![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Hunter's Math, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Hunter's Math
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 758
Summary: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendy: Yesterday I asked for prompts to give me happy, schloompy sort of writing ideas. Wendy asked for Sam/Dean - Tests. Three snippets of life involving tests and the way hunters think...sort of. Wee!chesters, Teen!Chesters and grown up boys.
“Dea-ea-ea-n!”
Sam’s nasally whine shifts up an octave on each reiteration of his brother’s one syllable name, his chubby legs swinging back and forth under the table as he throws his head back and opens his mouth to yell again.
Dean clamps a hand down over his brother’s mouth before the sounds start.
“Whatcha need, squirt?”
“Help.” Sam’s pout is top notch, almost better than Dean’s at the same age. Dean ruffles his hair and snags a chair closer.
“Save the show for the tourists, let me see.”
Sam lets him tug the notebook closer. “Dad said he’s gonna test me when he gets up and I don’t get it, Dean. It’s not like the math they taught us at school.”
Dean frowned a little at the numbers on the page. “I don’t think he expects you to know all of this, Sammy, just the stuff you’ve done before. It’s pretty hard stuff for a seven year old.”
“I’m almost eight.” Sam said, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“I know you are, kiddo.” Dean pointed to something simple. “You know this one.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean. I’m seven, not stupid.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, okay. How about this one?” He pointed and Sam chewed on the end of his eraser.
He squinted and squirmed. “Nine?”
“You’re just guessing.” Dean rolled up his shirt sleeve and pulled the white gauze bandage loose. Sammy made a face at the dark line of stitches up Dean’s forearm. “If the cut is six inches…” Dean guessed at six inches with his fingers and held it up alongside the gash. “How many stitches?”
Sam leaned over and counted out the stitches with one finger, careful not to touch. “Twelve.”
Dean grinned and ruffled Sam’s hair again. “Good. Two stitches per inch.”
Sam scrunched up his face. “So two times six is twelve?”
Dean grinned. “See, I knew you were the smart one. Try this one.” He pointed at the paper and sat back to reapply the bandage.
Hunter’s math. How long it takes to dig up a grave, salt and burn the bones and rebury. How many stitches to close a ripped up arm. How much painkiller to give based on body weight. How many times you could use a forged credit card before it was time to ditch it and get a new one.
“Dean!”
Sam’s voice was frantic, cutting through the buzzing in his head as he held up a hand so his brother could find him. Sam came crashing through the underbrush. He skidded to a stop beside him and fell to his knees. “Dean, you okay?”
“Leg.” Dean said through clenched teeth. “Broken.” He looked up around them. “Did you get it?”
“Nicked it. Dad’s on it.” Sam’s attention turned to Dean’s leg. “It’s broken, but not bad. The boot is keeping it from swelling too much.”
“Dad’s gonna be pissed.” It was just supposed to be a test, the boys against Dad, but the fucking werewolf had to get in the way and ruin the whole thing. Sam had just about had the drop on the old man when he’d spotted it.
Sam shook his head. “He’s too busy to worry about it. How’s your head?”
“Hurts.” Dean reached for it, surprised when it came back warm and wet. He saw Sam measuring the distance up the hill where the car was, determining the quickest route, the safest route and the differences between.
Hunter’s math. The shortest distance between two points may be a straight line, but a straight line wouldn’t always get you there in one piece.
“Dean.”
Sam’s voice is ragged and breathy and Dean smiles against the broad expanse of skin. “Easy Sammy.”
He kisses down bare skin, over sinewy muscle. He tells Sam it’s a test…endurance…stamina…and they’ve been here for hours, just like this…with Sam coming closer and closer to the edge.
The old house is decrepit and falling down. The room lit by candles and lantern. There’s an empty pizza box and a half a bottle of tequila, Sam and Dean…
Dean mouths over the curve of Sam’s hip, licks down his thigh. He hasn’t touched his brother’s straining cock…not for a long time. There’s a puddle of come on his brother’s stomach, cool and dry now. Dean has promised him five orgasms before he lets him up, before it’s Sam’s turn…and Sam’s nearing number three.
Hunter’s math…one ghost, salted and burned…one old house no one will mind them using…two naked bodies in need of one another…and another five hours until dawn…
Title: Hunter's Math
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 758
Summary: For
wendy: Yesterday I asked for prompts to give me happy, schloompy sort of writing ideas. Wendy asked for Sam/Dean - Tests. Three snippets of life involving tests and the way hunters think...sort of. Wee!chesters, Teen!Chesters and grown up boys.“Dea-ea-ea-n!”
Sam’s nasally whine shifts up an octave on each reiteration of his brother’s one syllable name, his chubby legs swinging back and forth under the table as he throws his head back and opens his mouth to yell again.
Dean clamps a hand down over his brother’s mouth before the sounds start.
“Whatcha need, squirt?”
“Help.” Sam’s pout is top notch, almost better than Dean’s at the same age. Dean ruffles his hair and snags a chair closer.
“Save the show for the tourists, let me see.”
Sam lets him tug the notebook closer. “Dad said he’s gonna test me when he gets up and I don’t get it, Dean. It’s not like the math they taught us at school.”
Dean frowned a little at the numbers on the page. “I don’t think he expects you to know all of this, Sammy, just the stuff you’ve done before. It’s pretty hard stuff for a seven year old.”
“I’m almost eight.” Sam said, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“I know you are, kiddo.” Dean pointed to something simple. “You know this one.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean. I’m seven, not stupid.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, okay. How about this one?” He pointed and Sam chewed on the end of his eraser.
He squinted and squirmed. “Nine?”
“You’re just guessing.” Dean rolled up his shirt sleeve and pulled the white gauze bandage loose. Sammy made a face at the dark line of stitches up Dean’s forearm. “If the cut is six inches…” Dean guessed at six inches with his fingers and held it up alongside the gash. “How many stitches?”
Sam leaned over and counted out the stitches with one finger, careful not to touch. “Twelve.”
Dean grinned and ruffled Sam’s hair again. “Good. Two stitches per inch.”
Sam scrunched up his face. “So two times six is twelve?”
Dean grinned. “See, I knew you were the smart one. Try this one.” He pointed at the paper and sat back to reapply the bandage.
Hunter’s math. How long it takes to dig up a grave, salt and burn the bones and rebury. How many stitches to close a ripped up arm. How much painkiller to give based on body weight. How many times you could use a forged credit card before it was time to ditch it and get a new one.
“Dean!”
Sam’s voice was frantic, cutting through the buzzing in his head as he held up a hand so his brother could find him. Sam came crashing through the underbrush. He skidded to a stop beside him and fell to his knees. “Dean, you okay?”
“Leg.” Dean said through clenched teeth. “Broken.” He looked up around them. “Did you get it?”
“Nicked it. Dad’s on it.” Sam’s attention turned to Dean’s leg. “It’s broken, but not bad. The boot is keeping it from swelling too much.”
“Dad’s gonna be pissed.” It was just supposed to be a test, the boys against Dad, but the fucking werewolf had to get in the way and ruin the whole thing. Sam had just about had the drop on the old man when he’d spotted it.
Sam shook his head. “He’s too busy to worry about it. How’s your head?”
“Hurts.” Dean reached for it, surprised when it came back warm and wet. He saw Sam measuring the distance up the hill where the car was, determining the quickest route, the safest route and the differences between.
Hunter’s math. The shortest distance between two points may be a straight line, but a straight line wouldn’t always get you there in one piece.
“Dean.”
Sam’s voice is ragged and breathy and Dean smiles against the broad expanse of skin. “Easy Sammy.”
He kisses down bare skin, over sinewy muscle. He tells Sam it’s a test…endurance…stamina…and they’ve been here for hours, just like this…with Sam coming closer and closer to the edge.
The old house is decrepit and falling down. The room lit by candles and lantern. There’s an empty pizza box and a half a bottle of tequila, Sam and Dean…
Dean mouths over the curve of Sam’s hip, licks down his thigh. He hasn’t touched his brother’s straining cock…not for a long time. There’s a puddle of come on his brother’s stomach, cool and dry now. Dean has promised him five orgasms before he lets him up, before it’s Sam’s turn…and Sam’s nearing number three.
Hunter’s math…one ghost, salted and burned…one old house no one will mind them using…two naked bodies in need of one another…and another five hours until dawn…