Ficlet: Gone for Soldiers (Supernatural, Sam/Dean)
When I'm stressed, I write...Short ficlet.
Title: Gone for Soldiers
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R for m/m sex
Warnings: wincest
Category: au, future fic
Notes: Title grabbed from a novel. I liked how it sounded. lapillus did me the favor of looking this over. All mistakes my own.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Dean waited behind the motel door when the knob jingled. He had his Glock in one hand, loaded with consecrated iron, a silver blade in the other. It helped to be prepared for anything.
Gone for Soldiers
by Epeeblade
Dean waited behind the motel door when the knob jingled. He had his Glock in one hand, loaded with consecrated iron, a silver blade in the other. It helped to be prepared for anything. He moved when the door opened, slid across the floor with all the skill of a lifetime.
Sam tilted his head at him and let the door shut behind him.
“Still using lock picks?” Dean asked, gesturing with the knife.
Sam’s hands snatched out and caught Dean’s wrists, his large fingers wrapping completely around Dean’s forearms. “Still using mortal weapons?”
Dean hissed. “Sammy.”
“Drop them.”
They wouldn’t hurt Sam, anyway. Dean flexed his fingers, letting them both fall to the ratty motel carpet. He winced when the Glock bounced, he knew better than the treat a gun like that.
“I can almost see them,” Sam whispered, leaning forward to nose at Dean’s neck. He licked at the skin there and Dean swallowed.
“C’mon, Sam, we don’t have much time.” Dean pulled back, hoping Sam would let go of his wrists. Sam did, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“Don’t we?” Sam asked.
“You tell me,” Dean said. They stared at each other for a moment, air hot and heavy around them. Every time they did this it got harder. Harder to let it happen, harder to walk away in the end.
“You know I can’t.” Sam looked away. He shrugged out of his jacket, it was only an excuse, Dean knew.
He let Sam have the distraction, shucking off his own clothes. The clock continued to tick away, each beat of his heart a reminder of time they didn’t have. He paused, rising up from tearing off his pants. Sam had touched him, running fingers tips along Dean’s back, stopped along the very blades of his shoulders.
“There should be scars.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Dean turned around. He grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged him back to the bed. He had left the lube on the bedside table, like the sacred blade he hidden under the bed, always prepared. Even for the worst.
Sam knew about both. Dean knew Sam didn’t need any such protections. Sam was his own weapon.
“Stop thinking,” Sam commanded.
And then they were kissing, pressed against the bed. It wasn’t tender or sweet, hadn’t been anything but rough and fast in a very long time. Sam took Dean on his back, legs wrapped around Sam’s waist and back, bodies pressed close together.
“I can smell them on you,” Sam hissed, his nose buried in Dean’s skin, breathing in his scent.
Dean ran his fingers in Sam’s hair, tugging as hard as he dared. He moved Sam away from his neck, his teeth from the sensitive skin at the base of Dean’s throat. Dean wanted to kiss. He was good at kissing -- they were good at kissing. So easy to forget everything between them with their lips sealed tight, nothing between them but warmth.
“Dean,” Sam breathed against his lips. “So beautiful.”
“Sam,” Dean tried to catch his mouth again, to keep them from talking.
Sam arched his back and thrust against Dean, sinking deeper inside. Dean moaned, low in his throat. His hands dropped from Sam’s hair, fingers digging into Sam’s back, so hard he knew there would be bruises left behind. Good, he thought.
“Too beautiful,” Sam gasped, continuing to rock into Dean.
Dean could feel it crest inside him, so close now. Sam started to speed up, his movements more and more erratic, so hard they were pounding the headboard against the wall. And then, just when Dean thought he couldn’t take it anymore, he came between them, pulsing jets of white on both of their bellies. Sam grunted and Dean could feel the warmth spread inside him.
Dean let Sam curl around him, legs tangled together over the comforter. They never stayed long enough to sleep. Sam ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, longer now. Dean felt like an overgrown cat and he stretched, yawning.
“You can sleep,” Sam murmured.
“Do we have time?” Dean asked.
Sam looked away, biting his lip. “Yes.”
“Sammy,” he murmured, twisting in bed until he was on top of his little brother. “This is fucked up.”
Sam’s fingers danced along Dean’s back, caught up on his shoulder blades again. “You could come with me,” he offered.
Dean swallowed against the rage in his throat. Sam knew better, knew Dean would never turn, never go down that path. “You know I can’t. I won’t.”
“Nice to have a choice,” Sam snarled.
He let his head drop against Sam’s chest. Sam lost his freedom to choose when he was six months old.
“They burned away your humanity,” Sam whispered, “They took you from me. I can take it back; I can cut off your wings and make you mortal again. And then you’re mine.”
“You won’t.” Dean said against his brother’s skin, words mouthed against flesh. This had gone on for far too long. Too many meetings like this, moments spared to wind together, to pretend they could be just Sam and Dean, two brothers who loved, instead of what they had become.
“I never got it,” Sam began, the dark tone gone from his voice. “When we learned about the Civil War in school. The idea of brother against brother.” He shook his head. “How could I look on the other side of a battlefield and fight my brother?”
“Sam.” He didn’t need to say it. Dean knew it too.
“Sleep, Dean,” Sam whispered, fingers soothing now, drawing Dean down into slumber.
Sam would be gone when he awoke, the salt lines undisturbed, the lock fixed. And Dean would somehow know where the next attack would be. It’s why he told them he kept coming back, kept meeting Sam like this, so they would know and prepare.
He didn’t know what to tell himself.
Title: Gone for Soldiers
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R for m/m sex
Warnings: wincest
Category: au, future fic
Notes: Title grabbed from a novel. I liked how it sounded. lapillus did me the favor of looking this over. All mistakes my own.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Dean waited behind the motel door when the knob jingled. He had his Glock in one hand, loaded with consecrated iron, a silver blade in the other. It helped to be prepared for anything.
Gone for Soldiers
by Epeeblade
Dean waited behind the motel door when the knob jingled. He had his Glock in one hand, loaded with consecrated iron, a silver blade in the other. It helped to be prepared for anything. He moved when the door opened, slid across the floor with all the skill of a lifetime.
Sam tilted his head at him and let the door shut behind him.
“Still using lock picks?” Dean asked, gesturing with the knife.
Sam’s hands snatched out and caught Dean’s wrists, his large fingers wrapping completely around Dean’s forearms. “Still using mortal weapons?”
Dean hissed. “Sammy.”
“Drop them.”
They wouldn’t hurt Sam, anyway. Dean flexed his fingers, letting them both fall to the ratty motel carpet. He winced when the Glock bounced, he knew better than the treat a gun like that.
“I can almost see them,” Sam whispered, leaning forward to nose at Dean’s neck. He licked at the skin there and Dean swallowed.
“C’mon, Sam, we don’t have much time.” Dean pulled back, hoping Sam would let go of his wrists. Sam did, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“Don’t we?” Sam asked.
“You tell me,” Dean said. They stared at each other for a moment, air hot and heavy around them. Every time they did this it got harder. Harder to let it happen, harder to walk away in the end.
“You know I can’t.” Sam looked away. He shrugged out of his jacket, it was only an excuse, Dean knew.
He let Sam have the distraction, shucking off his own clothes. The clock continued to tick away, each beat of his heart a reminder of time they didn’t have. He paused, rising up from tearing off his pants. Sam had touched him, running fingers tips along Dean’s back, stopped along the very blades of his shoulders.
“There should be scars.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Dean turned around. He grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged him back to the bed. He had left the lube on the bedside table, like the sacred blade he hidden under the bed, always prepared. Even for the worst.
Sam knew about both. Dean knew Sam didn’t need any such protections. Sam was his own weapon.
“Stop thinking,” Sam commanded.
And then they were kissing, pressed against the bed. It wasn’t tender or sweet, hadn’t been anything but rough and fast in a very long time. Sam took Dean on his back, legs wrapped around Sam’s waist and back, bodies pressed close together.
“I can smell them on you,” Sam hissed, his nose buried in Dean’s skin, breathing in his scent.
Dean ran his fingers in Sam’s hair, tugging as hard as he dared. He moved Sam away from his neck, his teeth from the sensitive skin at the base of Dean’s throat. Dean wanted to kiss. He was good at kissing -- they were good at kissing. So easy to forget everything between them with their lips sealed tight, nothing between them but warmth.
“Dean,” Sam breathed against his lips. “So beautiful.”
“Sam,” Dean tried to catch his mouth again, to keep them from talking.
Sam arched his back and thrust against Dean, sinking deeper inside. Dean moaned, low in his throat. His hands dropped from Sam’s hair, fingers digging into Sam’s back, so hard he knew there would be bruises left behind. Good, he thought.
“Too beautiful,” Sam gasped, continuing to rock into Dean.
Dean could feel it crest inside him, so close now. Sam started to speed up, his movements more and more erratic, so hard they were pounding the headboard against the wall. And then, just when Dean thought he couldn’t take it anymore, he came between them, pulsing jets of white on both of their bellies. Sam grunted and Dean could feel the warmth spread inside him.
Dean let Sam curl around him, legs tangled together over the comforter. They never stayed long enough to sleep. Sam ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, longer now. Dean felt like an overgrown cat and he stretched, yawning.
“You can sleep,” Sam murmured.
“Do we have time?” Dean asked.
Sam looked away, biting his lip. “Yes.”
“Sammy,” he murmured, twisting in bed until he was on top of his little brother. “This is fucked up.”
Sam’s fingers danced along Dean’s back, caught up on his shoulder blades again. “You could come with me,” he offered.
Dean swallowed against the rage in his throat. Sam knew better, knew Dean would never turn, never go down that path. “You know I can’t. I won’t.”
“Nice to have a choice,” Sam snarled.
He let his head drop against Sam’s chest. Sam lost his freedom to choose when he was six months old.
“They burned away your humanity,” Sam whispered, “They took you from me. I can take it back; I can cut off your wings and make you mortal again. And then you’re mine.”
“You won’t.” Dean said against his brother’s skin, words mouthed against flesh. This had gone on for far too long. Too many meetings like this, moments spared to wind together, to pretend they could be just Sam and Dean, two brothers who loved, instead of what they had become.
“I never got it,” Sam began, the dark tone gone from his voice. “When we learned about the Civil War in school. The idea of brother against brother.” He shook his head. “How could I look on the other side of a battlefield and fight my brother?”
“Sam.” He didn’t need to say it. Dean knew it too.
“Sleep, Dean,” Sam whispered, fingers soothing now, drawing Dean down into slumber.
Sam would be gone when he awoke, the salt lines undisturbed, the lock fixed. And Dean would somehow know where the next attack would be. It’s why he told them he kept coming back, kept meeting Sam like this, so they would know and prepare.
He didn’t know what to tell himself.