For my girl Milly
Title: The Mark
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 1270
Summary: Sam is worried about Dean. What else is new. But maybe there's a way he can help.
Author's Note: Written for the very lovely milly_gal who posed a very intriguing question on one of our dearest big_heart_june's gorgeous posts. With thanks as always to my girl tmn1966 *smooches*
It’s been two weeks, six days, seven hours and thirty six minutes since he cured Dean. Purified his soul. But Sam still feels a little like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the bloodlust to rear its ugly head and demand that Dean kill. He’s not an idiot. He knows they’ll have to deal with it eventually.
But Dean has been Dean. If somewhat more relaxed. Allowing Sam to dictate where they go though not relinquishing the wheel. They have no real ultimate destination. They’re together. And for the first time in a long time there’s nothing between them.
No hell fire beckoning.
No lies or half-truths.
No angels or demons or half-baked self-delusions that they could be anywhere else but in this car.
Side by side.
Doesn’t stop Sam from thinking about that mark on his brother’s arm. And he doesn’t know if it’s a conscious effort on Dean’s part but he’d been covering it up. But Dean never put that much forethought into outfits; unless he was getting to play dress-up. And at any rate if the goal was to get Sam to stop thinking about the mark, then it wasn’t working. If anything not seeing it only made him think about it more.
If out of sight was enough for Dean to put it out of mind. Or could he feel it no matter what? Did he feel it without having to touch it?
Sam wants to touch it. Dean hasn’t let him touch it. Doesn’t think he’s let anyone. Makes Sam covet it just that little bit more. It’s not the only part of Dean he wants to touch lately either. They used to fool around. It seemed like a lifetime or two ago now. The last time had been just before his Lucifer hallucinations had gone into overdrive and got him placed in lockdown. For a while Dean’s touch had been enough to hold the hell scars at bay. Until it wasn’t. They hadn’t talked about it.
And before that it hadn’t been since before Dean’s stint in hell. They hadn’t talked about it then either. It just happened sometimes. When they needed it. Because they were both alive and nothing else mattered. And maybe a few times just because.
They didn’t talk about it that first time when Sam was sixteen, the first time he was drunk and he was horny as hell. He kept rubbing himself up against Dean who was trying to watch the movie that was on tv. Dean had shoved him off at first but somehow they ended up making out and Dean had given Sam his first handjob from a hand that wasn’t his own.
The second; Sam was eighteen and Dean walked in on him completely naked with one hand on his dick and the fingers of his other in his ass. In Sam’s opinion Dean taking over was the only option that allowed either of them to save face. And fuck Dean’s mouth. Sam’s still not so sure he wants to know where Dean learned to do those things.
It always started with a look. Words didn’t always come so easily for Dean. Not because he doesn’t have them. But because he doesn’t feel worthy. And at any rate, this thing between them; it’s wrong. Sam wishes he could say that he cares. But he doesn’t. When it came to Dean he was his most selfish.
Dean cares. And that’s why they don’t talk about it. If they talked about it then that would be it. And for all his sorrow and guilt, all his self-loathing or whatever other twisted up bullshit Dean inflicted on himself, he doesn’t want to stop it either. He needs it just as badly. Asking for it was of course out of the question. Sam was the initiator. And as long as it stays in the quiet space between them he’ll take and let Sam keep taking.
It’s why he doesn’t pull away when Sam’s thumb gently caresses the edge of the seared, scarred flesh and Sam places a finger over Dean’s parted lips to stop his name from tumbling out. Break the spell.
They’d been arguing, well maybe more like discussing -they were actually discussing things now- yet another possible case that Dean had found for them. Sam felt Dean was a little too eager and it made Sam twitch. Actually physically made him feel nervous. Dean has always been lethal. But with the mark…and then he saw it.
Dean’s eyelids had fluttered, his gaze drawn down to his arm to Sam’s thumb and he bit his lip as it was pulled back up to Sam’s eyes. When their eyes meet, and like so many countless times before, meaning flows between them unsaid. A silent understanding.
Sam kisses him.
There was no way he was going to let them talk about it now.
Dean kisses back with a fervour, a soft whimper falling between their lips as Sam continues to stroke the raised skin and Dean sways a little as Sam withdraws.
Sam licks his other thumb as he drops to his knees, keeping a firm hold of his big brother’s arm, letting his hand slip round before tracing the mark with his wet thumb. He keeps his eyes trained on Dean’s face and the shiver that runs through Dean flows down through Sam too. Fuck if Dean licking his lips didn’t get him every time. Even if he didn’t always get to appreciate it.
He does now.
And Dean does it again. Slower this time. Sam closes his eyes as he shudders. And his dick twitches in his pants. The first thing his eyes are drawn to when he opens them back up is the swell in Dean’s. He can’t stop it, his face presses in against it his nose sliding along the hard line of it. Dean whines a little and then his hand is on Sam’s neck guiding him back towards the mark. It seems more awake now on his brother’s arm. Red. Like it wants. And what it wants right now is Sam.
Sam licks up with the flat of his tongue and then trails back down with the point. Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair as his mouth falls slack as he pants, his eyes hooded.
And when Sam starts kissing over the sensitized tissue, lets his lips leave with a gentle suction; all of a sudden he’s back on his feet, Dean pressed hard against his back, hand gripping tight on Sam’s shoulder, rutting against his ass before Sam can even blink. And all without his mouth leaving his brother’s arm. Makes him feel a little off-balance, but Dean’s got him, he’s the only one strong enough and it’s what Sam craves most.
Dean’s palming Sam’s dick over his jeans and nuzzling at the back of his neck and the momentum of his thrusts takes them both down onto their knees, Sam's arms taking the brunt of it, with barely a grunt of discomfort. They’re too lost in the motion of everything else. Sam’s still sucking the mark interspersed with licking and finger strokes. Dean comes first and Sam follows, their hips still riding out the wave as they crash and Dean keeps him pinned to the floor. A solid weight that lets Sam breathe for a moment, lets him think that maybe things with Dean will be okay. He’s also thinking that if he can turn over quick enough when Dean pushes up, catches his eye, that maybe Dean might fuck him in the shower. But for now at least the mark is sated. Or so it seems.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 1270
Summary: Sam is worried about Dean. What else is new. But maybe there's a way he can help.
Author's Note: Written for the very lovely milly_gal who posed a very intriguing question on one of our dearest big_heart_june's gorgeous posts. With thanks as always to my girl tmn1966 *smooches*
It’s been two weeks, six days, seven hours and thirty six minutes since he cured Dean. Purified his soul. But Sam still feels a little like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the bloodlust to rear its ugly head and demand that Dean kill. He’s not an idiot. He knows they’ll have to deal with it eventually.
But Dean has been Dean. If somewhat more relaxed. Allowing Sam to dictate where they go though not relinquishing the wheel. They have no real ultimate destination. They’re together. And for the first time in a long time there’s nothing between them.
No hell fire beckoning.
No lies or half-truths.
No angels or demons or half-baked self-delusions that they could be anywhere else but in this car.
Side by side.
Doesn’t stop Sam from thinking about that mark on his brother’s arm. And he doesn’t know if it’s a conscious effort on Dean’s part but he’d been covering it up. But Dean never put that much forethought into outfits; unless he was getting to play dress-up. And at any rate if the goal was to get Sam to stop thinking about the mark, then it wasn’t working. If anything not seeing it only made him think about it more.
If out of sight was enough for Dean to put it out of mind. Or could he feel it no matter what? Did he feel it without having to touch it?
Sam wants to touch it. Dean hasn’t let him touch it. Doesn’t think he’s let anyone. Makes Sam covet it just that little bit more. It’s not the only part of Dean he wants to touch lately either. They used to fool around. It seemed like a lifetime or two ago now. The last time had been just before his Lucifer hallucinations had gone into overdrive and got him placed in lockdown. For a while Dean’s touch had been enough to hold the hell scars at bay. Until it wasn’t. They hadn’t talked about it.
And before that it hadn’t been since before Dean’s stint in hell. They hadn’t talked about it then either. It just happened sometimes. When they needed it. Because they were both alive and nothing else mattered. And maybe a few times just because.
They didn’t talk about it that first time when Sam was sixteen, the first time he was drunk and he was horny as hell. He kept rubbing himself up against Dean who was trying to watch the movie that was on tv. Dean had shoved him off at first but somehow they ended up making out and Dean had given Sam his first handjob from a hand that wasn’t his own.
The second; Sam was eighteen and Dean walked in on him completely naked with one hand on his dick and the fingers of his other in his ass. In Sam’s opinion Dean taking over was the only option that allowed either of them to save face. And fuck Dean’s mouth. Sam’s still not so sure he wants to know where Dean learned to do those things.
It always started with a look. Words didn’t always come so easily for Dean. Not because he doesn’t have them. But because he doesn’t feel worthy. And at any rate, this thing between them; it’s wrong. Sam wishes he could say that he cares. But he doesn’t. When it came to Dean he was his most selfish.
Dean cares. And that’s why they don’t talk about it. If they talked about it then that would be it. And for all his sorrow and guilt, all his self-loathing or whatever other twisted up bullshit Dean inflicted on himself, he doesn’t want to stop it either. He needs it just as badly. Asking for it was of course out of the question. Sam was the initiator. And as long as it stays in the quiet space between them he’ll take and let Sam keep taking.
It’s why he doesn’t pull away when Sam’s thumb gently caresses the edge of the seared, scarred flesh and Sam places a finger over Dean’s parted lips to stop his name from tumbling out. Break the spell.
They’d been arguing, well maybe more like discussing -they were actually discussing things now- yet another possible case that Dean had found for them. Sam felt Dean was a little too eager and it made Sam twitch. Actually physically made him feel nervous. Dean has always been lethal. But with the mark…and then he saw it.
Dean’s eyelids had fluttered, his gaze drawn down to his arm to Sam’s thumb and he bit his lip as it was pulled back up to Sam’s eyes. When their eyes meet, and like so many countless times before, meaning flows between them unsaid. A silent understanding.
Sam kisses him.
There was no way he was going to let them talk about it now.
Dean kisses back with a fervour, a soft whimper falling between their lips as Sam continues to stroke the raised skin and Dean sways a little as Sam withdraws.
Sam licks his other thumb as he drops to his knees, keeping a firm hold of his big brother’s arm, letting his hand slip round before tracing the mark with his wet thumb. He keeps his eyes trained on Dean’s face and the shiver that runs through Dean flows down through Sam too. Fuck if Dean licking his lips didn’t get him every time. Even if he didn’t always get to appreciate it.
He does now.
And Dean does it again. Slower this time. Sam closes his eyes as he shudders. And his dick twitches in his pants. The first thing his eyes are drawn to when he opens them back up is the swell in Dean’s. He can’t stop it, his face presses in against it his nose sliding along the hard line of it. Dean whines a little and then his hand is on Sam’s neck guiding him back towards the mark. It seems more awake now on his brother’s arm. Red. Like it wants. And what it wants right now is Sam.
Sam licks up with the flat of his tongue and then trails back down with the point. Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair as his mouth falls slack as he pants, his eyes hooded.
And when Sam starts kissing over the sensitized tissue, lets his lips leave with a gentle suction; all of a sudden he’s back on his feet, Dean pressed hard against his back, hand gripping tight on Sam’s shoulder, rutting against his ass before Sam can even blink. And all without his mouth leaving his brother’s arm. Makes him feel a little off-balance, but Dean’s got him, he’s the only one strong enough and it’s what Sam craves most.
Dean’s palming Sam’s dick over his jeans and nuzzling at the back of his neck and the momentum of his thrusts takes them both down onto their knees, Sam's arms taking the brunt of it, with barely a grunt of discomfort. They’re too lost in the motion of everything else. Sam’s still sucking the mark interspersed with licking and finger strokes. Dean comes first and Sam follows, their hips still riding out the wave as they crash and Dean keeps him pinned to the floor. A solid weight that lets Sam breathe for a moment, lets him think that maybe things with Dean will be okay. He’s also thinking that if he can turn over quick enough when Dean pushes up, catches his eye, that maybe Dean might fuck him in the shower. But for now at least the mark is sated. Or so it seems.