Other Side (Part 2/Wincest)
Title: The Other Side
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Fandom: Wincest, Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Characters: Dean, Sam, mentions of John and Alistair
Warnings Advertisements: Memories of Hell, angsting and some self-hate. Part two has men-sexing.
Summary: "I know exactly where I'm going and I'm running there."
Notes: I wrote this a while ago and I don't think I ever posted it. Interesting, no? Well, if I have posted it, then damn...posting it again!!! ^_^
Part Two
“Dean!” I heard him shout somewhere next to my head. The sound replayed my last night alive when those hellhounds torn me limb from limb. But then I got that sensation once more. My forehead pressed against the wall where my hands had propped me up; my foot slipped over the smooth surface to try and find some purchase to keep me standing. “Fuck…DEAN!” He was moving inside of me for the first time in too long.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy-” I continued an unbroken chant just like that while he pumped his thick cock into me over and over again. The initial stretch and pain had been nothing in comparison to what all of those demons had done to me, yet somehow it was different. This wasn’t torturous, just to make you suffer pain. It was more like need this because I need you or make you feel soooo good pain. My voice was breaking the flute register by the time he started hitting my prostate without fail each time.
Those claws from not too long ago gripped my hips, trying to make me bleed again. Then I recognized the warmth and tenderness that was my brother’s fingertips. He stroked down my sides and slid his hips up again. I must have been sobbing with the tragedy of all of that crashing down on every side of me. I’d seen the end of the world so many times in all those years of pain and torture. “Shhh…” That was his voice, my baby brother whispering to me as his hand reached around me and found my faltering erection. “I’ll make it better,” he insisted, not knowing how impossible that would be. “I’ll make it good.” I’ll never admit this again, once the trauma starts to numb, but I was whimpering then. I’d had one night alive so far and Sam had no idea.
“Thank you, Sammy,” I whined, bucking myself into the warm, squeezing hand around me. My control faltered with a frightening spiral into my own mind. His pace seemed to quicken beyond possibility-almost as if he feared this was just a dream and wanted to reach completion before it ended. I blubbered like an idiot against that wall and pushed down to meet him. “I don’t deserve you.”
I’m not sure why I said it, but he didn’t seem to notice. I could see all of that horror whenever I closed my eyes. The things that happened, happened to me, the things I’d done all of it played on fast forward through my skull in an unfaltering reminder. What I had said was true; I didn’t deserve how good Sam was. I couldn’t bring myself to stop him, though. Not only for his sake, but my selfishness wouldn’t tear me away from this heavenly reprieve in a million years.
“I love you,” he was telling me, “I love you so damn much. Please don’t leave me.”
It occurred to me then how easy it would be for Alistair to conjure this little image up from thin air. This could all just be some sick new form of punishment inflicted on my soul to break me farther. I reached back desperately and gripped Sam’s hair. “Don’t stop,” I demanded suddenly. My limbs were shaking with the mixed sensation of fear and pleasure, and I wanted him to keep this up just in case it wasn’t real, “Sammy boy, don’t stop…”
We were both moaning like madmen, grappling and holding, jerking and petting, until suddenly I was face first into a bed. That damn hotel room I’d found Sam in before. Given the new, more comfortable position, he had a better anchorage and could thrust just that much harder. My knees dug into the grungy comforter and my head turned to the side to breathe against a pillow. His hand was in my hair, suddenly, dragging me back to meet every merciless penetration. I was one the verge, my weeping dick still fucking into a tunnel of Sam’s fist.
When he leaned down, chest pressed into my back, I lost it. The warmth made my body jerk and I almost screamed into the darkness of that motel room. I was so glad that the only reason I didn’t was because he kissed me and held me tightly around the chest as I felt him release deep inside of me. Our tongues fought for even the slightest of moments before he conceded and let me in to explore him again. At that exact moment, the line blurred. Even if I was still in the pit, even if this was some sick illusion for my mental agony, at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Fandom: Wincest, Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Characters: Dean, Sam, mentions of John and Alistair
Warnings Advertisements: Memories of Hell, angsting and some self-hate. Part two has men-sexing.
Summary: "I know exactly where I'm going and I'm running there."
Notes: I wrote this a while ago and I don't think I ever posted it. Interesting, no? Well, if I have posted it, then damn...posting it again!!! ^_^
Part Two
“Dean!” I heard him shout somewhere next to my head. The sound replayed my last night alive when those hellhounds torn me limb from limb. But then I got that sensation once more. My forehead pressed against the wall where my hands had propped me up; my foot slipped over the smooth surface to try and find some purchase to keep me standing. “Fuck…DEAN!” He was moving inside of me for the first time in too long.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy-” I continued an unbroken chant just like that while he pumped his thick cock into me over and over again. The initial stretch and pain had been nothing in comparison to what all of those demons had done to me, yet somehow it was different. This wasn’t torturous, just to make you suffer pain. It was more like need this because I need you or make you feel soooo good pain. My voice was breaking the flute register by the time he started hitting my prostate without fail each time.
Those claws from not too long ago gripped my hips, trying to make me bleed again. Then I recognized the warmth and tenderness that was my brother’s fingertips. He stroked down my sides and slid his hips up again. I must have been sobbing with the tragedy of all of that crashing down on every side of me. I’d seen the end of the world so many times in all those years of pain and torture. “Shhh…” That was his voice, my baby brother whispering to me as his hand reached around me and found my faltering erection. “I’ll make it better,” he insisted, not knowing how impossible that would be. “I’ll make it good.” I’ll never admit this again, once the trauma starts to numb, but I was whimpering then. I’d had one night alive so far and Sam had no idea.
“Thank you, Sammy,” I whined, bucking myself into the warm, squeezing hand around me. My control faltered with a frightening spiral into my own mind. His pace seemed to quicken beyond possibility-almost as if he feared this was just a dream and wanted to reach completion before it ended. I blubbered like an idiot against that wall and pushed down to meet him. “I don’t deserve you.”
I’m not sure why I said it, but he didn’t seem to notice. I could see all of that horror whenever I closed my eyes. The things that happened, happened to me, the things I’d done all of it played on fast forward through my skull in an unfaltering reminder. What I had said was true; I didn’t deserve how good Sam was. I couldn’t bring myself to stop him, though. Not only for his sake, but my selfishness wouldn’t tear me away from this heavenly reprieve in a million years.
“I love you,” he was telling me, “I love you so damn much. Please don’t leave me.”
It occurred to me then how easy it would be for Alistair to conjure this little image up from thin air. This could all just be some sick new form of punishment inflicted on my soul to break me farther. I reached back desperately and gripped Sam’s hair. “Don’t stop,” I demanded suddenly. My limbs were shaking with the mixed sensation of fear and pleasure, and I wanted him to keep this up just in case it wasn’t real, “Sammy boy, don’t stop…”
We were both moaning like madmen, grappling and holding, jerking and petting, until suddenly I was face first into a bed. That damn hotel room I’d found Sam in before. Given the new, more comfortable position, he had a better anchorage and could thrust just that much harder. My knees dug into the grungy comforter and my head turned to the side to breathe against a pillow. His hand was in my hair, suddenly, dragging me back to meet every merciless penetration. I was one the verge, my weeping dick still fucking into a tunnel of Sam’s fist.
When he leaned down, chest pressed into my back, I lost it. The warmth made my body jerk and I almost screamed into the darkness of that motel room. I was so glad that the only reason I didn’t was because he kissed me and held me tightly around the chest as I felt him release deep inside of me. Our tongues fought for even the slightest of moments before he conceded and let me in to explore him again. At that exact moment, the line blurred. Even if I was still in the pit, even if this was some sick illusion for my mental agony, at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less.