… His hand sped up to increase the sensations, but with no additional visual stimulation, and Sam trying to play concerned nurse on the other side of the door, it was hard to get in the right mood.
“Sorry.”
Dean closed his eyes and tried to picture Lilah, the saucy centerfold this month, and for a minute, everything seemed to be clicking. He bucked his hips up into his hand, close to the edge, riding it, loud moans spilling out of his mouth as he felt himself about to let go-!
Bang, bang, bang! “Dean?” Sam called. “You sure you’re all right?”
The edge dropped as Dean’s anger mounted, and he stomped to the door and threw it open, letting Sam get an eyeful of his bloody, bruised, angry, sweaty, naked, and really fucking horny older brother.
“If you want to fucking participate, you’re going to be Lilah,” Dean said, in a tone that booked no opposition. Indeed, it promised spectacularly blood violence if he didn’t get a positive answer five seconds ago.
“Who’s Lilah?” Sam asked, gaping. Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and jerked him down on his knees.
“My centerfold,” Dean growled. Sam hit the floor with a thud and found himself facing Dean’s throbbing cock. He licked his lips slightly and looked back up at Dean, smirking.
“This was all just a booty call, wasn’t it?” Sam asked, looking smug. He wouldn’t have gotten on his knees if he hadn’t wanted it, and Dean knew it very well. For making fun of him earlier, Sam supposed he deserved a bit of a reward.
“Sammy, I swear to God if you don’t put that mouth-. Jesus!” Dean exclaimed, holding himself steady in the doorframe as Sam swallowed him down, pain forgotten as he swirled his tongue around Dean’s thickness, humming appreciatively at the salty taste of his pre-cum. There was an odd, spicy, almost green taste to it, but Sam chalked it up to whatever multicolored concoction Dean had been drinking earlier tonight.
Sam let himself lean forward, losing himself in Dean’s scent, feeling the hardness in his mouth and throat. Whatever joke Dean was playing earlier, now things were back to normal, wrapping up a difficult hunt with pleasurable release that would let them both relax.
Which was when Dean suddenly swelled in his mouth, Sam was surprised when his hair was grabbed and he was pulled back. Dean’s hand flew furiously along his length as he held Sam still.
“Eyes closed, Sammy,” Dean whispered hoarsely. Sam felt his mouth go dry as he let his eyes close, going slack in Dean’s grasp. They hadn’t played this game in a very long time, and its very rarity made heat curl in Sam’s belly. Powerful spurts of warmth striped across Sam’s face, more than he thought possible, until Dean’s odd spicy scent suffused every pore, dripped across his eyes, and slid into his mouth. The taste of it, cinnamon, chili, and geraniums, was suddenly familiar.
Dean slacked his fist slightly, knees rubbery not just in the aftermath of his orgasm, but in Sam’s sudden acceptance of being on his knees. Blinking, Dean slowly lowered himself to Sam’s level and took a long moment to appreciate his brother’s face covered in gleaming white. Wishing he dared take a picture, Dean leaned in to begin to wipe it away. Then he noticed where the sheet of white should have been outlining Sam’s new scars, was instead smooth. And the white was fading before his eyes, absorbing into the red of blood and the purple of new bruises. In less than a minute, it was gone, leaving Sam’s face clear of any scar or wound.
Sam could feel it too, and nearly jumped to his feet to look at himself in the mirror.
“Holy crap,” Sam muttered.
“Told you I wasn’t kidding,” Dean said triumphantly, leaning back on the floor with the air of a victorious general.
“You-. It-. You’re fucking impossible!” Sam declared.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively. He tossed something at Sam, who caught it reflexively. Opening his fist, he saw the half-empty bag that Dean had drunk from a half-hour ago. “Make with the healing jizz, Sammy. My face still looks like hamburger.”
Sam opened his mouth for a clever rejoinder as Dean rose up from the floor. He realized he really didn’t have one, shrugged, and tossed down the balance of the powder.
Grinning widely, Dean pushed Sam back against the wall as the heat began rising between them again.