The Point of Offering, Supernatural
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: The Point of Offering
Characters/Pairing: mostly Sam, some Dean, mild Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 ish
Summary: A follow on to The Balancing Point, The Breaking Point and The Turning Point. "The Balancing Point" was my tag to the end of episode 2x02, "Everybody Loves A Clown"...this one is from Sam's POV
Warnings/Author's Notes: Schloompy Angst, entirely emo...really not sure where (if anywhere) this largely pointless plot is going...
Spoilers: (Obviously) Through "Everybody Loves a Clown"
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there'd be a lot more sex.
He doesn’t move with the same confident grace he used to. There’s something broken in his stride, in the way his body hesitates before something as simple as opening a door. Sam thinks it has something to do with the accident, with the damage…but it also has a lot to do with Dean…with the empty spaces inside him that echo inside Sam too.
They hold space between them, hold something sacred by not speaking of it, by not touching it…just let it be there, inside them and between them, holding them together…Sam touches, soft, a hand to the small of his back when his step falters, a brush across a cheek when the ashes of yet another burning flit across his freckled face.
He turns into each touch, pressing into Sam as if to keep himself from falling. He is raw and open, exposed…if only to Sam, if only in that sacred space where brothers melt into lovers, where blood and skin and reasons give way to need and please and breathy sounds that mean nothing outside that space.
Sam holds those sounds too. Tiny whimpers from the back of his throat, the moan that dies before it escapes, the mouthed words of love and lust…none of which could survive anywhere but here. They live in the shadowed part of who they are together, remnants of the breaking…tender, seductive and he knows Dean isn’t even aware of them.
He wonders if they pour out enough of who they were before…before…could they fill the empty spaces up again? Could they be something whole without him?
Another motel, another hunt, another night in his brother’s bed, his brother’s arms…another dream about dying and leaving Dean alone…so alone…He wakes in shivers, pulling free of the entangled limbs and blankets to pad away to the window, looks out across the snow that’s been falling since dinner. His heart thumps with the pain of it, of knowing one day he’ll be the one who leaves him shattered. Leaves him broken and there would be no one to hold him, to hold him sacred and give him the space to heal.
Hands steal around Sam’s waist, lips press to his spine and Sam let’s go of the ache for now…leans back against his brother’s strong body. His eyes close and he breathes deep of the familiar smells of Dean and sex and their lives together. “’Kay?” Dean asks, all breath and tremor against the shell of his ear, his hand splayed over Sam’s heart, listening as it slowed and settled.
Sam nods, his head falling back on Dean’s shoulder, exposing the long expanse of his neck. Dean’s other hand slides up from Sam’s hip to caress over the exposed skin, closing lightly under his chin. “Cold.” Dean shivers as if to emphasize and Sam shivers with him. “Bed.”
And Sam let’s Dean cajole him back into the warm cocoon of blankets and bodies, lets him smooth the worry from his forehead with strong fingers, and kiss the sadness from his eyes with warm lips. Dean’s fingers and mouth are holy instruments as they play across his skin and nothing of pain or anguish or desperation can live beneath them. He offers his throat, turning for those fingers to slide up over the muscle, thumb against his Adam’s apple and he sighs when Dean’s lips follow. He offers himself up into that sacred space, that sacred touch…willing, wishing, praying it is enough to sanctify them both.
Title: The Point of Offering
Characters/Pairing: mostly Sam, some Dean, mild Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 ish
Summary: A follow on to The Balancing Point, The Breaking Point and The Turning Point. "The Balancing Point" was my tag to the end of episode 2x02, "Everybody Loves A Clown"...this one is from Sam's POV
Warnings/Author's Notes: Schloompy Angst, entirely emo...really not sure where (if anywhere) this largely pointless plot is going...
Spoilers: (Obviously) Through "Everybody Loves a Clown"
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there'd be a lot more sex.
He doesn’t move with the same confident grace he used to. There’s something broken in his stride, in the way his body hesitates before something as simple as opening a door. Sam thinks it has something to do with the accident, with the damage…but it also has a lot to do with Dean…with the empty spaces inside him that echo inside Sam too.
They hold space between them, hold something sacred by not speaking of it, by not touching it…just let it be there, inside them and between them, holding them together…Sam touches, soft, a hand to the small of his back when his step falters, a brush across a cheek when the ashes of yet another burning flit across his freckled face.
He turns into each touch, pressing into Sam as if to keep himself from falling. He is raw and open, exposed…if only to Sam, if only in that sacred space where brothers melt into lovers, where blood and skin and reasons give way to need and please and breathy sounds that mean nothing outside that space.
Sam holds those sounds too. Tiny whimpers from the back of his throat, the moan that dies before it escapes, the mouthed words of love and lust…none of which could survive anywhere but here. They live in the shadowed part of who they are together, remnants of the breaking…tender, seductive and he knows Dean isn’t even aware of them.
He wonders if they pour out enough of who they were before…before…could they fill the empty spaces up again? Could they be something whole without him?
Another motel, another hunt, another night in his brother’s bed, his brother’s arms…another dream about dying and leaving Dean alone…so alone…He wakes in shivers, pulling free of the entangled limbs and blankets to pad away to the window, looks out across the snow that’s been falling since dinner. His heart thumps with the pain of it, of knowing one day he’ll be the one who leaves him shattered. Leaves him broken and there would be no one to hold him, to hold him sacred and give him the space to heal.
Hands steal around Sam’s waist, lips press to his spine and Sam let’s go of the ache for now…leans back against his brother’s strong body. His eyes close and he breathes deep of the familiar smells of Dean and sex and their lives together. “’Kay?” Dean asks, all breath and tremor against the shell of his ear, his hand splayed over Sam’s heart, listening as it slowed and settled.
Sam nods, his head falling back on Dean’s shoulder, exposing the long expanse of his neck. Dean’s other hand slides up from Sam’s hip to caress over the exposed skin, closing lightly under his chin. “Cold.” Dean shivers as if to emphasize and Sam shivers with him. “Bed.”
And Sam let’s Dean cajole him back into the warm cocoon of blankets and bodies, lets him smooth the worry from his forehead with strong fingers, and kiss the sadness from his eyes with warm lips. Dean’s fingers and mouth are holy instruments as they play across his skin and nothing of pain or anguish or desperation can live beneath them. He offers his throat, turning for those fingers to slide up over the muscle, thumb against his Adam’s apple and he sighs when Dean’s lips follow. He offers himself up into that sacred space, that sacred touch…willing, wishing, praying it is enough to sanctify them both.