first three kink ficlets
Feb. 18th, 2009 05:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymAll of these are NC-17.
Kink ficlets
1.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
without_me asked for
He chews gum on his way back to the trailer, wintergreen because it gets rid of the taste – the smell – of jizz pretty quickly, pretty effectively, and the one thing he doesn't need to go home smelling like, is some random guy's spunk. Or several random guys.
No lights are on inside, so Dean doesn't have any reason to expect the hands that grab him as soon as he steps over the threshold, because Sam should've been in bed, sound asleep.
"How long?" He snarls into Dean's face, shoving him up against the door.
"How long, what? C'mon, Sammy, what's up?"
"I'm not stupid, Dean. I saw you. Watched you." Sam takes a step back but doesn't release his hold on Dean's arms. "Saw you—at the bar. Hanging outside." He takes a deep breath and holds Dean's gaze. "Are you—why—why, Dean?"
Dammit. Dean shifts, Sam's fingers flexing but not letting go. "It's just—once in a while. There's guys want a trick, and it's extra money, it's no big deal, dude. Now lemme go."
"There's nothing we need so bad that you gotta—prostitute yourself." Sam still doesn't release him, and Dean's about ready to really push the issue.
"Guess you're not paying attention to bills and shit, then." Dean stares at Sam, eyes glittering in the streetlight coming in through thin curtains. "I can make enough—no, you know what? We're not having this conversation. Now let go of me, and get your ass to bed where it should've already been."
Sam gives a hoarse laugh and steps closer, barely enough space between them now for air. "And your ass should've been here, too," he says, breathing in deeply. "You stink like sex." He lowers his head toward Dean, looking feral in the dim light, and his voice is rough, thick, barely recognizable as Sam. "Do you taste like sex, too?"
The question makes Dean's mind reel. "I—what? Sam, what—"
Sam covers Dean's mouth with his own before Dean can finish getting the question formed, much less out. Warm and wet, just a tease of tongue flicking at Dean's lips. Dean gets the impression of chapped lips, the indents in the bottom lip where Sam bites it all the time, and he opens up to ask what the fuck, but Sam slides his tongue in, slow and slick, serpentine the way he's all over Dean's mouth.
Sam tastes like toothpaste, mint and fresh, cool under the warmth, and where the fuck did his baby brother learn how to kiss like this? Dean's torn between the wrongness of how right it feels to kiss Sam, and jealousy at the thought of anyone else kissing Sam.
"I can taste them on you," Sam mutters, drawing back just enough to lick the words onto Dean's jaw, scraping with his teeth, little nips that fire Dean's blood, make it run hot and thick straight down to his dick. "Can taste what you want." He kisses Dean again, pressing tight against him, leaving no room for doubt as to how much Sam's enjoying this.
Dean reaches up to grab Sam, to push him away; instead he ends up holding Sam's head, fingers twined through ridiculously long hair as he kisses back, taking what Sam's giving, swallowing down the heady moans Sam's making. Each one ripples through Dean, stoking the fire higher, and he's rocking his body into Sam's, shuddering when Sam shifts, slotting one leg in between Dean's so they each can get the friction.
The kisses turn desperate, teeth scoring and scraping, leaving hot, stinging skin in their wake. Dean wants to drown in Sam's kisses, wants to feel them flowing over him like liquid heat. He sucks a mark into Sam's throat and cries out sharply when Sam retaliates, leaving a throbbing bruise Sam presses his thumb to when he returns to Dean's mouth.
Sam comes first, shaking against Dean while Dean drinks in his moans, his growls, fingers clenching in Sam's hair as he kisses his brother through the spasms. Just kisses, his brain supplies, a few braincells still firing. It's enough to send him over the edge, the feel of Sam's cock pulsing against him, even behind a layer of denim and the sleep pants Sam's wearing, heat spreading between them.
Dean clings to Sam when he comes, fingers biting into Sam's scalp, pulling his hair. Sam doesn't say anything, just hisses, a pleasure-pain sound, and rocks into Dean, holding him there while Dean grinds mindlessly, pleasure racing through him in shockwaves.
Afterwards, when their breathing has calmed some, Sam tugs Dean to the back of the trailer to the bedroom they share, and presses him down onto his bed. Dean wants to argue that he should sleep in his bed, but his brain and his mouth have both gone offline. He closes his eyes when Sam strips them both and curls up against him, holds on tight when Sam whispers, "no more tricks, Dean," mouth coming down gently on his.
2.purelyironic asked for
Their whole lives have been a competition of sorts. "First one to the car gets shotgun", when Dad was still doing the driving. "First one home does the dishes", when they were attending different schools. First one to break the gun down, clean it and reassemble it got praise from Dad. First one first one first one.
The competition's changed over the years, as the stakes changed, as life changed. Mostly now it's whoever calls first shower, but even there, the stakes have changed. Shifted.
For example, Dean called first shower tonight, back from a routine salt-and-burn, both of them muddy (Sam hates digging when it's rained recently) and smelling of accelerant and smoke. He contemplates waiting until Dean's done, but he hates smelling any more of the night's activities than he has to—and anyway, he has a lot of adrenaline to work off.
"Shove over," is all he says to Dean, opening the shower door. Another first that's proof of how things have changed: having a place of their own to go home to, with a shower that's big enough for both of them.
Dean shoves with a grunt, stepping back under the spray to rinse the soap and shampoo off. Sam watches the water and suds sluice down Dean, patterns and ripples that make him back Dean into the wall and kiss him, smoke and mud and accelerant be damned.
"Turn around," he says thickly, when they have to breathe or pass out. Dean nips one more kiss to his jaw but turns, eyes flashing with heat.
"Can't even let a guy shower in peace, huh?" But he stretches himself out and up against the shower wall, angling so his ass pushes out. Sam kneels behind him, running his hands over the sleek, slick curves, feeling the strength in Dean as his muscles shift and flex when he spreads his legs.
"Do you really want me to?" Sam knows the answer to that; he doesn't need to hear Dean actually say it.
Dean wriggles and shifts, and the water turns to a heavy mist, hot and steamy like the deep south in summertime. Sam breathes in the scent of bodywash and shampoo; licks at the curve of Dean's ass to taste them, and the sharper taste of Dean beneath.
Dean makes a quiet noise and spreads his legs even further. Sam smiles against him and spreads Dean's ass, watching the water trickle down, droplets gleaming, teasing, beckoning until he has to lean in and lap them up. Has to trace his tongue over Dean's hole, pressing lightly at the small opening, just to feel the resistance. He nips at one asscheek, bites a little further in, and spreads Dean further so he can score the tender area with his teeth. Dean growls and moves, shivers rippling through him.
"Sam—"
"So impatient," Sam murmurs, drawing back. "Just like the first time."
"I hate you." Dean shivers again, goosebumps rising over his skin when Sam just hovers, breathing out. "Sammy, please—"
Sam presses forward, tongue pushing against the muscle, sliding inside when it gives. Dean groans; Sam hears it distantly, feels it vibrate through Dean and into him. He licks at the small hole, bites at it again, then sets to driving Dean out of his mind, tongue fucking in and out slowly, then faster, until Dean's moans and cries are one long, continuous sound.
3.wendy asked for
The most beautiful thing in the world was how Jensen looked just before he came. Stretched out on the bed, cuffs gleaming black against the pale of his skin, muscles taut and tight as he resisted, his body glistening with sweat.
Jared leaned in and trailed his fingertips up and down the smooth torso, pausing to rub circles over and around nipples drawn up into hard, tight points.
"Gonna do it for me, Jen," Jared whispered, taking one nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, then gentled it, letting his teeth graze over the tender flesh. "I can feel how much you want it."
Jensen trembled, hands clenching and unclenching. Jared licked downward, lapped at the shallow indent of Jensen's bellybutton, then down further to his cock, standing stiff and tall, tip slick and wet with moisture.
"Jared, please—please—" Jensen's voice was hoarse, rough with need, with the panting he'd been doing for hours, with the shouts of pleasure he'd already given Jared. "I don't know, I can't, please--"
"I know you can." Jared licked the crown of Jensen's dick, teased his tongue around the head and over the glans, back up to tongue at the tiny slit. "I want it now, Jen. Wanna feel you come, taste it on my tongue. Come on, baby, come for me." He tongued the slit again, fingers stroking down the thick shaft to Jensen's balls drawing up tight. "That's it, come on, I know you want to. You've been so good, do this too, okay? Come on, come for me, give it to me—"
Jensen convulsed with a low, soft cry, body shuddering as his cock pulsed. Thick heat spattered onto Jared's cheek, his lips, his fingertips when he gently stroked up and down the shaft, feeling each spasm.
"Oh, god, that's it, yeah, give it up, Jen, so fucking good," he licked his lips and tasted Jensen, then lowered his head to suck Jensen into his mouth, working down, down, until Jensen's dick was buried in Jared's throat. He felt as much as heard Jensen come again – or was it still? – as he strained upward, and swallowed over and over to get as much as he could.
Later, after Jared cleaned both of them up and released the cuffs so Jensen could relax, he gathered him into his arms and kissed him, telling him in between kisses how proud he was, how good Jensen was. Jensen shivered with the praise and curled into Jared, lax and spent, utterly worn out.
More to, er, come, as I get time. Now I have to go get groceries, grrr.
Kink ficlets
1.
without_me asked for He chews gum on his way back to the trailer, wintergreen because it gets rid of the taste – the smell – of jizz pretty quickly, pretty effectively, and the one thing he doesn't need to go home smelling like, is some random guy's spunk. Or several random guys.
No lights are on inside, so Dean doesn't have any reason to expect the hands that grab him as soon as he steps over the threshold, because Sam should've been in bed, sound asleep.
"How long?" He snarls into Dean's face, shoving him up against the door.
"How long, what? C'mon, Sammy, what's up?"
"I'm not stupid, Dean. I saw you. Watched you." Sam takes a step back but doesn't release his hold on Dean's arms. "Saw you—at the bar. Hanging outside." He takes a deep breath and holds Dean's gaze. "Are you—why—why, Dean?"
Dammit. Dean shifts, Sam's fingers flexing but not letting go. "It's just—once in a while. There's guys want a trick, and it's extra money, it's no big deal, dude. Now lemme go."
"There's nothing we need so bad that you gotta—prostitute yourself." Sam still doesn't release him, and Dean's about ready to really push the issue.
"Guess you're not paying attention to bills and shit, then." Dean stares at Sam, eyes glittering in the streetlight coming in through thin curtains. "I can make enough—no, you know what? We're not having this conversation. Now let go of me, and get your ass to bed where it should've already been."
Sam gives a hoarse laugh and steps closer, barely enough space between them now for air. "And your ass should've been here, too," he says, breathing in deeply. "You stink like sex." He lowers his head toward Dean, looking feral in the dim light, and his voice is rough, thick, barely recognizable as Sam. "Do you taste like sex, too?"
The question makes Dean's mind reel. "I—what? Sam, what—"
Sam covers Dean's mouth with his own before Dean can finish getting the question formed, much less out. Warm and wet, just a tease of tongue flicking at Dean's lips. Dean gets the impression of chapped lips, the indents in the bottom lip where Sam bites it all the time, and he opens up to ask what the fuck, but Sam slides his tongue in, slow and slick, serpentine the way he's all over Dean's mouth.
Sam tastes like toothpaste, mint and fresh, cool under the warmth, and where the fuck did his baby brother learn how to kiss like this? Dean's torn between the wrongness of how right it feels to kiss Sam, and jealousy at the thought of anyone else kissing Sam.
"I can taste them on you," Sam mutters, drawing back just enough to lick the words onto Dean's jaw, scraping with his teeth, little nips that fire Dean's blood, make it run hot and thick straight down to his dick. "Can taste what you want." He kisses Dean again, pressing tight against him, leaving no room for doubt as to how much Sam's enjoying this.
Dean reaches up to grab Sam, to push him away; instead he ends up holding Sam's head, fingers twined through ridiculously long hair as he kisses back, taking what Sam's giving, swallowing down the heady moans Sam's making. Each one ripples through Dean, stoking the fire higher, and he's rocking his body into Sam's, shuddering when Sam shifts, slotting one leg in between Dean's so they each can get the friction.
The kisses turn desperate, teeth scoring and scraping, leaving hot, stinging skin in their wake. Dean wants to drown in Sam's kisses, wants to feel them flowing over him like liquid heat. He sucks a mark into Sam's throat and cries out sharply when Sam retaliates, leaving a throbbing bruise Sam presses his thumb to when he returns to Dean's mouth.
Sam comes first, shaking against Dean while Dean drinks in his moans, his growls, fingers clenching in Sam's hair as he kisses his brother through the spasms. Just kisses, his brain supplies, a few braincells still firing. It's enough to send him over the edge, the feel of Sam's cock pulsing against him, even behind a layer of denim and the sleep pants Sam's wearing, heat spreading between them.
Dean clings to Sam when he comes, fingers biting into Sam's scalp, pulling his hair. Sam doesn't say anything, just hisses, a pleasure-pain sound, and rocks into Dean, holding him there while Dean grinds mindlessly, pleasure racing through him in shockwaves.
Afterwards, when their breathing has calmed some, Sam tugs Dean to the back of the trailer to the bedroom they share, and presses him down onto his bed. Dean wants to argue that he should sleep in his bed, but his brain and his mouth have both gone offline. He closes his eyes when Sam strips them both and curls up against him, holds on tight when Sam whispers, "no more tricks, Dean," mouth coming down gently on his.
2.
purelyironic asked for Their whole lives have been a competition of sorts. "First one to the car gets shotgun", when Dad was still doing the driving. "First one home does the dishes", when they were attending different schools. First one to break the gun down, clean it and reassemble it got praise from Dad. First one first one first one.
The competition's changed over the years, as the stakes changed, as life changed. Mostly now it's whoever calls first shower, but even there, the stakes have changed. Shifted.
For example, Dean called first shower tonight, back from a routine salt-and-burn, both of them muddy (Sam hates digging when it's rained recently) and smelling of accelerant and smoke. He contemplates waiting until Dean's done, but he hates smelling any more of the night's activities than he has to—and anyway, he has a lot of adrenaline to work off.
"Shove over," is all he says to Dean, opening the shower door. Another first that's proof of how things have changed: having a place of their own to go home to, with a shower that's big enough for both of them.
Dean shoves with a grunt, stepping back under the spray to rinse the soap and shampoo off. Sam watches the water and suds sluice down Dean, patterns and ripples that make him back Dean into the wall and kiss him, smoke and mud and accelerant be damned.
"Turn around," he says thickly, when they have to breathe or pass out. Dean nips one more kiss to his jaw but turns, eyes flashing with heat.
"Can't even let a guy shower in peace, huh?" But he stretches himself out and up against the shower wall, angling so his ass pushes out. Sam kneels behind him, running his hands over the sleek, slick curves, feeling the strength in Dean as his muscles shift and flex when he spreads his legs.
"Do you really want me to?" Sam knows the answer to that; he doesn't need to hear Dean actually say it.
Dean wriggles and shifts, and the water turns to a heavy mist, hot and steamy like the deep south in summertime. Sam breathes in the scent of bodywash and shampoo; licks at the curve of Dean's ass to taste them, and the sharper taste of Dean beneath.
Dean makes a quiet noise and spreads his legs even further. Sam smiles against him and spreads Dean's ass, watching the water trickle down, droplets gleaming, teasing, beckoning until he has to lean in and lap them up. Has to trace his tongue over Dean's hole, pressing lightly at the small opening, just to feel the resistance. He nips at one asscheek, bites a little further in, and spreads Dean further so he can score the tender area with his teeth. Dean growls and moves, shivers rippling through him.
"Sam—"
"So impatient," Sam murmurs, drawing back. "Just like the first time."
"I hate you." Dean shivers again, goosebumps rising over his skin when Sam just hovers, breathing out. "Sammy, please—"
Sam presses forward, tongue pushing against the muscle, sliding inside when it gives. Dean groans; Sam hears it distantly, feels it vibrate through Dean and into him. He licks at the small hole, bites at it again, then sets to driving Dean out of his mind, tongue fucking in and out slowly, then faster, until Dean's moans and cries are one long, continuous sound.
3.
wendy asked for The most beautiful thing in the world was how Jensen looked just before he came. Stretched out on the bed, cuffs gleaming black against the pale of his skin, muscles taut and tight as he resisted, his body glistening with sweat.
Jared leaned in and trailed his fingertips up and down the smooth torso, pausing to rub circles over and around nipples drawn up into hard, tight points.
"Gonna do it for me, Jen," Jared whispered, taking one nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, then gentled it, letting his teeth graze over the tender flesh. "I can feel how much you want it."
Jensen trembled, hands clenching and unclenching. Jared licked downward, lapped at the shallow indent of Jensen's bellybutton, then down further to his cock, standing stiff and tall, tip slick and wet with moisture.
"Jared, please—please—" Jensen's voice was hoarse, rough with need, with the panting he'd been doing for hours, with the shouts of pleasure he'd already given Jared. "I don't know, I can't, please--"
"I know you can." Jared licked the crown of Jensen's dick, teased his tongue around the head and over the glans, back up to tongue at the tiny slit. "I want it now, Jen. Wanna feel you come, taste it on my tongue. Come on, baby, come for me." He tongued the slit again, fingers stroking down the thick shaft to Jensen's balls drawing up tight. "That's it, come on, I know you want to. You've been so good, do this too, okay? Come on, come for me, give it to me—"
Jensen convulsed with a low, soft cry, body shuddering as his cock pulsed. Thick heat spattered onto Jared's cheek, his lips, his fingertips when he gently stroked up and down the shaft, feeling each spasm.
"Oh, god, that's it, yeah, give it up, Jen, so fucking good," he licked his lips and tasted Jensen, then lowered his head to suck Jensen into his mouth, working down, down, until Jensen's dick was buried in Jared's throat. He felt as much as heard Jensen come again – or was it still? – as he strained upward, and swallowed over and over to get as much as he could.
Later, after Jared cleaned both of them up and released the cuffs so Jensen could relax, he gathered him into his arms and kissed him, telling him in between kisses how proud he was, how good Jensen was. Jensen shivered with the praise and curled into Jared, lax and spent, utterly worn out.
More to, er, come, as I get time. Now I have to go get groceries, grrr.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-19 04:02 pm (UTC)I love Jared just talking Jensen through it and Jensen trying so hard to be good. But that last paragraph is the sexiest part. Love it!