Letting Go
Title: Letting Go
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 3. Takes place at the end of "Mystery Spot."
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Incest, reference to canon character death
Summary: Sam's just had too many Tuesdays.
Author's notes: This was my favorite hug in the whole series. I um. Made it better? Hey, would you believe that when I first thought about writing this, it was going to be about Sam?
"How many Tuesdays did you have?"
Sam's body is pressed to Dean's, his arms tight around Dean's shoulders. "Enough." His breath ghosts hot over Dean's skin as he shifts, burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck. Dean tightens his hold, rubbing his palms soothingly over Sam's spine.
Sam is trembling, his breath tightly controlled and Dean can feel his brother's heartbeat pounding against his chest. He can feel something else, too, but he can hardly blame Sam for a little morning wood (or, you know, not so little) or this reaction to stress, or whatever it is. He can forgive the awkwardness, gently disentangle himself and pretend he didn't notice anything.
He can step away from Sam, sit down on the edge of his bed. "Sam, you're...you're going to have to let go." It's hard to say, but he needs to, he knows he does. "You got me back this time. But you know I don't have a lot of time left." Hell is coming for me, Sammy, and we can't fight it like we always fight these things because if we do, you'll die. They'll take you from me again and I think I might actually prefer going to Hell to living without you. It's one or the other of us, Sammy, so you've gotta learn to move on from me, keep going after I'm gone. Learn to let go of me, Sammy.
He knows how hypocritical it is. Dean isn't ready to just roll over and die. He knows he can't fight the deal he made, but he's still going to, until he can't fight anymore. There's no quitter in his genetic makeup, nor in Sam's. He's asking Sam to do what he can't even do himself. He can't let go of his brother either.
He opens his eyes to find that he's still standing, wrapped in Sam's embrace, and he hasn't said any of those things. He lets out a shaky breath, turning his head just enough to brush his lips against Sam's cheekbone.
Sam jolts in his arms like he's been shocked. His cock is still pressing into Dean's hip, bruisingly hard, and Dean has a bare second to notice that his own erection has been in full agreement with Sam's for some time now before Sam's mouth on his thoroughly distracts him. He kisses desperately, hungry and hot, and Dean reels under the onslaught, taking a staggering step toward his bed.
The world spins, and when it settles again, Dean finds himself on his back on the bed, Sam on top of him, his hands tugging Dean's t-shirt up over his head. Dean opens his mouth to ask something like What just happened? What's happening right now? What are we doing? but all that comes out is a moan. Sam's mouth is on Dean's throat, sucking hard to mark him, and Dean's hips buck automatically, thrusting against Sam's body with too many layers of clothing between them. His hands are on Sam's waist, soft cotton under his fingers, and he clenches the shirt in his fists suddenly, tearing it apart.
Sam shakes off the tatters of his t-shirt. "Jerk," he mutters, and nips sharply at Dean's collarbone.
"Bitch," Dean answers automatically, completely unrepentant because fuck that feels good, bare skin on skin. His hand finds its way to Sam's ass, squeezing firmly as he shifts his legs apart so Sam can settle between them, Dean's thighs bracketing his slim hips.
Inspiration doesn't so much strike as it worms its way in. Sam grinds down against him, pressure on his cock making him gasp into Sam's mouth as his brother's tongue flicks between Dean's lips. He spreads his legs, wrapping them around Sam's waist and arching up against his body, suddenly wanting more, Sam's body enfolded in his limbs not enough. He wants Sam inside him, so deep within him that they can never really be separated. "Sammy," he tries to say, but it's hard to talk and kiss at the same time. He jerks his head to the side, away from Sam's mouth. "Sam."
Sam freezes, his eyes wide and stricken. It's the look of reality crashing back in, Sam's brain leaping into high gear, thinking so loudly that Dean can almost hear it. oh God what am I DOING, this is my BROTHER, I'm having gay sex with my brother oh God I'm not even gay and Dean needs to stop him doing that, right now. He flips them, rolling on top of Sam and pinning him to the bed by his hips and arms and mouth, kissing him until he can feel the tension bleed out of Sam's core, until Sam's mouth opens beneath his, warm and wet and eager.
"Sam," Dean murmurs against his lips. "Don't freak out, stupid. I just wanted to ask if you wanna fuck me." Sam's breath hitches, and Dean hides his grin against Sam's throat, mouthing at the tender skin as he speaks. "I wanna feel your cock inside me."
Sam groans, "Dean," sounding so wrecked that Dean's cock jerks in sympathy, leaking slick inside his pajama pants. He interprets Sam's response as assent and pulls away from him, thinking of the bottle of lube he keeps in his duffel bag, but Sam grabs him and yanks him back down, arms locked tight around Dean's back. "No," he begs, "don't," and Dean gets it.
Sam has lost him too many times, and now that he has Dean back, he can't let go, not yet, not even for a moment. He can't stand not to be close to Dean, and the part of Dean that would ordinarily call that irritatingly clingy just doesn't seem to care, when it's Sam. Perhaps it's because he wants to cling to Sam just as hard. "Okay, Sammy," he says, "it's okay. Just like this." They can rut together like horny teenagers, skin on skin, entwined in each other's bodies until they forget the reason why they need to forget.
Sam writhes beneath him, his cock brushing against Dean's and sending sparks up his spine as he wriggles, tugging his pajama bottoms down. Dean shifts, not away, just far enough to make it easier to get his own flannel pants off. When he settles back on top of Sam, one thigh between his brother's, the heat of their hard flesh with no barrier between them makes Dean groan, eyelids fluttering shut. Sam moans in response, rolling them again and grinding down hard, hips flush against Dean's, cocks pinned between their bodies.
It feels--good. Dean's brain stumbles over the concept of trying to find words for this, because it's so far beyond anything he's felt or could possibly feel with anyone else. The sensation builds like a slow burn, spreading from his groin up his spine and down his thighs, until his head is swimming and his toes tingle with it.
It's not about the pleasure, really. It never is. It's about losing himself in another person, letting the world fall away and leave him bare in somebody else's arms, somebody who will hold him while he falls apart for a brief moment. It's about the breath that pours into his lungs, thick and hot and laden with his brother's scent. It's about the light in Sam's eyes as he gazes down at Dean, wide-eyed and desperate, trembling on the verge of ecstasy and making Dean's breath hitch. It's the pleading tone in his voice as he gasps Dean's name and comes, the feel of his body against Dean's as Dean shatters apart in Sam's embrace, shuddering his release in choked breaths against his brother's skin.
Sam peels himself off of Dean, carefully, their skin sticking from sweat and come. He rolls onto his back, sprawled out on the bed, breathing hard. Dean glances over at him, struggling to catch his own breath, and finds Sam staring at the ceiling, with that reality look on his face. "Sam," he murmurs. He reaches out, fingers brushing his brother's shoulder.
The touch works, bringing Sam's attention back to the present. He curls back in to Dean, arms wrapping around him and body tucked against his. He kisses his brother, sweet and slow, holding him close. He can let go; he knows he can. He just doesn't want to.
Next time on Supernatural...
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 3. Takes place at the end of "Mystery Spot."
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Incest, reference to canon character death
Summary: Sam's just had too many Tuesdays.
Author's notes: This was my favorite hug in the whole series. I um. Made it better? Hey, would you believe that when I first thought about writing this, it was going to be about Sam?
"How many Tuesdays did you have?"
Sam's body is pressed to Dean's, his arms tight around Dean's shoulders. "Enough." His breath ghosts hot over Dean's skin as he shifts, burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck. Dean tightens his hold, rubbing his palms soothingly over Sam's spine.
Sam is trembling, his breath tightly controlled and Dean can feel his brother's heartbeat pounding against his chest. He can feel something else, too, but he can hardly blame Sam for a little morning wood (or, you know, not so little) or this reaction to stress, or whatever it is. He can forgive the awkwardness, gently disentangle himself and pretend he didn't notice anything.
He can step away from Sam, sit down on the edge of his bed. "Sam, you're...you're going to have to let go." It's hard to say, but he needs to, he knows he does. "You got me back this time. But you know I don't have a lot of time left." Hell is coming for me, Sammy, and we can't fight it like we always fight these things because if we do, you'll die. They'll take you from me again and I think I might actually prefer going to Hell to living without you. It's one or the other of us, Sammy, so you've gotta learn to move on from me, keep going after I'm gone. Learn to let go of me, Sammy.
He knows how hypocritical it is. Dean isn't ready to just roll over and die. He knows he can't fight the deal he made, but he's still going to, until he can't fight anymore. There's no quitter in his genetic makeup, nor in Sam's. He's asking Sam to do what he can't even do himself. He can't let go of his brother either.
He opens his eyes to find that he's still standing, wrapped in Sam's embrace, and he hasn't said any of those things. He lets out a shaky breath, turning his head just enough to brush his lips against Sam's cheekbone.
Sam jolts in his arms like he's been shocked. His cock is still pressing into Dean's hip, bruisingly hard, and Dean has a bare second to notice that his own erection has been in full agreement with Sam's for some time now before Sam's mouth on his thoroughly distracts him. He kisses desperately, hungry and hot, and Dean reels under the onslaught, taking a staggering step toward his bed.
The world spins, and when it settles again, Dean finds himself on his back on the bed, Sam on top of him, his hands tugging Dean's t-shirt up over his head. Dean opens his mouth to ask something like What just happened? What's happening right now? What are we doing? but all that comes out is a moan. Sam's mouth is on Dean's throat, sucking hard to mark him, and Dean's hips buck automatically, thrusting against Sam's body with too many layers of clothing between them. His hands are on Sam's waist, soft cotton under his fingers, and he clenches the shirt in his fists suddenly, tearing it apart.
Sam shakes off the tatters of his t-shirt. "Jerk," he mutters, and nips sharply at Dean's collarbone.
"Bitch," Dean answers automatically, completely unrepentant because fuck that feels good, bare skin on skin. His hand finds its way to Sam's ass, squeezing firmly as he shifts his legs apart so Sam can settle between them, Dean's thighs bracketing his slim hips.
Inspiration doesn't so much strike as it worms its way in. Sam grinds down against him, pressure on his cock making him gasp into Sam's mouth as his brother's tongue flicks between Dean's lips. He spreads his legs, wrapping them around Sam's waist and arching up against his body, suddenly wanting more, Sam's body enfolded in his limbs not enough. He wants Sam inside him, so deep within him that they can never really be separated. "Sammy," he tries to say, but it's hard to talk and kiss at the same time. He jerks his head to the side, away from Sam's mouth. "Sam."
Sam freezes, his eyes wide and stricken. It's the look of reality crashing back in, Sam's brain leaping into high gear, thinking so loudly that Dean can almost hear it. oh God what am I DOING, this is my BROTHER, I'm having gay sex with my brother oh God I'm not even gay and Dean needs to stop him doing that, right now. He flips them, rolling on top of Sam and pinning him to the bed by his hips and arms and mouth, kissing him until he can feel the tension bleed out of Sam's core, until Sam's mouth opens beneath his, warm and wet and eager.
"Sam," Dean murmurs against his lips. "Don't freak out, stupid. I just wanted to ask if you wanna fuck me." Sam's breath hitches, and Dean hides his grin against Sam's throat, mouthing at the tender skin as he speaks. "I wanna feel your cock inside me."
Sam groans, "Dean," sounding so wrecked that Dean's cock jerks in sympathy, leaking slick inside his pajama pants. He interprets Sam's response as assent and pulls away from him, thinking of the bottle of lube he keeps in his duffel bag, but Sam grabs him and yanks him back down, arms locked tight around Dean's back. "No," he begs, "don't," and Dean gets it.
Sam has lost him too many times, and now that he has Dean back, he can't let go, not yet, not even for a moment. He can't stand not to be close to Dean, and the part of Dean that would ordinarily call that irritatingly clingy just doesn't seem to care, when it's Sam. Perhaps it's because he wants to cling to Sam just as hard. "Okay, Sammy," he says, "it's okay. Just like this." They can rut together like horny teenagers, skin on skin, entwined in each other's bodies until they forget the reason why they need to forget.
Sam writhes beneath him, his cock brushing against Dean's and sending sparks up his spine as he wriggles, tugging his pajama bottoms down. Dean shifts, not away, just far enough to make it easier to get his own flannel pants off. When he settles back on top of Sam, one thigh between his brother's, the heat of their hard flesh with no barrier between them makes Dean groan, eyelids fluttering shut. Sam moans in response, rolling them again and grinding down hard, hips flush against Dean's, cocks pinned between their bodies.
It feels--good. Dean's brain stumbles over the concept of trying to find words for this, because it's so far beyond anything he's felt or could possibly feel with anyone else. The sensation builds like a slow burn, spreading from his groin up his spine and down his thighs, until his head is swimming and his toes tingle with it.
It's not about the pleasure, really. It never is. It's about losing himself in another person, letting the world fall away and leave him bare in somebody else's arms, somebody who will hold him while he falls apart for a brief moment. It's about the breath that pours into his lungs, thick and hot and laden with his brother's scent. It's about the light in Sam's eyes as he gazes down at Dean, wide-eyed and desperate, trembling on the verge of ecstasy and making Dean's breath hitch. It's the pleading tone in his voice as he gasps Dean's name and comes, the feel of his body against Dean's as Dean shatters apart in Sam's embrace, shuddering his release in choked breaths against his brother's skin.
Sam peels himself off of Dean, carefully, their skin sticking from sweat and come. He rolls onto his back, sprawled out on the bed, breathing hard. Dean glances over at him, struggling to catch his own breath, and finds Sam staring at the ceiling, with that reality look on his face. "Sam," he murmurs. He reaches out, fingers brushing his brother's shoulder.
The touch works, bringing Sam's attention back to the present. He curls back in to Dean, arms wrapping around him and body tucked against his. He kisses his brother, sweet and slow, holding him close. He can let go; he knows he can. He just doesn't want to.
Next time on Supernatural...