Supernatural fic: "Freak" (3/3) (Sam/Dean, R)
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Freak (3/3)
Author: arby_m
Pairing: Sam/Dean slash
Rating: R (incest)
Spoilers: AU for Skin.
Warnings: Just Wincest. Sorry, the smut I was hoping for didn't materialize. It just didn't seem to fit, and I didn't want to force it. I have another story I think is almost ready to post that is pure PWP though.
Length: ~850 words
Disclaimer: I have no claim upon these characters.
Summary: Surely this was the very definition of a bad idea. Didn’t Sam know that the universe never allowed Dean to feel this good?
Note: Sequel to Darkness, so I recommend you read that one first ( here). Ch 1 is here, Ch 2 is here.
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Dean felt like he’d been hit by lightning. Every hair on his body stood up as if electrified. He groaned into Sam’s mouth helplessly. How could this possibly be okay? Didn’t Sam know that the universe never allowed him to feel this good?
It was like that endless period of time between being drunk enough to do anything guilt-free and too drunk to realize what was going on. Dean would have done anything Sam asked - take ecstasy, streak through a gay bar, give Dad what-for, walk through fire naked with olives up his nose - you name it, he’d have done it without a second thought. Of course under normal circumstances (when he’s not sticking his tongue down my throat, Dean’s helpful brain amended) Dean would do anything for Sam, but he usually drew the line at public nudity. Usually. Exceptions could be made for life or death situations, of course.
Sam’s eyes were fluttering; Dean could feel those ridiculously long lashes tickling his cheek. His heart was pounding fit to burst; he was almost hyperventilating. Surely this was the very definition of a bad idea.
He drew back, panting, grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it on his chest.
“Look what you’re doing to me. I swear to God, Sammy, this is so wrong.”
Sam just smiled. It was like looking into the sun. Dean stared at him. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lips pink, he looked like a kid again. But Dean hadn’t seen Sammy smile like that, ever. It was part cat-ate-the-canary and part Mona Lisa. And if that wasn’t the gayest thought that had ever run through Dean’s head, he didn’t want to know what was.
“You said it yourself, Dean - we’re not normal, and never have been. So why would this be any different?” And the hand on Dean’s chest moved gently, slipping open a button on his shirt.
Dean tried very hard not to show that he was totally freaking out inside. But Sam saw right through his act, as always.
“It’s okay. We can go slow.” If Sam so much as thought about laughing, Dean would kill him.
“Have you ever…”
“Done this before?” Dean nodded. “Yeah, once. Freshman year.”
Dean didn’t know what to say to that, torn between wanting to kick the guy’s ass and amazement that Sammy, of all people, knew something he didn’t in the sex department.
Now Sam did laugh out loud at the look on Dean’s face, yet somehow Dean let him live.
“No need to go all mama-bear on me, it was completely consensual. And not that serious anyway. More of a fling, really.”
Finally Dean found his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with Sammy?”
Sam just looked at him. The afterglow of that smile still lingered in his eyes. Dean felt something wound tight inside him gradually relaxing as he let himself believe that this… thing, whatever it was, seemed to make Sam - happy? He almost didn’t recognize the look. It was like the way Sam’d been at Stanford, from what Dean’d seen anyway, or how he acted when one of his friends called. As long as it’s not bad news, he amended, remembering what’s her face, Rebecca, the blondie. Dean tried to separate himself from the fear that automatically welled up in him at the thought of Sam away from him (you got friends, you could have a life) and focus on the now. Obviously Dean was doing something right. He glanced over at Sam again, uncharacteristically silent, who looked serene, like they had all the time in the world.
Dean smiled at him, tentative, feeling like a total girl. That blinding grin came back, and the look in Sam’s eyes was so warm, Dean could feel it melting something that had been frozen in him for a very long time. He looked, and let himself feel the longing that had been buried shameful wrong, because looking led to longing led to touching, which had never been okay before.
* * * * *
Sam watched as Dean did the math over and over again and somehow kept coming up with the wrong answer. It was okay, no need to worry. He remembered times when, after pulling an all-nighter studying, he’d taken a test the next morning shivering and lightheaded, a raw jitter of nerves glued together with No-Doz and Dr. Pepper, then staggered back to his room to crash during the free period before his next class. That feeling, when he finally got to lie down for the first time in hours upon hours, of being swaddled in a downy, drowsing blanket of relief from pain, of coming in from the cold having almost forgotten what warmth felt like, that delicious sensation of tingling velvety goodness bathed in serotonin telling him everything’s okay, you’re safe now, you’ve made it through the worst - that was the feeling he had now. Dean could take his time, all the time he needed. Sammy wasn’t going anywhere.
Title: Freak (3/3)
Author: arby_m
Pairing: Sam/Dean slash
Rating: R (incest)
Spoilers: AU for Skin.
Warnings: Just Wincest. Sorry, the smut I was hoping for didn't materialize. It just didn't seem to fit, and I didn't want to force it. I have another story I think is almost ready to post that is pure PWP though.
Length: ~850 words
Disclaimer: I have no claim upon these characters.
Summary: Surely this was the very definition of a bad idea. Didn’t Sam know that the universe never allowed Dean to feel this good?
Note: Sequel to Darkness, so I recommend you read that one first ( here). Ch 1 is here, Ch 2 is here.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dean felt like he’d been hit by lightning. Every hair on his body stood up as if electrified. He groaned into Sam’s mouth helplessly. How could this possibly be okay? Didn’t Sam know that the universe never allowed him to feel this good?
It was like that endless period of time between being drunk enough to do anything guilt-free and too drunk to realize what was going on. Dean would have done anything Sam asked - take ecstasy, streak through a gay bar, give Dad what-for, walk through fire naked with olives up his nose - you name it, he’d have done it without a second thought. Of course under normal circumstances (when he’s not sticking his tongue down my throat, Dean’s helpful brain amended) Dean would do anything for Sam, but he usually drew the line at public nudity. Usually. Exceptions could be made for life or death situations, of course.
Sam’s eyes were fluttering; Dean could feel those ridiculously long lashes tickling his cheek. His heart was pounding fit to burst; he was almost hyperventilating. Surely this was the very definition of a bad idea.
He drew back, panting, grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it on his chest.
“Look what you’re doing to me. I swear to God, Sammy, this is so wrong.”
Sam just smiled. It was like looking into the sun. Dean stared at him. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lips pink, he looked like a kid again. But Dean hadn’t seen Sammy smile like that, ever. It was part cat-ate-the-canary and part Mona Lisa. And if that wasn’t the gayest thought that had ever run through Dean’s head, he didn’t want to know what was.
“You said it yourself, Dean - we’re not normal, and never have been. So why would this be any different?” And the hand on Dean’s chest moved gently, slipping open a button on his shirt.
Dean tried very hard not to show that he was totally freaking out inside. But Sam saw right through his act, as always.
“It’s okay. We can go slow.” If Sam so much as thought about laughing, Dean would kill him.
“Have you ever…”
“Done this before?” Dean nodded. “Yeah, once. Freshman year.”
Dean didn’t know what to say to that, torn between wanting to kick the guy’s ass and amazement that Sammy, of all people, knew something he didn’t in the sex department.
Now Sam did laugh out loud at the look on Dean’s face, yet somehow Dean let him live.
“No need to go all mama-bear on me, it was completely consensual. And not that serious anyway. More of a fling, really.”
Finally Dean found his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with Sammy?”
Sam just looked at him. The afterglow of that smile still lingered in his eyes. Dean felt something wound tight inside him gradually relaxing as he let himself believe that this… thing, whatever it was, seemed to make Sam - happy? He almost didn’t recognize the look. It was like the way Sam’d been at Stanford, from what Dean’d seen anyway, or how he acted when one of his friends called. As long as it’s not bad news, he amended, remembering what’s her face, Rebecca, the blondie. Dean tried to separate himself from the fear that automatically welled up in him at the thought of Sam away from him (you got friends, you could have a life) and focus on the now. Obviously Dean was doing something right. He glanced over at Sam again, uncharacteristically silent, who looked serene, like they had all the time in the world.
Dean smiled at him, tentative, feeling like a total girl. That blinding grin came back, and the look in Sam’s eyes was so warm, Dean could feel it melting something that had been frozen in him for a very long time. He looked, and let himself feel the longing that had been buried shameful wrong, because looking led to longing led to touching, which had never been okay before.
* * * * *
Sam watched as Dean did the math over and over again and somehow kept coming up with the wrong answer. It was okay, no need to worry. He remembered times when, after pulling an all-nighter studying, he’d taken a test the next morning shivering and lightheaded, a raw jitter of nerves glued together with No-Doz and Dr. Pepper, then staggered back to his room to crash during the free period before his next class. That feeling, when he finally got to lie down for the first time in hours upon hours, of being swaddled in a downy, drowsing blanket of relief from pain, of coming in from the cold having almost forgotten what warmth felt like, that delicious sensation of tingling velvety goodness bathed in serotonin telling him everything’s okay, you’re safe now, you’ve made it through the worst - that was the feeling he had now. Dean could take his time, all the time he needed. Sammy wasn’t going anywhere.