Beautiful Scars, 1/1, NC-17, Sam/Dean
Feb. 17th, 2011 07:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymTitle: Beautiful Scars
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2000
Spoilers/Warnings: post-6.12; references to an established relationship
Summary: "Was I really—that different?" Sam sounds impossibly young, and Dean scoots closer, settling so he's pressed against the length of Sam's body.
A/N: I really, really wanted reunion!sex, after that hug when Sam woke up. I'm pretty sure the guys wanted reunion!sex too, because they actually cooperated with me while I was writing this. I was a little surprised by the direction a couple things took; for those of y'all who know me pretty well, you'll probably figure it out when you see it :) Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raynedanser for the quick and dirty beta. Hope y'all enjoy :)
He can't stop looking. Doesn't want to stop looking.
In the privacy of his own thoughts, Dean can admit he's afraid to stop looking. Afraid if he looks away Sam won't be his Sam again.
Which is all kinds of crazy, because he left Sam in Oregon to drive to San Francisco, and Sam was still his Sam – was still Sammy -- when he got back. Still his Sammy every time he went to the can and came back out. After showers. After runs for coffee or food.
His brother was still his brother even after Cas spilled the beans and Sam started asking questions.
"Dude, y'r staring again," Sam sighs, turning onto his side. He's still mostly asleep, eyes heavy-lidded and voice thick with it. "Go to sleep."
If it were only that easy.
"I will. Gonna finish watching this movie." Dean doesn't have a clue what's on; he's been busy watching his brother.
"Uh-huh." Sam snuffles, and his breathing evens out again, slow and steady, his face relaxing as sleep pulls him under. He looks young again, not weighted down by worries about demons and angels, or destinies or portents. When Sam's mouth quirks in a half-smile, dimple peeking out, Dean can almost pretend the last five years never happened. Almost.
~~~~~
Dean startles awake, pulled from a pleasant dream that's gone the minute he's not dreaming it any longer. He's not sure what woke him; is already reaching for the knife under his pillow when he realizes it's Sam who woke him, stepping on the loose floorboard that always creaks. It's mostly dark in the room, shadows swallowing the ribbons of moonlight, though Dean can see the first hint of dawn beyond the thin curtains.
"Sammy?"
"Yeah. Had to go to the bathroom and forgot about the stupid board. Go back to sleep."
"Not tired," Dean says, stupidly and obviously untruthfully, when he yawns around the words. "You okay?"
He hears the squeak and creak of bedsprings as Sam sits on his side of the bed. "I'm fine. Just needed to pee. Go back to sleep, Dean."
The mattress shifts under Sam's weight as he settles, and then his voice, soft and close, washes over Dean.
"Remember the first time Dad left us here?"
"You were convinced someone was moaning every time you heard the board squeak." Dean smiles at the memory. "You thought the board was alive, or something, and you refused to get out of bed once the lights were turned off." Dean stretches his leg out – doesn't have to stretch very far – and kicks Sam lightly in the shin. "Thought you were gonna piss yourself, because you wouldn't get up to use the bathroom."
"I was six, dude."
"Uh-huh." The room hasn't changed at all in all the years in between, either, and Dean takes comfort in that. Still the same queen-sized bed with saggy mattress, and brass head-and-foot boards that probably haven't been polished since Bobby's grandmother owned them. Same fading curtains hanging over the windows. Same washed-out, worn-down area rug that doesn't protect toes from chilly floorboards at all.
Same everything, right down to sharing the bed with his brother, though they stopped doing that as much around the time Sam hit puberty because there just wasn't enough room for both of them to sleep comfortably. Still isn't, but Dean doesn't want any room between them. Not right now, not yet, maybe never again.
And then there were some other firsts that also happened in this room, and Dean remembers each of those with perfect clarity, too, as well as the lasts.
"Been awhile," Sam says quietly, apparently thinking the same thing Dean's been thinking.
"Over a year," Dean agrees. He could've--they could've. Sam gave him enough opportunities while he was walking around soulless, but Dean couldn't. It wasn't the same; it wasn't Sam.
"Was I really—that different?" Sam sounds impossibly young, and Dean scoots closer, settling so he's pressed against the length of Sam's body.
"It wasn't you." Dean's said that so many times lately that it feels almost mechanical now, like an excuse or a cover, but it's also true. The man who walked around wearing Sam's face maybe wasn't a demon, but he wasn't Dean's brother, either.
This man, though, he is Dean's brother. Brother, friend, partner, sometime-lover, and so many more things Dean can't list them all. He can sum them up easily though: he's Dean's whole world.
Dean leans in to kiss him, breath catching in his throat when Sam fucking whimpers, mouth opening just enough to tease Dean into deepening the kiss.
Sam's lips are soft, and just a little chapped, and he tastes oddly like cherry cola. He's big and warm against Dean, huge hands coming up to cup Dean's face when Dean pushes, rolling so he's mostly on top of Sam.
His world narrows down to slick, hot kisses; to the strength of Sam's body beneath his, and the way he can feel Sam's dick growing, hardening, pressing up against Dean's.
They rock together slowly, arousal spreading warm and thick through their bodies. Dean pushes at Sam's shirt until Sam gets the message and skins it up and off. It makes a soft whump sound when it lands somewhere near door.
"Keep your arms up," Dean whispers, leaning back in to bite at Sam's throat, tonguing at the hollow where his pulse is fluttering. Sam makes a low noise, groan or growl, and Dean trails kisses across his collarbone, mouth moving over each mark he doesn't recognize. He came back from the grave unscarred save for Castiel's handprint; Sam has new scars, from time they spent apart. He nuzzles into Sam's armpit, then licks, tasting salt and clean skin, the hair rough against his tongue. Sam shivers against him, and Dean licks again and again, then buries his face there, breathing in the rich, warm scent before moving back. "Wanna fuck you," he says, voice rough and hoarse, and Sam's nodding, hands already reaching for the track pants he was sleeping in.
"Wear a condom," Sam says, shoving the pants off his legs. The hunger in his voice makes heat gather low in Dean's belly, but the reminder that there's no way of knowing who else his brother's had makes his belly clench with jealousy.
He has condoms and a half-full bottle of lube stashed at the bottom of his duffle, and it only takes a minute to grab them and toss them on the bed beside Sam. Sam, who's stretched himself out and is slowly jacking his dick, fist loose and easy around his length. While Dean watches Sam shifts, drawing his legs up and spreading them open. He's limned in moonlight, thin streaks wavering across his body, shivering and shifting with each of Sam's movements.
"It's almost like a first time again." Sam reaches down, cups his balls gently, and Dean's there beside him before he realizes he's moved, pushing Sam's hand out of the way. He rolls Sam's balls, not as gently as Sam did, and pinches lightly at the soft skin. Flicks his fingernail over the seam between them and smiles when Sam moans for him.
"Almost," Dean agrees, then squeezes. Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough Sam sucks a breath in, letting it out in a slow, thick groan. Further back, and Dean pinches, scratches, presses his fingers against the smooth skin.
There's so much he wants to do right now: wants to lick Sam open, feel the muscles relaxing around his tongue. He wants to split Sam open on his dick, and he wants to feel Sam taking him, shoving hard and hot and thick inside until all Dean can do is beg for more. He wants to hurt his brother, and make love to him, maybe both at once. Wants Sam to hurt him. He wants them both sweaty and sated, curled against one another.
"C'mon, fuck me. Need you, man." Sam pulls his legs up, holds himself impossibly wide, and Dean wishes there was enough light to see, so he could look down, watch Sam's hole open and swallow his fingers, his dick. Adds that to the list of things he wants to do, needs to do: see them within each other, no division between them at all. He moves into the space between Sam's legs, already tearing at the condom wrapper to open it. He's shaking when he rolls it down, his dick so hard it hurts.
It takes two tries to get the lube open, but then he has the slick on his fingers, and Sam's breathing speeds up, harsh and heavy, when Dean slides them around and around his rim before pushing inside. Taking back what's fucking his.
"Jesus," he whispers when Sam bears down and his fingers slip further in, Sam clenching tight around them. "Jesus, Sammy."
Sam is tight, so fucking tight, and burning hot. Dean's cock throbs at the thought of being inside him surrounded by that tight heat, slick with lube, just enough to ease the way. He twists his fingers hard, almost viciously, need coiling through him, burning tendrils spreading outward. Beneath him Sam grunts and squeezes, and it's too much. Too much not being in there, buried to the root. Dean twists his fingers again, pushing and stroking until Sam cries out, hoarse and wordless, thrusting up to meet each thrust of Dean's fingers, his own clenched against his thighs, the muscles pulled taut with his straining.
"Come on," Sam hisses, and Dean doesn't want to wait any longer, either.
He strokes his dick once, slicking it up, and then he's right there, pushing inside his brother, feeling Sam's body adjusting to let him in and hold him in.
It's so good, feels so fucking good that Dean can't breathe for a minute. It doesn't help that Sam shifts his hips and tightens down on him, because all Dean can do then is fuck forward, pushing in until he bottoms out. He stutters, finds a rhythm, and it's like lightning and fire, pinpricks of heat running all through him. Sam's rocking up to meet each thrust, and his knuckles rub and push against Dean's stomach where Sam's got a hand around himself, jerking off in time with Dean's thrusts.
He can't last long at all, and not nearly as long as he'd like, especially with Sam writhing beneath him, legs cradling him, holding him, body welcoming Dean in. He shifts up onto his knees and pulls Sam even closer, fingers tightening on Sam's hips, gripping hard against the sweat-slicked skin. Sam moans, the sound drawn-out and breathless, and Dean shoves in over and over, as hard and fast as he can manage. He feels it starting, orgasm building up inside him, balls drawing up as he flushes all over. When he comes it's like being hit by a Mack truck, lust and need roaring through him, pulsing out of him. He fucks into Sam all through it, gasping when Sam clenches hard around him, sticky heat spreading between them as Sam comes.
Sam reaches up and traces his fingers across Dean's mouth, ragged breathing hitching when Dean licks at them, then sucks them clean. Sam pulls his fingers free and tugs Dean down to kiss him, and it makes Dean's head spin, being so completely surrounded by Sam.
The sky has lightened into early dawn by the time they manage to stop kissing long enough for Dean to roll off Sam to get rid of the condom. It's too early to think about getting up yet, though, so Dean grabs the nearest t-shirt to wipe off with, and once Sam's done the same he's ready to sleep some more.
Preferably curled around his brother.
"Comin' back to bed?" Sam looks only half-awake at best, body relaxed and at ease. Dean nods and slides under the covers. He snorts when Sam rolls toward him, pushing, and grumbles, "Why do I always have to be the little spoon?"
"Because."
Dean's ready to snark that that isn't an answer, but then Sam wraps those freakishly long arms around him and nuzzles at the nape of Dean's neck, and he doesn't care about anything except being right here, right now.
~fin~
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2000
Spoilers/Warnings: post-6.12; references to an established relationship
Summary: "Was I really—that different?" Sam sounds impossibly young, and Dean scoots closer, settling so he's pressed against the length of Sam's body.
A/N: I really, really wanted reunion!sex, after that hug when Sam woke up. I'm pretty sure the guys wanted reunion!sex too, because they actually cooperated with me while I was writing this. I was a little surprised by the direction a couple things took; for those of y'all who know me pretty well, you'll probably figure it out when you see it :) Many thanks to
raynedanser for the quick and dirty beta. Hope y'all enjoy :)He can't stop looking. Doesn't want to stop looking.
In the privacy of his own thoughts, Dean can admit he's afraid to stop looking. Afraid if he looks away Sam won't be his Sam again.
Which is all kinds of crazy, because he left Sam in Oregon to drive to San Francisco, and Sam was still his Sam – was still Sammy -- when he got back. Still his Sammy every time he went to the can and came back out. After showers. After runs for coffee or food.
His brother was still his brother even after Cas spilled the beans and Sam started asking questions.
"Dude, y'r staring again," Sam sighs, turning onto his side. He's still mostly asleep, eyes heavy-lidded and voice thick with it. "Go to sleep."
If it were only that easy.
"I will. Gonna finish watching this movie." Dean doesn't have a clue what's on; he's been busy watching his brother.
"Uh-huh." Sam snuffles, and his breathing evens out again, slow and steady, his face relaxing as sleep pulls him under. He looks young again, not weighted down by worries about demons and angels, or destinies or portents. When Sam's mouth quirks in a half-smile, dimple peeking out, Dean can almost pretend the last five years never happened. Almost.
Dean startles awake, pulled from a pleasant dream that's gone the minute he's not dreaming it any longer. He's not sure what woke him; is already reaching for the knife under his pillow when he realizes it's Sam who woke him, stepping on the loose floorboard that always creaks. It's mostly dark in the room, shadows swallowing the ribbons of moonlight, though Dean can see the first hint of dawn beyond the thin curtains.
"Sammy?"
"Yeah. Had to go to the bathroom and forgot about the stupid board. Go back to sleep."
"Not tired," Dean says, stupidly and obviously untruthfully, when he yawns around the words. "You okay?"
He hears the squeak and creak of bedsprings as Sam sits on his side of the bed. "I'm fine. Just needed to pee. Go back to sleep, Dean."
The mattress shifts under Sam's weight as he settles, and then his voice, soft and close, washes over Dean.
"Remember the first time Dad left us here?"
"You were convinced someone was moaning every time you heard the board squeak." Dean smiles at the memory. "You thought the board was alive, or something, and you refused to get out of bed once the lights were turned off." Dean stretches his leg out – doesn't have to stretch very far – and kicks Sam lightly in the shin. "Thought you were gonna piss yourself, because you wouldn't get up to use the bathroom."
"I was six, dude."
"Uh-huh." The room hasn't changed at all in all the years in between, either, and Dean takes comfort in that. Still the same queen-sized bed with saggy mattress, and brass head-and-foot boards that probably haven't been polished since Bobby's grandmother owned them. Same fading curtains hanging over the windows. Same washed-out, worn-down area rug that doesn't protect toes from chilly floorboards at all.
Same everything, right down to sharing the bed with his brother, though they stopped doing that as much around the time Sam hit puberty because there just wasn't enough room for both of them to sleep comfortably. Still isn't, but Dean doesn't want any room between them. Not right now, not yet, maybe never again.
And then there were some other firsts that also happened in this room, and Dean remembers each of those with perfect clarity, too, as well as the lasts.
"Been awhile," Sam says quietly, apparently thinking the same thing Dean's been thinking.
"Over a year," Dean agrees. He could've--they could've. Sam gave him enough opportunities while he was walking around soulless, but Dean couldn't. It wasn't the same; it wasn't Sam.
"Was I really—that different?" Sam sounds impossibly young, and Dean scoots closer, settling so he's pressed against the length of Sam's body.
"It wasn't you." Dean's said that so many times lately that it feels almost mechanical now, like an excuse or a cover, but it's also true. The man who walked around wearing Sam's face maybe wasn't a demon, but he wasn't Dean's brother, either.
This man, though, he is Dean's brother. Brother, friend, partner, sometime-lover, and so many more things Dean can't list them all. He can sum them up easily though: he's Dean's whole world.
Dean leans in to kiss him, breath catching in his throat when Sam fucking whimpers, mouth opening just enough to tease Dean into deepening the kiss.
Sam's lips are soft, and just a little chapped, and he tastes oddly like cherry cola. He's big and warm against Dean, huge hands coming up to cup Dean's face when Dean pushes, rolling so he's mostly on top of Sam.
His world narrows down to slick, hot kisses; to the strength of Sam's body beneath his, and the way he can feel Sam's dick growing, hardening, pressing up against Dean's.
They rock together slowly, arousal spreading warm and thick through their bodies. Dean pushes at Sam's shirt until Sam gets the message and skins it up and off. It makes a soft whump sound when it lands somewhere near door.
"Keep your arms up," Dean whispers, leaning back in to bite at Sam's throat, tonguing at the hollow where his pulse is fluttering. Sam makes a low noise, groan or growl, and Dean trails kisses across his collarbone, mouth moving over each mark he doesn't recognize. He came back from the grave unscarred save for Castiel's handprint; Sam has new scars, from time they spent apart. He nuzzles into Sam's armpit, then licks, tasting salt and clean skin, the hair rough against his tongue. Sam shivers against him, and Dean licks again and again, then buries his face there, breathing in the rich, warm scent before moving back. "Wanna fuck you," he says, voice rough and hoarse, and Sam's nodding, hands already reaching for the track pants he was sleeping in.
"Wear a condom," Sam says, shoving the pants off his legs. The hunger in his voice makes heat gather low in Dean's belly, but the reminder that there's no way of knowing who else his brother's had makes his belly clench with jealousy.
He has condoms and a half-full bottle of lube stashed at the bottom of his duffle, and it only takes a minute to grab them and toss them on the bed beside Sam. Sam, who's stretched himself out and is slowly jacking his dick, fist loose and easy around his length. While Dean watches Sam shifts, drawing his legs up and spreading them open. He's limned in moonlight, thin streaks wavering across his body, shivering and shifting with each of Sam's movements.
"It's almost like a first time again." Sam reaches down, cups his balls gently, and Dean's there beside him before he realizes he's moved, pushing Sam's hand out of the way. He rolls Sam's balls, not as gently as Sam did, and pinches lightly at the soft skin. Flicks his fingernail over the seam between them and smiles when Sam moans for him.
"Almost," Dean agrees, then squeezes. Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough Sam sucks a breath in, letting it out in a slow, thick groan. Further back, and Dean pinches, scratches, presses his fingers against the smooth skin.
There's so much he wants to do right now: wants to lick Sam open, feel the muscles relaxing around his tongue. He wants to split Sam open on his dick, and he wants to feel Sam taking him, shoving hard and hot and thick inside until all Dean can do is beg for more. He wants to hurt his brother, and make love to him, maybe both at once. Wants Sam to hurt him. He wants them both sweaty and sated, curled against one another.
"C'mon, fuck me. Need you, man." Sam pulls his legs up, holds himself impossibly wide, and Dean wishes there was enough light to see, so he could look down, watch Sam's hole open and swallow his fingers, his dick. Adds that to the list of things he wants to do, needs to do: see them within each other, no division between them at all. He moves into the space between Sam's legs, already tearing at the condom wrapper to open it. He's shaking when he rolls it down, his dick so hard it hurts.
It takes two tries to get the lube open, but then he has the slick on his fingers, and Sam's breathing speeds up, harsh and heavy, when Dean slides them around and around his rim before pushing inside. Taking back what's fucking his.
"Jesus," he whispers when Sam bears down and his fingers slip further in, Sam clenching tight around them. "Jesus, Sammy."
Sam is tight, so fucking tight, and burning hot. Dean's cock throbs at the thought of being inside him surrounded by that tight heat, slick with lube, just enough to ease the way. He twists his fingers hard, almost viciously, need coiling through him, burning tendrils spreading outward. Beneath him Sam grunts and squeezes, and it's too much. Too much not being in there, buried to the root. Dean twists his fingers again, pushing and stroking until Sam cries out, hoarse and wordless, thrusting up to meet each thrust of Dean's fingers, his own clenched against his thighs, the muscles pulled taut with his straining.
"Come on," Sam hisses, and Dean doesn't want to wait any longer, either.
He strokes his dick once, slicking it up, and then he's right there, pushing inside his brother, feeling Sam's body adjusting to let him in and hold him in.
It's so good, feels so fucking good that Dean can't breathe for a minute. It doesn't help that Sam shifts his hips and tightens down on him, because all Dean can do then is fuck forward, pushing in until he bottoms out. He stutters, finds a rhythm, and it's like lightning and fire, pinpricks of heat running all through him. Sam's rocking up to meet each thrust, and his knuckles rub and push against Dean's stomach where Sam's got a hand around himself, jerking off in time with Dean's thrusts.
He can't last long at all, and not nearly as long as he'd like, especially with Sam writhing beneath him, legs cradling him, holding him, body welcoming Dean in. He shifts up onto his knees and pulls Sam even closer, fingers tightening on Sam's hips, gripping hard against the sweat-slicked skin. Sam moans, the sound drawn-out and breathless, and Dean shoves in over and over, as hard and fast as he can manage. He feels it starting, orgasm building up inside him, balls drawing up as he flushes all over. When he comes it's like being hit by a Mack truck, lust and need roaring through him, pulsing out of him. He fucks into Sam all through it, gasping when Sam clenches hard around him, sticky heat spreading between them as Sam comes.
Sam reaches up and traces his fingers across Dean's mouth, ragged breathing hitching when Dean licks at them, then sucks them clean. Sam pulls his fingers free and tugs Dean down to kiss him, and it makes Dean's head spin, being so completely surrounded by Sam.
The sky has lightened into early dawn by the time they manage to stop kissing long enough for Dean to roll off Sam to get rid of the condom. It's too early to think about getting up yet, though, so Dean grabs the nearest t-shirt to wipe off with, and once Sam's done the same he's ready to sleep some more.
Preferably curled around his brother.
"Comin' back to bed?" Sam looks only half-awake at best, body relaxed and at ease. Dean nods and slides under the covers. He snorts when Sam rolls toward him, pushing, and grumbles, "Why do I always have to be the little spoon?"
"Because."
Dean's ready to snark that that isn't an answer, but then Sam wraps those freakishly long arms around him and nuzzles at the nape of Dean's neck, and he doesn't care about anything except being right here, right now.
~fin~
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no subject
Date: 2011-03-23 02:03 am (UTC)