Fic: Like Nothing's Wrong (Sam/Dean NC-17)
Title: Like Nothing’s Wrong
Author:
aynslee
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,926
Warnings: Wincest
Summary: Picks up right after We Keep Driving, where Dean had recurring nightmares about Sam being attacked. (This is mostly a PWP, so you can probably read it without having read the earlier fic).
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters; no profit is being made.
Spoilers: Post AHBL.
Beta: Thanks so much to
petiii!
Notes: This is dedicated to
leighm , who’s had a rough time of it lately, and who likes take-charge!Sam, angst, and porn.
Title from Lift, by Poets of the Fall
Like Nothing’s Wrong
The next day, they spend fourteen hours in the church. Sam squints at the details in the mural's chipped paint from every possible angle, while Dean makes detailed notes about the gashes in the tree.
After it gets dark, they head back to the motel and Sam showers first, then Dean, and he’s too tired to do more than run his hand over Sam’s back before he sprawls onto the other bed. He falls asleep, but there are no dreams, just blackness until Dean wakes up to find Sam’s face right next to his.
Dean blinks as his brother slides to his knees beside the bed, his hands wrapping around the edge of the mattress.
“Dean, next year, you…” Sam’s voice cracks. “You won’t even be thirty.”
Dean’s been waiting for this-after last night, it was only a matter of time before Sam freaked out. “And you’re only twenty-four, Sam.” Dean sighs, but he’s not irritated. “You have to quit dwelling on it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry-I shouldn’t keep hounding you,” Sam whispers, his voice choking on the words as he lets out a sob. “I just hate it. I fucking hate it.”
“I know, I know.” Dean rubs his hands over Sam’s face, feeling hot tears on his cheeks. “Shhh.”
Sam ducks his head and pulls away, wiping his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt, drags his arm across his cheek, smearing tears and sweat. Dean reaches for him again, but Sam gets up and crosses the room. He braces his arms against the wall, letting his head dip forward, forehead touching the wall.
Dean watches his brother’s back, the muscles moving under his thin shirt as Sam gulps in a breath of air. Dean sighs again and pushes himself up until he’s sitting, dragging himself off the bed, walking slowly toward Sam. He wraps his hand around Sam’s shoulder firmly. “C’mon. It’s okay.”
“‘S not okay,” Sam mutters, but he lets Dean take his arm and turn him around until his back is lined up with rough gray plaster, lets Dean press his lips against Sam’s.
Sam opens his mouth, smooth and relaxed, tasting like the butterscotch candy he ate before bed, and Dean inhales the sweet scent as he presses his mouth to Sam’s. “It’ll be alright. Just… Just don’t think about it right now.”
“Okay,” Sam agrees, quietly, opening his mouth and kissing back. Sam flattens himself against the wall, and Dean leans into him. Sam’s already hard, and Dean’s getting there, now that Sam’s calm.
Dean’s just about to guide Sam back to the bed when his brother grabs his shoulders and shoves Dean back against the wall, his head banging against the gray paint.
“I know you wanna take your time, but I don’t do slow and easy,” Sam says, pushing his mouth against Dean’s, biting his lower lip, licking in while he curls his fists into Dean’s shirt. He spins them around, dragging Dean to the bed.
“No?” Dean pulls a smirk to cover up the way his voice chokes.
He’s a little shocked-his brother’s always looked so fucking hesitant with girls. Hesitant, and innocent too-halfway between tongue tied and awkward, at least as far as Dean knew. So when Sam throws him on the bed and lands on top of him, his entire body covering Dean’s, it’s all Dean can do not to keep staring at Sam’s eyes, making sure they’re not black.
“No. The other night-that was for you. But this is me,” Sam says. “This is how I am.”
And Dean can’t stop the way his eyes widen when Sam yanks his own shirt and pajama pants off-the look of pure intensity on Sam’s face makes Dean as hard as he’s ever been.
“Like that?” Sam whispers against his ear, his voice a low moan as he strips Dean’s pajama pants off first, then goes for his shirt.
“Yeah,” Dean answers, lifting his arms to help, “I do.”
“Good,” Sam says, flinging Dean’s shirt across the room.
Dean stretches out on the bed, watching Sam dig the lube out of the nightstand, watching him step toward the bed until he’s on top of Dean again, biting all over-Dean’s chest, his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, his ear.
“Just can’t wait for me, huh?” Dean asks, trying to sound playful, but Sam doesn’t answer. Instead Sam shifts to another angle, letting his cock, already wet with precome, slide across Dean’s stomach.
“Fuck,” Dean says, speaking into Sam’s mouth when his brother leans down, pressing his lips over Dean’s.
“Soon.” Sam’s voice is deep and rich, without humor. He backs away again, looking around the room, and grabs Dean’s pajama pants from where they’d landed. Dean stares at the familiar Guinness emblem, a clover printed right across the crotch, the pants a loan from some random girl Dean had gone home with years ago.
“These’ll come in handy,” Sam breathes, looping the pants around Dean’s wrists and tying them to the bedpost.
Dean exhales. He hasn’t been tied up in years-and even then it was by a delicate girl who climbed on his lap and rode him while his hands were tied to a chair, so yeah, totally different league here. But he doesn’t want Sam to think he’s too much of a pussy to handle this, so he raises an eyebrow. “Kinky too?”
“You have no idea.”
“Looks like I’m gonna find out,” Dean pants, breathing hard already, pushing up into Sam as he leans over Dean to finish tying off the pajamas. Dean arches, feeling Sam’s bony hips press into his skin, enjoying Sam’s weight on top of him.
Sam responds with a moan, meeting Dean’s body with his own before pulling back. He props himself up on an elbow and gestures vaguely toward the lube lying on the bed. “You done this before?”
Dean tries to roll toward Sam, but the pajamas pull tight, making the rickety bed frame creak and groan. “Not from this end.”
“Last chance to back out.”
“No fucking way.”
Sam nods, and then he’s back on top of Dean, already grabbing the lube and coating his fingers.
So Sam’s not so much for foreplay. Dean can go with that. Then Sam’s right in his face, heavy and strong, and Dean feels a little suffocated, but it’s in a good way, and he wants this.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Sam says quietly, and then he moves on, swirling his tongue against Dean’s pulse, hard, pushing against the skin, then sinking his teeth into Dean’s neck. Sam bites hard, his teeth making imprints in the flesh, just as he puts the first finger in.
It’s not terrible, but it’s not great either, and Dean jerks without meaning to, flinching slightly and yanking at the soft fabric. “Relax,” Sam says, and Dean blows his breath out, closes his eyes, focuses. He can do this.
Sam keeps going, thank god, not stopping to fret, and adds another finger. He leaves them still for a bit, licking and kissing all over Dean’s mouth and cheeks, and Dean lifts his head, leaning up into Sam’s mouth, wanting more. Sam finally starts to move his fingers, slowly, in and out, and when Dean’s comfortable, muscles pliant and easy, Sam moves his mouth down and licks Dean’s nipple, letting his tongue flirt across.
Dean jerks again, in shock, and in pleasure, and a smile touches Sam’s face, briefly. Sam goes for the other nipple, teasing with his tongue until Dean’s moans get closer together, the hand inside of him hitting the right spot. The feeling prickles and spreads, shooting up to Dean’s head, and he shudders, eyes opening wide. Sam moves back up then, with another small smile, kissing Dean on the lips.
“Condom?” Dean asks when Sam pulls his hand away and starts to push inside with his cock.
“Dean. You were going to let me turn you into a zombie, among other things-I think we’re a little beyond condoms.”
Dean gives a half shrug, but doesn’t protest-if Sam doesn’t want to use a condom, that’s fine with him. Dean closes his eyes, letting the sensation of the sting wash over him. It’s uncomfortable, but nothing terrible, and if Sam took it last night, then he can be a man and take it too.
Sam raises his arms and wraps his fingers around Dean’s wrists where the fabric of the pajamas is tied, stretching his body along Dean’s. “Been thinking about this since last night,” he says, his voice low as he grips Dean’s wrists tighter.
“Yeah?” Dean breathes in deeply as Sam continues to push all the way in. There’s a prickling sense of pain, of being pulled, but Dean blows his breath out and it subsides until there’s only the feeling of Sam.
Sam on top of him, Sam inside of him.
“Yeah.” Sam’s holding still, waiting, nipping at Dean’s ear. “Wanted to fuck you. Wanted to make you come.”
“Jesus.” Dean rocks up against Sam, ignoring the slight burn. “Move.”
Sam bites down on his own lip, raising up and looking at Dean as he thrusts for the first time. “Been thinking it about it every minute for the last twenty-four hours.”
Dean moans at Sam’s first inward push, at the fullness and the scraping of skin against skin, and Dean makes a discovery, one other than that he’s hot for his brother.
Dean’s found that he likes this-the tension, the terse exchange of words, and everything that comes with this side of Sam. He wants to drive him faster, push him more, with his body, with his words. He’s always spoken in bed, but it was meaningless whispers of, ‘you’re fucking beautiful,’ and ‘I love the way you lose control’-nothing real, nothing tangible and raw like the words he says now.
“Should have done it last night. Should have tied me up and fucked me then.”
“Didn’t know you’d let me.” Sam gets the sentence out, but just barely, his words broken up by moans.
And Dean’s discovered something else. He likes being fucked. He likes it. “Now you know.”
“Yeah,” Sam says, still holding back, still moving with restraint. “Fuck.”
“Harder, Sam. Give me what you’ve got.”
Sam jerks his head, flinging his bangs out of his eyes. His jaw tightens, and he moves to graze his lips over Dean’s, not kissing, just hovering as he increases the speed of his thrusts.
Dean tenses, so close, and the crappy-fitting sheet pops off the edge of the bed, just like the one before it last night. He feels the muscles in his back tighten, the wrinkled sheet damp against his skin as he strains, arms pulling at the ties, bucking up off the bed to meet Sam. Sam gasps, and his thrusts stutter, and Dean watches his face-the way Sam’s eyes squeeze closed, the way his lips press tight as he comes, fast and warm inside of Dean.
The sight of Sam’s face alone-so intense and then quickly slack- is enough to make Dean come, and he does, collapsing flat onto the mattress, letting his head fall back.
Sam reaches up and unties the pajama pants, burrowing into Dean’s side. “I’m not gonna bring it up again, Dean. I promise. But I’m not going to stop working at it, not for a second,” he murmurs.
Dean flexes his arms and wrists, feeling the numbness subside. He nudges Sam, pulling him up until his head’s resting in the dip of Dean’s shoulder, and he smiles at Sam’s promise, kissing the top of his head.
Author:
aynslee
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,926
Warnings: Wincest
Summary: Picks up right after We Keep Driving, where Dean had recurring nightmares about Sam being attacked. (This is mostly a PWP, so you can probably read it without having read the earlier fic).
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters; no profit is being made.
Spoilers: Post AHBL.
Beta: Thanks so much to
petiii!
Notes: This is dedicated to
leighm , who’s had a rough time of it lately, and who likes take-charge!Sam, angst, and porn.
Title from Lift, by Poets of the Fall
Like Nothing’s Wrong
The next day, they spend fourteen hours in the church. Sam squints at the details in the mural's chipped paint from every possible angle, while Dean makes detailed notes about the gashes in the tree.
After it gets dark, they head back to the motel and Sam showers first, then Dean, and he’s too tired to do more than run his hand over Sam’s back before he sprawls onto the other bed. He falls asleep, but there are no dreams, just blackness until Dean wakes up to find Sam’s face right next to his.
Dean blinks as his brother slides to his knees beside the bed, his hands wrapping around the edge of the mattress.
“Dean, next year, you…” Sam’s voice cracks. “You won’t even be thirty.”
Dean’s been waiting for this-after last night, it was only a matter of time before Sam freaked out. “And you’re only twenty-four, Sam.” Dean sighs, but he’s not irritated. “You have to quit dwelling on it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry-I shouldn’t keep hounding you,” Sam whispers, his voice choking on the words as he lets out a sob. “I just hate it. I fucking hate it.”
“I know, I know.” Dean rubs his hands over Sam’s face, feeling hot tears on his cheeks. “Shhh.”
Sam ducks his head and pulls away, wiping his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt, drags his arm across his cheek, smearing tears and sweat. Dean reaches for him again, but Sam gets up and crosses the room. He braces his arms against the wall, letting his head dip forward, forehead touching the wall.
Dean watches his brother’s back, the muscles moving under his thin shirt as Sam gulps in a breath of air. Dean sighs again and pushes himself up until he’s sitting, dragging himself off the bed, walking slowly toward Sam. He wraps his hand around Sam’s shoulder firmly. “C’mon. It’s okay.”
“‘S not okay,” Sam mutters, but he lets Dean take his arm and turn him around until his back is lined up with rough gray plaster, lets Dean press his lips against Sam’s.
Sam opens his mouth, smooth and relaxed, tasting like the butterscotch candy he ate before bed, and Dean inhales the sweet scent as he presses his mouth to Sam’s. “It’ll be alright. Just… Just don’t think about it right now.”
“Okay,” Sam agrees, quietly, opening his mouth and kissing back. Sam flattens himself against the wall, and Dean leans into him. Sam’s already hard, and Dean’s getting there, now that Sam’s calm.
Dean’s just about to guide Sam back to the bed when his brother grabs his shoulders and shoves Dean back against the wall, his head banging against the gray paint.
“I know you wanna take your time, but I don’t do slow and easy,” Sam says, pushing his mouth against Dean’s, biting his lower lip, licking in while he curls his fists into Dean’s shirt. He spins them around, dragging Dean to the bed.
“No?” Dean pulls a smirk to cover up the way his voice chokes.
He’s a little shocked-his brother’s always looked so fucking hesitant with girls. Hesitant, and innocent too-halfway between tongue tied and awkward, at least as far as Dean knew. So when Sam throws him on the bed and lands on top of him, his entire body covering Dean’s, it’s all Dean can do not to keep staring at Sam’s eyes, making sure they’re not black.
“No. The other night-that was for you. But this is me,” Sam says. “This is how I am.”
And Dean can’t stop the way his eyes widen when Sam yanks his own shirt and pajama pants off-the look of pure intensity on Sam’s face makes Dean as hard as he’s ever been.
“Like that?” Sam whispers against his ear, his voice a low moan as he strips Dean’s pajama pants off first, then goes for his shirt.
“Yeah,” Dean answers, lifting his arms to help, “I do.”
“Good,” Sam says, flinging Dean’s shirt across the room.
Dean stretches out on the bed, watching Sam dig the lube out of the nightstand, watching him step toward the bed until he’s on top of Dean again, biting all over-Dean’s chest, his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, his ear.
“Just can’t wait for me, huh?” Dean asks, trying to sound playful, but Sam doesn’t answer. Instead Sam shifts to another angle, letting his cock, already wet with precome, slide across Dean’s stomach.
“Fuck,” Dean says, speaking into Sam’s mouth when his brother leans down, pressing his lips over Dean’s.
“Soon.” Sam’s voice is deep and rich, without humor. He backs away again, looking around the room, and grabs Dean’s pajama pants from where they’d landed. Dean stares at the familiar Guinness emblem, a clover printed right across the crotch, the pants a loan from some random girl Dean had gone home with years ago.
“These’ll come in handy,” Sam breathes, looping the pants around Dean’s wrists and tying them to the bedpost.
Dean exhales. He hasn’t been tied up in years-and even then it was by a delicate girl who climbed on his lap and rode him while his hands were tied to a chair, so yeah, totally different league here. But he doesn’t want Sam to think he’s too much of a pussy to handle this, so he raises an eyebrow. “Kinky too?”
“You have no idea.”
“Looks like I’m gonna find out,” Dean pants, breathing hard already, pushing up into Sam as he leans over Dean to finish tying off the pajamas. Dean arches, feeling Sam’s bony hips press into his skin, enjoying Sam’s weight on top of him.
Sam responds with a moan, meeting Dean’s body with his own before pulling back. He props himself up on an elbow and gestures vaguely toward the lube lying on the bed. “You done this before?”
Dean tries to roll toward Sam, but the pajamas pull tight, making the rickety bed frame creak and groan. “Not from this end.”
“Last chance to back out.”
“No fucking way.”
Sam nods, and then he’s back on top of Dean, already grabbing the lube and coating his fingers.
So Sam’s not so much for foreplay. Dean can go with that. Then Sam’s right in his face, heavy and strong, and Dean feels a little suffocated, but it’s in a good way, and he wants this.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Sam says quietly, and then he moves on, swirling his tongue against Dean’s pulse, hard, pushing against the skin, then sinking his teeth into Dean’s neck. Sam bites hard, his teeth making imprints in the flesh, just as he puts the first finger in.
It’s not terrible, but it’s not great either, and Dean jerks without meaning to, flinching slightly and yanking at the soft fabric. “Relax,” Sam says, and Dean blows his breath out, closes his eyes, focuses. He can do this.
Sam keeps going, thank god, not stopping to fret, and adds another finger. He leaves them still for a bit, licking and kissing all over Dean’s mouth and cheeks, and Dean lifts his head, leaning up into Sam’s mouth, wanting more. Sam finally starts to move his fingers, slowly, in and out, and when Dean’s comfortable, muscles pliant and easy, Sam moves his mouth down and licks Dean’s nipple, letting his tongue flirt across.
Dean jerks again, in shock, and in pleasure, and a smile touches Sam’s face, briefly. Sam goes for the other nipple, teasing with his tongue until Dean’s moans get closer together, the hand inside of him hitting the right spot. The feeling prickles and spreads, shooting up to Dean’s head, and he shudders, eyes opening wide. Sam moves back up then, with another small smile, kissing Dean on the lips.
“Condom?” Dean asks when Sam pulls his hand away and starts to push inside with his cock.
“Dean. You were going to let me turn you into a zombie, among other things-I think we’re a little beyond condoms.”
Dean gives a half shrug, but doesn’t protest-if Sam doesn’t want to use a condom, that’s fine with him. Dean closes his eyes, letting the sensation of the sting wash over him. It’s uncomfortable, but nothing terrible, and if Sam took it last night, then he can be a man and take it too.
Sam raises his arms and wraps his fingers around Dean’s wrists where the fabric of the pajamas is tied, stretching his body along Dean’s. “Been thinking about this since last night,” he says, his voice low as he grips Dean’s wrists tighter.
“Yeah?” Dean breathes in deeply as Sam continues to push all the way in. There’s a prickling sense of pain, of being pulled, but Dean blows his breath out and it subsides until there’s only the feeling of Sam.
Sam on top of him, Sam inside of him.
“Yeah.” Sam’s holding still, waiting, nipping at Dean’s ear. “Wanted to fuck you. Wanted to make you come.”
“Jesus.” Dean rocks up against Sam, ignoring the slight burn. “Move.”
Sam bites down on his own lip, raising up and looking at Dean as he thrusts for the first time. “Been thinking it about it every minute for the last twenty-four hours.”
Dean moans at Sam’s first inward push, at the fullness and the scraping of skin against skin, and Dean makes a discovery, one other than that he’s hot for his brother.
Dean’s found that he likes this-the tension, the terse exchange of words, and everything that comes with this side of Sam. He wants to drive him faster, push him more, with his body, with his words. He’s always spoken in bed, but it was meaningless whispers of, ‘you’re fucking beautiful,’ and ‘I love the way you lose control’-nothing real, nothing tangible and raw like the words he says now.
“Should have done it last night. Should have tied me up and fucked me then.”
“Didn’t know you’d let me.” Sam gets the sentence out, but just barely, his words broken up by moans.
And Dean’s discovered something else. He likes being fucked. He likes it. “Now you know.”
“Yeah,” Sam says, still holding back, still moving with restraint. “Fuck.”
“Harder, Sam. Give me what you’ve got.”
Sam jerks his head, flinging his bangs out of his eyes. His jaw tightens, and he moves to graze his lips over Dean’s, not kissing, just hovering as he increases the speed of his thrusts.
Dean tenses, so close, and the crappy-fitting sheet pops off the edge of the bed, just like the one before it last night. He feels the muscles in his back tighten, the wrinkled sheet damp against his skin as he strains, arms pulling at the ties, bucking up off the bed to meet Sam. Sam gasps, and his thrusts stutter, and Dean watches his face-the way Sam’s eyes squeeze closed, the way his lips press tight as he comes, fast and warm inside of Dean.
The sight of Sam’s face alone-so intense and then quickly slack- is enough to make Dean come, and he does, collapsing flat onto the mattress, letting his head fall back.
Sam reaches up and unties the pajama pants, burrowing into Dean’s side. “I’m not gonna bring it up again, Dean. I promise. But I’m not going to stop working at it, not for a second,” he murmurs.
Dean flexes his arms and wrists, feeling the numbness subside. He nudges Sam, pulling him up until his head’s resting in the dip of Dean’s shoulder, and he smiles at Sam’s promise, kissing the top of his head.