mickeym | Fic: [ At The Altar of You, I Worship ]

Title: At The Altar of You, I Worship
Author: Mickey M.
Pairing Sam/Dean
Word Count: ~1500
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Contains fisting
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: On the way home from work yesterday, I got stuck in four miles' worth of backed-up traffic, due to an accident. So I had a lot of time to think…and my thoughts turned to those Winchester Boys (as happens), and kinkfic (as also happens). I've read a lot of D/s stuff, and spanking, and whatnot, but not much/any of my more favorite kinks, one of which is fisting. And I wondered how Sam would approach it--and 'worshipful' popped into my head. So, here it is. Huge thanks to

pierson for on-the-fly beta-duty extraordinaire. You rock, darlin'. Hope y'all enjoy it :)

He's beautiful any time, but like this -- loose-limbed with pleasure, pupils blown wide, looking thoroughly fucked out -- it makes your chest ache with emotion at the same time heat pools in your belly.

You can't not touch him, with eyes, with lips, with your hands. You see every mark you left on him: the red-purple bruises you bit then sucked into bloom dotting his throat. The faint, finger-shaped smudges on his hips and thighs. Teethmarks speckling his torso and circling his nipples. You stroke each one, press on the bruises to hear him suck in a breath.

Each exhalation is a quiet groan that you echo.

There's reverence in every movement you make, in every touch to his body.

His skin gleams in the dim light, wet with lube, with sweat, with spunk. You smear your fingers through the mess; rub it into his belly and then lower, smiling when his dick stirs beneath your touch, filling and lengthening slowly.

"Sam." The word is half hiss, half sigh, and he arches upward, seeking.

"You're beautiful," you tell him, liking the way he moves for you. "Love to see you like this, Dean." You cup his sac, rubbing and pinching the tender skin gently, then smooth your fingers over the soft skin behind it. Dean pulls his legs up, the movement languid and slow, heavy, like Louisiana air in summertime.

He's still open; hole stretched and loose, wet with come and lube. The outer rim is puffy and red and you remember how good he tasted when you licked around it, biting and sucking until he relaxed enough to let your tongue in. Dean moans softly when you trace your fingers around and around before pressing them inside.

He yields so easily to you, body opening, welcoming, and fuck. You've had him twice tonight, and the heat still takes your breath away, makes your dick hang heavy between your thighs. You want him again and again, as often as you can have him.

You fuck him slowly with two fingers, listening to the wet sounds overlaid with quiet gasps, admiring the way he moves up to meet you. Admiring the sleek play of muscle beneath skin.

"More," he says, voice urgent. Hungry. "Sam, please--"

"Yeah, Dean. Yeah." You want to give him what he wants, what he needs. What you need.

A third finger fits in so smoothly, and you twist them, crooking them until you can rub and stroke over that small gland. Dean shivers violently, cock jerking toward his belly, thick and hard with the pleasure you're giving him. You lean in, shoulder pressing to the back of his thigh, opening him up more. He shudders when you lick at his cockhead, tongue spreading the thin, pearly fluid welling up from the small slit.

His fingers twine into your hair, holding you close while you lick and suck, teasing him until each gasp from him is breathless, ragged.

The fourth finger fits in, and you pour more lube over your hand, anticipation growing huge and hot inside you.

He's so fucking hot, and each slow glide of your fingers in, out, makes you quiver with the sensations: smooth, slick, heated muscle grasping you. Holding you. Squeezing around to keep you in. You turn your hand slowly, rub his belly when he arches and growls your name.

"You want more?" You want to give this to him; want to feel him take it. You want it so bad it's a hotcold ache inside you.

"God, yes." He tugs on your hair and you go, four fingers deep inside him, but stretching up to kiss him.

Dean's mouth is honeysyrup sweet, and you lick into it, desperate to swallow that sweetness, to take it into yourself. His tongue moves slow against yours, lapping, savoring, pulling you down into thick, hot pleasure. You bite at his bottom lip when you pull back, suck on the tender skin there. He scratches at your back when you twist your fingers abruptly, and the sound he makes, part growl part whimper, rips through you.

"Again, Sammy, Jesus." His chest gleams with sweat, and your neck itches with the droplets sliding down, and you do it again, twist-crook-rub, until Dean's bucking upward, dick jerking and leaking with each thrust.

More lube, and you twist, turn, shift your fingers. Your hand is so fucking huge and you want to see him swallow it up; want to see it disappear inside him.

Dean's yours. You want him to feel how much you love him, want him; how much you want to give him everything, forever.

"Take it, take me, c'mon, Dean," you say, the words rough and raw as he stretches around you, opens impossibly wide to take you in.

Your knuckles bump against the smooth walls and you're holding your breath because close…so close, you're almost surrounded by him. Dean keens low, the sound slicing you open with the want in it.

You suck him into your mouth as you work that last, widest part of your hand slowly inward; feel his dick jerk against your tongue. His balls are drawn up so, so tight against his body and you want to lick them, take them into your mouth and suck.

Another time; not now. Now is for this, for his body swallowing you, for you showing him how much you love him.

"Sam, Jesus--" He's trembling, body wet with sweat and stretched open. You shift and push his leg up a little higher, holding it for him. "It--God. I don't know, not sure--" His lashes flutter against his cheek and for just a minute you think he's going to say no, tell you to stop and you don't want to. You're so close, you need this as much as you want to give it to him--

Dean exhales, long and slow, his body relaxing around you. You twist just a little more and you're sliding in deeper, pushing past the resistance, fingers curling reflexively inward.

Buried inside him, sleek heat surrounding you and you can't draw in a decent breath. Your chest is tight, your fucking throat's closed up.

"Dean. God."

When he opens his eyes you feel like you're looking straight into his soul, at all the hunger, need, love there. He gives you a half-smile and wiggles just a bit, pulling a groan out of both of you.

You move your hand slowly at first, just gentle twists and pushes. Dean clutches at the sheets and rocks his hips up to meet you, and you can't stop staring at your hand disappearing into him, at the way he's stretched so wide, holding you in. You want to lick at that thin, red ring of muscle, taste how it smoothes out and disappears, letting you in.

"Faster," he says, and you jerk your head. He has his eyes closed again.

"What's it feel like?" You move faster, still careful, but wanting to feel him coming apart now.

"Tight," he gasps. "So full--fucking can't believe--" Dean swallows, opens his eyes to stare at you again. They're all pupil now, dark and wide with only a thin ring of green around them, and hazy with pleasure.

Looking at him, feeling him like this, makes you hungry. You stroke your dick with gentle fingers, not ready to come yet but needing to touch.

"Fuck me, Sammy. Please." He swallows again and tightens around you. You shudder and fuck him, watching what he's feeling play out on his face. Dean's usually so closed off; holds so much of himself back. Tonight he's open, accepting, taking.

Taking everything you give him; everything you want to give him.

You lean in and lick at the sweat on his thigh, and kiss one of the bruises you left there earlier. "Touch yourself, Dean. Come for me--come while I'm in you, fucking you. Wanna feel it, wanna feel you."

He breathes out something that might be a word, or maybe just a sound, a sob of breath, and curls his fingers around his dick. It doesn't take more than a couple of strokes before he's coming, body thrashing against the bed, dancing on your fist as he spills thick and hot over his fingers and belly.

You jack yourself frantically when he clamps down around your hand, your wrist, and you're coming even as he is. There's not much there since you've come two or three times already tonight, but that only makes it better, draws it out for as long as you can stand stroking over hypersensitive flesh.

He quivers and jerks when you begin pulling out -- slowly, you don't want to hurt him -- and it's incredible to watch him, to listen to him. At the widest point his breathing becomes harsh pants, and then he comes again, beautifully, almost violently. His body ripples and contracts around your hand while he arches upward, spine curving impossibly until you're all the way out.

"God, love you so much," you mutter, fingers teasing around his swollen, open hole. Dean whimpers once, pushing toward you, and you rub gently at the stretched muscle, feeling the tremors still moving through him.

"You too," Dean says hoarsely, reaching for you. You squeeze his fingers and climb up over him, settling down to hold him until he's come down.

Until you both do.

~fin~