follow me down the streams of sweat on your body
Title: follow me down the streams of sweat on your body
Author: 27_jaredjensen
Characters/pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 1,133
A/N: Written for the ohsam comment fic meme for the prompt (which I didn't follow very well) posted at the end.
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Sam’s panting hard, flushed and sweaty and wheezing, sprawled out on his back on the bed like he’s just been on a run. The thought makes Dean smile, because his brother can’t even make it to the bathroom right now without looking like he’s spent an evening with a six-pack and a bottle of jack. The smile quickly fades, however, when Sam gives a violent shiver and wriggles around uncomfortably, pushing the sheets further off his body.
“You’re still shivering,” Dean says as he sits on the edge of the bed and tries to pull the sheet back up. Sam’s mouth falls open, the faintest sound of a whimper falling from his lips, and he stops Dean with a hand on his wrist. His teeth click together when another shudder wracks his body.
Sam’s fingers are hot against Dean’s skin. He frowns and presses the back of his wrist to Sam’s forehead, then narrows his eyes when Sam shifts and a sock falls to the floor at the end of the bed.
“You’ve gotta quit taking off your socks, Sammy,” he scolds, but he can tell that Sam is toeing off his other sock under the covers.
“Too hot,” Sam whispers with his broken mess of a voice, hoarse from days of coughing. He clears his throat and reaches for the full glass of water on the nightstand, but Dean beats him to it, helping him sit up a little before lifting the glass to his dry, cracked lips. Sam manages a few sips before he seems to lose energy, and he slides back down in the bed with another shiver that shakes them both.
“Way too hot,” Dean agrees. He bites his lip and stands, looks toward the open first aid kit on the table. “I want to take your temperature, okay?”
Sam doesn’t reply, and Dean looks over to see that his eyes are closed, breath evening out as he drifts off to sleep. Dean draws the sheet up to his chest and presses a kiss to his warm temple.
While Sam rests, Dean takes a quick shower. After he pulls on some sweatpants and a shirt, he goes to the table and gathers what he’ll need for when Sam wakes up. The last of their cough syrup, a bottle of Tylenol, a change of clothes for Sam.
They don’t have a proper thermometer after losing their last one, along with many other supplies, on a hunt last month, but there’s a strip thermometer that should suffice for the time being. Dean just needs a number, preferably one that’ll tell him Sam’s brain isn’t frying up.
Sam’s suddenly restless on the bed, hands fisting in the sheets as he tosses and turns and whispers words Dean can’t make out. Then he’s still again, brow furrowed, a new sheen of sweat breaking out over his body. His lips move again and he chokes out a cough, but doesn’t wake.
“Dean.” This word, Dean hears loud and clear. He goes over and cups the side of Sam’s face, runs his fingers through Sam’s hair and calls his name until Sam opens his eyes.
“Sorry,” Dean says, dropping onto the bed and patting Sam’s hip through the sheet. “Think you can sit up, drink a little water?”
Sam sucks in a breath a turns his face into the pillow to cough again. He tries to prop himself up on his elbows afterward, but his arms tremble and he’s too weak to hold his own weight. Dean helps him sit back against the headboard, and wraps his hands around Sam’s on the cup so he can finish off the water.
“You’re hotter than before,” Dean frowns, palm against Sam’s forehead. “Let’s take your temp, okay?”
Sam nods, and Dean fetches the supplies from across the room.
“Okay, let’s see…” Dean checks the instructions on the thermometer and sighs. “Fifteen minute reading.”
Sam starts to protest, but Dean quickly silences him with a sharp look.
“Don’t give me that, Sam, it’s just fifteen minutes. You don’t even have to move.”
Sam’s mouth snaps shut, and Dean swears he catches a glimpse of a smile on his face before it falls back into Sam’s default puppy-dog look.
“Okay,” Sam says softly. “Will you lie with me?” He turns the look on full force and sniffles twice for good measure, but Dean’s already climbing in bed.
Sam has already slid back down a little, so Dean props him up a little with another pillow, then rests on his side facing him and pulls the thermometer from its package. As Sam snuggles up against him, Dean takes the strip and presses it to Sam’s forehead. The heat radiating off of the younger man in unbelievable. Sam, head resting against Dean’s shoulder, yawns and shivers.
With the hand not holding the thermometer, Dean brushes his fingers against Sam’s flushed cheeks, across his chapped lips, along the bridge of his nose. Sam watches him with tired eyes, his tongue coming out to lick at Dean’s thumb as it slides over his mouth. Dean thumps him lightly on the chest for that, and then leaves his hand there, palm directly over Sam’s heart.
After a few moments of quiet, Sam slides a hand up across Dean’s stomach and over his side, his fingers playing at the hem of Dean’s shirt. He turns slightly toward Dean, bringing one knee up to slot between Dean’s legs, and slips a thumb into the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants.
Dean jumps in surprise at the touch, but he looks at Sam to find him staring back, lucid as ever, eyes full of want. Full of need. Careful to keep the strip in place on Sam’s forehead, Dean leans down to kiss him, and Sam lifts his head in response, seeking more. After a few seconds he has to pull back with a little cough, and Dean moves to his neck instead. Sam tilts his head, breath whistling out in a hot rush of air across Dean’s skin.
“We shouldn’t be doing this now,” Dean says, even as his lips move down to suck at sunburn-hot skin at Sam’s collarbone. “You’re sick.”
Sam wraps an arm tightly around his waist in reply, and Dean pulls back and pushes the sweaty hair off Sam’s forehead, still keeping the strip thermometer there.
“At least wait until the fifteen minutes is up.”
Sam rolls his eyes, and then has to clear his throat several times before his words come out as more than just a croak.
“We already know I have a fever, and it’s only supposed to be fifteen seconds. Not minutes.”
And then he’s taking the strip and tossing it aside, hands still shaking and fever still burning as he takes Dean’s hand and guides it down his body.
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Prompt: Slash, pretty please. Worried!Dean wants to figure out how high ill!Sammy's fever is, but all they have is a strip thermometer. Dean holds it to Sam's forehead but misreads the instructions and thinks he has to hold it there for 15 minutes instead of 15 seconds. So he sits there, soooooo close to Sammy. And, well, stuff happens. Maybe Sam knows it's supposed to be 15 seconds and doesn't bother setting Dean straight. Bonus points for Dean actually making it through the full 15 minutes.