first two ficlets :)
Aug. 22nd, 2011 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymI'm slow, but I'm determined.
The first is PG, and a little angstier than I'd planeed; the second is, um. NC-17.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glovered:
"You got rid of all of them?"
One more octave and Dean's voice would be edging up on 'shrill'. Sam crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. "I was trying to make a clean break."
"By burning all your IDs?"
"They're fake, man. It's not like we can't make me new ones."
"Yeah, but—" Dean shakes his head. "I still don't get why."
"I already said why."
"Clean break, yeah. But you said…I mean, I thought, it was only a temporary thing."
Sam holds in another sigh that wants out. "Does it matter now? Really?"
"I guess not." Dean lets out a sigh of his own, and Sam finds himself wanting so badly to reach out and just pull his brother into his arms. He wants to hold Dean close against him, feel his heat and strength.
He doesn't reach out because he doesn't know if it'll be accepted. He and Dean have been back together as a team for less than a day, and while his brother seems sincere about them working together, Sam doesn't think he could handle being rejected.
"So, we going?" Dean snaps his fingers practically under Sam's nose, pulling his attention back from thoughts of holding Dean, kissing him, just being with him. He frowns.
"Going?"
"To get you some new fake IDs? Can't work a case if you don't have 'em."
"Yeah, I—I guess so. Might as well go now."
It was hard enough bridging the physical distance between them. Sam doesn't have a clue how they'll bridge the emotional distance. He can only hope they have the time it's likely to take.
Forraynedanser:
He's absolutely uncertain how they got from drinks in a bar (big guy coming toward them, determined look on his face, and Dean's ready to do a throw-down even before Sam's standing up, warmth lighting up his face, hand stretching out, "Steve McGarrett! Long time, man.") to stumbling in a jumble of limbs into their motel room.
Uncertain, and unsure. Dean doesn't share well, and he really doesn't share Sam well. Especially not since they ended the world and went to Hell and survived and started over.
No. He doesn't share well. ("Sam Winchester, good to see you again." Dude holds his hand out at the same time he's obviously scanning the room, and fuck, is he a hunter? Whatever he is, his eyes are hot when they land back on Sam, and Dean's surprised to see a similar fire burning in Sam's.)
Except apparently he's sharing now, Steve's mouth sucking a mark onto Dean's throat while Sam does the same to Steve.
Sam pulls Dean closer and kisses him hard, bruising, laying claim. It calms Dean a little, Sam's mouth and hands hot on him. Steve's eyes following each kiss, each touch, well. That makes him hotter. ("This is my brother, Dean. Dean, Steve McGarrett. He was working in California when I was at Stanford. We hung out a little.")
"Let me show you what he likes," Sam says, whispering the words against Dean's mouth. He shivers and nods, dropping down into one of the chairs. Sam kisses him once more, then turns away to dig in his duffle for something.
Steve's managed to lose his shirt and pants, and damn. As a rule guys don't do it for him, Sam being the exception to that. Apparently this dude's gonna be an exception, too.
Sam's turned back toward them, and he has his knife in hand, already unsheathed and gleaming brightly in the low lamplight. It's wicked sharp – Dean taught Sam how to sharpen knives, after all. He shivers when he realizes what Sam's going to do with that knife, and feels heat curl through him. Sick, rolling, bright heat—and still he's hard, aching in his jeans.
"On the bed," Sam says, low and soft. "Gimme a word."
"Danny." Steve's throat works like he's swallowing, and he says it again, a little louder. "That's my word. 'Danny'."
Sam nods, and Dean holds his breath, and then Sam's drawing the knife slowly, carefully, down the length of Steve's torso; throat down to his navel. He moans, and Dean wants to echo it, because it's like magic, this thin, bright line rising up behind the blade. Sam repeats the motion over and over, pressing just a little harder each time. Steve's making noises Dean can't even give name to, something primal and hungry. It makes his blood run faster in his veins, makes his dick throb hotly.
"Isn't he pretty like this?" Sam's voice is rough, gravelly. "He hurts so good, don't you, Steve?"
Steve kind of whines through his teeth; the whine increases when Sam stretches out a hand, scrubbing his finger across one of the deeper cuts. Steve reacts like he's been electrocuted; he writhes on the bed, tremors rippling through him. Sam licks his finger clean then leans down to lap at the droplets welling up. His lips and teeth are stained a brighter, deeper red when he looks up and grins at Dean. "C'mere."
That sick, hot feeling is back, swirling through Dean faster than he can process. He doesn't want to go, but he doesn't not want to go, either. He's not entirely sure what, exactly, he does want.
"Taste him," Sam says, and kisses Dean.
It's sensory overload, the hot-metal taste sliding over his tongue and around his mouth; the scent of sweat and blood rising up; the heat from Sam's body. Steve adds to that when he reaches up and palms Dean's dick through his jeans, fingers rubbing and stroking, molding the fabric around Dean's erection.
Dean pulls away with a gasp, panting and shaking; he falls into the chair behind him, eyes never leaving Steve, watching the way he arches upward, like he's trying to meet the knife partway. Or all of the way.
Sam's still busy with the knife, tiny slashes here; longer slashes there, deeper around Steve's nipples. Dean sees a few scars; wonders how many of them Sam left—because this is obviously not the first time Sam and Steve have played.
"Gonna come from this?" Sam's voice breaks into Dean's thoughts, into the swirl of emotions whirling around inside him. "C'mon, Steve. I know you can. Know you want to."
The knife is dragged very gently, very lightly, up and down the length of Steve's dick, and damned if he doesn't hiss and shift, like he's trying to get it harder. Dean tugs his fly open and strokes, arching into his hand the way Steve's moving toward Sam, toward the knife. It flashes bright silver, a sideways smile that's teasing, tasting, taunting, and then Steve gives a long, low groan and Dean watches his dick shoot, thick, creamy white mixing with the red streaking his chest and belly. Dean thinks about licking it up, licking Steve clean, and then lightning is streaking through him hot and bright to match the knife's grin, and he's stumbling to his feet to come on Steve's chest.
Sam joins him, jerking off over Steve until he's grunting, adding his spunk to the mess.
Steve and Sam both growl when Dean moves to hover over Steve, tongue darting out to take the first taste.
Maybe he doesn't mind sharing quite as much as he thought he did.
The first is PG, and a little angstier than I'd planeed; the second is, um. NC-17.
For
glovered: "You got rid of all of them?"
One more octave and Dean's voice would be edging up on 'shrill'. Sam crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. "I was trying to make a clean break."
"By burning all your IDs?"
"They're fake, man. It's not like we can't make me new ones."
"Yeah, but—" Dean shakes his head. "I still don't get why."
"I already said why."
"Clean break, yeah. But you said…I mean, I thought, it was only a temporary thing."
Sam holds in another sigh that wants out. "Does it matter now? Really?"
"I guess not." Dean lets out a sigh of his own, and Sam finds himself wanting so badly to reach out and just pull his brother into his arms. He wants to hold Dean close against him, feel his heat and strength.
He doesn't reach out because he doesn't know if it'll be accepted. He and Dean have been back together as a team for less than a day, and while his brother seems sincere about them working together, Sam doesn't think he could handle being rejected.
"So, we going?" Dean snaps his fingers practically under Sam's nose, pulling his attention back from thoughts of holding Dean, kissing him, just being with him. He frowns.
"Going?"
"To get you some new fake IDs? Can't work a case if you don't have 'em."
"Yeah, I—I guess so. Might as well go now."
It was hard enough bridging the physical distance between them. Sam doesn't have a clue how they'll bridge the emotional distance. He can only hope they have the time it's likely to take.
For
raynedanser: He's absolutely uncertain how they got from drinks in a bar (big guy coming toward them, determined look on his face, and Dean's ready to do a throw-down even before Sam's standing up, warmth lighting up his face, hand stretching out, "Steve McGarrett! Long time, man.") to stumbling in a jumble of limbs into their motel room.
Uncertain, and unsure. Dean doesn't share well, and he really doesn't share Sam well. Especially not since they ended the world and went to Hell and survived and started over.
No. He doesn't share well. ("Sam Winchester, good to see you again." Dude holds his hand out at the same time he's obviously scanning the room, and fuck, is he a hunter? Whatever he is, his eyes are hot when they land back on Sam, and Dean's surprised to see a similar fire burning in Sam's.)
Except apparently he's sharing now, Steve's mouth sucking a mark onto Dean's throat while Sam does the same to Steve.
Sam pulls Dean closer and kisses him hard, bruising, laying claim. It calms Dean a little, Sam's mouth and hands hot on him. Steve's eyes following each kiss, each touch, well. That makes him hotter. ("This is my brother, Dean. Dean, Steve McGarrett. He was working in California when I was at Stanford. We hung out a little.")
"Let me show you what he likes," Sam says, whispering the words against Dean's mouth. He shivers and nods, dropping down into one of the chairs. Sam kisses him once more, then turns away to dig in his duffle for something.
Steve's managed to lose his shirt and pants, and damn. As a rule guys don't do it for him, Sam being the exception to that. Apparently this dude's gonna be an exception, too.
Sam's turned back toward them, and he has his knife in hand, already unsheathed and gleaming brightly in the low lamplight. It's wicked sharp – Dean taught Sam how to sharpen knives, after all. He shivers when he realizes what Sam's going to do with that knife, and feels heat curl through him. Sick, rolling, bright heat—and still he's hard, aching in his jeans.
"On the bed," Sam says, low and soft. "Gimme a word."
"Danny." Steve's throat works like he's swallowing, and he says it again, a little louder. "That's my word. 'Danny'."
Sam nods, and Dean holds his breath, and then Sam's drawing the knife slowly, carefully, down the length of Steve's torso; throat down to his navel. He moans, and Dean wants to echo it, because it's like magic, this thin, bright line rising up behind the blade. Sam repeats the motion over and over, pressing just a little harder each time. Steve's making noises Dean can't even give name to, something primal and hungry. It makes his blood run faster in his veins, makes his dick throb hotly.
"Isn't he pretty like this?" Sam's voice is rough, gravelly. "He hurts so good, don't you, Steve?"
Steve kind of whines through his teeth; the whine increases when Sam stretches out a hand, scrubbing his finger across one of the deeper cuts. Steve reacts like he's been electrocuted; he writhes on the bed, tremors rippling through him. Sam licks his finger clean then leans down to lap at the droplets welling up. His lips and teeth are stained a brighter, deeper red when he looks up and grins at Dean. "C'mere."
That sick, hot feeling is back, swirling through Dean faster than he can process. He doesn't want to go, but he doesn't not want to go, either. He's not entirely sure what, exactly, he does want.
"Taste him," Sam says, and kisses Dean.
It's sensory overload, the hot-metal taste sliding over his tongue and around his mouth; the scent of sweat and blood rising up; the heat from Sam's body. Steve adds to that when he reaches up and palms Dean's dick through his jeans, fingers rubbing and stroking, molding the fabric around Dean's erection.
Dean pulls away with a gasp, panting and shaking; he falls into the chair behind him, eyes never leaving Steve, watching the way he arches upward, like he's trying to meet the knife partway. Or all of the way.
Sam's still busy with the knife, tiny slashes here; longer slashes there, deeper around Steve's nipples. Dean sees a few scars; wonders how many of them Sam left—because this is obviously not the first time Sam and Steve have played.
"Gonna come from this?" Sam's voice breaks into Dean's thoughts, into the swirl of emotions whirling around inside him. "C'mon, Steve. I know you can. Know you want to."
The knife is dragged very gently, very lightly, up and down the length of Steve's dick, and damned if he doesn't hiss and shift, like he's trying to get it harder. Dean tugs his fly open and strokes, arching into his hand the way Steve's moving toward Sam, toward the knife. It flashes bright silver, a sideways smile that's teasing, tasting, taunting, and then Steve gives a long, low groan and Dean watches his dick shoot, thick, creamy white mixing with the red streaking his chest and belly. Dean thinks about licking it up, licking Steve clean, and then lightning is streaking through him hot and bright to match the knife's grin, and he's stumbling to his feet to come on Steve's chest.
Sam joins him, jerking off over Steve until he's grunting, adding his spunk to the mess.
Steve and Sam both growl when Dean moves to hover over Steve, tongue darting out to take the first taste.
Maybe he doesn't mind sharing quite as much as he thought he did.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 02:13 am (UTC)Jesus.
You spoil me so much, you know that? *smooches*
no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 02:16 am (UTC)Something I'm happy to do :)
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Date: 2011-08-23 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 03:21 am (UTC)Lost consonants.
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Date: 2011-09-11 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-11 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-11 07:28 am (UTC)*snugs you*