Dreaming Awake - One
Title: Dreaming Awake-One
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Prompts: Candle, Journal
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Secrets whispered in dreams - can the Winchester Brothers keep their dreams in their minds or will their waking fantasies become a reality.
Disclaimer - I do not own any of these bad boys - I just love to write about them. No copyright infringement intended.
Authors notes: Just uploaded it after I wrote it. Feel free to make editorial feedback. I post it for your enjoyment.
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I'll be your sexual freak
I'll be your educational lover
Your one fuck fantasy - George Michael
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Candles covered the table top, benches and bedside tables. The warm glow exuding light and heat in the otherwise cold room of hotel. The small flickering flames danced up the wall, small shadows spiralling and swirling and casting a magical feeling around the room. Sam blew out the last long match that he had found resting onto of the gas oven and slipped it back inside the now full box of burnt tipped matches. The scent of powder and the slight hint of vanilla lingered in the air as the last of the smoke from the matches was carried away into the room and disappeared into nothing. Throwing the box into a nearby garbage bin, Sam let out a sign of achievement when the box hit the bottom, the sound resounding of the metal and reminding Sam of the emptiness of the room.
His eyes wandered around, scanning and taking everything in. The box of pie sitting closed and wrapped in ribbon on the white wooden kitchen table. The six pack of beers he had taken the cardboard of and have removed to set up in an perfect line next to the pie and of course his Journal, tucked beneath his pillow both in his site, but hidden unless Dean paid close inspection. Sam could just make out the edges of his rustic leather Journal peeking out, the brass clasps glinting in the candle light. Everything was perfect. The only thing that was missing now was Dean.
As if on cue, the bright yellow paint scratched door of their hotel room shot open carrying with it the harsh wind of winter and the familiar heady scent of men's deodorant, dirt and sweat. Dean strode in carrying a plastic bag in one hand and a six pack underneath his arm. His thick Navy jacket tugged at his muscles, straining against the fabric tightly. Sam survived Dean as his brother shut the door with his gritty boots, leaving a streaky mark on the frame. He took in the way Deans hair stuck to his slick face and the grin that lit up his delectable lips and melted instantly. His mind already reeling at the idea that both made his stomach ache and his cock harden a little.
“What's all this Sammy?” Dean asked casting his attention to the table where a large cardboard box wrapped in fancy pink ribbon and a line of beer identical to the ones he was carrying waited to be drunk. “Is that what I think it is?” he said wandering over to the table. Placing the plastic bag and the beer on the table he leaned forward, prying away the ribbon from the plastic see through window and beamed at the site of his favouritism on the road Apple crumble pie. He rotated on his heel to face his brother. “What's the special occasion Sammy?”
“Does there have to be a special occasion?” Sam queried advancing to the table. He undid the plastic bag Dean had brought in with him and peeked inside. “Greasy Chinese food and Beer?” he questioned, wiping his lips a little as he salivated when the scent of black bean and dumplings filled the space between them, the tempting aroma of a hard day hunting wafting over and combating his senses. Dean was so close. To close.
“And Pie,” Dean said, already undoing the ribbon and popping open the little tab that kept the lid down. “Now all we need is some Busty Asian porn,” he joked bending down till his nose was nearly touching the crusty sugared base. “But I'll settle for anything right now. But first I need a slice of this delicious Apple Pie. You did good Sammy,” he said his eyes meeting head on with his brothers. Sam's crooked smile warming something familiar inside of him and igniting a flame that only burned in his own imagination. A little strand of Sam's hair fell across his forehead and over his eyes, curling at the ends. “You got a knife and some plates?”
Sam nodded. His attention momentarily lapsed watching Dean's lips move as he talked. His brother lifted a finger towards them his tongue darting out to eat a tiny piece of the pie that had stuck to his finger as he continued to poke at it, pushing the apple from the inside out. The flavoursome, hot and sticky fruit staining his fingers green. “I'll go get those plates,” he breathed, his words strained. He whirled around. His back turned on Dean. The sensation of frosty tiles more alert with each step he took. His warm body burning out the winter that threatened to keep them inside all night. Not that he cared. “Don't you want to eat the take out first?” Sam asked lifting the crockery out of the overhead cupboard space provided by the hotel. He placed them down on the bench and fished around the cutlery draw finding a knife that would suit their needs.
“Sammy it's Pie,” Dean said cleaning his fingers free from the chunk he had taken away from the pie while Sam's back was turned to him. He dipped in, lifting the treat out of the box and set it on the silver cake plate from the box. Tempted to lift the entire thing up and take a huge bite, he resisted the temptation and went about freeing the take out containers from the plastic bag. His eyes partly on dinner, every now and then wandering to where Sam stood stretching and flexing. His muscles rippling beneath the thin fabric of his white workers shirt. His breath catching, causing him to keep his lips shut to quench a moan rising in his chest and daring to escape his lips. It was wrong. So wrong.
Sam headed back to the table. “Point taken,” he said handing his brother a laced patterned plate that looked like something he had seen on Antique Road show in between the quiet lulls of hunting, resting and research. Fingers left the surface, brushing against the coarse, hot skin of his brothers jolting him like a hit of electricity or a hit of Demon blood. The heat coursed through his fingertips right down to his palms and upwards towards his arms. Hitting his chest, winding him breathless. He took a step back, the plate slipping from his fingers, setting it in motion towards the floor.
“Sam,” Dean yelled, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet tension growing between them. In fast motion, the plate falling between them he dipped down and caught it just in time before the thing fell and smashed into shards on the floor. Scooping down he brought it back to the table and took the knife Sam had still in his other hand from his brother. “Did you get much sleep last night?”
“Well enough,” Sam replied dragging the chair away from the table. He took a seat, his ass sinking into the comfortable cushion that made it possible to sit at the table for hours and write, read or just fantasise about the possibilities that could never be realities. “You know how it is,” he finished, holding his plate up for Dean to serve him a piece of that delicious pie. Careful not to touch skin to skin he quickly withdrew his hand and gave Dean a small smile.
Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he said thinking back to the erotic dreams that started with beautiful, full breasted women and had changed to dreams of Sam, half naked draped only in a towel. His pert nipples beckoning him forward for a taste. “Yeah Sammy. I do.”