SPN: Senses- Taste (Sam)
Back at the motel after a hunt is usually Sam’s favorite time of day. With his brother riding high on endorphins, feeling no pain and more than a little randy, it bolsters his own emotions. A lot. But even more, is the fact that the sweat his brother had worked up has overpowered the soap he washed with, turning his scent 100% primal male again.
And if that sweat had a habit of pooling along his brother’s spine, drying to a sweetly-salty film across the golden and freckled skin, well… no one could really blame a person for not being strong enough to resist. It’s something that always turns Sam on. Fast. Dean may tease him and mock, but he shuts up in a hurry when he’s manhandled into this position, all sprawled out on his belly, miles of gilded skin laid out like a personal buffet. One that he can lick and nip and taste his way across. Dean doesn’t say much; whimpers like a broken thing, yes, but he doesn’t say anything, letting Sam flatten his tongue along the hollow line of his spine, lapping reverently along the bony ridges, pressing a chaste kiss to each vertebra after it tastes one hundred percent Dean.
That same taste always lingers in the small nook behind his brother’s ear, the one he latches his mouth onto after cleaning his way up, the salt and sweat a lingering taste on his tongue. It’s a hot-spot for Dean, and the reaction is always the same. He’s incredibly tense by the time Sam’s breath blows over it, hot and sweet, and the first nip, tongue laving over it to soothe the sting away, lets a broken keen out of that plush mouth, frame shuddering against the sheets as he writhes. Sam will taste his way across the curve of the strong jaw, dark stubble rasping over his tongue, sparking brightly in a shower of almond and aftershave and the inherent taste of Dean.
A few minutes to cleanse Dean’s mouth of the coffee and whiskey and candy, to return the basic sweet taste of his brother, and he resumes his cleaning, nipping more and long washes of his tongue less frequent, until he’s nuzzling against the dark curls that frame the ultimate taste of Dean. Bitter and salty and smoky, a flavor enhanced by the broken chants of his name, and he smirks as he watches the color slowly return to lust-blown pupils.
The double flood of endorphins makes Dean lazy and sated and sleepy, and he doesn’t protest any as Sam maneuvers him under the blankets, and into cool sheets. His eyes stay lingering for a moment longer as Sam finishes undressing, and slide shut in languid contentment as they curl together. He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything as Sam mouths sleepily at the curve of his shoulder, the taste lulling him into sleep as surely as any pacifier.
Yeah, after a hunt is usually Sam’s favorite time. Second only to this.
~~*^*~~
And if that sweat had a habit of pooling along his brother’s spine, drying to a sweetly-salty film across the golden and freckled skin, well… no one could really blame a person for not being strong enough to resist. It’s something that always turns Sam on. Fast. Dean may tease him and mock, but he shuts up in a hurry when he’s manhandled into this position, all sprawled out on his belly, miles of gilded skin laid out like a personal buffet. One that he can lick and nip and taste his way across. Dean doesn’t say much; whimpers like a broken thing, yes, but he doesn’t say anything, letting Sam flatten his tongue along the hollow line of his spine, lapping reverently along the bony ridges, pressing a chaste kiss to each vertebra after it tastes one hundred percent Dean.
That same taste always lingers in the small nook behind his brother’s ear, the one he latches his mouth onto after cleaning his way up, the salt and sweat a lingering taste on his tongue. It’s a hot-spot for Dean, and the reaction is always the same. He’s incredibly tense by the time Sam’s breath blows over it, hot and sweet, and the first nip, tongue laving over it to soothe the sting away, lets a broken keen out of that plush mouth, frame shuddering against the sheets as he writhes. Sam will taste his way across the curve of the strong jaw, dark stubble rasping over his tongue, sparking brightly in a shower of almond and aftershave and the inherent taste of Dean.
A few minutes to cleanse Dean’s mouth of the coffee and whiskey and candy, to return the basic sweet taste of his brother, and he resumes his cleaning, nipping more and long washes of his tongue less frequent, until he’s nuzzling against the dark curls that frame the ultimate taste of Dean. Bitter and salty and smoky, a flavor enhanced by the broken chants of his name, and he smirks as he watches the color slowly return to lust-blown pupils.
The double flood of endorphins makes Dean lazy and sated and sleepy, and he doesn’t protest any as Sam maneuvers him under the blankets, and into cool sheets. His eyes stay lingering for a moment longer as Sam finishes undressing, and slide shut in languid contentment as they curl together. He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything as Sam mouths sleepily at the curve of his shoulder, the taste lulling him into sleep as surely as any pacifier.
Yeah, after a hunt is usually Sam’s favorite time. Second only to this.
~~*^*~~