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'River in the Road' - SPN - Sam/Dean
I'm just reposting more Wincest from last week's porn meme. Z requested Sam/Dean where they are either happy or at the beach, so just in case, I set it at the beach. The title is from the song of the same name by Queens of the Stone Age, who sing a hell of a lot about croatverse, but this particular song is about them boys.
I should really update my masterlist soon.
River in the Road
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. NC17. Spoilers through S2. Established relationship, medium-length walk on the beach.
Set in early S3. "Gotta take the hairshirt off sometimes, huh, Sammy?" ~950 words
Dean has a habit of stating the obvious, yeah, he knows this. So what? Every damn day now, he wants to hold Sam's face in his hands and wonder, "You're alive." Ten fingers, ten toes, heart rate stable, breathing steady - ascertaining normality like a doctor after childbirth. Yes, this child has emerged from the ether. This child will live, and I give him to you.
"I thought we were going to Wytheville?" Sam asks, but no, Dean takes them east until they hit the Atlantic. He gets a room at a seaside inn that's a little pricier than their usual fare, and Sam asks, "What are you doing?"
"Gotta take the hairshirt off sometimes, huh, Sammy?" Dean says. "Live a little."
Sam was about to say some smartass thing, Dean can tell, but at the last three words, he just closes his mouth again.
"You take your nose out of those books, young man, and have dinner like a real boy," Dean says when Sam's knee-deep in ancient lore about gray magic. He's come back with pizza and a six-pack, and how is he supposed to enjoy his dinner when Sam is pulling that Eeyore shit? Always with the Eeyore shit. Sam looks up at him with that long-suffering expression, and Dean just offers him the first bottle of beer.
They finish only half the pizza, but all of the beer. Sam follows Dean down to the shoreline, and splashes Dean back when Dean splashes him. They roll their jeans up to their knees and have a stone-skipping contest (Sam wins), and as the sun bows low and paints the whole beach orange, Dean grabs a fistful of Sam's shirt and pulls him close, kisses him. Keeps on kissing Sam until he relaxes and kisses back, cups Dean's face in his hands and kisses back, and Dean thinks it's worth it for this.
+
"You're alive," Dean feels like saying when they tumble onto the bed. He pushes up Sam's shirt and mouths the words against his belly, has to resist from giving him a raspberry because that would just ruin the mood. Sam reaches forward and grabs Dean's shirt, and Dean pulls back, letting the shirt slide off him.
"And this," Sam says, tugging at Dean's belt when he tries to crawl back on top of Sam.
Blood that runs through veins, air that rides inside it. The vigor with which Sam pushes Dean against the headboard makes Dean's breath catch, and Sam claims his mouth, bites his way down Dean's neck, bites his nipple hard enough for Dean to flinch and go, "Hey, watch it." And Sam just grins. He just smiles this wicked smile like Dean doesn't even know the half of it. He is naked but Sam is still clothed. Dean's about to give him some shit for it, maybe wrestle him out of at least his shirt, but Sam kisses his way down Dean's stomach, and a wise man probably once said, "It's difficult to get aggro when someone's giving you a blow job."
Sam licks the tip; he always starts that way. Sam closes his eyes and slides his lips over the head, swirling his tongue over the tip. Licks up the underside of Dean's cock, all up and down his shaft, and then Sam closes his hand around it, takes as much as he can into his mouth. The sight of it is wonderfully obscene. Dean can feel Sam's throat work, and he tangles one hand in Sam's hair, but Sam swats it away.
"Dude," Sam says, and his lips are wet, puffy and pink. "You know I hate it when you do that."
Dean holds up his hands. "'Kay, whatever, don't stop."
So Sam continues.
+
Afterward, Sam is lying on his stomach, quiet with contented aftermath. Dean is making his way up his brother's back. One kiss at the small of it, a handful more up his spine. Sam, vital and warm beneath him, not a miracle, but the opposite of one. Dean presses his cheek between Sam's shoulder blades, and closes his eyes. Drapes his body along the length of his brother, and makes a satisfied noise in his throat. Sam is damp and surprisingly pliant and alive, and Dean finds himself saying, "I can't believe it."
"Can't believe what?" Sam murmurs. "Dude, you're heavy."
"I ain't heavy, I'm your brother."
Sam shifts and half-rolls, and Dean lets himself slide off Sam and lie on his back. They stay like that for a while, nothing in the air except dust motes in sunlight and the sound of the surf outside. It whispers in, it whispers out back to sea. The next day they'll be back on the road and investigating exsanguinated corpses in Wytheville, but right now he is thinking of that seafood shack he saw down the beach. He and Sam can have dinner there. It's been a while since Dean's eaten clams.
Then, "Dean," Sam says. "What you did--"
"Hey."
"Dean--"
"Sam."
Sam raises his head, and the shadow of his bangs cast his eyes in shadow. "What, so are we not going to talk about it?"
Dean reaches over and brushes Sam's bangs to the side. "What is there to talk about?"
Because yeah, Dean has a habit of stating the obvious, but here are a few other habits: not giving up on his brother, taking the future one day at a time, and only looking back if the view is good.
"C'mere," says Dean.
And Sam looks at him for one beat, for two beats, before shifting closer and closing his eyes as Dean leans in for a kiss.
I should really update my masterlist soon.
River in the Road
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. NC17. Spoilers through S2. Established relationship, medium-length walk on the beach.
Set in early S3. "Gotta take the hairshirt off sometimes, huh, Sammy?" ~950 words
Dean has a habit of stating the obvious, yeah, he knows this. So what? Every damn day now, he wants to hold Sam's face in his hands and wonder, "You're alive." Ten fingers, ten toes, heart rate stable, breathing steady - ascertaining normality like a doctor after childbirth. Yes, this child has emerged from the ether. This child will live, and I give him to you.
"I thought we were going to Wytheville?" Sam asks, but no, Dean takes them east until they hit the Atlantic. He gets a room at a seaside inn that's a little pricier than their usual fare, and Sam asks, "What are you doing?"
"Gotta take the hairshirt off sometimes, huh, Sammy?" Dean says. "Live a little."
Sam was about to say some smartass thing, Dean can tell, but at the last three words, he just closes his mouth again.
"You take your nose out of those books, young man, and have dinner like a real boy," Dean says when Sam's knee-deep in ancient lore about gray magic. He's come back with pizza and a six-pack, and how is he supposed to enjoy his dinner when Sam is pulling that Eeyore shit? Always with the Eeyore shit. Sam looks up at him with that long-suffering expression, and Dean just offers him the first bottle of beer.
They finish only half the pizza, but all of the beer. Sam follows Dean down to the shoreline, and splashes Dean back when Dean splashes him. They roll their jeans up to their knees and have a stone-skipping contest (Sam wins), and as the sun bows low and paints the whole beach orange, Dean grabs a fistful of Sam's shirt and pulls him close, kisses him. Keeps on kissing Sam until he relaxes and kisses back, cups Dean's face in his hands and kisses back, and Dean thinks it's worth it for this.
+
"You're alive," Dean feels like saying when they tumble onto the bed. He pushes up Sam's shirt and mouths the words against his belly, has to resist from giving him a raspberry because that would just ruin the mood. Sam reaches forward and grabs Dean's shirt, and Dean pulls back, letting the shirt slide off him.
"And this," Sam says, tugging at Dean's belt when he tries to crawl back on top of Sam.
Blood that runs through veins, air that rides inside it. The vigor with which Sam pushes Dean against the headboard makes Dean's breath catch, and Sam claims his mouth, bites his way down Dean's neck, bites his nipple hard enough for Dean to flinch and go, "Hey, watch it." And Sam just grins. He just smiles this wicked smile like Dean doesn't even know the half of it. He is naked but Sam is still clothed. Dean's about to give him some shit for it, maybe wrestle him out of at least his shirt, but Sam kisses his way down Dean's stomach, and a wise man probably once said, "It's difficult to get aggro when someone's giving you a blow job."
Sam licks the tip; he always starts that way. Sam closes his eyes and slides his lips over the head, swirling his tongue over the tip. Licks up the underside of Dean's cock, all up and down his shaft, and then Sam closes his hand around it, takes as much as he can into his mouth. The sight of it is wonderfully obscene. Dean can feel Sam's throat work, and he tangles one hand in Sam's hair, but Sam swats it away.
"Dude," Sam says, and his lips are wet, puffy and pink. "You know I hate it when you do that."
Dean holds up his hands. "'Kay, whatever, don't stop."
So Sam continues.
+
Afterward, Sam is lying on his stomach, quiet with contented aftermath. Dean is making his way up his brother's back. One kiss at the small of it, a handful more up his spine. Sam, vital and warm beneath him, not a miracle, but the opposite of one. Dean presses his cheek between Sam's shoulder blades, and closes his eyes. Drapes his body along the length of his brother, and makes a satisfied noise in his throat. Sam is damp and surprisingly pliant and alive, and Dean finds himself saying, "I can't believe it."
"Can't believe what?" Sam murmurs. "Dude, you're heavy."
"I ain't heavy, I'm your brother."
Sam shifts and half-rolls, and Dean lets himself slide off Sam and lie on his back. They stay like that for a while, nothing in the air except dust motes in sunlight and the sound of the surf outside. It whispers in, it whispers out back to sea. The next day they'll be back on the road and investigating exsanguinated corpses in Wytheville, but right now he is thinking of that seafood shack he saw down the beach. He and Sam can have dinner there. It's been a while since Dean's eaten clams.
Then, "Dean," Sam says. "What you did--"
"Hey."
"Dean--"
"Sam."
Sam raises his head, and the shadow of his bangs cast his eyes in shadow. "What, so are we not going to talk about it?"
Dean reaches over and brushes Sam's bangs to the side. "What is there to talk about?"
Because yeah, Dean has a habit of stating the obvious, but here are a few other habits: not giving up on his brother, taking the future one day at a time, and only looking back if the view is good.
"C'mere," says Dean.
And Sam looks at him for one beat, for two beats, before shifting closer and closing his eyes as Dean leans in for a kiss.
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