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Sep. 11th, 2008 03:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
why_me_why_notfic dump post # 3
Between Broken and Bruised
SPN / Dean/Sam / Adult / 1700 words
Apparently I was writing this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendy’s birthday? Which is in October, so this has been here about a year? Or more accurately, TWO? Haha, I’m so made of win. I may have posted it or part of it or emailed it to some of you, but whatever. I kinda like.
Sam is almost getting tired of chasing evil, fighting the supernatural, but right now what he hates more than anything is seeing Dean marked up with bruises that he didn't cause. And he doesn't think he can be held responsible for what he'll do the next time Dean tells him to stay in the room or in the car or out of the way.
Dean's been wearing this world-weary look for weeks, and no matter what Sam's tired of, he knows that Dean is just flat-out tired. And probably hurting, but it's his own fault; if he'd quit acting like Sam's helpless, he wouldn't have to bear the brunt of the fighting. Dean always has been too stubborn for his own good though.
The undercurrents between the two of them have been rife with tension for weeks, and Sam's convinced that sooner or later, something's got to give. Of course, that could happen sooner than he anticipated.
"I think I'm gonna go grab a beer," Dean says, jacket in hand and no invitation in his voice.
Sam's irritation only grows as Dean cracks open the door, and suddenly the door jerks from Dean's hand and slams shut seemingly of its own accord.
Dean turns around to glare at his brother. "Not funny, Sam. Open the door."
"No." He steps toward Dean, his movements a slow and deliberate counterpoint to his rising anger. "I'm sick of this shit, Dean. What the hell is your problem?"
He sees his anger mirrored in Dean's eyes as he lies, "I don't know what you're talking about. I just want a beer."
"Like hell you do! You're gonna sneak off and take on this werewolf all by yourself, come back bruised and bloody, and act like you're doing me a favor by keeping me out of the fight!"
"Sam..." Dean starts in that 'oh, Sammy, you just don't understand' voice that he's really tired of hearing.
"No," Sam interrupts emphatically, pushing his sleeves up and giving a brief, humorless laugh when he notices Dean's eyes instinctively drawn to his wrists. There's nothing there; the marks have long since faded.
"Dammit, Sam, I'm supposed to protect you! It's my job!"
"Yeah, and just how do you expect to do that if you're dead? Or what happens if you don't come back one of these nights? You want me to go out there and try to fight while I'm out of practice and searching for you?" Okay, so that's an exaggeration -- if the years at Stanford didn't leave him out of practice, this wouldn't either -- but Sam tends to overreact sometimes.
"That's not fair..."
"No, it's not fair," Sam agrees, because it isn't, any way he looks at it. Dean isn't invincible, no matter how much he and Sam want to believe otherwise. Dad's death forced both boys to face their own mortality, especially Dean. Sam knows that Dean thinks he should have died, but he's not sure what else is going on in Dean's head. Dean, in true Winchester fashion, had never been one to talk about his feelings, but lately it seemed to be even worse, if that was possible. And if the lack of communication wasn't enough, Dean hasn't touched him since before Dad died -- except for that punch during the whole Gordon-and-the-vampire situation, which Sam really doesn't want to think about and which didn't count anyway.
Sam can only guess at how it is all related. Possible guilt over how Dad would have reacted to the change in Sam and Dean's relationship? Maybe Dean thinks this is something Sam didn't want, something he had been pressured into? Dean's convoluted way of thinking probably has him convinced that the marks are proof of how he's not doing his job, that he's not protecting Sam, that what he's doing is actually the opposite.
Truth is, Sam sees the marks as a secret promise of protection -- You're mine, and as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you. -- and they not only make him feel safe but stronger as well, knowing the strength of the connection between him and Dean.
Fuck it. It's time to settle this.
Sam quickly crosses the room, pressing Dean up against the wall. Dean may be the older brother, but Sam has the advantage of a couple inches and several pounds. He reaches for the hem of Dean's shirt, bunching the fabric in his fingers as he slides it upward, revealing a large, angry purplish bruise on Dean's side. The sight pisses him off even more. The only bruises he wants to see on Dean are the ones left by him, his teeth, his fingertips. He runs a hand over the bruise, ignoring Dean's wince, and then shifts Dean's shirt higher until Dean takes over and pulls it over his head, tossing it aside.
Dean's silent and cooperating, but Sam knows better than to think he's submitting to this. It's more likely he's humoring Sam, playing games.
Sam kneels down in front of Dean and slowly presses the flat of his tongue against the bruise. He wants to be able to wipe it all way -- the discoloration, the pain, the memory -- but he knows he can't. The most he can do is mark over it, superimpose his own brand on top of it.
Sam has been wanting this, wanting Dean, but he doesn't realize just how much until he has his hands/lips/tongue on the hot flesh of Dean's stomach. He needs this affirmation that Dean's here, he's alive, that the hospital bed, the machines, the waiting and worrying is all behind them. He's been waiting on this for what seems like forever, and now that he's so close to finally getting what he wants, he's not backing down.
He can feel Dean holding his breath, and when he looks up to find Dean watching him, he catches a quick glimpse of the conflicting emotions that flash through his eyes before they turn dark and betray only his lust/desire/anticipation. Sam slides his fingers through the belt loops at Dean's sides and pulls him closer, fingers splayed out across his hips to hold him there, and licks/kisses his way across Dean's belly to his other side. The skin there is unmarked until Sam sinks his teeth in.
He smirks up at his brother and keeps watching him as he runs his tongue along the skin just above the upper edge of Dean's jeans. He presses his mouth against the denim on Dean's upper thigh and blows hot puffs of air against the skin underneath before tracing the outline of Dean's cock's through his jeans.
Dean's hands are rough and familiar as they tangle in Sam's hair and tug, pulling him, wordlessly directing him back and up. Their teeth and tongues and lips clash in a fierce, hungry kiss as soon as their mouths are close enough. Sam feels himself thrown off balance as Dean takes control and pushes him backwards toward the bed. The mattress hits the back of his legs and he lets himself fall, hands coming up seeking purchase on some part of Dean to pull him down with him, but Dean apparently has other ideas as he makes a grab for Sam's wrists and settles himself on the bed, straddling Sam and applying just enough pressure to tease/torture.
Dean's got one of his hands wrapped around both of Sam's wrists, hard enough to bruise (Sam hopes), and Sam watches him, silently giving Dean permission to take out his anger/frustration/emotion on him. He's leaning down over Sam, close enough that Sam can see himself reflected in his eyes, and Sam's holding his breath, waiting to see what will happen next.
"Just what is it that you want, Sammy?"
Sam bites his lip. He wants to say I want you to be happy again or maybe I want to know that whatever was happening between us is still there, or even I want to be what you need, whatever it takes. In the end, he barely finds the breath to say "You."
Dean studies him for a moment, like he's trying to see the truth behind Sam's words, and then licks his lips and averts his eyes, his grip on Sam's wrists tightening. "You don't get it, do you? I can't... Sam, you're all I have left. When I lose you..."
Sam arches up and captures Dean's next words with his kiss. "You're not going to lose me," he whispers as he pulls away.
Dean shakes his head. "Whether it's school or a demon or a fucking car accident, Sam, it's gonna happen, and I..."
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean." The promise is obviously not enough to conquer whatever thoughts are running through Dean's head, so Sam pushes up against Dean, struggles against the hold on his wrists, and Dean apparently gets the hint because he releases Sam and leans down to nip at his lip before trailing quick kisses along the side of his jaw, down his neck, scraping his teeth roughly against the skin before biting down to leave a mark of his own.
There's nothing gentle or hesitant about it; they come together with a fierceness that surprises Sam as much as it satisfies him. He craves the roughness, the angry words bit out against his skin, the aggression that he knows isn't directed at him, the way Dean breathes his name over and over. It's hot and hard and everything Sam's been missing, and the way Dean holds on to him a bit too tightly after it's over makes him think that maybe he should have tried this sooner.
The next morning, pulling on his hoodie, Sam stops when he catches sight of the slight bruising on his wrist. The marks are faint, but they're there and they're Dean's and it makes Sam think that just maybe their life is headed in the right direction, or at least as right as it can be for them.
Between Broken and Bruised
SPN / Dean/Sam / Adult / 1700 words
Apparently I was writing this for
wendy’s birthday? Which is in October, so this has been here about a year? Or more accurately, TWO? Haha, I’m so made of win. I may have posted it or part of it or emailed it to some of you, but whatever. I kinda like.Sam is almost getting tired of chasing evil, fighting the supernatural, but right now what he hates more than anything is seeing Dean marked up with bruises that he didn't cause. And he doesn't think he can be held responsible for what he'll do the next time Dean tells him to stay in the room or in the car or out of the way.
Dean's been wearing this world-weary look for weeks, and no matter what Sam's tired of, he knows that Dean is just flat-out tired. And probably hurting, but it's his own fault; if he'd quit acting like Sam's helpless, he wouldn't have to bear the brunt of the fighting. Dean always has been too stubborn for his own good though.
The undercurrents between the two of them have been rife with tension for weeks, and Sam's convinced that sooner or later, something's got to give. Of course, that could happen sooner than he anticipated.
"I think I'm gonna go grab a beer," Dean says, jacket in hand and no invitation in his voice.
Sam's irritation only grows as Dean cracks open the door, and suddenly the door jerks from Dean's hand and slams shut seemingly of its own accord.
Dean turns around to glare at his brother. "Not funny, Sam. Open the door."
"No." He steps toward Dean, his movements a slow and deliberate counterpoint to his rising anger. "I'm sick of this shit, Dean. What the hell is your problem?"
He sees his anger mirrored in Dean's eyes as he lies, "I don't know what you're talking about. I just want a beer."
"Like hell you do! You're gonna sneak off and take on this werewolf all by yourself, come back bruised and bloody, and act like you're doing me a favor by keeping me out of the fight!"
"Sam..." Dean starts in that 'oh, Sammy, you just don't understand' voice that he's really tired of hearing.
"No," Sam interrupts emphatically, pushing his sleeves up and giving a brief, humorless laugh when he notices Dean's eyes instinctively drawn to his wrists. There's nothing there; the marks have long since faded.
"Dammit, Sam, I'm supposed to protect you! It's my job!"
"Yeah, and just how do you expect to do that if you're dead? Or what happens if you don't come back one of these nights? You want me to go out there and try to fight while I'm out of practice and searching for you?" Okay, so that's an exaggeration -- if the years at Stanford didn't leave him out of practice, this wouldn't either -- but Sam tends to overreact sometimes.
"That's not fair..."
"No, it's not fair," Sam agrees, because it isn't, any way he looks at it. Dean isn't invincible, no matter how much he and Sam want to believe otherwise. Dad's death forced both boys to face their own mortality, especially Dean. Sam knows that Dean thinks he should have died, but he's not sure what else is going on in Dean's head. Dean, in true Winchester fashion, had never been one to talk about his feelings, but lately it seemed to be even worse, if that was possible. And if the lack of communication wasn't enough, Dean hasn't touched him since before Dad died -- except for that punch during the whole Gordon-and-the-vampire situation, which Sam really doesn't want to think about and which didn't count anyway.
Sam can only guess at how it is all related. Possible guilt over how Dad would have reacted to the change in Sam and Dean's relationship? Maybe Dean thinks this is something Sam didn't want, something he had been pressured into? Dean's convoluted way of thinking probably has him convinced that the marks are proof of how he's not doing his job, that he's not protecting Sam, that what he's doing is actually the opposite.
Truth is, Sam sees the marks as a secret promise of protection -- You're mine, and as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you. -- and they not only make him feel safe but stronger as well, knowing the strength of the connection between him and Dean.
Fuck it. It's time to settle this.
Sam quickly crosses the room, pressing Dean up against the wall. Dean may be the older brother, but Sam has the advantage of a couple inches and several pounds. He reaches for the hem of Dean's shirt, bunching the fabric in his fingers as he slides it upward, revealing a large, angry purplish bruise on Dean's side. The sight pisses him off even more. The only bruises he wants to see on Dean are the ones left by him, his teeth, his fingertips. He runs a hand over the bruise, ignoring Dean's wince, and then shifts Dean's shirt higher until Dean takes over and pulls it over his head, tossing it aside.
Dean's silent and cooperating, but Sam knows better than to think he's submitting to this. It's more likely he's humoring Sam, playing games.
Sam kneels down in front of Dean and slowly presses the flat of his tongue against the bruise. He wants to be able to wipe it all way -- the discoloration, the pain, the memory -- but he knows he can't. The most he can do is mark over it, superimpose his own brand on top of it.
Sam has been wanting this, wanting Dean, but he doesn't realize just how much until he has his hands/lips/tongue on the hot flesh of Dean's stomach. He needs this affirmation that Dean's here, he's alive, that the hospital bed, the machines, the waiting and worrying is all behind them. He's been waiting on this for what seems like forever, and now that he's so close to finally getting what he wants, he's not backing down.
He can feel Dean holding his breath, and when he looks up to find Dean watching him, he catches a quick glimpse of the conflicting emotions that flash through his eyes before they turn dark and betray only his lust/desire/anticipation. Sam slides his fingers through the belt loops at Dean's sides and pulls him closer, fingers splayed out across his hips to hold him there, and licks/kisses his way across Dean's belly to his other side. The skin there is unmarked until Sam sinks his teeth in.
He smirks up at his brother and keeps watching him as he runs his tongue along the skin just above the upper edge of Dean's jeans. He presses his mouth against the denim on Dean's upper thigh and blows hot puffs of air against the skin underneath before tracing the outline of Dean's cock's through his jeans.
Dean's hands are rough and familiar as they tangle in Sam's hair and tug, pulling him, wordlessly directing him back and up. Their teeth and tongues and lips clash in a fierce, hungry kiss as soon as their mouths are close enough. Sam feels himself thrown off balance as Dean takes control and pushes him backwards toward the bed. The mattress hits the back of his legs and he lets himself fall, hands coming up seeking purchase on some part of Dean to pull him down with him, but Dean apparently has other ideas as he makes a grab for Sam's wrists and settles himself on the bed, straddling Sam and applying just enough pressure to tease/torture.
Dean's got one of his hands wrapped around both of Sam's wrists, hard enough to bruise (Sam hopes), and Sam watches him, silently giving Dean permission to take out his anger/frustration/emotion on him. He's leaning down over Sam, close enough that Sam can see himself reflected in his eyes, and Sam's holding his breath, waiting to see what will happen next.
"Just what is it that you want, Sammy?"
Sam bites his lip. He wants to say I want you to be happy again or maybe I want to know that whatever was happening between us is still there, or even I want to be what you need, whatever it takes. In the end, he barely finds the breath to say "You."
Dean studies him for a moment, like he's trying to see the truth behind Sam's words, and then licks his lips and averts his eyes, his grip on Sam's wrists tightening. "You don't get it, do you? I can't... Sam, you're all I have left. When I lose you..."
Sam arches up and captures Dean's next words with his kiss. "You're not going to lose me," he whispers as he pulls away.
Dean shakes his head. "Whether it's school or a demon or a fucking car accident, Sam, it's gonna happen, and I..."
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean." The promise is obviously not enough to conquer whatever thoughts are running through Dean's head, so Sam pushes up against Dean, struggles against the hold on his wrists, and Dean apparently gets the hint because he releases Sam and leans down to nip at his lip before trailing quick kisses along the side of his jaw, down his neck, scraping his teeth roughly against the skin before biting down to leave a mark of his own.
There's nothing gentle or hesitant about it; they come together with a fierceness that surprises Sam as much as it satisfies him. He craves the roughness, the angry words bit out against his skin, the aggression that he knows isn't directed at him, the way Dean breathes his name over and over. It's hot and hard and everything Sam's been missing, and the way Dean holds on to him a bit too tightly after it's over makes him think that maybe he should have tried this sooner.
The next morning, pulling on his hoodie, Sam stops when he catches sight of the slight bruising on his wrist. The marks are faint, but they're there and they're Dean's and it makes Sam think that just maybe their life is headed in the right direction, or at least as right as it can be for them.
