Title: Fundamentally Altered, 3/5
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17 overall
Words: 321
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Graphic Wincest
Summary: Repeated near-death experience would affect us all.
Notes: Written for
stagesoflove 2006, Round 2, 'Five Stages of Sexual Arousal', stage #3 - Plateau of Arousal.Also posted here.
Stage #1 - Desire, stage #2 - Excitement.
It's fast and furious, hunger raw like open wounds; every touch burns and scourges, cleans and purifies. There's nothing left but need and now, the base imperative to rut, to fuck, to totally consume and be consumed. It's insane, and you don't give a damn.
There's no time for naked, that's for later - if there is a later, and you're still not sure of that. There's no time for soft and gentle, tender kisses and caresses, it's a fire beneath your skin, incandescent.
Words are shapeless, harsh amorphous echoes scattering from your mouth and his in fevered gasps. You don't need to hear to understand. You can't bear to pull away to frame them properly.
His tongue's ambrosia on your tongue; his breath's the air that sustains you. His lips are berry ripe and lush, a lure - irresistible - you have to gnaw and suck and taste. He fights to do the same to you.
Hands are everywhere - ass and hair and jaw and groin, grasping, pulling, cradling, teasing. Too much, and still not enough.
Boots knock together, digging in to find the perfect spot, the optimum point of leverage - and there it is. Traction. Friction. The press and slide of seam, of zipper, quite unyielding on your cock. The pain is sweet. You return the favor.
You're riding the thigh he's forced between yours as he rubs off on your hipbone, his pelvis butting hard against your own.
You're so close, almost there, and from the stuttering of his breath you know he's right there with you. You could stay like this for hours, and you will do one day soon, but the buzzing in your ears, in your bones, in your soul, tells you this is not the time. You just need something, just the tiniest extra push to send you flying over the edge - freefalling into white space.
"Dean."
"Sam."
And that's enough.