Stitched Together
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,302
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,302
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Stitched Together
Stitched Together
Word Count: 1048
Rated - NC-17
Sequel to my story "Patching Things Up." Dean's reaction to Sam's kiss
Not mine, Don't sue
Spoilers for Shadow
Feedback? Love it, live for it. Good, bad, ugly, public, private, it's all good! If you hate it, if you love it, whatever, just let me know!
Disclaimer: If they were mine, you wouldn't be able to show this on the WB
Dean hadn't been sleeping when Sam finally came out of the bathroom. His thoughts were racing a million miles a second. So much had happened in such a short time, and he was trying to put it all together.
First had been that woman - skanky ho, more like - who had attacked him for, what was it? Oh, yeah. "Dragging Sam around like luggage." So she'd turned out to be the bad guy, and Dean logically knew that he shouldn't let her words get to him, but they still burned, at least in part because Dean wondered if it wasn't true.
Then had been that whole mess with Dad, and what the hell could he think about that? His dad wasn't supposed to be so easily taken in, not even for his boys, but he had been. If Sam hadn't thought so fast on his feet, they'd all be dead now.
His head spun with it all, and he finally just shut down with it, trying to focus on nothing in order to get his brain to stop running. When Sam collapsed onto the side of the bed, he reached out and squeezed his leg. He knew that Sam was having as much trouble as he was, but there wasn't much he could do to help.
He wasn't much good at talking, and besides, he'd said his piece earlier and Sam had pretty effectively knocked the wind out of his sails. All he could do was be there for him and hope that Sam would come around in time.
Then Sam was moving, leaning forward, and there were soft lips pressing into his. Dean was shocked stupid, unable to respond. When Sam pulled back, Dean opened his eyes.
The color was high in Sam's cheeks, glaringly obvious against the white of the bandages, but he didn't shy away or drop his eyes. Instead, he met Dean's squarely, almost daring him to say something.
Instead, Dean sat up a little. He'd never thought about kissing his little brother, but there had been something so right about that feeling. Sam backed up a little in response, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
Dean knew that he should stop this, should talk to Sam about it. Should be the responsible one since he was older. But he didn't care. This was good, this was right, and he was going to follow where it lead.
Bending forward, he laid his lips against Sam's, matching pressure for pressure. The kiss was light, restrained, just the simple contact of mouth to mouth.
Then Sam moaned, and opened his mouth for Dean. He hesitated for a moment, then slid his tongue into Sam. He could still taste blood and whiskey, but below that was a smoky, wild taste that could only be his brother.
Sam made another sound and his hands came up to wind around him, locking into the material of his t-shirt. When their mouths finally separated, Dean could hear Sam take a breath as if he was getting ready to say something, but before the words could spill out, Dean bit down gently on Sam's neck, and the tension in Sam's body seemed to dissolve.
The grip on his shirt shifted, changed, and then there were hands on the skin of his back as his shirt was rucked up. He backed up just long enough to let Sam pull it off, and then went back to mapping out the muscles and tendons of Sam's jaw and neck.
Sam clutched at him, moans rising from deep in his chest. The two of them clung like that, no sounds except for soft groans and grunts as their mouths explored what they could reach.
Finally, though, Dean pulled back from Sam and looked him in the face. "Sam?"
He looked defiant for a moment, then his face crumpled. "I - I nearly lost you, Dean. I can't do it - can't lose you."
Dean wasn't sure what to say. Their lives were dangerous and Sam knew that. Even without evil skanks out to kill them, there were always things that would try. "Shh, Sammy. I'm okay, we're okay."
Sam nodded and tried to kiss him again. This time Dean ducked under it and came back up, holding him back a little. "Sam. Talk to me. This isn't... is wrong, you know that."
"I don't care. I need this, Dean. Need to know that you're alive, that you're here with me, now. Please?"
Dean tried to hold back, tried to pull away from him, but Sam followed him, and when he bit at Dean's throat, Dean groaned and gave up. He wanted it too, wanted to know that they were both warm and alive and together, for however long they had.
When Sam pressed him back into the bed, Dean went willingly. All that separated them was their boxers and Sam's t-shirt, and Dean yanked at it, trying to get it off so that they could have skin against skin.
He leaned back and ripped it off, diving right back into Dean's embrace. The two of them twisted and turned, chests pressed together, breathing each other's air. Dean didn't even realize that he was hard until he felt Sam's cock pressing like a brand against his hip.
They fell into a subtle rocking rhythm, the material of their boxers less than nothing. Both of them were much more interested in continuing to kiss and taste the other than any sort of reach towards orgasm.
Slowly, though, it all switched around, and Dean was gasping for air, sucking it in like he couldn't get enough. "Aw, fuck, Sammy. So good..."
Hands tight enough to leave bruises, pain disappearing into pleasure into something so far beyond either that Dean didn't have a word for it. He had the momentary thought that Sam probably would, but then it whirled away as Sam mouthed over the tendons at the joint of neck and shoulder.
Both of them were shuddering and with a sudden cry, Sam arched above him, warmth and wet flooding between the two of them. That seemed to be what Dean needed, because the feeling that had been gathering low in his belly seemed to explode, taking Dean with it.
When he came back to himself, the two of them were lying on their sides, messy and sticky, but for the first time since they'd run into Meg in the bar, Dean felt like everything might just be okay.
Word Count: 1048
Rated - NC-17
Sequel to my story "Patching Things Up." Dean's reaction to Sam's kiss
Not mine, Don't sue
Spoilers for Shadow
Feedback? Love it, live for it. Good, bad, ugly, public, private, it's all good! If you hate it, if you love it, whatever, just let me know!
Disclaimer: If they were mine, you wouldn't be able to show this on the WB
Dean hadn't been sleeping when Sam finally came out of the bathroom. His thoughts were racing a million miles a second. So much had happened in such a short time, and he was trying to put it all together.
First had been that woman - skanky ho, more like - who had attacked him for, what was it? Oh, yeah. "Dragging Sam around like luggage." So she'd turned out to be the bad guy, and Dean logically knew that he shouldn't let her words get to him, but they still burned, at least in part because Dean wondered if it wasn't true.
Then had been that whole mess with Dad, and what the hell could he think about that? His dad wasn't supposed to be so easily taken in, not even for his boys, but he had been. If Sam hadn't thought so fast on his feet, they'd all be dead now.
His head spun with it all, and he finally just shut down with it, trying to focus on nothing in order to get his brain to stop running. When Sam collapsed onto the side of the bed, he reached out and squeezed his leg. He knew that Sam was having as much trouble as he was, but there wasn't much he could do to help.
He wasn't much good at talking, and besides, he'd said his piece earlier and Sam had pretty effectively knocked the wind out of his sails. All he could do was be there for him and hope that Sam would come around in time.
Then Sam was moving, leaning forward, and there were soft lips pressing into his. Dean was shocked stupid, unable to respond. When Sam pulled back, Dean opened his eyes.
The color was high in Sam's cheeks, glaringly obvious against the white of the bandages, but he didn't shy away or drop his eyes. Instead, he met Dean's squarely, almost daring him to say something.
Instead, Dean sat up a little. He'd never thought about kissing his little brother, but there had been something so right about that feeling. Sam backed up a little in response, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
Dean knew that he should stop this, should talk to Sam about it. Should be the responsible one since he was older. But he didn't care. This was good, this was right, and he was going to follow where it lead.
Bending forward, he laid his lips against Sam's, matching pressure for pressure. The kiss was light, restrained, just the simple contact of mouth to mouth.
Then Sam moaned, and opened his mouth for Dean. He hesitated for a moment, then slid his tongue into Sam. He could still taste blood and whiskey, but below that was a smoky, wild taste that could only be his brother.
Sam made another sound and his hands came up to wind around him, locking into the material of his t-shirt. When their mouths finally separated, Dean could hear Sam take a breath as if he was getting ready to say something, but before the words could spill out, Dean bit down gently on Sam's neck, and the tension in Sam's body seemed to dissolve.
The grip on his shirt shifted, changed, and then there were hands on the skin of his back as his shirt was rucked up. He backed up just long enough to let Sam pull it off, and then went back to mapping out the muscles and tendons of Sam's jaw and neck.
Sam clutched at him, moans rising from deep in his chest. The two of them clung like that, no sounds except for soft groans and grunts as their mouths explored what they could reach.
Finally, though, Dean pulled back from Sam and looked him in the face. "Sam?"
He looked defiant for a moment, then his face crumpled. "I - I nearly lost you, Dean. I can't do it - can't lose you."
Dean wasn't sure what to say. Their lives were dangerous and Sam knew that. Even without evil skanks out to kill them, there were always things that would try. "Shh, Sammy. I'm okay, we're okay."
Sam nodded and tried to kiss him again. This time Dean ducked under it and came back up, holding him back a little. "Sam. Talk to me. This isn't... is wrong, you know that."
"I don't care. I need this, Dean. Need to know that you're alive, that you're here with me, now. Please?"
Dean tried to hold back, tried to pull away from him, but Sam followed him, and when he bit at Dean's throat, Dean groaned and gave up. He wanted it too, wanted to know that they were both warm and alive and together, for however long they had.
When Sam pressed him back into the bed, Dean went willingly. All that separated them was their boxers and Sam's t-shirt, and Dean yanked at it, trying to get it off so that they could have skin against skin.
He leaned back and ripped it off, diving right back into Dean's embrace. The two of them twisted and turned, chests pressed together, breathing each other's air. Dean didn't even realize that he was hard until he felt Sam's cock pressing like a brand against his hip.
They fell into a subtle rocking rhythm, the material of their boxers less than nothing. Both of them were much more interested in continuing to kiss and taste the other than any sort of reach towards orgasm.
Slowly, though, it all switched around, and Dean was gasping for air, sucking it in like he couldn't get enough. "Aw, fuck, Sammy. So good..."
Hands tight enough to leave bruises, pain disappearing into pleasure into something so far beyond either that Dean didn't have a word for it. He had the momentary thought that Sam probably would, but then it whirled away as Sam mouthed over the tendons at the joint of neck and shoulder.
Both of them were shuddering and with a sudden cry, Sam arched above him, warmth and wet flooding between the two of them. That seemed to be what Dean needed, because the feeling that had been gathering low in his belly seemed to explode, taking Dean with it.
When he came back to himself, the two of them were lying on their sides, messy and sticky, but for the first time since they'd run into Meg in the bar, Dean felt like everything might just be okay.