Fic: Feel what it's like to be new (SPN, Sam/Dean, NC-17)
So I wrote 90% of this as chat porn for Lucy on Wednesday, when we were flailing around about Sam and Dean and their epic love and how at some point this season there needs to be some kind of resolution to Sam's plotline that leads to desperate, amazing sex (well, maybe not in canon, but IN OUR HEARTS). This is NOT a coda to this week's episode, and it doesn't contain spoilers for this week because I wrote it on Wednesday, but it is ~thematically appropriate, I feel.
Title: Feel what it's like to be new
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Where soul meets body...
Warnings: incest, unbetaed
Notes: Based on elizah_jane's hairlesscat!Sam theory and other speculation from Wincon. Title and summary from "Soul Meets Body" by Death Cab for Cutie, which is one of the eerily appropriate songs Pandora played Lucy while I was writing this. 1175 words.
Sam is gasping and shaking on the floor, sweat slicking his shirt to his back as Dean finishes the ritual. He was probably being cocky, thinking he didn't need Bobby to help him bring Sam's soul back from wherever it's gone. And when Sam looks up, still with that not-quite-Sam calmness smoothed over his features, Dean's sure it didn't work. Then there's a crack like thunder, like breaking bone, and all the lights in the room go out, only the hazy glow from the parking lot left behind.
"Sam?" says Dean, taking one shuffling step forward into the darkness, heartbeat overwhelming in his ears.
Sam grabs his hand, and Dean startles. He thinks Sam's asking for a hand up, but then he pulls, and Dean overbalances, tumbles down into Sam's waiting arms.
He can't explain what the difference is, can't see Sam's face, can't smell anything but the ozone stink of fresh magic on Sam's skin, but he knows.
Sam pulls him in all close and tight, and Dean clings to the back of Sam's soaked shirt like he might rip right through the fabric.
"Sammy," he says, that little kid name, the version of Sam who's always been his.
"Yeah," Sam says, and in the dark his mouth finds Dean's like there was never any question where this was going.
Dean opens to it, winded and dizzy with gratitude and disbelief. Sam's tongue slicks into his mouth, and Sam's long fingers thread up around the back of Dean's head, holding him for the kiss, making him stay. Not that Dean wouldn't stay. This is everything he's wanted, Sam real and close and as whole as either of them ever will be.
Sam tips forward, leans until Dean has to fall back, his shoulders thudding on the stale motel carpet. And then Sam's on him, stretching out over him and kissing Dean with little desperate snags of teeth. All the coldness of the hollow calculating thing that had replaced his brother is gone.
Dean spreads his legs for the knee Sam slides between them, and his breath hitches when Sam's thigh rubs up against the sudden bulge of his dick. Sam's so solid, pinning Dean to the floor and kissing him, rutting up against him like he can't even wait. Dean's mouth opens on a sharp, helpless groan when Sam's lips move down the side of his neck, teeth finding the tensed muscle of his shoulder. Dean clutches at Sam's hair, holding him there, Sam's mouth bruising and hot on his skin.
Dean thinks about the mark Sam's leaving, blood pulled to the surface in the shape of Sam's mouth, real and tangible, Sam's tongue soothing the ache of it as he keeps moving.
He rips apart Dean's t-shirt trying to get at skin, and Dean helps him do it, shuddering into every press of Sam's mouth.
They fumble together, ripped seams all over and rug burn on Dean's shoulder blades, and Dean looks up through the gloom to meet Sam's eyes, full up with desperation that matches Dean's own.
When they’re skin to skin, it's better and worse, Dean clutching at Sam's sides, trying to hold him closer and keep kissing him and not come, not yet. He’s so close already, just touching, just smelling Sam’s sweat and feeling the press of Sam’s mouth all over his face and neck.
Sam's dick presses flush to Dean's, smearing wet between their bellies, and Dean reaches down a hand to test the weight of it, thick heat in his palm, huge like the rest of Sam. He strokes a few times, can't wrap both their dicks in one hand, but Sam's there to help him, twisting their fingers together, guiding.
Dean remembers all of this, the way his dick fits just right in the curve of Sam's hand, the web between Sam’s thumb and forefinger, the little noises Sam makes in his throat as he works them both. It's so good, but it's not enough, not when Sam's been so far away for so long. He spreads his legs wider, cants his hips up in a plea. "Shit, Sam, you have to."
Sam knows what he needs, lets go of Dean's dick to touch at the flexing heat of Dean's hole, dry and too tight. There's lube somewhere, but Sam doesn't even ask, just goes down between Dean's legs and pries inside with his tongue, slick heat opening Dean up, making him wet.
Sam's hands spread his thighs, push them up and out, and Dean goes loose and pliant for him. The noises Sam makes as he tongues at Dean's ass are obscene, slurping and groaning and gulping in deep breaths whenever he raises his head. His hair is hanging in his face, and Dean pushes it back so he can look at Sam, his desperate eyes and swollen mouth.
Sam finally feeds one long finger straight up Dean’s ass, and it's so easy, he's so easy, loose and wet for Sam inside him. Dean's shifts his hips, restless and ready for more, and Sam says his name on a low, wanting breath, easing out of him and then back in. "Dean, Jesus Christ."
Sam's three fingers deep when Dean breaks down and says, "Please," Sam's knuckles catching on the rim of his hole as he goes still.
"Please what?" Sam asks, pulling out and leaving Dean's slick hole empty and grasping. He pushes the fat head of his dick right up against it and waits for Dean to say the words.
"Please fuck me," Dean tells him, and then Sam's sliding into him, hot and full and deep, stretching him out and making room inside. Dean thought he was so ready, bucking on Sam's fingers, but he's not, the pull of Sam's dick in his ass making him gasp. Every time Sam sinks into him, he has to open for it again, Sam’s thick cock splitting him wide, and Dean arches into the pressure of it, wanting Sam closer all the time.
Their lips meet, catch, Sam breathing hot into Dean’s mouth, and Dean comes like that short minutes later, Sam over him and inside him and all around him. He’s trembling and too hot and he keeps losing track of kissing Sam in order to swear and urge him along. It’s been such a long time since they had this. It’s been such a long time since Dean could even look into his brother’s face and recognize what he saw there.
Sam holds himself deep when he comes, spilling thick and hot into Dean, and Dean drinks in every line of his face, Sam’s eyes pinched closed, his mouth open on a gasp.
“Love you so much,” Sam says, after, and it’s soft, confessional, utterly true. He mouths lazily along the ridge of Dean’s collarbone, their hands clutching tight together, so many points of connection.
“Love you, too, Sammy,” Dean replies.
All the fear doesn’t go away, or all the worry for what comes next, but right now Sam is Sam again, and that is more than enough.
♥ fin ♥
Title: Feel what it's like to be new
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Where soul meets body...
Warnings: incest, unbetaed
Notes: Based on elizah_jane's hairlesscat!Sam theory and other speculation from Wincon. Title and summary from "Soul Meets Body" by Death Cab for Cutie, which is one of the eerily appropriate songs Pandora played Lucy while I was writing this. 1175 words.
Sam is gasping and shaking on the floor, sweat slicking his shirt to his back as Dean finishes the ritual. He was probably being cocky, thinking he didn't need Bobby to help him bring Sam's soul back from wherever it's gone. And when Sam looks up, still with that not-quite-Sam calmness smoothed over his features, Dean's sure it didn't work. Then there's a crack like thunder, like breaking bone, and all the lights in the room go out, only the hazy glow from the parking lot left behind.
"Sam?" says Dean, taking one shuffling step forward into the darkness, heartbeat overwhelming in his ears.
Sam grabs his hand, and Dean startles. He thinks Sam's asking for a hand up, but then he pulls, and Dean overbalances, tumbles down into Sam's waiting arms.
He can't explain what the difference is, can't see Sam's face, can't smell anything but the ozone stink of fresh magic on Sam's skin, but he knows.
Sam pulls him in all close and tight, and Dean clings to the back of Sam's soaked shirt like he might rip right through the fabric.
"Sammy," he says, that little kid name, the version of Sam who's always been his.
"Yeah," Sam says, and in the dark his mouth finds Dean's like there was never any question where this was going.
Dean opens to it, winded and dizzy with gratitude and disbelief. Sam's tongue slicks into his mouth, and Sam's long fingers thread up around the back of Dean's head, holding him for the kiss, making him stay. Not that Dean wouldn't stay. This is everything he's wanted, Sam real and close and as whole as either of them ever will be.
Sam tips forward, leans until Dean has to fall back, his shoulders thudding on the stale motel carpet. And then Sam's on him, stretching out over him and kissing Dean with little desperate snags of teeth. All the coldness of the hollow calculating thing that had replaced his brother is gone.
Dean spreads his legs for the knee Sam slides between them, and his breath hitches when Sam's thigh rubs up against the sudden bulge of his dick. Sam's so solid, pinning Dean to the floor and kissing him, rutting up against him like he can't even wait. Dean's mouth opens on a sharp, helpless groan when Sam's lips move down the side of his neck, teeth finding the tensed muscle of his shoulder. Dean clutches at Sam's hair, holding him there, Sam's mouth bruising and hot on his skin.
Dean thinks about the mark Sam's leaving, blood pulled to the surface in the shape of Sam's mouth, real and tangible, Sam's tongue soothing the ache of it as he keeps moving.
He rips apart Dean's t-shirt trying to get at skin, and Dean helps him do it, shuddering into every press of Sam's mouth.
They fumble together, ripped seams all over and rug burn on Dean's shoulder blades, and Dean looks up through the gloom to meet Sam's eyes, full up with desperation that matches Dean's own.
When they’re skin to skin, it's better and worse, Dean clutching at Sam's sides, trying to hold him closer and keep kissing him and not come, not yet. He’s so close already, just touching, just smelling Sam’s sweat and feeling the press of Sam’s mouth all over his face and neck.
Sam's dick presses flush to Dean's, smearing wet between their bellies, and Dean reaches down a hand to test the weight of it, thick heat in his palm, huge like the rest of Sam. He strokes a few times, can't wrap both their dicks in one hand, but Sam's there to help him, twisting their fingers together, guiding.
Dean remembers all of this, the way his dick fits just right in the curve of Sam's hand, the web between Sam’s thumb and forefinger, the little noises Sam makes in his throat as he works them both. It's so good, but it's not enough, not when Sam's been so far away for so long. He spreads his legs wider, cants his hips up in a plea. "Shit, Sam, you have to."
Sam knows what he needs, lets go of Dean's dick to touch at the flexing heat of Dean's hole, dry and too tight. There's lube somewhere, but Sam doesn't even ask, just goes down between Dean's legs and pries inside with his tongue, slick heat opening Dean up, making him wet.
Sam's hands spread his thighs, push them up and out, and Dean goes loose and pliant for him. The noises Sam makes as he tongues at Dean's ass are obscene, slurping and groaning and gulping in deep breaths whenever he raises his head. His hair is hanging in his face, and Dean pushes it back so he can look at Sam, his desperate eyes and swollen mouth.
Sam finally feeds one long finger straight up Dean’s ass, and it's so easy, he's so easy, loose and wet for Sam inside him. Dean's shifts his hips, restless and ready for more, and Sam says his name on a low, wanting breath, easing out of him and then back in. "Dean, Jesus Christ."
Sam's three fingers deep when Dean breaks down and says, "Please," Sam's knuckles catching on the rim of his hole as he goes still.
"Please what?" Sam asks, pulling out and leaving Dean's slick hole empty and grasping. He pushes the fat head of his dick right up against it and waits for Dean to say the words.
"Please fuck me," Dean tells him, and then Sam's sliding into him, hot and full and deep, stretching him out and making room inside. Dean thought he was so ready, bucking on Sam's fingers, but he's not, the pull of Sam's dick in his ass making him gasp. Every time Sam sinks into him, he has to open for it again, Sam’s thick cock splitting him wide, and Dean arches into the pressure of it, wanting Sam closer all the time.
Their lips meet, catch, Sam breathing hot into Dean’s mouth, and Dean comes like that short minutes later, Sam over him and inside him and all around him. He’s trembling and too hot and he keeps losing track of kissing Sam in order to swear and urge him along. It’s been such a long time since they had this. It’s been such a long time since Dean could even look into his brother’s face and recognize what he saw there.
Sam holds himself deep when he comes, spilling thick and hot into Dean, and Dean drinks in every line of his face, Sam’s eyes pinched closed, his mouth open on a gasp.
“Love you so much,” Sam says, after, and it’s soft, confessional, utterly true. He mouths lazily along the ridge of Dean’s collarbone, their hands clutching tight together, so many points of connection.
“Love you, too, Sammy,” Dean replies.
All the fear doesn’t go away, or all the worry for what comes next, but right now Sam is Sam again, and that is more than enough.
♥ fin ♥