SPN ficlet?
This got restored from a unposted draft appearantly. I'd forgotten I'd ever written it, but whatever. Could be worse. I'll try to do a better one later.
Dean always sucks him as though he needs it. More than revenge, more than the adrenaline rush, more than breathing. It frightens Sam sometimes, the desperate fervency with which Dean sinks onto his knees.
Sometimes the shuddering need makes Dean's eyes darken so much that they are black instead of green and his fingers are shaking when he tries to unfasten the button and zipper of Sam's jeans. At those times, Dean's curses are incoherent and he leans his forehead into the hollow of Sam's neck, as though that will steady him. When Sam finally caves and helps him, shuddering from the feel of those obscene lips along his collarbone, he never fails to feel guilty, as though he's somehow taking advantage.
The sounds Dean makes should be enough to convince him otherwise. Not the wet swallowing noises that sound more like they belong on a porno soundtrack, but the pleading mewl that's barely audible over them. The way he immediately calms down, his hands no longer shaking as the nails dig into the thin skin over Sam's hipbones, the way his eyes close, laying the shadow of his eyelashes over his cheekbones like wings.
Afterwards, when Dean has licked away every last bitter trace, swallowing with a contented hum and lays his head against the inside of Sam's thigh and closes his eyes. Then that familiar, shit-eating smirk slides across Dean's slick, red-swollen lips and Sam suddenly
doesn't feel guilty at all.
Dean always sucks him as though he needs it. More than revenge, more than the adrenaline rush, more than breathing. It frightens Sam sometimes, the desperate fervency with which Dean sinks onto his knees.
Sometimes the shuddering need makes Dean's eyes darken so much that they are black instead of green and his fingers are shaking when he tries to unfasten the button and zipper of Sam's jeans. At those times, Dean's curses are incoherent and he leans his forehead into the hollow of Sam's neck, as though that will steady him. When Sam finally caves and helps him, shuddering from the feel of those obscene lips along his collarbone, he never fails to feel guilty, as though he's somehow taking advantage.
The sounds Dean makes should be enough to convince him otherwise. Not the wet swallowing noises that sound more like they belong on a porno soundtrack, but the pleading mewl that's barely audible over them. The way he immediately calms down, his hands no longer shaking as the nails dig into the thin skin over Sam's hipbones, the way his eyes close, laying the shadow of his eyelashes over his cheekbones like wings.
Afterwards, when Dean has licked away every last bitter trace, swallowing with a contented hum and lays his head against the inside of Sam's thigh and closes his eyes. Then that familiar, shit-eating smirk slides across Dean's slick, red-swollen lips and Sam suddenly
doesn't feel guilty at all.