Fic: In This Time (Wincest, R)
Title: In This Time
Author: bigmamag
Rating: R
Warnings: one-sided wincest
Disclaimer: Not mine, Kripke's.
Summary: Dean thinks about things he shouldn't.
Notes: Written for the missing_spn challenge. This takes place in Playthings when Sam falls into a drunken sleep and before Dean goes to the bar downstairs. This was also written in under two hours. I feel you have been sufficiently warned. The title is from the Tea Party song In This Time.
Dean was sure that when most people read Flowers in the Attic, they thought of their own brother or sister. Of course, they usually thought of them, scrunched up their nose as they thought of their sibling in a sexual manner and immediately pushed the thought away like a bothersome fly. He doubted anyone read the book, thought of their brother and wondered if it meant anything that Dean would sit in the back of the Impala with Sam and put tape everything Sam drew to the back of the seats so that his little brother would always have something that was permanent. Contrary to Sam’s belief, Dean had always wanted him to have permanence, to have something for himself that made him happy. Dean had just always thought that Sam thought of him as something permanent too.
Sam was lying there, passed out now that he was done spouting Random Fucked Up Shit. A tiny strip of skin was exposed between Sam’s jeans and shirt as if the two pieces of clothing had contrived to torture Dean into slow insanity. Fucking figured that the tiny sliver of moonlight that escaped from the enclosure of the curtains was illuminating just that small bit of skin, making it glow. Everything was against him these days.
He was about to lie down and go to sleep himself when his eyes took in his brother and he summarily decided that while sleeping in jeans was not that bad (or at least not bad enough that Dean would go anywhere near Sam’s lower parts at the present moment), sleeping in two shirts was as annoying as burning your tongue on coffee.
Sighing, Dean stood up and crossed the two feet that separated the beds. Before he sat, he looked down at Sam and that damn bit of skin looked even more soft from here. His hand began to move forward, but he yanked it back swiftly, rolling his eyes and thinking of how much of a freaking pansy he was. He had touched Sam millions of times, had seen him full-blown naked. Hell, he had even caught Sam jerking off when he was fourteen. Of course, back then it had been freaking hilarious and Dean had made sure to surreptitiously jerk off ketchup bottles, TV antennas, guns, and even a skeleton’s finger that they were to salt and burn, all to see Sam blush and get that pissy face.
Dean didn’t think it would be very funny if he caught Sam jerking off now. He supposed that Sam had the last laugh on that one.
Well, who cares if he touches Sam’s skin, then. It wasn’t like it was a big deal and he could very well prove that he was in control and not a complete girl. So he pressed two fingers to Sam’s skin and pulled back. Sam wiggled a bit and Dean was afraid he woke him up (God, please don’t let him molest my face again) when Sam began to snore. Deciding that Sam was out for the count, Dean touched the patch of skin again, this time with his whole hand. Wow, Sam was really warm. He also had very soft skin and whoa, Dean was starting to get hard. He immediately snatched his hand away and instead of fleeing for his life, he sat down next to Sam and began to maneuver the freaking ginormous arms until he could slide the shirt off. Sam snored the entire time and only stopped when Dean got a little rough with the injured arm and Sam whimpered a little. Dean gentled his movements and was relieved when the shirt was off and the skin was properly covered.
He sat there for a few minutes and watched Sam sleep, breathe in and out with life. Dean hardly ever broke a promise to Sam. In fact, thinking about it now, Dean couldn’t remember one that he had ever broken. Dean took promises seriously. He looked down at Sam and knew that he could never kill Sam. So Dean would just have to save Sam, even if he had to die doing it.
Dean didn’t like to think about how far he’d go to save Sam. He was afraid of the answer and what that said about him.
Sam snuggled a little closer to Dean’s side and Dean wondered if Sam’s psychic abilities allowed him to sense Dean’s dark thoughts and he was unconsciously comforting him.
Sam had taught Dean a game after his first day of school. Dean had waited at the front of the school to walk Sam home when he caught sight of him barreling down the front steps, armed with a huge box of crayons Dean had bought him so that he would be the cool kid in class. As they walked the mile back home, Sam began to say crayon over and over again and they both laughed as the word began to sound funny and had later annoyed Dad to no end with their new game until he snapped at “poltergeist“. Dean looked down at Sam and wondered if he said ’brother’ enough times, it would sound like something else.
Dean jerked to his feet and decided to check out the bar downstairs.
Author: bigmamag
Rating: R
Warnings: one-sided wincest
Disclaimer: Not mine, Kripke's.
Summary: Dean thinks about things he shouldn't.
Notes: Written for the missing_spn challenge. This takes place in Playthings when Sam falls into a drunken sleep and before Dean goes to the bar downstairs. This was also written in under two hours. I feel you have been sufficiently warned. The title is from the Tea Party song In This Time.
Dean was sure that when most people read Flowers in the Attic, they thought of their own brother or sister. Of course, they usually thought of them, scrunched up their nose as they thought of their sibling in a sexual manner and immediately pushed the thought away like a bothersome fly. He doubted anyone read the book, thought of their brother and wondered if it meant anything that Dean would sit in the back of the Impala with Sam and put tape everything Sam drew to the back of the seats so that his little brother would always have something that was permanent. Contrary to Sam’s belief, Dean had always wanted him to have permanence, to have something for himself that made him happy. Dean had just always thought that Sam thought of him as something permanent too.
Sam was lying there, passed out now that he was done spouting Random Fucked Up Shit. A tiny strip of skin was exposed between Sam’s jeans and shirt as if the two pieces of clothing had contrived to torture Dean into slow insanity. Fucking figured that the tiny sliver of moonlight that escaped from the enclosure of the curtains was illuminating just that small bit of skin, making it glow. Everything was against him these days.
He was about to lie down and go to sleep himself when his eyes took in his brother and he summarily decided that while sleeping in jeans was not that bad (or at least not bad enough that Dean would go anywhere near Sam’s lower parts at the present moment), sleeping in two shirts was as annoying as burning your tongue on coffee.
Sighing, Dean stood up and crossed the two feet that separated the beds. Before he sat, he looked down at Sam and that damn bit of skin looked even more soft from here. His hand began to move forward, but he yanked it back swiftly, rolling his eyes and thinking of how much of a freaking pansy he was. He had touched Sam millions of times, had seen him full-blown naked. Hell, he had even caught Sam jerking off when he was fourteen. Of course, back then it had been freaking hilarious and Dean had made sure to surreptitiously jerk off ketchup bottles, TV antennas, guns, and even a skeleton’s finger that they were to salt and burn, all to see Sam blush and get that pissy face.
Dean didn’t think it would be very funny if he caught Sam jerking off now. He supposed that Sam had the last laugh on that one.
Well, who cares if he touches Sam’s skin, then. It wasn’t like it was a big deal and he could very well prove that he was in control and not a complete girl. So he pressed two fingers to Sam’s skin and pulled back. Sam wiggled a bit and Dean was afraid he woke him up (God, please don’t let him molest my face again) when Sam began to snore. Deciding that Sam was out for the count, Dean touched the patch of skin again, this time with his whole hand. Wow, Sam was really warm. He also had very soft skin and whoa, Dean was starting to get hard. He immediately snatched his hand away and instead of fleeing for his life, he sat down next to Sam and began to maneuver the freaking ginormous arms until he could slide the shirt off. Sam snored the entire time and only stopped when Dean got a little rough with the injured arm and Sam whimpered a little. Dean gentled his movements and was relieved when the shirt was off and the skin was properly covered.
He sat there for a few minutes and watched Sam sleep, breathe in and out with life. Dean hardly ever broke a promise to Sam. In fact, thinking about it now, Dean couldn’t remember one that he had ever broken. Dean took promises seriously. He looked down at Sam and knew that he could never kill Sam. So Dean would just have to save Sam, even if he had to die doing it.
Dean didn’t like to think about how far he’d go to save Sam. He was afraid of the answer and what that said about him.
Sam snuggled a little closer to Dean’s side and Dean wondered if Sam’s psychic abilities allowed him to sense Dean’s dark thoughts and he was unconsciously comforting him.
Sam had taught Dean a game after his first day of school. Dean had waited at the front of the school to walk Sam home when he caught sight of him barreling down the front steps, armed with a huge box of crayons Dean had bought him so that he would be the cool kid in class. As they walked the mile back home, Sam began to say crayon over and over again and they both laughed as the word began to sound funny and had later annoyed Dad to no end with their new game until he snapped at “poltergeist“. Dean looked down at Sam and wondered if he said ’brother’ enough times, it would sound like something else.
Dean jerked to his feet and decided to check out the bar downstairs.