Pairing/Fandom: Sam/Dean, Supernatural
Challenge revisited: #2 - UST or A Pairing You Have Never Written Before.
Spoilers: References the first episode.
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Dad was gone, and Dean needed Sam. Could he be enough?
Notes: My first Supernatural ficlet. I am sure it will not be my last. literati is my fic petter and cheering squad. Thanks, darlin'.
The bruises on Sam's back sang with every breath but he couldn't quite bring himself to move onto his side. They grounded him, reminded him that this was real, that Dean was in the bed next to his; they were together again.
So, maybe the marks this time were made for different reasons, but - Dean had touched him, twice now. The first time, back ho… back there, with painful blows and tight grips, and then again, later, on the bridge, all flash and fury.
But it was real - he shifted, feeling every inch of purpling skin - not just another dream that turned to dust on waking. This time Dean was close enough that Sam could hear him breathe, slow, deep sighs that left Sam shivering in the moonlight.
Fighting the urge to reach out - to touch, to wake, to beg - Sam pressed hungry fingertips into the fresh marks on his thighs, and remembered.
Sweat-soaked, limbs quivering with welcome, enforced tension, fingers locked in spasm around the headboard bars - Sam was in heaven, but also in hell.
Dean's hands clamped tighter on the backs of Sam's thighs, fingers buried knuckle-deep in muscle.
He thrust hard, eyes locked on Sam's in a relentless battle of wills.
"Tell me - you're - not - going - to college."
Even as his body arched into every frantic thrust, Sam bit his tongue and refused to give his brother the words that longed to slip free.
Hipbones clashed, locked, slid, and then Dean shifted, freeing one hand to strip Sam's cock with knowing ease.
"Can't leave us… Can't leave me. Can't - leave - this!"
Sam's eyes screamed as he came, his knuckles sharp through skin as white as paper, fingers trying to drill new holes into old oak boards.
Dean followed him over the precipice, riding out the spasms as Sam's internal muscles fluttered and clenched around his cock. One more thrust. Two. A third, and he was done, collapsing to one side, half-covering Sam, who didn't mind at all.
Sam opened his mouth, finally willing to say, 'You were right. I can't leave you. I love you.'
The sound of a key turning in the front door sealed his fate, as Dean's reaction locked his mouth tighter than before.
In seconds his brother was up and off the bed, shimmying into sweatpants and the shirt he'd tossed away with unholy glee not an hour before.
"Dad's home! Gotta see how it went."
And he was gone, leaving Sam tangled in damp sheets, sweat and come drying on his skin. Alone.
He'd never come first.
Their dad, the hunt, even the mother he couldn't quite remember - all of that was more important to Dean than he would ever be. He couldn't live like that.
Come dawn he was gone.
Sam bit his fist and shuddered his way to climax, joints locked to keep the motel bed from shrieking out his secret.
Was it different now?
Dad was gone, and Dean needed him.
Could he be enough?