Better than I know myself (Dean/Sam, Smith/Wesson, oneshot)
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. The boys belong to Kripke, CW and to each other.
Rating: NC17
Author: my_specialhell
Pairing: Dean/Sam; Smith/Wesson
Summary: Dean Smith was a jerk. No, he really was…but he was the jerk that kept popping up in his nightmares, night after night, and if he was honest to himself some of those dreams were the reasons for his rendez vouz with his right hand.
word count: 1.645
a/n: I don't even know...
a/n2: third fic in my personal challenge: one fic a day until the premiere. I skipped yesterday's because of rl, but I'll catch up:P
They were always the last ones to leave…for one reason or another - ok, one of the reasons were that going back to an empty apartment a too small couch and another round of nightmares or a rendez vouz with his right hand wasn’t exactly thrilling for Sam.
Dean Smith was a jerk. No, he really was…but he was the jerk that kept popping up in his nightmares, night after night, and if he was honest to himself some of those dreams were the reasons for his rendez vouz with his right hand.
Dean Smith was different in his dreams; it wasn’t just the way the man in his dreams dressed: faded jeans, plaid and a leather jacket. It wasn’t even the fact that the man in his dreams was a bad ass who killed monsters and was hot as fuck while doing it, even when covered in blood. The man in his dreams had scars…and somehow Sam knew that he knew how his skin tasted. The look in the man in his dreams was haunted, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and the surge of almost visceral protectiveness had woken him up more than once: his heart thumping against his ribcage, his skin too hot and words stuck in his throat that made no sense, but felt true, more real than his life.
Mine. Gotta protect him. Never again.
Dean Smith was quiet as much as the man in his dreams was brash and cocky, Dean Smith carried himself as if he owned the world, the place and his future was bright …the man in his dreams fought and killed as if he didn’t have a future, as if his job was to save the world even if it made no sense.
They were both in the elevator, Dean looking ahead of him, ignoring him - and honestly it wasn’t like he could blame him after the last time. Sam kept looking at the man, trying not to think about how weird it was that he had been dreaming of him…and those dreams were so crazy and yet, at the same time, felt so real that he had troubles remembering that his real life was the one he lived when he was awake.
The man in his dreams sometimes kissed him as if he was drowning and he was the oxygen keeping him alive, his mouth soft and firm, his body shielding him and setting every nerve of his body on fire. The man in his dreams usually tasted of coffee and mint, sometimes he tasted of blood and their tastes mingled.
He wondered whether Dean Smith could feel the air almost hum with electricity when they were together, in the elevator at nights. He wondered about his dreams. What did he dream about? Did he dream about monsters? Did he dream about hands and mouths in the dark?
He tilted his head down and had to hid a smile when he felt Dean’s stare on him. He heard his intake of breathe, and he was sure the other man had maybe wanted to speak but decided against it; after all he had been the weirdo that had asked him weird questions. He tilted his head up and looked at the man, he caught the heat in Smith’s hazel eyes, it was unmistakable, it was the same kind of look the man in his dreams gave him, the ones that sent jolts of pleasure straight to his groin.
He saw Dean swallow, he saw him fidgeting with his tie, and then his eyes followed his gaze, Dean licked his lips and looked away. Later he wondered at what happened, he wondered whether Dean had felt the same undercurrent, he wondered who had moved first, who had kissed the other first.
Was it him who moved, covering and closing the distance between them? Was it Dean? He couldn’t say. All he knew that both their bags ended up on the elevator’s floor, and his back was against the wall.
Dean’s body was warm, firm under all those layers of designer clothes. He felt dizzy for a moment at how familiar the man’s body pressed against his felt and from the way Dean broke the kiss, his fingers still tangled up in his hair, Sam thought he must be feeling the same.
They were both panting, Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean shut him up, almost growling against his lips, “shut up” and he was only happy to comply, especially when Deanì’s hips ground against his, and the man lightly pulled at his hair. It was familiar and new at the same time. If it hadn’t been crazy he’d have said it was almost muscle memory or some kind of instinct he didn’t even know he had…and he didn’t care, not when Dean slowly teased and licked his way in his mouth. He groaned, and his hands went up to cradle Dean’s face, to better angle the kiss.
That man knew exactly how to kiss him, how to nib and lick and tease with his fingertips and hips, almost as if they had kissed before…almost like the man in his dreams. Dean, the man who was kissing him now, was real though. They moved, and Sam blindly searched for the stop button in the elevator, as Dean licked the beads of sweat from his jaw, and their bodies were impossibly close…and definitely with too many clothes on.
Apparently Dean was thinking along his lines, because he started fumbling with his shirt while he trailed open mouthed kisses on the side of his neck and Sam’s hands went to Dean’s chest for a moment before they trailed down and rested on his waist
~ “Don’t start something if you can’t finish it, Sammy” Dean panted against his ear, his breath hot against his skin, the darkness surrounding them in the alley almost like a living creature shielding them.
“who says I can’t?” Sam breathed, as he unzipped Dean’s jeans, acutely aware of how Dean’s breath was ghosting against his face. ~
Their mouths clashed together as Sam undid Dean’s pants. He knew it was crazy, he knew they didn’t have much time and he didn’t care, not when Dean hissed in pleasure when his hand wrapped around his cock.
Dean panted against his neck, his body moving, in time with his hand, his fingers gripping his biceps and Sam wasn’t even aware of how his hips were seeking friction, until he felt Dean’s hand trail down and palm his erection through his trousers.
~ “You’re playin’ dirty!” Sam laughed as Dean’s lips brushed against his cock, just the tip of his tongue out, and he saw his brother’s eyes lit up with amusement.
“Am I?” Dean said, his fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking almost lazily, his other hand on his hip to stop from pushing into his grip, “well…what y’gonna do about it?”~
Seeing Dean slowly lose his composure was taking Sam’s breath away, he didn’t even pay too much attention to his neglected cock throbbing; there was almost something hypnotic in the way Dean’s lips were parting, his pupils blown, sweat dampening his hair; he sought the man’s lips and tasted them, sucking the man’s tongue, nibbling at his lower lip, swallowing Dean’s moans with his, when Dean finally got a clue and unzipped his pants, and his grip on Dean’s cock strengthened when he felt the man’s fingers wrapping around his cock.
~ “I’ll…fucking…end…you!” Dean panted. Sam’s lips left Dean’s cock with a wet plop and he smirked at him.
“What do they say about payback?” He said his voice low, chuckling when Dean’s hips jerked. ~
He felt it again, like in his dreams, those words, thoughts, mingled with images behind his half closed lids, blurry around the edges because of pleasure.
Dean…mine…gotta protect…never again…mine
He kissed Dean, pumping his wrist letting Dean choose the rhythm, hissing when Dean’s teeth and lips sucked on his neck, almost feeling the blood surfacing, not to let out of those words, those thoughts. Pleasure was coiling around himself, setting his nerves alight, making it harder to breathe, but he didn’t break the kiss, he kept moving, as images and sounds made it impossible to separate reality from his dreams.
Not that it mattered, he thought, as pleasure, his and a moment later Dean’s, caught them almost by surprise, filling the air with their breaths and their smell, mingled.
~ “That was…” Sam trailed, trying to catch his breath, as Dean did the same next to him in the bed.
“Awesome” Dean said, grinning almost sleepily, his fingers trailing down Sam’s torso, up and down and Sam doubted his brother was even aware of what he was doing, still riding the high of his orgasm.
“Yeah, something like that…” Sam said and Dean chuckled before moving.
“Uh…stay?” Sam asked, not even caring about Dean possibly teasing him until the end of days - which according to angels might be close anyway.
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t move, “Hog my pillow and I’ll end you, bitch!” he said after a moment~
Sam was still trying to catch his breath when Dean pressed a button on the elevator, he shook his head, somehow not surprised by the other man’s matter of factly behavior. Something told him that there were very few things that could actually surprise him about Dean. It was scary…and exciting at the same time.
“So…” Sam said, “coffee?”
Dean handed him his bag, he ran a hand through his hair and nodded, “only if it’s decaf”
The door opened and Dean got out of the elevator, without even bothering to check if Sam was following.
Perhaps he knew that he didn’t need to. Perhaps he knew, felt, just like Sam did, that he’d follow him everywhere.
-fin
Rating: NC17
Author: my_specialhell
Pairing: Dean/Sam; Smith/Wesson
Summary: Dean Smith was a jerk. No, he really was…but he was the jerk that kept popping up in his nightmares, night after night, and if he was honest to himself some of those dreams were the reasons for his rendez vouz with his right hand.
word count: 1.645
a/n: I don't even know...
a/n2: third fic in my personal challenge: one fic a day until the premiere. I skipped yesterday's because of rl, but I'll catch up:P
They were always the last ones to leave…for one reason or another - ok, one of the reasons were that going back to an empty apartment a too small couch and another round of nightmares or a rendez vouz with his right hand wasn’t exactly thrilling for Sam.
Dean Smith was a jerk. No, he really was…but he was the jerk that kept popping up in his nightmares, night after night, and if he was honest to himself some of those dreams were the reasons for his rendez vouz with his right hand.
Dean Smith was different in his dreams; it wasn’t just the way the man in his dreams dressed: faded jeans, plaid and a leather jacket. It wasn’t even the fact that the man in his dreams was a bad ass who killed monsters and was hot as fuck while doing it, even when covered in blood. The man in his dreams had scars…and somehow Sam knew that he knew how his skin tasted. The look in the man in his dreams was haunted, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and the surge of almost visceral protectiveness had woken him up more than once: his heart thumping against his ribcage, his skin too hot and words stuck in his throat that made no sense, but felt true, more real than his life.
Mine. Gotta protect him. Never again.
Dean Smith was quiet as much as the man in his dreams was brash and cocky, Dean Smith carried himself as if he owned the world, the place and his future was bright …the man in his dreams fought and killed as if he didn’t have a future, as if his job was to save the world even if it made no sense.
They were both in the elevator, Dean looking ahead of him, ignoring him - and honestly it wasn’t like he could blame him after the last time. Sam kept looking at the man, trying not to think about how weird it was that he had been dreaming of him…and those dreams were so crazy and yet, at the same time, felt so real that he had troubles remembering that his real life was the one he lived when he was awake.
The man in his dreams sometimes kissed him as if he was drowning and he was the oxygen keeping him alive, his mouth soft and firm, his body shielding him and setting every nerve of his body on fire. The man in his dreams usually tasted of coffee and mint, sometimes he tasted of blood and their tastes mingled.
He wondered whether Dean Smith could feel the air almost hum with electricity when they were together, in the elevator at nights. He wondered about his dreams. What did he dream about? Did he dream about monsters? Did he dream about hands and mouths in the dark?
He tilted his head down and had to hid a smile when he felt Dean’s stare on him. He heard his intake of breathe, and he was sure the other man had maybe wanted to speak but decided against it; after all he had been the weirdo that had asked him weird questions. He tilted his head up and looked at the man, he caught the heat in Smith’s hazel eyes, it was unmistakable, it was the same kind of look the man in his dreams gave him, the ones that sent jolts of pleasure straight to his groin.
He saw Dean swallow, he saw him fidgeting with his tie, and then his eyes followed his gaze, Dean licked his lips and looked away. Later he wondered at what happened, he wondered whether Dean had felt the same undercurrent, he wondered who had moved first, who had kissed the other first.
Was it him who moved, covering and closing the distance between them? Was it Dean? He couldn’t say. All he knew that both their bags ended up on the elevator’s floor, and his back was against the wall.
Dean’s body was warm, firm under all those layers of designer clothes. He felt dizzy for a moment at how familiar the man’s body pressed against his felt and from the way Dean broke the kiss, his fingers still tangled up in his hair, Sam thought he must be feeling the same.
They were both panting, Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean shut him up, almost growling against his lips, “shut up” and he was only happy to comply, especially when Deanì’s hips ground against his, and the man lightly pulled at his hair. It was familiar and new at the same time. If it hadn’t been crazy he’d have said it was almost muscle memory or some kind of instinct he didn’t even know he had…and he didn’t care, not when Dean slowly teased and licked his way in his mouth. He groaned, and his hands went up to cradle Dean’s face, to better angle the kiss.
That man knew exactly how to kiss him, how to nib and lick and tease with his fingertips and hips, almost as if they had kissed before…almost like the man in his dreams. Dean, the man who was kissing him now, was real though. They moved, and Sam blindly searched for the stop button in the elevator, as Dean licked the beads of sweat from his jaw, and their bodies were impossibly close…and definitely with too many clothes on.
Apparently Dean was thinking along his lines, because he started fumbling with his shirt while he trailed open mouthed kisses on the side of his neck and Sam’s hands went to Dean’s chest for a moment before they trailed down and rested on his waist
~ “Don’t start something if you can’t finish it, Sammy” Dean panted against his ear, his breath hot against his skin, the darkness surrounding them in the alley almost like a living creature shielding them.
“who says I can’t?” Sam breathed, as he unzipped Dean’s jeans, acutely aware of how Dean’s breath was ghosting against his face. ~
Their mouths clashed together as Sam undid Dean’s pants. He knew it was crazy, he knew they didn’t have much time and he didn’t care, not when Dean hissed in pleasure when his hand wrapped around his cock.
Dean panted against his neck, his body moving, in time with his hand, his fingers gripping his biceps and Sam wasn’t even aware of how his hips were seeking friction, until he felt Dean’s hand trail down and palm his erection through his trousers.
~ “You’re playin’ dirty!” Sam laughed as Dean’s lips brushed against his cock, just the tip of his tongue out, and he saw his brother’s eyes lit up with amusement.
“Am I?” Dean said, his fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking almost lazily, his other hand on his hip to stop from pushing into his grip, “well…what y’gonna do about it?”~
Seeing Dean slowly lose his composure was taking Sam’s breath away, he didn’t even pay too much attention to his neglected cock throbbing; there was almost something hypnotic in the way Dean’s lips were parting, his pupils blown, sweat dampening his hair; he sought the man’s lips and tasted them, sucking the man’s tongue, nibbling at his lower lip, swallowing Dean’s moans with his, when Dean finally got a clue and unzipped his pants, and his grip on Dean’s cock strengthened when he felt the man’s fingers wrapping around his cock.
~ “I’ll…fucking…end…you!” Dean panted. Sam’s lips left Dean’s cock with a wet plop and he smirked at him.
“What do they say about payback?” He said his voice low, chuckling when Dean’s hips jerked. ~
He felt it again, like in his dreams, those words, thoughts, mingled with images behind his half closed lids, blurry around the edges because of pleasure.
Dean…mine…gotta protect…never again…mine
He kissed Dean, pumping his wrist letting Dean choose the rhythm, hissing when Dean’s teeth and lips sucked on his neck, almost feeling the blood surfacing, not to let out of those words, those thoughts. Pleasure was coiling around himself, setting his nerves alight, making it harder to breathe, but he didn’t break the kiss, he kept moving, as images and sounds made it impossible to separate reality from his dreams.
Not that it mattered, he thought, as pleasure, his and a moment later Dean’s, caught them almost by surprise, filling the air with their breaths and their smell, mingled.
~ “That was…” Sam trailed, trying to catch his breath, as Dean did the same next to him in the bed.
“Awesome” Dean said, grinning almost sleepily, his fingers trailing down Sam’s torso, up and down and Sam doubted his brother was even aware of what he was doing, still riding the high of his orgasm.
“Yeah, something like that…” Sam said and Dean chuckled before moving.
“Uh…stay?” Sam asked, not even caring about Dean possibly teasing him until the end of days - which according to angels might be close anyway.
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t move, “Hog my pillow and I’ll end you, bitch!” he said after a moment~
Sam was still trying to catch his breath when Dean pressed a button on the elevator, he shook his head, somehow not surprised by the other man’s matter of factly behavior. Something told him that there were very few things that could actually surprise him about Dean. It was scary…and exciting at the same time.
“So…” Sam said, “coffee?”
Dean handed him his bag, he ran a hand through his hair and nodded, “only if it’s decaf”
The door opened and Dean got out of the elevator, without even bothering to check if Sam was following.
Perhaps he knew that he didn’t need to. Perhaps he knew, felt, just like Sam did, that he’d follow him everywhere.
-fin