Supernatural, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Sex, Prompt #9.
Title: Like Oxygen
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Table: Sex
Prompt: #9 Restraint
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, implied d/s, implied knifeplay
Word Count: 300
Summary: It half-kills him to think of it.
It half-kills him to think of all the scratches under Dean's clothes, the bruises, the long narrow cuts that barely bled. Some of them are the marks of hunting, of course, but most of them aren't. Most of them are Sam's. Finger-shaped bruises where he held Dean hard as he fucked him, scratches from where he dug his fingers in as Dean fucked him so deep and hard he almost forgot how to breathe. Cuts from the knife Sam had used on him.
Sam's half-hard just thinking about it, about the way Dean lay still under him, his breathing harsh and his eyes wide. The way Dean had moaned, like he was breaking, like he was dying, like he needed Sam like he needed oxygen, like he needed the pain.
It takes every scrap of self-control he has not to tell Dean to pull over right now. Dean would, he knows: he'd tense up, yeah, but it'd be the tension of sudden want, the breathlessness he got when there was a forest fire of want inside him.
Not here. Not now.
Sam can't quite stop himself reaching over, though. One of the cuts traces up over Dean's collarbone, peeking out of his shirt. He can't stop himself from touching it, scraping at the scab with his fingernail. Dean shudders, but he keeps his eyes on the road, keeps driving, and he doesn't say anything. Sam gets off so hard on that, that Dean will let him, that Dean trusts him this much. He watches the fresh dots of blood well up through the thin cut and bites his lip, wanting to lick them away.
"Sam," Dean says, low and intense, and his hands have tightened on the steering wheel. Somehow, Sam manages to pull away.
"No," he says, calmly. "Later."
Author: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Table: Sex
Prompt: #9 Restraint
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, implied d/s, implied knifeplay
Word Count: 300
Summary: It half-kills him to think of it.
It half-kills him to think of all the scratches under Dean's clothes, the bruises, the long narrow cuts that barely bled. Some of them are the marks of hunting, of course, but most of them aren't. Most of them are Sam's. Finger-shaped bruises where he held Dean hard as he fucked him, scratches from where he dug his fingers in as Dean fucked him so deep and hard he almost forgot how to breathe. Cuts from the knife Sam had used on him.
Sam's half-hard just thinking about it, about the way Dean lay still under him, his breathing harsh and his eyes wide. The way Dean had moaned, like he was breaking, like he was dying, like he needed Sam like he needed oxygen, like he needed the pain.
It takes every scrap of self-control he has not to tell Dean to pull over right now. Dean would, he knows: he'd tense up, yeah, but it'd be the tension of sudden want, the breathlessness he got when there was a forest fire of want inside him.
Not here. Not now.
Sam can't quite stop himself reaching over, though. One of the cuts traces up over Dean's collarbone, peeking out of his shirt. He can't stop himself from touching it, scraping at the scab with his fingernail. Dean shudders, but he keeps his eyes on the road, keeps driving, and he doesn't say anything. Sam gets off so hard on that, that Dean will let him, that Dean trusts him this much. He watches the fresh dots of blood well up through the thin cut and bites his lip, wanting to lick them away.
"Sam," Dean says, low and intense, and his hands have tightened on the steering wheel. Somehow, Sam manages to pull away.
"No," he says, calmly. "Later."