Likes
Icon "stolen" from savingfaith333 !
A few paragraphs regarding Sam and Dean's likes.
Companion piece to Hates.
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Sam likes to watch Dean clean his weapons.
The hands which are so strong, can snap a neck, or bring him to his knees, are suddenly gentle, skimming over metal, almost with a mind of their own. His jaw muscles quiver, muscles in his forearm sliding against tendons under smooth masculine skin and Sam watches, his heartbeat elevating slightly as he imagines Dean’s hands on him, and waits for Dean to turn slightly darkened eyes towards him and pull Sam against him.
Dean seems almost at peace, the monotony of the movements they’ve both done too many times to count calming his ever frayed nerves and there is nothing Sam can do to stop him self from reaching out, wanting to be a part of that peace, and running his hands up Deans arms, touching him with the same reverence Dean spares for his guns.
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Dean likes to make Sam laugh. He likes seeing his head thrown back, his throat exposed, the sound echoing around where they are, his eyes twinkling. And he realizes that Sam laughs with his whole body, his whole being and its one of the few times that Sam really lets go.
And Dean likes making Sam laugh when he shouldn’t, likes to watch his lips quiver with the effort of keeping them straight and the death glare he shoots at him when he just carries on doing whatever he was doing. Likes the way Sam gets his own back when they are alone, in their own Winchester universe where only the two of them exist.
And he makes a pact with himself to make Sam laugh more often.
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Sam likes to hear Dean lose control, likes to hear his voice crack when he's pleading for release, for more, for 'Jesus, Sammy, harder!” He likes to keep the pressure up, to tease and draw him further in until he loses all his carefully constructed walls that he usually hides so well behind and starts to keen and yell. Then Sam lets him go, watching as he falls over the edge, Sam’s name spilling from his lips in an almost silent prayer.
He likes the way Dean then reaches for him, hands shaking and gentle, pulling him down to cover him like a Sam shaped blanket. Likes the way Dean’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ear, the steady beat of his brother’s heart lulling him to sleep.
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Dean likes to watch Sam work. His lower lip caught between his teeth, hair falling into his eyes and his large but strangely delicate hands pushing it away absentmindedly, legs curled under his lean and muscular body, almost like a child. Almost innocent.
But the look he turns on Dean when he feels him watching from the doorway, or from across yet another Formica table top in another crappy diner is anything but innocent. Work is forgotten then and teasing longing looks fill the space where concentration and not now Dean used to be.
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Sam likes kissing Dean. Because Dean kisses like he does everything else, all concentration and determination and Sam can't help but feel wonder at the fact that Dean is concentrating on him. And the way he curls his fingers around Sam's neck, searching, touching makes Sam want to fall to his knees and worship the brother he didn't imagine loving until Dean breached the gap between brother and lover and kissed him, pressing his body against Sam's. It was then that Sam was lost. But now every time Dean kisses him, he's home.
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Dean likes being able to run his hands over Sam’s body, likes being able to touch whenever he wants. Even if its just a fleeting touch in public, a quick brush of hands when they walk down the street, or a touch on a shoulder, likes watching the way Sam usually leans unconsciously into the touch.
But he loves being able to touch in private, free from the constraints of society, of normal, hard plains of muscle under his fingers and he likes being able to feel the muscles slide together under his fingers when Sam gives himself selflessly and completely to Dean.
A few paragraphs regarding Sam and Dean's likes.
Companion piece to Hates.
------------------------------------
Sam likes to watch Dean clean his weapons.
The hands which are so strong, can snap a neck, or bring him to his knees, are suddenly gentle, skimming over metal, almost with a mind of their own. His jaw muscles quiver, muscles in his forearm sliding against tendons under smooth masculine skin and Sam watches, his heartbeat elevating slightly as he imagines Dean’s hands on him, and waits for Dean to turn slightly darkened eyes towards him and pull Sam against him.
Dean seems almost at peace, the monotony of the movements they’ve both done too many times to count calming his ever frayed nerves and there is nothing Sam can do to stop him self from reaching out, wanting to be a part of that peace, and running his hands up Deans arms, touching him with the same reverence Dean spares for his guns.
---------------------------------
Dean likes to make Sam laugh. He likes seeing his head thrown back, his throat exposed, the sound echoing around where they are, his eyes twinkling. And he realizes that Sam laughs with his whole body, his whole being and its one of the few times that Sam really lets go.
And Dean likes making Sam laugh when he shouldn’t, likes to watch his lips quiver with the effort of keeping them straight and the death glare he shoots at him when he just carries on doing whatever he was doing. Likes the way Sam gets his own back when they are alone, in their own Winchester universe where only the two of them exist.
And he makes a pact with himself to make Sam laugh more often.
------------------------------------
Sam likes to hear Dean lose control, likes to hear his voice crack when he's pleading for release, for more, for 'Jesus, Sammy, harder!” He likes to keep the pressure up, to tease and draw him further in until he loses all his carefully constructed walls that he usually hides so well behind and starts to keen and yell. Then Sam lets him go, watching as he falls over the edge, Sam’s name spilling from his lips in an almost silent prayer.
He likes the way Dean then reaches for him, hands shaking and gentle, pulling him down to cover him like a Sam shaped blanket. Likes the way Dean’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ear, the steady beat of his brother’s heart lulling him to sleep.
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Dean likes to watch Sam work. His lower lip caught between his teeth, hair falling into his eyes and his large but strangely delicate hands pushing it away absentmindedly, legs curled under his lean and muscular body, almost like a child. Almost innocent.
But the look he turns on Dean when he feels him watching from the doorway, or from across yet another Formica table top in another crappy diner is anything but innocent. Work is forgotten then and teasing longing looks fill the space where concentration and not now Dean used to be.
---------------------------------------
Sam likes kissing Dean. Because Dean kisses like he does everything else, all concentration and determination and Sam can't help but feel wonder at the fact that Dean is concentrating on him. And the way he curls his fingers around Sam's neck, searching, touching makes Sam want to fall to his knees and worship the brother he didn't imagine loving until Dean breached the gap between brother and lover and kissed him, pressing his body against Sam's. It was then that Sam was lost. But now every time Dean kisses him, he's home.
-----------------------------------------
Dean likes being able to run his hands over Sam’s body, likes being able to touch whenever he wants. Even if its just a fleeting touch in public, a quick brush of hands when they walk down the street, or a touch on a shoulder, likes watching the way Sam usually leans unconsciously into the touch.
But he loves being able to touch in private, free from the constraints of society, of normal, hard plains of muscle under his fingers and he likes being able to feel the muscles slide together under his fingers when Sam gives himself selflessly and completely to Dean.