SPN fic: Intangible
Title: Intangible
Rating/Pairing: Porn, Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean...sort of
Summary: He dreamed about Jess, and for the first time since November, it didn't end in blood and fire.
For svmadelyn's 2006 Cuff 'Em, Vamp 'Em, or Just Make 'Em Come Already Kink and Cliché Multi-Fandom Challenge for the prompt non-corporeal sex.
Warnings/Spoilers: Have you seen the pairing? And the challenge? Spoilers through 1x19 "Provenance"
Sam moaned and thrust up into the lush, wet heat that enveloped his cock. His head swam with dizziness, his fingers and toes tingled with numbness. All sensation, all his thoughts, all his energy pooled in his groin, bright and golden. He thrust his hips up again, heavy with inarticulate want, reaching for something just out of his grasp...
The shotgun blast was like bucket of cold water to the face. His eyes snapped open. He caught a glimpse of naked breasts, a snarling mouth, great leathery wings before Dean fired the shotgun again and the demon vanished.
He sucked in a hard breath and turned his head to look at his brother. Dean smirked at him. "Dude," he said. "A succubus? You really need to get laid."
***
Later, he wondered if it was because of the succubus, if her touch had tainted his own powers somehow, coloring them, molding them in her image. Or maybe he had been right at the beginning, and it was all just the result of time. Time and his own fucked up sub-conscious.
Either way, he dreamed about Jess, and for the first time since November, it didn't end in blood and fire.
He was vaguely embarrassed about the way it did end-he hadn't had a wet dream since he discovered the art of masturbation at the age of twelve. If Dean had heard him...but Dean was passed out in the other bed, snoring a faint, whistling snore.
Sam got up and grabbed a clean pair of boxers. In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the harsh fluorescent light and told himself, I'm not getting over it, I'm not forgetting what happened. I'm just...remembering good things, too.
He hadn't jerked off since November, either. He couldn't think of Jess without thinking of her dead, and he couldn't think of another woman, or even sex in general, without thinking of Jess. He hadn't wanted to. This is a good sign. I won't let that bastard take away my memories of her. His reflection looked exhausted and washed out and slightly dubious at this statement.
He made a mental note to do laundry in the morning.
***
So he went through boxer shorts at a faster-than-usual rate and didn't say anything to Dean about it, although he noticed Dean had started putting up wards against succubi and incubi.
Outside of Pittsburgh, he dreamed about the third time he and Jess had made love. The first two times had been good, unremarkable, edged with that first time awkwardness and the unfortunate elbow incident. But the third time...The third time, was lazy and slow and full of laughter. He lay beside her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her throat, and slid two fingers inside her. He propped himself up on one elbow so he could watch her face as he rubbed his thumb over her clit, curled his fingers just so, seeking the spot that made her laughter tip over into breathlessness as she came.
Sam surfaced from the dream just before his own orgasm. He could still taste the salt of her skin on his lips. He heard Dean cry out, low and rough and unmistakably sexual in the stillness of the motel room. Synchronicity, Sam thought, and smiled as he slid back down into sleep.
Sam didn't notice that Dean was going through boxers at a faster-than-usual rate, too.
***
In the motel room where disco went to die, Sam stared up at the ceiling, one hand on his belly. He was too wound up to sleep, adrenaline from the hunt still running through his veins. He knew what would take the edge off, but was halfway afraid his mind would turn on him, throw up images he didn't want to see. Even after the dreams he wasn't sure he was ready for-Oh, fuck it, it's just masturbation, he thought, and grabbed his cock.
He could go into the bathroom, but he was warm and snug under the covers, and Dean was dead to the world, sleeping the sleep of the successful hunter. Sam closed his eyes. His thoughts skittered briefly to Sarah, her dark hair and shining mouth, but that seemed wrong somehow, so he thought about Jess instead.
She was waiting for him in bed, wearing a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. Not the smurf one, the pale blue one with the words "Make mischief" and Max and one of the monsters from Where the Wild Things Are. (She bought in Target, dragging Sam into the women's clothing section. "Oh, man," she said, holding it up, "I loved this story when I was a kid." "Me, too," Sam had said, and didn't add, "After I figured out it was fiction.")
For a moment the bittersweet taste of that memory filled his mouth and he faltered. He put the image back together, piece by piece, like building a spell or chanting an exorcism-it was all about focus and a steady mind. He pictured the t-shirt again, small and tight over her breasts. He could see her nipples through the thin material.
She gasped when he bent his head and bit one of her nipples through the shirt. He licked and sucked on each of them, until she pulled his head up and kissed him, slow and deep and messy. He kissed back, sliding his hands under her shirt, over the smooth skin of her waist. She broke the kiss, leaning back to strip off her shirt. Sam reached up to cup her breasts.
Under the sheets, his hand moved steadily on his dick. He was hard now, and had to bring one hand up to cover his mouth, to muffle his harsh breaths.
He kissed her again, and laid her back against the pillows. He stroked his hands down her side to the waistband of the boxers and pulled them down.
The soft snap of fabric made Sam open his eyes. Dean was sprawled out in the other bed, still asleep, but uncovered now. Like someone had pulled the sheets off him. The fantasy lingered, the image of his hands stripping the boxers off dream-Jess's body overlaid the sight of phantom hands stripping the boxers off Dean's body.
Sam didn't close his eyes as he pictured himself sliding down Jess's body. He licked, delicate and dainty, at her clit, teasing it out from the folds of her labia. Dean moaned and his legs fell apart. His cock was hard, already slick at the tip. Sam pulled himself up to lean against the headboard. Vaguely, he knew there was something wrong with this, some reason he shouldn't do this, shouldn't want this, but he couldn't let his concentration slip long enough to figure it out. He licked his lips, imagined licking Jess, his hands on her thighs to hold her steady. Dean's hands clutched at the sheets.
He couldn't hold the image of Jess in his mind. He focused on the feel of his own cock in his hand, the hard rhythm of his strokes, breath coming fast, tension coiling up his spine. Dean's head fell back and Sam wanted to lick the curve of his throat. He wanted to run his hands over Dean's chest, and his palms tingled as if he could truly feel Dean's skin beneath them. Dean,he wanted to say, Dean, look at me, look at me.
As if he heard, Dean turned his head and opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and clear for a split second before it glazed over and he came. Sam gasped aloud and came, spilling over his hands. Dean shuddered and went limp, eyes closed, falling back into the well of sleep.
In the bathroom, Sam washed his shaking hands and didn't look at his reflection at all.
Rating/Pairing: Porn, Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean...sort of
Summary: He dreamed about Jess, and for the first time since November, it didn't end in blood and fire.
For svmadelyn's 2006 Cuff 'Em, Vamp 'Em, or Just Make 'Em Come Already Kink and Cliché Multi-Fandom Challenge for the prompt non-corporeal sex.
Warnings/Spoilers: Have you seen the pairing? And the challenge? Spoilers through 1x19 "Provenance"
Sam moaned and thrust up into the lush, wet heat that enveloped his cock. His head swam with dizziness, his fingers and toes tingled with numbness. All sensation, all his thoughts, all his energy pooled in his groin, bright and golden. He thrust his hips up again, heavy with inarticulate want, reaching for something just out of his grasp...
The shotgun blast was like bucket of cold water to the face. His eyes snapped open. He caught a glimpse of naked breasts, a snarling mouth, great leathery wings before Dean fired the shotgun again and the demon vanished.
He sucked in a hard breath and turned his head to look at his brother. Dean smirked at him. "Dude," he said. "A succubus? You really need to get laid."
***
Later, he wondered if it was because of the succubus, if her touch had tainted his own powers somehow, coloring them, molding them in her image. Or maybe he had been right at the beginning, and it was all just the result of time. Time and his own fucked up sub-conscious.
Either way, he dreamed about Jess, and for the first time since November, it didn't end in blood and fire.
He was vaguely embarrassed about the way it did end-he hadn't had a wet dream since he discovered the art of masturbation at the age of twelve. If Dean had heard him...but Dean was passed out in the other bed, snoring a faint, whistling snore.
Sam got up and grabbed a clean pair of boxers. In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the harsh fluorescent light and told himself, I'm not getting over it, I'm not forgetting what happened. I'm just...remembering good things, too.
He hadn't jerked off since November, either. He couldn't think of Jess without thinking of her dead, and he couldn't think of another woman, or even sex in general, without thinking of Jess. He hadn't wanted to. This is a good sign. I won't let that bastard take away my memories of her. His reflection looked exhausted and washed out and slightly dubious at this statement.
He made a mental note to do laundry in the morning.
***
So he went through boxer shorts at a faster-than-usual rate and didn't say anything to Dean about it, although he noticed Dean had started putting up wards against succubi and incubi.
Outside of Pittsburgh, he dreamed about the third time he and Jess had made love. The first two times had been good, unremarkable, edged with that first time awkwardness and the unfortunate elbow incident. But the third time...The third time, was lazy and slow and full of laughter. He lay beside her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her throat, and slid two fingers inside her. He propped himself up on one elbow so he could watch her face as he rubbed his thumb over her clit, curled his fingers just so, seeking the spot that made her laughter tip over into breathlessness as she came.
Sam surfaced from the dream just before his own orgasm. He could still taste the salt of her skin on his lips. He heard Dean cry out, low and rough and unmistakably sexual in the stillness of the motel room. Synchronicity, Sam thought, and smiled as he slid back down into sleep.
Sam didn't notice that Dean was going through boxers at a faster-than-usual rate, too.
***
In the motel room where disco went to die, Sam stared up at the ceiling, one hand on his belly. He was too wound up to sleep, adrenaline from the hunt still running through his veins. He knew what would take the edge off, but was halfway afraid his mind would turn on him, throw up images he didn't want to see. Even after the dreams he wasn't sure he was ready for-Oh, fuck it, it's just masturbation, he thought, and grabbed his cock.
He could go into the bathroom, but he was warm and snug under the covers, and Dean was dead to the world, sleeping the sleep of the successful hunter. Sam closed his eyes. His thoughts skittered briefly to Sarah, her dark hair and shining mouth, but that seemed wrong somehow, so he thought about Jess instead.
She was waiting for him in bed, wearing a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. Not the smurf one, the pale blue one with the words "Make mischief" and Max and one of the monsters from Where the Wild Things Are. (She bought in Target, dragging Sam into the women's clothing section. "Oh, man," she said, holding it up, "I loved this story when I was a kid." "Me, too," Sam had said, and didn't add, "After I figured out it was fiction.")
For a moment the bittersweet taste of that memory filled his mouth and he faltered. He put the image back together, piece by piece, like building a spell or chanting an exorcism-it was all about focus and a steady mind. He pictured the t-shirt again, small and tight over her breasts. He could see her nipples through the thin material.
She gasped when he bent his head and bit one of her nipples through the shirt. He licked and sucked on each of them, until she pulled his head up and kissed him, slow and deep and messy. He kissed back, sliding his hands under her shirt, over the smooth skin of her waist. She broke the kiss, leaning back to strip off her shirt. Sam reached up to cup her breasts.
Under the sheets, his hand moved steadily on his dick. He was hard now, and had to bring one hand up to cover his mouth, to muffle his harsh breaths.
He kissed her again, and laid her back against the pillows. He stroked his hands down her side to the waistband of the boxers and pulled them down.
The soft snap of fabric made Sam open his eyes. Dean was sprawled out in the other bed, still asleep, but uncovered now. Like someone had pulled the sheets off him. The fantasy lingered, the image of his hands stripping the boxers off dream-Jess's body overlaid the sight of phantom hands stripping the boxers off Dean's body.
Sam didn't close his eyes as he pictured himself sliding down Jess's body. He licked, delicate and dainty, at her clit, teasing it out from the folds of her labia. Dean moaned and his legs fell apart. His cock was hard, already slick at the tip. Sam pulled himself up to lean against the headboard. Vaguely, he knew there was something wrong with this, some reason he shouldn't do this, shouldn't want this, but he couldn't let his concentration slip long enough to figure it out. He licked his lips, imagined licking Jess, his hands on her thighs to hold her steady. Dean's hands clutched at the sheets.
He couldn't hold the image of Jess in his mind. He focused on the feel of his own cock in his hand, the hard rhythm of his strokes, breath coming fast, tension coiling up his spine. Dean's head fell back and Sam wanted to lick the curve of his throat. He wanted to run his hands over Dean's chest, and his palms tingled as if he could truly feel Dean's skin beneath them. Dean,he wanted to say, Dean, look at me, look at me.
As if he heard, Dean turned his head and opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and clear for a split second before it glazed over and he came. Sam gasped aloud and came, spilling over his hands. Dean shuddered and went limp, eyes closed, falling back into the well of sleep.
In the bathroom, Sam washed his shaking hands and didn't look at his reflection at all.