Now I lay me down to sleep (Sam/dream!Dean, 1315 words, r-rated, dub-con)
First off, love to wendy, dark_reaction, and rejeneration - hopefully you know what for! ♥
And love to mickeym for the awesome little evil duck! How is something so obviously demonic so very adorable?
I'm at about 55k of my big bang now. I despair of finishing it by May but we'll see how it goes. Maybe I just need to be stern with myself. :(
Here is the tiny snippet that I posted to spn_j2_bigbang for anyone that's interested:
"I'm ill," Jensen snaps. "He made me soup. And get that goddamn look off your face, Chris." He executes an awkward turn, swapping one shoulder resting against the wall for the other and then heads back towards the lounge. "There are puppets on my tv," he mutters and Jared's not sure if this is meant as a good thing or a bad one.
And here is fic.
Now I lay me down to sleep
(Sam/dream!Dean, 1315 words, r-rated, dub-con)
A coda for 3.10 that spent a long time languishing on my harddrive before I prettied it up a little and got around to posting it. It was meant to be longer, and pornier. Oh well.
Sam knows the difference between dreams and nightmares and knows which Dean is having. He makes sure there's hot, black coffee waiting for Dean in the morning when he wakes, offers to drive and doesn't comment on the corpse-grey shadows beneath Dean's eyes.
:::
Three nights after Pittsburgh, Sam wakes to the lamp on the desk flicking on and off. He stares at the back of Dean's head, blankly watching how the light splashes over his face and then blinks off as Dean's fingers tap the switch up and down.
Dean is still asleep in the other bed.
With clinical curiosity, Sam wonders how long African dream-root stays in the bloodstream, and what effect it has on those already susceptible to taking trips outside of their own heads.
"You're gonna blow the fuse," he says as the light goes on flashing like a miniature lighthouse in the middle of the motel room's midnight.
The light stays on and Dean turns about in his chair, rising slowly to his feet. He cocks his head at Sam.
"You and me gotta talk, Sammy."
Somehow, he's not surprised to see that Dean's eyes are black. It leaves him cold, makes his belly curl in on itself to something small and hard. But it doesn't surprise him. He sits upright in his bed and forces his voice out.
"You're his nightmare. Not mine. I don't accept you."
Dean smiles as if genuinely amused and he nods a little. There's a deadness to the way he holds himself, as if his body's not fitting together quite right. He hasn't stopped moving towards Sam's bed, slow casual steps like he's just drifting and it's nothing but chance that's eating up the distance between him and Sam.
"You go right on ahead not accepting it, Sammy. S'gonna happen whether you accept it or not."
"He's gonna fight. He's not gonna die. Not gonna become you. You don't exist, not now, not ever."
When Dean catches the end of Sam's blanket and tugs, Sam doesn't fight it. He's not going to get into a fight with something that's crawled out of Dean's subconscious. Instead, he stands up straight and looks Dean right in his black eyes.
"You're nothing. I'm not scared of you."
"You don't have to be," Dean says. He glances over at where the other Dean - Sam's brother - is asleep in his bed. There's something like contempt even in the flat nothingness of his gaze. "He's plenty scared enough. Scared mommy won't love him anymore, scared daddy'll be disappointed." He looks back at Sam and smiles again. "Scared most of all about you."
Sam suddenly needs to swallow, to breathe again because at some point he stopped. He refuses to give any ground though, even if it means Dean standing so close that they might just as well be touching. It's no space at all between them. Sam can feel the prickle of contact even with the sliver of air between them.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"College boy can't work it out? I'm everything he's most afraid of. Everything he's most afraid he'll become." Dean leans in and it's instinct in Sam to jerk away but he clenches his fists and holds still as Dean whispers, hot and dark in his ear. "He's afraid that when you tell me to stop, I won't."
Sam's face snaps towards him, which is a mistake because Dean's mouth is right there. He feels sick and turned on and even sicker for feeling turned on. Dean's asleep just across the room and Sam knows that Dean - knows his lame-ass jokes and crude flirting and the obnoxious blast of garlic breath in Sam's face after pizza. He doesn't know this Dean.
Dean slaps him lightly on the cheek, his fingers lingering on Sam's jaw.
"Hey, little brother… you grew up really nice. He noticed. You were such a chubby little freak as a kid. All blubber and acne." Dean's gaze slides over him, slick and fluid. "Now look at you."
There's the hot wet flicker of Dean's tongue on Sam's earlobe and Sam breaks, backs up a step. Dean moves with him, smiling like this is the best game ever. He's reaching out for Sam and, confused and jittery, Sam slaps at his hands but he still feels him touching, fingers ghosting over belly, ribs, thighs.
"Oh c'mon, Daddy's not watching. I won't tell if you don't. C'mon, Sammy, I'll make it so good for you. Even if it hurts a little at first, I'll just keep going 'til it gets good."
He presses up against Sam and there's no escaping it. Dean's body is all hot, hard lines and Sam should be able to throw him off but he feels weak and nauseous. All he can do is turn his face away from it. Dean's laughter is thick and dull, the laughter Sam recognises from when his brother is bone-tired or seconds away from passing out dead drunk.
"S'right, I'll take care of you, Sammy. You've been mine since Dad put you in my arms. Mine. But somehow it got all fucked up and I ended up being yours. Following you around like a goddamn puppy. Like that makes it okay when he gets that filthy want just from looking at you, little brother."
Dean's hand is between his legs. Heel of his hand rubbing at Sam's cock. Leaning in so close he's breathing in every one of Sam's whispering sighs. The wetness at the head of Sam's cock is sticky against the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms. There's sweat on his skin, cool like a fever.
"He doesn't," Sam murmurs. "Demons lie."
"Why would I when the truth's so much more fun? God, Sammy, haven't you got the first frigging idea about how much he wants you?" Dean's mouth moves over Sam's jawline and Sam's spine snaps straight. Mouth to Sam's ear again, Dean whispers, "Wanna suck your cock, baby brother. Wanna fuck you open on my fingers and my tongue, fuck my cock into you until you cry like a little girl. Make you dirty and worthless like he is. Make you into someone he can deserve to have."
Dean's hand moves over Sam's cock in hard, rough jerks of his wrist. It hurts but not enough to kill the fact that it also feels damn good. Sam tries to bite back the greedy noises he's making but he can only push against Dean's hand in needy thrusts of his hips.
Dean nurses him through his climax with horrifying, tender care. Kissing his throat as he comes and whispers to him all the while. Oh Sammy, doing so good, little brother, s'right, I've got you, feels nice, doesn't it? Don't tell anyone and we'll do it again, 'cause you love me, don't you?
"He's right to be scared, y'know, Sammy," says Dean after a moment, while Sam's chest is still heaving and his come is dribbling down his thighs. "When he's gone, when it's my turn, if I remember you as a baby at all, it'll only be 'cause I'm getting a kick out of fucking you sloppy and sore."
Tilting his gaze up to meet Dean's gaze, Sam manages a smirk of his own, albeit a shaky one.
"You're not real," he hisses. He prods a finger into the knot of muscle in Dean's shoulder. "Only in his dreams is he taller than me. My brother's short - and bossy - and you're not him. Never gonna be."
:::
The next night, he waits until Dean is asleep and then crawls into the bed behind him, folding his limbs about Dean's body. He watches the flicker of Dean's eyes beneath his lids and then presses his mouth to Dean's ear and recites the Rituale Romanum until the lamp on the desk goes dark and stays that way.
~end
And love to mickeym for the awesome little evil duck! How is something so obviously demonic so very adorable?
I'm at about 55k of my big bang now. I despair of finishing it by May but we'll see how it goes. Maybe I just need to be stern with myself. :(
Here is the tiny snippet that I posted to spn_j2_bigbang for anyone that's interested:
"I'm ill," Jensen snaps. "He made me soup. And get that goddamn look off your face, Chris." He executes an awkward turn, swapping one shoulder resting against the wall for the other and then heads back towards the lounge. "There are puppets on my tv," he mutters and Jared's not sure if this is meant as a good thing or a bad one.
And here is fic.
Now I lay me down to sleep
(Sam/dream!Dean, 1315 words, r-rated, dub-con)
A coda for 3.10 that spent a long time languishing on my harddrive before I prettied it up a little and got around to posting it. It was meant to be longer, and pornier. Oh well.
Sam knows the difference between dreams and nightmares and knows which Dean is having. He makes sure there's hot, black coffee waiting for Dean in the morning when he wakes, offers to drive and doesn't comment on the corpse-grey shadows beneath Dean's eyes.
:::
Three nights after Pittsburgh, Sam wakes to the lamp on the desk flicking on and off. He stares at the back of Dean's head, blankly watching how the light splashes over his face and then blinks off as Dean's fingers tap the switch up and down.
Dean is still asleep in the other bed.
With clinical curiosity, Sam wonders how long African dream-root stays in the bloodstream, and what effect it has on those already susceptible to taking trips outside of their own heads.
"You're gonna blow the fuse," he says as the light goes on flashing like a miniature lighthouse in the middle of the motel room's midnight.
The light stays on and Dean turns about in his chair, rising slowly to his feet. He cocks his head at Sam.
"You and me gotta talk, Sammy."
Somehow, he's not surprised to see that Dean's eyes are black. It leaves him cold, makes his belly curl in on itself to something small and hard. But it doesn't surprise him. He sits upright in his bed and forces his voice out.
"You're his nightmare. Not mine. I don't accept you."
Dean smiles as if genuinely amused and he nods a little. There's a deadness to the way he holds himself, as if his body's not fitting together quite right. He hasn't stopped moving towards Sam's bed, slow casual steps like he's just drifting and it's nothing but chance that's eating up the distance between him and Sam.
"You go right on ahead not accepting it, Sammy. S'gonna happen whether you accept it or not."
"He's gonna fight. He's not gonna die. Not gonna become you. You don't exist, not now, not ever."
When Dean catches the end of Sam's blanket and tugs, Sam doesn't fight it. He's not going to get into a fight with something that's crawled out of Dean's subconscious. Instead, he stands up straight and looks Dean right in his black eyes.
"You're nothing. I'm not scared of you."
"You don't have to be," Dean says. He glances over at where the other Dean - Sam's brother - is asleep in his bed. There's something like contempt even in the flat nothingness of his gaze. "He's plenty scared enough. Scared mommy won't love him anymore, scared daddy'll be disappointed." He looks back at Sam and smiles again. "Scared most of all about you."
Sam suddenly needs to swallow, to breathe again because at some point he stopped. He refuses to give any ground though, even if it means Dean standing so close that they might just as well be touching. It's no space at all between them. Sam can feel the prickle of contact even with the sliver of air between them.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"College boy can't work it out? I'm everything he's most afraid of. Everything he's most afraid he'll become." Dean leans in and it's instinct in Sam to jerk away but he clenches his fists and holds still as Dean whispers, hot and dark in his ear. "He's afraid that when you tell me to stop, I won't."
Sam's face snaps towards him, which is a mistake because Dean's mouth is right there. He feels sick and turned on and even sicker for feeling turned on. Dean's asleep just across the room and Sam knows that Dean - knows his lame-ass jokes and crude flirting and the obnoxious blast of garlic breath in Sam's face after pizza. He doesn't know this Dean.
Dean slaps him lightly on the cheek, his fingers lingering on Sam's jaw.
"Hey, little brother… you grew up really nice. He noticed. You were such a chubby little freak as a kid. All blubber and acne." Dean's gaze slides over him, slick and fluid. "Now look at you."
There's the hot wet flicker of Dean's tongue on Sam's earlobe and Sam breaks, backs up a step. Dean moves with him, smiling like this is the best game ever. He's reaching out for Sam and, confused and jittery, Sam slaps at his hands but he still feels him touching, fingers ghosting over belly, ribs, thighs.
"Oh c'mon, Daddy's not watching. I won't tell if you don't. C'mon, Sammy, I'll make it so good for you. Even if it hurts a little at first, I'll just keep going 'til it gets good."
He presses up against Sam and there's no escaping it. Dean's body is all hot, hard lines and Sam should be able to throw him off but he feels weak and nauseous. All he can do is turn his face away from it. Dean's laughter is thick and dull, the laughter Sam recognises from when his brother is bone-tired or seconds away from passing out dead drunk.
"S'right, I'll take care of you, Sammy. You've been mine since Dad put you in my arms. Mine. But somehow it got all fucked up and I ended up being yours. Following you around like a goddamn puppy. Like that makes it okay when he gets that filthy want just from looking at you, little brother."
Dean's hand is between his legs. Heel of his hand rubbing at Sam's cock. Leaning in so close he's breathing in every one of Sam's whispering sighs. The wetness at the head of Sam's cock is sticky against the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms. There's sweat on his skin, cool like a fever.
"He doesn't," Sam murmurs. "Demons lie."
"Why would I when the truth's so much more fun? God, Sammy, haven't you got the first frigging idea about how much he wants you?" Dean's mouth moves over Sam's jawline and Sam's spine snaps straight. Mouth to Sam's ear again, Dean whispers, "Wanna suck your cock, baby brother. Wanna fuck you open on my fingers and my tongue, fuck my cock into you until you cry like a little girl. Make you dirty and worthless like he is. Make you into someone he can deserve to have."
Dean's hand moves over Sam's cock in hard, rough jerks of his wrist. It hurts but not enough to kill the fact that it also feels damn good. Sam tries to bite back the greedy noises he's making but he can only push against Dean's hand in needy thrusts of his hips.
Dean nurses him through his climax with horrifying, tender care. Kissing his throat as he comes and whispers to him all the while. Oh Sammy, doing so good, little brother, s'right, I've got you, feels nice, doesn't it? Don't tell anyone and we'll do it again, 'cause you love me, don't you?
"He's right to be scared, y'know, Sammy," says Dean after a moment, while Sam's chest is still heaving and his come is dribbling down his thighs. "When he's gone, when it's my turn, if I remember you as a baby at all, it'll only be 'cause I'm getting a kick out of fucking you sloppy and sore."
Tilting his gaze up to meet Dean's gaze, Sam manages a smirk of his own, albeit a shaky one.
"You're not real," he hisses. He prods a finger into the knot of muscle in Dean's shoulder. "Only in his dreams is he taller than me. My brother's short - and bossy - and you're not him. Never gonna be."
:::
The next night, he waits until Dean is asleep and then crawls into the bed behind him, folding his limbs about Dean's body. He watches the flicker of Dean's eyes beneath his lids and then presses his mouth to Dean's ear and recites the Rituale Romanum until the lamp on the desk goes dark and stays that way.
~end