There Was a Time, Supernatural, R-NC-17
Jan. 24th, 2007 07:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernaturl
Title: There was a Time
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Hard R...maybe NC-17
Word count: 783
Summary:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendy laid out a challenge to write Birthday Fic for Dean. Today is Dean's birthday (Is it...weird,...to wish a fictional character a happy birthday?)...and I wasn't originally going to write anything cause I had no bunnies...then this happened. Post-Playthings...schloompy internal look at Dean processing...with a bit of porn at the end.
A/Ns & Warnings: Spoilers through Playthings...incest...of course. Totally unbeta'd and written in about 15 minutes...all mistakes are my own.
There was a time when it wasn’t like this. When it wasn’t so fucked up and yet perfectly normal to lie in bed on a rainy morning, beat up and sore and curled around his brother just to make sure he was still there, still alive, still…a part of his life.
There was a time when he slept alone. When he wore boxers to bed and dreamed of things that didn’t involve desperate clinging and irrational fears that one day he’d have a whole new definition for fucked up that didn’t include things like hoping his baby brother would give him a blow job for his birthday.
Sam’s heart beat under his hand, solid, strong…a testament to life. His chest rises and falls with the tender rhythm of sleep. He hasn’t felt anything that simple in his own chest in so long, he doesn’t remember it…Not that anything with Sam is simple.
His thumb plays idly over a nipple, lazy…soft. Sam shifts a little, but it’s not enough to wake him, not enough to pull him from the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows and Dean’s body pressed along his own. The room is warm, despite the rain melting the view of the world outside the window.
There was a time they slept in separate beds, even after the definition of fucked up and perfectly normal came to include them fucking. When sex was something they did, something to take the edge off, to express emotions they would never say out loud and beds were for sleeping in…alone.
Then came a promise…a fucked up, never going to happen promise, and Sam’s tug-pull-fall into bed, his hands dragging Dean along with him…needing, demanding…and just like the words, he gave Sam what he wanted, curling around him, holding him.
Moments like this, it feels like he’d never let go. Like he was still there, in that bed, with Sam sleeping off his drunk, the words of his promise sitting like lead in his stomach.
There was a time he didn’t have to hide from Sam…there was a time when he could hide from Sam…and now that he had to…wanted to…he felt so vulnerable and open every time Sam looked at him.
Which is why he only looks at Sam like this while he sleeps…really looks…
It was fitting that it was his birthday, that he was older chronologically. Since his father’s death, he felt as though he’d aged a hundred years…and the only time he let go of it…of all of it, was when his brother slipped inside him and they were like one being…one physical presence…it was then that he was convinced that Sam would never need him to keep that promise…because Sam and Dean were SamandDean…and nothing would change that.
He smiles against Sam’s skin…his fingers moving slowly down his abdomen, under the blankets…the sleeping giant slowly becoming aware of Dean’s presence, of his purpose.
There was a time when his birthday meant nothing more than another year survived, more beasties dead, another room in another hotel in another town. Sam’s cock was already hard, even before he touched it…Sam’s hand warm against his back as his lips brushed over Dean’s forehead.
There was a time when he would never have dreamed…never have asked…but he had…the night before, asked Sam for one thing for his birthday…Sam’s kiss was soft and Dean yielded into it, melting against the pillows as Sam’s body lifted and pressed and turned…and without words, Sam was there, inside him, above him…covering him with kisses and touches and Dean didn’t close his eyes…couldn’t stop watching Sam, couldn’t let go of his arms as Sam braced himself against the bed and moved…long, slow strokes inside him…hot silk and velvet and delicious burning of skin on skin.
There was a time when words weren’t necessary, when they knew each other intimately enough that they could move through complex rituals without them…this was something else entirely…each silence, every touch and glance…this was what he wanted…this…bodies and minds and just everything mixing together…no words, no distance…just Sam and Dean, SamandDean…fucked up, falling apart…and perfect.
“Happy Birthday, Dean.” Sam whispers…his come hot and filling and Dean can forgive the speaking for the sentiment, losing his response in Sam’s mouth as their bodies press together and their lips and tongues tangle.
There was a time he didn’t understand, when he fought the need-want-need for his brother…but it had always been there…always…and now…as Sam slipped out of him and slid in next to him, all hot skin and wanting, Dean thinks that maybe he finally does…that this is what it’s like…and it was raining and quiet and Sam had promised him all day…no words, no hunts…just SamandDean…
Title: There was a Time
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Hard R...maybe NC-17
Word count: 783
Summary:
wendy laid out a challenge to write Birthday Fic for Dean. Today is Dean's birthday (Is it...weird,...to wish a fictional character a happy birthday?)...and I wasn't originally going to write anything cause I had no bunnies...then this happened. Post-Playthings...schloompy internal look at Dean processing...with a bit of porn at the end.A/Ns & Warnings: Spoilers through Playthings...incest...of course. Totally unbeta'd and written in about 15 minutes...all mistakes are my own.
There was a time when it wasn’t like this. When it wasn’t so fucked up and yet perfectly normal to lie in bed on a rainy morning, beat up and sore and curled around his brother just to make sure he was still there, still alive, still…a part of his life.
There was a time when he slept alone. When he wore boxers to bed and dreamed of things that didn’t involve desperate clinging and irrational fears that one day he’d have a whole new definition for fucked up that didn’t include things like hoping his baby brother would give him a blow job for his birthday.
Sam’s heart beat under his hand, solid, strong…a testament to life. His chest rises and falls with the tender rhythm of sleep. He hasn’t felt anything that simple in his own chest in so long, he doesn’t remember it…Not that anything with Sam is simple.
His thumb plays idly over a nipple, lazy…soft. Sam shifts a little, but it’s not enough to wake him, not enough to pull him from the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows and Dean’s body pressed along his own. The room is warm, despite the rain melting the view of the world outside the window.
There was a time they slept in separate beds, even after the definition of fucked up and perfectly normal came to include them fucking. When sex was something they did, something to take the edge off, to express emotions they would never say out loud and beds were for sleeping in…alone.
Then came a promise…a fucked up, never going to happen promise, and Sam’s tug-pull-fall into bed, his hands dragging Dean along with him…needing, demanding…and just like the words, he gave Sam what he wanted, curling around him, holding him.
Moments like this, it feels like he’d never let go. Like he was still there, in that bed, with Sam sleeping off his drunk, the words of his promise sitting like lead in his stomach.
There was a time he didn’t have to hide from Sam…there was a time when he could hide from Sam…and now that he had to…wanted to…he felt so vulnerable and open every time Sam looked at him.
Which is why he only looks at Sam like this while he sleeps…really looks…
It was fitting that it was his birthday, that he was older chronologically. Since his father’s death, he felt as though he’d aged a hundred years…and the only time he let go of it…of all of it, was when his brother slipped inside him and they were like one being…one physical presence…it was then that he was convinced that Sam would never need him to keep that promise…because Sam and Dean were SamandDean…and nothing would change that.
He smiles against Sam’s skin…his fingers moving slowly down his abdomen, under the blankets…the sleeping giant slowly becoming aware of Dean’s presence, of his purpose.
There was a time when his birthday meant nothing more than another year survived, more beasties dead, another room in another hotel in another town. Sam’s cock was already hard, even before he touched it…Sam’s hand warm against his back as his lips brushed over Dean’s forehead.
There was a time when he would never have dreamed…never have asked…but he had…the night before, asked Sam for one thing for his birthday…Sam’s kiss was soft and Dean yielded into it, melting against the pillows as Sam’s body lifted and pressed and turned…and without words, Sam was there, inside him, above him…covering him with kisses and touches and Dean didn’t close his eyes…couldn’t stop watching Sam, couldn’t let go of his arms as Sam braced himself against the bed and moved…long, slow strokes inside him…hot silk and velvet and delicious burning of skin on skin.
There was a time when words weren’t necessary, when they knew each other intimately enough that they could move through complex rituals without them…this was something else entirely…each silence, every touch and glance…this was what he wanted…this…bodies and minds and just everything mixing together…no words, no distance…just Sam and Dean, SamandDean…fucked up, falling apart…and perfect.
“Happy Birthday, Dean.” Sam whispers…his come hot and filling and Dean can forgive the speaking for the sentiment, losing his response in Sam’s mouth as their bodies press together and their lips and tongues tangle.
There was a time he didn’t understand, when he fought the need-want-need for his brother…but it had always been there…always…and now…as Sam slipped out of him and slid in next to him, all hot skin and wanting, Dean thinks that maybe he finally does…that this is what it’s like…and it was raining and quiet and Sam had promised him all day…no words, no hunts…just SamandDean…
