WELL DONE CAL! - Congratulatory SPN fic: Stay (Sam/Dean, NC17)
Well, as I said in my last post, my darling parenthetical was a joyous source of sanity during NaNo. She has also written an amazing, amazing epic novel which I feel privileged to have read (the rest of the fandom has to wait for me to beta, muahahaha). She passed 50k at the start of the week but has still been writing like a MADWOMAN in order to get the actual novel done by the end of NaNo. And she has totally done it - 70,453 words of sheer AWESOME *proud, proud, proud*
Anyway, as I love her and she deserves many shiny things I thought she deserved fic. A short smutty piece, because after the exhaustion which is NaNo that's what we all need, right? Unbetaed, because she is my beta and I didn't have time to get someone else, so apologies for rough bits. (I am a bit drunk by this point, so please be gentle in pointing out any really ridiculous errors.)
WELL DONE, CAL! YOU ROCK THE WORLD! SHINY FIC FOR YOU! (And if you want the userpic, it is yours, although it is the hastiest icon in the history of ever.)
Title: Stay
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Fun, not profit.
Notes/Summary: Post AHBL2: the boys cope with the deal. With bondage.
'Stay.'
Sam's voice is low, commanding; his hand a heavy weight across Dean's wrists, pressing him down into the mattress. The rest of Dean feels loose in comparison, scattered, as if it's only that pressure on his arms which is holding him together at all.
'Stay still,' Sam says again, and his mouth dips wetly into the hollow of Dean's shoulders, tracing a burning path across his skin. He bites at the nape of Dean's neck and Dean shudders, gasping for air.
Sam rubs his free hand soothingly across the hurt, gentling Dean like he's a spooked horse. At the same time he tightens his grip on Dean's wrists, as if Dean's struggling to get away, even though he really isn't.
'Sammy,' Dean gets out, voice rasping as if he hasn't used it for days.
'Yeah, hold on, hold on.' Sam kisses him again, licking around Dean's jaw and then down his back, nestling his nose in the cluster of curls under Dean's outstretched arm. His tongue flicks out to tease maddeningly at the tips of the hairs and Dean groans, the sound rumbling through his chest.
The pressure on Dean's wrists is abruptly gone, and Sam rolls off of him and flips him over. Dean pulls his arms reflexively down as he turns onto his back and is arrested mid-motion by his brother's big hand.
'You're not going anywhere,' Sam commands.
He gropes on the floor for a moment, pressing down even harder on Dean as he does so, and then - oh god - he comes back up with his discarded t-shirt and wraps it around Dean's wrists. It's not a real bond - nothing Dean couldn't get out of in half a second if he needed to - but the intent is there and Dean's surprised at just how good that feels.
This isn't something they've ever been into before. Hell, if you'd asked six months ago he'd have said that the whole notion was more than a little insane. Now, though...
'Don't move.' Sam presses Dean's bound arms back on the pillow, stretched up above his head, and sits back to admire him.
They've only got one lamp on, a puny little desk thing across the other side of the room, and Sam's half-hidden in shadows. They spread out dark under the jut of his jaw and fill the cleft of his cheek, picking out all his strength and sharp edges, and Dean feels his cock fill and swell harder at the sight.
Sam strokes one reverent hand down its length. 'So beautiful, oh, fuck. So fucking good.'
He pulls back again suddenly. 'Spread your legs.'
Dean does, instant, obedient, baring himself for Sam. His balls feel full and tight with the need to be touched, hanging heavy between his legs against the pull of his dick.
'So good,' Sam says again, and Dean feels the brush of fingers on the swollen-tight skin of his perineum, one swift stroke back from balls to ass. He whimpers and splays his legs wider, wanting it, whatever it is Sam's decided he wants with him.
Sam teases him for what feels like hours, soft, feather-light touches brushing against thighs and belly and balls till Dean's keening in the back of his throat. Every inch of his skin is alert for the next touch, Sam's caresses so unpredictable that every one is shocking and startling. Dean sweats and shivers against the sheets, and he's flying apart, every touch stripping him more naked and spreading him thinner.
Only the bonds at his wrist keep him anchored, safe.
Sudden wet heat closes around his dick, Sam's mouth swallowing him down. Sam's tongue spirals and flutters against the head as he slides back up and fuck - yeah - it's almost enough -
'Wait.'
Sam's voice is implacable as his fingers circle tight around Dean, clamping down on the orgasm that's on the verge of spilling from him.
'For Christ's sake, Sam, please, you've got to let me, please.' It's so intense that Dean jackknifes up, trying to get at Sam, at his own dick, anything. His bound hands are clumsy, throwing him off balance, and the tiny part of him that's still capable of rational thought notices wryly that he winds up holding them up towards Sam in an attitude of prayer.
'It's okay, Dean, I got you, it's okay.' Sam pushes him back down to the bed, palm heavy and reassuring on his chest even though the other hand is still squeezed tight and unmoving, driving Dean crazy with everything it promises and doesn't deliver. Dean goes with it anyway, lies back obediently and waits for Sam, for what Sam wants.
When Dean is settled back against the pillow, body pliant, Sam lets him go and steps back from the bed. His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, fixed on Dean while he reaches deliberately for his fly and unbuttons his jeans. Sam's cock springs forward urgently - no shorts, sweet fuck - and Dean's mouth waters at the sight, already feeling the weight and taste of it on his tongue. He licks his lips and sees it jump in response, like it's trying to get to him.
Sam strips the rest of his clothes off, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Dean. They're like another weight, another bond, holding Dean still when everything in him is urging him forward, wanting more more more. When he's finally naked, Sam wraps his fingers around his own dick, rubbing his thumb up under the head against the spot that Dean knows drives him crazy. He jacks it slowly, a half-smile on his lips as he watches Dean's hips jerk up in tiny movements.
'You're so fucking beautiful, you know that, Dean?' Sam's voice is slow and considering, steady even when his thumb catches against the rim once more, making his breath hitch. 'So gorgeous, spread out for me, waiting for me to touch you. To mark you.'
Dean's panting now, shallow and frantic, and his voice comes out thready. 'Yeah, Sam - come on, I want it. Do it, c'mon.'
'Could come just like this, watching you.' Sam doesn't move, doesn't change the pace of his hand on his dick. He just keeps talking, inexorable, while he watches Dean from beneath lowered lids. 'Paint you with my come, on your belly, on your face.'
Dean jerks up hard at the words, cock smearing pre-come against his belly, and Sam gives a short groan.
'Oh, yeah, so good, love watching you like this.' Sam lunges forward abruptly, pressing his thumbs into Dean's thighs and spreading them apart. 'Mine, all for me.'
He spreads Dean's ass, impossibly wide and open, and licks a wide stripe from the base of his cock to his hole. Dean hears a sound tear from his throat, unbidden and alien, and pushes back against Sam's confining hands. Sam licks again, lets his teeth graze against Dean's balls, and then he's fucking Dean in earnest, hard-soft tongue thrusting into him maddeningly.
Dean feels Sam's shoulder moving against his thigh, muscles working as Sam jacks himself, and fuck, that's just too hot. Sam's breath puffs hot against him with every thrust, and he's getting off on this, on driving Dean crazy while Dean just lies back and takes it.
'Sam,' he groans out, desperate, and Sam surges up in response, covering Dean's body with his own and pressing his mouth to Dean's lips in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Sam's still fisting his own dick, thrusting against Dean's hip while he plasters his face and mouth with desperate kisses. Dean tries again to bring his arms down to touch and Sam stops him, free hand moving hunter-swift to pin Dean still while his other hand jerks once more and his dick spurts, all over Dean's thighs and belly and cock.
Sam shudders and stills, his whole body weighing Dean down into the sheets while his cock pulses weakly through the last of his orgasm. He shifts and slips along Dean's still hard - achingly hard - dick, so that Dean can't prevent himself thrusting up.
Sam rolls away, leaving cold emptiness where the heat of his body was. Dean feels a stab of loss, and then Sam's hands are back, slipping through come to slick up Dean's cock and tease at his nipples. He sinks his teeth into the arched muscle of Dean's armpit so Dean arches and moans, and then he's touching everywhere, hands and mouth covering Dean with bright pleasure.
It's too much, too intense, sensation radiating out until Dean feels as if it'll tear him apart. He breathes through it, focuses on the feel of cloth tight round his wrists, the weight of Sam next to him. There's freedom in this: no fear, no uncertainty. The constant nagging voice in the back of his mind - one year, no welching or the deal is off, one year - is silenced and for once he can stop fighting, stop keeping up a front. There's nothing but him and Sam, nothing to do but go with it, do what Sam wants.
'Come on, Dean.' Sam's jacking him for real now, hand strong and steady on Dean's dick while he sucks and nibbles at the skin under Dean's jaw. 'Come on, come for me now, I got you.'
'Now,' Sam says again, and Dean does it, arches up and shakes and shakes as it shoots through him.
Sam keeps on stroking as Dean comes down, carrying him through it. 'So beautiful, fuck,' he murmurs. 'I could keep you here forever.'
Sam's hands are an anchor, and for just this moment, Dean lets himself believe it.
Anyway, as I love her and she deserves many shiny things I thought she deserved fic. A short smutty piece, because after the exhaustion which is NaNo that's what we all need, right? Unbetaed, because she is my beta and I didn't have time to get someone else, so apologies for rough bits. (I am a bit drunk by this point, so please be gentle in pointing out any really ridiculous errors.)
WELL DONE, CAL! YOU ROCK THE WORLD! SHINY FIC FOR YOU! (And if you want the userpic, it is yours, although it is the hastiest icon in the history of ever.)
Title: Stay
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Fun, not profit.
Notes/Summary: Post AHBL2: the boys cope with the deal. With bondage.
'Stay.'
Sam's voice is low, commanding; his hand a heavy weight across Dean's wrists, pressing him down into the mattress. The rest of Dean feels loose in comparison, scattered, as if it's only that pressure on his arms which is holding him together at all.
'Stay still,' Sam says again, and his mouth dips wetly into the hollow of Dean's shoulders, tracing a burning path across his skin. He bites at the nape of Dean's neck and Dean shudders, gasping for air.
Sam rubs his free hand soothingly across the hurt, gentling Dean like he's a spooked horse. At the same time he tightens his grip on Dean's wrists, as if Dean's struggling to get away, even though he really isn't.
'Sammy,' Dean gets out, voice rasping as if he hasn't used it for days.
'Yeah, hold on, hold on.' Sam kisses him again, licking around Dean's jaw and then down his back, nestling his nose in the cluster of curls under Dean's outstretched arm. His tongue flicks out to tease maddeningly at the tips of the hairs and Dean groans, the sound rumbling through his chest.
The pressure on Dean's wrists is abruptly gone, and Sam rolls off of him and flips him over. Dean pulls his arms reflexively down as he turns onto his back and is arrested mid-motion by his brother's big hand.
'You're not going anywhere,' Sam commands.
He gropes on the floor for a moment, pressing down even harder on Dean as he does so, and then - oh god - he comes back up with his discarded t-shirt and wraps it around Dean's wrists. It's not a real bond - nothing Dean couldn't get out of in half a second if he needed to - but the intent is there and Dean's surprised at just how good that feels.
This isn't something they've ever been into before. Hell, if you'd asked six months ago he'd have said that the whole notion was more than a little insane. Now, though...
'Don't move.' Sam presses Dean's bound arms back on the pillow, stretched up above his head, and sits back to admire him.
They've only got one lamp on, a puny little desk thing across the other side of the room, and Sam's half-hidden in shadows. They spread out dark under the jut of his jaw and fill the cleft of his cheek, picking out all his strength and sharp edges, and Dean feels his cock fill and swell harder at the sight.
Sam strokes one reverent hand down its length. 'So beautiful, oh, fuck. So fucking good.'
He pulls back again suddenly. 'Spread your legs.'
Dean does, instant, obedient, baring himself for Sam. His balls feel full and tight with the need to be touched, hanging heavy between his legs against the pull of his dick.
'So good,' Sam says again, and Dean feels the brush of fingers on the swollen-tight skin of his perineum, one swift stroke back from balls to ass. He whimpers and splays his legs wider, wanting it, whatever it is Sam's decided he wants with him.
Sam teases him for what feels like hours, soft, feather-light touches brushing against thighs and belly and balls till Dean's keening in the back of his throat. Every inch of his skin is alert for the next touch, Sam's caresses so unpredictable that every one is shocking and startling. Dean sweats and shivers against the sheets, and he's flying apart, every touch stripping him more naked and spreading him thinner.
Only the bonds at his wrist keep him anchored, safe.
Sudden wet heat closes around his dick, Sam's mouth swallowing him down. Sam's tongue spirals and flutters against the head as he slides back up and fuck - yeah - it's almost enough -
'Wait.'
Sam's voice is implacable as his fingers circle tight around Dean, clamping down on the orgasm that's on the verge of spilling from him.
'For Christ's sake, Sam, please, you've got to let me, please.' It's so intense that Dean jackknifes up, trying to get at Sam, at his own dick, anything. His bound hands are clumsy, throwing him off balance, and the tiny part of him that's still capable of rational thought notices wryly that he winds up holding them up towards Sam in an attitude of prayer.
'It's okay, Dean, I got you, it's okay.' Sam pushes him back down to the bed, palm heavy and reassuring on his chest even though the other hand is still squeezed tight and unmoving, driving Dean crazy with everything it promises and doesn't deliver. Dean goes with it anyway, lies back obediently and waits for Sam, for what Sam wants.
When Dean is settled back against the pillow, body pliant, Sam lets him go and steps back from the bed. His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, fixed on Dean while he reaches deliberately for his fly and unbuttons his jeans. Sam's cock springs forward urgently - no shorts, sweet fuck - and Dean's mouth waters at the sight, already feeling the weight and taste of it on his tongue. He licks his lips and sees it jump in response, like it's trying to get to him.
Sam strips the rest of his clothes off, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Dean. They're like another weight, another bond, holding Dean still when everything in him is urging him forward, wanting more more more. When he's finally naked, Sam wraps his fingers around his own dick, rubbing his thumb up under the head against the spot that Dean knows drives him crazy. He jacks it slowly, a half-smile on his lips as he watches Dean's hips jerk up in tiny movements.
'You're so fucking beautiful, you know that, Dean?' Sam's voice is slow and considering, steady even when his thumb catches against the rim once more, making his breath hitch. 'So gorgeous, spread out for me, waiting for me to touch you. To mark you.'
Dean's panting now, shallow and frantic, and his voice comes out thready. 'Yeah, Sam - come on, I want it. Do it, c'mon.'
'Could come just like this, watching you.' Sam doesn't move, doesn't change the pace of his hand on his dick. He just keeps talking, inexorable, while he watches Dean from beneath lowered lids. 'Paint you with my come, on your belly, on your face.'
Dean jerks up hard at the words, cock smearing pre-come against his belly, and Sam gives a short groan.
'Oh, yeah, so good, love watching you like this.' Sam lunges forward abruptly, pressing his thumbs into Dean's thighs and spreading them apart. 'Mine, all for me.'
He spreads Dean's ass, impossibly wide and open, and licks a wide stripe from the base of his cock to his hole. Dean hears a sound tear from his throat, unbidden and alien, and pushes back against Sam's confining hands. Sam licks again, lets his teeth graze against Dean's balls, and then he's fucking Dean in earnest, hard-soft tongue thrusting into him maddeningly.
Dean feels Sam's shoulder moving against his thigh, muscles working as Sam jacks himself, and fuck, that's just too hot. Sam's breath puffs hot against him with every thrust, and he's getting off on this, on driving Dean crazy while Dean just lies back and takes it.
'Sam,' he groans out, desperate, and Sam surges up in response, covering Dean's body with his own and pressing his mouth to Dean's lips in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Sam's still fisting his own dick, thrusting against Dean's hip while he plasters his face and mouth with desperate kisses. Dean tries again to bring his arms down to touch and Sam stops him, free hand moving hunter-swift to pin Dean still while his other hand jerks once more and his dick spurts, all over Dean's thighs and belly and cock.
Sam shudders and stills, his whole body weighing Dean down into the sheets while his cock pulses weakly through the last of his orgasm. He shifts and slips along Dean's still hard - achingly hard - dick, so that Dean can't prevent himself thrusting up.
Sam rolls away, leaving cold emptiness where the heat of his body was. Dean feels a stab of loss, and then Sam's hands are back, slipping through come to slick up Dean's cock and tease at his nipples. He sinks his teeth into the arched muscle of Dean's armpit so Dean arches and moans, and then he's touching everywhere, hands and mouth covering Dean with bright pleasure.
It's too much, too intense, sensation radiating out until Dean feels as if it'll tear him apart. He breathes through it, focuses on the feel of cloth tight round his wrists, the weight of Sam next to him. There's freedom in this: no fear, no uncertainty. The constant nagging voice in the back of his mind - one year, no welching or the deal is off, one year - is silenced and for once he can stop fighting, stop keeping up a front. There's nothing but him and Sam, nothing to do but go with it, do what Sam wants.
'Come on, Dean.' Sam's jacking him for real now, hand strong and steady on Dean's dick while he sucks and nibbles at the skin under Dean's jaw. 'Come on, come for me now, I got you.'
'Now,' Sam says again, and Dean does it, arches up and shakes and shakes as it shoots through him.
Sam keeps on stroking as Dean comes down, carrying him through it. 'So beautiful, fuck,' he murmurs. 'I could keep you here forever.'
Sam's hands are an anchor, and for just this moment, Dean lets himself believe it.