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mickeymTitle: That Two Solitudes Come Nearer
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~800
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Still not mine, unfortunately.
Summary: Slow. He's said it over and over tonight, his eyes full of promises, burning you before he ever even touched you.
A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I decided to write. Didn't write what I'd planned to write, and ended up with this, instead. Just a (porny) moment within the boys' lives :) Hope y'all enjoy it.
...love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect and comfort each other. – Han Suyin
"Slow down," he says, whispers the words against your skin. You arch up against them, into them, shivering when he laughs, the sound low and dark, promising heat and more.
"Sammy—" You try, you really do, but your breath stutters around his name, comes out like a groan.
"Gotcha, Dean. Slow down. Slow." Each word is a caress he follows with a kiss, a lick, a quick bite that stings and throbs warmly through you. He works lower, moving so slow you think you might die of longing before he gets there, gets where you need him.
Slow. He's said it over and over tonight, his eyes full of promises, burning you before he ever even touched you.
The sheets under you are smooth, so soft, and each brush of them against your body sends your nerves screaming for harder, faster, now now now. You try pushing down against them and hiss through your teeth when Sam stops you, presses you flat, hands hot and heavy so you can't move at all.
"Slow. Down." This time his voice is dark, heavy, and it sinks into you, through you, fills you up.
"I need—need—"
"I know." The bed creaks just a little when Sam shifts, and then he touches you again, big hands cupping, holding, spreading you apart. You feel heat wash over you, your cheeks flushing, burning, because he's looking. Holding you spread wide open, staring down at that most private part of you. "Gonna taste you first," he whispers, and you squeeze your eyes shut because that's the sound of you coming apart, before he's even done anything. The promise in those words is thick, pulsing, sliding into you like his tongue will.
The first touch of his tongue makes you jump, forces a low, pained sound from your throat, but Sam just grips you tighter, holds you open, licks over the tight little muscle, again and again, until you're sobbing from the pleasure swirling through you.
He presses and pushes, breaching you, and the heat inside you crawls up, up, pushing against your skin until you feel flushed, burning all over, like it's going to explode out of you with just the barest nudge. Then Sam licks again, quick little laps and broad, wide strokes, spit dripping down you from your hole to your balls. He's noisy, loud breaths and wet sounds you hear through your moans and whimpers.
His fingers breach you one at a time, each one pulling a groan from you, and still his tongue works you over, slick and warm, slipping inside while his fingers hold you open, tasting you in a way no one else ever has. Knowing you in a way no one else ever has.
"Love you," he breathes, screams, whispers, shouts. You're not sure, but you hear them, feel them, they slide sweet-sticky-slick over you, scrub you raw and soothe you again, and then Sam's shifting, shifting you, and thrusting deep inside you, thick and hot and hard, throbbing when he holds still. You clutch at the sheets, clench around him and shudder at the want in his voice when he groans your name. His hands slip beneath yours, fingers twining so you're all together everywhere, joined as much as possible.
Pleasure shivers through you like tiny bubbles popping, then bigger bubbles, and then it's not a shiver or even a trickle, but a rush of it so intense it hurts. Burns you from the inside out with each thrust of Sam into you, and each brush of your body against the cotton beneath you.
He fucks you for hours, days, eternity, heat rising within you, pushing outward again until you're going to burn up, incinerate into nothing. Above you, behind you, Sam's gasping your name; within you he's swelling, pulsing, the throbbing increasing until it's all you feel.
You come just before he does, clenching tight around him as sensation sweeps through you, electric shockwaves zigzagging across your nerve-endings. You feel him come, each spasm as he empties into you, each hard thrust forward and hot breath that ends in "…Dean. God, Dean."
Afterward you curl against him, sticky and wet, muscles still twitching and tingling with aftershocks, like little snaps of electricity zapping you. Sam's boneless against you, breath still uneven, a little heavy, and at first you think he's already asleep until he slides an arm over you, wiggling close enough to nuzzle under your jaw. You kiss him, weird angle making it sloppy and awkward and awesome, and hear him sigh.
"Love you too, Sammy," you tell him, fingers stroking over warm, smooth skin, following the cut of muscle and jut of bone. Maybe you say the words, maybe your touch says them for you, you're not sure.
It doesn't matter, because he hears them anyway.
~fin~
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~800
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Still not mine, unfortunately.
Summary: Slow. He's said it over and over tonight, his eyes full of promises, burning you before he ever even touched you.
A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I decided to write. Didn't write what I'd planned to write, and ended up with this, instead. Just a (porny) moment within the boys' lives :) Hope y'all enjoy it.
"Slow down," he says, whispers the words against your skin. You arch up against them, into them, shivering when he laughs, the sound low and dark, promising heat and more.
"Sammy—" You try, you really do, but your breath stutters around his name, comes out like a groan.
"Gotcha, Dean. Slow down. Slow." Each word is a caress he follows with a kiss, a lick, a quick bite that stings and throbs warmly through you. He works lower, moving so slow you think you might die of longing before he gets there, gets where you need him.
Slow. He's said it over and over tonight, his eyes full of promises, burning you before he ever even touched you.
The sheets under you are smooth, so soft, and each brush of them against your body sends your nerves screaming for harder, faster, now now now. You try pushing down against them and hiss through your teeth when Sam stops you, presses you flat, hands hot and heavy so you can't move at all.
"Slow. Down." This time his voice is dark, heavy, and it sinks into you, through you, fills you up.
"I need—need—"
"I know." The bed creaks just a little when Sam shifts, and then he touches you again, big hands cupping, holding, spreading you apart. You feel heat wash over you, your cheeks flushing, burning, because he's looking. Holding you spread wide open, staring down at that most private part of you. "Gonna taste you first," he whispers, and you squeeze your eyes shut because that's the sound of you coming apart, before he's even done anything. The promise in those words is thick, pulsing, sliding into you like his tongue will.
The first touch of his tongue makes you jump, forces a low, pained sound from your throat, but Sam just grips you tighter, holds you open, licks over the tight little muscle, again and again, until you're sobbing from the pleasure swirling through you.
He presses and pushes, breaching you, and the heat inside you crawls up, up, pushing against your skin until you feel flushed, burning all over, like it's going to explode out of you with just the barest nudge. Then Sam licks again, quick little laps and broad, wide strokes, spit dripping down you from your hole to your balls. He's noisy, loud breaths and wet sounds you hear through your moans and whimpers.
His fingers breach you one at a time, each one pulling a groan from you, and still his tongue works you over, slick and warm, slipping inside while his fingers hold you open, tasting you in a way no one else ever has. Knowing you in a way no one else ever has.
"Love you," he breathes, screams, whispers, shouts. You're not sure, but you hear them, feel them, they slide sweet-sticky-slick over you, scrub you raw and soothe you again, and then Sam's shifting, shifting you, and thrusting deep inside you, thick and hot and hard, throbbing when he holds still. You clutch at the sheets, clench around him and shudder at the want in his voice when he groans your name. His hands slip beneath yours, fingers twining so you're all together everywhere, joined as much as possible.
Pleasure shivers through you like tiny bubbles popping, then bigger bubbles, and then it's not a shiver or even a trickle, but a rush of it so intense it hurts. Burns you from the inside out with each thrust of Sam into you, and each brush of your body against the cotton beneath you.
He fucks you for hours, days, eternity, heat rising within you, pushing outward again until you're going to burn up, incinerate into nothing. Above you, behind you, Sam's gasping your name; within you he's swelling, pulsing, the throbbing increasing until it's all you feel.
You come just before he does, clenching tight around him as sensation sweeps through you, electric shockwaves zigzagging across your nerve-endings. You feel him come, each spasm as he empties into you, each hard thrust forward and hot breath that ends in "…Dean. God, Dean."
Afterward you curl against him, sticky and wet, muscles still twitching and tingling with aftershocks, like little snaps of electricity zapping you. Sam's boneless against you, breath still uneven, a little heavy, and at first you think he's already asleep until he slides an arm over you, wiggling close enough to nuzzle under your jaw. You kiss him, weird angle making it sloppy and awkward and awesome, and hear him sigh.
"Love you too, Sammy," you tell him, fingers stroking over warm, smooth skin, following the cut of muscle and jut of bone. Maybe you say the words, maybe your touch says them for you, you're not sure.
It doesn't matter, because he hears them anyway.
~fin~
