Do not come at me with pitchforks. Please. --I Might Lose the Sun (interlude)
So, because I am tired and staying up way too late (again), I did something that I said I wasn't going to do. *gulps* Okay, here goes: what follows is my first (and maybe only, if f/b indicates) attempt at porn. 453 words of it. Yes. I repeat, I tried to write porn. There. Now on to--
warnings before reading: wincest, evil!demon!Dean/Sam, and because I'm still me this contains angst. So--angsty porn (kinda), but not of the I'm screwing my brother kind, more like my brother is bigbadevilness and I still love him (for those of you reading "I Might Lose the Sun"). So, yeah, this is an interlude in that fic. Just pick where. It's up to you. Hope you enjoy and review. *chants: reviewreviewreview*
Interlude--I Might Lose the Sun
He feels warm breath at his neck; there, a moment before lips and moist heat replace it, start traveling down. Sam thinks it’s a wandering path, and he reaches for Dean, tugs at his shoulders. He wants weight and friction and sweat. "Come on, Dean, come on," it’s a whisper, already sounding too broken, but he can’t untangle anything else.
"Workin’ on it, Sammy." Dean’s voice is low, too, pitched right into his ear. He’s steady, though, where Sam is shaking, and he wonders briefly what that means before his brother’s body is bearing him down, pressing tight to his in every place it matters.
Dean moves just right, and their cocks are sliding together, and that alone is sending jolts through Sam, taking away words, memories, all the things he hasn’t done and won’t. It doesn’t matter, not when Dean’s hips are moving against his, cock brushing his thigh, leaving cooling trails that make Sam feel like he’s burning up and breaking open.
He feels Dean slowing, lips returning, marking his neck with suction and force, after shocks sending chills through him, drying sweat. "Please," and there’s a soft snick, and he knows. His legs find their way around Dean, and everything he wants is there: fingers pressing inside, slick and moving; he just breathes, lets the motion rock through him, stiffen his spine until all he can think about is yellingbeggingpleading, finding something to slow the coiling tension in his stomach that's threatening to drown him.
An arm slides underneath, fingers digging into his waist, and he cants his hips (ready, ready, so fucking ready). The burn is familiar as Dean thrusts inside, the moments of pain sparking off pleasure, and he's helpless, caught. Lost, and trying to thrust up, matching Dean's rhythm. Then Dean's hand leaves his waist, settles on his cock, stripping him. Firm and sure, and Sam's whimpering, using his own hands to grasp blindly at Dean's hair. That's how he feels it, his brother's head lowering to shoulder, then to collar bone. Mouth wide open, tongue tasting flesh and the sweat gathering there. Feels teeth graze, back and forth, over the protrusion of bone, feels them sink in and rip the thin skin.
And it's too much. The pushpullshift of hand and cock and teeth, and he's gone, spiraling in and out and away, thinking only to drag Dean's head up, crush their mouths together, denying any space between them. But Sam can't shy away from the metallic taste flooding his mouth (his blood, only his), and it follows him down as he crashes.
Continued in pt. 3
warnings before reading: wincest, evil!demon!Dean/Sam, and because I'm still me this contains angst. So--angsty porn (kinda), but not of the I'm screwing my brother kind, more like my brother is bigbadevilness and I still love him (for those of you reading "I Might Lose the Sun"). So, yeah, this is an interlude in that fic. Just pick where. It's up to you. Hope you enjoy and review. *chants: reviewreviewreview*
Interlude--I Might Lose the Sun
He feels warm breath at his neck; there, a moment before lips and moist heat replace it, start traveling down. Sam thinks it’s a wandering path, and he reaches for Dean, tugs at his shoulders. He wants weight and friction and sweat. "Come on, Dean, come on," it’s a whisper, already sounding too broken, but he can’t untangle anything else.
"Workin’ on it, Sammy." Dean’s voice is low, too, pitched right into his ear. He’s steady, though, where Sam is shaking, and he wonders briefly what that means before his brother’s body is bearing him down, pressing tight to his in every place it matters.
Dean moves just right, and their cocks are sliding together, and that alone is sending jolts through Sam, taking away words, memories, all the things he hasn’t done and won’t. It doesn’t matter, not when Dean’s hips are moving against his, cock brushing his thigh, leaving cooling trails that make Sam feel like he’s burning up and breaking open.
He feels Dean slowing, lips returning, marking his neck with suction and force, after shocks sending chills through him, drying sweat. "Please," and there’s a soft snick, and he knows. His legs find their way around Dean, and everything he wants is there: fingers pressing inside, slick and moving; he just breathes, lets the motion rock through him, stiffen his spine until all he can think about is yellingbeggingpleading, finding something to slow the coiling tension in his stomach that's threatening to drown him.
An arm slides underneath, fingers digging into his waist, and he cants his hips (ready, ready, so fucking ready). The burn is familiar as Dean thrusts inside, the moments of pain sparking off pleasure, and he's helpless, caught. Lost, and trying to thrust up, matching Dean's rhythm. Then Dean's hand leaves his waist, settles on his cock, stripping him. Firm and sure, and Sam's whimpering, using his own hands to grasp blindly at Dean's hair. That's how he feels it, his brother's head lowering to shoulder, then to collar bone. Mouth wide open, tongue tasting flesh and the sweat gathering there. Feels teeth graze, back and forth, over the protrusion of bone, feels them sink in and rip the thin skin.
And it's too much. The pushpullshift of hand and cock and teeth, and he's gone, spiraling in and out and away, thinking only to drag Dean's head up, crush their mouths together, denying any space between them. But Sam can't shy away from the metallic taste flooding his mouth (his blood, only his), and it follows him down as he crashes.
Continued in pt. 3