Fic: A Change Will Do You Good (Dean/Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic sex
Notes: Sequel to " Hand Me Downs"
Summary - Dean decides that maybe Sam should keep that shirt on a little longer...
Sam was freaking out. He could admit that - despite what his brother might have to say on the matter, he wasn't a big freaking girl - and this was seriously freak-out worthy. Because they were going to do it; really, mother fucking finally do it again after damn years of waiting and, yeah, it was freaking Sam right the fuck out.
Not because he didn't want it or anything equally ridiculous - the massive boner he'd popped the second he walked into that bathroom and goddamn HEARD Dean jerking off was more than enough evidence of that, even if he hadn't been dreaming about for... well, really since about two seconds into the bus ride to Stanford. It was just - it was happening, really happening again, and despite all of the times he'd hoped that just maybe, he'd never actually imagine it would be like this.
For one thing, they were on a king size bed - even though there had been 'two queen' rooms available, fuck you irony - and that level of different was already enough to have his senses on high alert. And then there was Dean; crazy-hot, beautiful, sex god Dean - the single greatest lay Sam had ever had, although hell if he was ever going to admit that - and he was being distinctly un-Dean like. He was being... he was being... oh fuck it, he was being sweet. Gentle. Like they were about to 'make love' or something and that had never, ever, in all the times they'd done this as kids, happened.
With Dean it had always been hard and fast, give no quarter, take what I give you and be happy about it because it's going to fucking rock your world. And that was awesome; Dean had done things to him, made him come so hard Sam hadn't even known it was possible, but it wasn't like this. They kissed because it was hot, because it was what you did during sex, not for some touchy-feely chick flick thing; except now they totally were. They were fucking making out and... okay, yeah, it was nice. Better than nice - Dean was a fantastic kisser and Sam's bones had decided to reallocate themselves into a puddle of goo - but it was just so not them.
He hadn't been lying back in the bathroom; he loved Dean, more than anybody, and it wasn't like he wanted to be with anyone else, like, at all, he'd just never really thought about it being like this. A relationship - because that's exactly what this felt like, the start of a relationship - and even if a part of him was preparing to throw a parade, the idea of actually DATING Dean? Scary.
On the other hand, it was really really hard to think coherently about how they ought to be having a discussion or something about what this means when Dean was doing that thing with his tongue - how the hell did he do that? - and making Sam's brain function slow down to 'moan', 'kiss', 'fuck'. And in retrospect, why was that a bad thing?
Dean's hands slid up under Sam's - Dean's - shirt, big and warm and rough and God he'd so missed that feeling. There was really just no kind of substitute for gun calluses and knife scars and Sam was too fucked up to even pretend that everyone else's hands hadn’t always felt way too baby soft on his body.
He must have given up some kind of noise - Sam took a second to mentally loathe the fact that he could never keep quiet like this, he thought Dean had probably conditioned him that way - because his brother made this pleased little 'hmm' as he laid wet, open kisses to the pulse in Sam's neck.
"Wondered if you'd still be that responsive," Dean purred, adding a nip to Sam's throat that had his whole body locking down to keep from squirming. He was just not going to give Dean the satisfaction, damnit.
"Wondered if you'd learned to shut the fuck up," he hissed back when Dean repeated the nip and broke right through Sam's 'no squirming' directive. Jerk.
Dean laughed deep in his throat, one hand slipping down to cup Sam through his now too-tight jeans. Damn that felt good; the heat of Dean's hand melting through rough fabric, the heavy weight of it rolling just enough to get Sam bucking up into it.
"Don't even pretend you don't love it," Dean licked a stripe over the shell of his ear, "Think I could still talk you off, Sammy? Make you cream yourself just from whispering in your ear?"
For three and a half breaths - he was sure it was a half because he counted - Sam was positive that was how it was going to go; flood of sensation from now mixing up with fractions of memories from then and the millions of dirty things Dean used to murmur to him in the dark until Sam was shaking like a leaf. His dick swelled up like it remembered it too, and either Dean felt it or else he just guessed how close Sam was to the edge because he jerked his hand away like it burned, leaving Sam groaning at the loss.
"Not yet, baby boy," Dean warned and Sam was really really really going to lose it embarrassingly soon because Dean calling him that? Fucking hell.
Sam was biting his lip so hard he was tasting blood by the time his brother finally popped the button on his fly and oh hell yes. He arched up, arms catching the hem of the shirt to pull it off before Dean's palm splayed out across his sternum.
"Leave it on," he said, but the command got caught up somewhere in a plea, "Wanna fuck you in it."
Sam's natural little brother instinct was to ask why, but the darkness in Dean's eyes - forest green in the light filtering from behind pulled curtains - was enough to stop the words up in his throat. He relaxed back down, letting Dean strip him of his jeans - no boxers because he would had to have borrowed some of his brother's and he fucking knew he would have come in them just from the thought - before Dean furiously stripped himself naked.
He had maybe two whole seconds to admire the toned, rippling goodness that was Dean - how the hell could he be better looking now than he was at Sam's age? - and then there was nothing but warm, smooth skin rubbing against him. The shirt was kind of a pain in the ass because it kept him from completely feeling Dean and if his brother didn't obviously want it there so bad Sam would have torn it off. As it was, he whined - because fuck it, if he was going to be loud, he might as well go for it - when Dean laid flush with him and all he could feel through his chest was the radiating heat.
Then the velvet steel of his brother's cock brushed against his and he was arching so hard from the shimmering flare of pleasure up his nerves that he actually lifted them both up off the bed. The gun shot puff of his breath was shunted right back over his face as it washed across Dean's. His brother was stroking his hands over Sam's face and neck, too fast to be anything but a mockery of the soothing they were meant as.
"Not yet, not yet," Dean whispered urgently, "Fuck, c'mon, wanna be inside you when you come."
"Then hurry the fuck up!" Sam growled through clenched teeth. He could measure his pulse in the frantic pressure built up at the base of his cock. Why the hell didn't he jack off more often? It had been fucking weeks since he'd gotten off and he just wasn't any kind of ready for the solar flare of hotness that came with FINALLY having sex with Dean again.
Dean snatched up the lube he'd haphazardly thrown on the bed before this all started - thank God for that because Sam would definitely have had a coronary if Dean even thought about getting off the damn bed - and started slicking up his fingers before it clicked into Sam's brain how that was the worst possible idea ever.
He was still shaking his head ridiculously fast when he managed to sputter out around the iron marbles that had suddenly filled up his lungs, "No. Just make it wet, I'll be fine."
Lust and concern flickered like a traffic light on Dean's face, one thumb idly stroking a soft semi-circle on the inside of Sam's thigh.
"You... Are you sure? Don't want to hurt you, Sammy."
"I'm not gonna last otherwise. Be a miracle if I make it past the first push anyway," Sam panted, too far gone to even give a shit that his balls might very well pack up and move out on him from the complete absence of masculine dignity.
"Shit," Dean screwed his eyes up tight, clamping down around the base of his dick like he almost just lost it too and that actually made Sam feel just a little tiny bit better. "Ok, ok" Dean mumbled under his breath, releasing his death-grip to get his angry red cock dripping slick with lube.
Sam's knee was unceremoniously shoved up to his chest, which he would totally have bitched about under normal circumstances, but Dean's cock was nudging up against his hole - tight, untouched for years actually and maybe this no prep thing was a bad plan - and Sam didn't have the brainpower for more than a 'hng' over the sound of his teeth grinding to a fine powder.
All of the air was punched out of his lungs the second protesting muscle gave way, letting the fat head of Dean's cock slip in up to the ridge. Fuck, it burned like the whole lower half of his body spontaneously burst into flames. He remembered this being, good, so good, he just had to make his body relax and open up, but shit!
He didn't realize he'd slammed his hands into the headboard until he heard the smack, felt the sting shoot tingling-hot down his arms. Dean braced a hand on either said of Sam’s chest, eyes wide and if there was a sliver of green left around the blown pupils, Sam couldn't see it.
"Want me to stop?" Dean asked, but Sam heard the quiver under it, heard the 'please don't make me stop' and just shook his head. He could do this, HAD done this and fucking hell he wanted it even if every inch felt like solid magma pouring into his tender flesh.
Dean's tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth like when he was really concentrating, eyes locked on the place where he sank slowly into Sam's rebellious body. A sheen of sweat covered his brother's face, beads of it slowly working their way down his forehead to drip onto the t-shirt that felt about eight sizes too small - just like Sam’s skin. Actually, this was better, watching his brother come apart with little grunts and keens; helped take his mind off of every grudging millimeter that Dean forced inside.
Dean held still for a minute, gasping like he'd run a marathon, and met Sam's eyes. This gritty, jittery feeling was flowing under Sam's skin like he was suddenly made of liquid, like his insides were shivering. His brother leaned in, falling to his elbows with a jolt and kissed Sam slow and vicious and hungry; claiming, and it was exactly what Sam wanted to feel. A hotcold rush as another dump of adrenaline flooded his system, Dean's teeth and tongue worrying at his mouth, working him bruised and swollen and then Sam was gasping as his muscles decided to pack it in and Dean slid all the way home in one jarring thrust.
Broad hands gripped Sam's hips, digging in hard because his brother was obviously too close for any more of that tender love making shit and Sam was fucking ecstatic. Maybe he could get used to gentle, loving Dean, maybe even learn to love it, but right now he needed to be fucked within an inch of his life and his brother seemed to be right on board with that plan.
Dean ground his hips hard against Sam's pelvis, pressing in like he had anything left to give, mouth open on a choking 'o'. Just the right tilt and Sam's nerves were exploding again as Dean's dick brushed that place, forcing more non-sense sounds out of him which seemed to be some secret signal for Dean to pick up the fucking pace. And fucking hell, did he ever.
All of sudden, Sam was grateful for the bracing force of his arms against the headboard as Dean fucked into him ruthlessly, losing breath on a stream of words Sam couldn't even begin to understand but knew the meaning of anyway. This was home, the only kind of right they were ever going to get, and it was fucking incredible to be back.
Too soon he felt Dean's thrusts go sloppy, pleasure sliding up and down Sam's skin like the threat of a knife-edge, and his head banged sharply into the headboard on the next thrust because he had to get a hand free to jack himself. His fist tight around his own throbbing cock, Dean's slipping wet, in and out of his channel and Sam could hear himself shouting 'yes, yes, yes!' over and over like a perfect porn cliché but there was just no other fucking word for it.
Dean froze and Sam could feel the jerk-twitch inside of him before liquid heat slicked up is walls and his eyes rolled up in his head. The pressure at the base of his dick popped like a balloon, dam broken and come erupting in thick milky streams all over their stomachs and chests.
Dean pulled his hips in tight, softening dick sliding easily inside Sam and he curled his legs around his brother to help keep Dean inside as they came down, sweaty and sated.
"Missed that," Sam moaned breathlessly. Dean's warm weight on top of him was almost too much and yet so unbelievably relaxing.
"Fuck yes," Dean agreed, rubbing his rough cheek against the wet-splattered fabric across Sam's chest. He shifted a little, sticky cloth clinging to him between their bodies.
"Sorry about your shirt." Though he really, really wasn’t
"S'ok. It'll wash." If the slur of Dean's words was anything to go by, he didn't have any immediate plans for pulling out of Sam before he crashed. Sam tilted his hips so the Dean's spent cock finally pulled free, making his brother groan a wordless complaint.
"Not letting you sleep inside me, jerk," Sam smiled, settling his head against Dean's.
"Bitch," was apparently the best Dean could manage before his breaths even out against Sam's skin.
This sleeping together thing was strange for them too - before, they'd always had to worry about Dad coming back unexpectedly - but as Sam heaved a sigh and rested a hand between his brother's shoulder blades, he figured it could be definitely be worth getting used to.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic sex
Notes: Sequel to " Hand Me Downs"
Summary - Dean decides that maybe Sam should keep that shirt on a little longer...
Sam was freaking out. He could admit that - despite what his brother might have to say on the matter, he wasn't a big freaking girl - and this was seriously freak-out worthy. Because they were going to do it; really, mother fucking finally do it again after damn years of waiting and, yeah, it was freaking Sam right the fuck out.
Not because he didn't want it or anything equally ridiculous - the massive boner he'd popped the second he walked into that bathroom and goddamn HEARD Dean jerking off was more than enough evidence of that, even if he hadn't been dreaming about for... well, really since about two seconds into the bus ride to Stanford. It was just - it was happening, really happening again, and despite all of the times he'd hoped that just maybe, he'd never actually imagine it would be like this.
For one thing, they were on a king size bed - even though there had been 'two queen' rooms available, fuck you irony - and that level of different was already enough to have his senses on high alert. And then there was Dean; crazy-hot, beautiful, sex god Dean - the single greatest lay Sam had ever had, although hell if he was ever going to admit that - and he was being distinctly un-Dean like. He was being... he was being... oh fuck it, he was being sweet. Gentle. Like they were about to 'make love' or something and that had never, ever, in all the times they'd done this as kids, happened.
With Dean it had always been hard and fast, give no quarter, take what I give you and be happy about it because it's going to fucking rock your world. And that was awesome; Dean had done things to him, made him come so hard Sam hadn't even known it was possible, but it wasn't like this. They kissed because it was hot, because it was what you did during sex, not for some touchy-feely chick flick thing; except now they totally were. They were fucking making out and... okay, yeah, it was nice. Better than nice - Dean was a fantastic kisser and Sam's bones had decided to reallocate themselves into a puddle of goo - but it was just so not them.
He hadn't been lying back in the bathroom; he loved Dean, more than anybody, and it wasn't like he wanted to be with anyone else, like, at all, he'd just never really thought about it being like this. A relationship - because that's exactly what this felt like, the start of a relationship - and even if a part of him was preparing to throw a parade, the idea of actually DATING Dean? Scary.
On the other hand, it was really really hard to think coherently about how they ought to be having a discussion or something about what this means when Dean was doing that thing with his tongue - how the hell did he do that? - and making Sam's brain function slow down to 'moan', 'kiss', 'fuck'. And in retrospect, why was that a bad thing?
Dean's hands slid up under Sam's - Dean's - shirt, big and warm and rough and God he'd so missed that feeling. There was really just no kind of substitute for gun calluses and knife scars and Sam was too fucked up to even pretend that everyone else's hands hadn’t always felt way too baby soft on his body.
He must have given up some kind of noise - Sam took a second to mentally loathe the fact that he could never keep quiet like this, he thought Dean had probably conditioned him that way - because his brother made this pleased little 'hmm' as he laid wet, open kisses to the pulse in Sam's neck.
"Wondered if you'd still be that responsive," Dean purred, adding a nip to Sam's throat that had his whole body locking down to keep from squirming. He was just not going to give Dean the satisfaction, damnit.
"Wondered if you'd learned to shut the fuck up," he hissed back when Dean repeated the nip and broke right through Sam's 'no squirming' directive. Jerk.
Dean laughed deep in his throat, one hand slipping down to cup Sam through his now too-tight jeans. Damn that felt good; the heat of Dean's hand melting through rough fabric, the heavy weight of it rolling just enough to get Sam bucking up into it.
"Don't even pretend you don't love it," Dean licked a stripe over the shell of his ear, "Think I could still talk you off, Sammy? Make you cream yourself just from whispering in your ear?"
For three and a half breaths - he was sure it was a half because he counted - Sam was positive that was how it was going to go; flood of sensation from now mixing up with fractions of memories from then and the millions of dirty things Dean used to murmur to him in the dark until Sam was shaking like a leaf. His dick swelled up like it remembered it too, and either Dean felt it or else he just guessed how close Sam was to the edge because he jerked his hand away like it burned, leaving Sam groaning at the loss.
"Not yet, baby boy," Dean warned and Sam was really really really going to lose it embarrassingly soon because Dean calling him that? Fucking hell.
Sam was biting his lip so hard he was tasting blood by the time his brother finally popped the button on his fly and oh hell yes. He arched up, arms catching the hem of the shirt to pull it off before Dean's palm splayed out across his sternum.
"Leave it on," he said, but the command got caught up somewhere in a plea, "Wanna fuck you in it."
Sam's natural little brother instinct was to ask why, but the darkness in Dean's eyes - forest green in the light filtering from behind pulled curtains - was enough to stop the words up in his throat. He relaxed back down, letting Dean strip him of his jeans - no boxers because he would had to have borrowed some of his brother's and he fucking knew he would have come in them just from the thought - before Dean furiously stripped himself naked.
He had maybe two whole seconds to admire the toned, rippling goodness that was Dean - how the hell could he be better looking now than he was at Sam's age? - and then there was nothing but warm, smooth skin rubbing against him. The shirt was kind of a pain in the ass because it kept him from completely feeling Dean and if his brother didn't obviously want it there so bad Sam would have torn it off. As it was, he whined - because fuck it, if he was going to be loud, he might as well go for it - when Dean laid flush with him and all he could feel through his chest was the radiating heat.
Then the velvet steel of his brother's cock brushed against his and he was arching so hard from the shimmering flare of pleasure up his nerves that he actually lifted them both up off the bed. The gun shot puff of his breath was shunted right back over his face as it washed across Dean's. His brother was stroking his hands over Sam's face and neck, too fast to be anything but a mockery of the soothing they were meant as.
"Not yet, not yet," Dean whispered urgently, "Fuck, c'mon, wanna be inside you when you come."
"Then hurry the fuck up!" Sam growled through clenched teeth. He could measure his pulse in the frantic pressure built up at the base of his cock. Why the hell didn't he jack off more often? It had been fucking weeks since he'd gotten off and he just wasn't any kind of ready for the solar flare of hotness that came with FINALLY having sex with Dean again.
Dean snatched up the lube he'd haphazardly thrown on the bed before this all started - thank God for that because Sam would definitely have had a coronary if Dean even thought about getting off the damn bed - and started slicking up his fingers before it clicked into Sam's brain how that was the worst possible idea ever.
He was still shaking his head ridiculously fast when he managed to sputter out around the iron marbles that had suddenly filled up his lungs, "No. Just make it wet, I'll be fine."
Lust and concern flickered like a traffic light on Dean's face, one thumb idly stroking a soft semi-circle on the inside of Sam's thigh.
"You... Are you sure? Don't want to hurt you, Sammy."
"I'm not gonna last otherwise. Be a miracle if I make it past the first push anyway," Sam panted, too far gone to even give a shit that his balls might very well pack up and move out on him from the complete absence of masculine dignity.
"Shit," Dean screwed his eyes up tight, clamping down around the base of his dick like he almost just lost it too and that actually made Sam feel just a little tiny bit better. "Ok, ok" Dean mumbled under his breath, releasing his death-grip to get his angry red cock dripping slick with lube.
Sam's knee was unceremoniously shoved up to his chest, which he would totally have bitched about under normal circumstances, but Dean's cock was nudging up against his hole - tight, untouched for years actually and maybe this no prep thing was a bad plan - and Sam didn't have the brainpower for more than a 'hng' over the sound of his teeth grinding to a fine powder.
All of the air was punched out of his lungs the second protesting muscle gave way, letting the fat head of Dean's cock slip in up to the ridge. Fuck, it burned like the whole lower half of his body spontaneously burst into flames. He remembered this being, good, so good, he just had to make his body relax and open up, but shit!
He didn't realize he'd slammed his hands into the headboard until he heard the smack, felt the sting shoot tingling-hot down his arms. Dean braced a hand on either said of Sam’s chest, eyes wide and if there was a sliver of green left around the blown pupils, Sam couldn't see it.
"Want me to stop?" Dean asked, but Sam heard the quiver under it, heard the 'please don't make me stop' and just shook his head. He could do this, HAD done this and fucking hell he wanted it even if every inch felt like solid magma pouring into his tender flesh.
Dean's tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth like when he was really concentrating, eyes locked on the place where he sank slowly into Sam's rebellious body. A sheen of sweat covered his brother's face, beads of it slowly working their way down his forehead to drip onto the t-shirt that felt about eight sizes too small - just like Sam’s skin. Actually, this was better, watching his brother come apart with little grunts and keens; helped take his mind off of every grudging millimeter that Dean forced inside.
Dean held still for a minute, gasping like he'd run a marathon, and met Sam's eyes. This gritty, jittery feeling was flowing under Sam's skin like he was suddenly made of liquid, like his insides were shivering. His brother leaned in, falling to his elbows with a jolt and kissed Sam slow and vicious and hungry; claiming, and it was exactly what Sam wanted to feel. A hotcold rush as another dump of adrenaline flooded his system, Dean's teeth and tongue worrying at his mouth, working him bruised and swollen and then Sam was gasping as his muscles decided to pack it in and Dean slid all the way home in one jarring thrust.
Broad hands gripped Sam's hips, digging in hard because his brother was obviously too close for any more of that tender love making shit and Sam was fucking ecstatic. Maybe he could get used to gentle, loving Dean, maybe even learn to love it, but right now he needed to be fucked within an inch of his life and his brother seemed to be right on board with that plan.
Dean ground his hips hard against Sam's pelvis, pressing in like he had anything left to give, mouth open on a choking 'o'. Just the right tilt and Sam's nerves were exploding again as Dean's dick brushed that place, forcing more non-sense sounds out of him which seemed to be some secret signal for Dean to pick up the fucking pace. And fucking hell, did he ever.
All of sudden, Sam was grateful for the bracing force of his arms against the headboard as Dean fucked into him ruthlessly, losing breath on a stream of words Sam couldn't even begin to understand but knew the meaning of anyway. This was home, the only kind of right they were ever going to get, and it was fucking incredible to be back.
Too soon he felt Dean's thrusts go sloppy, pleasure sliding up and down Sam's skin like the threat of a knife-edge, and his head banged sharply into the headboard on the next thrust because he had to get a hand free to jack himself. His fist tight around his own throbbing cock, Dean's slipping wet, in and out of his channel and Sam could hear himself shouting 'yes, yes, yes!' over and over like a perfect porn cliché but there was just no other fucking word for it.
Dean froze and Sam could feel the jerk-twitch inside of him before liquid heat slicked up is walls and his eyes rolled up in his head. The pressure at the base of his dick popped like a balloon, dam broken and come erupting in thick milky streams all over their stomachs and chests.
Dean pulled his hips in tight, softening dick sliding easily inside Sam and he curled his legs around his brother to help keep Dean inside as they came down, sweaty and sated.
"Missed that," Sam moaned breathlessly. Dean's warm weight on top of him was almost too much and yet so unbelievably relaxing.
"Fuck yes," Dean agreed, rubbing his rough cheek against the wet-splattered fabric across Sam's chest. He shifted a little, sticky cloth clinging to him between their bodies.
"Sorry about your shirt." Though he really, really wasn’t
"S'ok. It'll wash." If the slur of Dean's words was anything to go by, he didn't have any immediate plans for pulling out of Sam before he crashed. Sam tilted his hips so the Dean's spent cock finally pulled free, making his brother groan a wordless complaint.
"Not letting you sleep inside me, jerk," Sam smiled, settling his head against Dean's.
"Bitch," was apparently the best Dean could manage before his breaths even out against Sam's skin.
This sleeping together thing was strange for them too - before, they'd always had to worry about Dad coming back unexpectedly - but as Sam heaved a sigh and rested a hand between his brother's shoulder blades, he figured it could be definitely be worth getting used to.