Supernatural, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Sex, Prompt #7, #16, #17
Title: I Tell Myself Where I Live Now
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester. Slight Sam/Jess.
Table: Sex
Prompt: #7 Boundaries
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Angst, incest, references to sex
Word Count: 300
Summary: Home feels like an empty word.
Notes: I've only seen S1 of SPN so far, so please be nice and don't spoiler me. This first drabble is set in the pilot episode.
"I tell myself where I live now,
but you move in close till I shake, homeless,
further than that."
-from "Closer", by Carol Ann Duffy
They were together once, yeah. If you could call it that. Dean did, Sam thinks: he thinks he might be the only person Dean has honestly ever romantically loved without any confusion, and he's right. That's the fucked up thing. There should have been confusion, angst, it shouldn't have been so easy for them to get close, closer, pushing past all the lines anyone had ever drawn. It was the same for them both -- it felt right, it felt good, it felt like the best thing in the world.
Hell, right then, it was the best thing in the world: getting back from hunts shaking with adrenaline, stumbling into the shower together, fumbling, crazy, alive; fucking with the bedside light on because Dean liked to watch his little brother's face when he was inside him; curling up in bed together, tucked against each other like spoons in a drawer.
It'd be crazy to think that could come again, that easy intimacy, that bone-deep love. After all, Sam left it behind.
And there's Jess. This isn't for real, this isn't for long. Soon he'll be back at Stanford, and Dean'll be back with Dad, and the frail illusion that things can be like they used to be will crumble. Even if Sam feels, right now, in sync with Dean's every breath, sure their hearts still beat to the same rhythm.
Still. When Dean pushes him back against the side of the bridge, stands close, angry and sharp-edged, Sam feels the familiar tremors of want, knows how easy it would be to reach up and catch Dean's face, kiss away the stupid, angry words that stand between.
You're going home tomorrow, he tells himself, and he doesn't touch Dean -- Dean lets go of him, jerks away.
Home feels like an empty word.
Title: One Year, Seven Months, And Eight Days
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester. Sort of. Also Dean/OC.
Table: Sex
Prompt: #16 Anonymous
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, incestuous desires, a little smut
Word Count: 300
Summary: He doesn't look much like Sam, but the voice is just right.
It doesn't matter what the guy's like -- the guy he's with -- not really. He doesn't look much like Sam, but the voice is just right, the voice and the hair, the hair he curls his fingers in now. "Fuck," he whispers, into the heavy air. The guy on his knees doesn't look up, just sucks harder, and Dean bites back the name that comes to his lips too easy.
It doesn't fucking matter who he's with. Sam haunts him all the same, even though this should be over, because he's been gone nearly two years (one year, seven months, and eight days) -- even though this never should have begun, because Sammy's his brother, Christ, his brother. He shouldn't be imagining Sammy down there, crouched between his spread legs; mouth on his cock, hands gripping tight at his thighs, fingers digging in.
He swallows hard. "Fuck," he says again, and damn if the guy doesn't smirk and just suck harder.
He probably knows, and it doesn't matter. To him, anyway. Dean fucking wishes it didn't matter.
If it didn't matter, he could laugh and shrug it away when the guy asks, later: they nearly always do, like it's the new small talk. He could slide away from it.
He groans and pulls the guy up, by that hand he's got fisted in his hair.
"Don't ask, just fuck me," he says to the guy, whose name he doesn't quite remember. "It's been one year, seven months and eight days, and I'm really sick of people asking me about him while I'm trying to get my brains fucked out."
The guy nods, and there's more understanding in his eyes than Dean wants. He rolls over onto his front, gets up on his hands and knees, so he can't see the guy's face.
Title: I Bet It Stings
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Table: Sex
Prompt: #17 Scratch
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Incest, references to sex
Word Count: 300
Summary: If he leans back just right, he can still feel it.
If he leans back in his seat, tilts his shoulders just so, he can feel the scratches still, a faint ache and throb, a sting. Sammy's sat there next to him, thinky-frown in place, rifling through piles of paper like the minute they get out of their motel room he's forgotten the way he was clawing at Dean's shoulders and back the night before.
Dean sorta wishes he could forget, or at least push back the impulse to lean back in his seat and feel the scratches stinging. It kind of makes him want to pull the hell over, shove all those papers off Sammy's lap, and fuck -- whatever he can get, then. Hey, Sammy, will you blow me right here and now, by the side of the road anyone could be drivin' down? Will you let me suck you off?
Driving along with Led Zeppelin spilling out of the radio and Sammy sat next to him and death cheated for the millionth time thirty miles back already, that's good. Dean wouldn't trade it for the world. Except he'd rather not be uncomfortably half-aroused all the way to Colorado or wherever the hell they'll fetch up next.
"You really need to cut your nails, man," he says, by way of distracting himself, even if, well, that's the dumbest way ever to try and distract himself from the thought of Sam under him, panting, gasping, fingers digging right in as he squirms in pleasure.
"Huh?"
"Did you see my back, this morning?"
"Oh," Sam says, and there's a hint of smugness in his voice. "Yeah."
"Little bitch. You did it on purpose."
Sam shuffles the papers on his lap and looks down, and Dean doesn't need to take his eyes off the road to know that he's smiling.
He pulls over.
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester. Slight Sam/Jess.
Table: Sex
Prompt: #7 Boundaries
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Angst, incest, references to sex
Word Count: 300
Summary: Home feels like an empty word.
Notes: I've only seen S1 of SPN so far, so please be nice and don't spoiler me. This first drabble is set in the pilot episode.
"I tell myself where I live now,
but you move in close till I shake, homeless,
further than that."
-from "Closer", by Carol Ann Duffy
They were together once, yeah. If you could call it that. Dean did, Sam thinks: he thinks he might be the only person Dean has honestly ever romantically loved without any confusion, and he's right. That's the fucked up thing. There should have been confusion, angst, it shouldn't have been so easy for them to get close, closer, pushing past all the lines anyone had ever drawn. It was the same for them both -- it felt right, it felt good, it felt like the best thing in the world.
Hell, right then, it was the best thing in the world: getting back from hunts shaking with adrenaline, stumbling into the shower together, fumbling, crazy, alive; fucking with the bedside light on because Dean liked to watch his little brother's face when he was inside him; curling up in bed together, tucked against each other like spoons in a drawer.
It'd be crazy to think that could come again, that easy intimacy, that bone-deep love. After all, Sam left it behind.
And there's Jess. This isn't for real, this isn't for long. Soon he'll be back at Stanford, and Dean'll be back with Dad, and the frail illusion that things can be like they used to be will crumble. Even if Sam feels, right now, in sync with Dean's every breath, sure their hearts still beat to the same rhythm.
Still. When Dean pushes him back against the side of the bridge, stands close, angry and sharp-edged, Sam feels the familiar tremors of want, knows how easy it would be to reach up and catch Dean's face, kiss away the stupid, angry words that stand between.
You're going home tomorrow, he tells himself, and he doesn't touch Dean -- Dean lets go of him, jerks away.
Home feels like an empty word.
Title: One Year, Seven Months, And Eight Days
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester. Sort of. Also Dean/OC.
Table: Sex
Prompt: #16 Anonymous
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, incestuous desires, a little smut
Word Count: 300
Summary: He doesn't look much like Sam, but the voice is just right.
It doesn't matter what the guy's like -- the guy he's with -- not really. He doesn't look much like Sam, but the voice is just right, the voice and the hair, the hair he curls his fingers in now. "Fuck," he whispers, into the heavy air. The guy on his knees doesn't look up, just sucks harder, and Dean bites back the name that comes to his lips too easy.
It doesn't fucking matter who he's with. Sam haunts him all the same, even though this should be over, because he's been gone nearly two years (one year, seven months, and eight days) -- even though this never should have begun, because Sammy's his brother, Christ, his brother. He shouldn't be imagining Sammy down there, crouched between his spread legs; mouth on his cock, hands gripping tight at his thighs, fingers digging in.
He swallows hard. "Fuck," he says again, and damn if the guy doesn't smirk and just suck harder.
He probably knows, and it doesn't matter. To him, anyway. Dean fucking wishes it didn't matter.
If it didn't matter, he could laugh and shrug it away when the guy asks, later: they nearly always do, like it's the new small talk. He could slide away from it.
He groans and pulls the guy up, by that hand he's got fisted in his hair.
"Don't ask, just fuck me," he says to the guy, whose name he doesn't quite remember. "It's been one year, seven months and eight days, and I'm really sick of people asking me about him while I'm trying to get my brains fucked out."
The guy nods, and there's more understanding in his eyes than Dean wants. He rolls over onto his front, gets up on his hands and knees, so he can't see the guy's face.
Title: I Bet It Stings
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Table: Sex
Prompt: #17 Scratch
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Incest, references to sex
Word Count: 300
Summary: If he leans back just right, he can still feel it.
If he leans back in his seat, tilts his shoulders just so, he can feel the scratches still, a faint ache and throb, a sting. Sammy's sat there next to him, thinky-frown in place, rifling through piles of paper like the minute they get out of their motel room he's forgotten the way he was clawing at Dean's shoulders and back the night before.
Dean sorta wishes he could forget, or at least push back the impulse to lean back in his seat and feel the scratches stinging. It kind of makes him want to pull the hell over, shove all those papers off Sammy's lap, and fuck -- whatever he can get, then. Hey, Sammy, will you blow me right here and now, by the side of the road anyone could be drivin' down? Will you let me suck you off?
Driving along with Led Zeppelin spilling out of the radio and Sammy sat next to him and death cheated for the millionth time thirty miles back already, that's good. Dean wouldn't trade it for the world. Except he'd rather not be uncomfortably half-aroused all the way to Colorado or wherever the hell they'll fetch up next.
"You really need to cut your nails, man," he says, by way of distracting himself, even if, well, that's the dumbest way ever to try and distract himself from the thought of Sam under him, panting, gasping, fingers digging right in as he squirms in pleasure.
"Huh?"
"Did you see my back, this morning?"
"Oh," Sam says, and there's a hint of smugness in his voice. "Yeah."
"Little bitch. You did it on purpose."
Sam shuffles the papers on his lap and looks down, and Dean doesn't need to take his eyes off the road to know that he's smiling.
He pulls over.