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i've only just thought of something charming to say
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_3amconfession! Love you, baby!
I know I am, like, EONS late, but, um, yeah! (And I tried to angst for you, I really did. It just...didn't really...work.)
sam/dean, hard R
disclaimercakes, etc, etc.
So, Sam has these dreams sometimes.
He tries not to think about them during the day, because, really, his skin shows everything, especially blushing, but it’s kind of hard now that he’s back on the road with his brother. It was easier at Stanford, when he could just chalk it up to some weird subconscious way of expressing how much he missed Dean. They even tapered off after a few years, and he had Jessica.
But, now, with Dean sleeping five feet away and taking up all of Sam’s time and attention like a big black hole, the dreams are showing up more frequently. It’s gotten to the point where he wakes up every night either hard or with afterimages of fire burnt into the backs of his eyelids.
And he won’t even go into how messed up that is.
---
“God, Dean, please,” Sam moans, trying to push back into that delicious pressure, “fuck me.”
His brother just smirks, wicked as the devil, and crooks the two fingers inside Sam as he pulls them out.
“I don’t think you’re ready for my cock, Sammy. You don’t feel ready,” he murmurs against the sharp rise of Sam’s hipbone. “You need to take three before I’ll fuck you. You can take three, can’t you, baby?”
And that voice is so dark and sweet that Sam’s nodding and pressing back again before he can even understand what Dean is saying. Another of Dean’s long, tapered fingers slips in, and, shit, Sam feels so fucked open and bare that he has to bite his clenched fist to keep from coming.
“That’s good,” Dean says, voice sounding just as raw as Sam feels. “So good, little brother.”
Sam groans, because damn if the reminder of how insane this is doesn’t make it even hotter. His brother, who practically raised him, kneeling on the dirt outside the Impala and watching his own fingers slide in-and-out, in-and-out with hot eyes. It’s too much.
“Dean. Dean, please, I’m ready—fuck me,” Sam pleads, hooking a leg around the front seat’s headrest and bucking his hips. “Come on, fuck me.”
“Yeah,” Dean whispers, “yeah.”
It feels better than Sam thinks is strictly legal when Dean finally caves and slides into him, a tight burn and stretch that leaves him panting.
“You feel—Christ, Sammy.” He shifts that last half inch forward and it’s like something clicks. He pulls out just enough for Sam’s body to clench back up before pushing in hard and deep. “Wanted this forever, wanted you,” Dean confesses in a hoarse whisper, hips rolling.
“Dean,” Sam keens, overwhelmed, back arching off the sticky vinyl as he comes all over his own stomach and chest.
---
“Sam? Sam, wake up.”
“Wha’ the hell?” he mumbles, trying to hide his head under the pillow. He knows it’s Saturday because it was Friday last night, and Saturday means that he gets to sleep in. “Go ‘way, ‘m sleepin’.”
“Fine, man, but I’m totally eating your donuts.”
Sam pokes his head out from under the pillow. “There are donuts?”
“Only if you get out of bed. No crumbs in the covers,” Dean says, wagging a finger an inch from Sam’s nose. Sam has the disturbing urge to bite it. “I know you can’t eat anything without getting it all over.”
“Shut up, I can too,” he denies easily, rolling onto his back and stretching like a cat. “Did you get any of those jelly-filled kind?”
“Of course, dude. What kind of big brother do you think I am?” Dean asks, smirking. Sam draws his knees up to his chest to hide the reaction he has to that ridiculous smirk. “Get your ass over here and eat your donuts.”
Sam puts his hands out and makes eyes at Dean.
“You little bastard, that is not fair,” Dean huffs after a minute, looking harassed. But, Sam notices with little brother glee, he does bring the donuts and coffee over right away.
Sam basks in the power as he stuffs a jelly donut into his mouth, whole. He gets in a few good chews before stuffing another one in.
“You look like a chipmunk,” Dean remarks with raised eyebrows. Sam gives him the finger, but he doesn’t seem phased, so Sam fits a third donut into his mouth and tries to chew. Without warning, Dean says, “What were you dreaming about?”
Promptly, Sam chokes and doubles over, trying to breathe. A few good whacks on the back dislodge the gob of donut-goo he’d been choking on, but it doesn’t really help him breathe.
“Nothing,” he says hoarsely when he straightens up, carefully studying his napkin and taking deep breaths. “Why?”
“You were talking in your sleep.”
Sam looks up, biting his lip and trying to figure out what the hell Dean is thinking, but his brother’s face is absolutely blank. He has a feeling this might end badly. “What was I saying?” he asks cautiously.
“Mostly my name.” Sam winces, and he’s about to concoct a story about how he’d dreamed of Dean getting hurt, but he doesn’t get very far before Dean’s talking over his feeble noises.
“And you didn’t sound very upset,” he notes, face still carefully blank. He meets Sam’s eyes. “What did you dream about, Sammy?”
Sam is frozen, caught between breaths, wishing so much that his brother would just stop talking right now, turn around and let Sam go drown himself in the bathroom sink. It would probably be more merciful than whatever ending Dean has in store for him. God, how screwed up is he?
"Dean..." he says carefully, not catching his brother's eyes, because, wow, that carpet pattern is really cool.
That's probably why he misses Dean lunging forward into his personal space and very nearly climbing into his lap. He barely has time to get out a embarrassing girly-scream before Dean's lips are covering his and Dean's hands are framing his face. It's a good kiss, all gentle coaxing tongues and sharp teeth, so when Dean pulls away to start talking, Sam almost wants to drag him back down by his ears.
"Now that's out of the way, tell me...what was I really doing to you?"
Sam looks at Dean for a minute, just looks, because this is really too good to be true. Then, a small, wicked smile steals across his face.
"Why don't I just show you?"
--
_3amconfession! Love you, baby! I know I am, like, EONS late, but, um, yeah! (And I tried to angst for you, I really did. It just...didn't really...work.)
sam/dean, hard R
disclaimercakes, etc, etc.
So, Sam has these dreams sometimes.
He tries not to think about them during the day, because, really, his skin shows everything, especially blushing, but it’s kind of hard now that he’s back on the road with his brother. It was easier at Stanford, when he could just chalk it up to some weird subconscious way of expressing how much he missed Dean. They even tapered off after a few years, and he had Jessica.
But, now, with Dean sleeping five feet away and taking up all of Sam’s time and attention like a big black hole, the dreams are showing up more frequently. It’s gotten to the point where he wakes up every night either hard or with afterimages of fire burnt into the backs of his eyelids.
And he won’t even go into how messed up that is.
---
“God, Dean, please,” Sam moans, trying to push back into that delicious pressure, “fuck me.”
His brother just smirks, wicked as the devil, and crooks the two fingers inside Sam as he pulls them out.
“I don’t think you’re ready for my cock, Sammy. You don’t feel ready,” he murmurs against the sharp rise of Sam’s hipbone. “You need to take three before I’ll fuck you. You can take three, can’t you, baby?”
And that voice is so dark and sweet that Sam’s nodding and pressing back again before he can even understand what Dean is saying. Another of Dean’s long, tapered fingers slips in, and, shit, Sam feels so fucked open and bare that he has to bite his clenched fist to keep from coming.
“That’s good,” Dean says, voice sounding just as raw as Sam feels. “So good, little brother.”
Sam groans, because damn if the reminder of how insane this is doesn’t make it even hotter. His brother, who practically raised him, kneeling on the dirt outside the Impala and watching his own fingers slide in-and-out, in-and-out with hot eyes. It’s too much.
“Dean. Dean, please, I’m ready—fuck me,” Sam pleads, hooking a leg around the front seat’s headrest and bucking his hips. “Come on, fuck me.”
“Yeah,” Dean whispers, “yeah.”
It feels better than Sam thinks is strictly legal when Dean finally caves and slides into him, a tight burn and stretch that leaves him panting.
“You feel—Christ, Sammy.” He shifts that last half inch forward and it’s like something clicks. He pulls out just enough for Sam’s body to clench back up before pushing in hard and deep. “Wanted this forever, wanted you,” Dean confesses in a hoarse whisper, hips rolling.
“Dean,” Sam keens, overwhelmed, back arching off the sticky vinyl as he comes all over his own stomach and chest.
---
“Sam? Sam, wake up.”
“Wha’ the hell?” he mumbles, trying to hide his head under the pillow. He knows it’s Saturday because it was Friday last night, and Saturday means that he gets to sleep in. “Go ‘way, ‘m sleepin’.”
“Fine, man, but I’m totally eating your donuts.”
Sam pokes his head out from under the pillow. “There are donuts?”
“Only if you get out of bed. No crumbs in the covers,” Dean says, wagging a finger an inch from Sam’s nose. Sam has the disturbing urge to bite it. “I know you can’t eat anything without getting it all over.”
“Shut up, I can too,” he denies easily, rolling onto his back and stretching like a cat. “Did you get any of those jelly-filled kind?”
“Of course, dude. What kind of big brother do you think I am?” Dean asks, smirking. Sam draws his knees up to his chest to hide the reaction he has to that ridiculous smirk. “Get your ass over here and eat your donuts.”
Sam puts his hands out and makes eyes at Dean.
“You little bastard, that is not fair,” Dean huffs after a minute, looking harassed. But, Sam notices with little brother glee, he does bring the donuts and coffee over right away.
Sam basks in the power as he stuffs a jelly donut into his mouth, whole. He gets in a few good chews before stuffing another one in.
“You look like a chipmunk,” Dean remarks with raised eyebrows. Sam gives him the finger, but he doesn’t seem phased, so Sam fits a third donut into his mouth and tries to chew. Without warning, Dean says, “What were you dreaming about?”
Promptly, Sam chokes and doubles over, trying to breathe. A few good whacks on the back dislodge the gob of donut-goo he’d been choking on, but it doesn’t really help him breathe.
“Nothing,” he says hoarsely when he straightens up, carefully studying his napkin and taking deep breaths. “Why?”
“You were talking in your sleep.”
Sam looks up, biting his lip and trying to figure out what the hell Dean is thinking, but his brother’s face is absolutely blank. He has a feeling this might end badly. “What was I saying?” he asks cautiously.
“Mostly my name.” Sam winces, and he’s about to concoct a story about how he’d dreamed of Dean getting hurt, but he doesn’t get very far before Dean’s talking over his feeble noises.
“And you didn’t sound very upset,” he notes, face still carefully blank. He meets Sam’s eyes. “What did you dream about, Sammy?”
Sam is frozen, caught between breaths, wishing so much that his brother would just stop talking right now, turn around and let Sam go drown himself in the bathroom sink. It would probably be more merciful than whatever ending Dean has in store for him. God, how screwed up is he?
"Dean..." he says carefully, not catching his brother's eyes, because, wow, that carpet pattern is really cool.
That's probably why he misses Dean lunging forward into his personal space and very nearly climbing into his lap. He barely has time to get out a embarrassing girly-scream before Dean's lips are covering his and Dean's hands are framing his face. It's a good kiss, all gentle coaxing tongues and sharp teeth, so when Dean pulls away to start talking, Sam almost wants to drag him back down by his ears.
"Now that's out of the way, tell me...what was I really doing to you?"
Sam looks at Dean for a minute, just looks, because this is really too good to be true. Then, a small, wicked smile steals across his face.
"Why don't I just show you?"
--
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you're so porny. that's why i love you. *hearts&hearts*
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...shh, don't tell.
HI! I LOVE YOU TOO! *snuggle*
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What kind of cookies?
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I would like to eat a cookie with Jensen's
assface on it. I would like to just plain eat hisassface, though, so maybe I'm biased.no subject
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absolutely porntastic, as usual. thank you to
*gives you cookies*
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*innocent eyes* Um, hey, so...when's your birthday?
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awwwwwww my birthday was aug 12
belated gift, perhaps?i...really need to write porn. learn to write it. whatever. one of those things.
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oh babycakes! you don't have to do that!
....but if you insist...eh heh
*ponders*
jared. jensen. seedy townie bar. stand up sex in the bathroom stall. oh! and someone has to leave with some toilet paper stuck to their shoe
...not that i've like, had thoughts about that or anything...
*curls up at your feet*
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*buries you in bosom* s'ok hun...it'll bring it back. it's just being a boy *flips lj the bird*
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*goes to take a shower*
Holy crap babe, thank you. Thank you. So. Much. GUH. You make the best porn. *climbs all over you and showers you with cookies and sparkly things*
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*smooches you more* HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY!
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*smooches*
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since this took so ridiculously long, prompt me. i will write you somefink. ♥
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♥ ♥ Oooh. Prompt! Let me think... since plot bunnies think I'm diseased or something, I will use more lyrics! Now... which ones...?
OMG. Ha. Know you WILL have to angst with this one:
And I lie awake and I try to say
Anything I know just to ease your pain
But you hide away where no one can see
And it's only you that can set you free
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PRE-SHADOWS
When Sam and Dean fuck, Dean keeps his eyes closed.
He uses all the same endearments that he used to before Stanford and Jessica, always baby and Sammy, but Sam can hear the strain behind those words every time. It's like Dean is just going through the motions, bowing to Sam's needs and trying not to need anything for himself.
In the beginning, Sam figured maybe Dean was just feeling guilty about Jessica or awkward after so many years of being apart. After six months of hot fumbling in the dark and being denied the fullness of Dean, Sam realizes that maybe it has nothing to do with either of those things.
That night, Sam tests out his theory when Dean comes to him in bed, mumuring softly against Sam's mouth.
Dean, I'm here. This isn't a dream. I'm with you.
And Dean makes this soft, hurting sound that cuts Sam right to the soul, his entire body opening up and pulling Sam in.
Don't leave me, Dean whispers, and Sam presses his lips against his brother's so he won't have to say anything at all.
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and, man, i hate hurting the boys. it makes my brain go 'splat'.
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how about this song: "Illegal Tender" by Louis XIV, specifically:
"You’re taking off your stripes
Even your knees are nice
I’ll tease you with a knife until you’re screaming for your life
I think so too
And you surrender
Can I spend you up? you’re my illegally illegal tender"
i think it's really sexy *shivers*
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Homg, okay. Let's see if I can do this. *rubs hands together*
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