mickeym

Title: Undeniable Affirmation
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1500
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Mpreg, lactation kink
Disclaimer: Not mine, which makes me sad.
A/N: This is based in

poisontaster's exquisite universe, The Killing Moon, and done with her permission. (Many hugs to you, darlin', for letting me play in your sandbox!) It's a kink that's probably not going to appeal to many of you, but hopefully some of you will enjoy it. Last, but not least, ginormous hugs and thanks to

cormallen and

thehighwaywoman for their mad audiencing and beta skillz :)

Sam holds his breath as the days tick over from the fourth month into the fifth month, and then edge toward the sixth. He spends a lot of time in bed or on the couch -- bored out of his ever-lovin' mind -- and feels his heart skip anxiously any time his back so much as twinges.

He can't -- won't -- forget the first time. The first baby.

His hands cup the rounding swell of his stomach, fingers pressing restlessly until he feels her kick or push back against them.

He falls asleep at night with Dean's warmth pressed against him from behind, moist breath curling over and around Sam's skin, raising gooseflesh where it caresses. He falls asleep feeling the gentle hitch-jerk-hitch of her hiccups against his fingers.

~~~~~

Sam closes the book he's reading -- he's certain there's nothing in the world scarier than What To Expect When You're Expecting, and he's including a trip to Hell in with that -- and looks down at himself. He's got more than just a bump now; his stomach is swelling, pushing outward. His pecs are swollen, too, firmer and larger than ever.

And his nipples--

Sam brings his hands up, cupping the small swells gently, shivering uncontrollably when he brushes his thumbs across his nipples and they harden, furling into tight, aching points.

They ache all the time now, actually, and Sam can't decide if he likes it or not. It's not a bad ache, but it makes him feel restless; makes him want.

"Startin' without me?"

Dean's voice jerks Sam out of his reverie, and he drops his hands, reaching for the t-shirt he doesn't remember removing, face heating.

"I--"

"You don't know how you look, do you?" Dean settles behind Sam on the couch, then draws Sam back into the V of his legs, bringing his hands up to cup Sam's pecs gently. Each pass of Dean's thumbs over his nipples makes Sam shiver, and he catches Dean's hands in his, trying to stop the motions.

"D-don't, Dean."

"Does it hurt?" Dean's stopped rubbing, but he doesn't drop his hands; doesn't let Sam tug them away.

"Not—exactly." Sam can't quite muffle the whimper he makes when Dean goes back to rubbing gently, swirls and circles around Sam's nipples, around the areolas that prickle and pucker, drawing in tighter. Sam tips his head back against Dean's shoulder, a shudder rippling through him from head to toe. "Aches, but feels g-good."

"Mmm." The rubbing becomes gentle tugs, Dean plucking at Sam's nipples. Each pull and tug echoes deep within his body, a mini-contraction Sam quivers through, even as he arches into the touches. Dean noses along Sam's jaw to his ear, voice low and gravelly when he says, "Think I could make you come like this?"

"'M not a girl," Sam grunts, but he's not so sure Dean can't, because at some point his nipples became hardwired to his dick; each touch sets off a series of explosions all through him until he's rocking back against Dean, hands still helplessly cupped around Dean's, holding them close to his chest.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean sounds a combination of turned-on and exasperated. "Never said you were." But things are different now remains unspoken; they're both hyper-aware of how different things are, now. Each pass of Dean's thumb over Sam's nipple increases the ache growing inside him; it trembles through him, so close to spilling over. "Love touching you, Sammy."

"Dean." The word bursts out of him, rough and hoarse, and Sam turns his head toward Dean, breathes in his scent. "Harder, god, please."

"Don't want to hurt you." Dean pulls just a little harder on one nipple, drawing a gasp from Sam. It becomes a moan, muffled against Dean's throat, but still audible. Sam drops his hands from Dean's; skims one downward toward his dick as the aching inside him spreads outward, turning to hunger.

"You won't hurt me." If there's anyone in the world Sam trusts unconditionally not to hurt him, it's Dean.

"Don't want to hurt the baby." Dean's hands follow Sam's, rubbing over the swell of belly, one hand venturing lower to grasp Sam through his sweats.

"Not gonna, she's fine—Dean, please." Sam digs his heels into the couch, pushing backward against his brother. He's going to die if Dean doesn't do something, and do it now.

"Smell so good," Dean whispers, rubbing harder, faster, one hand on Sam's nipple, the other over his dick. Something clenches tight and hard inside Sam, spirals of warmth spreading out from it. Dean nips at Sam's throat, teeth grazing downward, slowly. "Taste good, Sammy." He pulls on Sam's nipple again, chuckling against Sam's skin at the high keening noise Sam makes. Sam's just about to beg Dean to fucking do something, get me off when Dean stiffens against him, hands stilling on him.

"Dean—what--?"

"Y-you." Dean stutters the word, then swipes his thumb over Sam's nipple again. "Sam. You—you're—"

Sam's felt like a freak for too long to let this get too far under his skin, but Dean's working his way toward freaking Sam out. He's opening his mouth to say just that when Dean rubs again, then rubs lower, spreading moisture into Sam's skin.

"What—?" Sam curses his voice cracking, and tries again. "Dean, what—I, what is it?"

Dean's never stopped rubbing, thumb caressing smaller and then larger circles, over and over. "You're leaking. Something. I." He shifts around until he's kneeling over Sam, an awkward position made more awkward by Sam's swelling belly. "I don't, is it—" Dean swallows roughly, holding Sam's gaze with his own.

"Breast milk," Sam says hoarsely. "Or—the stuff that comes before." The thought makes his whole body clench up, stomach rising and falling so quickly he's torn between sick and dizzy, and still so turned on even his toes ache with it. "I—I don't, I'm sorry—"

Dean makes a noise, grunt, whimper, snarl, Sam can't tell. But his eyes are dark and wide, pupils dilated, telegraphing something to Sam, something he should be understanding but isn't. Then Dean leans in and laps at one tight, aching nipple, tongue dragging rough-smooth over and over before he fastens his mouth on and sucks.

The jolt of electricity that zips through Sam has him bucking upward, hand coming up to hold Dean's head against him.

"Oh—oh, God, shit, Dean. Don't—don't stop."

Dean doesn't stop. Just sucks, pulling hard and fast on Sam's tender nipple. It feels hot and swollen, ripe like it's about to burst, and he whimpers, a low ragged sound that swirls into the suckling noises Dean's making, until it's one continuous sound echoing around them.

Dean cups his free hand around Sam's other – shit, breast -- and rubs, thumbing the nipple roughly, pinching and pulling until Sam feels little beads of something warm and slick dribbling over his skin before Dean smoothes it in.

He aches, so deep and so huge, it's taken over his body. Sam strokes himself, fingers curling tight and harsh, rocking upward. On some level he's aware of Dean rutting against his thigh, pushing and pressing against Sam in time to the throbbing in Sam's body. He arches up against Dean, groans thickly when Dean bites gently, then harder, before sucking again, mouth pulling, tugging, demanding.

Sam comes with a long, low moan, one hand pressing against the back of Dean's head while the other presses against his dick, feeling each pulse of heat released. Against him, Dean stiffens, shoves hard, and Sam feels him come, too, slick heat spreading between them, wetting the leg of Sam's sweats.

Dean pulls off with a soft popping noise and rests his forehead against Sam's chest, warm breath curling over sweaty skin.

Every inch of Sam is throbbing, head-to-toes and everywhere in between. He feels alive, thrumming with life, turned on and full of love.

He smoothes his fingers through Dean's hair – longer than he's ever worn it, and nice, because it gives Sam something to touch – and feels the sigh Dean releases travel through him.

"Wow," Dean says, finally, the word soft and disbelieving. "I—wow."

"Mmm." Sam shifts a little, because flat on his back with Dean pressed down over him isn't very comfortable, but he doesn't want to move. Not right now, not any time soon, never. He shivers when Dean moves his head, breathes gently over the nipple he was just suckling, feels it tighten up again in response. "Dean."

"Yeah." Dean doesn't move, though, just hovers there, breathing. When he does shift, Sam expects him to get up; what he doesn't expect is a kiss so gentle, so loving, it steals Sam's breath away. Dean draws back, a lazy smile curving his mouth, and stands up, holding a hand out to Sam. "I was gonna see if you wanted to watch a movie—but how 'bout we go, um. Take a nap."

"A nap," Sam repeats, watching the smile light up Dean's eyes. "Yeah, I. I think I'm kind of tired."

Funny how he doesn't think there's going to be much resting taking place.

~fin~