CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS // SPN & OTHER CHARACTERS Prompt Post // June 1-15
This post is for ANY AND ALL SPN & OTHER CHARACTER PROMPTS. Characters from other fandoms are allowed as long as the main pairing includes one Supernatural character.
Reminders:
Prompts or fills mentioning real people under the age of 18 are BANNED, they can not be aged up or mentioned in passing. Use OCs or someone else to fill the void ( Read more... )
Reminders:
Prompts or fills mentioning real people under the age of 18 are BANNED, they can not be aged up or mentioned in passing. Use OCs or someone else to fill the void ( Read more... )
Sam squirms beneath him, twisting his arm awkwardly under the pillow and shoves the bottle of lube he finds there against Dean’s chest. “Fuck me,” Sam half-begs, half-commands, words smeared against Dean’s lips.
Dean pulls away, biting Sam’s bottom lip as he ends the kiss, and sits back on his heels. Sam’s cock is hard, tip leaking, already an angry-red, his balls full and heavy. His chest is heaving, skin flushed from his pecs all the way up his neck to his high cheekbones. He’s so Goddamn beautiful that it almost hurts, hair sweat-damp and messy, hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Dean loves him so much he almost can't breathe with it.
He drops the lube and slithers back down Sam’s body, shouldering between his thighs, hands on the back of Sam’s knees, pushing up and bending him nearly in half. Sam mewls when Dean dips down and licks a thick, wet stripe over his hole, his legs trembling in Dean’s hands. The dark, sweaty, musky taste is pure Sam and Dean pushes his face in as deep as possible, eating Sam wet and messy.
Sam manages to tangle one hand in Dean’s hair, pulling roughly on the short strands, back arching. “Dean…” he moans. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”
Dean pulls away and grabs the lube, dropping Sam’s legs to rest on his own thighs. He pushes two fingers in right away, knows that Sam likes the burn, the stretch. Sam’s eyes flutter closed and he lets out a low, long groan, hips tilting down into the press of Dean’s fingers.
Dean preps Sam as quickly yet thoroughly as he can - he knows Sam enjoys a little pain with his pleasure but there’s no way he’s going to outright hurt his brother. Sam’s still muttering a constant mantra of fuck me; Dean’s not sure if Sam’s even aware that he’s saying it.
He pulls his fingers out and slicks himself up quickly. Sam reopens his eyes and smiles, arching and stretching his back - almost cat-like - then lifts his legs, settling them over Dean’s shoulders. Dean quirks an eyebrow and Sam shrugs one shoulder, long, muscular legs pulling Dean closer and Dean figures that’s his answer. Sometimes - it’s rare - but Sam still manages to surprise him. And he always seems to forget just how damn flexible his little brother is when he wants to be.
Dean scoots forward, Sam’s knees draped over his shoulders now, little brother’s huge frame bent nearly in half, and blindly lines himself up. Sam makes an impatient noise and Dean smirks, pushing forward, burying himself balls deep on the first thrust. Sam cries out, hands flying up to grab Dean’s biceps, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, inner muscles clenching and fluttering around Dean.
“Damnit, Dean… Move,” Sam growls.
Dean doesn’t need to be told twice.
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They don’t look away from each other, bodies moving in unison, moaning and gasping. Dean loses track of time, loses track of everything that isn’t Sam, clenching down around him, silently begging for more, harder, deeper. Dean gives him what he wants, what he needs, steadily pushing them both closer and closer.
Sam cries out when he comes, bent so far in half his knees are almost against his ears, thick release painting his sweaty, heaving chest, beautiful, huge cock twitching and pulsing, sending Sam over the edge without a hand on him. Dean doesn’t last long after that, leaning forward even more, mouth pressed against Sam’s in a parody of a kiss, his whole body trembling as he comes deep inside Sam’s still clenching channel.
Dean flops over onto the mattress and Sam slowly stretches his legs out, hissing slightly. He’s popped at least two, maybe three, stitches and Dean will have to clean away the fresh blood and sew him up again, actually bandage it this time. But Sam rolls onto his side and curls into Dean, head on his shoulder and Dean thinks that it can wait a little bit.
He tangles one hand in Sam’s hair, gently tugging on the strands. “Just… Be careful, okay?” he asks softly, continuing their conversation/disagreement from earlier, like there wasn’t the pause in between.
Sam chuckles softly and nuzzles under his jaw. “I will,” he agrees softly. “Same for you, too, then.”
They’re both getting older - something that Dean didn’t think would ever happen - and the almosts and worst cases are getting harder and harder to come back from. Maybe they could both stand to be a little more cautious. He hums in agreement and pulls Sam closer. Slowing down and taking it easy actually sounds like a really good fucking plan.
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