fic post:SpN
4/14/07 05:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Lately
Fandom:SpN
Pairing:Oh please....
Rating:4
Summary: This is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mkitty_03's PWP, 'cause I lub her.
Maine was ass-freezing cold. Winter there was every nightmare he’d ever had. Cold. Weird.
Werewolves liked it cold…
Things changed. He rode shotgun with Dad now while Sam stayed home on his own.
Maine was the first time he killed--killed something that bled, anyway.
Forgot most of it except the silver blade shoving into the thing’s chest--sticking first and then sliding in and all that hot hot blood poured over his hand—still creeped out that his first thought had been, ‘wow, warm.’ His hands were always cold and now they weren’t and then, the blood cooled right away and got thick and sticky and it’s head blew apart when Dad shot it and he threw up in the snow for like--*forever*. Threw up until his fucking *toes* hurt.
A part of him kept thinking, there’s a person under that fur and blood and I killed it. Dad patted him on the back and told him he was a good soldier. He kept apologizing, and hurling and Dad kept patting him…he kept seeing ice colored wolf eyes turn dark and human and...hurt. Full of hurt….
Two thousand stairs to their apartment over a ceramics studio…each one two hundred feet high, and by the time he was in the door, he was ready to die. Dad pulled him into the shower, washed him until the tacky gluey mess was gone, blood clung to places he swore it hadn’t touched. Blood was so fucking gross and he wanted to pour bleach over everywhere it touched.
Dad wrapped him in a big towel and rubbed him from head to toe like he was five—and finally he could breathe again. “I’m sorry. Dad, I’m sorry.”
“For what? *I’m* sorry—shoulda got the shot sooner…you were great, Dean, you were a soldier, you were brave…” over and over.
He felt such love for Dad.
And then Dad left. “Back tomorrow, okay?” He was gone and leaving him alone with Sam, still shaky. Still feeling the blood. Still wrapped in a towel….
“Are you okay?” Sam looked scared.
“Duh.” ‘Course he was okay. Obviously. ‘Cause if he wasn’t…
“Yeah. Dad wouldn’t. Dad couldn’t…so you’re okay.”
He was nodding and shivering and really, really fucking tired. Crawled up on the bed and lay down, pulled the pillow over his head, and Sam lay down next to him and sighed. Put his arms around him. All he could do was pretend to be asleep.
Sam pushed closer, rocked himself closer and then—rocked against him. Again, again until hot breath flowed over the back of his neck, and his ear, and a small voice groaned, “I want to touch you.” Big hand roamed along the flap of the towel that was all that was saving him from going to hell, boy, it was getting harder and harder not to move back, not to press against Sammy—it was plain hard. A snicker in his ear told him that Sam had found that out too.
Sigh. Big sigh. Big honkin' sigh and a curse and a slap—“you understand WRONG, don’t you? Like, this is so fuckin’ wrong?”
“Shut up and let me make you feel better. I promise I won’t do anything—just hold you.”
“Okay.”
Because, sometimes it was too hard to fight, and sometimes, any kind of close is a good close…fucking unbelievable that he could fall asleep with Sam’s cock pressed so tight against his ass he could feel his pulse. Unbelievable--but he did.
****
Next morning he sat in the big window in the living-kitchen-dining-laundry room, the gray light of a winter afternoon made him feel he was in an alien world. The gray floorboards were cold underfoot, and he kept thinking about snow--white, white snow. Sam sat across from him, perched on the arm of the beat-up couch and sipped coffee from a big ugly mug. Studied him.
“You okay?”
“Told you last night I was. I am.”
“I mean about--”
“About what? I slept pretty hard last night. I was damn tired.”
Sam looked at him. “Yeah. Yeah. Listen—Dad was a dick for leaving you last night.” Put down his cup next to him and wandered back to the bedroom, and he sat in the window and drank the rest of Sam’s coffee and counted snowflakes….
*****
Road Trip. Oh Gawd. Fuckin’ hell. Every time he heard the words, his gut cramped. But he grinned like he loved it—Road Trip! Fuckin’ yay! ‘Cause Dad didn’t need extra shit and Sam didn’t need to know how much not a fuckin’ adventure it was.
California was calling. At least it’d be warm.
And then…and then….there were days and days in the back seat of the car.
Days.
Daysdaysdays.
Days.
Okay, four days but time always moved slower in hell….
The backseat got smaller as the DAYS went by and there was no where to go, his beat up old walkman didn’t work anymore, and walls of pillows didn’t work anymore and shoving his fingers in his ears and slamming his eyes shut didn’t work anymore.
“Dean, move *over*.”
“Stop touching me.”
“*You* stop touching—”
“No, you stop touching—
“Oh for—shut the hell up the *both* of you or so help me, I’ll kill you.”
Nervous laughter because it was Dad and you never knew…. Looked up and caught Dad in the rear view mirror staring at him. ‘You’re the oldest’ in his eyes. Which meant he had to look out for Sam and be an example and weren’t they way too fucking old for him to be baby sitting his brother? *And if you knew what your Sam was doing…trying to do….*
Zillions of miles and landmarks zipping past unvisited--they were getting to know all the rest stops intimately. They could fill an album with pics of rest stops—here’s the vending machine in New York, here’s a really nice picnic table in Illinois….
Dad drove he drove Sam drove.
Night and day flowed past one another like water and night came and Sam was leaning on his shoulder, dozing on and off. He was too tired to push him off, too tired to pretend he didn’t like it, and after a while, he dozed off himself.
Opened his eyes.
There was a weight in his lap. Warm and heavy.
The road tossed the weight against him and back, against him and back, and he was hard. Heat on his cock. Pressure, pleasant pressure.
He closed his eyes again and sent up a prayer to…wherever, and opened his eyes. Looked down into his lap.
Looking for what he had no idea because who the hell would it be but Sam and there he was in his lap. *Can’t move*…and his ass was itching fierce. Of course.
The slightest move and he’d be….god, nose to cock with him.
Maybe…maybe Sam was asleep. Maybe he’d just keep his eyes closed. And keep really really quiet.
Maybe Sam wasn’t really pressing his mouth against his zipper, and he wasn’t swelling to fill what little space was left in his jeans, and he couldn’t feel hot gusts of air leaking through the denim and onto his cock. He didn’t just squirt pre-come in his boxers because he wasn’t so excited he was on the verge of coming.
*Fuck me*
The added strain, beyond the strain that his brother…may or may not be trying to make him come in his pants, was keeping his mouth shut in front of Dad…*Dad pull over pull over*
No matter how much you try, you can’t force a person to develop ESP when you want them to have it. He gave it a try anyway.
He really did. Right up until the point that Sam opened his mouth and bit down the length of his zipper. Hot moist breath, and the pinch of Sammy’s puppy teeth and he was shivering wildly. He would have paid a fortune to not be in that car right at that moment. Sam’s teeth closed over the tip of his cock hidden under the denim and cotton and he breathed out while doing it and it was—so fucking hot, his cock jumped and burned and he would have paid a fortune for Dad to not be in the car at that moment.
He couldn’t tell Sam to stop.
He couldn’t open his mouth.
Because he wanted to scream….
*FUCKFUCK*
Slickhotwet shot out of his cock and filled his shorts and he imagined his hands went up to cup Sam’s head and he imagined he lifted his hips and pumped into his mouth and Sam swallowed all of him greedily, and he whipped his head back and forth and screamed Sammy, suck me, oh god, oh shit your mouth is so hot…
Which would have been horribly wrong and hotter than hell, better than reality.
He sat frozen, not moving, not breathing not swallowing feeling his cock pulse hard. Realizing Sam’s chin was jammed into his thigh and he was letting out the same kind of low, slow nearly silent breath, and he could feel the tension in Sammy’s body flow out, and he moved his hand. Kinda accidentally brushed Sam’s crotch. And got a shiver and a breath and Sam was.
He could feel Sam move under the palm he had pressed hard against his zipper. Oh god good—No! Oh God, this is not good.
Next rest stop, he was gonna poke his eyes out. He was gonna poke his eyes out, and cut out his brain and his evil possessed cock….
Sam squeezed his leg and rubbed little circles on it.
And oh sure, that made it all better….
The slide of light over his brother’s face as they drove in and out of darkness…made him feel soft. Possessive. He loved him.
He really loved Sam.
******
Street lights cast an orange glow through the windows, the big blue signs led them to a rest stop, time to stretch and move and remember that he had feet and legs and an ass and maybe they could eat…
Instead, Dad and Sam are in the car asleep and he’s in a stall in the stop, his ass bumping against the cold metal wall, and his cock down some kid’s throat…and he could breathe, and moan, yank his hair and tell the kid, “watch out,. I’m going to fuckin’ come, it’s--” he shook from head to toe, and the mouth drew back, slickly wet and smooth all over the inside like satin, his tongue was hot and silky on his cock, his lips plush and wet and he said, “Come in my mouth.”
He was cramming his tee-shirt in his mouth and shaking all over, and yelling into the wad of fabric—it felt so good to let go--he fucked the stranger’s mouth and called him.
Well.
There was ever only one name that fell out of his mouth…when it was like this.
He got blown in a rest stop. A strange guy blew him in a rest stop. He was giggling against the door after the guy left, maybe from shock a little. He pulled his shirt down, and pulled up his pants, thought how different it’d been than with a girl, more…more like he’d dreamed of. He liked it.
Until he got back in the car and Sam was awake.
How was it any of his business what he did and how fuckin’ sick was it that he felt—guilty? Guilty.
Really, though, if the shoe was on the other foot, how much would he hate seeing Sam come back to him, sated and rumpled and walking that loose-hipped way you get when sex makes all your muscles loopy and warm…could he lean over and whisper, “I imagined it was you—I always do?”
Better…or worse?
tbc...
Fandom:SpN
Pairing:Oh please....
Rating:4
Summary: This is
mkitty_03's PWP, 'cause I lub her.Maine was ass-freezing cold. Winter there was every nightmare he’d ever had. Cold. Weird.
Werewolves liked it cold…
Things changed. He rode shotgun with Dad now while Sam stayed home on his own.
Maine was the first time he killed--killed something that bled, anyway.
Forgot most of it except the silver blade shoving into the thing’s chest--sticking first and then sliding in and all that hot hot blood poured over his hand—still creeped out that his first thought had been, ‘wow, warm.’ His hands were always cold and now they weren’t and then, the blood cooled right away and got thick and sticky and it’s head blew apart when Dad shot it and he threw up in the snow for like--*forever*. Threw up until his fucking *toes* hurt.
A part of him kept thinking, there’s a person under that fur and blood and I killed it. Dad patted him on the back and told him he was a good soldier. He kept apologizing, and hurling and Dad kept patting him…he kept seeing ice colored wolf eyes turn dark and human and...hurt. Full of hurt….
Two thousand stairs to their apartment over a ceramics studio…each one two hundred feet high, and by the time he was in the door, he was ready to die. Dad pulled him into the shower, washed him until the tacky gluey mess was gone, blood clung to places he swore it hadn’t touched. Blood was so fucking gross and he wanted to pour bleach over everywhere it touched.
Dad wrapped him in a big towel and rubbed him from head to toe like he was five—and finally he could breathe again. “I’m sorry. Dad, I’m sorry.”
“For what? *I’m* sorry—shoulda got the shot sooner…you were great, Dean, you were a soldier, you were brave…” over and over.
He felt such love for Dad.
And then Dad left. “Back tomorrow, okay?” He was gone and leaving him alone with Sam, still shaky. Still feeling the blood. Still wrapped in a towel….
“Are you okay?” Sam looked scared.
“Duh.” ‘Course he was okay. Obviously. ‘Cause if he wasn’t…
“Yeah. Dad wouldn’t. Dad couldn’t…so you’re okay.”
He was nodding and shivering and really, really fucking tired. Crawled up on the bed and lay down, pulled the pillow over his head, and Sam lay down next to him and sighed. Put his arms around him. All he could do was pretend to be asleep.
Sam pushed closer, rocked himself closer and then—rocked against him. Again, again until hot breath flowed over the back of his neck, and his ear, and a small voice groaned, “I want to touch you.” Big hand roamed along the flap of the towel that was all that was saving him from going to hell, boy, it was getting harder and harder not to move back, not to press against Sammy—it was plain hard. A snicker in his ear told him that Sam had found that out too.
Sigh. Big sigh. Big honkin' sigh and a curse and a slap—“you understand WRONG, don’t you? Like, this is so fuckin’ wrong?”
“Shut up and let me make you feel better. I promise I won’t do anything—just hold you.”
“Okay.”
Because, sometimes it was too hard to fight, and sometimes, any kind of close is a good close…fucking unbelievable that he could fall asleep with Sam’s cock pressed so tight against his ass he could feel his pulse. Unbelievable--but he did.
****
Next morning he sat in the big window in the living-kitchen-dining-laundry room, the gray light of a winter afternoon made him feel he was in an alien world. The gray floorboards were cold underfoot, and he kept thinking about snow--white, white snow. Sam sat across from him, perched on the arm of the beat-up couch and sipped coffee from a big ugly mug. Studied him.
“You okay?”
“Told you last night I was. I am.”
“I mean about--”
“About what? I slept pretty hard last night. I was damn tired.”
Sam looked at him. “Yeah. Yeah. Listen—Dad was a dick for leaving you last night.” Put down his cup next to him and wandered back to the bedroom, and he sat in the window and drank the rest of Sam’s coffee and counted snowflakes….
*****
Road Trip. Oh Gawd. Fuckin’ hell. Every time he heard the words, his gut cramped. But he grinned like he loved it—Road Trip! Fuckin’ yay! ‘Cause Dad didn’t need extra shit and Sam didn’t need to know how much not a fuckin’ adventure it was.
California was calling. At least it’d be warm.
And then…and then….there were days and days in the back seat of the car.
Days.
Daysdaysdays.
Days.
Okay, four days but time always moved slower in hell….
The backseat got smaller as the DAYS went by and there was no where to go, his beat up old walkman didn’t work anymore, and walls of pillows didn’t work anymore and shoving his fingers in his ears and slamming his eyes shut didn’t work anymore.
“Dean, move *over*.”
“Stop touching me.”
“*You* stop touching—”
“No, you stop touching—
“Oh for—shut the hell up the *both* of you or so help me, I’ll kill you.”
Nervous laughter because it was Dad and you never knew…. Looked up and caught Dad in the rear view mirror staring at him. ‘You’re the oldest’ in his eyes. Which meant he had to look out for Sam and be an example and weren’t they way too fucking old for him to be baby sitting his brother? *And if you knew what your Sam was doing…trying to do….*
Zillions of miles and landmarks zipping past unvisited--they were getting to know all the rest stops intimately. They could fill an album with pics of rest stops—here’s the vending machine in New York, here’s a really nice picnic table in Illinois….
Dad drove he drove Sam drove.
Night and day flowed past one another like water and night came and Sam was leaning on his shoulder, dozing on and off. He was too tired to push him off, too tired to pretend he didn’t like it, and after a while, he dozed off himself.
Opened his eyes.
There was a weight in his lap. Warm and heavy.
The road tossed the weight against him and back, against him and back, and he was hard. Heat on his cock. Pressure, pleasant pressure.
He closed his eyes again and sent up a prayer to…wherever, and opened his eyes. Looked down into his lap.
Looking for what he had no idea because who the hell would it be but Sam and there he was in his lap. *Can’t move*…and his ass was itching fierce. Of course.
The slightest move and he’d be….god, nose to cock with him.
Maybe…maybe Sam was asleep. Maybe he’d just keep his eyes closed. And keep really really quiet.
Maybe Sam wasn’t really pressing his mouth against his zipper, and he wasn’t swelling to fill what little space was left in his jeans, and he couldn’t feel hot gusts of air leaking through the denim and onto his cock. He didn’t just squirt pre-come in his boxers because he wasn’t so excited he was on the verge of coming.
*Fuck me*
The added strain, beyond the strain that his brother…may or may not be trying to make him come in his pants, was keeping his mouth shut in front of Dad…*Dad pull over pull over*
No matter how much you try, you can’t force a person to develop ESP when you want them to have it. He gave it a try anyway.
He really did. Right up until the point that Sam opened his mouth and bit down the length of his zipper. Hot moist breath, and the pinch of Sammy’s puppy teeth and he was shivering wildly. He would have paid a fortune to not be in that car right at that moment. Sam’s teeth closed over the tip of his cock hidden under the denim and cotton and he breathed out while doing it and it was—so fucking hot, his cock jumped and burned and he would have paid a fortune for Dad to not be in the car at that moment.
He couldn’t tell Sam to stop.
He couldn’t open his mouth.
Because he wanted to scream….
*FUCKFUCK*
Slickhotwet shot out of his cock and filled his shorts and he imagined his hands went up to cup Sam’s head and he imagined he lifted his hips and pumped into his mouth and Sam swallowed all of him greedily, and he whipped his head back and forth and screamed Sammy, suck me, oh god, oh shit your mouth is so hot…
Which would have been horribly wrong and hotter than hell, better than reality.
He sat frozen, not moving, not breathing not swallowing feeling his cock pulse hard. Realizing Sam’s chin was jammed into his thigh and he was letting out the same kind of low, slow nearly silent breath, and he could feel the tension in Sammy’s body flow out, and he moved his hand. Kinda accidentally brushed Sam’s crotch. And got a shiver and a breath and Sam was.
He could feel Sam move under the palm he had pressed hard against his zipper. Oh god good—No! Oh God, this is not good.
Next rest stop, he was gonna poke his eyes out. He was gonna poke his eyes out, and cut out his brain and his evil possessed cock….
Sam squeezed his leg and rubbed little circles on it.
And oh sure, that made it all better….
The slide of light over his brother’s face as they drove in and out of darkness…made him feel soft. Possessive. He loved him.
He really loved Sam.
******
Street lights cast an orange glow through the windows, the big blue signs led them to a rest stop, time to stretch and move and remember that he had feet and legs and an ass and maybe they could eat…
Instead, Dad and Sam are in the car asleep and he’s in a stall in the stop, his ass bumping against the cold metal wall, and his cock down some kid’s throat…and he could breathe, and moan, yank his hair and tell the kid, “watch out,. I’m going to fuckin’ come, it’s--” he shook from head to toe, and the mouth drew back, slickly wet and smooth all over the inside like satin, his tongue was hot and silky on his cock, his lips plush and wet and he said, “Come in my mouth.”
He was cramming his tee-shirt in his mouth and shaking all over, and yelling into the wad of fabric—it felt so good to let go--he fucked the stranger’s mouth and called him.
Well.
There was ever only one name that fell out of his mouth…when it was like this.
He got blown in a rest stop. A strange guy blew him in a rest stop. He was giggling against the door after the guy left, maybe from shock a little. He pulled his shirt down, and pulled up his pants, thought how different it’d been than with a girl, more…more like he’d dreamed of. He liked it.
Until he got back in the car and Sam was awake.
How was it any of his business what he did and how fuckin’ sick was it that he felt—guilty? Guilty.
Really, though, if the shoe was on the other foot, how much would he hate seeing Sam come back to him, sated and rumpled and walking that loose-hipped way you get when sex makes all your muscles loopy and warm…could he lean over and whisper, “I imagined it was you—I always do?”
Better…or worse?
tbc...
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
4/14/07 12:03 pm (UTC)(oh, poor dean. sam is a minx.)
(no subject)
4/14/07 07:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 07:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 01:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 07:42 pm (UTC)I feel TERRIBLE about ruining your day...*hides grin*
(no subject)
4/15/07 12:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/15/07 05:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 04:18 pm (UTC)Really, though, if the shoe was on the other foot, how much would he hate seeing Sam come back to him, sated and rumpled and walking that loose-hipped way you get when sex makes all your muscles loopy and warm…could he lean over and whisper, “I imagined it was you—I always do?”
Better…or worse?
Yesssss.
Love this muchly. Love his horror and total helplessness and Sam! Evol!!!
(no subject)
4/14/07 07:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 04:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 07:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 05:14 pm (UTC)This was wonderful, sweetie.
(no subject)
4/14/07 07:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/14/07 07:47 pm (UTC)I just - I just bfdajfdajfjdk *throws hands up*
I've got nothing, except, more! Hot hot hot. The last paragraphs killed me, though. Ouch. Oh man.
(no subject)
4/14/07 08:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/15/07 02:31 am (UTC)Now TMI and random, but I so gave my first blow job ever to my highschool boyfriend in the backseat of his parent's car on the way home from a marching band competition. And yes, his parents were in the front seat! It totally played out just like this...only he wasn't my brother.
(no subject)
4/15/07 05:44 am (UTC)Yeah, it's scary as hell what you can get away with right under the parents nose...*G*
It totally played out just like this...only he wasn't my brother.
*roxy be sooo pathetically grateful for that...*
(no subject)
4/17/07 07:59 am (UTC)That's my girl!
(no subject)
4/17/07 12:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/18/07 12:21 am (UTC)Saucy little minx you, your b-friend was way lucky.
(no subject)
4/15/07 03:49 am (UTC)There went my panties.
(no subject)
4/15/07 05:45 am (UTC)Ummm...sorry? *happygrin*
(no subject)
4/15/07 10:21 pm (UTC)They melted in the best possible way. But the um... squishy feeling is kinda awkward. Ohkai then. I shut up now.
(no subject)
4/15/07 06:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/15/07 06:26 am (UTC)You...you.
(no subject)
4/15/07 06:53 am (UTC)Nnnng.
Sam's such a tease!
*GRABBYHANDS* I needs more.
(no subject)
4/15/07 07:14 am (UTC)Erm...your icon...did I miss the bukake episode?
(no subject)
4/15/07 07:57 am (UTC)Mmm. Was a real good ep.
Max, Alec and Zach were fighting some kind of evil/crime or whatever. And Max is all, "I'm going to go this way. You two something something." Zach looked at her. "You're sure?" And she rolled her eyes like don't be hella stupid, I can take care of myself. Max took off in one direction and Alec turned to Zach and said, "Well, you heard the girl." Zach just smiled at Alec. "I've got other plans." He grabbed Alec's hand and dragged him around the corner and pressed himself against the rough wall and grabbed the collar of Alec's jacket and pulled him close and said against his lips with a smile, "I wanna come on your face." And Alec nodded slowly and slid down Zach's body ...
(no subject)
4/15/07 03:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/15/07 04:46 pm (UTC)It was a really good show and you are welcome
(no subject)
4/15/07 12:27 pm (UTC)This is shown perfectly in this, Sammy crowding in, Dean pulling away. It's perfect :)
Also, there is hotness. I mean, Sammy, dude! And seeing it unfold from Dean's POV, is almost like climbing inside Dean and feeling what he's feeling. All the frustration, the want, the wrongness warring with the need for closeness, for intimacy and touch.
It's just perfect.
could he lean over and whisper, “I imagined it was you—I always do?”
Now there's honesty for you ;)
(no subject)
4/29/07 12:37 am (UTC)Thank you so much for the kind words!
It's so much more difficult doing it this way than I anticipated--keeping the tone right is a bear, trying not to run off at the mouth (as i have a tendency to do) is also reeeelly hard! Needless to say, i'm having a great time with this!
(no subject)
4/17/07 08:11 am (UTC)*fan self*
So um Sam is really in touch with his inner Lolita huh? I would almost feel sorry for Dean but if I was Sammy and had to live in close quarters with someone who looked like Dean while being a hormonal teenager? I can see why he'd be all channeling his inner slut towards Dean's direction.
That whole scene in the backseat? Dude! I was turned on and freaking out and praying that John wouldn't turn around and kinda impressed with Sammy's guts cause dude! He practically blew Dean in front of their dad. He's either way brave or way horny.
Please, please, please keep these coming. I'm adoring what you are doing with these characters!
*is melted puddle of goo*
(no subject)
4/29/07 12:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/26/07 12:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/26/07 11:13 pm (UTC)