FIC - Together
title: Together
pairing: Dean/Sam
rating:NC-17
word count ~1300
summary: post 1X11, “Scarecrow”, basically I took the end of a S1 episode and made it an excuse for some good old fashioned PWP.
“Bye, Dean.”
The closed phone on the other end told him all he thought he needed to know. He had met this girl, Meg, she understood. It’s all right to say “no” to what your family wanted. To go your own way. Dean had even said he was proud of him. Sam hadn’t heard that since he was a kid.
But it didn’t have the effect either of them thought it would. Only a couple of hours of Dean not answering his phone and everything changed. California meant nothing anymore. All he could see was Dean.
Once Sam got back to Indiana, where all of a sudden he knew he belonged, everything seemed to change. They did what they had become accustomed to doing over the past few months, tracking down the danger, though Dean had been surprised to see his brother there at first.
Giving up something you love, for the greater good.
Sam loved being independent, loved not having to jump to the orders of another person, but there was something bigger. Something greater. Something he’d tried so hard to forget.
The Scarecrow was gone, more people were safe, and sacrifices…well, that was another story. Burkitsville might have to find their own way, but Dean and Sam were already on the path. Burning down that tree was a practical act, but to the two of them, it was symbolic gesture.
“If we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”
Once they cleared town, they found a room the way they always did, the first motel listed in the phone book in a town a hundred and twenty miles away.
They were checked in, pulling their duffels through the door, neither of which hit the floor before Sam realized he was pushed against the wall, pinned by his brother’s weight. Both of them stood stock still, eyes locked until Dean finally spoke.
The door was barely closed behind them.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sam found himself being led toward the closest bed, Dean holding onto the collar of his shirt and pulling him forward. After a few steps, the backs of Dean’s knees hit the edge of the bed and they both fell, Sam crushing his brother’s body into the mattress before his brain caught up and let his mouth land where it belonged the whole time, where it had felt at home since they were kids, right on top of Dean’s. Surprisingly to both of them, there were no tentative moments. It was like the years had passed with no effect on either of them. It was as natural as breathing, their mouths crashing together, hands roaming all over, underneath shirts, against each other’s faces, fingers through each other’s hair, just like it had been before….well, before.
Within minutes, they’d clumsily and unabashedly divested each other of their clothing and pushed farther onto the bed, into a position where they were stretched out with Dean’s head on the pillow and Sam’s left hand cupping his brother’s cheek and his right tightly gripping Dean’s left hip as if it had never left that spot years ago.
“Sam…”
“Shut up, Dean. Shut the fuck up.”
And so Dean shut up.
Sam mapped his hands across Dean’s chest, his torso, moved down to grip Dean’s cock, and Dean let a soft moan escape this throat, as if he’d been trying to hold it back.
“No more holding it back, De, it’s me, come on, you know…you fucking know. Right?”
“Yeah, Sammy. I know.” Dean pulled his arms around Sam’s neck and thanked whatever the fuck it was that had gotten them there, back where they used to be, and was in no condition to ask any questions once Sam’s hand was stroking his cock like it had never left.
As Sam moved his mouth down, across Dean’s jaw, over his throat, he moved his right hand from his brother’s hip, replacing it with his left, then slowly moved his right hand up to his mouth, coating his fingers with as much spit as he could. It’s all they had, and he couldn’t allow himself even for a second to think that Dean had let anyone else in like that as long as he’d been gone. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, but he wasn’t going to back off, this was going to happen, there was no turning back now.
One spit-slicked finger teased Dean’s hole and then gently (God, Sam hoped it was gently) pushed its way inside. Sam waited just a moment, gauging his brother’s reaction and acting purely on sense memory to figure out what was okay and what wasn’t. He gave Dean a minute, maybe a little less, before he started moving, and was beyond relived when he felt Dean rocking back against him. Not wanting to let the moment pass, Sam pushed in another finger, twisting and opening his brother the way he remembered from so many years ago, trying to prepare him for what was inevitably happening next. He let Dean move back against his fingers for a little while, savoring the sounds with which he was rewarded, before settling back on his heels and touching Dean’s cheek once again, getting him to open his eyes and look back at him.
They’d never needed many words. This was no different.
“Okay?”
“Yes, please, Sammy, okay, just…”
Sam didn’t even have the patience to wait for the rest of the sentence, just slicked up his cock with his own spit and precome, reminded his brother to relax and breathe out, then pushed his dick all the way in, slowly, but without any hesitation.
Patiently, he waited for the signal he’d known since he was sixteen, and at the slightest nod of Dean’s head, Sam pulled back out and then in again, setting a rhythm that was steady but not too hard.
Until Dean asked him for it.
“Harder, please, baby, more, God, please, Sam, please…”
Far be it from Sam to refuse his brother anything, he picked up the pace, and immediately knew it would not be long. He felt his orgasm building already, after just a few minutes, then got his brain working well enough to move one of his hands between them, tugging at Dean’s cock at the same pace in which he was fucking him. His hips moved back and forth just a little while longer before he started feeling his rhythm falter, and his brother’s breath quickened as his cock twitched in Sam’s fist.
Sam thought maybe he started coming first, being pushed over the edge by finally having his dick buried in Dean’s tight heat after such a long time without it, but there was no way to know for sure because the moment he knew he was coming he could feel Dean clench around him and they both cried out as he recognized the familiar scent and feeling of his hand covered in Dean’s release.
Two, three minutes passed, both of them silent and unmoving, not exactly sure what to do or to say.
Sam thanked everything in the universe for his brother’s smart mouth, which took that very second to say “Fuck, you’re gigantic, baby boy, come on, get off before you kill me and won’t ever get to nail me like that again.” His words were slurred, though, not from drinking but from exhaustion. “Unless you like screwing dead guys. I don’t know what they taught you in California.”
“Shut up, shut up, fuck, shut up, you jerk, and just let me sleep”, Sam managed to get out before his eyes started getting impossibly heavy.
The last thing he remembered clearly, before drifting off with Dean’s arm flung across his chest was a quietly muttered, “Bitch”.
Who knew how long it would last? But for just that very second, all was right with the world. Their fucked-up world, anyway.
pairing: Dean/Sam
rating:NC-17
word count ~1300
summary: post 1X11, “Scarecrow”, basically I took the end of a S1 episode and made it an excuse for some good old fashioned PWP.
“Bye, Dean.”
The closed phone on the other end told him all he thought he needed to know. He had met this girl, Meg, she understood. It’s all right to say “no” to what your family wanted. To go your own way. Dean had even said he was proud of him. Sam hadn’t heard that since he was a kid.
But it didn’t have the effect either of them thought it would. Only a couple of hours of Dean not answering his phone and everything changed. California meant nothing anymore. All he could see was Dean.
Once Sam got back to Indiana, where all of a sudden he knew he belonged, everything seemed to change. They did what they had become accustomed to doing over the past few months, tracking down the danger, though Dean had been surprised to see his brother there at first.
Giving up something you love, for the greater good.
Sam loved being independent, loved not having to jump to the orders of another person, but there was something bigger. Something greater. Something he’d tried so hard to forget.
The Scarecrow was gone, more people were safe, and sacrifices…well, that was another story. Burkitsville might have to find their own way, but Dean and Sam were already on the path. Burning down that tree was a practical act, but to the two of them, it was symbolic gesture.
“If we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”
Once they cleared town, they found a room the way they always did, the first motel listed in the phone book in a town a hundred and twenty miles away.
They were checked in, pulling their duffels through the door, neither of which hit the floor before Sam realized he was pushed against the wall, pinned by his brother’s weight. Both of them stood stock still, eyes locked until Dean finally spoke.
The door was barely closed behind them.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sam found himself being led toward the closest bed, Dean holding onto the collar of his shirt and pulling him forward. After a few steps, the backs of Dean’s knees hit the edge of the bed and they both fell, Sam crushing his brother’s body into the mattress before his brain caught up and let his mouth land where it belonged the whole time, where it had felt at home since they were kids, right on top of Dean’s. Surprisingly to both of them, there were no tentative moments. It was like the years had passed with no effect on either of them. It was as natural as breathing, their mouths crashing together, hands roaming all over, underneath shirts, against each other’s faces, fingers through each other’s hair, just like it had been before….well, before.
Within minutes, they’d clumsily and unabashedly divested each other of their clothing and pushed farther onto the bed, into a position where they were stretched out with Dean’s head on the pillow and Sam’s left hand cupping his brother’s cheek and his right tightly gripping Dean’s left hip as if it had never left that spot years ago.
“Sam…”
“Shut up, Dean. Shut the fuck up.”
And so Dean shut up.
Sam mapped his hands across Dean’s chest, his torso, moved down to grip Dean’s cock, and Dean let a soft moan escape this throat, as if he’d been trying to hold it back.
“No more holding it back, De, it’s me, come on, you know…you fucking know. Right?”
“Yeah, Sammy. I know.” Dean pulled his arms around Sam’s neck and thanked whatever the fuck it was that had gotten them there, back where they used to be, and was in no condition to ask any questions once Sam’s hand was stroking his cock like it had never left.
As Sam moved his mouth down, across Dean’s jaw, over his throat, he moved his right hand from his brother’s hip, replacing it with his left, then slowly moved his right hand up to his mouth, coating his fingers with as much spit as he could. It’s all they had, and he couldn’t allow himself even for a second to think that Dean had let anyone else in like that as long as he’d been gone. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, but he wasn’t going to back off, this was going to happen, there was no turning back now.
One spit-slicked finger teased Dean’s hole and then gently (God, Sam hoped it was gently) pushed its way inside. Sam waited just a moment, gauging his brother’s reaction and acting purely on sense memory to figure out what was okay and what wasn’t. He gave Dean a minute, maybe a little less, before he started moving, and was beyond relived when he felt Dean rocking back against him. Not wanting to let the moment pass, Sam pushed in another finger, twisting and opening his brother the way he remembered from so many years ago, trying to prepare him for what was inevitably happening next. He let Dean move back against his fingers for a little while, savoring the sounds with which he was rewarded, before settling back on his heels and touching Dean’s cheek once again, getting him to open his eyes and look back at him.
They’d never needed many words. This was no different.
“Okay?”
“Yes, please, Sammy, okay, just…”
Sam didn’t even have the patience to wait for the rest of the sentence, just slicked up his cock with his own spit and precome, reminded his brother to relax and breathe out, then pushed his dick all the way in, slowly, but without any hesitation.
Patiently, he waited for the signal he’d known since he was sixteen, and at the slightest nod of Dean’s head, Sam pulled back out and then in again, setting a rhythm that was steady but not too hard.
Until Dean asked him for it.
“Harder, please, baby, more, God, please, Sam, please…”
Far be it from Sam to refuse his brother anything, he picked up the pace, and immediately knew it would not be long. He felt his orgasm building already, after just a few minutes, then got his brain working well enough to move one of his hands between them, tugging at Dean’s cock at the same pace in which he was fucking him. His hips moved back and forth just a little while longer before he started feeling his rhythm falter, and his brother’s breath quickened as his cock twitched in Sam’s fist.
Sam thought maybe he started coming first, being pushed over the edge by finally having his dick buried in Dean’s tight heat after such a long time without it, but there was no way to know for sure because the moment he knew he was coming he could feel Dean clench around him and they both cried out as he recognized the familiar scent and feeling of his hand covered in Dean’s release.
Two, three minutes passed, both of them silent and unmoving, not exactly sure what to do or to say.
Sam thanked everything in the universe for his brother’s smart mouth, which took that very second to say “Fuck, you’re gigantic, baby boy, come on, get off before you kill me and won’t ever get to nail me like that again.” His words were slurred, though, not from drinking but from exhaustion. “Unless you like screwing dead guys. I don’t know what they taught you in California.”
“Shut up, shut up, fuck, shut up, you jerk, and just let me sleep”, Sam managed to get out before his eyes started getting impossibly heavy.
The last thing he remembered clearly, before drifting off with Dean’s arm flung across his chest was a quietly muttered, “Bitch”.
Who knew how long it would last? But for just that very second, all was right with the world. Their fucked-up world, anyway.