Fic: untitled Wincest porn (SPN, Sam/Dean, NC-17)
I'm really invested in the epic love story of Sam and Dean, okay? Like, they love each other lots and it is important to me. This is not a 5.16 coda, but it was written after tonight's episode (WHEN I SHOULD HAVE BEEN ASLEEP OMG). rivers_bend said I should try writing something different since my big bang is driving me nuts. She prompted me with "Sam surprises Dean", and this is not as fluffy as I wanted to write for her, but it IS schmoopy, and apparently it's what I had to say.
Title: ?
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, Sam is 17
Summary: What Sam is hiding under his mattress isn't porn. 1260 words, and I wrote them all in the last three hours and I don't claim any of them are good.
The last week of Sam’s junior year, Dean discovers the college catalogues Sam’s been hiding under his mattress. Dean was pretty curious about them when he saw a glossy corner poking out the other day. He imagined Sam had an exotic porn stash; he wondered what there could be that Sam thought he had to hide after everything Dean’s done with him, to him. This isn’t nearly as exciting. He feels sick to his stomach just looking at the bright pictures: lawns full of brainy kids with textbooks, soaring library ceilings, spotless computer labs. That’s where Sam sees himself, Dean realizes.
“Dean? Dad won’t be home ‘til tomorrow, right?” Sam’s voice startles him, and he drops the catalogue, its pages splaying open against the cigarette-burned bedspread. The room feels too small for him and Sam and all the college kids.
“Were you going to tell me?” Dean asks, jerking a hand at it. “Or were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night?”
Sam shakes his head, hands held out imploringly as he comes closer. “No,” he says. “Dean, please, it isn’t like that. I wanted to talk to you about it. I would never--”
“Then what’s it like?”
Sam doesn’t reply. Instead Sam kisses him when he’s close enough to reach, to catch Dean’s face between his hands and force their mouths together. Dean’s helpless against an argument like that. Sam’s gotten as tall as he is in the last couple of months, and Dean’s still getting used to the changing shape of Sam’s body in his arms, the new way they fit. Sam’s tongue pushes hot and slick into Dean’s mouth, and Dean fists a hand in Sam’s hair, holding him, keeping him close. “I need you,” Sam tells him, eyes squeezed shut, mouth sitting hot and open over Dean’s. “Dean, you know. You have to know.”
Dean isn’t sure he knows anything right now. “You want to leave.” He tugs at Sam’s hair, curls his other hand around Sam’s hip to snug them together from thigh to chest.
“I want to stay with you.” Sam kisses the corner of his mouth. His eyes flick over Dean’s shoulder to the dropped college guide, and Dean knows with plummeting certainty that Sam won’t stay, whatever he says. He’ll graduate next year, and he’ll go. “Dean, please.”
“Please what, Sam? What do you want me to say?” He thinks he needs to stop kissing Sam, and he thinks maybe kissing Sam is the only thing he can do right now. His lips move up Sam’s cheekbones, over the lobes of Sam’s ears, up to the thin trembling skin of his eyelids, down to the strong line of his jaw.
“It doesn’t have to be like that. Come with me. Stay with me. We could. We could be like this all the time, not hiding. We could.” He opens his eyes again, frantic, searching. “I need you. I just need this, too.”
“Okay, Sammy.” Dean licks his lips, pushes down all his fear and anger in the face of Sam’s desperation. He can’t even contemplate following Sam to college, shackling himself to some snooty little town for four years while Sam learns things Dean can’t even imagine. “We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.” He squeezes the back of Sam’s neck, like he used to when Sam’s team lost at soccer. Sam takes a shuddering breath, calming himself down, believing it, and it hits Dean hard that Sam trusts him like this. Even when Dean himself isn’t sure if he’s lying, even when he’s pretty sure he’s not telling the truth.
The scramble backwards onto Sam’s bed is familiar. They’ve been in this crappy furnished apartment four months, and they both know how to navigate around every squeaky spring by now. Sam snakes out of his clothes, shucks them so fast Dean doesn’t have a chance to help, and then sets to work on Dean’s with single-minded eagerness. It’s cooler today than it’s been the past couple of weeks, but they’re both still sticky with sweat by the time they hit bare skin, mouths pressed frantically together. Sam’s knuckles drag across the arc of Dean’s ribs, Dean’s palm between Sam’s shoulder blades pulling him down so they interlock in a hot tangle of limbs. Dean’s dick is fat and aching, caught in the bony curve of Sam’s hip, and he gives a lazy bump of his hips, waiting for Sam to say what he wants.
It’s always been Sam’s choice.
Sam rocks his hips down, the wet head of his dick sliding over Dean’s belly. “Can I ride you?” Sam asks, breathless and tight, and he must know Dean’s not going to say no because he’s already reaching for the lotion on the nightstand, pressing the bottle into Dean’s hand. Sam used to like to work up to this, act a little coy and take his time with kissing, maybe a thoughtfully stroking hand on Dean’s dick. Dean used to hesitate too, his hands spanning Sam’s narrow hips, wondering if Sam could take it without hurting. But Dean knows now, doesn’t doubt it as Sam opens himself on one hastily slicked finger, moaning against Dean’s mouth, biting at Dean’s lips as he stretches out his tight little hole. Dean adds in a finger of his own after a while, twisting their hands together so they’re working in a steady, even rhythm. “Need you,” Sam whispers, the tip of his nose pressed to Dean’s, sweat beading on his temples. “Need you, Dean.”
“You got me,” Dean assures him, crooking his finger and making Sam shiver and squirm on top of him. Sam’s dick is dripping precome, leaving wide wet smears across Dean’s skin. He’s wet and clinging around their fingers, two of his own and one of Dean’s, and the noises he’s making are getting higher and more desperate with every second’s delay.
Dean nudges his shoulder forward, and Sam sits up, wiggling up off of their fingers, his thighs flexing as he settles himself over the head of Dean’s dick. He rubs it over his hole and then slowly, slowly guides it inside, rocks down until Dean’s as deep in as he can go. Sam’s shoulders hunch and he pulls off a little, resettling his knees against the mattress, trying for better leverage. He moans softly on his next push down, his dick bobbing heavy against his belly, his ass squeezing around Dean’s cock. Sam’s smooth chest is flushed, his mouth raw and pink, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he starts fucking himself on Dean’s dick. He’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen, and Dean feels helpless and overwhelmed with it. “Need you,” Sam says again, clutching a shaking hand against Dean’s chest. His eyes cut sharply back to Dean’s, and Dean sees too many things there: fear and love and fierce determination.
Sam comes before Dean can even get a hand on his dick, fat pearly drops spattering Dean’s skin, Sam’s ass closing up tight and making Dean gasp. It doesn’t take Dean long to catch up, Sam sagging forward onto him, kissing him sloppily as Dean comes. He squeezes Sam’s thigh, tilts his chin up so he can meet Sam’s kisses properly. He’s guiltily pleased when he realizes the crunch of paper under his elbow is Sam’s college guide, wrinkled and smeared with sweat and come.
“Gonna be just fine, Sammy,” Dean sighs, and Sam murmurs sleepy agreement into Dean’s shoulder. The next step is to find a way to make it true.
~fin~
Title: ?
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, Sam is 17
Summary: What Sam is hiding under his mattress isn't porn. 1260 words, and I wrote them all in the last three hours and I don't claim any of them are good.
The last week of Sam’s junior year, Dean discovers the college catalogues Sam’s been hiding under his mattress. Dean was pretty curious about them when he saw a glossy corner poking out the other day. He imagined Sam had an exotic porn stash; he wondered what there could be that Sam thought he had to hide after everything Dean’s done with him, to him. This isn’t nearly as exciting. He feels sick to his stomach just looking at the bright pictures: lawns full of brainy kids with textbooks, soaring library ceilings, spotless computer labs. That’s where Sam sees himself, Dean realizes.
“Dean? Dad won’t be home ‘til tomorrow, right?” Sam’s voice startles him, and he drops the catalogue, its pages splaying open against the cigarette-burned bedspread. The room feels too small for him and Sam and all the college kids.
“Were you going to tell me?” Dean asks, jerking a hand at it. “Or were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night?”
Sam shakes his head, hands held out imploringly as he comes closer. “No,” he says. “Dean, please, it isn’t like that. I wanted to talk to you about it. I would never--”
“Then what’s it like?”
Sam doesn’t reply. Instead Sam kisses him when he’s close enough to reach, to catch Dean’s face between his hands and force their mouths together. Dean’s helpless against an argument like that. Sam’s gotten as tall as he is in the last couple of months, and Dean’s still getting used to the changing shape of Sam’s body in his arms, the new way they fit. Sam’s tongue pushes hot and slick into Dean’s mouth, and Dean fists a hand in Sam’s hair, holding him, keeping him close. “I need you,” Sam tells him, eyes squeezed shut, mouth sitting hot and open over Dean’s. “Dean, you know. You have to know.”
Dean isn’t sure he knows anything right now. “You want to leave.” He tugs at Sam’s hair, curls his other hand around Sam’s hip to snug them together from thigh to chest.
“I want to stay with you.” Sam kisses the corner of his mouth. His eyes flick over Dean’s shoulder to the dropped college guide, and Dean knows with plummeting certainty that Sam won’t stay, whatever he says. He’ll graduate next year, and he’ll go. “Dean, please.”
“Please what, Sam? What do you want me to say?” He thinks he needs to stop kissing Sam, and he thinks maybe kissing Sam is the only thing he can do right now. His lips move up Sam’s cheekbones, over the lobes of Sam’s ears, up to the thin trembling skin of his eyelids, down to the strong line of his jaw.
“It doesn’t have to be like that. Come with me. Stay with me. We could. We could be like this all the time, not hiding. We could.” He opens his eyes again, frantic, searching. “I need you. I just need this, too.”
“Okay, Sammy.” Dean licks his lips, pushes down all his fear and anger in the face of Sam’s desperation. He can’t even contemplate following Sam to college, shackling himself to some snooty little town for four years while Sam learns things Dean can’t even imagine. “We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.” He squeezes the back of Sam’s neck, like he used to when Sam’s team lost at soccer. Sam takes a shuddering breath, calming himself down, believing it, and it hits Dean hard that Sam trusts him like this. Even when Dean himself isn’t sure if he’s lying, even when he’s pretty sure he’s not telling the truth.
The scramble backwards onto Sam’s bed is familiar. They’ve been in this crappy furnished apartment four months, and they both know how to navigate around every squeaky spring by now. Sam snakes out of his clothes, shucks them so fast Dean doesn’t have a chance to help, and then sets to work on Dean’s with single-minded eagerness. It’s cooler today than it’s been the past couple of weeks, but they’re both still sticky with sweat by the time they hit bare skin, mouths pressed frantically together. Sam’s knuckles drag across the arc of Dean’s ribs, Dean’s palm between Sam’s shoulder blades pulling him down so they interlock in a hot tangle of limbs. Dean’s dick is fat and aching, caught in the bony curve of Sam’s hip, and he gives a lazy bump of his hips, waiting for Sam to say what he wants.
It’s always been Sam’s choice.
Sam rocks his hips down, the wet head of his dick sliding over Dean’s belly. “Can I ride you?” Sam asks, breathless and tight, and he must know Dean’s not going to say no because he’s already reaching for the lotion on the nightstand, pressing the bottle into Dean’s hand. Sam used to like to work up to this, act a little coy and take his time with kissing, maybe a thoughtfully stroking hand on Dean’s dick. Dean used to hesitate too, his hands spanning Sam’s narrow hips, wondering if Sam could take it without hurting. But Dean knows now, doesn’t doubt it as Sam opens himself on one hastily slicked finger, moaning against Dean’s mouth, biting at Dean’s lips as he stretches out his tight little hole. Dean adds in a finger of his own after a while, twisting their hands together so they’re working in a steady, even rhythm. “Need you,” Sam whispers, the tip of his nose pressed to Dean’s, sweat beading on his temples. “Need you, Dean.”
“You got me,” Dean assures him, crooking his finger and making Sam shiver and squirm on top of him. Sam’s dick is dripping precome, leaving wide wet smears across Dean’s skin. He’s wet and clinging around their fingers, two of his own and one of Dean’s, and the noises he’s making are getting higher and more desperate with every second’s delay.
Dean nudges his shoulder forward, and Sam sits up, wiggling up off of their fingers, his thighs flexing as he settles himself over the head of Dean’s dick. He rubs it over his hole and then slowly, slowly guides it inside, rocks down until Dean’s as deep in as he can go. Sam’s shoulders hunch and he pulls off a little, resettling his knees against the mattress, trying for better leverage. He moans softly on his next push down, his dick bobbing heavy against his belly, his ass squeezing around Dean’s cock. Sam’s smooth chest is flushed, his mouth raw and pink, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he starts fucking himself on Dean’s dick. He’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen, and Dean feels helpless and overwhelmed with it. “Need you,” Sam says again, clutching a shaking hand against Dean’s chest. His eyes cut sharply back to Dean’s, and Dean sees too many things there: fear and love and fierce determination.
Sam comes before Dean can even get a hand on his dick, fat pearly drops spattering Dean’s skin, Sam’s ass closing up tight and making Dean gasp. It doesn’t take Dean long to catch up, Sam sagging forward onto him, kissing him sloppily as Dean comes. He squeezes Sam’s thigh, tilts his chin up so he can meet Sam’s kisses properly. He’s guiltily pleased when he realizes the crunch of paper under his elbow is Sam’s college guide, wrinkled and smeared with sweat and come.
“Gonna be just fine, Sammy,” Dean sighs, and Sam murmurs sleepy agreement into Dean’s shoulder. The next step is to find a way to make it true.
~fin~