(Supernatural) All Fall Down
Title: All Fall Down
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1057
Notes: Incest. Questionable consent. Sex pollen. For 64damn_prompts, prompt "crumble".
Summary: Venom and need, artificial and real.
Sam’s everywhere. All over him, heat and pressure, hands moving roughly over Dean’s arms, his shoulders, his waist. Pressing his face to Dean’s neck and inhaling, making these noises low in his throat like Dean’s scent is some drug he can’t get enough of. Lips wet against Dean’s skin, breath burning him as it beats fast against his throat.
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean grunts, trying to brace himself, trying to push Sam off. Except he can’t get leverage, hands sliding uselessly over the sheets, and Sam’s suddenly huge in a way Dean’s never noticed before, in a way Dean’s been ignoring since Sam first grew taller than him. Looming over him, pushing him down like it’s no effort at all, and Dean just tries to breathe, tries to stay calm.
Venom, toxic and running through Sam’s system, and they’ve seen the notes in the textbooks, in their dad’s journal. Adrenaline, endorphins, pheromones and all that crap mixed with a healthy dose of voodoo mojo, and Sam just needs to get it out of his system, and Dean wants to point out that Sam could do that on his own. Hell, Dean’ll happily leave him the room, go find somewhere else to spend the night, let Sam jerk off until the poison eases and he can see straight again.
Only Sam won’t let him go.
Sam’s hard against him. Dean’s mind is trying to short-circuit around that thought, trying to drift away from him. Sam’s hard against his hip, shifting, rocking down against him. Looking for the right angle, even as his lips press against Dean’s ear, and the heat of it makes Dean shudder. Sam moans at the movement, fidgeting restlessly, hard line of his cock jerking roughly as he moves lower and begins to ride Dean’s thigh.
“Sammy, please,” Dean gasps, and Sam whimpers against his jaw, fingers digging into Dean’s bicep.
He’s not going to let go. He’s not going to let Dean go until he’s finished, and the thought washes over Dean, detached and surreal. And it’s like something’s clicking into place, some base instinct, because Sam’s in pain and Dean can help him and maybe that’s enough for Dean to block out everything else. Maybe that’s enough for Dean to pretend he can’t feel the sensation of Sam grinding down against his thigh.
Dean bites his lip, plants his foot against the mattress. Presses his leg up between Sam’s parted thighs, and Sam whines into his skin, high and long, and Dean feels his stomach clench, feels a wave of heat rolling over him. He’s sweating, pressed down into the bed, Sam’s hands moving over him as if they can touch every inch of him at once, and he just needs for Sam to come, needs to take the edge off for him. And then Sam will be able to think, to remember where he is, and Dean will be able to leave him to it, to escape, and they never have to talk about it again.
Which is when Sam shifts enough to nudge his own thigh higher between Dean’s legs, and the sensation of it punches through him, hot and fierce.
He hears himself snarl, “No!” Feels Sam shiver against him at the sound, and his voice is too angry, too lost. Body arching before he can plead it to stop, before he can claw for his control, Sam’s thigh rubbing hard against him. No venom in Dean’s system, but there’s no denying the way he’s aching for it, head swimming with the need for that friction. So far gone already, can’t pretend he’s not, and he hates himself for it. Sam leans into him more fully, chest pressing down against Dean’s own, and his hand pushes back, follows the line of Dean’s torso, waist, hip. Grasping at the meat of his thigh, fingers rasping over denim, pulling Dean’s leg up until his knee is pointing to the ceiling, until he’s practically wrapped around Sam’s waist. Fucking down on Dean’s other leg, every movement dragging over Dean’s trapped cock, and Dean realises that he’s going to come like that, clinging to Sam because he’s forgotten he’s supposed to be pushing him away.
He can’t quite keep a hold of everything. There’s the feeling of Sam’s hair, damp against his cheek. Sam’s lips mouthing his name against his neck, over and over, like a prayer. A roaring in his ears, enough to drown out his racing heartbeat, and the taste of Sam in the air, the taste of sweat and sex and sin. Once he begins to slip it’s like freefalling, flushing hot and cold all at once, need and shame and Sam’s weight crushing down on his chest, and Dean wants it, fuck, in that moment he wants it more than anything. Wants to come in his pants like a teenager discovering his hormones, wants to come with his baby brother pinning him to the bed, wants to leave a damn stain on Sam’s thigh like a mark of something bigger, something bigger than the both of them. Wants to see Sam’s face when he lets go, see the darkness in his eyes, but he can’t see anything beyond the white that bleaches out his vision as Sam’s teeth scrape over the line of his jaw, hand huge and squeezing at his thigh. Hitting him sudden and painful, bucking up into Sam’s arms, groaning and trying to bite down on Sam’s name, trying to keep it to himself as if that’s the last step, the last damnation. Floating away from himself and yet more aware of his skin than he’s ever been as Sam’s hips give one more frantic jerk against him and he goes unnaturally still, and Dean can feel the dampness against his leg, can feel Sam nosing along his hairline, trailing not-quite kisses across his forehead.
Lying together, vibrating together, arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled, oxygen shared between them as Dean squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on evening his breathing.
“Dean?” Sam says finally, and his voice is husky, but there’s awareness there, laced with something too close to fear for Dean to be able to hear without wanting to curl in on himself.
He nods, feeling like every movement is sandpaper against his skin, and holds Sam tight and waits for the free-fall to end.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1057
Notes: Incest. Questionable consent. Sex pollen. For 64damn_prompts, prompt "crumble".
Summary: Venom and need, artificial and real.
Sam’s everywhere. All over him, heat and pressure, hands moving roughly over Dean’s arms, his shoulders, his waist. Pressing his face to Dean’s neck and inhaling, making these noises low in his throat like Dean’s scent is some drug he can’t get enough of. Lips wet against Dean’s skin, breath burning him as it beats fast against his throat.
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean grunts, trying to brace himself, trying to push Sam off. Except he can’t get leverage, hands sliding uselessly over the sheets, and Sam’s suddenly huge in a way Dean’s never noticed before, in a way Dean’s been ignoring since Sam first grew taller than him. Looming over him, pushing him down like it’s no effort at all, and Dean just tries to breathe, tries to stay calm.
Venom, toxic and running through Sam’s system, and they’ve seen the notes in the textbooks, in their dad’s journal. Adrenaline, endorphins, pheromones and all that crap mixed with a healthy dose of voodoo mojo, and Sam just needs to get it out of his system, and Dean wants to point out that Sam could do that on his own. Hell, Dean’ll happily leave him the room, go find somewhere else to spend the night, let Sam jerk off until the poison eases and he can see straight again.
Only Sam won’t let him go.
Sam’s hard against him. Dean’s mind is trying to short-circuit around that thought, trying to drift away from him. Sam’s hard against his hip, shifting, rocking down against him. Looking for the right angle, even as his lips press against Dean’s ear, and the heat of it makes Dean shudder. Sam moans at the movement, fidgeting restlessly, hard line of his cock jerking roughly as he moves lower and begins to ride Dean’s thigh.
“Sammy, please,” Dean gasps, and Sam whimpers against his jaw, fingers digging into Dean’s bicep.
He’s not going to let go. He’s not going to let Dean go until he’s finished, and the thought washes over Dean, detached and surreal. And it’s like something’s clicking into place, some base instinct, because Sam’s in pain and Dean can help him and maybe that’s enough for Dean to block out everything else. Maybe that’s enough for Dean to pretend he can’t feel the sensation of Sam grinding down against his thigh.
Dean bites his lip, plants his foot against the mattress. Presses his leg up between Sam’s parted thighs, and Sam whines into his skin, high and long, and Dean feels his stomach clench, feels a wave of heat rolling over him. He’s sweating, pressed down into the bed, Sam’s hands moving over him as if they can touch every inch of him at once, and he just needs for Sam to come, needs to take the edge off for him. And then Sam will be able to think, to remember where he is, and Dean will be able to leave him to it, to escape, and they never have to talk about it again.
Which is when Sam shifts enough to nudge his own thigh higher between Dean’s legs, and the sensation of it punches through him, hot and fierce.
He hears himself snarl, “No!” Feels Sam shiver against him at the sound, and his voice is too angry, too lost. Body arching before he can plead it to stop, before he can claw for his control, Sam’s thigh rubbing hard against him. No venom in Dean’s system, but there’s no denying the way he’s aching for it, head swimming with the need for that friction. So far gone already, can’t pretend he’s not, and he hates himself for it. Sam leans into him more fully, chest pressing down against Dean’s own, and his hand pushes back, follows the line of Dean’s torso, waist, hip. Grasping at the meat of his thigh, fingers rasping over denim, pulling Dean’s leg up until his knee is pointing to the ceiling, until he’s practically wrapped around Sam’s waist. Fucking down on Dean’s other leg, every movement dragging over Dean’s trapped cock, and Dean realises that he’s going to come like that, clinging to Sam because he’s forgotten he’s supposed to be pushing him away.
He can’t quite keep a hold of everything. There’s the feeling of Sam’s hair, damp against his cheek. Sam’s lips mouthing his name against his neck, over and over, like a prayer. A roaring in his ears, enough to drown out his racing heartbeat, and the taste of Sam in the air, the taste of sweat and sex and sin. Once he begins to slip it’s like freefalling, flushing hot and cold all at once, need and shame and Sam’s weight crushing down on his chest, and Dean wants it, fuck, in that moment he wants it more than anything. Wants to come in his pants like a teenager discovering his hormones, wants to come with his baby brother pinning him to the bed, wants to leave a damn stain on Sam’s thigh like a mark of something bigger, something bigger than the both of them. Wants to see Sam’s face when he lets go, see the darkness in his eyes, but he can’t see anything beyond the white that bleaches out his vision as Sam’s teeth scrape over the line of his jaw, hand huge and squeezing at his thigh. Hitting him sudden and painful, bucking up into Sam’s arms, groaning and trying to bite down on Sam’s name, trying to keep it to himself as if that’s the last step, the last damnation. Floating away from himself and yet more aware of his skin than he’s ever been as Sam’s hips give one more frantic jerk against him and he goes unnaturally still, and Dean can feel the dampness against his leg, can feel Sam nosing along his hairline, trailing not-quite kisses across his forehead.
Lying together, vibrating together, arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled, oxygen shared between them as Dean squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on evening his breathing.
“Dean?” Sam says finally, and his voice is husky, but there’s awareness there, laced with something too close to fear for Dean to be able to hear without wanting to curl in on himself.
He nods, feeling like every movement is sandpaper against his skin, and holds Sam tight and waits for the free-fall to end.