SPN Ficlet: Curve of the Earth (Dean/Sam) - PG-13
Okay, so this just kinda happened. Little Wincest ficlet.
Title: Curve of the Earth
Author: nu_breed
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word count: 497
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Kripke owns them. I just wish I did.
Summary: Dean and Sam are different.
Notes: A million thanks to enoughoflove for the encouragement and the quickfire beta. She rocks hardcore.
Sometimes Dean forgets just how different they are.
It’s pretty surprising that he does, because really? They're not that damned similar.
Dean loves the classics; AC/DC, Sabbath, Metallica. Sam hassles him mercilessly, says at least he has tastes that are actually 'this century'. Sam’s taste in music veers towards what Dean thinks is annoying. Coldplay, Keane. Whiny British bands that make Dean's teeth ache. Dean doesn't care much for whining and let's face it, the Brits love to complain. He's met a few and they complain about *everything*; the weather, food, the fact the sun goes down in the evening. Dean likes to bitch as much as the next guy, but he also knows when to shut the fuck up.
Sam likes to get up early, Dean always hears him. Sam loves the crispness of the morning air hitting his skin; says it makes him feel alive. Dean prefers the evening. He finds it more… peaceful somehow. Morning is harsh and cold and anyway, he'd much rather catch an extra hour of much-needed sleep than get up early to smell the flowers.
Sam has only ever slept with one girl his whole life. The one he loved. Dean can just imagine what they were like in bed: safe, vanilla, romantic. Dean tried to make a list once of everyone he'd slept with. When he got to thirty he gave up. Sam laughed and called him a whore. Dean grinned and shrugged and said at least he wasn't a frigid little bitch and then pretended to ignore the fact that Sam’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like someone had punched him in the gut.
When they have breakfast, Sam likes to eat his eggs pure and untainted. Dean smothers his in ketchup. Sam doesn't take sugar in his coffee; he likes it bitter and black. Dean takes cream and a lot of sugar in his. He loves sugar and remembers when he was a kid how he used to enjoy dissolving it on his tongue, feeling the crystals breaking apart leaving him with that burst of sweet that was almost too much. Too good.
They don't like the same things. Dean gets that, but it doesn't matter to him. Not really. Not when Sam presses up against him in the dark and all Dean can feel is warmth and longing and smooth skin under his fingertips.
Sam’s mouth is warm and when he kisses Dean it’s fierce, hungry. Rough. Not safe and not vanilla and most definitely not romantic. Sam whispers in his ear, whispers low and dirty and pleaseDeannow, and when Dean moves inside him, his hands locked on Sam’s hips, he feels like he forgets to breathe for a minute.
Differences don't matter. Not when they're like this. The only thing that matters to Dean is the knowledge that they'll protect each other. They’ll keep doing that until there's nothing else left.
And that's when Dean realises they're not that different after all.
end
Title: Curve of the Earth
Author: nu_breed
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word count: 497
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Kripke owns them. I just wish I did.
Summary: Dean and Sam are different.
Notes: A million thanks to enoughoflove for the encouragement and the quickfire beta. She rocks hardcore.
Sometimes Dean forgets just how different they are.
It’s pretty surprising that he does, because really? They're not that damned similar.
Dean loves the classics; AC/DC, Sabbath, Metallica. Sam hassles him mercilessly, says at least he has tastes that are actually 'this century'. Sam’s taste in music veers towards what Dean thinks is annoying. Coldplay, Keane. Whiny British bands that make Dean's teeth ache. Dean doesn't care much for whining and let's face it, the Brits love to complain. He's met a few and they complain about *everything*; the weather, food, the fact the sun goes down in the evening. Dean likes to bitch as much as the next guy, but he also knows when to shut the fuck up.
Sam likes to get up early, Dean always hears him. Sam loves the crispness of the morning air hitting his skin; says it makes him feel alive. Dean prefers the evening. He finds it more… peaceful somehow. Morning is harsh and cold and anyway, he'd much rather catch an extra hour of much-needed sleep than get up early to smell the flowers.
Sam has only ever slept with one girl his whole life. The one he loved. Dean can just imagine what they were like in bed: safe, vanilla, romantic. Dean tried to make a list once of everyone he'd slept with. When he got to thirty he gave up. Sam laughed and called him a whore. Dean grinned and shrugged and said at least he wasn't a frigid little bitch and then pretended to ignore the fact that Sam’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like someone had punched him in the gut.
When they have breakfast, Sam likes to eat his eggs pure and untainted. Dean smothers his in ketchup. Sam doesn't take sugar in his coffee; he likes it bitter and black. Dean takes cream and a lot of sugar in his. He loves sugar and remembers when he was a kid how he used to enjoy dissolving it on his tongue, feeling the crystals breaking apart leaving him with that burst of sweet that was almost too much. Too good.
They don't like the same things. Dean gets that, but it doesn't matter to him. Not really. Not when Sam presses up against him in the dark and all Dean can feel is warmth and longing and smooth skin under his fingertips.
Sam’s mouth is warm and when he kisses Dean it’s fierce, hungry. Rough. Not safe and not vanilla and most definitely not romantic. Sam whispers in his ear, whispers low and dirty and pleaseDeannow, and when Dean moves inside him, his hands locked on Sam’s hips, he feels like he forgets to breathe for a minute.
Differences don't matter. Not when they're like this. The only thing that matters to Dean is the knowledge that they'll protect each other. They’ll keep doing that until there's nothing else left.
And that's when Dean realises they're not that different after all.
end