Fic: Promises Broken and Kept
Title: Promises Broken and Kept
Author: silverraven
Rating: NC-17, PWP
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: ~1900
Warnings: wincest, canonical character death, spoilers for the last episode of season 3.
Author’s notes: Big thanks to lavishsqualor for the beta and all her help! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
ETA: Now with podfic by the lovely lavishsqualor here!
The very first time was against the Impala, with Dean only having a year to live. He decided to fuck it and kiss Sam like he’d been wanting to for years now, finally taking something for himself.
He expected Sam to shove him away, maybe even punch him, but what he got was a whole lot of not-so-little brother pushing him against the side of his baby, devouring his mouth, hot and frenzied, as if Sam was the one going to Hell, and rubbing their groins together until they both came in their pants.
From then on, it was like Sam took the whole ‘slamming Dean against a hard surface and making him come his brains out’ thing to heart. Most times, the door wasn’t even closed yet before Sam pounced. One time, Sam had backed him right into the door knob, Dean’s painful hiss eaten away by Sam’s mouth, and he had forgotten the damn thing was even there until later, when his back hurt like a bitch and one heck of a purple bruise was forming. He told Sam no sex for a week as punishment, trying to teach him that manhandling his older brother was not cool (really hot though, but still, not cool). So yeah, no sex for seven days.
Dean lasted two days before he was falling to his knees and blissfully choking on Sam’s dick.
It was almost always rough and hurried, foreplay limited, not necessary, as all Dean ever wanted was Sam’s cock in him - mouth or ass, he didn’t care - owning him, forcing him to just take it, so for a few precious moments Dean could forget about what was looming, nothing else existing but him and Sammy.
Their coming together was scorching, to the point that Dean felt like he was on fire, his cells liquefying, expanding and reforming into something new, no longer just Dean, but something better.
Sex with Sam was all consuming, no holds barred. He never allowed Dean to turn away or close his eyes, wouldn’t stand for Dean stifling any noises, instead making it his personal mission to wring out every scream and whimper and every sound from between Dean’s lips.
Before, Dean had assumed that if something like this ever happened, he would be the one blowing Sam’s mind, teaching Sam that sex didn’t have to be vanilla, wasn’t something you did in the dark, under the covers. He’d envisioned showing Sam about the joys of handcuffs and swallowing, using his vast knowledge and years of first-hand experience to really give it to him.
Yeah, apparently not so much.
Sam taught him about cock rings and dildos and wouldn’t let him come for hours sometimes. The bastard.
Sam had fucked Dean with his own gun once, having Dean lick all over the barrel, telling him he better drench it with spit as that was the only lube he’s getting and a minute later shoved the hard, unforgiving metal right in.
That instance became Dean’s number one, go-to jerk-off fantasy.
Sam’s so far away from the gentle and caring, crying-during-sex lover that Dean had thought. The big freak liked to bite, mark up Dean’s skin and throw around all two hundred and twenty plus pounds to get Dean’s body to do whatever he wanted. And Christ, Sam fucked like a jackhammer, pounding and ramming into Dean until Dean was sure the thin motel wall was about to come down and their neighbors would get an eyeful.
They had broken the bed a couple of times. Something that always brought a proud smile to Dean’s face. His boy fucked like a champion.
As the months passed, Sam surprised him again. He’d expected Sam to get even more ravenous, but instead his touches turned soft. Oh sure, after hunts Sam still fucked him every which way and then some, but between hunts it was different.
Sam would lie him down on a lumpy mattress and sweetly kiss Dean until his head spun. Sam’s lips and tongue would trace all over Dean’s body and Dean wouldn’t say anything, would just let Sam do whatever he wanted.
He’d tried to get Sam to hurry up once, called him Samantha and threatened eye stabbing, but Sam’s touch and kisses never roughened. So Dean shut up, let Sam have his way. Just like always.
Instead, Dean bit back the pleas for Sam to stop with the girly shit and just fuck him already, staring at the ceiling so Sam wouldn’t notice the wetness in his eyes, wouldn’t know how much his tender touches tore Dean up inside more than his hard thrusts ever would.
He spread his legs, letting Sam settle between them, pressing him down into the bed. The heavy weight of Sam was something Dean relished. The solidness of him, the way he would block out everything except himself from Dean’s view, excited Dean.
Dean tilted his head back in silent invitation, and Sam didn’t disappoint, peppering Dean’s neck with sharp nips and soothing licks. He wrapped his legs around Sam, wanting Sam as close as physically possible, running his hands down Sam’s sweaty back, all soft skin and hard muscle.
His fingers hit the jagged scar on Sam’s lower back, and both their breaths caught.
“Dean,” Sam started to say, but Dean didn’t let him finish, pressing their lips together. He continued his exploration of the scar, other hand sliding under Sam’s chest, over his heart, feeling it beat, loud and fast, alive.
Sam’s here, right now, breathing and living, because of him. That’s all that matters.
“God, Dean, want you so bad,” he whispered in Dean’s ear. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Want you too, Sammy.”
Sam moaned, big hands cupping Dean’s ass. “Let me?” he asked, finger slowly pressing into Dean’s hole.
Dean would roll his eyes at Sam asking now, as if he hadn’t already been inside Dean dozens of times, except he’s too busy trying not to come as Sam’s finger grazes his sweet spot.
“Always,” Dean rasped, voice thicker and deeper than usual. “You know you can, always.”
Two fingers now, scissoring and stretching, and Dean hissed, Sam immediately pulling out and grabbing the lube, coating a liberal amount before returning those long and agile fingers inside of Dean.
Dean relaxed into the sensation, opening himself up. He turned over, up on all fours, when Sam instructed, gasping only in pleasure when Sam entered him, filling him and surrounding him, Sam’s chest along his back, Sam’s teeth nibbling across the back of his neck.
"Oh, fuck, Sammy," Dean breathed, pushing back helplessly, closing his eyes and just shuddering as Sam started moving in and out. His hands fisted the sheets, body rocking with Sam’s, trying to hold on to that sweet, tingling rush of sensation each time Sam slid home, wanting it to go on forever.
“You’re so amazing, Dean, you don’t even know,” Sam said as he nuzzled the side of Dean’s neck. “Feel so damn good. So hot. God, you’re perfect like this. Never wanna leave.”
He couldn’t think straight, the rush of Sam’s words making him tremble even more. “Please,” he begged and had no idea what for, he just needed more, more of this, more of Sam, more of everything. “Please, Sam, please.”
“Shhh,” Sam whispered, one hand going around Dean’s aching cock. “I got ya. I got ya, Dean, and I’m not letting go. Never letting go.”
Dean moaned loudly when Sam’s cock hit his prostate directly, the dual feeling of Sam inside him and jacking him almost too much, body in overload, throat tight, barely managing to choke out the words, “Need you, Sammy.”
“Right here, I’m right here. Need you so much, not letting you go.”
By now Sam’s thrusts would usually speed up, driving towards orgasm, but not today. He kept his strokes slow and deep, hitting Dean at his very core.
“Gonna take care of you, swear it.”
“That’s my job- oh, Jesus, yeah, right there. Come on, Sam, harder. Not gonna break.” Dean lowered his upper body until his shoulders were resting on the bed, face mashed into the pillow. He clenched around Sam.
“Fuck,” Sam groaned, his rhythm faltering. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean automatically replied, half blissed out with pleasure and half dying because he wasn’t quite there.
“I’m not the one with a dick up his ass. Pretty sure that makes you my bitch, bitch,” Sam said and seemed to prove his point home with a vicious jab that caused Dean to yelp and slide a couple inches up the bed.
Dean clenched again in retaliation, and that got Sam moving. Words were lost then, replaced by pants and groans, hoarse cries and soft whispers, until the only thing Dean remembered was Sam’s name, whimpering it again and again as his body writhed under the onslaught.
Sam was saying something, but he had trouble hearing what over the whoosh of blood thrumming through his ears.
“-an, promise- you’re mine -not letting ’em have you. Can’t have you, you’re mine.”
At Sam’s words, it was like something inside of Dean shattered, breaking into a million pieces. Suddenly everything was too much, too intense, heat and pleasure rolling through him and pouring out until nothing was left. In some part of his mind, he could swear he felt Sam coming hot and thick inside him.
He collapsed on the bed, Sam pulling out and dropping down beside him. Dean’s on the wet spot, should probably get up and clean himself up, but he’s too strung out to move. He heard Sam get off the bed and a minute later a wet towel was gently wiping him.
Dean sighed, nestling deeper into the pillow and was only half aware of Sam as he moved through the room, turned off the lights and crawled back into bed. Dean’s more asleep than weak when Sam wrapped those huge paws of his around him, cuddling up, the giant girl.
“You don’t have to be scared,” Sam whispered in the dark, into the side of Dean’s neck. “I’ll find a way out of it. I meant what I said. I’m not going to let them have you, Dean. I promise.”
~ ~ ~ ~
After the first dozen or so tears into him, Dean stopped feeling the hellhound’s vicious claws and bites, couldn’t feel anything below his neck. His eyes were trained on the demon bitch, Lilith, watching in horror as she blasted Sam with a bright flash of white light.
No. Please God, no.
Dean couldn’t move, his vision graying out as he struggled to breathe, lungs and mouth filling with blood, as it also poured out of the numerous holes in his shredded chest.
The white light vanished, and he saw just enough to know that Sam had survived.
Dean didn’t need to hold on anymore.
He wasn’t mad at Sam for breaking his promise, couldn’t ever be mad at Sam for too long anyway. And he’ll never be angry about this, never regret his decision.
Sam was alive; he’ll keep on living, because of Dean.
Dean had sworn he would keep Sam safe. Sam was his responsibility, had been since Dean was four years old, and now, he got to prove it.
He’d done something right, wasn’t such a screw-up after all, turned out his pathetic and wretched life had meant something.
Sam lived.
And Dean had done his job.
Author: silverraven
Rating: NC-17, PWP
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: ~1900
Warnings: wincest, canonical character death, spoilers for the last episode of season 3.
Author’s notes: Big thanks to lavishsqualor for the beta and all her help! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
ETA: Now with podfic by the lovely lavishsqualor here!
The very first time was against the Impala, with Dean only having a year to live. He decided to fuck it and kiss Sam like he’d been wanting to for years now, finally taking something for himself.
He expected Sam to shove him away, maybe even punch him, but what he got was a whole lot of not-so-little brother pushing him against the side of his baby, devouring his mouth, hot and frenzied, as if Sam was the one going to Hell, and rubbing their groins together until they both came in their pants.
From then on, it was like Sam took the whole ‘slamming Dean against a hard surface and making him come his brains out’ thing to heart. Most times, the door wasn’t even closed yet before Sam pounced. One time, Sam had backed him right into the door knob, Dean’s painful hiss eaten away by Sam’s mouth, and he had forgotten the damn thing was even there until later, when his back hurt like a bitch and one heck of a purple bruise was forming. He told Sam no sex for a week as punishment, trying to teach him that manhandling his older brother was not cool (really hot though, but still, not cool). So yeah, no sex for seven days.
Dean lasted two days before he was falling to his knees and blissfully choking on Sam’s dick.
It was almost always rough and hurried, foreplay limited, not necessary, as all Dean ever wanted was Sam’s cock in him - mouth or ass, he didn’t care - owning him, forcing him to just take it, so for a few precious moments Dean could forget about what was looming, nothing else existing but him and Sammy.
Their coming together was scorching, to the point that Dean felt like he was on fire, his cells liquefying, expanding and reforming into something new, no longer just Dean, but something better.
Sex with Sam was all consuming, no holds barred. He never allowed Dean to turn away or close his eyes, wouldn’t stand for Dean stifling any noises, instead making it his personal mission to wring out every scream and whimper and every sound from between Dean’s lips.
Before, Dean had assumed that if something like this ever happened, he would be the one blowing Sam’s mind, teaching Sam that sex didn’t have to be vanilla, wasn’t something you did in the dark, under the covers. He’d envisioned showing Sam about the joys of handcuffs and swallowing, using his vast knowledge and years of first-hand experience to really give it to him.
Yeah, apparently not so much.
Sam taught him about cock rings and dildos and wouldn’t let him come for hours sometimes. The bastard.
Sam had fucked Dean with his own gun once, having Dean lick all over the barrel, telling him he better drench it with spit as that was the only lube he’s getting and a minute later shoved the hard, unforgiving metal right in.
That instance became Dean’s number one, go-to jerk-off fantasy.
Sam’s so far away from the gentle and caring, crying-during-sex lover that Dean had thought. The big freak liked to bite, mark up Dean’s skin and throw around all two hundred and twenty plus pounds to get Dean’s body to do whatever he wanted. And Christ, Sam fucked like a jackhammer, pounding and ramming into Dean until Dean was sure the thin motel wall was about to come down and their neighbors would get an eyeful.
They had broken the bed a couple of times. Something that always brought a proud smile to Dean’s face. His boy fucked like a champion.
As the months passed, Sam surprised him again. He’d expected Sam to get even more ravenous, but instead his touches turned soft. Oh sure, after hunts Sam still fucked him every which way and then some, but between hunts it was different.
Sam would lie him down on a lumpy mattress and sweetly kiss Dean until his head spun. Sam’s lips and tongue would trace all over Dean’s body and Dean wouldn’t say anything, would just let Sam do whatever he wanted.
He’d tried to get Sam to hurry up once, called him Samantha and threatened eye stabbing, but Sam’s touch and kisses never roughened. So Dean shut up, let Sam have his way. Just like always.
Instead, Dean bit back the pleas for Sam to stop with the girly shit and just fuck him already, staring at the ceiling so Sam wouldn’t notice the wetness in his eyes, wouldn’t know how much his tender touches tore Dean up inside more than his hard thrusts ever would.
He spread his legs, letting Sam settle between them, pressing him down into the bed. The heavy weight of Sam was something Dean relished. The solidness of him, the way he would block out everything except himself from Dean’s view, excited Dean.
Dean tilted his head back in silent invitation, and Sam didn’t disappoint, peppering Dean’s neck with sharp nips and soothing licks. He wrapped his legs around Sam, wanting Sam as close as physically possible, running his hands down Sam’s sweaty back, all soft skin and hard muscle.
His fingers hit the jagged scar on Sam’s lower back, and both their breaths caught.
“Dean,” Sam started to say, but Dean didn’t let him finish, pressing their lips together. He continued his exploration of the scar, other hand sliding under Sam’s chest, over his heart, feeling it beat, loud and fast, alive.
Sam’s here, right now, breathing and living, because of him. That’s all that matters.
“God, Dean, want you so bad,” he whispered in Dean’s ear. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Want you too, Sammy.”
Sam moaned, big hands cupping Dean’s ass. “Let me?” he asked, finger slowly pressing into Dean’s hole.
Dean would roll his eyes at Sam asking now, as if he hadn’t already been inside Dean dozens of times, except he’s too busy trying not to come as Sam’s finger grazes his sweet spot.
“Always,” Dean rasped, voice thicker and deeper than usual. “You know you can, always.”
Two fingers now, scissoring and stretching, and Dean hissed, Sam immediately pulling out and grabbing the lube, coating a liberal amount before returning those long and agile fingers inside of Dean.
Dean relaxed into the sensation, opening himself up. He turned over, up on all fours, when Sam instructed, gasping only in pleasure when Sam entered him, filling him and surrounding him, Sam’s chest along his back, Sam’s teeth nibbling across the back of his neck.
"Oh, fuck, Sammy," Dean breathed, pushing back helplessly, closing his eyes and just shuddering as Sam started moving in and out. His hands fisted the sheets, body rocking with Sam’s, trying to hold on to that sweet, tingling rush of sensation each time Sam slid home, wanting it to go on forever.
“You’re so amazing, Dean, you don’t even know,” Sam said as he nuzzled the side of Dean’s neck. “Feel so damn good. So hot. God, you’re perfect like this. Never wanna leave.”
He couldn’t think straight, the rush of Sam’s words making him tremble even more. “Please,” he begged and had no idea what for, he just needed more, more of this, more of Sam, more of everything. “Please, Sam, please.”
“Shhh,” Sam whispered, one hand going around Dean’s aching cock. “I got ya. I got ya, Dean, and I’m not letting go. Never letting go.”
Dean moaned loudly when Sam’s cock hit his prostate directly, the dual feeling of Sam inside him and jacking him almost too much, body in overload, throat tight, barely managing to choke out the words, “Need you, Sammy.”
“Right here, I’m right here. Need you so much, not letting you go.”
By now Sam’s thrusts would usually speed up, driving towards orgasm, but not today. He kept his strokes slow and deep, hitting Dean at his very core.
“Gonna take care of you, swear it.”
“That’s my job- oh, Jesus, yeah, right there. Come on, Sam, harder. Not gonna break.” Dean lowered his upper body until his shoulders were resting on the bed, face mashed into the pillow. He clenched around Sam.
“Fuck,” Sam groaned, his rhythm faltering. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean automatically replied, half blissed out with pleasure and half dying because he wasn’t quite there.
“I’m not the one with a dick up his ass. Pretty sure that makes you my bitch, bitch,” Sam said and seemed to prove his point home with a vicious jab that caused Dean to yelp and slide a couple inches up the bed.
Dean clenched again in retaliation, and that got Sam moving. Words were lost then, replaced by pants and groans, hoarse cries and soft whispers, until the only thing Dean remembered was Sam’s name, whimpering it again and again as his body writhed under the onslaught.
Sam was saying something, but he had trouble hearing what over the whoosh of blood thrumming through his ears.
“-an, promise- you’re mine -not letting ’em have you. Can’t have you, you’re mine.”
At Sam’s words, it was like something inside of Dean shattered, breaking into a million pieces. Suddenly everything was too much, too intense, heat and pleasure rolling through him and pouring out until nothing was left. In some part of his mind, he could swear he felt Sam coming hot and thick inside him.
He collapsed on the bed, Sam pulling out and dropping down beside him. Dean’s on the wet spot, should probably get up and clean himself up, but he’s too strung out to move. He heard Sam get off the bed and a minute later a wet towel was gently wiping him.
Dean sighed, nestling deeper into the pillow and was only half aware of Sam as he moved through the room, turned off the lights and crawled back into bed. Dean’s more asleep than weak when Sam wrapped those huge paws of his around him, cuddling up, the giant girl.
“You don’t have to be scared,” Sam whispered in the dark, into the side of Dean’s neck. “I’ll find a way out of it. I meant what I said. I’m not going to let them have you, Dean. I promise.”
~ ~ ~ ~
After the first dozen or so tears into him, Dean stopped feeling the hellhound’s vicious claws and bites, couldn’t feel anything below his neck. His eyes were trained on the demon bitch, Lilith, watching in horror as she blasted Sam with a bright flash of white light.
No. Please God, no.
Dean couldn’t move, his vision graying out as he struggled to breathe, lungs and mouth filling with blood, as it also poured out of the numerous holes in his shredded chest.
The white light vanished, and he saw just enough to know that Sam had survived.
Dean didn’t need to hold on anymore.
He wasn’t mad at Sam for breaking his promise, couldn’t ever be mad at Sam for too long anyway. And he’ll never be angry about this, never regret his decision.
Sam was alive; he’ll keep on living, because of Dean.
Dean had sworn he would keep Sam safe. Sam was his responsibility, had been since Dean was four years old, and now, he got to prove it.
He’d done something right, wasn’t such a screw-up after all, turned out his pathetic and wretched life had meant something.
Sam lived.
And Dean had done his job.