Surprised Liaison - Sam/Dean, Slash, R
Title: Surprised Liaison
Author: thelonejuliet
Characters: Sam, Dean, Metallicar (sort of)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 699
Rating: R
Warnings: Boy kissing, incest, handjobs, the usual. :)
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Disclaimer: The boys are not mine. *sad face* And the car's not either. *sadder face*
Beta: confused_one06
Author's Note(s): This was written for dreamlittleyo's drawing/manipulation, found here! Isn't it purty?
All fics found here or here!
Summary: Set during the "Stanford Years." Sam gets a pleasant surprise on his way home.
When Sam walks out of the bar that night, he’s not expecting anything but some fresh air and a nice walk back to his dorm room. But, what he gets is far better than that.
He sees Dean. Sitting on the hood of the Impala, parked at the back of the lot. Dean. With his cocksure grin and come-hither eyes that he’s only ever reserved for Sam. Legs splayed open, the space in between fit for only him.
He can’t help the grin that splits across his own face, the test that he needs to study for completely forgotten as he makes his way to the unlit portion of blacktop. Where the Impala’s black and chrome gleams coolly beneath the light of the quarter moon, where Dean’s lips wait invitingly.
Wasting no time, Sam steps into the space, the warm aura that Dean provides. His right hand comes up to cup the older man’s head, fingers sliding and tangling in the short hairs. His left hand settles on his brother’s shoulder, grounding, proving it’s real.
Dean’s hands slide underneath Sam’s worn jacket and grasp onto his hips, as his head tilts up, their lips meeting in a touch of too long, too much, too good. Sam breathes out on a moan. Slides his tongue along the entrance to Dean’s mouth. Opens the door to that cavernous warmth, taste that he’s missed.
Lost in the taste, the touch, the feel of Dean underneath his fingertips, he hardly acknowledges Dean’s deft fingers working at his jeans. Until a warm, rough, calloused hand slides in and nimble fingers wrap around his sudden erection, stroking slowly, firmly, cautiously. He moans again, tangling his tongue around Dean’s with more urgency.
Dean matches the passion. Speeds up, slows down, grips harder, twists on the upstroke. Interprets Sam’s moans, whines, whimpers with perfection. Too much, too soon, not enough. Sam pulls his mouth from Dean’s, rests their foreheads together. Stares into the green orbs that have been a figment of a dream for months.
Dean stares back, guard down, emotion, love, all laid bare for only Sam to see.
Only ever for Sam to know.
He pants, short breaths, mingling with Dean’s calm, composed air. Too much, too close, can’t hold on. With a groan muffled by the older man’s mouth, he comes in hot spurts, white spurts over his brother’s hand.
Coming down from the bliss is hard. Because of what it means. Dean will fade. Disappear back into the darkness, the night from which he came. Sam knows it’s inevitable, still doesn’t want him to go.
All thoughts of normal fly out the window in Dean’s presence. Normal has always, silently meant without Dean. Without protection. Without overcompensating, all-consuming love.
He buries his face in his brother’s neck, as Dean cleans them both off. Breathes in the aftershave, the sweat, the leather, the smell of Dean. Remembers, stores it all for a later date. Saves it for unstoppable dreams.
“Sammy…”
The first word that’s been spoken all night comes as more of a breath. A plea. An apology.
It means I love you. Probably with a bitch tacked to the end of it because Dean is. Dean.
Sam’s right hand comes up to thread through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean’s hand settles on Sam’s hips, gripping tight enough to bruise. A mirror. A replica of their first contact mere minutes before.
Cocksure grin in place and his eyes with the emotion-heavy look that’s only ever been reserved for Sam. His hands squeeze slightly. His head tilts up. Their eyes close and their lips meet again in too much, so long, goodbye, love you, always love you.
Before he can get lost in the green warmth again, Sam pulls away. Steps back. Walks away. Doesn’t look back.
When he stepped out of the bar, he hadn’t been expecting Dean. There. But, it’s what he got, what he wanted to find. What he always hopes to find on the other side of every door.
He gets back to his bed, falls on it completely clothed. There’s an engine purring faintly in the distance. He hears what it says.
‘Til next time, Sammy.
*********
Feedback is always appreciated! :)
Author: thelonejuliet
Characters: Sam, Dean, Metallicar (sort of)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 699
Rating: R
Warnings: Boy kissing, incest, handjobs, the usual. :)
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Disclaimer: The boys are not mine. *sad face* And the car's not either. *sadder face*
Beta: confused_one06
Author's Note(s): This was written for dreamlittleyo's drawing/manipulation, found here! Isn't it purty?
All fics found here or here!
Summary: Set during the "Stanford Years." Sam gets a pleasant surprise on his way home.
When Sam walks out of the bar that night, he’s not expecting anything but some fresh air and a nice walk back to his dorm room. But, what he gets is far better than that.
He sees Dean. Sitting on the hood of the Impala, parked at the back of the lot. Dean. With his cocksure grin and come-hither eyes that he’s only ever reserved for Sam. Legs splayed open, the space in between fit for only him.
He can’t help the grin that splits across his own face, the test that he needs to study for completely forgotten as he makes his way to the unlit portion of blacktop. Where the Impala’s black and chrome gleams coolly beneath the light of the quarter moon, where Dean’s lips wait invitingly.
Wasting no time, Sam steps into the space, the warm aura that Dean provides. His right hand comes up to cup the older man’s head, fingers sliding and tangling in the short hairs. His left hand settles on his brother’s shoulder, grounding, proving it’s real.
Dean’s hands slide underneath Sam’s worn jacket and grasp onto his hips, as his head tilts up, their lips meeting in a touch of too long, too much, too good. Sam breathes out on a moan. Slides his tongue along the entrance to Dean’s mouth. Opens the door to that cavernous warmth, taste that he’s missed.
Lost in the taste, the touch, the feel of Dean underneath his fingertips, he hardly acknowledges Dean’s deft fingers working at his jeans. Until a warm, rough, calloused hand slides in and nimble fingers wrap around his sudden erection, stroking slowly, firmly, cautiously. He moans again, tangling his tongue around Dean’s with more urgency.
Dean matches the passion. Speeds up, slows down, grips harder, twists on the upstroke. Interprets Sam’s moans, whines, whimpers with perfection. Too much, too soon, not enough. Sam pulls his mouth from Dean’s, rests their foreheads together. Stares into the green orbs that have been a figment of a dream for months.
Dean stares back, guard down, emotion, love, all laid bare for only Sam to see.
Only ever for Sam to know.
He pants, short breaths, mingling with Dean’s calm, composed air. Too much, too close, can’t hold on. With a groan muffled by the older man’s mouth, he comes in hot spurts, white spurts over his brother’s hand.
Coming down from the bliss is hard. Because of what it means. Dean will fade. Disappear back into the darkness, the night from which he came. Sam knows it’s inevitable, still doesn’t want him to go.
All thoughts of normal fly out the window in Dean’s presence. Normal has always, silently meant without Dean. Without protection. Without overcompensating, all-consuming love.
He buries his face in his brother’s neck, as Dean cleans them both off. Breathes in the aftershave, the sweat, the leather, the smell of Dean. Remembers, stores it all for a later date. Saves it for unstoppable dreams.
“Sammy…”
The first word that’s been spoken all night comes as more of a breath. A plea. An apology.
It means I love you. Probably with a bitch tacked to the end of it because Dean is. Dean.
Sam’s right hand comes up to thread through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean’s hand settles on Sam’s hips, gripping tight enough to bruise. A mirror. A replica of their first contact mere minutes before.
Cocksure grin in place and his eyes with the emotion-heavy look that’s only ever been reserved for Sam. His hands squeeze slightly. His head tilts up. Their eyes close and their lips meet again in too much, so long, goodbye, love you, always love you.
Before he can get lost in the green warmth again, Sam pulls away. Steps back. Walks away. Doesn’t look back.
When he stepped out of the bar, he hadn’t been expecting Dean. There. But, it’s what he got, what he wanted to find. What he always hopes to find on the other side of every door.
He gets back to his bed, falls on it completely clothed. There’s an engine purring faintly in the distance. He hears what it says.
‘Til next time, Sammy.
*********
Feedback is always appreciated! :)