eachdraidhean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eachdraidhean) wrote2013-06-02 06:24 pm
eachdraidhean) wrote2013-06-02 06:24 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Touch Me
Title: Touch Me
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/character: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2325
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seleneheart
Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sammessiah Anti-Christmas fic exchange, for keep_waking_up. I worked with the prompt "Sam likes to watch as he uses his powers with Dean". Hope this works for you!
Summary: AU in which Sam rescues Dean from Hell, and takes control of his powers.
Dean remembers dying, and he remembers Hell.
Razor wire that sank through his skin and dug into the fine bones of his wrists and ankles as he struggled to be free of the restraints that held him suspended in nothingness, the hooks that tore into muscle, pulling and twisting. He remembers screaming for Sam as his body was ripped apart, only to materialize again, hanging in the vast emptiness of his own personal Hell.
Not real, not real. He had tried to make it his mantra, but as his flesh ripped apart again and any hope of rational thought was torn away, all he could do was scream.
“Sam! Sammy!”
Dean also remembers the day his prayers were answered.
About to cast him back into the razor wire pit, Alistair paused. His head snapped forward, blood suddenly dripping from the corners of his mouth as he struggled, but something held him, preventing him from smoking away. He looked human as he died, a facsimile of whichever meatsuit he’d favored topside crumpling at Dean’s feet.
Dean raised his eyes, almost collapsing himself as he looked up at his savior, at Sam, and looked into Sam’s white eyes.
“Sammy …”
For all his screaming, all the pleas for Sam to save him, he’d never wanted that.
Sam had caught him, and before he could do more than clutch at Sam’s Jacket, Sam’s hand was against his forehead and a language that Dean didn’t recognize was pouring from Sam’s lips. Dean arched back, his soul supported in Sam’s arms, and his world had finally gone thankfully black.
The first thing he was aware of was murmured voices, Sam and Bobby, but the comfort of familiarity was tempered by harsh tones.
“Look after him.”
“Don’t do this, Sam.”
“Got no choice.”
“Damn it!”
Dean had tried to focus, but the voices stopped, and he slipped back into welcome sleep. It was the rich, dark scent of coffee brewing, strong and bitter, just how Bobby liked it, that teased him awake. He remembered blinking and warily looking around the room, his memory clouded and indistinct. His shirt, it wasn’t shredded or torn but fragments of a hellhound filled nightmare made him frown as he sat up, swinging his legs round and planting his feet on solid ground.
“Freaky,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head and standing up.
He had been unexpectedly unsteady on his feet and then Bobby was there, wide eyed, slipping an arm round his shoulders and easing him back down to sit on the couch.
“Take it easy, son.”
Bobby crouched in front of him, obviously spooked to hell, and a cold shiver crawled up Dean’s spine.
“You’ve been through a lot.”
Most of all, what he remembered about his first morning out of hell was the way the memories slammed into him. Memories, not dreams. Nightmares come to life flooded his senses and he remembered everything. Dying as the hellhounds ripped into him, hanging in nothingness, being pulled apart again and again, Alistair taking his time, and then Sam. Sam coming for him.
Real, it had all been real.
“Where’s Sam?” Dean had dug his fingers into Bobby’s arm, demanding an answer. “Where is he?”
“He promised he’d be back soon.”
It wasn’t an answer, and they both knew it.
“Is he …” Dean couldn’t form the words. “Did he …”
“He’ll be back,” Bobby repeated.
“No, no, no.” Dean rocked forward, almost pitching off the couch, but then there was another pair of hands helping Bobby right him, and push him back. The stink of sulphur made him retch and when he looked up, he was looking up at Sam.
“Dean, it’s okay, calm down, you’re safe.”
“What did you do?” Dean demanded in an almost whisper, not really wanting the answer he knew he was going to get.
“What I had to.”
There had been regret in Sam’s eyes, the last thing Dean had seen before he passed out again.
Two Months Later
It’s almost light when Dean gets back to the motel room he’s been staying at. It was a relatively simple salt and burn, and he came away with nothing but a few scratches. He glances at the empty passenger seat, and sighs. It’s not the same on his own.
Dean glances at the pale sliver of light on the horizon as he gets out of the car and walks towards the door, fishing the motel key out of his pocket. Opening the door messes up the salt line and he bends down to repair it, slowly uncurling from a crouch when the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he realizes he’s not alone in the room. His hand slips under his jacket to retrieve his gun from where it’s nestled against the small of his back. He reaches out with his other hand to find the light switch but he’s slammed against the wall, an invisible force holding him there.
Dean’s heart is pounding as he glances around, eyes slowly becoming used to the semi darkness. He swallows as a figure emerges from the far corner of the room and walks towards him. Even in the low light, he can see that Sam is pissed off.
“Sam …,” Dean starts, but Sam is suddenly right there, glaring at him.
“You were supposed to wait.” Sam takes the gun from Dean’s fingers, and lays it on the table.
“And you didn’t show.” Now it’s Dean’s turn to be pissed.
“I had things to do, you know that, Dean.”
“So I’m supposed to wait around until you’ve got an opening in your schedule?” Dean rolls his eyes.
“Yes!” Sam yells, and the room is suddenly ablaze with light.
Dean wonders if Sam lit the rest of the motel up too or if it’s just their room.
“What if it hadn’t been a ghost?” Sam continues. “What if it had been a trap?”
Sam’s hold on Dean tightens. Dean coughs and jerks in Sam’s grasp, eyes pleading, and then the hold is gone, and Dean lands on the floor with a thud. Sam stalks away and with a sigh Dean picks himself up and takes off his jacket, throwing it onto the bed nearest the door. Tentatively he reaches for Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder, and pulling him round to face him. Sam’s arms are stiff at his sides, his fists clenched tight. He doesn’t relax when Dean’s hand moves onto his neck, not at first, but Dean feels the tension ebb as he nuzzles the side of Sam’s face and pulls him close enough for their foreheads to touch.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m fine and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can’t lose you again,” Sam growls and kisses him, bringing his hands up to cradle Dean’s face as he plunders his mouth.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Dean pants as he has to break for air. Beneath his fingers, Dean can feel power thrumming just below the surface of Sam’s skin. It’s coiled and unstable as Sam’s emotions run high.
“I could make you stay put.”
There’s an edge of menace in Sam’s voice that would scare the shit out of anyone else, but it sends shivers down Dean’s spine and he presses his body closer, until his hardening dick is against Sam’s hip.
“Yeah? Just because you’ve got all those demons whipped doesn’t mean … “ Dean’s teasing is cut short as he’s pushed forcibly backwards and lands on the bed with a grunt. He lies, pinned in place as Sam slowly saunters over, unbuttoning his shirt as he gets closer.
“Maybe I should take them up on their offer,” Sam muses as he takes his shirt off and pulls his t shirt off over his head. He sits down on the bed opposite and unties the laces on his boots as he continues. “I think a palace might be a good idea after all, so I could lock you away and know exactly where you are every minute of every day.”
Dean watches as he stands up again, popping the buttons on his jeans and slowly pushing them down his long legs. Dean whimpers and struggles again, wanting to touch, to taste. It’s been days since they’ve seen each other and Dean’s hungry for Sam.
“I could keep you in a harem,” Sam ponders his options as invisible hands begin to undress Dean. “You’d look good in silk.” Sam smirks and Dean glares at him. “I’d have you bathed, and shaved and kept ready for me whenever I wanted.”
Dean whimpers. Sam’s fantasy has its good points, and the idea of being pampered by hordes of beautiful chicks makes Dean squirm. As his shirts land in a pile by the bed, he tilts his head up and watches as the zipper on his jeans is pulled down. He looks up at Sam, who’s standing at the foot of the bed, stroking his cock. Multi-tasking is something that Dean always admired in Sam, but he’s taken it to new levels since he embraced his powers.
As the rest of Dean’s clothes and his boots land on the floor, Sam sits beside him, and reaches out his hand to pinch and roll one of Dean’s nipples between his fingers. As he does so, Dean feels hands wrap around his ankles and wrists, holding him down as Dean bucks and pushes his chest out, wanting more of whatever Sam wants to give. The invisible hands rearrange him on the bed, pulling his arms above his head and his legs wide apart. Sam straddles his chest, grinning as Dean tests his hold and squirms.
The thing that always gets him when Sam’s holding him down like this, is that it isn’t the same as being handcuffed, or being tied down with leather or silk. It’s Sam’s hands he feels around his wrists and ankles. He knows Sam’s touch well enough to recognize it, to feel the swipe of his thumb against his ankle, the touch of his fingers against the pulse at his wrist at the same time, and his fingers in Dean’s hair as he straddles Dean’s chest and pushes the head of his cock against Dean’s mouth. Sam’s got enough control of his power to have it manifest exactly how he wants it to, and the bastard knows how much it turns Dean on to be touched in all the right places all at the same time.
Dean looks up and parts his lips just enough to let the tip of his tongue graze over Sam’s dick. It’s his turn to grin as Sam shudders and presses forwards, just as Dean opens his mouth and welcomes Sam in.
Now Dean’s legs are pushed up until his knees are bent. Sam slips his fingers into Dean’s mouth and once they are good and wet, leans back and pushes one, then two of them inside Dean’s hole. Dean admires the view of Sam’s glistening cock jutting out from his body as he arches back, and wriggles as much as he can under the circumstances, pushing himself down onto Sam’s hand. As Sam sits forward again, Dean feels something blunt and familiar nudge at his ass cheeks at the same time that a warm mouth envelopes his cock. Sam goes back to fucking his mouth in long smooth strokes, groaning as Dean’s tongue works him, and Dean’s whole body shudders at the overload of pleasure.
“Close your eyes,” Sam whispers, and for once Dean does as he’s told and gives himself up to pure sensation.
Sam stokes his thighs and arms. He’s inside Dean in more ways than one, stretching his ass and fucking his mouth, and he’s around him, warm and wet and sucking him down.
“Sammy!” Dean moans, body tensing until it’s coaxed over the edge and he comes, spurting heat onto his stomach as Sam fills his mouth. Dean swallows, shaking as the ghostly hands disappear and he’s left alone with Sam.
He’s too wrecked to move, so Sam cleans the mess off his belly and flops down beside him. Soft kisses get lazier until Sam’s dozing, pressed against his side. Dean nuzzles the top of Sam’s head and strokes his shoulder.
The demons don’t get it, and Dean knows they never will. They offered Sam a palace, complete with a household of willing slaves, even grudgingly extended the invitation to Dean too, but Sam had declined. Even though Dean was put out at not being consulted about it first, they both knew that Sam’s home is on the road, side by side with Dean.
Sam’s got obligations now, responsibilities that Dean doesn’t envy. Sam rules Hell, he attends meetings, gives orders, and generally holds demonic legions in the palm of his hand. And when he’s done, he finds Dean, and they hit the road. Dean knows It helps keep him sane. Sam’s made a lot of changes since he came to power, and not all of his subjects approve.
Most demons seem to relish the new mission statement that Sam issued, which instructs them to hunt down werewolves and vampires, restless spirits and all manner of evil creatures that threaten mankind. But some of them are more old guard, and want to go back to Azazel’s original plan. Those are the ones Dean worries about. Ironic really, as Sam worries so much about Dean being taken from him.
Dean’s arm tightens around Sam. His brother may be the King of Hell now, but Dean will never stop wanting to protect him, never stop wanting to keep him safe. Dean had been right, what he’d said before he went to Hell, that they were each other’s greatest weakness, but he knows they are also each other’s greatest strength. He has no idea what the future holds for them now, but they’ll survive, as long as they face it together.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/character: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2325
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Beta:
seleneheartNotes: Written for the
sammessiah Anti-Christmas fic exchange, for keep_waking_up. I worked with the prompt "Sam likes to watch as he uses his powers with Dean". Hope this works for you!Summary: AU in which Sam rescues Dean from Hell, and takes control of his powers.
Dean remembers dying, and he remembers Hell.
Razor wire that sank through his skin and dug into the fine bones of his wrists and ankles as he struggled to be free of the restraints that held him suspended in nothingness, the hooks that tore into muscle, pulling and twisting. He remembers screaming for Sam as his body was ripped apart, only to materialize again, hanging in the vast emptiness of his own personal Hell.
Not real, not real. He had tried to make it his mantra, but as his flesh ripped apart again and any hope of rational thought was torn away, all he could do was scream.
“Sam! Sammy!”
Dean also remembers the day his prayers were answered.
About to cast him back into the razor wire pit, Alistair paused. His head snapped forward, blood suddenly dripping from the corners of his mouth as he struggled, but something held him, preventing him from smoking away. He looked human as he died, a facsimile of whichever meatsuit he’d favored topside crumpling at Dean’s feet.
Dean raised his eyes, almost collapsing himself as he looked up at his savior, at Sam, and looked into Sam’s white eyes.
“Sammy …”
For all his screaming, all the pleas for Sam to save him, he’d never wanted that.
Sam had caught him, and before he could do more than clutch at Sam’s Jacket, Sam’s hand was against his forehead and a language that Dean didn’t recognize was pouring from Sam’s lips. Dean arched back, his soul supported in Sam’s arms, and his world had finally gone thankfully black.
The first thing he was aware of was murmured voices, Sam and Bobby, but the comfort of familiarity was tempered by harsh tones.
“Look after him.”
“Don’t do this, Sam.”
“Got no choice.”
“Damn it!”
Dean had tried to focus, but the voices stopped, and he slipped back into welcome sleep. It was the rich, dark scent of coffee brewing, strong and bitter, just how Bobby liked it, that teased him awake. He remembered blinking and warily looking around the room, his memory clouded and indistinct. His shirt, it wasn’t shredded or torn but fragments of a hellhound filled nightmare made him frown as he sat up, swinging his legs round and planting his feet on solid ground.
“Freaky,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head and standing up.
He had been unexpectedly unsteady on his feet and then Bobby was there, wide eyed, slipping an arm round his shoulders and easing him back down to sit on the couch.
“Take it easy, son.”
Bobby crouched in front of him, obviously spooked to hell, and a cold shiver crawled up Dean’s spine.
“You’ve been through a lot.”
Most of all, what he remembered about his first morning out of hell was the way the memories slammed into him. Memories, not dreams. Nightmares come to life flooded his senses and he remembered everything. Dying as the hellhounds ripped into him, hanging in nothingness, being pulled apart again and again, Alistair taking his time, and then Sam. Sam coming for him.
Real, it had all been real.
“Where’s Sam?” Dean had dug his fingers into Bobby’s arm, demanding an answer. “Where is he?”
“He promised he’d be back soon.”
It wasn’t an answer, and they both knew it.
“Is he …” Dean couldn’t form the words. “Did he …”
“He’ll be back,” Bobby repeated.
“No, no, no.” Dean rocked forward, almost pitching off the couch, but then there was another pair of hands helping Bobby right him, and push him back. The stink of sulphur made him retch and when he looked up, he was looking up at Sam.
“Dean, it’s okay, calm down, you’re safe.”
“What did you do?” Dean demanded in an almost whisper, not really wanting the answer he knew he was going to get.
“What I had to.”
There had been regret in Sam’s eyes, the last thing Dean had seen before he passed out again.
Two Months Later
It’s almost light when Dean gets back to the motel room he’s been staying at. It was a relatively simple salt and burn, and he came away with nothing but a few scratches. He glances at the empty passenger seat, and sighs. It’s not the same on his own.
Dean glances at the pale sliver of light on the horizon as he gets out of the car and walks towards the door, fishing the motel key out of his pocket. Opening the door messes up the salt line and he bends down to repair it, slowly uncurling from a crouch when the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he realizes he’s not alone in the room. His hand slips under his jacket to retrieve his gun from where it’s nestled against the small of his back. He reaches out with his other hand to find the light switch but he’s slammed against the wall, an invisible force holding him there.
Dean’s heart is pounding as he glances around, eyes slowly becoming used to the semi darkness. He swallows as a figure emerges from the far corner of the room and walks towards him. Even in the low light, he can see that Sam is pissed off.
“Sam …,” Dean starts, but Sam is suddenly right there, glaring at him.
“You were supposed to wait.” Sam takes the gun from Dean’s fingers, and lays it on the table.
“And you didn’t show.” Now it’s Dean’s turn to be pissed.
“I had things to do, you know that, Dean.”
“So I’m supposed to wait around until you’ve got an opening in your schedule?” Dean rolls his eyes.
“Yes!” Sam yells, and the room is suddenly ablaze with light.
Dean wonders if Sam lit the rest of the motel up too or if it’s just their room.
“What if it hadn’t been a ghost?” Sam continues. “What if it had been a trap?”
Sam’s hold on Dean tightens. Dean coughs and jerks in Sam’s grasp, eyes pleading, and then the hold is gone, and Dean lands on the floor with a thud. Sam stalks away and with a sigh Dean picks himself up and takes off his jacket, throwing it onto the bed nearest the door. Tentatively he reaches for Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder, and pulling him round to face him. Sam’s arms are stiff at his sides, his fists clenched tight. He doesn’t relax when Dean’s hand moves onto his neck, not at first, but Dean feels the tension ebb as he nuzzles the side of Sam’s face and pulls him close enough for their foreheads to touch.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m fine and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can’t lose you again,” Sam growls and kisses him, bringing his hands up to cradle Dean’s face as he plunders his mouth.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Dean pants as he has to break for air. Beneath his fingers, Dean can feel power thrumming just below the surface of Sam’s skin. It’s coiled and unstable as Sam’s emotions run high.
“I could make you stay put.”
There’s an edge of menace in Sam’s voice that would scare the shit out of anyone else, but it sends shivers down Dean’s spine and he presses his body closer, until his hardening dick is against Sam’s hip.
“Yeah? Just because you’ve got all those demons whipped doesn’t mean … “ Dean’s teasing is cut short as he’s pushed forcibly backwards and lands on the bed with a grunt. He lies, pinned in place as Sam slowly saunters over, unbuttoning his shirt as he gets closer.
“Maybe I should take them up on their offer,” Sam muses as he takes his shirt off and pulls his t shirt off over his head. He sits down on the bed opposite and unties the laces on his boots as he continues. “I think a palace might be a good idea after all, so I could lock you away and know exactly where you are every minute of every day.”
Dean watches as he stands up again, popping the buttons on his jeans and slowly pushing them down his long legs. Dean whimpers and struggles again, wanting to touch, to taste. It’s been days since they’ve seen each other and Dean’s hungry for Sam.
“I could keep you in a harem,” Sam ponders his options as invisible hands begin to undress Dean. “You’d look good in silk.” Sam smirks and Dean glares at him. “I’d have you bathed, and shaved and kept ready for me whenever I wanted.”
Dean whimpers. Sam’s fantasy has its good points, and the idea of being pampered by hordes of beautiful chicks makes Dean squirm. As his shirts land in a pile by the bed, he tilts his head up and watches as the zipper on his jeans is pulled down. He looks up at Sam, who’s standing at the foot of the bed, stroking his cock. Multi-tasking is something that Dean always admired in Sam, but he’s taken it to new levels since he embraced his powers.
As the rest of Dean’s clothes and his boots land on the floor, Sam sits beside him, and reaches out his hand to pinch and roll one of Dean’s nipples between his fingers. As he does so, Dean feels hands wrap around his ankles and wrists, holding him down as Dean bucks and pushes his chest out, wanting more of whatever Sam wants to give. The invisible hands rearrange him on the bed, pulling his arms above his head and his legs wide apart. Sam straddles his chest, grinning as Dean tests his hold and squirms.
The thing that always gets him when Sam’s holding him down like this, is that it isn’t the same as being handcuffed, or being tied down with leather or silk. It’s Sam’s hands he feels around his wrists and ankles. He knows Sam’s touch well enough to recognize it, to feel the swipe of his thumb against his ankle, the touch of his fingers against the pulse at his wrist at the same time, and his fingers in Dean’s hair as he straddles Dean’s chest and pushes the head of his cock against Dean’s mouth. Sam’s got enough control of his power to have it manifest exactly how he wants it to, and the bastard knows how much it turns Dean on to be touched in all the right places all at the same time.
Dean looks up and parts his lips just enough to let the tip of his tongue graze over Sam’s dick. It’s his turn to grin as Sam shudders and presses forwards, just as Dean opens his mouth and welcomes Sam in.
Now Dean’s legs are pushed up until his knees are bent. Sam slips his fingers into Dean’s mouth and once they are good and wet, leans back and pushes one, then two of them inside Dean’s hole. Dean admires the view of Sam’s glistening cock jutting out from his body as he arches back, and wriggles as much as he can under the circumstances, pushing himself down onto Sam’s hand. As Sam sits forward again, Dean feels something blunt and familiar nudge at his ass cheeks at the same time that a warm mouth envelopes his cock. Sam goes back to fucking his mouth in long smooth strokes, groaning as Dean’s tongue works him, and Dean’s whole body shudders at the overload of pleasure.
“Close your eyes,” Sam whispers, and for once Dean does as he’s told and gives himself up to pure sensation.
Sam stokes his thighs and arms. He’s inside Dean in more ways than one, stretching his ass and fucking his mouth, and he’s around him, warm and wet and sucking him down.
“Sammy!” Dean moans, body tensing until it’s coaxed over the edge and he comes, spurting heat onto his stomach as Sam fills his mouth. Dean swallows, shaking as the ghostly hands disappear and he’s left alone with Sam.
He’s too wrecked to move, so Sam cleans the mess off his belly and flops down beside him. Soft kisses get lazier until Sam’s dozing, pressed against his side. Dean nuzzles the top of Sam’s head and strokes his shoulder.
The demons don’t get it, and Dean knows they never will. They offered Sam a palace, complete with a household of willing slaves, even grudgingly extended the invitation to Dean too, but Sam had declined. Even though Dean was put out at not being consulted about it first, they both knew that Sam’s home is on the road, side by side with Dean.
Sam’s got obligations now, responsibilities that Dean doesn’t envy. Sam rules Hell, he attends meetings, gives orders, and generally holds demonic legions in the palm of his hand. And when he’s done, he finds Dean, and they hit the road. Dean knows It helps keep him sane. Sam’s made a lot of changes since he came to power, and not all of his subjects approve.
Most demons seem to relish the new mission statement that Sam issued, which instructs them to hunt down werewolves and vampires, restless spirits and all manner of evil creatures that threaten mankind. But some of them are more old guard, and want to go back to Azazel’s original plan. Those are the ones Dean worries about. Ironic really, as Sam worries so much about Dean being taken from him.
Dean’s arm tightens around Sam. His brother may be the King of Hell now, but Dean will never stop wanting to protect him, never stop wanting to keep him safe. Dean had been right, what he’d said before he went to Hell, that they were each other’s greatest weakness, but he knows they are also each other’s greatest strength. He has no idea what the future holds for them now, but they’ll survive, as long as they face it together.
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