Supernatural Slash Erotica: How The World Comes Down To You
Title: How The World Comes Down To You
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest, PWP)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean's oral fixation is at its best when it's focused on Sam.
Author's Notes: Written for 60_minute_fics ("Oral Tradition"), this has no redeeming qualities whatsoever unless you like erotica with a side of porn (in which case, pull up a chair and sit close). Also for my spn_25 table, this is "Silk."
x-x-x-x-x
Some things Dean will never admit to, because they just don't fit his image.
He travels with stolen credit cards and other people's names, and he moves across three states every two weeks most of the time. "Image" is all he's got.
Dean projects tough without even trying, telegraphs it in a sequence of leather jacket, scorn and stubble, and worker boots. The muscle car's a bonus. But underneath, the kind of thing he never talks about but just can't help, the truth never leaves: Dean's a sensualist to the core.
He won't complain about gritty motel sheets when there's no point, because everyone hates them. He'd prefer better, but this is the pattern of their lives and comfort is rare. He takes what he can get.
The things he cares about come in random chance: jasmine breeze in the Southern evening air, Sam's voice low and deep by his ear in the bedtime dark. Dean likes that Sam's hair is full and soft-when it's against his fingers, stomach, and skin, its texture is delicious, far too captivating not to touch.
But the part of Sam he can't get enough of is the silky-velvet smoothness of his cock. Dean dreams of it on his tongue.
The musky scent of Sam all around it makes Dean throb inside his jeans. As he presses his face against Sam's thighs, he breathes in Sam. It's wonderful and familiar, and he doesn't know all that many things that are both. He brushes his lips slow and soft over Sam, drifting over the skin and getting lost in the sensation. It's as much for that as to hear Sam moan that he does it.
The sweet-and-sour tang on his tongue as he licks up the slit and across the top is so addictive-he wishes all of it tasted like that. He'll tease across the tip, rolling his tongue under-up like an open-air French kiss, and Sam will rock helplessly in hopes of more. The attention coaxes out more slippery desire, and Dean nibbles and sucks it until he's leaking inside his own clothes.
When Sam finally can't hold back anymore, he slides his hands behind Dean's head and barely thrusts until Dean sucks him all the way in, deep and dirty and groaning at the feeling of Sam starting to buck and shake beneath him.
Tensile steel under satin, Sam's hips and belly move with restless urgency against Dean's fingers as he gives himself over to his brother. Dean loses himself in the smallest sounds from Sam, in the brush of curls at the edge of his nose, in the stroking of Sam inside his mouth before the flood that threatens to choke him but for the victory of making Sam so utterly fall apart.
After the finish he lazes oh-so-briefly, Sam's hand across his cheek.
Then Sam pulls him up close, ready to flip everything over and let Dean inside of him. And then the world will shift to the other half of all that silky-sweet sensation, tilting around to mirror and echo everything that came before.
-------- fin --------
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest, PWP)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean's oral fixation is at its best when it's focused on Sam.
Author's Notes: Written for 60_minute_fics ("Oral Tradition"), this has no redeeming qualities whatsoever unless you like erotica with a side of porn (in which case, pull up a chair and sit close). Also for my spn_25 table, this is "Silk."
x-x-x-x-x
Some things Dean will never admit to, because they just don't fit his image.
He travels with stolen credit cards and other people's names, and he moves across three states every two weeks most of the time. "Image" is all he's got.
Dean projects tough without even trying, telegraphs it in a sequence of leather jacket, scorn and stubble, and worker boots. The muscle car's a bonus. But underneath, the kind of thing he never talks about but just can't help, the truth never leaves: Dean's a sensualist to the core.
He won't complain about gritty motel sheets when there's no point, because everyone hates them. He'd prefer better, but this is the pattern of their lives and comfort is rare. He takes what he can get.
The things he cares about come in random chance: jasmine breeze in the Southern evening air, Sam's voice low and deep by his ear in the bedtime dark. Dean likes that Sam's hair is full and soft-when it's against his fingers, stomach, and skin, its texture is delicious, far too captivating not to touch.
But the part of Sam he can't get enough of is the silky-velvet smoothness of his cock. Dean dreams of it on his tongue.
The musky scent of Sam all around it makes Dean throb inside his jeans. As he presses his face against Sam's thighs, he breathes in Sam. It's wonderful and familiar, and he doesn't know all that many things that are both. He brushes his lips slow and soft over Sam, drifting over the skin and getting lost in the sensation. It's as much for that as to hear Sam moan that he does it.
The sweet-and-sour tang on his tongue as he licks up the slit and across the top is so addictive-he wishes all of it tasted like that. He'll tease across the tip, rolling his tongue under-up like an open-air French kiss, and Sam will rock helplessly in hopes of more. The attention coaxes out more slippery desire, and Dean nibbles and sucks it until he's leaking inside his own clothes.
When Sam finally can't hold back anymore, he slides his hands behind Dean's head and barely thrusts until Dean sucks him all the way in, deep and dirty and groaning at the feeling of Sam starting to buck and shake beneath him.
Tensile steel under satin, Sam's hips and belly move with restless urgency against Dean's fingers as he gives himself over to his brother. Dean loses himself in the smallest sounds from Sam, in the brush of curls at the edge of his nose, in the stroking of Sam inside his mouth before the flood that threatens to choke him but for the victory of making Sam so utterly fall apart.
After the finish he lazes oh-so-briefly, Sam's hand across his cheek.
Then Sam pulls him up close, ready to flip everything over and let Dean inside of him. And then the world will shift to the other half of all that silky-sweet sensation, tilting around to mirror and echo everything that came before.
-------- fin --------