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fic post: SpN untitled unless I blame it on the peanut butter...part 2
Title:Lately
Fandom:SpN
Pairing:Oh please....
Rating:3
Summary: This is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mkitty_03's PWP, 'cause I lub her.
part one
Boxers…soft, really soft he knew, his were worn soft too. Washed over and over until the cotton was almost translucent and a little sweat made them cling like a second skin and you could see everything, Sam’s…everything. Hair. Skin. Freckles.
Cock.
Shit.
The beginning of fall and still hot, and they sat in the back yard in their shorts and threw darts at a target nailed on a tree. Toss, toss…Sam’s skin rolled over muscle smooth as water over river rocks. Surprising. Hard muscle. He checked his own arms—yeah. Not bad and when he looked up he was looking right into Sam’s eyes and they blushed. Sam tossed a dart at him.
“Fucker!”
“Pay attention.”
“Funny, mother fucker.”
He spent the afternoon watching Sam read, counting the freckles on his back, making patterns out of them…getting hard.
Leaving to jerk off in the bathroom. Fucker.
…maybe he wants it too. Maybe he’s just waiting for him to say something. Maybe Sam wants him to make the first move, take it out of his hands. Why won’t Sam make the first move, take it out of his hands….
“Too hot, pussface.” The answer.
The question? Why are you not wearing boxers tonight? Too hot? Hot.
God he was in hell. New Jersey was hell.
Sticky hot clinging to the sheets and holding yourself hell and Sam is naked. Nude.
“Dean, can you—would you look at this? Is it normal?”
*Please don’t be looking at your cock.*
Looking.
Damn.
Hell.
“Look—looks like a pimple to me, scuzz. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?”
“What, you want me to look closer—you do.” *Fuck me* He reached out a hand; face screwed up in a grimace. *You can do this. Easy. Don’t think…* “Okay…” and lifted…lifted his cock to look.
He had to know. He must know, Sam was playing—pushing him, had to be—
It was alive in his hand. Hot and velvety, still soft and that kind of made him want to touch harder, stroke…he would not look at his face. He would not listen to Sam breathe… “Really Sam, normal.”
“Yeah?” He sounded a little winded.
“Yeah.” Maybe Sam sounded winded—but he sounded like someone’d punched him in the gut. Some body *should*. His fingers burned.
His gut burned remembering the twitch he’d felt when he laid Sam’s cock back against his thigh.
He was a fucking SAINT. One more inch and he’d have had his cock in his face. Two more inches and he could have licked it. Sam would have felt his breath on the head of his cock, and wasn’t it, maybe, a little, wet?
HELL.
Sick, sick bastard he was. Sam had no more idea what he was doing to him than a puppy chewing on your shoes…innocent. Clueless.
And going to bed naked all the time now.
Naked. He hated Sammy, hated him so much he could taste it. Hated him…realized his fingers were in his mouth and hated him some more.
Sam was trying to kill him, no doubt. Nude and brown still…the sun took a long time leaving Sam. He was the color of sun on bronze, the color of life, the color of warm. The color he saw in his dreams, the ones in which he’d climb into Sam’s bed naked, and put his arms around him and rub against him, and he didn’t know how to do what he wanted exactly but he wanted to learn and do it to Sam.
Dad would let him have the car sometimes and it was a relief to leave for a bit. Didn’t need to go far. The parking lot at the strip mall had everything he needed. Sometimes a joint, a beer, girls in the back seat.
Some girls would blow him and he made them do it in the car. He liked sitting with his legs far apart, and watching them bend over his cock. He liked it wet and sloppy. He liked noise. He liked repaying them, he liked eating them out. He liked fucking them, he liked doing it from behind, he liked their backs pressed into his chest, hard, flat.…
Once a girl let him fuck her in the ass and he thought he was going to die. He was all over her shaking, moaning, making too much noise, stuttering and plunging in and out and praying and he might have yelled out Sam’s name.
More than once.
Maybe screamed it about twenty times when his eyes rolled back and sparklers exploded in his head and his dick and his ass and—it was wild and he couldn’t get her out of the car fast enough. All he wanted was a shower and bed and a pillow over his head. His face. His nose. Fuck a pillow—a plastic bag….
Sam was awake and wanting to talk when he fell in the door but all he could see was his cock in his ass and he was a bastard to him but at least Sam shut up. He felt like shit but…he locked himself in the bathroom and showered and thought, ‘what the hell am I going to do?’
Jerk off.
With one finger touching himself, reaching behind him and touching…because he had to know, what did it feel like?
Pretty damn good, actually. The noisy kind of good…he had to keep a hand in his mouth to keep it down. Came back out , and Sammy was still awake, still nude.
No....
Naked, naked sounded nastier.
He was naked on top of the covers and beautiful and staring at him with some kind of hate in his eyes. Damn. Whatever he’d said to the boy must have been harsh…“What?”
“Nothing.” Jumped off the bed—*don’t look*--stomped off to the bathroom. *don’t look*
Okay…Sam shut the door and as soon as it was closed, he shoved his hand in his pants. *Just going to squeeze, one time. Twice, a squeeze or two, and I’ll stop*.
“Dean.”
Whipped his hand out of his pants fast enough to hurt. “What?”
“Come here.”
“Why?” Why…*okay, this was a ‘why come here’, and a ‘why am I getting up again’ and a ‘why do I do pretty much whatever the boy wants’ why.
“Can you come here?”
He crawled out of the bed, reluctant, eager. Dry mouthed and scared. “What?”
“Is this a deer tick, there’s something on my back, I feel it.”
*Bitch. You know--you’re doing this on purpose--you’re trying to make me...cry, you bitch.* “I can’t see anything.”
“Really? ‘Cause I felt something…”
Crack. He *heard* his brain break. A wave of anger swept up and almost knocked him off his feet. *Stop! Stop! Stop…*
*You asked for it, boy.*
“Let me see…there *is* something there.” He touched that long brown back, “There? No…”
Slid his finger down slowly, slowly, tracing a line of bronze freckles, past the brown and onto skin so white and soft and “here, is this it?” and he twisted his finger to the right of his cleft, barely to the right and slowly--twisted it slowly, until he could felt backward pressure against the fingertip sliding deeper in his cleft and he twisted his finger and slid closer and closer… “Does it itch?” he asked, and his voice broke a little. Sam shook his head, opened his mouth and some kind of noise creaked out….
In the really small bathroom, the sound of their breath was like the roar of a waterfall, and he put both his hands on Sam’s ass and pressed, dipped his head a fraction. Of. An. Inch. And heard the front door open.
He jerked away, and Sam turned around, hands over his cock. He looked relieved, needy, angry…angrier as he backed towards the door. Oh fuck. *Stop.*
Sam shook his head. “It’s not my fault.”
The door swung shut behind him, and he was staring at himself in the mirror, alone.
Pajamas, and boxers and naked skin…it was fucking winter and he was naked in the bed and *oh, no*, it wasn’t Sam’s fault and for one moment he thought *I could just…jump him. Jump on him and knock him down and—beat myself unconscious what the *fuck* am I thinking!*
God…if he held his breath really long, could he die? Fucking hell. Next time, he was going on the hunt, let Dad stay here with…Lolita. Okay, have to let that breath go.
Breathe.
And now he was panting, great, lovely.
By the time he had the guts to come out of the bathroom and walk the million miles to bed, Sam was snoring, stretched out and gone, sleeping the sleep of the innocent….
TBC!
Fandom:SpN
Pairing:Oh please....
Rating:3
Summary: This is
mkitty_03's PWP, 'cause I lub her.part one
Boxers…soft, really soft he knew, his were worn soft too. Washed over and over until the cotton was almost translucent and a little sweat made them cling like a second skin and you could see everything, Sam’s…everything. Hair. Skin. Freckles.
Cock.
Shit.
The beginning of fall and still hot, and they sat in the back yard in their shorts and threw darts at a target nailed on a tree. Toss, toss…Sam’s skin rolled over muscle smooth as water over river rocks. Surprising. Hard muscle. He checked his own arms—yeah. Not bad and when he looked up he was looking right into Sam’s eyes and they blushed. Sam tossed a dart at him.
“Fucker!”
“Pay attention.”
“Funny, mother fucker.”
He spent the afternoon watching Sam read, counting the freckles on his back, making patterns out of them…getting hard.
Leaving to jerk off in the bathroom. Fucker.
…maybe he wants it too. Maybe he’s just waiting for him to say something. Maybe Sam wants him to make the first move, take it out of his hands. Why won’t Sam make the first move, take it out of his hands….
“Too hot, pussface.” The answer.
The question? Why are you not wearing boxers tonight? Too hot? Hot.
God he was in hell. New Jersey was hell.
Sticky hot clinging to the sheets and holding yourself hell and Sam is naked. Nude.
“Dean, can you—would you look at this? Is it normal?”
*Please don’t be looking at your cock.*
Looking.
Damn.
Hell.
“Look—looks like a pimple to me, scuzz. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?”
“What, you want me to look closer—you do.” *Fuck me* He reached out a hand; face screwed up in a grimace. *You can do this. Easy. Don’t think…* “Okay…” and lifted…lifted his cock to look.
He had to know. He must know, Sam was playing—pushing him, had to be—
It was alive in his hand. Hot and velvety, still soft and that kind of made him want to touch harder, stroke…he would not look at his face. He would not listen to Sam breathe… “Really Sam, normal.”
“Yeah?” He sounded a little winded.
“Yeah.” Maybe Sam sounded winded—but he sounded like someone’d punched him in the gut. Some body *should*. His fingers burned.
His gut burned remembering the twitch he’d felt when he laid Sam’s cock back against his thigh.
He was a fucking SAINT. One more inch and he’d have had his cock in his face. Two more inches and he could have licked it. Sam would have felt his breath on the head of his cock, and wasn’t it, maybe, a little, wet?
HELL.
Sick, sick bastard he was. Sam had no more idea what he was doing to him than a puppy chewing on your shoes…innocent. Clueless.
And going to bed naked all the time now.
Naked. He hated Sammy, hated him so much he could taste it. Hated him…realized his fingers were in his mouth and hated him some more.
Sam was trying to kill him, no doubt. Nude and brown still…the sun took a long time leaving Sam. He was the color of sun on bronze, the color of life, the color of warm. The color he saw in his dreams, the ones in which he’d climb into Sam’s bed naked, and put his arms around him and rub against him, and he didn’t know how to do what he wanted exactly but he wanted to learn and do it to Sam.
Dad would let him have the car sometimes and it was a relief to leave for a bit. Didn’t need to go far. The parking lot at the strip mall had everything he needed. Sometimes a joint, a beer, girls in the back seat.
Some girls would blow him and he made them do it in the car. He liked sitting with his legs far apart, and watching them bend over his cock. He liked it wet and sloppy. He liked noise. He liked repaying them, he liked eating them out. He liked fucking them, he liked doing it from behind, he liked their backs pressed into his chest, hard, flat.…
Once a girl let him fuck her in the ass and he thought he was going to die. He was all over her shaking, moaning, making too much noise, stuttering and plunging in and out and praying and he might have yelled out Sam’s name.
More than once.
Maybe screamed it about twenty times when his eyes rolled back and sparklers exploded in his head and his dick and his ass and—it was wild and he couldn’t get her out of the car fast enough. All he wanted was a shower and bed and a pillow over his head. His face. His nose. Fuck a pillow—a plastic bag….
Sam was awake and wanting to talk when he fell in the door but all he could see was his cock in his ass and he was a bastard to him but at least Sam shut up. He felt like shit but…he locked himself in the bathroom and showered and thought, ‘what the hell am I going to do?’
Jerk off.
With one finger touching himself, reaching behind him and touching…because he had to know, what did it feel like?
Pretty damn good, actually. The noisy kind of good…he had to keep a hand in his mouth to keep it down. Came back out , and Sammy was still awake, still nude.
No....
Naked, naked sounded nastier.
He was naked on top of the covers and beautiful and staring at him with some kind of hate in his eyes. Damn. Whatever he’d said to the boy must have been harsh…“What?”
“Nothing.” Jumped off the bed—*don’t look*--stomped off to the bathroom. *don’t look*
Okay…Sam shut the door and as soon as it was closed, he shoved his hand in his pants. *Just going to squeeze, one time. Twice, a squeeze or two, and I’ll stop*.
“Dean.”
Whipped his hand out of his pants fast enough to hurt. “What?”
“Come here.”
“Why?” Why…*okay, this was a ‘why come here’, and a ‘why am I getting up again’ and a ‘why do I do pretty much whatever the boy wants’ why.
“Can you come here?”
He crawled out of the bed, reluctant, eager. Dry mouthed and scared. “What?”
“Is this a deer tick, there’s something on my back, I feel it.”
*Bitch. You know--you’re doing this on purpose--you’re trying to make me...cry, you bitch.* “I can’t see anything.”
“Really? ‘Cause I felt something…”
Crack. He *heard* his brain break. A wave of anger swept up and almost knocked him off his feet. *Stop! Stop! Stop…*
*You asked for it, boy.*
“Let me see…there *is* something there.” He touched that long brown back, “There? No…”
Slid his finger down slowly, slowly, tracing a line of bronze freckles, past the brown and onto skin so white and soft and “here, is this it?” and he twisted his finger to the right of his cleft, barely to the right and slowly--twisted it slowly, until he could felt backward pressure against the fingertip sliding deeper in his cleft and he twisted his finger and slid closer and closer… “Does it itch?” he asked, and his voice broke a little. Sam shook his head, opened his mouth and some kind of noise creaked out….
In the really small bathroom, the sound of their breath was like the roar of a waterfall, and he put both his hands on Sam’s ass and pressed, dipped his head a fraction. Of. An. Inch. And heard the front door open.
He jerked away, and Sam turned around, hands over his cock. He looked relieved, needy, angry…angrier as he backed towards the door. Oh fuck. *Stop.*
Sam shook his head. “It’s not my fault.”
The door swung shut behind him, and he was staring at himself in the mirror, alone.
Pajamas, and boxers and naked skin…it was fucking winter and he was naked in the bed and *oh, no*, it wasn’t Sam’s fault and for one moment he thought *I could just…jump him. Jump on him and knock him down and—beat myself unconscious what the *fuck* am I thinking!*
God…if he held his breath really long, could he die? Fucking hell. Next time, he was going on the hunt, let Dad stay here with…Lolita. Okay, have to let that breath go.
Breathe.
And now he was panting, great, lovely.
By the time he had the guts to come out of the bathroom and walk the million miles to bed, Sam was snoring, stretched out and gone, sleeping the sleep of the innocent….
TBC!
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Dude. I luff this. So, so so freaking hot. And close and painful and real.
Wonderful.
:)
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You are just...
I love the choppiness of this, how Dean's head is all jerky and disorganized and how desperate and helpless he feels...
*evol*
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incredible UST. wow.
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...It's very natural, and if anything ever does happen in the TBC (DEAR LORD, CONTINUE!) it will be all the more BELIEVABLE and arresting for this set up and the naturalness here.
SO GOOD, ROXY. PLEASE TO BE WRITING MORE NOW!
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TEASE!
I love Dean's voice in this. And how much Sammeh is killing him.
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Snerk. let Dad stay here with Lolita. FTW
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I love the whole stop and start feel to this, they way the sentence structure begins to build momentum and then suddenly stops. It follows Dean's thoughts perfectly and reads almost like Dean's taking you along with him, and helping the reading understand where his head is at, what he's going through.
Eh, seems like I had more to say after all. And yeah, I love this :)
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I'm enjoying this immensely! It's so fun watching Dean squirm :D and Sammy being all sexy and hot and naked all the time! This is so so hot!
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*wicked grin* Moi?
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*Grabs you and hugs you* Yes! I'm so glad that came across, thank you!
But none of this feels ANGSTY to me,
Also good, because I don't think I'm feeling angsty about this--it's kind of like you say--this *thing* is happening that he can't really begin to process so he tells the story to himself trying to figure it out. which I guess might actually be kind of angsty after all. But that's not what I'm trying to project. Heh. you know what I mean. *g*
SO GOOD, ROXY. PLEASE TO BE WRITING MORE NOW!
how could I not? *G*
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Where's my reply????
Thank you so very much for commenting and I'm really flattered that you like this--*really* flattered!
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I love Dean and Sam when it isn't about others, when it's about them. I love when right and wrong is an obstacle but not something that can't be overcome.
Uhm. Did I mention that I loved this?
:)
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