SPN: the truth according to Sam - Sam/Dean - R
So the other day when we were all freaking out (btw, hai, there's a similar problem at SecondLife right now. No bullshit.) I decided I'd take first kiss prompts, like everyone and their brother. I can take a few more and I don't mind the crack, but I reserve the right to say no. *g*
kashmir1 asked for Sam/Dean. It was her birthday and I missed it, so I hope this kinda makes up for it. ♥
Thanks to Maygra and Belinda for the uber-fast beta so I could post it. :)
Title: the truth according to Sam
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 511
"So we should just ignore it."
"Yeah." He'd ask whether Sam has a problem with it, but his pissy bitchface and flat tone make it so very fucking clear.
"Pretend it never happened."
All right, even he can see that might be hard. He flips his hand over, and almost loses the towel he slopped around his waist when Sam came barging in. Glaring, he catches it and grumbles, "Didn't say that."
"That's kinda what ignore means, Dean."
Arms crossed over his chest, Sam watches him. His stomach twists like when he lets Sam down, and yeah, okay, he's fucked up but it's not like Sam's a goddamned saint. He sets his jaw. "What the hell do you want me to say?"
"Try telling me the truth. For once."
Ouch.
That's not fair. Dad made him promise, and he was only protecting Sam. He's always only protecting Sam. "I couldn't tell you. I had to-"
"Maybe I don't want your protection." Sam rocks up out of his lean.
"Maybe I don't need it." He steps through the door, and Dean backs away. The bathroom is really fucking small, and Sam is really, really not. "I'm the one who can kill you with his brain."
He can't find anything to look at that isn't Sam. Can't find any air to breathe that isn't filled with Sam.
"C'mon, Dean. Tell me all about how you're a freak who jacks off thinking about his brother."
Sam plants his huge hands to either side of Dean's shoulders, thumbs pressed close enough to touch. He's too close, way too close, and Dean's dick burns, aches, from the brush of denim against terry cloth. "Sam… Sammy, I…" He's not hoarse or ragged, he's just not breathing.
"C'mon, Dean. Tell me," Sam says again, and the dark confidence in his tone reminds Dean of every fantasy he's never let himself have. "Admit it." Sam's voice drops lower. "So I can too."
"Sam, listen, it's not like that. Okay, it's just-" His brain catches up, grinds full-stop like a car that dropped her tranny. He blinks, and he's pretty sure he looks like some of the bimbos he's fucked instead of Sam when he stutters out, "Wh--what?"
Sam snorts and Dean wants to be pissed, really fucking pissed that Sam never told him, but there's no time. No time at all before Sam's mouth crashes down over his.
He shoves Sam, because really, what the hell? Cleaning the pipes is one thing but this is girl shit. Except for how - Christ, Sam's package is against his thigh -- Sam is so not a girl and is his brother, and -- oh hell no, that's not a moan; he's not opening his mouth for Sam -- Jesus fuck who taught Sam to kiss like this?
His brain stops the broken-tape spinflapflap, but it's too late. His fingers are curled tight in Sam's hoodie, and Sam's taken control. He owns the kiss as completely as he owns Dean.
For once, Dean tells the truth and just lets him.
kashmir1 asked for Sam/Dean. It was her birthday and I missed it, so I hope this kinda makes up for it. ♥
Thanks to Maygra and Belinda for the uber-fast beta so I could post it. :)
Title: the truth according to Sam
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 511
"So we should just ignore it."
"Yeah." He'd ask whether Sam has a problem with it, but his pissy bitchface and flat tone make it so very fucking clear.
"Pretend it never happened."
All right, even he can see that might be hard. He flips his hand over, and almost loses the towel he slopped around his waist when Sam came barging in. Glaring, he catches it and grumbles, "Didn't say that."
"That's kinda what ignore means, Dean."
Arms crossed over his chest, Sam watches him. His stomach twists like when he lets Sam down, and yeah, okay, he's fucked up but it's not like Sam's a goddamned saint. He sets his jaw. "What the hell do you want me to say?"
"Try telling me the truth. For once."
Ouch.
That's not fair. Dad made him promise, and he was only protecting Sam. He's always only protecting Sam. "I couldn't tell you. I had to-"
"Maybe I don't want your protection." Sam rocks up out of his lean.
"Maybe I don't need it." He steps through the door, and Dean backs away. The bathroom is really fucking small, and Sam is really, really not. "I'm the one who can kill you with his brain."
He can't find anything to look at that isn't Sam. Can't find any air to breathe that isn't filled with Sam.
"C'mon, Dean. Tell me all about how you're a freak who jacks off thinking about his brother."
Sam plants his huge hands to either side of Dean's shoulders, thumbs pressed close enough to touch. He's too close, way too close, and Dean's dick burns, aches, from the brush of denim against terry cloth. "Sam… Sammy, I…" He's not hoarse or ragged, he's just not breathing.
"C'mon, Dean. Tell me," Sam says again, and the dark confidence in his tone reminds Dean of every fantasy he's never let himself have. "Admit it." Sam's voice drops lower. "So I can too."
"Sam, listen, it's not like that. Okay, it's just-" His brain catches up, grinds full-stop like a car that dropped her tranny. He blinks, and he's pretty sure he looks like some of the bimbos he's fucked instead of Sam when he stutters out, "Wh--what?"
Sam snorts and Dean wants to be pissed, really fucking pissed that Sam never told him, but there's no time. No time at all before Sam's mouth crashes down over his.
He shoves Sam, because really, what the hell? Cleaning the pipes is one thing but this is girl shit. Except for how - Christ, Sam's package is against his thigh -- Sam is so not a girl and is his brother, and -- oh hell no, that's not a moan; he's not opening his mouth for Sam -- Jesus fuck who taught Sam to kiss like this?
His brain stops the broken-tape spinflapflap, but it's too late. His fingers are curled tight in Sam's hoodie, and Sam's taken control. He owns the kiss as completely as he owns Dean.
For once, Dean tells the truth and just lets him.