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Jan. 3rd, 2008 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cathybitesthe future's open wide
[spn, sam/dean, nc-17, 1652 words]
written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kashmir1 as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_holidays, using her prompt of one year post-AHBL, Sam saves Dean, celebratory sex, bottom!Sam = bonus. um. sorry it's so late, hon. I SUCK, I KNOW. ::grovels at your feet for forgiveness::
thanks toxingou for beta duties. title from "Melt With You" by Modern English
As soon as the smoke clears, Sam is on his feet, half-dragging, half-leading Dean back to the Impala. They tumble through the driver's side door, Sam shoving at Dean until he slides over to the passenger seat with a grumble. Sam ignores him, just starts the car and floors it, speeding away from the gate like the Devil himself is after them.
A chill goes through him and Sam checks the rearview - can't ever be too sure - and breathes easier when he sees nothing but empty sky and road.
His eyes cut to the side, to Dean, who's bruised, bloodied, and looking far too pale and shell-shocked for Sam's liking. But he's alive - breathing and whole - and Sam can't keep a grin from spreading across his face.
Dean meets his glance, lets out a huff of air before leaning fully back into the seat. "Wanna take a damn picture or somethin'?" The words come out slurred, but the tone is familiar, teasing and warm.
It hits him hard and fast that he'd almost lost this. Almost lost Dean, gone forever, never to come back. It hits him so quick, so out of the blue, he nearly doubles over right then and there, over the steering wheel of the Impala. He chokes back the sob that threatens to come out, ignores Dean's "Sammy?", and pulls off to the side of the road.
His hand shakes as he opens the door. Whole body trembling, tectonic plates of emotion slamming up against one another, and he takes three steps out of the car before stopping, swaying with uncertainty. There's not even a word to describe everything that's building up and cresting inside him - some crazy mix of joy and anger and relief and fear, all laced together and wrapped up with a fierce surge of something Sam has always only been able to identify as Dean.
Crunch of gravel behind him, and Sam doesn't turn, just closes his eyes and feels Dean coming up behind him, slow and unsure. "You okay?"
The first thing Sam thinks is yeah, you're back, but he can't say it. So he just shoves his hands into his pockets and nods, hopes that Dean knows anyways.
They stand in silence for a moment. Then Dean's hand curls around his shoulder, warm and alive, and Sam turns this time. Sees Dean watching him, face wide open, everything Sam can't voice staring back at him.
A month. A month that Sam had to wait, eyes on the stars every night, waiting for the alignment to be right. A month of waking up each morning and reaching for Dean, only to snap awake each time, remembering that he wasn't there. A month of nothing but Ruby's word that Dean was safe and sound, hidden away in her special little corner of Hell. A month of waiting to touch Dean again, feel his skin, his heartbeat under his hands. A month, and Sam can't wait anymore.
He fists his hand in Dean's shirt, tugging him close, and Dean meets him halfway, mouth open for Sam's kiss. It's hard and rough, Sam's teeth scraping over Dean's lips, Dean's fingers digging into Sam's shoulders. Sam licks into Dean's mouth, tongue thrusting in, and backs Dean up until they're leaning against the Impala. "Dean," he breathes out, needy undertone to the sound.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean says, breath warm against Sam's cheek, the line of his jaw. He pushes at Sam, gets them away from the car just enough to open the back door, and then Sam is pulled in, landing sprawled out on top of him. Their legs slot together, hips aligning to rock against each other, and Sam's already aching and hard. He can't stop kissing Dean, though, can't stop feeling that mouth under his, tongue sliding next to his. He'd thought that he wouldn't forget the way Dean tastes, or the sounds he makes when he's like this, but everything Sam had tried to keep fresh in his memory is faded and stale compared to the here and now.
The kissing has to stop, though, just for a moment, just long enough for Sam to shove Dean's t-shirt up, huffing in amusement when Dean gets tangled up in it. While Dean's still trapped, Sam ducks his head down and drags his tongue over a nipple, smiling at the way Dean jerks at the contact. He does it again, tugs at it gently with his teeth to make Dean hiss before moving to the other one. By the time Dean tosses his shirt down to the floor, both nipples are reddened, shiny with spit, and Sam grins up at him before biting down on the left one again.
"Fuckin'...Sam," and that's it, Sam thinks, that's exactly what he wants, and he slides out of the car, stands up. Dean sits up, confusion on his face until Sam steps out of his jeans. Then it's shock, quickly followed by a wide grin, so bright and dirty and familiar that it almost hurts.
They're parked on the side of the road, but it's early and it's the middle of nowhere, and Sam just doesn't care, not anymore. Not when Dean's kicking off his boots and jeans, eyes never leaving Sam, smile never leaving his face. He scoots out, lets Sam crawl onto the backseat. It's cramped, but Sam rolls over, ducks his head down and spreads his legs as wide as he can. When Dean fits in between them, cock sliding wetly against Sam's thigh, it's perfect.
There's lube in glovebox, and probably more than one tube under the seat, but before Sam can tell Dean to grab some, Dean's hands are on his ass, kneading the muscle. Sam feels warm air over his hole an instant before there's the slick slide of a tongue, and he swears. Jerks his hips forward, then pushes back, moaning deep in his throat. Dean's tongue feels like it's everywhere, slow circles all around, then pushing in deep. Over and over again, thumbs sliding alongside Dean's tongue to hold him open, and Sam feels the heat building inside, feels the licks of Dean's tongue like flickering flames, all over his skin. Sweat pours off him, slicks the seat under him, and he can't stop the words that fall out of his mouth, begging and swearing and threatening Dean to hurry the fuck up.
He gets a smack on the ass for that, then two slick fingers sliding in deep, twisting and scissoring. It's rushed and rough, more so than usual, but Sam takes it, panting against his arm and groaning when Dean adds a third. His cock is harder than Sam ever remembers it being, hanging heavy between his legs, gets even harder when Dean pulls his fingers out and drapes himself over Sam's back.
Sam drops a shoulder, reaches back just to relieve some of the pressure building in his dick. Dean growls and grabs his arm, holds him tight by the wrist. "No, no fuckin' way," he says. "Not until I say." The noise Sam makes isn't a whimper, but it's close and he nods, clenching his fists.
When Dean lets go of him, Sam folds his arms under his head. He can feel Dean's smile pressed into groove of his spine. Then all he can feel is the blunt head of Dean's cock, slippery and slick, pushing into him.
Even with Dean's tongue and fingers, even with how much Sam wants this, it still burns. Too long since he's had Dean like this, too long since he felt the slow press of Dean's cock deep inside his ass. He grunts and shifts, tries pushing back into Dean's push. Dean swears, drops his forehead to Sam's shoulder, wraps one arm around Sam's stomach while the other clutches at his hip.
Finally he bottoms out, sharp cut of his hips pressed against Sam's ass, and he holds there, panting at Sam's back, teeth scraping his skin. Waits for Sam's slow exhale and nod before he pulls back. This time, he slides in easier, harder, and Sam moans with how good it feels, how right this feels. Wrapped up in Dean, Dean fucking him with steady and strong strokes, shielded from the world inside the car. He thinks again about how he almost lost all of this. Then Dean pulls his hips back and up, driving in deeper, and Sam doesn't think at all.
Nothing outside of harder and more and Dean. Nothing outside of Dean biting at him, nosing into his hair, harsh whispers of Sammy, god, Sammy, never again, never be without you, fuck, Sammy into his ear. Nothing outside of Dean's hand finally wrapping around his dick, jerking him as he fucks into him, not stopping until Sam comes with a gasp and a shout, arching back into Dean, wanting nothing more than to melt into him.
He fights the lassitude that flows through his limbs, locks his arms and rolls his hips back to meet Dean's thrusts. Murmurs, "C'mon, Dean, c'mon, wanna feel it, feel you," and twists a little to look over his shoulder, to watch Dean. Dean slides a hand up his back, fingers soaked with sweat by the time they brush over Sam's lips, and Sam sucks the tip of one in his mouth, tongue swirling.
Swearing, Dean thrusts one last time, holds Sam steady as he pushes in as deep as he can, the swell of his cock something that Sam feels all over, head to toe, inside and out.
They collapse, limbs tangled, covered in sweat and come, Dean still inside of him. Just over the line of the hood visible from the backseat, Sam can see the golden light of the sun, rising in the sky. Start of a brand new day, and if that isn't some sort of poetic symbol, Sam doesn't know what is.
thank you for reading
[spn, sam/dean, nc-17, 1652 words]
written for
kashmir1 as part of spn_holidays, using her prompt of one year post-AHBL, Sam saves Dean, celebratory sex, bottom!Sam = bonus. um. sorry it's so late, hon. I SUCK, I KNOW. ::grovels at your feet for forgiveness::thanks to
xingou for beta duties. title from "Melt With You" by Modern EnglishAs soon as the smoke clears, Sam is on his feet, half-dragging, half-leading Dean back to the Impala. They tumble through the driver's side door, Sam shoving at Dean until he slides over to the passenger seat with a grumble. Sam ignores him, just starts the car and floors it, speeding away from the gate like the Devil himself is after them.
A chill goes through him and Sam checks the rearview - can't ever be too sure - and breathes easier when he sees nothing but empty sky and road.
His eyes cut to the side, to Dean, who's bruised, bloodied, and looking far too pale and shell-shocked for Sam's liking. But he's alive - breathing and whole - and Sam can't keep a grin from spreading across his face.
Dean meets his glance, lets out a huff of air before leaning fully back into the seat. "Wanna take a damn picture or somethin'?" The words come out slurred, but the tone is familiar, teasing and warm.
It hits him hard and fast that he'd almost lost this. Almost lost Dean, gone forever, never to come back. It hits him so quick, so out of the blue, he nearly doubles over right then and there, over the steering wheel of the Impala. He chokes back the sob that threatens to come out, ignores Dean's "Sammy?", and pulls off to the side of the road.
His hand shakes as he opens the door. Whole body trembling, tectonic plates of emotion slamming up against one another, and he takes three steps out of the car before stopping, swaying with uncertainty. There's not even a word to describe everything that's building up and cresting inside him - some crazy mix of joy and anger and relief and fear, all laced together and wrapped up with a fierce surge of something Sam has always only been able to identify as Dean.
Crunch of gravel behind him, and Sam doesn't turn, just closes his eyes and feels Dean coming up behind him, slow and unsure. "You okay?"
The first thing Sam thinks is yeah, you're back, but he can't say it. So he just shoves his hands into his pockets and nods, hopes that Dean knows anyways.
They stand in silence for a moment. Then Dean's hand curls around his shoulder, warm and alive, and Sam turns this time. Sees Dean watching him, face wide open, everything Sam can't voice staring back at him.
A month. A month that Sam had to wait, eyes on the stars every night, waiting for the alignment to be right. A month of waking up each morning and reaching for Dean, only to snap awake each time, remembering that he wasn't there. A month of nothing but Ruby's word that Dean was safe and sound, hidden away in her special little corner of Hell. A month of waiting to touch Dean again, feel his skin, his heartbeat under his hands. A month, and Sam can't wait anymore.
He fists his hand in Dean's shirt, tugging him close, and Dean meets him halfway, mouth open for Sam's kiss. It's hard and rough, Sam's teeth scraping over Dean's lips, Dean's fingers digging into Sam's shoulders. Sam licks into Dean's mouth, tongue thrusting in, and backs Dean up until they're leaning against the Impala. "Dean," he breathes out, needy undertone to the sound.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean says, breath warm against Sam's cheek, the line of his jaw. He pushes at Sam, gets them away from the car just enough to open the back door, and then Sam is pulled in, landing sprawled out on top of him. Their legs slot together, hips aligning to rock against each other, and Sam's already aching and hard. He can't stop kissing Dean, though, can't stop feeling that mouth under his, tongue sliding next to his. He'd thought that he wouldn't forget the way Dean tastes, or the sounds he makes when he's like this, but everything Sam had tried to keep fresh in his memory is faded and stale compared to the here and now.
The kissing has to stop, though, just for a moment, just long enough for Sam to shove Dean's t-shirt up, huffing in amusement when Dean gets tangled up in it. While Dean's still trapped, Sam ducks his head down and drags his tongue over a nipple, smiling at the way Dean jerks at the contact. He does it again, tugs at it gently with his teeth to make Dean hiss before moving to the other one. By the time Dean tosses his shirt down to the floor, both nipples are reddened, shiny with spit, and Sam grins up at him before biting down on the left one again.
"Fuckin'...Sam," and that's it, Sam thinks, that's exactly what he wants, and he slides out of the car, stands up. Dean sits up, confusion on his face until Sam steps out of his jeans. Then it's shock, quickly followed by a wide grin, so bright and dirty and familiar that it almost hurts.
They're parked on the side of the road, but it's early and it's the middle of nowhere, and Sam just doesn't care, not anymore. Not when Dean's kicking off his boots and jeans, eyes never leaving Sam, smile never leaving his face. He scoots out, lets Sam crawl onto the backseat. It's cramped, but Sam rolls over, ducks his head down and spreads his legs as wide as he can. When Dean fits in between them, cock sliding wetly against Sam's thigh, it's perfect.
There's lube in glovebox, and probably more than one tube under the seat, but before Sam can tell Dean to grab some, Dean's hands are on his ass, kneading the muscle. Sam feels warm air over his hole an instant before there's the slick slide of a tongue, and he swears. Jerks his hips forward, then pushes back, moaning deep in his throat. Dean's tongue feels like it's everywhere, slow circles all around, then pushing in deep. Over and over again, thumbs sliding alongside Dean's tongue to hold him open, and Sam feels the heat building inside, feels the licks of Dean's tongue like flickering flames, all over his skin. Sweat pours off him, slicks the seat under him, and he can't stop the words that fall out of his mouth, begging and swearing and threatening Dean to hurry the fuck up.
He gets a smack on the ass for that, then two slick fingers sliding in deep, twisting and scissoring. It's rushed and rough, more so than usual, but Sam takes it, panting against his arm and groaning when Dean adds a third. His cock is harder than Sam ever remembers it being, hanging heavy between his legs, gets even harder when Dean pulls his fingers out and drapes himself over Sam's back.
Sam drops a shoulder, reaches back just to relieve some of the pressure building in his dick. Dean growls and grabs his arm, holds him tight by the wrist. "No, no fuckin' way," he says. "Not until I say." The noise Sam makes isn't a whimper, but it's close and he nods, clenching his fists.
When Dean lets go of him, Sam folds his arms under his head. He can feel Dean's smile pressed into groove of his spine. Then all he can feel is the blunt head of Dean's cock, slippery and slick, pushing into him.
Even with Dean's tongue and fingers, even with how much Sam wants this, it still burns. Too long since he's had Dean like this, too long since he felt the slow press of Dean's cock deep inside his ass. He grunts and shifts, tries pushing back into Dean's push. Dean swears, drops his forehead to Sam's shoulder, wraps one arm around Sam's stomach while the other clutches at his hip.
Finally he bottoms out, sharp cut of his hips pressed against Sam's ass, and he holds there, panting at Sam's back, teeth scraping his skin. Waits for Sam's slow exhale and nod before he pulls back. This time, he slides in easier, harder, and Sam moans with how good it feels, how right this feels. Wrapped up in Dean, Dean fucking him with steady and strong strokes, shielded from the world inside the car. He thinks again about how he almost lost all of this. Then Dean pulls his hips back and up, driving in deeper, and Sam doesn't think at all.
Nothing outside of harder and more and Dean. Nothing outside of Dean biting at him, nosing into his hair, harsh whispers of Sammy, god, Sammy, never again, never be without you, fuck, Sammy into his ear. Nothing outside of Dean's hand finally wrapping around his dick, jerking him as he fucks into him, not stopping until Sam comes with a gasp and a shout, arching back into Dean, wanting nothing more than to melt into him.
He fights the lassitude that flows through his limbs, locks his arms and rolls his hips back to meet Dean's thrusts. Murmurs, "C'mon, Dean, c'mon, wanna feel it, feel you," and twists a little to look over his shoulder, to watch Dean. Dean slides a hand up his back, fingers soaked with sweat by the time they brush over Sam's lips, and Sam sucks the tip of one in his mouth, tongue swirling.
Swearing, Dean thrusts one last time, holds Sam steady as he pushes in as deep as he can, the swell of his cock something that Sam feels all over, head to toe, inside and out.
They collapse, limbs tangled, covered in sweat and come, Dean still inside of him. Just over the line of the hood visible from the backseat, Sam can see the golden light of the sun, rising in the sky. Start of a brand new day, and if that isn't some sort of poetic symbol, Sam doesn't know what is.
thank you for reading
