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Jan. 23rd, 2007 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cathybitesthis is the wonder of devotion
[spn, sam/dean, nc-17, 1502 words]
for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_rimmathon, prompt: Sam/Dean rimming in or on the impala. much love to the fabulous ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cosmic for betaing and cheerleading and discouraging me from titling this 'OMGPORNLOL' (although apparently 'OMGPORN' would've been an acceptable title). speaking of, title comes from "The Rain Song" by Led Zeppelin, because Dean would want it that way.
Halfway to Red Lodge, the sky opens up and the rain comes down in buckets. It beats down against the roof, the hood, the brand-new windshield he'd installed last week, and Dean hums happily, feeling as close to good and safe as he can these days. The Impala is purring under his hands, Sam is sprawled in the seat next to him, a faint smile playing on his lips, and there's little else that Dean needs in the world right now.
The rain washes away the last bits of dust and dirt left from Bobby's yard, and Sam's cuts and bruises are all healed, nothing left on either one to mark what had happened only weeks ago.
Frowning slightly, Dean edges away from that line of thought, concentrates instead on the vibrations from the engine, on the slip of skin that flashes along the waistband of Sam's jeans every time he shifts in his seat. It's not long before he starts thinking about what that bit of skin tastes like, how it'd feel against his tongue, and Dean starts calculating how long it'll be before he can get Sam in a motel room and naked - and not necessarily in that order.
The rain finally lets up after an hour, and when it does, Sam slants a heated glance his way, lightning-quick swipe of pink tongue along his lower lip, expression on his face like he knows exactly what's on Dean's mind. All thoughts of motels and beds disappear with the rainclouds, and Dean can't pull over quick enough, steering the Impala into a shaded alcove, all but invisible from the road.
Sam's out of the car before Dean can throw it in park, shirt stripped off and tossed to the ground. His jeans are around his knees by the time Dean gets out and slides over the still-wet hood to reach him, grabbing Sam by the back of his neck and hauling him in. Their mouths crash together, teeth and tongues laying claim to one another. Dean's hands fist in Sam's hair, angling Sam's head to kiss him deeper, biting and sucking at his lips until Sam starts to whimper, hips pushing desperately against Dean's own.
Spinning them around, Dean pushes Sam back against the Impala, stealing one last kiss before grabbing a hold of one shoulder and turning him. He slides a hand up the smooth skin of Sam's back, increasing the pressure until Sam bends over, braced up on his forearms, ass in the air, throwing dark glances over his shoulder. Sam toes his sneakers off, kicks his jeans off the rest of the way, and Dean falls to his knees behind him, red-hot blood singing Hallelujah! through his veins.
He shoves at Sam's right thigh, hooking his hand around it and pushing until it's resting on the hood, leaving Sam trembling and wide open. Sitting back on his heels, Dean takes a moment to breathe, to stare at the picture in front of him - Sam, naked and golden in the late afternoon sunlight, stretched out against the deep black paint of his baby. "Fuck," he lets out in a breath, reaching down to press the heel of his hand against his crotch.
"Dean?" Sam's head lifts up as he stretches and twists to look at Dean, muscles standing out in stark relief under his skin.
"Right here, Sammy," Dean replies, moving forward to place his hands on Sam's ass, thumbs slowly trailing up and down the curve of it. Sam shivers at the contact, head dropping down, and Dean presses a kiss to the left cheek as his thumbs slip into the crevice and spread Sam open. A sharp hiss from Sam as Dean holds him apart, leaning in to breathe hot and humid over Sam's hole, teasing puffs of air that has Sam twitching underneath Dean's hands.
"God, Dean, please..." The words tumble from Sam's mouth, swollen and rough with heat, and Dean can't fight them, not when they fall straight from his ears to his dick, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to Sam's flesh.
Soft licks at first, all along the crease, teasing around the hole, painting circles around it. At Sam's quiet moan, Dean tilts his head down, his tongue following the tender trail of skin to Sam's balls, then back up. Sam's hips jerk and his leg shakes, fighting to keep still as Dean's tongue explores, as it tastes and takes everything it can reach. Dean digs his fingers into the muscles of Sam's ass, spreading him even wider as he shoves his face in as close as he can get, moaning into Sam's skin as his tongue pushes in and out, a thick and slick steady slide.
Sam whimpers and keens as Dean fucks him with his tongue, begging and pleading with every gasp and movement, but Dean feels like he's the one being fucked, like he's the one being laid bare and open. The entire world fades out until all he can feel is the damp ground under his knees and Sam's sweat-drenched skin under his hands; all he can taste is Sam, bittersweet and golden dark musk; all he can be is this, everything Sam needs and wants.
His hands push harder, tongue delves deeper, fingers kneading Sam's ass in time to the pounding of Dean's heart. Sloppy wet kisses now, everything slippery and burning hot to the touch, and Dean slides two fingers in next to his tongue with no warning, grinning at the way that makes Sam swear. He scissors them, opening Sam wider, and his tongue curls around his fingers, pushing in between them.
"Dean, Dean," Sam rasps out, and Dean thrusts his fingers in harder, angling them until Sam's ass clenches tightly around him. "Dean, god, now--" Sam begs, words cutting off in a gasp as Dean keeps licking and finger-fucking him.
"No, Sam, like this," Dean says, barely a whisper against Sam's skin. "Come for me just like this," and a third finger stretches Sam wider as Dean's tongue flickers against the taut skin straining around his digits.
The groan that rattles out of Sam shakes them both, and Dean speeds up the rhythm of his fingers, mouth skimming over the satin-soft patch of skin that rests above the crease of Sam's ass. He bites at it, sucking a bruise into the spot before dipping his head down to lick at Sam's hole again. His fingers twist and curl into Sam, and just as he starts to slide his tongue alongside them, Sam clenches hard, hips shoving back into Dean's hand. God, he loves this. He loves that he can make Sam fall apart like this, like it's nothing at all when, really, it's all Dean has now. A strangled wail as Sam's hips rub against the hood, and Dean doesn't let up, not with his fingers or his mouth, not until Sam hisses and tries to pull away.
Back down on his haunches, and Dean yanks his zipper down, shoving a hand into his jeans to close tightly around his dick. Sam's ass is flushed pink and gleaming with spit and sweat, the most tempting thing in the world, and Dean knows how hot and sweet it'd feel around his dick, but he's too close for that, can feel the surge of nownowNOW pulsing through his body.
He scrambles to his feet and, with one hand holding Sam down, jerks off with the other, quick and rough pulls that waste no time, and he breathes out, "Sammy, Sammy," as his orgasm tears out of him, shooting all over Sam's back, streaking his ass and thighs.
Legs shaking, Dean leans forward, hands sliding through the slick mess on Sam's skin, spreading it over Sam's back, marking him. Mine, Dean thinks, neck craning forward so he can mouth at Sam's jawline. "Mine," he whispers aloud, and Sam makes a pleased noise at that. He backs off, just enough to flip Sam around, and he falls to his knees again, eyes falling shut as he licks and nuzzles Sam's stomach and crotch. He breathes in deeply, mouth watering, intoxicated on the scent of musk and salt and Sam.
A hand scrubs roughly through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, pushing him for more. He mouths along Sam's hipbone, tongue laving over the spot that had distracted him earlier, following the taste of Sam's come. His eyes flutter open and there are streaks of white against the shining black of the Impala.
Dean doesn't even think about it, just leans forward and licks, the taste of Sam's come giving way to the tang of metal. He hears Sam moaning, saying, "God, Dean, you...fuck." Then Sam is kneeling next to him, mouth open against his and tongue sliding roughly into his mouth. They fall back, Sam sprawled on top of him, hands framing Dean's face as he kisses him. The Impala's shadow falls over them, and for just that moment, everything in Dean's world is right.
thank you for reading!
[spn, sam/dean, nc-17, 1502 words]
for the
spn_rimmathon, prompt: Sam/Dean rimming in or on the impala. much love to the fabulous cosmic for betaing and cheerleading and discouraging me from titling this 'OMGPORNLOL' (although apparently 'OMGPORN' would've been an acceptable title). speaking of, title comes from "The Rain Song" by Led Zeppelin, because Dean would want it that way.Halfway to Red Lodge, the sky opens up and the rain comes down in buckets. It beats down against the roof, the hood, the brand-new windshield he'd installed last week, and Dean hums happily, feeling as close to good and safe as he can these days. The Impala is purring under his hands, Sam is sprawled in the seat next to him, a faint smile playing on his lips, and there's little else that Dean needs in the world right now.
The rain washes away the last bits of dust and dirt left from Bobby's yard, and Sam's cuts and bruises are all healed, nothing left on either one to mark what had happened only weeks ago.
Frowning slightly, Dean edges away from that line of thought, concentrates instead on the vibrations from the engine, on the slip of skin that flashes along the waistband of Sam's jeans every time he shifts in his seat. It's not long before he starts thinking about what that bit of skin tastes like, how it'd feel against his tongue, and Dean starts calculating how long it'll be before he can get Sam in a motel room and naked - and not necessarily in that order.
The rain finally lets up after an hour, and when it does, Sam slants a heated glance his way, lightning-quick swipe of pink tongue along his lower lip, expression on his face like he knows exactly what's on Dean's mind. All thoughts of motels and beds disappear with the rainclouds, and Dean can't pull over quick enough, steering the Impala into a shaded alcove, all but invisible from the road.
Sam's out of the car before Dean can throw it in park, shirt stripped off and tossed to the ground. His jeans are around his knees by the time Dean gets out and slides over the still-wet hood to reach him, grabbing Sam by the back of his neck and hauling him in. Their mouths crash together, teeth and tongues laying claim to one another. Dean's hands fist in Sam's hair, angling Sam's head to kiss him deeper, biting and sucking at his lips until Sam starts to whimper, hips pushing desperately against Dean's own.
Spinning them around, Dean pushes Sam back against the Impala, stealing one last kiss before grabbing a hold of one shoulder and turning him. He slides a hand up the smooth skin of Sam's back, increasing the pressure until Sam bends over, braced up on his forearms, ass in the air, throwing dark glances over his shoulder. Sam toes his sneakers off, kicks his jeans off the rest of the way, and Dean falls to his knees behind him, red-hot blood singing Hallelujah! through his veins.
He shoves at Sam's right thigh, hooking his hand around it and pushing until it's resting on the hood, leaving Sam trembling and wide open. Sitting back on his heels, Dean takes a moment to breathe, to stare at the picture in front of him - Sam, naked and golden in the late afternoon sunlight, stretched out against the deep black paint of his baby. "Fuck," he lets out in a breath, reaching down to press the heel of his hand against his crotch.
"Dean?" Sam's head lifts up as he stretches and twists to look at Dean, muscles standing out in stark relief under his skin.
"Right here, Sammy," Dean replies, moving forward to place his hands on Sam's ass, thumbs slowly trailing up and down the curve of it. Sam shivers at the contact, head dropping down, and Dean presses a kiss to the left cheek as his thumbs slip into the crevice and spread Sam open. A sharp hiss from Sam as Dean holds him apart, leaning in to breathe hot and humid over Sam's hole, teasing puffs of air that has Sam twitching underneath Dean's hands.
"God, Dean, please..." The words tumble from Sam's mouth, swollen and rough with heat, and Dean can't fight them, not when they fall straight from his ears to his dick, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to Sam's flesh.
Soft licks at first, all along the crease, teasing around the hole, painting circles around it. At Sam's quiet moan, Dean tilts his head down, his tongue following the tender trail of skin to Sam's balls, then back up. Sam's hips jerk and his leg shakes, fighting to keep still as Dean's tongue explores, as it tastes and takes everything it can reach. Dean digs his fingers into the muscles of Sam's ass, spreading him even wider as he shoves his face in as close as he can get, moaning into Sam's skin as his tongue pushes in and out, a thick and slick steady slide.
Sam whimpers and keens as Dean fucks him with his tongue, begging and pleading with every gasp and movement, but Dean feels like he's the one being fucked, like he's the one being laid bare and open. The entire world fades out until all he can feel is the damp ground under his knees and Sam's sweat-drenched skin under his hands; all he can taste is Sam, bittersweet and golden dark musk; all he can be is this, everything Sam needs and wants.
His hands push harder, tongue delves deeper, fingers kneading Sam's ass in time to the pounding of Dean's heart. Sloppy wet kisses now, everything slippery and burning hot to the touch, and Dean slides two fingers in next to his tongue with no warning, grinning at the way that makes Sam swear. He scissors them, opening Sam wider, and his tongue curls around his fingers, pushing in between them.
"Dean, Dean," Sam rasps out, and Dean thrusts his fingers in harder, angling them until Sam's ass clenches tightly around him. "Dean, god, now--" Sam begs, words cutting off in a gasp as Dean keeps licking and finger-fucking him.
"No, Sam, like this," Dean says, barely a whisper against Sam's skin. "Come for me just like this," and a third finger stretches Sam wider as Dean's tongue flickers against the taut skin straining around his digits.
The groan that rattles out of Sam shakes them both, and Dean speeds up the rhythm of his fingers, mouth skimming over the satin-soft patch of skin that rests above the crease of Sam's ass. He bites at it, sucking a bruise into the spot before dipping his head down to lick at Sam's hole again. His fingers twist and curl into Sam, and just as he starts to slide his tongue alongside them, Sam clenches hard, hips shoving back into Dean's hand. God, he loves this. He loves that he can make Sam fall apart like this, like it's nothing at all when, really, it's all Dean has now. A strangled wail as Sam's hips rub against the hood, and Dean doesn't let up, not with his fingers or his mouth, not until Sam hisses and tries to pull away.
Back down on his haunches, and Dean yanks his zipper down, shoving a hand into his jeans to close tightly around his dick. Sam's ass is flushed pink and gleaming with spit and sweat, the most tempting thing in the world, and Dean knows how hot and sweet it'd feel around his dick, but he's too close for that, can feel the surge of nownowNOW pulsing through his body.
He scrambles to his feet and, with one hand holding Sam down, jerks off with the other, quick and rough pulls that waste no time, and he breathes out, "Sammy, Sammy," as his orgasm tears out of him, shooting all over Sam's back, streaking his ass and thighs.
Legs shaking, Dean leans forward, hands sliding through the slick mess on Sam's skin, spreading it over Sam's back, marking him. Mine, Dean thinks, neck craning forward so he can mouth at Sam's jawline. "Mine," he whispers aloud, and Sam makes a pleased noise at that. He backs off, just enough to flip Sam around, and he falls to his knees again, eyes falling shut as he licks and nuzzles Sam's stomach and crotch. He breathes in deeply, mouth watering, intoxicated on the scent of musk and salt and Sam.
A hand scrubs roughly through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, pushing him for more. He mouths along Sam's hipbone, tongue laving over the spot that had distracted him earlier, following the taste of Sam's come. His eyes flutter open and there are streaks of white against the shining black of the Impala.
Dean doesn't even think about it, just leans forward and licks, the taste of Sam's come giving way to the tang of metal. He hears Sam moaning, saying, "God, Dean, you...fuck." Then Sam is kneeling next to him, mouth open against his and tongue sliding roughly into his mouth. They fall back, Sam sprawled on top of him, hands framing Dean's face as he kisses him. The Impala's shadow falls over them, and for just that moment, everything in Dean's world is right.
thank you for reading!
