withimpunity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withimpunity) wrote2008-10-19 02:13 pm
withimpunity) wrote2008-10-19 02:13 pm
Entry tags:
fic: whichever you prefer - sam/dean - pron
Title: Whichever You Prefer
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1508
A/n: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shiplessheathen for the Fandom Free-for-All; she wanted impala sex. Title shamelessly stolen from this song.
My hopes are so high,
that your kiss might kill me.
So won't you kill me,
so I die happy.
My heart is yours to fill or burst,
to break or bury, or wear as jewelery,
which ever you prefer.
They’ve been in the car for two hours, nothing but AC/DC and road noise between them, but there‘s something there, like they‘ve both been sitting with their mouths open, waiting to talk about it. They’re just waiting for the other one to say it first.
“So.” Sam’s always the one to break first. It annoys the living shit out of him, but there’s not much he can do. That’s just the way Dean is, has been all his life. Sam folds up the map in his hands and stuffs it into the glove box. “Cas?”
The cassette tape clicks when it reaches the end and Dean pushes eject, reaching inside the small box on the seat between them for another. He glances over at Sam after pushing a tape with a scotch tape label reading BOC in Sam’s scritchy handwriting into the tape deck. “What?”
“You called the angel Cas, Dean. You two buddy-buddy now or something?”
“What? Hell no,” Dean growls slightly, glancing at Sam like he’d suggested Dean should go vegetarian or something equally disturbing. “Can’t stand that winged joker.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve already got nicknames for the guy? That’s…pretty gay, Dean.”
“Oh, Sammy.” Dean grins, leaning back against the seat and musses Sam’s hair. “Green isn’t your color, princess.”
“What the - oh shut up. You’re the one getting touched by an angel frequently.”
Dean laughs so hard he snorts. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.” He croons, then Sam pulls that face, the one he learned to make the first time Dean took his cookies away from him, and Dean starts laughing even harder.
“Laugh it up, jerk.”
“Is that,” Dean takes a deep breath, forcing the laughter down so that his words don‘t come out all stuttered. “Is that seriously what you think?”
Sam shrugs. “He’s already marked you.” He mumbles, staring out his window at the darkness. Gravel crunches under the tires as Dean pulls the car onto the shoulder.
“Hey, I didn’t ask for that.” Dean growls at him, turning his body toward Sam. He sounds angry, but this is just how Dean gets his point across. Sam’s still got the fat lip to prove it. “You know that. I don’t like the idea of being some angel’s bitch boy anymore than you.”
Sam turns sideways and faces him, pushes Dean’s shirt sleeve up his shoulder to expose the outline of an angel’s hand burned into his flesh. “I hate it.”
“I know you do.” Dean’s voice is low; his eyes are dark when Sam fits his hand over the mark Castiel left when he magically yanked him out of hell, pushing hard against Dean’s skin; he wonders if it hurts Dean. It looks like it would hurt, but Dean never says anything about it. Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulder, watching the skin around his fingertips whiten. He almost wants to bruise him, leave his own print on Dean, even if its only temporary. Then Sam could pretend that it was him who brought his brother back, not some warrior of God who’d like nothing better than to see his head on a pike.
“He doesn’t get to touch you anymore.” Sam says as his fingers curl around Dean’s bicep and pull him forward. He crushes Dean’s mouth with his, tracing the outline of his lips until they part, then he’s fighting his way inside Dean’s mouth, fighting for control, fighting to have his brother back.
It feels like drowning and Sam thinks that’s exactly what he wants to do. He wants to drown in Dean’s hands and mouth all over him, pulling him under until its just them, here, now. No fucking angels mucking things up, no demons telling him he can’t fight his destiny, just Dean’s mouth sliding against his, Dean’s fingers slipping underneath his shirt and ghosting over his ribs, Dean’s teeth biting into his lip. He wants this. He wants it so fucking bad.
“Sam, hey Sammy.” Dean stops when he tastes warm, salty tears on Sam’s lips, pulls him back by his hair and stares at him. “Don’t do this. We’re fine, okay?”
Sam nods, but Dean’s wrong. They haven’t been okay for a long fucking time.
Dean grabs both sides of Sam’s neck and holds onto him. “You know I didn’t mean that shit,” he spits his words at Sam like he’s angry and in some way, he is. He’s pissed at Sam for actually thinking Dean would trust a goddamn angel over his own blood. “You lied to me. Yeah, it hurt. So what. I’ve lied to you too.”
Sam nods, then nods again to prove to Dean that he understands. Then Dean’s grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and bringing Sam to him, bruising his mouth with kisses, biting and licking at his throat as Sam slides his hand under Dean’s shirt and palms his stomach.
“Want,” Sam whispers beside his ear as his hand slips lower, cupping Dean through his jeans.
“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is ragged against Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, Sammy. Me too.”
“Take off your pants,” Sam bites at Dean’s ear as he digs the heel of his hand against Dean’s erection. “Have to be inside you, Dean.”
Dean groans and drags his nails down Sam’s shoulders as Sam thumbs open the fly on his jeans. “You wanna fuck me, you better have some-”
“Glovebox,” Sam says with a shy smile and a shrug. “I like to be prepared.”
“Good boy.” Dean grins, tugging his jeans and underwear off his hips. “Knew that ocd would come in handy one day.”
Sam unbuttons his own jeans and pushes them barely past his hips, grabbing the small bottle of lube out of the glove box as Dean kicks his jeans off his feet and puts his hand on the back of the seat as he moves to straddle Sam.
“Ready?” Sam asks, smearing lube all over his fingers.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, forehead falling against Sam’s when he feels that first finger push inside of him, stretching him, making his cock hard and wet, pressed tight between their bodies. “Fuck, Sam. Yeah.”
Sam mouths at Dean’s throat and slowly adds another, pushing past the resistance of muscle gently, opening Dean up wide for him. Dean’s breath comes out in short, desperate pants against his neck and Sam wishes they were back in their room, laid out, completely naked. He’d turn Dean over and spread him wide, lick him open all wet and sloppy and just slide into him, like it was home.
“God, Sam-” Dean grits out as his fingers dig into Sam’s shoulders and he pushes down against Sam’s hand. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“Okay,” Sam lips move against Dean’s throat and he grabs the bottle of lube next to his thigh, squeezing a little more into his palm to slick up his cock before pushing inside of Dean, throwing his head back and groaning loud and guttural as Dean sinks down onto him and starts rocking his hips.
“Dean,” he whimpers, clutching at Dean’s back as he rides him so fucking slow its killing him. “Fuck, so good.”
Dean doesn’t say anything, just presses his sweaty forehead to Sam’s and rocks his hips back and forth, Sam’s cock sliding almost all the way out of him before sinking back down on it, the muscles inside of him squeezing around Sam so tight he’s nearly sobbing.
“God, Dean. I can’t-” help it, he means to say, grabbing hold of Dean’s hips and fucking into him hard and rough, watching Dean’s bottom lip being pulled between his teeth, the smear of red that paints his mouth when he breaks the skin.
“Mine,” Sam growls, sitting up, biting at the fluttering pulse point on Dean’ throat. “Fucking mine.”
“God, just, yeah. Fuck,” Dean groans, then Sam’s reaching between their bodies, fisting Dean’s cock like it’s a race, seems like everything always is, sucking on Dean’s neck until the blood vessels burst beneath the surface, and Dean makes this whining sound when he comes.
Sam watches Dean’s face, the angle of his neck, the utter beauty of him when he comes. Concentrates on Dean’s broken skin and the way it feels inside of him, quaking and quivering, pulling Sam in until he feels like all the air’s being forced out of his lungs; its like the calm before the storm. Then Dean leans forward, mouth sliding sloppy against Sam’s and Sam can taste copper on his tongue. He thrust into Dean one last time and the orgasm crawls up from his toes until his whole body is shaking from it, spilling inside of Dean, grabbing the back of his head and bruising his mouth as he comes.
“You’re so stupid,” Dean murmurs, cradling Sam’s head against his shoulder. “You know that?”
“Yeah,” Sam sniffles, still holding onto to Dean like he might slip away. “I know that.”
A semi truck honks its horn at them as it passes and they don’t know if its out of disgust or encouragement, but either way they figure they should get going.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1508
A/n: Written for
shiplessheathen for the Fandom Free-for-All; she wanted impala sex. Title shamelessly stolen from this song.My hopes are so high,
that your kiss might kill me.
So won't you kill me,
so I die happy.
My heart is yours to fill or burst,
to break or bury, or wear as jewelery,
which ever you prefer.
They’ve been in the car for two hours, nothing but AC/DC and road noise between them, but there‘s something there, like they‘ve both been sitting with their mouths open, waiting to talk about it. They’re just waiting for the other one to say it first.
“So.” Sam’s always the one to break first. It annoys the living shit out of him, but there’s not much he can do. That’s just the way Dean is, has been all his life. Sam folds up the map in his hands and stuffs it into the glove box. “Cas?”
The cassette tape clicks when it reaches the end and Dean pushes eject, reaching inside the small box on the seat between them for another. He glances over at Sam after pushing a tape with a scotch tape label reading BOC in Sam’s scritchy handwriting into the tape deck. “What?”
“You called the angel Cas, Dean. You two buddy-buddy now or something?”
“What? Hell no,” Dean growls slightly, glancing at Sam like he’d suggested Dean should go vegetarian or something equally disturbing. “Can’t stand that winged joker.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve already got nicknames for the guy? That’s…pretty gay, Dean.”
“Oh, Sammy.” Dean grins, leaning back against the seat and musses Sam’s hair. “Green isn’t your color, princess.”
“What the - oh shut up. You’re the one getting touched by an angel frequently.”
Dean laughs so hard he snorts. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.” He croons, then Sam pulls that face, the one he learned to make the first time Dean took his cookies away from him, and Dean starts laughing even harder.
“Laugh it up, jerk.”
“Is that,” Dean takes a deep breath, forcing the laughter down so that his words don‘t come out all stuttered. “Is that seriously what you think?”
Sam shrugs. “He’s already marked you.” He mumbles, staring out his window at the darkness. Gravel crunches under the tires as Dean pulls the car onto the shoulder.
“Hey, I didn’t ask for that.” Dean growls at him, turning his body toward Sam. He sounds angry, but this is just how Dean gets his point across. Sam’s still got the fat lip to prove it. “You know that. I don’t like the idea of being some angel’s bitch boy anymore than you.”
Sam turns sideways and faces him, pushes Dean’s shirt sleeve up his shoulder to expose the outline of an angel’s hand burned into his flesh. “I hate it.”
“I know you do.” Dean’s voice is low; his eyes are dark when Sam fits his hand over the mark Castiel left when he magically yanked him out of hell, pushing hard against Dean’s skin; he wonders if it hurts Dean. It looks like it would hurt, but Dean never says anything about it. Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulder, watching the skin around his fingertips whiten. He almost wants to bruise him, leave his own print on Dean, even if its only temporary. Then Sam could pretend that it was him who brought his brother back, not some warrior of God who’d like nothing better than to see his head on a pike.
“He doesn’t get to touch you anymore.” Sam says as his fingers curl around Dean’s bicep and pull him forward. He crushes Dean’s mouth with his, tracing the outline of his lips until they part, then he’s fighting his way inside Dean’s mouth, fighting for control, fighting to have his brother back.
It feels like drowning and Sam thinks that’s exactly what he wants to do. He wants to drown in Dean’s hands and mouth all over him, pulling him under until its just them, here, now. No fucking angels mucking things up, no demons telling him he can’t fight his destiny, just Dean’s mouth sliding against his, Dean’s fingers slipping underneath his shirt and ghosting over his ribs, Dean’s teeth biting into his lip. He wants this. He wants it so fucking bad.
“Sam, hey Sammy.” Dean stops when he tastes warm, salty tears on Sam’s lips, pulls him back by his hair and stares at him. “Don’t do this. We’re fine, okay?”
Sam nods, but Dean’s wrong. They haven’t been okay for a long fucking time.
Dean grabs both sides of Sam’s neck and holds onto him. “You know I didn’t mean that shit,” he spits his words at Sam like he’s angry and in some way, he is. He’s pissed at Sam for actually thinking Dean would trust a goddamn angel over his own blood. “You lied to me. Yeah, it hurt. So what. I’ve lied to you too.”
Sam nods, then nods again to prove to Dean that he understands. Then Dean’s grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and bringing Sam to him, bruising his mouth with kisses, biting and licking at his throat as Sam slides his hand under Dean’s shirt and palms his stomach.
“Want,” Sam whispers beside his ear as his hand slips lower, cupping Dean through his jeans.
“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is ragged against Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, Sammy. Me too.”
“Take off your pants,” Sam bites at Dean’s ear as he digs the heel of his hand against Dean’s erection. “Have to be inside you, Dean.”
Dean groans and drags his nails down Sam’s shoulders as Sam thumbs open the fly on his jeans. “You wanna fuck me, you better have some-”
“Glovebox,” Sam says with a shy smile and a shrug. “I like to be prepared.”
“Good boy.” Dean grins, tugging his jeans and underwear off his hips. “Knew that ocd would come in handy one day.”
Sam unbuttons his own jeans and pushes them barely past his hips, grabbing the small bottle of lube out of the glove box as Dean kicks his jeans off his feet and puts his hand on the back of the seat as he moves to straddle Sam.
“Ready?” Sam asks, smearing lube all over his fingers.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, forehead falling against Sam’s when he feels that first finger push inside of him, stretching him, making his cock hard and wet, pressed tight between their bodies. “Fuck, Sam. Yeah.”
Sam mouths at Dean’s throat and slowly adds another, pushing past the resistance of muscle gently, opening Dean up wide for him. Dean’s breath comes out in short, desperate pants against his neck and Sam wishes they were back in their room, laid out, completely naked. He’d turn Dean over and spread him wide, lick him open all wet and sloppy and just slide into him, like it was home.
“God, Sam-” Dean grits out as his fingers dig into Sam’s shoulders and he pushes down against Sam’s hand. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“Okay,” Sam lips move against Dean’s throat and he grabs the bottle of lube next to his thigh, squeezing a little more into his palm to slick up his cock before pushing inside of Dean, throwing his head back and groaning loud and guttural as Dean sinks down onto him and starts rocking his hips.
“Dean,” he whimpers, clutching at Dean’s back as he rides him so fucking slow its killing him. “Fuck, so good.”
Dean doesn’t say anything, just presses his sweaty forehead to Sam’s and rocks his hips back and forth, Sam’s cock sliding almost all the way out of him before sinking back down on it, the muscles inside of him squeezing around Sam so tight he’s nearly sobbing.
“God, Dean. I can’t-” help it, he means to say, grabbing hold of Dean’s hips and fucking into him hard and rough, watching Dean’s bottom lip being pulled between his teeth, the smear of red that paints his mouth when he breaks the skin.
“Mine,” Sam growls, sitting up, biting at the fluttering pulse point on Dean’ throat. “Fucking mine.”
“God, just, yeah. Fuck,” Dean groans, then Sam’s reaching between their bodies, fisting Dean’s cock like it’s a race, seems like everything always is, sucking on Dean’s neck until the blood vessels burst beneath the surface, and Dean makes this whining sound when he comes.
Sam watches Dean’s face, the angle of his neck, the utter beauty of him when he comes. Concentrates on Dean’s broken skin and the way it feels inside of him, quaking and quivering, pulling Sam in until he feels like all the air’s being forced out of his lungs; its like the calm before the storm. Then Dean leans forward, mouth sliding sloppy against Sam’s and Sam can taste copper on his tongue. He thrust into Dean one last time and the orgasm crawls up from his toes until his whole body is shaking from it, spilling inside of Dean, grabbing the back of his head and bruising his mouth as he comes.
“You’re so stupid,” Dean murmurs, cradling Sam’s head against his shoulder. “You know that?”
“Yeah,” Sam sniffles, still holding onto to Dean like he might slip away. “I know that.”
A semi truck honks its horn at them as it passes and they don’t know if its out of disgust or encouragement, but either way they figure they should get going.