SPN fic: Shenandoah
Title: Shenandoah
Author: D. (namegoeshere)
Rating: NC17.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 1320.
Warnings: Shameless abuse of scenery and porn.
Summary: It's too fucking hot for this.
A/N: My spn_50states fic! Posted at last! Huge, big, massive thank you to ellipsisblack for the beta on this piece! :)
†
Quiet. Clouds coming in over the valley, heavy with late afternoon rain. Air thick with the humidity and sticky heat. They've been here a week, hunting ghosts in the civil war graveyards, digging up old bones from the moist Virginia earth.
Everything in their motel is damp: their clothes and the sheets on the bed. The air conditioner rattles in the window, offering no real relief from the heat. Sam is stretched out on his bed, clothes in a pile on the floor, his skin flushed pink and shiny from sweat. The only thing to do is wait for the rain.
Dean paces the motel room in his jockeys, pausing every few minutes to fiddle with the dials on the broken window unit, distracted by the miles of Sam's bare skin, his flaccid cock between his legs. It's too hot for it, but that pained, aching heat settles low in his stomach until he feels his whole body flushing with want.
He leaves his boxers on the floor, settling on the edge of Sam's bed, the old mattress creaking beneath his added weight.
Sam looks up at him, eyes heavy-lidded and glazed.
"It's too hot," he murmurs, doesn't even reach up to push Dean away. It's too hot to move, too hot to fuck. But it doesn't stop Dean from leaning in to brush his mouth lightly over Sam's. "Don't."
"I need it," he whispers, voice low and rough. "C'mon, Sammy. Been staring at you for the last hour." He reaches down, hand ghosting over Sam's thigh, hovering over his cock.
"Dean, no," Sam murmurs, but he leans up to kiss, their lips sliding wetly together. He hardens beneath Dean's hand, whimpering as his skin flushes even more deeply red, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fuck. Look what you did."
"Your own fault."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah." He pushes Sam onto his back, the sheet peeling slowly away from his sticky skin. Dean presses kisses, wet and sloppy, against Sam's neck. He's salty and sweet, skin smooth except for the familiar scars beneath Dean's mouth. It's lethargic, slow, and he runs his fingers over Sam's spine, feels his brother shift, his thighs spreading. "Yeah," he whispers again, nipping at Sam's neck, listening to his brother moan.
Beneath him, Sam presses himself against the mattress, groaning soft into the pillow. Then he goes still. Dean aches with need, hand sliding between his brother's legs, feeling the tight, soft skin of his balls.
"Jesus," Sam prays quietly, and Dean spreads him wide. "Fuck."
Dean's mouth feels cottony, his tongue too thick to form words. He groans into Sam's damp hair, breathing in the bitter scent of sweat. Sam is lax, open, loose, muttering something against the sheets. He gasps, digs fingers into the dampened sheets, moans Dean's name, presses back against him as Dean pushes in. He's wide, slick with sweat and lube, hot. Dean's feverish, almost sick with the feeling as Sam takes him in, pushes lazily back, groaning low and so fucking sweet.
Outside, it starts to rain. Slow at first, but the air already feels cooler.
Dean feels warmer, impossibly hot. Sam reaches back, curling one hand around the back of Dean's thigh, long fingers brushing against the crease of his ass. Dean presses in deeper, fucking him slow and easy, quiet except for their ragged breaths. The kisses he trails over Sam's shoulders are open-mouthed, too much spit against his skin. He feels dizzy, lost in the motion, in the push and slide of their bodies and the texture of the bleached cotton sheets beneath them, and skin. Sam's skin, hot and damp and sweet under his lips, shifting with each of Sam's small movements as he thrusts shallowly into the mattress.
"Dean," Sam whispers, and then he goes still, limp under Dean. He doesn't move, although his hand stays on Dean's leg, still squeezing lightly. He moans quietly as Dean thrusts in, but it's different, softer.
In the distance, there’s thunder.
He thrusts slowly. Sam is still, doesn't push back against him, just murmurs, "S'okay, don't stop." He's utterly spent, muttering encouragement as Dean gasps, groans, pushes in deeper.
"Please," Dean begs, nipping at Sam's ear, and Sam twitches beneath him, a slight push back against Dean.
Sam turns his head, looking up at Dean from the corner of his eye. Dean can see his younger brother's quiet smile, his lips forming the word he breathes out slow into the air that is thick with humidity, with the smells of sweat and Sam's come, "C'mon." Quiet encouragement, a slight clench around Dean's cock as his hips jerk, and then everything goes hazy and bright. His breath is hot against Sam's neck for the few, brief seconds before he peels himself off his brother's back.
"Sorry," Dean whispers, and Sam props himself up, grinning briefly at Dean before looking out the window.
Sam doesn't tease him, instead states the obvious. "Rain," he says. "It's about time."
Dean rolls out of bed, tosses Sam's dirty briefs at him before finding his discarded jockeys and slipping them on. He leaves the door wide open when he goes outside, stepping out from under the deck of the floor above them, into the gravel parking lot where the skies have split open. Sam hovers back for a second, just watching, and then follows. The rain is cool, wet, cleansing. Dean is already soaked, hair plastered against his face, his forehead. There's lightning over the valley, sky dark with clouds that will pass as soon as the rain is ended. Sam's white briefs are soaked-through and translucent, and Dean smirks, appreciating the view.
There is nobody else out here, tiny motel on the edge of a nowhere small town in rural Virginia. Dean turns, pulls Sam closes, catches his mouth in a quick kiss. "Should have waited for the rain," he murmurs. "Fucked out here."
Sam laughs, bites at Dean's mouth before pulling away. "Pervert," he says. But he leans into Dean's side, yawning as the rain makes puddles in the muddy gravel. They both look east and west, out at the mountains on either side of them.
Dean tilts his head up to the sky, opens his mouth to let the rain fall on his tongue, quenching his thirst. Sam reaches for his face, pulls his lips down, and Dean's mouth is cool as Sam's hot tongue thrusts past his lips. They kiss, Dean's fingers setting on Sam's hips, squeezing lightly. Another rumble of thunder in the distance and they pull apart, panting. "You know," Sam murmurs, not pulling away, resting his cheek against Dean's shoulder, "this probably isn't the greatest idea ever."
"Hm?"
Sam chuckles low, nipping teasingly at Dean's neck before pressing a kiss to the same spot. He reminds Dean, voice soft, "Rural Virginia's not exactly progressive."
A quiet sigh against Sam's ear, murmuring, "Oh." He starts to move his hands. "Yeah. You wanna go back in?"
Sam shakes his head, a slight movement before his mouth finds Dean's throat, and he slings his arms around Dean's waist. "Maybe in a couple minutes."
Dean gives in easily, tilts his head down to press his mouth to the corner of Sam's lips, and then they're kissing again, still sated and warm, tongues warm and slick together.
A truck passes on the highway. They sigh, breathing the same air, and Dean presses in for another kiss, muttering "Sam," against his brother's mouth. The rain begins to slow, and Sam smiles.
The room is cooler when they go back in, the air still heavy with moisture, but bearable. They're wet, feet muddy from standing out in the parking lot, and they slip out of their soaked underwear and into the other bed, sheets neat and mostly dry, covering blanket thrown off onto the floor. They don't touch, keeping to their own sides as best they can, still too hot. Everything smells like rain.
Author: D. (namegoeshere)
Rating: NC17.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Wordcount: 1320.
Warnings: Shameless abuse of scenery and porn.
Summary: It's too fucking hot for this.
A/N: My spn_50states fic! Posted at last! Huge, big, massive thank you to ellipsisblack for the beta on this piece! :)
†
Quiet. Clouds coming in over the valley, heavy with late afternoon rain. Air thick with the humidity and sticky heat. They've been here a week, hunting ghosts in the civil war graveyards, digging up old bones from the moist Virginia earth.
Everything in their motel is damp: their clothes and the sheets on the bed. The air conditioner rattles in the window, offering no real relief from the heat. Sam is stretched out on his bed, clothes in a pile on the floor, his skin flushed pink and shiny from sweat. The only thing to do is wait for the rain.
Dean paces the motel room in his jockeys, pausing every few minutes to fiddle with the dials on the broken window unit, distracted by the miles of Sam's bare skin, his flaccid cock between his legs. It's too hot for it, but that pained, aching heat settles low in his stomach until he feels his whole body flushing with want.
He leaves his boxers on the floor, settling on the edge of Sam's bed, the old mattress creaking beneath his added weight.
Sam looks up at him, eyes heavy-lidded and glazed.
"It's too hot," he murmurs, doesn't even reach up to push Dean away. It's too hot to move, too hot to fuck. But it doesn't stop Dean from leaning in to brush his mouth lightly over Sam's. "Don't."
"I need it," he whispers, voice low and rough. "C'mon, Sammy. Been staring at you for the last hour." He reaches down, hand ghosting over Sam's thigh, hovering over his cock.
"Dean, no," Sam murmurs, but he leans up to kiss, their lips sliding wetly together. He hardens beneath Dean's hand, whimpering as his skin flushes even more deeply red, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fuck. Look what you did."
"Your own fault."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah." He pushes Sam onto his back, the sheet peeling slowly away from his sticky skin. Dean presses kisses, wet and sloppy, against Sam's neck. He's salty and sweet, skin smooth except for the familiar scars beneath Dean's mouth. It's lethargic, slow, and he runs his fingers over Sam's spine, feels his brother shift, his thighs spreading. "Yeah," he whispers again, nipping at Sam's neck, listening to his brother moan.
Beneath him, Sam presses himself against the mattress, groaning soft into the pillow. Then he goes still. Dean aches with need, hand sliding between his brother's legs, feeling the tight, soft skin of his balls.
"Jesus," Sam prays quietly, and Dean spreads him wide. "Fuck."
Dean's mouth feels cottony, his tongue too thick to form words. He groans into Sam's damp hair, breathing in the bitter scent of sweat. Sam is lax, open, loose, muttering something against the sheets. He gasps, digs fingers into the dampened sheets, moans Dean's name, presses back against him as Dean pushes in. He's wide, slick with sweat and lube, hot. Dean's feverish, almost sick with the feeling as Sam takes him in, pushes lazily back, groaning low and so fucking sweet.
Outside, it starts to rain. Slow at first, but the air already feels cooler.
Dean feels warmer, impossibly hot. Sam reaches back, curling one hand around the back of Dean's thigh, long fingers brushing against the crease of his ass. Dean presses in deeper, fucking him slow and easy, quiet except for their ragged breaths. The kisses he trails over Sam's shoulders are open-mouthed, too much spit against his skin. He feels dizzy, lost in the motion, in the push and slide of their bodies and the texture of the bleached cotton sheets beneath them, and skin. Sam's skin, hot and damp and sweet under his lips, shifting with each of Sam's small movements as he thrusts shallowly into the mattress.
"Dean," Sam whispers, and then he goes still, limp under Dean. He doesn't move, although his hand stays on Dean's leg, still squeezing lightly. He moans quietly as Dean thrusts in, but it's different, softer.
In the distance, there’s thunder.
He thrusts slowly. Sam is still, doesn't push back against him, just murmurs, "S'okay, don't stop." He's utterly spent, muttering encouragement as Dean gasps, groans, pushes in deeper.
"Please," Dean begs, nipping at Sam's ear, and Sam twitches beneath him, a slight push back against Dean.
Sam turns his head, looking up at Dean from the corner of his eye. Dean can see his younger brother's quiet smile, his lips forming the word he breathes out slow into the air that is thick with humidity, with the smells of sweat and Sam's come, "C'mon." Quiet encouragement, a slight clench around Dean's cock as his hips jerk, and then everything goes hazy and bright. His breath is hot against Sam's neck for the few, brief seconds before he peels himself off his brother's back.
"Sorry," Dean whispers, and Sam props himself up, grinning briefly at Dean before looking out the window.
Sam doesn't tease him, instead states the obvious. "Rain," he says. "It's about time."
Dean rolls out of bed, tosses Sam's dirty briefs at him before finding his discarded jockeys and slipping them on. He leaves the door wide open when he goes outside, stepping out from under the deck of the floor above them, into the gravel parking lot where the skies have split open. Sam hovers back for a second, just watching, and then follows. The rain is cool, wet, cleansing. Dean is already soaked, hair plastered against his face, his forehead. There's lightning over the valley, sky dark with clouds that will pass as soon as the rain is ended. Sam's white briefs are soaked-through and translucent, and Dean smirks, appreciating the view.
There is nobody else out here, tiny motel on the edge of a nowhere small town in rural Virginia. Dean turns, pulls Sam closes, catches his mouth in a quick kiss. "Should have waited for the rain," he murmurs. "Fucked out here."
Sam laughs, bites at Dean's mouth before pulling away. "Pervert," he says. But he leans into Dean's side, yawning as the rain makes puddles in the muddy gravel. They both look east and west, out at the mountains on either side of them.
Dean tilts his head up to the sky, opens his mouth to let the rain fall on his tongue, quenching his thirst. Sam reaches for his face, pulls his lips down, and Dean's mouth is cool as Sam's hot tongue thrusts past his lips. They kiss, Dean's fingers setting on Sam's hips, squeezing lightly. Another rumble of thunder in the distance and they pull apart, panting. "You know," Sam murmurs, not pulling away, resting his cheek against Dean's shoulder, "this probably isn't the greatest idea ever."
"Hm?"
Sam chuckles low, nipping teasingly at Dean's neck before pressing a kiss to the same spot. He reminds Dean, voice soft, "Rural Virginia's not exactly progressive."
A quiet sigh against Sam's ear, murmuring, "Oh." He starts to move his hands. "Yeah. You wanna go back in?"
Sam shakes his head, a slight movement before his mouth finds Dean's throat, and he slings his arms around Dean's waist. "Maybe in a couple minutes."
Dean gives in easily, tilts his head down to press his mouth to the corner of Sam's lips, and then they're kissing again, still sated and warm, tongues warm and slick together.
A truck passes on the highway. They sigh, breathing the same air, and Dean presses in for another kiss, muttering "Sam," against his brother's mouth. The rain begins to slow, and Sam smiles.
The room is cooler when they go back in, the air still heavy with moisture, but bearable. They're wet, feet muddy from standing out in the parking lot, and they slip out of their soaked underwear and into the other bed, sheets neat and mostly dry, covering blanket thrown off onto the floor. They don't touch, keeping to their own sides as best they can, still too hot. Everything smells like rain.