SPN fic
Yeah, I know. It's been awhile. Sorry. Sam finally got loud in my head.
SPN 4X01 Fic
Title: The Center Cannot Hold
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Explicit m/m incest
Summary: Insert this in “Lazarus Rising” between 18:30 and 19:05.
Disclaimer: I’m sure this really wasn’t on the cutting room floor.
Bobby went to make his call. Not that he couldn’t have made it right there, but Bobby knew. And they knew that Bobby knew and Sam was never more grateful for the complete lack of communication skills in his family because they could all know and not talk about it.
Sam’s heart was two more beats away from punching its way out of his chest when Dean’s body finally took the same path as his implacable stare and moved toward Sam.
Sam tried to meet him halfway, but Dean’s momentum sent them crashing into the wall. And Dean’s hands, gripped, grabbed, tangled and Sam didn’t care if it was clothes or skin or hair, because switches went off inside him, bringing dead parts back online, resetting the world to as normal as it ever got.
It wasn’t a kiss. Neither of them could manage anything as organized, as civilized as a kiss. It was stealing breath, forcing taste in and dragging it out with tongues and teeth and lips. But every bit of it made the right word echo in Sam’s head DeanDeanDean. It could be just another dream, but it wasn’t. Because he wouldn’t be tasting blood, his body wouldn’t ache from the way Dean kept slamming him into the wall, body and hands and mouth brutal and almost angry.
Of course he was angry. He’d given everything for Sam. And Sam had failed him. The one time Dean needed him and he failed him. Nothing Ruby had shown him was getting him any closer to getting Dean out after months in hell.
Sam shoved back, harder, and they richocheted off something at hip-height before crashing into the wall again, Dean with his back against it. Sam used the second Dean needed to catch the breath that had been slammed out of him and pulled free of Dean’s grip.
“I’m sorry, Dean.” The floor jumped up to meet his knees. “I tried. Everything.” And if he’d been sure he’d get there to meet Dean, Sam would have tried eating a bullet. Looked at the end of a gun too many times.
“Sammy. Don’t. C’mon. I know.”
Dean’s hand fisted in Sam’s shirt and tried to drag him back to his feet. Sam buried his face in Dean’s crotch, rubbing against the hard length under the denim.
“Or.” And Dean’s voice cracked on his attempt at a leering lilt.
“Yeah.” Sam worked his fly with rough hands, tugging Dean’s cock free with a lack of finesse that would normally have earned him a mocking assessment of his skills. But now he got a soft grunt and Dean’s hips tilting forward.
Cocksucking as penance and promise. Only in their fucked up world did it make as much sense as it did to say I’m sorry, I need you, I’m not going to fail again by taking your brother’s cock to the back of your throat. And Dean absolved him in the way his hands were almost gentle in Sam’s hair, thumb scraping across Sam’s cheeks as they hollowed when he went down. The way Dean controlled his hips, not pushing, little hitches that encouraged Sam to go deeper.
He wanted to soften jaw, lips, throat. He’d had to be so hard, everything was so hard without Dean, but he didn’t know how to get back to where he could let Dean in. Because if he had to fill the emptiness Dean dying had left again, he was afraid this time he wouldn’t care how he filled it.
He swirled his tongue around the head, lapped at the come leaking from the slit and the familiar taste had his throat opening, yielding as he took Dean all the way in, where Sam wanted him. Safe inside until he could find a way to keep Dean from ever being ripped away from him.
A thick vein pulsed against the flat of Sam’s tongue, proof of life, of Dean. Another time, Sam might have mocked him for his lack of stamina, and Dean would have rationalized it complaining that it’d had been four months, dude, so yeah.
Dean’s hips jerked harder and he took possession of Sam’s mouth, his throat, sinking deep and shifting his hips side to side, thick pressure, enough to make Sam’s eyes water. Another pulse and Dean was pulling Sam off his cock, yanking him back so that their eyes met. Dean licked his lips, eyes soft-almost happy. Sam dug his hands into Dean’s hips, pushing him back against the wall and swallowed Dean into his throat again.
“Sammy.” And Dean came--thick, bitter, salty--like the four months of tears Sam had been forcing back into his throat.
Sam licked and swallowed until Dean jerked away and pulled Sam to his feet with rough hands.
Sam dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder for an instant.
“Don’t go wiping jizz on me, dude.” That more than anything let Sam know Dean-his Dean-was back. Armored, strong, and impossibly obnoxious.
“Shut up.” Sam caught his breath and raised his head. Dean had had what? a blink of time. Sam had been aware of every second of forever without him. He was entitled to a moment of weak knees and lack of breath.
Dean grabbed at his ass before sliding his hand over Sam’s hip to his crotch. “Want me to-”
Sam shook his head. The pain of melting his erection down was nothing compared to what he’d already been through. “Nah. Bobby’ll be back in a few.”
Dean’s gaze flicked to the door and with a malicious rub, followed by an even more malicious grin, he ducked away. “Whatever. Your dick, Sammy.”
There was one more thing Sam needed to do while they were alone. He reached under his shirt. “Here, Dean.” Handing the amulet back should have felt better. Should have eased some of the weight he’d been carrying around since he lifted the amulet from Dean’s gutted corpse, the promise to get him back burning in his throat.
Despite Dean’s quirked smile as he settled the cord around his neck, Sam didn’t feel any lighter.
SPN 4X01 Fic
Title: The Center Cannot Hold
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Explicit m/m incest
Summary: Insert this in “Lazarus Rising” between 18:30 and 19:05.
Disclaimer: I’m sure this really wasn’t on the cutting room floor.
Bobby went to make his call. Not that he couldn’t have made it right there, but Bobby knew. And they knew that Bobby knew and Sam was never more grateful for the complete lack of communication skills in his family because they could all know and not talk about it.
Sam’s heart was two more beats away from punching its way out of his chest when Dean’s body finally took the same path as his implacable stare and moved toward Sam.
Sam tried to meet him halfway, but Dean’s momentum sent them crashing into the wall. And Dean’s hands, gripped, grabbed, tangled and Sam didn’t care if it was clothes or skin or hair, because switches went off inside him, bringing dead parts back online, resetting the world to as normal as it ever got.
It wasn’t a kiss. Neither of them could manage anything as organized, as civilized as a kiss. It was stealing breath, forcing taste in and dragging it out with tongues and teeth and lips. But every bit of it made the right word echo in Sam’s head DeanDeanDean. It could be just another dream, but it wasn’t. Because he wouldn’t be tasting blood, his body wouldn’t ache from the way Dean kept slamming him into the wall, body and hands and mouth brutal and almost angry.
Of course he was angry. He’d given everything for Sam. And Sam had failed him. The one time Dean needed him and he failed him. Nothing Ruby had shown him was getting him any closer to getting Dean out after months in hell.
Sam shoved back, harder, and they richocheted off something at hip-height before crashing into the wall again, Dean with his back against it. Sam used the second Dean needed to catch the breath that had been slammed out of him and pulled free of Dean’s grip.
“I’m sorry, Dean.” The floor jumped up to meet his knees. “I tried. Everything.” And if he’d been sure he’d get there to meet Dean, Sam would have tried eating a bullet. Looked at the end of a gun too many times.
“Sammy. Don’t. C’mon. I know.”
Dean’s hand fisted in Sam’s shirt and tried to drag him back to his feet. Sam buried his face in Dean’s crotch, rubbing against the hard length under the denim.
“Or.” And Dean’s voice cracked on his attempt at a leering lilt.
“Yeah.” Sam worked his fly with rough hands, tugging Dean’s cock free with a lack of finesse that would normally have earned him a mocking assessment of his skills. But now he got a soft grunt and Dean’s hips tilting forward.
Cocksucking as penance and promise. Only in their fucked up world did it make as much sense as it did to say I’m sorry, I need you, I’m not going to fail again by taking your brother’s cock to the back of your throat. And Dean absolved him in the way his hands were almost gentle in Sam’s hair, thumb scraping across Sam’s cheeks as they hollowed when he went down. The way Dean controlled his hips, not pushing, little hitches that encouraged Sam to go deeper.
He wanted to soften jaw, lips, throat. He’d had to be so hard, everything was so hard without Dean, but he didn’t know how to get back to where he could let Dean in. Because if he had to fill the emptiness Dean dying had left again, he was afraid this time he wouldn’t care how he filled it.
He swirled his tongue around the head, lapped at the come leaking from the slit and the familiar taste had his throat opening, yielding as he took Dean all the way in, where Sam wanted him. Safe inside until he could find a way to keep Dean from ever being ripped away from him.
A thick vein pulsed against the flat of Sam’s tongue, proof of life, of Dean. Another time, Sam might have mocked him for his lack of stamina, and Dean would have rationalized it complaining that it’d had been four months, dude, so yeah.
Dean’s hips jerked harder and he took possession of Sam’s mouth, his throat, sinking deep and shifting his hips side to side, thick pressure, enough to make Sam’s eyes water. Another pulse and Dean was pulling Sam off his cock, yanking him back so that their eyes met. Dean licked his lips, eyes soft-almost happy. Sam dug his hands into Dean’s hips, pushing him back against the wall and swallowed Dean into his throat again.
“Sammy.” And Dean came--thick, bitter, salty--like the four months of tears Sam had been forcing back into his throat.
Sam licked and swallowed until Dean jerked away and pulled Sam to his feet with rough hands.
Sam dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder for an instant.
“Don’t go wiping jizz on me, dude.” That more than anything let Sam know Dean-his Dean-was back. Armored, strong, and impossibly obnoxious.
“Shut up.” Sam caught his breath and raised his head. Dean had had what? a blink of time. Sam had been aware of every second of forever without him. He was entitled to a moment of weak knees and lack of breath.
Dean grabbed at his ass before sliding his hand over Sam’s hip to his crotch. “Want me to-”
Sam shook his head. The pain of melting his erection down was nothing compared to what he’d already been through. “Nah. Bobby’ll be back in a few.”
Dean’s gaze flicked to the door and with a malicious rub, followed by an even more malicious grin, he ducked away. “Whatever. Your dick, Sammy.”
There was one more thing Sam needed to do while they were alone. He reached under his shirt. “Here, Dean.” Handing the amulet back should have felt better. Should have eased some of the weight he’d been carrying around since he lifted the amulet from Dean’s gutted corpse, the promise to get him back burning in his throat.
Despite Dean’s quirked smile as he settled the cord around his neck, Sam didn’t feel any lighter.