suddenly I have a bloodkink
OPINION: there should be a fic in which Sam is having a really bad post-4x22 withdrawal and in the end Dean offers up his own blood as a placebo for Sam to nom on. AND IT'S WEIRDLY EROTIC.
Orrr. Same scenario - Sam and his withdrawal, and he's being really twitchy and crabby and Dean is just really tired of it. So eventually Sam says something that makes Dean snap, or Dean says something that makes Sam snap, and they start throwing punches (but not 4x21 style punches; these are 'ilu but our life is shit' style punches.) Maybe Sam snaps and is all 'NO I CAN'T DO THIS I NEED BLOOD' and Dean has to physically restrain him from running away and it devolves into fisticuffs. (Yeah that's right, fisticuffs.) And afterwards, they're all panting and shaking and sore and Dean's lip is split. There's blood dripping down his chin, and Sam just - leans forward and slowly licks it up. Dean makes a soft noise, but he doesn't move, doesn't push Sam away, so takes it as permission to catch Dean's split lip between his teeth and worry it 'til it bleeds. Laps it up. Bites down a little harder.
And that's when Dean starts moving, and for a second Sam thinks he's got another punch coming his way, but Dean just grabs him by the shoulders and spins him round and slams him back against the wall. His face hovering inches from Sam's, eyes dancing wildly across Sam's face with blood drying on his chin and wet on his swollen lip.
"Did - did I hurt you?" Sam asks, around the hitch in his breathing, and Dean blinks like he'd forgotten anything had even happened. Then he reaches up a hand to his lip, frowns down at the blood that comes away on his fingers. Sam shudders at the sight of it, and they're - you understand - they're pressed so tight together, with Dean's free hand still fisted in Sam's shirt, that Dean can feel that.
"Not too bad," he says, lowly, shifting his hand around to the back of Sam's neck, fingers catching in the ends of Sam's hair and pulling a little too tight. His bloody fingers still hovering in the air between them. Sam can't tear his eyes away from the sight of it, except maybe to look at Dean's mouth instead.
"Sorry," he says, and maybe Dean pushes forward or maybe Sam does, but he's close enough that he can feel his own breath against Dean's cheek. Close enough that he can tip his head forwards and press their faces together - not tasting, just breathing in the coppery scent of Dean's blood and sweat, feeling the wetness of it on his own skin. It's like there's a metal band wrapped around his lungs, and he can't quite tell if that's the withdrawal or the feel of being so close. And then Dean shifts, just a little, his knee pressing in between Sam's legs and when Sam shudders in a tight, hot breath his lips brush against Dean's skin, against the corner of his bloody mouth. And jesus, he just has to rock forwards into that, just has to shift his hips against Dean's, because if he doesn't start moving he's going to stop breathing.
Dean turns his head away, the movement smearing a fresh burst of blood across his face - across Sam's face - so Sam grabs hold of his head, knuckles stinging from the last time he used his hands - to punch Dean in the face - and tugs Dean around to look at him again. He's ready for Dean to fight his hold, but Dean just stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown. Sam gasps out a breath, relaxes his grip to slide his hand down and cup the side of Dean's face. Dean moves pliantly, willingly - silently - as Sam tilts his head, exposing the fresh smear of blood.
There's a moment of stillness, then, "You can," Dean murmurs. "You can do it." He turns his head into Sam's palm, closes his eyes like it's a caress.
Sam has willpower, yeah, but he doesn't have that much willpower, not when there's bright red blood and Dean's face an inch from his own. Not when he's shaking and gasping for breath and he wants - He wants to taste. He nudges forward with his mouth, licks a stripe up the side of Dean's face, tastes blood and sweat and salt and a hint of oil. Dean shudders against him, which could mean anything, but the way his legs shift and part - just an inch, but an inch is enough - that can only mean yes. It's an invitation, and Sam takes it.
His free hand smooths up Dean's stomach, feeling muscles twitch under his palm, and then he grabs a handful of the front of Dean's shirt and pulls him forwards in a short, sharp tug. Dean stumbles, chest slamming against Sam's own and his leg sliding up between Sam's thighs. He catches hold of Sam's shoulder to steady himself.
"Wait," Sam says, "wait. Not-" and he grabs hold of Dean's wrist, tugging his hand away. The blood on his fingers is drying, will be dried soon, so Sam just has to - he pulls Dean's hand up to his lips, watches as Dean's eyes go wide, and he sucks Dean's fingers into his mouth.
Dean huffs out a breath, the hand in Sam's hair flexing, tugging - "Jesus. Sam - jesus." - as Sam swirls his tongue up Dean's fingers. Sucks hard, tastes grit beneath the blood, and then he draws them out of his mouth with a slick kind of pop. Dean's panting against him. Sam holds Dean's hand up to his face, marvelling at the shine of spit. He licked them clean.
"Okay," he says. He releases Dean's hand. Dean lets it drop for a second, like he's forgotten how to hold his arm up for himself, and then he snatches at Sam's hip, hooking a finger in his belt-loop and tugging him forwards, closer. Sam goes into it willingly, riding up Dean's thigh, and then Dean rocks back down into it and Sam can feel the press of his dick, burning up through both their pairs of jeans. He groans lowly, has to slump back against the wall, letting Dean move against him. He has to close his eyes, just for a second -
"C'mon, Sam," Dean growls, hand tightening in Sam's hair and pulling until Sam's eyes blink open. He presses his face against Sam's and Sam mouths at it blindly, automatically, until his lips catch the taste of blood across the line of Dean's jaw. He hitches in a breath, teeth scraping across skin, biting down. Dean groans, releasing his grip on Sam's thigh to scrabble for purchase at the wall as he surges forwards.
"C'mon," he says, "c'mon," tilting his head back, and Sam trails the blood with his tongue, licking thick, wet stripes until he's followed it home to Dean's split lip, red and sore and shining swollen. Dean breathes in slow as Sam tastes the corner of his mouth, and his mouth stays hanging open after. Sam traces the bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.
"C'mon," Dean growls again. He rocks forward against Sam's thigh in one slow, deliberate motion, dick digging in so hard and hot. Sam has to laugh, he has to, in a sharp puff of air as he drops his hands down to Dean's belt, fumbles with the buckle.
Dean grins up at him, blood on his teeth, and then he twists his head around and bites down hard on Sam's bottom lip. There's a burst of blood and pain - jesus, it hurts - so bright and hot that for a second Sam thinks he might come in his pants, head thrown back and panting for breath, hips thrusting helplessly against the friction of Dean's thigh, of his own damn knuckles tugging at Dean's belt. He groans and sucks in a breath, feeling his chest hitch and hitch until all he can do is rub up against Dean's body, his hands on Dean's jeans all that's keeping him from just sliding down the wall.
"Oh jesus, look at you," Dean says, and then he bites Sam's lip again and doesn't let go. This time is even better, teeth scraping and tongues colliding until eventually they're just kissing, hot and wet and bloody, as Sam tugs Dean's buckle loose and tugs the zipper down. He palms Dean's dick, feel Dean buck against his hand, and then Dean's hands are at his own jeans, tugging them down. The rush of cool air is sudden and overwhelming, Sam's dick straining, his hips rocking in the air in a futile search for friction, and then Dean steps in closer, pressing their dicks together. Sam lets out a wordless noise into Dean's mouth - the kind of noise that comes from that deep, animal place in your gut - and then he's rutting against Dean, messy awkward slide of their dicks rubbing together. Dean wriggles a hand down between them, catches hold of both their dicks and squeezes hard.
"Fuck fuck," Sam pants, dropping his head down onto Dean's shoulder. He grabs hold of Dean's hips, steadying himself on their rhythm, on the rhythm of Dean's hand moving slow slow and so tight between them, with one hand splayed across Sam's stomach to keep him from just rubbing in a helpless mess like he needs to. Sam twists his face into Dean's neck, breathes in sweat and dirt, feels Dean's rapid pulse drumming through his jugular.
Dean squeezes their dicks too hard again, twists his fist in a corkscrew up their length, and that's it. Sam bites down on his heartbeat and comes in a shock - in a thick, wet pulse that tightens in his chest and heart and fingers and spirals out of him, jesus jesus, as he thrusts in helpless little motions against Dean's hand. And then it creeps away, leaving him slumped boneless against Dean's chest, panting hard. Dean's thumb is brushing back and forth over the sticky slit of his dick and the ache of it is so good Sam thinks he just might cry.
He drops down to his knees, instead. Breathes in deep and looks up at Dean - Dean, who's staring back down at him with wide eyes, faced flush, hand still working at his hard - so hard it must hurt- dick even as Sam nudges his face against his knuckles.
"Quit it," Sam says. Dean drops his hand, then lifts it again to brush through Sam's sweaty hair as Sam bites down on his lip, worries it between his teeth where Dean torn the skin only, what? only five minutes ago. Blood fills his mouth. Sam rocks forward on his knees and presses his mouth to the side of Dean's dick and it comes away bloody - Sam's own blood shining on Dean's dick as it twitches right before Sam's eyes, and it's just about the hottest thing Sam's ever seen. He must've been taking too long to appreciate, because then Dean's fingers are tugging on his hair, pulling him in. Sam goes easily, mouth opening wide to lap up his blood and then his tongue licks down and back up the the head. There's a thumping noise above him, and Sam looks up to see Dean gripping onto the wall in front of him, steadying himself against it. Sam can see Dean's shoulders heaving.
He smirks, ducking back down again, and this time he takes Dean's dick fully into his mouth, no warning. He sucks down hard, hums around it, and then Dean's pulling at his hair so hard it hurts. Dean's dick hits the back of Sam's mouth and has to swallow heavily to keep from gagging and he can hear Dean moan above him. Dean's grip on his head tightens, holding him still, and Dean thrusts into his mouth, movements jerky and uncoordinated. Sam's lips are stretched wide and he can feel saliva sliding down his chin, but he can taste salt and blood and precome and it's making his dick twitch again, spiralling pangs of pleasure that make his body ache. He moans, opening his mouth wider and breathing in the scent of Dean through his nose, eyes closed as his hand fumbles blindly for Dean's balls. His thumb brushes across them and he can feel them drawing up, tightening -
Dean pulls back so suddenly it almost sends Sam toppling over, mouth cold and sore without Dean's dick filling it, but then Dean's hand is holding him still and Dean's other hand is jerking at his dick once, twice and Dean comes with a shout, releasing Sam's head to smack his palm against the wall as come spurts out of him in thick streaks across Sam's face and neck and hair.
"Jesus," Sam groans, closing his eyes. He hears, feels, Dean drop down to his knees before him, Dean's hand tilting his chin up and then Dean's mouth - fuck, his tongue - sliding up Sam's face, through the mess Dean put there. Sam holds his breath, moving his head willingly as Dean turns it from side to side, and Dean laps up every. goddamn. drop.
When Sam opens his eyes again, Dean's staring at him, sticky-lipped. One last, missed speck of blood flaking at the corner of his mouth.
"If you get to lick me," Dean says, roughly, "then I get to lick you, bitch."
WELL THAT WAS UNEXPECTED.
Orrr. Same scenario - Sam and his withdrawal, and he's being really twitchy and crabby and Dean is just really tired of it. So eventually Sam says something that makes Dean snap, or Dean says something that makes Sam snap, and they start throwing punches (but not 4x21 style punches; these are 'ilu but our life is shit' style punches.) Maybe Sam snaps and is all 'NO I CAN'T DO THIS I NEED BLOOD' and Dean has to physically restrain him from running away and it devolves into fisticuffs. (Yeah that's right, fisticuffs.) And afterwards, they're all panting and shaking and sore and Dean's lip is split. There's blood dripping down his chin, and Sam just - leans forward and slowly licks it up. Dean makes a soft noise, but he doesn't move, doesn't push Sam away, so takes it as permission to catch Dean's split lip between his teeth and worry it 'til it bleeds. Laps it up. Bites down a little harder.
And that's when Dean starts moving, and for a second Sam thinks he's got another punch coming his way, but Dean just grabs him by the shoulders and spins him round and slams him back against the wall. His face hovering inches from Sam's, eyes dancing wildly across Sam's face with blood drying on his chin and wet on his swollen lip.
"Did - did I hurt you?" Sam asks, around the hitch in his breathing, and Dean blinks like he'd forgotten anything had even happened. Then he reaches up a hand to his lip, frowns down at the blood that comes away on his fingers. Sam shudders at the sight of it, and they're - you understand - they're pressed so tight together, with Dean's free hand still fisted in Sam's shirt, that Dean can feel that.
"Not too bad," he says, lowly, shifting his hand around to the back of Sam's neck, fingers catching in the ends of Sam's hair and pulling a little too tight. His bloody fingers still hovering in the air between them. Sam can't tear his eyes away from the sight of it, except maybe to look at Dean's mouth instead.
"Sorry," he says, and maybe Dean pushes forward or maybe Sam does, but he's close enough that he can feel his own breath against Dean's cheek. Close enough that he can tip his head forwards and press their faces together - not tasting, just breathing in the coppery scent of Dean's blood and sweat, feeling the wetness of it on his own skin. It's like there's a metal band wrapped around his lungs, and he can't quite tell if that's the withdrawal or the feel of being so close. And then Dean shifts, just a little, his knee pressing in between Sam's legs and when Sam shudders in a tight, hot breath his lips brush against Dean's skin, against the corner of his bloody mouth. And jesus, he just has to rock forwards into that, just has to shift his hips against Dean's, because if he doesn't start moving he's going to stop breathing.
Dean turns his head away, the movement smearing a fresh burst of blood across his face - across Sam's face - so Sam grabs hold of his head, knuckles stinging from the last time he used his hands - to punch Dean in the face - and tugs Dean around to look at him again. He's ready for Dean to fight his hold, but Dean just stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown. Sam gasps out a breath, relaxes his grip to slide his hand down and cup the side of Dean's face. Dean moves pliantly, willingly - silently - as Sam tilts his head, exposing the fresh smear of blood.
There's a moment of stillness, then, "You can," Dean murmurs. "You can do it." He turns his head into Sam's palm, closes his eyes like it's a caress.
Sam has willpower, yeah, but he doesn't have that much willpower, not when there's bright red blood and Dean's face an inch from his own. Not when he's shaking and gasping for breath and he wants - He wants to taste. He nudges forward with his mouth, licks a stripe up the side of Dean's face, tastes blood and sweat and salt and a hint of oil. Dean shudders against him, which could mean anything, but the way his legs shift and part - just an inch, but an inch is enough - that can only mean yes. It's an invitation, and Sam takes it.
His free hand smooths up Dean's stomach, feeling muscles twitch under his palm, and then he grabs a handful of the front of Dean's shirt and pulls him forwards in a short, sharp tug. Dean stumbles, chest slamming against Sam's own and his leg sliding up between Sam's thighs. He catches hold of Sam's shoulder to steady himself.
"Wait," Sam says, "wait. Not-" and he grabs hold of Dean's wrist, tugging his hand away. The blood on his fingers is drying, will be dried soon, so Sam just has to - he pulls Dean's hand up to his lips, watches as Dean's eyes go wide, and he sucks Dean's fingers into his mouth.
Dean huffs out a breath, the hand in Sam's hair flexing, tugging - "Jesus. Sam - jesus." - as Sam swirls his tongue up Dean's fingers. Sucks hard, tastes grit beneath the blood, and then he draws them out of his mouth with a slick kind of pop. Dean's panting against him. Sam holds Dean's hand up to his face, marvelling at the shine of spit. He licked them clean.
"Okay," he says. He releases Dean's hand. Dean lets it drop for a second, like he's forgotten how to hold his arm up for himself, and then he snatches at Sam's hip, hooking a finger in his belt-loop and tugging him forwards, closer. Sam goes into it willingly, riding up Dean's thigh, and then Dean rocks back down into it and Sam can feel the press of his dick, burning up through both their pairs of jeans. He groans lowly, has to slump back against the wall, letting Dean move against him. He has to close his eyes, just for a second -
"C'mon, Sam," Dean growls, hand tightening in Sam's hair and pulling until Sam's eyes blink open. He presses his face against Sam's and Sam mouths at it blindly, automatically, until his lips catch the taste of blood across the line of Dean's jaw. He hitches in a breath, teeth scraping across skin, biting down. Dean groans, releasing his grip on Sam's thigh to scrabble for purchase at the wall as he surges forwards.
"C'mon," he says, "c'mon," tilting his head back, and Sam trails the blood with his tongue, licking thick, wet stripes until he's followed it home to Dean's split lip, red and sore and shining swollen. Dean breathes in slow as Sam tastes the corner of his mouth, and his mouth stays hanging open after. Sam traces the bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.
"C'mon," Dean growls again. He rocks forward against Sam's thigh in one slow, deliberate motion, dick digging in so hard and hot. Sam has to laugh, he has to, in a sharp puff of air as he drops his hands down to Dean's belt, fumbles with the buckle.
Dean grins up at him, blood on his teeth, and then he twists his head around and bites down hard on Sam's bottom lip. There's a burst of blood and pain - jesus, it hurts - so bright and hot that for a second Sam thinks he might come in his pants, head thrown back and panting for breath, hips thrusting helplessly against the friction of Dean's thigh, of his own damn knuckles tugging at Dean's belt. He groans and sucks in a breath, feeling his chest hitch and hitch until all he can do is rub up against Dean's body, his hands on Dean's jeans all that's keeping him from just sliding down the wall.
"Oh jesus, look at you," Dean says, and then he bites Sam's lip again and doesn't let go. This time is even better, teeth scraping and tongues colliding until eventually they're just kissing, hot and wet and bloody, as Sam tugs Dean's buckle loose and tugs the zipper down. He palms Dean's dick, feel Dean buck against his hand, and then Dean's hands are at his own jeans, tugging them down. The rush of cool air is sudden and overwhelming, Sam's dick straining, his hips rocking in the air in a futile search for friction, and then Dean steps in closer, pressing their dicks together. Sam lets out a wordless noise into Dean's mouth - the kind of noise that comes from that deep, animal place in your gut - and then he's rutting against Dean, messy awkward slide of their dicks rubbing together. Dean wriggles a hand down between them, catches hold of both their dicks and squeezes hard.
"Fuck fuck," Sam pants, dropping his head down onto Dean's shoulder. He grabs hold of Dean's hips, steadying himself on their rhythm, on the rhythm of Dean's hand moving slow slow and so tight between them, with one hand splayed across Sam's stomach to keep him from just rubbing in a helpless mess like he needs to. Sam twists his face into Dean's neck, breathes in sweat and dirt, feels Dean's rapid pulse drumming through his jugular.
Dean squeezes their dicks too hard again, twists his fist in a corkscrew up their length, and that's it. Sam bites down on his heartbeat and comes in a shock - in a thick, wet pulse that tightens in his chest and heart and fingers and spirals out of him, jesus jesus, as he thrusts in helpless little motions against Dean's hand. And then it creeps away, leaving him slumped boneless against Dean's chest, panting hard. Dean's thumb is brushing back and forth over the sticky slit of his dick and the ache of it is so good Sam thinks he just might cry.
He drops down to his knees, instead. Breathes in deep and looks up at Dean - Dean, who's staring back down at him with wide eyes, faced flush, hand still working at his hard - so hard it must hurt- dick even as Sam nudges his face against his knuckles.
"Quit it," Sam says. Dean drops his hand, then lifts it again to brush through Sam's sweaty hair as Sam bites down on his lip, worries it between his teeth where Dean torn the skin only, what? only five minutes ago. Blood fills his mouth. Sam rocks forward on his knees and presses his mouth to the side of Dean's dick and it comes away bloody - Sam's own blood shining on Dean's dick as it twitches right before Sam's eyes, and it's just about the hottest thing Sam's ever seen. He must've been taking too long to appreciate, because then Dean's fingers are tugging on his hair, pulling him in. Sam goes easily, mouth opening wide to lap up his blood and then his tongue licks down and back up the the head. There's a thumping noise above him, and Sam looks up to see Dean gripping onto the wall in front of him, steadying himself against it. Sam can see Dean's shoulders heaving.
He smirks, ducking back down again, and this time he takes Dean's dick fully into his mouth, no warning. He sucks down hard, hums around it, and then Dean's pulling at his hair so hard it hurts. Dean's dick hits the back of Sam's mouth and has to swallow heavily to keep from gagging and he can hear Dean moan above him. Dean's grip on his head tightens, holding him still, and Dean thrusts into his mouth, movements jerky and uncoordinated. Sam's lips are stretched wide and he can feel saliva sliding down his chin, but he can taste salt and blood and precome and it's making his dick twitch again, spiralling pangs of pleasure that make his body ache. He moans, opening his mouth wider and breathing in the scent of Dean through his nose, eyes closed as his hand fumbles blindly for Dean's balls. His thumb brushes across them and he can feel them drawing up, tightening -
Dean pulls back so suddenly it almost sends Sam toppling over, mouth cold and sore without Dean's dick filling it, but then Dean's hand is holding him still and Dean's other hand is jerking at his dick once, twice and Dean comes with a shout, releasing Sam's head to smack his palm against the wall as come spurts out of him in thick streaks across Sam's face and neck and hair.
"Jesus," Sam groans, closing his eyes. He hears, feels, Dean drop down to his knees before him, Dean's hand tilting his chin up and then Dean's mouth - fuck, his tongue - sliding up Sam's face, through the mess Dean put there. Sam holds his breath, moving his head willingly as Dean turns it from side to side, and Dean laps up every. goddamn. drop.
When Sam opens his eyes again, Dean's staring at him, sticky-lipped. One last, missed speck of blood flaking at the corner of his mouth.
"If you get to lick me," Dean says, roughly, "then I get to lick you, bitch."
WELL THAT WAS UNEXPECTED.