SPN: Sam/Dean, NC-17
Title: Just Hold On
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Incest)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 906
Summary: Dean figured maybe everything was perfectly fine.
Notes: This is set in the Everything 'Verse, so you might want to read those first. You don't have to, but it would add to everything. Beta'd by neroli66.
Spolers: Mild for the Pilot, but if you're reading this you've probably seen that. Heh.
Dean stepped out of the narrow shower stall and reached blindly for his towel. After quickly drying off, he wrapped it around his hips and blinked into the steamy room. The mirror was fogged over, but Dean knew he had to look like hell. Nobody looked good after taking a freefall over the side of a bridge and into a shallow river. Still, the mud and the stench were gone, so he counted himself lucky.
The door opened as he was digging around in his bag for a clean shirt. He stopped, half bent over, and quirked an eyebrow at Sam. His brother just stood there in the open doorway, like it was perfectly fine that he’d just barged in on Dean’s shower. Then Sam smirked at him, slammed the door shut, and Dean figured maybe everything really was perfectly fine.
He didn’t even get to talk, the words lodged somewhere deep in his throat and blocked off when Sam pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard. The cold sting of the tiles against his back was as shocking as the familiar feel of Sam’s mouth moving against his. Dean though fuck it and buried his hands in Sam’s hair, pulling him even closer.
They rocked against each other, Sam still fully dressed and Dean in his towel that was just barely hanging on. Kind of like Dean himself. He whimpered when Sam’s huge hands slide over his sides and snatched the towel away. The denim of Sam’s jeans was rough, but Dean didn’t care. He bucked his hips, grinding his aching erection against his brother’s thigh.
“So fucking beautiful,” Sam murmured against his neck. Dean gasped in reply, unable to do anything more when Sam’s long fingers wrapped around his cock. His head slammed back against the hard tiles, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the way Sam’s hand pumped him, his thumb flickering across the overly sensitive head of Dean’s dick. He moaned, fingers digging into the material of Sam’s shirt, and did his best to just hold on.
Then Sam’s teeth were nipping at his neck and Dean was coming hard. He shouted a hoarse, “Sammy!” as his eyes slammed shut and he spilled himself over Sam’s hand. He swore he blacked out for a second or two, but when he was able to open his eyes again, Sam was staring at him, his eyes full of unnecessary fear. Dean tangled his fingers into Sam’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
Then Sam was gone, and Dean was alone in the steamy bathroom, panting hard and trying to support his body on wobbly legs and a wounded heart. He shrugged it off, easily sliding into the mask of sarcasm and aloofness that he so often showed the world. He got dressed as quickly as possible, mumbling something about a diner and food as he left the bathroom.
And that was the scene that played in Dean’s mind when he realized that Sam really was going back to Stanford, back to Jess. Yeah, they were fucked up, but in a good kind of way. He might not have blonde hair or feminine curves, but Dean had passion and a hell of a protective streak. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and did his best to keep his emotions in check, blinking back the wetness that threatened to spill from his eyes.
The problem was, he knew Sam could read him better than anyone. He cringed mentally as he felt every emotion he was trying to hide flicker briefly across his face; slow motion and jerky like a scratched dvd. He knew Sam could see each moment of worry, inadequate, and please, Sammy, no, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
Sam didn’t say anything, he never did. So Dean kept his eyes on the road and drove Sam back to Stanford, back to Jess, back to his one shot of normalcy. They both knew that Dean would do whatever it took to make Sam happy, even if it meant finally letting him go.
Dean sat outside Sam’s apartment, his fingers moving towards the keys hanging in his ignition every few minutes, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His gaze was stuck on the spot where Sam had stood when he said goodbye. It felt so final this time, like maybe Dean wouldn’t be allowed to waltz into Sam’s life and kidnap him for the weekend ever again.
Then he saw it; bursts of fire and Sammy’s screams. Not mature and independent Sam, but the gut-wrenching screams of that chubby twelve year old that Dean had never been able to say no to. He was out of his car in seconds, bolting up the stairs and into the apartment. A quick glance at the ceiling told him all he need to know, and he grabbed Sam, pulling him out of the building.
Sam hadn’t wanted to leave. That’s what hurt Dean the most. He had been perfectly content to lie on his bed and let the fire eat him alive while he cried for his dead girlfriend. As Dean watched Sam slam the trunk of the Impala and head for the passenger seat, he figured it was good that every once in awhile he was able to do what was best for them and not what Sam wanted most.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Incest)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 906
Summary: Dean figured maybe everything was perfectly fine.
Notes: This is set in the Everything 'Verse, so you might want to read those first. You don't have to, but it would add to everything. Beta'd by neroli66.
Spolers: Mild for the Pilot, but if you're reading this you've probably seen that. Heh.
Dean stepped out of the narrow shower stall and reached blindly for his towel. After quickly drying off, he wrapped it around his hips and blinked into the steamy room. The mirror was fogged over, but Dean knew he had to look like hell. Nobody looked good after taking a freefall over the side of a bridge and into a shallow river. Still, the mud and the stench were gone, so he counted himself lucky.
The door opened as he was digging around in his bag for a clean shirt. He stopped, half bent over, and quirked an eyebrow at Sam. His brother just stood there in the open doorway, like it was perfectly fine that he’d just barged in on Dean’s shower. Then Sam smirked at him, slammed the door shut, and Dean figured maybe everything really was perfectly fine.
He didn’t even get to talk, the words lodged somewhere deep in his throat and blocked off when Sam pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard. The cold sting of the tiles against his back was as shocking as the familiar feel of Sam’s mouth moving against his. Dean though fuck it and buried his hands in Sam’s hair, pulling him even closer.
They rocked against each other, Sam still fully dressed and Dean in his towel that was just barely hanging on. Kind of like Dean himself. He whimpered when Sam’s huge hands slide over his sides and snatched the towel away. The denim of Sam’s jeans was rough, but Dean didn’t care. He bucked his hips, grinding his aching erection against his brother’s thigh.
“So fucking beautiful,” Sam murmured against his neck. Dean gasped in reply, unable to do anything more when Sam’s long fingers wrapped around his cock. His head slammed back against the hard tiles, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the way Sam’s hand pumped him, his thumb flickering across the overly sensitive head of Dean’s dick. He moaned, fingers digging into the material of Sam’s shirt, and did his best to just hold on.
Then Sam’s teeth were nipping at his neck and Dean was coming hard. He shouted a hoarse, “Sammy!” as his eyes slammed shut and he spilled himself over Sam’s hand. He swore he blacked out for a second or two, but when he was able to open his eyes again, Sam was staring at him, his eyes full of unnecessary fear. Dean tangled his fingers into Sam’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
Then Sam was gone, and Dean was alone in the steamy bathroom, panting hard and trying to support his body on wobbly legs and a wounded heart. He shrugged it off, easily sliding into the mask of sarcasm and aloofness that he so often showed the world. He got dressed as quickly as possible, mumbling something about a diner and food as he left the bathroom.
And that was the scene that played in Dean’s mind when he realized that Sam really was going back to Stanford, back to Jess. Yeah, they were fucked up, but in a good kind of way. He might not have blonde hair or feminine curves, but Dean had passion and a hell of a protective streak. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and did his best to keep his emotions in check, blinking back the wetness that threatened to spill from his eyes.
The problem was, he knew Sam could read him better than anyone. He cringed mentally as he felt every emotion he was trying to hide flicker briefly across his face; slow motion and jerky like a scratched dvd. He knew Sam could see each moment of worry, inadequate, and please, Sammy, no, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
Sam didn’t say anything, he never did. So Dean kept his eyes on the road and drove Sam back to Stanford, back to Jess, back to his one shot of normalcy. They both knew that Dean would do whatever it took to make Sam happy, even if it meant finally letting him go.
Dean sat outside Sam’s apartment, his fingers moving towards the keys hanging in his ignition every few minutes, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His gaze was stuck on the spot where Sam had stood when he said goodbye. It felt so final this time, like maybe Dean wouldn’t be allowed to waltz into Sam’s life and kidnap him for the weekend ever again.
Then he saw it; bursts of fire and Sammy’s screams. Not mature and independent Sam, but the gut-wrenching screams of that chubby twelve year old that Dean had never been able to say no to. He was out of his car in seconds, bolting up the stairs and into the apartment. A quick glance at the ceiling told him all he need to know, and he grabbed Sam, pulling him out of the building.
Sam hadn’t wanted to leave. That’s what hurt Dean the most. He had been perfectly content to lie on his bed and let the fire eat him alive while he cried for his dead girlfriend. As Dean watched Sam slam the trunk of the Impala and head for the passenger seat, he figured it was good that every once in awhile he was able to do what was best for them and not what Sam wanted most.