mickeym | New Fic: [ Give and Take ]

Title: Give and Take
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~1100
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Incest, spanking, implied (mild) D/s. Sorta.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not making any money off them, more's the pity.
Notes: Someday I'll do something that's not a PWP. Today, however, isn't that day. Um. Friday, I ~~teased~~ promised

wendy a story with Sam spanking Dean, and then promptly didn't get a chance to work on it until Saturday night. I suppose, in theory, this could read as a Coda to AHBL2, with Dean wanting/needing forgiveness, or reassurance, or something along those lines. But really, it's not meant as that; it works for any time within the show so far. Hope y'all enjoy it :)

So much.

Too much.

Not enough.

Never, ever enough, no matter how much or how often he gets it.

Everything is warm and a little shimmery; Dean wants to bring it in close, closer, and wrap it around him like a blanket. He wants to feel it catch him, hold him, keep him safe.

He has to come apart to come together, and he fears it as much as he wants it.

Sam knows it as much as Dean knows it, and Dean feels that knowledge in every blow, in the way heat blisters in him and dances across his skin, in the gentle strength in Sam's hands and fingers and the wet, warm slide of Sam's tongue and lips across his skin.

Sam will catch him, when he flies apart. Sam will bring him back together, hold him, keep him safe.

"Not yet, Dean. C'mon back," Sam says softly, the words catching him, pulling Dean away from the shimmer. Sam's lips touch the back of Dean's neck briefly, a there-and-gone caress to anchor him.

Dean shivers as the light touch ripples through him, almost as powerful as the hard slap of Sam's hand against his skin.

"Don't want to," he says, clearing his throat when the words come out hoarse and rough. "Sam." He wiggles, once, ignoring the heat in his cheeks; his whole body is warm, what's a little more?

"You should see yourself," Sam mutters, his hand rubbing circles over Dean's ass. "You're so fucking hot like this."

Dean groans; whines a little when Sam digs his fingers into the muscles of his ass, sending splinters of fire all through him. "Sam, please--"

Sam smacks him, right cheek only, hard and sharp. "Please what, Dean?"

It's hard not to tense up and he's not supposed to, because it makes it hurt more--which, okay, he wants it to hurt, but not in a bad way. He tenses now, then relaxes when Sam smacks him again, rubbing the heat in afterward. Dean opens his mouth, but his body is humming with embarrassment -- among other things -- and the words are hard to force out. "Please...more."

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean." Sam sighs the word and shifts, and Dean grunts as his hand comes down, heavy, hard, each smack whip-crack loud in the small, quiet room.

Between his legs his dick throbs, loose and untouched, nothing to rub or grind against. Dean shifts his hips, trying to rock forward against Sam's leg, something, anything to give him a little pressure. A little relief.

"No," Sam says, widening his legs and the space Dean rests between. "Not yet." He brings his hand down on Dean's ass again, again, again until there's nothing but his hand on Dean's ass. Nothing but sweet, growing heat throbbing all through him.

Fire consuming him.

He arches upward now, meeting each smack; grunting and panting with the effort. With his need. Behind him, over him and around him, Sam laughs softly. "So good, man. I love you like this."

"Me…too…" Dean manages, words beginning to slide out of reach. He closes his eyes and breathes, groans at the sudden cessation that really isn't; it's just Sam rubbing the fire into his skin until Dean's drowning in it, fingers scrabbling against the bed because he doesn't want to go under yet. Soon, but not yet.

"That's it," Sam says, rub-smack-rub-smack, mouth touching to the center of Dean's back. "Almost there, aren't you? Just let it go, Dean. Let go; I got you."

The blows come faster, harder, each one pushing at the cracks growing inside him.

The intensity's building within him; a knot of tension, of need so strong it hurts, and Dean feels it all the way down inside him and through him, throbbing along his veins and stinging his nerves. He's hurtling toward that shimmer, now, nothing else in the room or on the planet. Just him, just Sam, but they're like one person, now: deanandsam, and he can't tell the difference between them.

"That's it," Sam says again, his voice far-away, scraping sand-paper rough over Dean. "C'mon, give it up, give it to me, I got you."

Dean throws himself into it, free-falling for what feels like an eternity, nothing but heat and silence flowing around him, through him, out of him. Everything feels thick and heavy, but light and fluid, too. He hears Sam, Sam's voice, but it's not words. Just sounds, soothing, comforting, calming sounds that slipslide over him.

A different heat slides into him, thick and solid, anchoring him back down. Sam's mouth is on his, tongue teasing and promising as he tastes Dean, chasing the copper taste coating the back of his tongue.

"You make me crazy," Sam whispers, the words lost in the kiss, in the heavy panting between them, in every thrust of Sam into him. "So crazy."

Dean wants to tell Sam that Sam makes him crazy: crazy with lust, with want, with a hunger that seems to grow no matter how often it's fed. He can't do much more than slur, "you, too," and he sounds drunk. Hell, he feels drunk.

Their bodies join and part with wet, slick sounds; Sam's groaning with each thrust, and they're faster, harder, choppier. Dean shudders and pulls Sam closer, bites at his mouth and clenches at his back with sloppy, uncoordinated movements. Just needs him close, closer, under his skin and deep inside.

"You got me," Sam tells him, shifting, pulling back to push Dean's legs up, open. Cool air washes over burning skin; Sam's fingers press against and into, and Dean growls as pleasurepain slices into him, shiny-bright, like a blade.

"Didn't say nothin'," Dean slurs again, still sounding and feeling drunk. He clutches at his own legs, hisses at the double knife twisting into him.

Sam shouts when he comes, pulsing liquid heat deep inside Dean, thick and potent and wanted. He tightens down around Sam, pulls Sam back down against him for another kiss.

Everything is soft and warm, afterward, the pain in his ass dulled to a throbbing that matches his heartbeat. Dean sinks into it, lets it cover him completely, happy to drown in it, now. Beside him Sam curls into him, over him, his breath warm against Dean's throat. His lips are even warmer, ghosting over sweat-slick skin.

He can't hear the words Sam's saying -- if he's actually saying anything -- but against his skin, they feel like a benediction or a prayer.

Just before blessed, welcome darkness slides over him, Dean says his own benediction, his own prayer; just a breath that he knows his brother will hear.

"Sammy."

~fin~