Touch
Written for spn_30snapshots , Table 1 - Elemental, Prompt 3 - Touch
the_last_shadow has made some outstanding art for this, yet again. Go...NO...check it out because it literally took my breath away. Its HERE
Dean had always been of the “seeing is believing” vein. But now it was more than that. He needed to feel. He kept touching Sam, small touches, a hand on his shoulder, on the small of his back, fingers grazing over skin for slightly longer than normal when patching up cuts and bruises. And if Sam noticed he didn't say anything.
Sam was back. Dean had bought him back, back from wherever he had been. But the memory of Sam dead in his arms still lingered, still caught him round the throat and squeezed when he wasn't expecting it, breath catching and making him feel like he was suffocating. Hence the touching. He just needed to make sure Sam was still there. Needed to feel him under his hands, alive and rolling his eyes at him, bitching at his taste in music, laughing at him when his flirting fell flat.
The touching become more, over time, became more than fleeting. Dean would linger his fingers on Sam's skin even more, tracing gentle paths over his collar bone one night when Sam had been hurt, a long gash running down his chest. Sam's breath had hissed out but his eyes had fluttered closed and he had closed his hand around Dean's wrist.
“What are you doing?” He asked. His voice was low, scratchy, too loud in the dimness.
“Dunno.” They were too close, too close, Sam's heat radiating through Dean's flannel shirt and the soft grey t-shirt underneath. Sam's eyes too wide, Sam's breath too ragged and Sam's touch too...familiar.
“Dean...”
“That should do it.” Dean grinned, not reaching his eyes he was sure, and the spell was broken, the tension lifted, the thickness in the air gone. Dean stepped back, concentrating on packing away the first aid kit, but Sam's touch still burned, still felt like ice fire on his wrist.
“Dean...” Sam tried again and Dean could feel him taking a step towards him, could feel the way the air moved around him.
“Gonna take a shower.” Dean announced, straightening up and striding to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
The hot water helped, hot enough to scold, leaving his skin pink as he stepped out of the bath tub and wrapped a small towel around his waist. He didn't to think about the way it had felt to have Sam's eyes on him and Sam's skin under his fingers. Didn't want to think about what it meant that he wanted to feel that again.
Sam was asleep when Dean ventured back into the bedroom. Adrenaline dissipating enough to let Sam pass out from sheer exhaustion. The room was warm and Sam was lying on his front, one leg hooked over the other, one arm under the pillow, his usual position. Bare back smooth and pale in the moonlight. Dean's fingers itched to reach out, run his hands down the line of his spine, feel the muscles move under skin, to touch. To feel.
Sam mumbled in his sleep, shifted and fell silent. Dean rubbed a hand over his face and crawled into his own bed, ignoring the still burning feel of Sam's touch around his wrist.
Sleep was just pulling him under when he felt the bed shift and Sam's heat flooded under the duvet.
“Sam?” He asked, his voice thick. Sam shifted, lying down and placing his hand on Dean's shoulder blade, his fingers twitched, dug into the skin for a second.
“Sshh, s'ok.” Sam replied, his breath hot on the back of Dean's neck.
Dean fell asleep with Sam's legs tangled with his own, Sam's hand against his back, bodies touching and the overwhelming desire to turn around and look at Sam, to touch him back. And the niggling sense that he should put a stop to this before it got out of hand.
Sam's lips touched the back of his neck and Dean moved into the movement. There would be time enough in the morning to worry about stopping this, to debate what was right and wrong.
Tonight, Dean just wanted to touch, to hold, to feel.
the_last_shadow has made some outstanding art for this, yet again. Go...NO...check it out because it literally took my breath away. Its HERE
Dean had always been of the “seeing is believing” vein. But now it was more than that. He needed to feel. He kept touching Sam, small touches, a hand on his shoulder, on the small of his back, fingers grazing over skin for slightly longer than normal when patching up cuts and bruises. And if Sam noticed he didn't say anything.
Sam was back. Dean had bought him back, back from wherever he had been. But the memory of Sam dead in his arms still lingered, still caught him round the throat and squeezed when he wasn't expecting it, breath catching and making him feel like he was suffocating. Hence the touching. He just needed to make sure Sam was still there. Needed to feel him under his hands, alive and rolling his eyes at him, bitching at his taste in music, laughing at him when his flirting fell flat.
The touching become more, over time, became more than fleeting. Dean would linger his fingers on Sam's skin even more, tracing gentle paths over his collar bone one night when Sam had been hurt, a long gash running down his chest. Sam's breath had hissed out but his eyes had fluttered closed and he had closed his hand around Dean's wrist.
“What are you doing?” He asked. His voice was low, scratchy, too loud in the dimness.
“Dunno.” They were too close, too close, Sam's heat radiating through Dean's flannel shirt and the soft grey t-shirt underneath. Sam's eyes too wide, Sam's breath too ragged and Sam's touch too...familiar.
“Dean...”
“That should do it.” Dean grinned, not reaching his eyes he was sure, and the spell was broken, the tension lifted, the thickness in the air gone. Dean stepped back, concentrating on packing away the first aid kit, but Sam's touch still burned, still felt like ice fire on his wrist.
“Dean...” Sam tried again and Dean could feel him taking a step towards him, could feel the way the air moved around him.
“Gonna take a shower.” Dean announced, straightening up and striding to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
The hot water helped, hot enough to scold, leaving his skin pink as he stepped out of the bath tub and wrapped a small towel around his waist. He didn't to think about the way it had felt to have Sam's eyes on him and Sam's skin under his fingers. Didn't want to think about what it meant that he wanted to feel that again.
Sam was asleep when Dean ventured back into the bedroom. Adrenaline dissipating enough to let Sam pass out from sheer exhaustion. The room was warm and Sam was lying on his front, one leg hooked over the other, one arm under the pillow, his usual position. Bare back smooth and pale in the moonlight. Dean's fingers itched to reach out, run his hands down the line of his spine, feel the muscles move under skin, to touch. To feel.
Sam mumbled in his sleep, shifted and fell silent. Dean rubbed a hand over his face and crawled into his own bed, ignoring the still burning feel of Sam's touch around his wrist.
Sleep was just pulling him under when he felt the bed shift and Sam's heat flooded under the duvet.
“Sam?” He asked, his voice thick. Sam shifted, lying down and placing his hand on Dean's shoulder blade, his fingers twitched, dug into the skin for a second.
“Sshh, s'ok.” Sam replied, his breath hot on the back of Dean's neck.
Dean fell asleep with Sam's legs tangled with his own, Sam's hand against his back, bodies touching and the overwhelming desire to turn around and look at Sam, to touch him back. And the niggling sense that he should put a stop to this before it got out of hand.
Sam's lips touched the back of his neck and Dean moved into the movement. There would be time enough in the morning to worry about stopping this, to debate what was right and wrong.
Tonight, Dean just wanted to touch, to hold, to feel.