Supernatural: Hallelujah
Title: Hallelujah
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Genre: Smut, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC-17 for Sexual Content, Incest, Language, Religion in Porn…you know, everything you would expect.
Word Count: 2,087
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt #159 - Babylon. This would be post-Houses of the Holy, not immediately after, but pre-All Hell Breaks Loose. Beta’d by wutendeskind. I am using Babylon in the context of the theological argument that Babylon was used as an allegory for Rome presented here. Because I know nothing about the Bible (hence why me writing this story is kind of weird) but using a city/state that’s plunged into sin worked *thumbs up*. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean finds Sam praying.
For the last forty-five minutes, Sam Winchester has been living in Babylon. Not that it’s a place he rarely visits, lately he feels as if he’s in a constant state of go-ahead-and-think-about-it-just-don’t-get-caught. The problem is: he never listens to that voice that tells him it’s okay to think about it, so he never lets all of the guilty desire out, and it’s really starting to look like this isn’t some weird phase he’s going to grow out of.
He learned in his freshman religion class that Babylon had been a great empire before it had fallen, deformed by sin and indulgence, and turned into something so dark it had to be destroyed. Every time he remembers what his relationship with his brother used to be, he gives an involuntary shudder. It had been something beautiful, too, but whatever dark thing was inside of him waiting to turn him into a monster had already wrapped its coil around how he felt about Dean. It transformed his innocent Love for his brother into something dirty, something so ugly he knows he would have to lose Dean forever if he gives in to it.
That’s why he fights with everything he has not to want Dean. If the Yellow Eyed Demon is going to make him a killer like the other children, he’s not going to let him ruin the last thing he has left. The best thing he ever had to begin with. But then there are days like this when Sam is trying to sleep and, instead, images of his brother start to bleed into his thoughts. Memories of times he’d walked in while Dean was showering or changing; five hundred times he should have looked away instinctively but instead chose to stare just long enough for the picture to be burned into his mind, memorized with tantalizing attention to detail.
He’s tried ignoring the problem, and that’s just not working. There are only so many cold showers a man can take before he slips up and lets himself off. Sam has done an admirable job not lending himself a hand when the fantasies go on long enough to make him hard, but he can’t control what happens in his dreams and with that much pent up tension, he’s been waking up sweaty and soaked so often he might as well be thirteen again. When he can’t sleep after a long week hunting because he’s got the worst case of blue balls in the history of mankind, he realizes this isn’t working and he’s got two options. Since one of them is accepting the fact that he is in Love with his own brother and letting his hand and his daydreams serve as a replacement for Dean’s lips, and fingers, and the parts of Dean he won’t even name-he really only has one option. For the first time since he learned all the whys Dean had tried to hide from him as a child, he gets out of bed, kneels, and begs God for help.
True, he’s been praying since the other children started to pop up, each as twisted by the demon as anyone could be, all of them murderers. He hadn’t missed a day, but those little acts of faith that he’d been depending on for months were clearly not doing the trick. He was starting to slip, these desires were the first step down to Hell and if God couldn’t quell them, how long would it be before he started hurting people? On his knees, hands folded in front of him, eyes cast to heaven, he silently asks God for a sign, for a way out of the trap fate and this demon set for him. And if it can’t be helped, if he still goes wrong, he pleads that this at least will stop. Because there’s a lot Sam is willing to accept if it’s God’s Will, but letting Dean become one of the things he destroys isn’t viable, not even if it’s part of the big picture and will, somehow, pull the world closer to Utopia.
If God exists at all, He does not listen to Sam’s prayer. The sign He sends is a parody of what Sam asked for, a practical joke in poor taste. Either that, or Sam has it wrong and Dean is exactly what was going to save him all along.
_______________________________________________________________
When Dean gets home from his failed mission, Sam is not sleeping. Practically speaking, he should be annoyed. Sam had been tired all week and Dean had let him stay home thinking this thing they were hunting would be easy enough for him to take alone. It hadn’t been and a hunt that they easily could have ended today if they’d been working together would have to drag on one day longer because Sam stayed behind to sleep and didn’t.
Dean sucks at being angry at Sam, however, and it was him who forced Sam to stay home after all. Aside from that, there’s just something so delicate it’s beautiful about the picture Dean finds when he re-enters the motel room and he has to stand in the doorway for a few minutes admiring it. It’s a perfect contradiction: Sam kneeling in front of the bed, looking like one of the Precious Moments children from the bible mom had read to him from before Sammy was even born. A giant reducing himself to something small and vulnerable and maybe hoping God won’t be able to tell the difference.
Dean had been surprised when Sam told him he prayed every day, but it made perfect sense once he thought about it. It was like Sammy, to have that innocence, even after everything he’s seen. Dean’s heart swells with a little bit of pride thinking that he had done his part to protect that side of Sam and then sinks with shame at the thought of how many times he’s wanted to destroy that innocence with his own lips and hands.
“Do you need a minute?” Dean finally asks when he realizes Sam isn’t just saying a few lines and finishing. He tries to sound casual, maybe a little sardonic, to cover up the awe hiding in his words.
Sam jumps to his feet the moment he hears Dean’s voice and turns around, terrified. Sam isn’t usually this jumpy and Dean’s mind immediately begins to survey the scene, trying to figure out what could have his brother so wound up.
“You’re not here,” Sam informs him, which is strange because Dean is pretty sure he is there. “You can’t be here.”
“Yeah, it didn’t go as well as I expected, we’ll have to try again tom-“
“No. No, you’re not supposed to be here for hours. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This can’t be how He answers.”
Sam isn’t making any sense but Dean only half hears his brother’s words. As soon as Sam turns to face him, Dean sees lines running down his brother’s face-ghost trials of tears. Dean’s worry kicks into panic and within moments his hands are on Sam, searching for a wound, some explanation for his brother’s distress.
“Sam, was is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
For a few seconds, Sam leans into his brother’s touch. Then his body goes rigid and he shoves Dean away.
“Don’t touch me, Dean.”
Dean ignores him and tries to approach his brother again. Sam’s eyes flicker down and he takes a step back, nearly collapsing onto the bed.
“Really don’t.”
But by now it’s too late; Dean’s touches have forced an hour of unrelenting frustration and attempted self-denial to go to waste and Sam’s inability to keep his eyes from looking down in horror have Dean’s eyes following hesitantly. Once his gaze lands on the too-obvious side-effect of his worried affection, Sam hears Dean suck in air too quickly and he knows his entire life is about to collapse.
When Dean’s eyes meet his, Sam’s tears are welling up again. He couldn’t feel more disgusting as he confesses to his brother.
“It’s you, Dean,” he says in the tight, teary way Dean had never wanted to cause his brother to speak. “It’s always you.”
Dean’s face changes, and Sam wants to cry harder, but not for the reason he expected to. Sam is sure the Gates of Heaven are swinging open behind Dean’s eyes because if Dean wants him too (and Sam knows Dean well enough to read less apparent facial expressions than the one he has on now), that means it’s not the demon making him feel this way after all. The demon has nothing to do with Dean-Dean is goodness and saving people, no matter how hard he tries to hide behind petty sins and hard words. He isn’t perfect, Sam knows that, but he definitely isn’t about to become a monster. Sam has been folding under the weight of his brother’s Love for too long to question it-if Dean feels the same way, there is nothing wrong about it. If Dean feels the same way, that’s his road to salvation. Sam almost feels stupid for spending so much time worrying about his fate because when Dean is looking at him like that, it’s clear that there’s no way he’ll ever go wrong with his brother around to protect him.
Before he gets a chance to say or do anything, Dean is on his knees showing Sam that he knows how to worship, too. One hand pushes up the thin fabric of Sam’s shirt, slow hands move over hard muscles as if they’re sacred. His other hand fights with the front of Sam’s jeans and when it proves impossible to loosen them with one shaking hand, he tells Sam to take off the t-shirt and finishes the jeans off himself. Once Sam is undressed, Dean’s eyes rove over every inch of him in rapture. Sam can hardly look at Dean’s expression without begging him to get on with it. Maybe Dean reads his mind; within moments his lips are just hardly resting on the end of Sam’s shaft.
“Dean, do something,” Sam growls but Dean doesn’t move.
Sam looks down and Dean takes Sam’s hands and places them on either side of his head. Sam can read what he’s trying to tell him just from the look in his eyes. “However you want it, Sammy.”
“Dean, I can’t-“
Dean tries to say something and Sam feels every vibration of his muffled words. He knows his brother too well and how stubborn he is-Dean isn’t going to move and every second takes him farther from control. Finally, he thrusts hard into Dean’s mouth until his entire length has been forced between his brother’s lips. Dean chokes a little and Sam immediately regrets it.
“Dean, are you ok? Should I stop?”
Dean tries to shake his head and moans instead, which causes Sam to thrust again without even thinking about it. Dean, however, doesn’t protest and, before Sam can give it further thought, he’s fucking his brother’s mouth with all the uncontrollable intensity he’d been trying and failing to extinguish for months. It’s not long before his entire body is pooling pleasure and his release is inevitable.
“Oh, God, Dean. I’m going to-“
His words break off with a moan. Dean has heard church bells and Sunday choirs less divine than the sound of Sam arching into him and knowing it’s him who gave his brother this bliss. The rush of Sam’s orgasm is too much for Dean to take down at once. Before he can swallow the rest, Sam’s voice, thick and breathy stops him.
“Don’t,” is all he says, and Dean nods, his lips still wrapped around Sam’s softening cock. For several moments, Sam holds him like that, close to him as his aftershocks pass and his gasps for breath level off. Finally he lets Dean go and raises him to his feet.
“Kiss me,” he asks, too sweetly to be refused. Dean leans into him, opening his mouth as he presses it against Sam’s. As they share their first kiss, Sam swallows what’s left of his own essence on Dean’s tongue. Dean’s body presses closer to Sam’s and suddenly Sam can feel Dean against his thigh and he’s delighted to be able to return his brother’s favor.
“I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Dean’s ear.
As Dean hurries to obey, he’s never been so sure that God exists.
[12]
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Genre: Smut, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC-17 for Sexual Content, Incest, Language, Religion in Porn…you know, everything you would expect.
Word Count: 2,087
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt #159 - Babylon. This would be post-Houses of the Holy, not immediately after, but pre-All Hell Breaks Loose. Beta’d by wutendeskind. I am using Babylon in the context of the theological argument that Babylon was used as an allegory for Rome presented here. Because I know nothing about the Bible (hence why me writing this story is kind of weird) but using a city/state that’s plunged into sin worked *thumbs up*. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean finds Sam praying.
For the last forty-five minutes, Sam Winchester has been living in Babylon. Not that it’s a place he rarely visits, lately he feels as if he’s in a constant state of go-ahead-and-think-about-it-just-don’t-get-caught. The problem is: he never listens to that voice that tells him it’s okay to think about it, so he never lets all of the guilty desire out, and it’s really starting to look like this isn’t some weird phase he’s going to grow out of.
He learned in his freshman religion class that Babylon had been a great empire before it had fallen, deformed by sin and indulgence, and turned into something so dark it had to be destroyed. Every time he remembers what his relationship with his brother used to be, he gives an involuntary shudder. It had been something beautiful, too, but whatever dark thing was inside of him waiting to turn him into a monster had already wrapped its coil around how he felt about Dean. It transformed his innocent Love for his brother into something dirty, something so ugly he knows he would have to lose Dean forever if he gives in to it.
That’s why he fights with everything he has not to want Dean. If the Yellow Eyed Demon is going to make him a killer like the other children, he’s not going to let him ruin the last thing he has left. The best thing he ever had to begin with. But then there are days like this when Sam is trying to sleep and, instead, images of his brother start to bleed into his thoughts. Memories of times he’d walked in while Dean was showering or changing; five hundred times he should have looked away instinctively but instead chose to stare just long enough for the picture to be burned into his mind, memorized with tantalizing attention to detail.
He’s tried ignoring the problem, and that’s just not working. There are only so many cold showers a man can take before he slips up and lets himself off. Sam has done an admirable job not lending himself a hand when the fantasies go on long enough to make him hard, but he can’t control what happens in his dreams and with that much pent up tension, he’s been waking up sweaty and soaked so often he might as well be thirteen again. When he can’t sleep after a long week hunting because he’s got the worst case of blue balls in the history of mankind, he realizes this isn’t working and he’s got two options. Since one of them is accepting the fact that he is in Love with his own brother and letting his hand and his daydreams serve as a replacement for Dean’s lips, and fingers, and the parts of Dean he won’t even name-he really only has one option. For the first time since he learned all the whys Dean had tried to hide from him as a child, he gets out of bed, kneels, and begs God for help.
True, he’s been praying since the other children started to pop up, each as twisted by the demon as anyone could be, all of them murderers. He hadn’t missed a day, but those little acts of faith that he’d been depending on for months were clearly not doing the trick. He was starting to slip, these desires were the first step down to Hell and if God couldn’t quell them, how long would it be before he started hurting people? On his knees, hands folded in front of him, eyes cast to heaven, he silently asks God for a sign, for a way out of the trap fate and this demon set for him. And if it can’t be helped, if he still goes wrong, he pleads that this at least will stop. Because there’s a lot Sam is willing to accept if it’s God’s Will, but letting Dean become one of the things he destroys isn’t viable, not even if it’s part of the big picture and will, somehow, pull the world closer to Utopia.
If God exists at all, He does not listen to Sam’s prayer. The sign He sends is a parody of what Sam asked for, a practical joke in poor taste. Either that, or Sam has it wrong and Dean is exactly what was going to save him all along.
_______________________________________________________________
When Dean gets home from his failed mission, Sam is not sleeping. Practically speaking, he should be annoyed. Sam had been tired all week and Dean had let him stay home thinking this thing they were hunting would be easy enough for him to take alone. It hadn’t been and a hunt that they easily could have ended today if they’d been working together would have to drag on one day longer because Sam stayed behind to sleep and didn’t.
Dean sucks at being angry at Sam, however, and it was him who forced Sam to stay home after all. Aside from that, there’s just something so delicate it’s beautiful about the picture Dean finds when he re-enters the motel room and he has to stand in the doorway for a few minutes admiring it. It’s a perfect contradiction: Sam kneeling in front of the bed, looking like one of the Precious Moments children from the bible mom had read to him from before Sammy was even born. A giant reducing himself to something small and vulnerable and maybe hoping God won’t be able to tell the difference.
Dean had been surprised when Sam told him he prayed every day, but it made perfect sense once he thought about it. It was like Sammy, to have that innocence, even after everything he’s seen. Dean’s heart swells with a little bit of pride thinking that he had done his part to protect that side of Sam and then sinks with shame at the thought of how many times he’s wanted to destroy that innocence with his own lips and hands.
“Do you need a minute?” Dean finally asks when he realizes Sam isn’t just saying a few lines and finishing. He tries to sound casual, maybe a little sardonic, to cover up the awe hiding in his words.
Sam jumps to his feet the moment he hears Dean’s voice and turns around, terrified. Sam isn’t usually this jumpy and Dean’s mind immediately begins to survey the scene, trying to figure out what could have his brother so wound up.
“You’re not here,” Sam informs him, which is strange because Dean is pretty sure he is there. “You can’t be here.”
“Yeah, it didn’t go as well as I expected, we’ll have to try again tom-“
“No. No, you’re not supposed to be here for hours. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This can’t be how He answers.”
Sam isn’t making any sense but Dean only half hears his brother’s words. As soon as Sam turns to face him, Dean sees lines running down his brother’s face-ghost trials of tears. Dean’s worry kicks into panic and within moments his hands are on Sam, searching for a wound, some explanation for his brother’s distress.
“Sam, was is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
For a few seconds, Sam leans into his brother’s touch. Then his body goes rigid and he shoves Dean away.
“Don’t touch me, Dean.”
Dean ignores him and tries to approach his brother again. Sam’s eyes flicker down and he takes a step back, nearly collapsing onto the bed.
“Really don’t.”
But by now it’s too late; Dean’s touches have forced an hour of unrelenting frustration and attempted self-denial to go to waste and Sam’s inability to keep his eyes from looking down in horror have Dean’s eyes following hesitantly. Once his gaze lands on the too-obvious side-effect of his worried affection, Sam hears Dean suck in air too quickly and he knows his entire life is about to collapse.
When Dean’s eyes meet his, Sam’s tears are welling up again. He couldn’t feel more disgusting as he confesses to his brother.
“It’s you, Dean,” he says in the tight, teary way Dean had never wanted to cause his brother to speak. “It’s always you.”
Dean’s face changes, and Sam wants to cry harder, but not for the reason he expected to. Sam is sure the Gates of Heaven are swinging open behind Dean’s eyes because if Dean wants him too (and Sam knows Dean well enough to read less apparent facial expressions than the one he has on now), that means it’s not the demon making him feel this way after all. The demon has nothing to do with Dean-Dean is goodness and saving people, no matter how hard he tries to hide behind petty sins and hard words. He isn’t perfect, Sam knows that, but he definitely isn’t about to become a monster. Sam has been folding under the weight of his brother’s Love for too long to question it-if Dean feels the same way, there is nothing wrong about it. If Dean feels the same way, that’s his road to salvation. Sam almost feels stupid for spending so much time worrying about his fate because when Dean is looking at him like that, it’s clear that there’s no way he’ll ever go wrong with his brother around to protect him.
Before he gets a chance to say or do anything, Dean is on his knees showing Sam that he knows how to worship, too. One hand pushes up the thin fabric of Sam’s shirt, slow hands move over hard muscles as if they’re sacred. His other hand fights with the front of Sam’s jeans and when it proves impossible to loosen them with one shaking hand, he tells Sam to take off the t-shirt and finishes the jeans off himself. Once Sam is undressed, Dean’s eyes rove over every inch of him in rapture. Sam can hardly look at Dean’s expression without begging him to get on with it. Maybe Dean reads his mind; within moments his lips are just hardly resting on the end of Sam’s shaft.
“Dean, do something,” Sam growls but Dean doesn’t move.
Sam looks down and Dean takes Sam’s hands and places them on either side of his head. Sam can read what he’s trying to tell him just from the look in his eyes. “However you want it, Sammy.”
“Dean, I can’t-“
Dean tries to say something and Sam feels every vibration of his muffled words. He knows his brother too well and how stubborn he is-Dean isn’t going to move and every second takes him farther from control. Finally, he thrusts hard into Dean’s mouth until his entire length has been forced between his brother’s lips. Dean chokes a little and Sam immediately regrets it.
“Dean, are you ok? Should I stop?”
Dean tries to shake his head and moans instead, which causes Sam to thrust again without even thinking about it. Dean, however, doesn’t protest and, before Sam can give it further thought, he’s fucking his brother’s mouth with all the uncontrollable intensity he’d been trying and failing to extinguish for months. It’s not long before his entire body is pooling pleasure and his release is inevitable.
“Oh, God, Dean. I’m going to-“
His words break off with a moan. Dean has heard church bells and Sunday choirs less divine than the sound of Sam arching into him and knowing it’s him who gave his brother this bliss. The rush of Sam’s orgasm is too much for Dean to take down at once. Before he can swallow the rest, Sam’s voice, thick and breathy stops him.
“Don’t,” is all he says, and Dean nods, his lips still wrapped around Sam’s softening cock. For several moments, Sam holds him like that, close to him as his aftershocks pass and his gasps for breath level off. Finally he lets Dean go and raises him to his feet.
“Kiss me,” he asks, too sweetly to be refused. Dean leans into him, opening his mouth as he presses it against Sam’s. As they share their first kiss, Sam swallows what’s left of his own essence on Dean’s tongue. Dean’s body presses closer to Sam’s and suddenly Sam can feel Dean against his thigh and he’s delighted to be able to return his brother’s favor.
“I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Dean’s ear.
As Dean hurries to obey, he’s never been so sure that God exists.
[12]