eachdraidhean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eachdraidhean) wrote2013-02-16 10:52 pm
eachdraidhean) wrote2013-02-16 10:52 pm
In the Morning's Light
Title: In the Morning's Light
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean reconnect.
Warnings: Major spoilers for the last couple of episodes of season 8. Not yet beta'd
Word Count: 1796
Sam goes through the files spread on the solid wood table. He cross references what he finds with ancient bound texts and with the searches he does on his laptop. The sleek machine should look out of place amongst the once state of the art technology and furnishings, but it fits right in. Another tool in the fight against evil, the evolution of all that the Men of Letters used in their day.
Sam sits back and glances around again. He’s still expecting someone or something to take it all away. The books and the work, the possibilities for research, the place that feels more like home than anywhere else has since Bobby’s place.
Sam picks up the half empty beer bottle sitting next to the laptop and raises it in a silent toast to the man he knows would have been almost as fascinated with their find as Sam himself is.
He leans back in his chair and raises the bottle to his lips. If Abbadon hadn’t forced Henry to jump through time, and he’d lived to pass on his legacy to John, Sam might have ended up sitting exactly where he was right now, helping with research on whatever threat the Letters were dealing with.
He might have graduated from Stanford, might have married Jess. Sam wipes a hand over his face and finishes the bottle off. If he thought of all the possibilities, all the alternate lives they could have led if things had gone differently, he would drive himself crazy, and he’d had enough of that for one lifetime already.
Sam lets the peace settle back in his soul, runs his fingers along the pages as he reads and taps out a familiar rhythm on the keyboard as he types in his findings. Card records are a useful tool, but not exactly portable. Sam thinks on the possibilities of upgrading the place and wonders if Charlie would be up for helping him.
But that’s something to think about another day. It’s late, and he’s finally tired enough to be thinking about sleep. Sam saves the file he’s working on and closes the laptop. Sam switches off the lights as he walks towards the living quarters down a hall to the left of the library. He’s got his own room now. It’s small and functional. A bed down one wall, and closets against the other. Sam looks into his room from the doorway, and bites his lip. It’s as impersonal as a motel room, maybe even more so with his clothes folded neatly and put away in drawers or hung in the closets. There’s no small sprawl of belongings from his duffle bag in the corner of the room.
Sam doesn’t go in. He walks a little further down the corridor to the next door which stands halfway open. There’s a warm glow from the lamp on the nightstand and even before he steps over the threshold, he can see a mess of shirts and socks spilling out of a bag in the corner of the room. There’s a sleepy snuffle from the body sprawled over the bed, half under the covers, one leg on top of the blankets, toes stretching and relaxing as Dean turns over and settles again.
Sam smiles. Fondness warming his heart. Dean’s here, alive, and he appreciates the place as much as Sam does. In between keeping Sam fed as he works, it’s been comforting to hear Dean exploring the place and tinkering with some of the 1950’s machinery to work out what makes it tick.
Sam leans against the doorway, glancing around the room that Dean has begun to make his own. The only thing that’s missing is natural light. The Letter’s bunker is safe, and it’s starting to feel like home. It’s their own hobbit hole, dug into the earth, but Hobbit holes have windows. There’s a flash of memory, Dean laid out on a bed in one of the countless motel rooms they’d stayed it. It was one of the worse ones with stained carpet and a funky smell in the bathroom, but he’d woken up early, and a shaft of soft sunlight had cut across the bed, making Dean’s skin glow. Sam’s always thought that Dean belongs in the light, even though they live their lives in the dark.
Now Sam’s fingers itch with the need to touch and hold, but he doesn’t know how to begin. For so long, before Purgatory, they fit together, belonged together, but now he doesn’t know how to get Dean back, not like that.
Sam doesn’t want to go back to his own room. As a kid, it was all he wanted, a room of his own but the reality is different. Everything he wants is in this room. His own is an empty space surrounded by walls and dirt. They’ve shared a room for so long that Sam doesn’t want to sleep alone. He wonders if Dean would let him drag another bed in here, but he shakes his head. Dean’s been so pleased to have his own room that Sam doesn’t want to take it away from him. He lets out a soft sigh and pushes away from the doorframe.
“You gonna stand there all night or get in here?”
Sam’s startled by Dean’s sleep roughened voice and stares at him.
“I left the light on for you.”
Sam swallows and takes a step closer to the bed. As he does, Dean shifts back, making room for Sam and willing to share his new mattress with him. Sam pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down his legs before he sits down on the edge of the bed to take his boots and socks off. Dean’s hand runs down his back, and Sam’s soul settles. After everything, the fact that Dean can still do that to him with a single touch warms Sam.
He’s going to leave his t shirt on, but Dean’s fingers pluck at the hem, so he tugs that off too, glad of the natural warmth their burrow gives them. Sam lies back as Dean pulls of his own t shirt and looks down at Sam. Sam reaches for him as he dips his head down, and skin meets skin as their lips brush together. Sam sighs and pulls Dean closer, relearning the taste of him, kissing him until his lips are tender and craving more. Dean eases back, pushing Sam down to the bed when he tries to follow, brushing calloused fingers across Sam’s mouth as he shifts lower on the bed and laps at Sam’s nipple as he slips his fingers under the waist band of Sam’s boxers and eases them down over one hip. Sam gets with the program, lifting his ass off the bed and finishing the job, throwing them off to the side.
Dean’s smirk is as evil as Sam’s ever seen it as he moves over Sam, and dips his head, swiping his tongue up the now hard length of Sam’s dick. Sam shivers, his body tensing at the familiar sensation he’s missed so much. He watches with rapt attention as Dean moves his plush lips over the swollen head, not quite opening them to take Sam in, just enough to tease and torment, his tongue darting out to swipe up the bead of moisture that escapes as Sam begins to pant.
“Please, Dean.” Sam begs shamelessly, his hand coming to rest on his brother’s head, not to force or urge, just to touch and pet, fingers uncoordinated and shaking.
“Shh, Sammy,” Dean soothes, and opens his mouth, velvet heat engulfing the first two inches of Sam’s cock.
Sam’s panting becomes harsher now. He watches as Dean takes him further in, inch by inch until he’s nuzzling the hair at the base of Sam’s dick with his nose and Sam’s hands are clenching in the sheets. Warm and wet, Dean’s mouth sucks and pulls at him, demanding, taking, and Sam can’t stop his hips from bucking up, pushing himself into Dean who takes everything Sam has to give. Dean swallows around him, throat convulsing, reaching up to pinch at one of Sam’s nipples at the same time and Sam can’s hold back. It’s almost too much after too long, and he grasps Dean’s shoulder as he comes, rocking up into his mouth, whimpering Dean’s name as he shudders through it.
Dean slowly lets Sam slip from between his lips, licking the last of Sam’s come from his dick as he does. Sam gazes up at him through dazed eyes as Dean kneels over his hips, and takes his own dick in hand. He looks down at Sam as he pulls on it, lust blown eyes dark and wanton. Sam reaches for him, one hand wrapping around Dean’s cock, the other pulling him forward until Dean’s on all fours above him and close enough for Sam to kiss. He slips his tongue into Dean’s mouth, fucking him with it as he works his dick until Dean is groaning around it and shooting over Sam’s chest, hot spurts on his skin making him shiver.
Sam pushes Dean down to the bed where he lies panting as Sam cleans them both up with one of their discarded t shirts. Sam gathers Dean up in his arms and Dean settles against him, sighing contentedly.
“What took you so long, anyway?” Dean asks. “You can’t sit up every night going through that stuff.”
“I have to, Dean.”
“Not all at once.”
“But …”
“We’re not going anywhere, Sammy. If there was ever a place to settle, maybe this is it. It’s not like it belongs to anyone else, and if things had been different …”
Sam kisses Dean, partly for thinking the same thing he’d been thinking earlier, partly for not wanting to leave and partly because he can kiss him again. Whenever he wants.
They fall asleep with the lamp on, casting it’s warm glow around the room.
Sam wakes up first in the morning. He stretches and nuzzles the back of Dean’s neck, drinking in the familiar scent as he runs his hand over Dean’s shoulder. Dean was right about the mattress. It has to be the most comfortable thing that Sam’s ever slept on, but that’s not why he slept so well. He’s back where he belongs, curled around his brother, and now they even have their own bed. That’s something Sam wants to get used to. Sam kisses Dean’s back and Dean purrs appreciatively, slowly beginning to wake up. Sam trails kisses up his neck until Dean’s squirming and turning over to gaze up at Sam. His lazy smile and the light dancing in his eyes brightens Sam’s morning. It’s the only light he needs.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean reconnect.
Warnings: Major spoilers for the last couple of episodes of season 8. Not yet beta'd
Word Count: 1796
Sam goes through the files spread on the solid wood table. He cross references what he finds with ancient bound texts and with the searches he does on his laptop. The sleek machine should look out of place amongst the once state of the art technology and furnishings, but it fits right in. Another tool in the fight against evil, the evolution of all that the Men of Letters used in their day.
Sam sits back and glances around again. He’s still expecting someone or something to take it all away. The books and the work, the possibilities for research, the place that feels more like home than anywhere else has since Bobby’s place.
Sam picks up the half empty beer bottle sitting next to the laptop and raises it in a silent toast to the man he knows would have been almost as fascinated with their find as Sam himself is.
He leans back in his chair and raises the bottle to his lips. If Abbadon hadn’t forced Henry to jump through time, and he’d lived to pass on his legacy to John, Sam might have ended up sitting exactly where he was right now, helping with research on whatever threat the Letters were dealing with.
He might have graduated from Stanford, might have married Jess. Sam wipes a hand over his face and finishes the bottle off. If he thought of all the possibilities, all the alternate lives they could have led if things had gone differently, he would drive himself crazy, and he’d had enough of that for one lifetime already.
Sam lets the peace settle back in his soul, runs his fingers along the pages as he reads and taps out a familiar rhythm on the keyboard as he types in his findings. Card records are a useful tool, but not exactly portable. Sam thinks on the possibilities of upgrading the place and wonders if Charlie would be up for helping him.
But that’s something to think about another day. It’s late, and he’s finally tired enough to be thinking about sleep. Sam saves the file he’s working on and closes the laptop. Sam switches off the lights as he walks towards the living quarters down a hall to the left of the library. He’s got his own room now. It’s small and functional. A bed down one wall, and closets against the other. Sam looks into his room from the doorway, and bites his lip. It’s as impersonal as a motel room, maybe even more so with his clothes folded neatly and put away in drawers or hung in the closets. There’s no small sprawl of belongings from his duffle bag in the corner of the room.
Sam doesn’t go in. He walks a little further down the corridor to the next door which stands halfway open. There’s a warm glow from the lamp on the nightstand and even before he steps over the threshold, he can see a mess of shirts and socks spilling out of a bag in the corner of the room. There’s a sleepy snuffle from the body sprawled over the bed, half under the covers, one leg on top of the blankets, toes stretching and relaxing as Dean turns over and settles again.
Sam smiles. Fondness warming his heart. Dean’s here, alive, and he appreciates the place as much as Sam does. In between keeping Sam fed as he works, it’s been comforting to hear Dean exploring the place and tinkering with some of the 1950’s machinery to work out what makes it tick.
Sam leans against the doorway, glancing around the room that Dean has begun to make his own. The only thing that’s missing is natural light. The Letter’s bunker is safe, and it’s starting to feel like home. It’s their own hobbit hole, dug into the earth, but Hobbit holes have windows. There’s a flash of memory, Dean laid out on a bed in one of the countless motel rooms they’d stayed it. It was one of the worse ones with stained carpet and a funky smell in the bathroom, but he’d woken up early, and a shaft of soft sunlight had cut across the bed, making Dean’s skin glow. Sam’s always thought that Dean belongs in the light, even though they live their lives in the dark.
Now Sam’s fingers itch with the need to touch and hold, but he doesn’t know how to begin. For so long, before Purgatory, they fit together, belonged together, but now he doesn’t know how to get Dean back, not like that.
Sam doesn’t want to go back to his own room. As a kid, it was all he wanted, a room of his own but the reality is different. Everything he wants is in this room. His own is an empty space surrounded by walls and dirt. They’ve shared a room for so long that Sam doesn’t want to sleep alone. He wonders if Dean would let him drag another bed in here, but he shakes his head. Dean’s been so pleased to have his own room that Sam doesn’t want to take it away from him. He lets out a soft sigh and pushes away from the doorframe.
“You gonna stand there all night or get in here?”
Sam’s startled by Dean’s sleep roughened voice and stares at him.
“I left the light on for you.”
Sam swallows and takes a step closer to the bed. As he does, Dean shifts back, making room for Sam and willing to share his new mattress with him. Sam pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down his legs before he sits down on the edge of the bed to take his boots and socks off. Dean’s hand runs down his back, and Sam’s soul settles. After everything, the fact that Dean can still do that to him with a single touch warms Sam.
He’s going to leave his t shirt on, but Dean’s fingers pluck at the hem, so he tugs that off too, glad of the natural warmth their burrow gives them. Sam lies back as Dean pulls of his own t shirt and looks down at Sam. Sam reaches for him as he dips his head down, and skin meets skin as their lips brush together. Sam sighs and pulls Dean closer, relearning the taste of him, kissing him until his lips are tender and craving more. Dean eases back, pushing Sam down to the bed when he tries to follow, brushing calloused fingers across Sam’s mouth as he shifts lower on the bed and laps at Sam’s nipple as he slips his fingers under the waist band of Sam’s boxers and eases them down over one hip. Sam gets with the program, lifting his ass off the bed and finishing the job, throwing them off to the side.
Dean’s smirk is as evil as Sam’s ever seen it as he moves over Sam, and dips his head, swiping his tongue up the now hard length of Sam’s dick. Sam shivers, his body tensing at the familiar sensation he’s missed so much. He watches with rapt attention as Dean moves his plush lips over the swollen head, not quite opening them to take Sam in, just enough to tease and torment, his tongue darting out to swipe up the bead of moisture that escapes as Sam begins to pant.
“Please, Dean.” Sam begs shamelessly, his hand coming to rest on his brother’s head, not to force or urge, just to touch and pet, fingers uncoordinated and shaking.
“Shh, Sammy,” Dean soothes, and opens his mouth, velvet heat engulfing the first two inches of Sam’s cock.
Sam’s panting becomes harsher now. He watches as Dean takes him further in, inch by inch until he’s nuzzling the hair at the base of Sam’s dick with his nose and Sam’s hands are clenching in the sheets. Warm and wet, Dean’s mouth sucks and pulls at him, demanding, taking, and Sam can’t stop his hips from bucking up, pushing himself into Dean who takes everything Sam has to give. Dean swallows around him, throat convulsing, reaching up to pinch at one of Sam’s nipples at the same time and Sam can’s hold back. It’s almost too much after too long, and he grasps Dean’s shoulder as he comes, rocking up into his mouth, whimpering Dean’s name as he shudders through it.
Dean slowly lets Sam slip from between his lips, licking the last of Sam’s come from his dick as he does. Sam gazes up at him through dazed eyes as Dean kneels over his hips, and takes his own dick in hand. He looks down at Sam as he pulls on it, lust blown eyes dark and wanton. Sam reaches for him, one hand wrapping around Dean’s cock, the other pulling him forward until Dean’s on all fours above him and close enough for Sam to kiss. He slips his tongue into Dean’s mouth, fucking him with it as he works his dick until Dean is groaning around it and shooting over Sam’s chest, hot spurts on his skin making him shiver.
Sam pushes Dean down to the bed where he lies panting as Sam cleans them both up with one of their discarded t shirts. Sam gathers Dean up in his arms and Dean settles against him, sighing contentedly.
“What took you so long, anyway?” Dean asks. “You can’t sit up every night going through that stuff.”
“I have to, Dean.”
“Not all at once.”
“But …”
“We’re not going anywhere, Sammy. If there was ever a place to settle, maybe this is it. It’s not like it belongs to anyone else, and if things had been different …”
Sam kisses Dean, partly for thinking the same thing he’d been thinking earlier, partly for not wanting to leave and partly because he can kiss him again. Whenever he wants.
They fall asleep with the lamp on, casting it’s warm glow around the room.
Sam wakes up first in the morning. He stretches and nuzzles the back of Dean’s neck, drinking in the familiar scent as he runs his hand over Dean’s shoulder. Dean was right about the mattress. It has to be the most comfortable thing that Sam’s ever slept on, but that’s not why he slept so well. He’s back where he belongs, curled around his brother, and now they even have their own bed. That’s something Sam wants to get used to. Sam kisses Dean’s back and Dean purrs appreciatively, slowly beginning to wake up. Sam trails kisses up his neck until Dean’s squirming and turning over to gaze up at Sam. His lazy smile and the light dancing in his eyes brightens Sam’s morning. It’s the only light he needs.