[fic]bewaretheides15: The Light Court
[ Challenge ]
Title: The Light Court
Writer:bewaretheides15
Alternate links: on AO3
Status of work: (complete) Written for spn_j2_xmas exchange 2012
Characters and/or pairings: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, OCs
Rating: NC-17
Warnings, kinks & contents: [Click to read]underage, borderline dub-con, public sex of the ritual kind
Length: 4429
Summary: With all the heat and pressure distracting him, it's hard to pay attention to the small noises of the people gathered around. There's still movement at the edges of his vision, still the whispers of cloth on skin and feet on dirt and quiet chanting in a language he's not nearly good enough at yet to understand, but he feels a little less like he's been peeled out of his shell and left for the vultures to pick over with Dean blanketing him.
Reccer's notes: Now that finally it's mostly spring, almost, let's start by having some porn, with plots. I've always liked this author's writing, her porny stuff have a heart, and hearty stuff always have steamy porn. Great combination! The reason why I like her stuff so much is that even a story is more or less a pwp kind of thing, there is some back story that gives the porn a solid background, which somehow makes the porn even hotter.
[Short excerpt]Sam." Dean's voice pressed against his ear startles him all over again. He jolts, but Dean's bigger and stronger and, by all accounts, a general sword-swinging, gun-wielding, OG-type badass, so he doesn't get far.
Somehow he'd missed the moment when Dean bent down over him, a solid zag of heat molded from Sam's shoulder blades to the hollow of his knees. There's no escaping the feeling of it now; the slick skin drag as they breathe not quite in time, the heavier, sharper knot of the necklace Dean always wears settled against his spine. The alien pressure against his ass, muted by thick cloth.
He's had the adrenaline shakes since before the ceremony started, but he can’t call this anything but trembling now.
Thick fingers press up against his lips, pushing past them already by the time Dean says, "Suck for me."
Thank freaking everything that Sam's already down on his knees, because he doesn't think he'd have made it through Dean saying that without hitting them anyway. His lungs feel seized up, thin drags of air making it in passed that ache as the inside of his mouth clenches, floods with saliva and penny-flavored blood and grit.
It's nothing, should be nothing, but with the low, smoke-softness, the 'for me' tacked on as it plays over and over in the back of his head, it can't really be nothing. Not for Sam.