Fic: Better With You
Jan. 9th, 2019 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Better With You
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam and Dean
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Word Count: ~2200
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Dean wakes up to find Sam crawling into his bed, looking for comfort.
Warnings: Dean's POV with a lot of guilt/shame/angst, as well as grief undertones. The ending is somewhere between unhappy and bittersweet; there is some hope, kind of, but Dean has far from accepted his attraction to Sam. If it helps, I envision this in a universe where Dean eventually gets much better with their relationship.
A/N: Set during S2E02, "Everybody Loves A Clown," after John's funeral, when the boys are staying at Bobby's.
Banner by the incomparable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
supernutjapan!
Read on AO3
***
It was their third night at Bobby’s when Sam slipped into bed with Dean.
Dean woke from a troubled doze when the covers moved. His hand closed automatically around the gun under his pillow.
“It’s me,” said the giant shape in the dark. Dean groaned and peered at the clock on his bedside table. The digital readout said 2:07. He’d only been in bed for an hour, and probably only asleep for fifteen or twenty minutes. It was hard to fall asleep these days. He’d lie awake brooding for minutes or hours, finding it impossible to shut his brain off.
“What do you want?” Dean grumbled, but he already knew the answer. His heart was pounding with anxiety and desire. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, nuzzling his chest. From the feel of it, he was wearing nothing but boxers; same as Dean. Dean regretted not putting on a shirt for bed.
“Just you,” Sam said in a low voice.
“You’re too old for me to be your teddy bear,” Dean said, although his arms were already around Sam’s shoulders and he was stroking Sam’s damn hair, like Sam was a kid again and he was crawling into Dean’s bed after a nightmare. Dean used to complain then too. But he always let him, and there was always a part of him that loved it. The nearness of the person he loved more than life. The certainty that Sam was safe and sound.
“I’ve never asked a teddy bear to fuck me,” Sam said. His tone was somehow both breathy and flinty with determination.
Dean froze. It wasn’t like they’d never done anything. This last year, there had been a number of blowjobs and handjobs exchanged. It always made Dean feel equal parts helpless with lust and sick with anger at himself. But he couldn’t say no. Not when Sam wanted him. Not when it seemed to make Sam’s grief at losing Jess a little bit lighter, at least for an hour. But they’d always been drunk – at least, Dean had. He’d begun to suspect that Sam was faking it some of the time. And they’d never, ever talked about it after.
And now Dean was stone cold sober. Well, okay, he’d had a few beers that evening, and a small nightcap of Bobby’s cheap whiskey to help him sleep. But he wasn’t even close to really drunk. And here was Sam, wanting something that was a whole different ballgame. When their father’s ashes weren’t even cold yet.
“Sam…” Dean said, trying to sound sympathetic but resolute.
“Come on, Dean,” Sam said. His body against Dean’s was incredibly warm. The guy had been a furnace ever since he was a kid and it was way worse now that he was so damn big. And despite Sam’s huge size they still fit together like they had when they were little, filling in all of each other’s gaps.
“Dude, Bobby’s right down the hall,” Dean protested.
“No, he fell asleep on the couch downstairs,” Sam said. He pressed his mouth to Dean’s collarbone – warm – flicked his tongue out to taste Dean’s skin. Dean bit his lip, muscles tensing so he was holding Sam more tightly, but refusing to respond further.
“We’re still in his house,” Dean tried. Sam’s mouth was on his neck now. Sam bit down gently. A shudder ran through Dean; damn it, Sam knew him too well.
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean muttered. “With everything that’s been going on…” His stomach dropped as he thought about Dad. Dad would have shot Dean in the head without a second thought if he’d even suspected what Dean and Sam had been up to together for the past year.
And then, there was that other thing, which was so much worse. Even worse than Dad dying for Dean, maybe. That thing that Dean tried not to think about. But it was all he could think about, the words going around and around in his head.
You have to save him, Dean. Nothing else matters. And if you can’t…If you can’t save Sammy, you might have to kill him.
Never.
Dean was kissing Sam frantically before he knew what he was doing pressing their lips together like if only he could keep Sam this close, whatever it was that had scared Dad so much would never come to pass. Sam made a muffled noise against his mouth and kissed him back eagerly, already hard and rocking against Dean’s thigh.
Dean came to his senses and wrenched himself away.
“Sammy, no, I’m sorry, we can’t…” He trailed off as Sam’s fingers skittered down his spine, making his back arch.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice was rough and a little desperate. “Dean, please…”
“Sammy…” Dean said, his tenuous resolve cracking.
“Dean, I need you…” Sam was panting hot breaths against Dean’s skin; and oh, god, he was trembling, with suppressed desire and maybe emotion too. God, fuck, they were both a mess since Dad had…Dean stroked Sam’s neck and back, trying to calm himself down as much as Sam.
“Sammy, what you want…I don’t know…” Dean swallowed hard. “It’s…I mean there’s crossing a line and then there’s crossing a line, you know?”
“Please, Dean.” Sam’s voice was low. “I’ve wanted you to for so long.”
The words went straight to Dean’s dick, which was already hard, and now Dean was having a difficult time not rubbing up against Sam like Sam kept doing to him.
“I got myself ready,” Sam continued. “You don’t even have to deal with all that stuff.”
Dean shut his eyes and took a shaky breath. As if he wouldn’t have been willing to put in all kinds of work, to make sure Sam was ready for him, to make sure it wouldn’t hurt…But it was ridiculously hot, thinking of Sam down the hall, fucking himself on his fingers, or something else; who knew what the guy kept in his duffel, he was so protective of it.
“Maybe you should do it to me,” Dean made himself say, feeling faintly terrified as he thought about the size of Sam’s dick.
Sam sighed and squeezed Dean even tighter, like he couldn’t get close enough. “Not what I want. Not tonight.” That determination again; fuck, how could so much stubbornness fit into one person? Even a gargantuan like Sam. “Please.” Voice soft again; damn it, he had Dean’s number like no one else. “Please?”
How could Dean say no? He couldn’t, and he knew it. Not with Sam hot and needing and hurting and wanting him to make it better. Not when Dean felt like he was practically going to come untouched at just the thought of it.
“Okay,” Dean said finally. “Okay.”
Sam gave a little moan and kissed Dean hard, tongue in Dean’s mouth, hands all over him for a minute before settling at his waist to shove Dean’s boxers down. He pulled away and pushed Dean onto his back and sucked Dean’s cock into his mouth, sloppy and eager and fuck, so good. Dean suppressed a groan, still mindful of their surroundings. If Bobby heard anything he’d come to check on them, Dean knew he would.
Sam’s hands were all over Dean, his stomach and thighs, then cupping his balls with one and wrapping around the base of Dean’s cock with the other. He was going too fast, and Dean tried to think about baseball, but finally he had to grab a fistful of Sam’s hair and tug him up gently.
Sam made a protesting noise as Dean pulled him off, and Dean’s cock throbbed.
“Did you bring lube?” he asked, knowing the answer would be yes. In the semi-darkness, he could just see the flash of teeth that was Sam’s answering grin. Dean sat up as Sam pulled off his own boxers. He threw them aside and reached down to grab the tube he must have placed on the floor before he crawled into the bed. He gave it to Dean and got up on his hands and knees.
“Are you sure you don’t need more prep?” Dean said, fighting to keep his voice steady and slightly stern.
“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “Please, don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”
Dean shut his eyes for a second, against the words and everything that was behind them. He opened the lube and squeezed out a generous amount, slicking his cock fast, already feeling too sensitive, too on edge. God, if he fucked this up…
He positioned himself and then pushed in, trying to go gentle and slow (what if Sam wasn’t as ready as he thought? he probably wouldn’t have done as thorough a prepping job as Dean would have…). But Sam only moaned, with no trace of pain in it that Dean could detect. Unexpectedly, he shoved himself backwards, till Dean’s pelvis was right up against his ass.
Sam made a satisfied noise, throwing his head back. It occurred to Dean for the first time that his brother was kind of a slut. The thought made him dizzy, or maybe it was the tight heat of Sam around his cock, the clenching muscles.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean managed to choke out. Just in case. What if he was reading things wrong?
“God, so good, Dean,” Sam said, friggin’ rapturously. “Please, Dean, want you…”
Dean shuddered and started thrusting shallowly, slow and careful. Sam gave a frustrated whine and pushed back again.
“Harder,” he demanded. The brat. Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s hips to stop him.
Sam wouldn’t like it if Dean said he was afraid of hurting him, so Dean opted for the other, more embarrassing half of the truth. “Dude, I’m kinda way too turned on after you blew me. If I go fast, I don’t know how long I’ll last.”
Sam reached back to grab Dean’s hand and bring it to his dick. “Me, too,” he said breathily, and Dean could feel Sam’s cock twitch in his hand, feel the precome already coating the tip.
“Harder,” Sam repeated, needy and wanton.
“Oh, god,” Dean said faintly, and he pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in again, several times, listening to Sam gasp. He tried to go slow, but it wasn’t long before he was having trouble controlling himself. Dean stroked Sam’s cock in time with his thrusts, and the faster he went, the noisier Sam got. Dean forgot to tell him to quiet down, forgot about Bobby, forgot about Dad, forgot about everything but the rhythm of his thrusts and Sam’s sweat-slick back. Sam was breathing harder and harder and then he gave a sharp cry. Dean could feel Sam’s cock pulsing in his hand. He kept stroking until Sam pulled his hand away, and then Dean grabbed Sam’s hips. It only took a few seconds before he was over the edge, groaning as he spilled inside his brother.
The second he was done, Dean remembered about Bobby, and craned his head back, listening worriedly for a step in the hall. But the house was silent. Sam collapsed on the bed with a contented noise and pulled Dean down with him.
Dean went, putting his arms around Sam, but his mind was troubled. Dad’s last words swirled in his head again, mixing now with the shame he always felt after he and Sam hooked up. And now he’d actually fucked his little brother; god, what was the matter with him?
“Where are you?” Sam asked softly, reaching up to cup Dean’s cheek.
Dean jerked his head away, because all he wanted was to melt into that touch, and it was so fucking wrong. He had to stop doing this to Sam. He knew it was his fault somehow that they did this. He must have infected Sam somehow, like a fucking disease. Dean knew he was the disease.
“Dude, you gotta go back to your room,” Dean said, forcing himself to sound normal. “If Bobby finds us together…”
Sam was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s chest, and got up. Dean felt irrationally hurt by the placement of the kiss. He knew he always drew away after the sex was done – he had to, for Sam’s sake – and rarely kissed him after. He knew that Sam knew he probably would’ve turned away if Sam had tried to kiss his lips. It’s better, he told himself. Better he didn’t go for it.
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said quietly, after he’d pulled his boxers back on. “That helped.” He slipped out the door and was gone.
Dean lay on his back feeling sick and hollow, the smell of sex heavy in the air. He thought about how bad it was that Sam thought them fucking had helped him. He thought about how much worse it was that part of him felt better, too. How much of a relief it was when he and Sam were together that way. He still had his guilt and shame and worry, but despite it all, something felt a little more right with the world.
This time, he was asleep in minutes.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam and Dean
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Word Count: ~2200
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Dean wakes up to find Sam crawling into his bed, looking for comfort.
Warnings: Dean's POV with a lot of guilt/shame/angst, as well as grief undertones. The ending is somewhere between unhappy and bittersweet; there is some hope, kind of, but Dean has far from accepted his attraction to Sam. If it helps, I envision this in a universe where Dean eventually gets much better with their relationship.
A/N: Set during S2E02, "Everybody Loves A Clown," after John's funeral, when the boys are staying at Bobby's.
Banner by the incomparable
supernutjapan!Read on AO3
***
It was their third night at Bobby’s when Sam slipped into bed with Dean.
Dean woke from a troubled doze when the covers moved. His hand closed automatically around the gun under his pillow.
“It’s me,” said the giant shape in the dark. Dean groaned and peered at the clock on his bedside table. The digital readout said 2:07. He’d only been in bed for an hour, and probably only asleep for fifteen or twenty minutes. It was hard to fall asleep these days. He’d lie awake brooding for minutes or hours, finding it impossible to shut his brain off.
“What do you want?” Dean grumbled, but he already knew the answer. His heart was pounding with anxiety and desire. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, nuzzling his chest. From the feel of it, he was wearing nothing but boxers; same as Dean. Dean regretted not putting on a shirt for bed.
“Just you,” Sam said in a low voice.
“You’re too old for me to be your teddy bear,” Dean said, although his arms were already around Sam’s shoulders and he was stroking Sam’s damn hair, like Sam was a kid again and he was crawling into Dean’s bed after a nightmare. Dean used to complain then too. But he always let him, and there was always a part of him that loved it. The nearness of the person he loved more than life. The certainty that Sam was safe and sound.
“I’ve never asked a teddy bear to fuck me,” Sam said. His tone was somehow both breathy and flinty with determination.
Dean froze. It wasn’t like they’d never done anything. This last year, there had been a number of blowjobs and handjobs exchanged. It always made Dean feel equal parts helpless with lust and sick with anger at himself. But he couldn’t say no. Not when Sam wanted him. Not when it seemed to make Sam’s grief at losing Jess a little bit lighter, at least for an hour. But they’d always been drunk – at least, Dean had. He’d begun to suspect that Sam was faking it some of the time. And they’d never, ever talked about it after.
And now Dean was stone cold sober. Well, okay, he’d had a few beers that evening, and a small nightcap of Bobby’s cheap whiskey to help him sleep. But he wasn’t even close to really drunk. And here was Sam, wanting something that was a whole different ballgame. When their father’s ashes weren’t even cold yet.
“Sam…” Dean said, trying to sound sympathetic but resolute.
“Come on, Dean,” Sam said. His body against Dean’s was incredibly warm. The guy had been a furnace ever since he was a kid and it was way worse now that he was so damn big. And despite Sam’s huge size they still fit together like they had when they were little, filling in all of each other’s gaps.
“Dude, Bobby’s right down the hall,” Dean protested.
“No, he fell asleep on the couch downstairs,” Sam said. He pressed his mouth to Dean’s collarbone – warm – flicked his tongue out to taste Dean’s skin. Dean bit his lip, muscles tensing so he was holding Sam more tightly, but refusing to respond further.
“We’re still in his house,” Dean tried. Sam’s mouth was on his neck now. Sam bit down gently. A shudder ran through Dean; damn it, Sam knew him too well.
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean muttered. “With everything that’s been going on…” His stomach dropped as he thought about Dad. Dad would have shot Dean in the head without a second thought if he’d even suspected what Dean and Sam had been up to together for the past year.
And then, there was that other thing, which was so much worse. Even worse than Dad dying for Dean, maybe. That thing that Dean tried not to think about. But it was all he could think about, the words going around and around in his head.
You have to save him, Dean. Nothing else matters. And if you can’t…If you can’t save Sammy, you might have to kill him.
Never.
Dean was kissing Sam frantically before he knew what he was doing pressing their lips together like if only he could keep Sam this close, whatever it was that had scared Dad so much would never come to pass. Sam made a muffled noise against his mouth and kissed him back eagerly, already hard and rocking against Dean’s thigh.
Dean came to his senses and wrenched himself away.
“Sammy, no, I’m sorry, we can’t…” He trailed off as Sam’s fingers skittered down his spine, making his back arch.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice was rough and a little desperate. “Dean, please…”
“Sammy…” Dean said, his tenuous resolve cracking.
“Dean, I need you…” Sam was panting hot breaths against Dean’s skin; and oh, god, he was trembling, with suppressed desire and maybe emotion too. God, fuck, they were both a mess since Dad had…Dean stroked Sam’s neck and back, trying to calm himself down as much as Sam.
“Sammy, what you want…I don’t know…” Dean swallowed hard. “It’s…I mean there’s crossing a line and then there’s crossing a line, you know?”
“Please, Dean.” Sam’s voice was low. “I’ve wanted you to for so long.”
The words went straight to Dean’s dick, which was already hard, and now Dean was having a difficult time not rubbing up against Sam like Sam kept doing to him.
“I got myself ready,” Sam continued. “You don’t even have to deal with all that stuff.”
Dean shut his eyes and took a shaky breath. As if he wouldn’t have been willing to put in all kinds of work, to make sure Sam was ready for him, to make sure it wouldn’t hurt…But it was ridiculously hot, thinking of Sam down the hall, fucking himself on his fingers, or something else; who knew what the guy kept in his duffel, he was so protective of it.
“Maybe you should do it to me,” Dean made himself say, feeling faintly terrified as he thought about the size of Sam’s dick.
Sam sighed and squeezed Dean even tighter, like he couldn’t get close enough. “Not what I want. Not tonight.” That determination again; fuck, how could so much stubbornness fit into one person? Even a gargantuan like Sam. “Please.” Voice soft again; damn it, he had Dean’s number like no one else. “Please?”
How could Dean say no? He couldn’t, and he knew it. Not with Sam hot and needing and hurting and wanting him to make it better. Not when Dean felt like he was practically going to come untouched at just the thought of it.
“Okay,” Dean said finally. “Okay.”
Sam gave a little moan and kissed Dean hard, tongue in Dean’s mouth, hands all over him for a minute before settling at his waist to shove Dean’s boxers down. He pulled away and pushed Dean onto his back and sucked Dean’s cock into his mouth, sloppy and eager and fuck, so good. Dean suppressed a groan, still mindful of their surroundings. If Bobby heard anything he’d come to check on them, Dean knew he would.
Sam’s hands were all over Dean, his stomach and thighs, then cupping his balls with one and wrapping around the base of Dean’s cock with the other. He was going too fast, and Dean tried to think about baseball, but finally he had to grab a fistful of Sam’s hair and tug him up gently.
Sam made a protesting noise as Dean pulled him off, and Dean’s cock throbbed.
“Did you bring lube?” he asked, knowing the answer would be yes. In the semi-darkness, he could just see the flash of teeth that was Sam’s answering grin. Dean sat up as Sam pulled off his own boxers. He threw them aside and reached down to grab the tube he must have placed on the floor before he crawled into the bed. He gave it to Dean and got up on his hands and knees.
“Are you sure you don’t need more prep?” Dean said, fighting to keep his voice steady and slightly stern.
“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “Please, don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”
Dean shut his eyes for a second, against the words and everything that was behind them. He opened the lube and squeezed out a generous amount, slicking his cock fast, already feeling too sensitive, too on edge. God, if he fucked this up…
He positioned himself and then pushed in, trying to go gentle and slow (what if Sam wasn’t as ready as he thought? he probably wouldn’t have done as thorough a prepping job as Dean would have…). But Sam only moaned, with no trace of pain in it that Dean could detect. Unexpectedly, he shoved himself backwards, till Dean’s pelvis was right up against his ass.
Sam made a satisfied noise, throwing his head back. It occurred to Dean for the first time that his brother was kind of a slut. The thought made him dizzy, or maybe it was the tight heat of Sam around his cock, the clenching muscles.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean managed to choke out. Just in case. What if he was reading things wrong?
“God, so good, Dean,” Sam said, friggin’ rapturously. “Please, Dean, want you…”
Dean shuddered and started thrusting shallowly, slow and careful. Sam gave a frustrated whine and pushed back again.
“Harder,” he demanded. The brat. Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s hips to stop him.
Sam wouldn’t like it if Dean said he was afraid of hurting him, so Dean opted for the other, more embarrassing half of the truth. “Dude, I’m kinda way too turned on after you blew me. If I go fast, I don’t know how long I’ll last.”
Sam reached back to grab Dean’s hand and bring it to his dick. “Me, too,” he said breathily, and Dean could feel Sam’s cock twitch in his hand, feel the precome already coating the tip.
“Harder,” Sam repeated, needy and wanton.
“Oh, god,” Dean said faintly, and he pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in again, several times, listening to Sam gasp. He tried to go slow, but it wasn’t long before he was having trouble controlling himself. Dean stroked Sam’s cock in time with his thrusts, and the faster he went, the noisier Sam got. Dean forgot to tell him to quiet down, forgot about Bobby, forgot about Dad, forgot about everything but the rhythm of his thrusts and Sam’s sweat-slick back. Sam was breathing harder and harder and then he gave a sharp cry. Dean could feel Sam’s cock pulsing in his hand. He kept stroking until Sam pulled his hand away, and then Dean grabbed Sam’s hips. It only took a few seconds before he was over the edge, groaning as he spilled inside his brother.
The second he was done, Dean remembered about Bobby, and craned his head back, listening worriedly for a step in the hall. But the house was silent. Sam collapsed on the bed with a contented noise and pulled Dean down with him.
Dean went, putting his arms around Sam, but his mind was troubled. Dad’s last words swirled in his head again, mixing now with the shame he always felt after he and Sam hooked up. And now he’d actually fucked his little brother; god, what was the matter with him?
“Where are you?” Sam asked softly, reaching up to cup Dean’s cheek.
Dean jerked his head away, because all he wanted was to melt into that touch, and it was so fucking wrong. He had to stop doing this to Sam. He knew it was his fault somehow that they did this. He must have infected Sam somehow, like a fucking disease. Dean knew he was the disease.
“Dude, you gotta go back to your room,” Dean said, forcing himself to sound normal. “If Bobby finds us together…”
Sam was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s chest, and got up. Dean felt irrationally hurt by the placement of the kiss. He knew he always drew away after the sex was done – he had to, for Sam’s sake – and rarely kissed him after. He knew that Sam knew he probably would’ve turned away if Sam had tried to kiss his lips. It’s better, he told himself. Better he didn’t go for it.
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said quietly, after he’d pulled his boxers back on. “That helped.” He slipped out the door and was gone.
Dean lay on his back feeling sick and hollow, the smell of sex heavy in the air. He thought about how bad it was that Sam thought them fucking had helped him. He thought about how much worse it was that part of him felt better, too. How much of a relief it was when he and Sam were together that way. He still had his guilt and shame and worry, but despite it all, something felt a little more right with the world.
This time, he was asleep in minutes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2019-01-10 12:34 am (UTC)his voice steady and slightly stern.
OMG
fuck me.Ehem. Yup. I know how you feel Sam.no subject
Date: 2019-01-10 12:53 am (UTC)Thank you so much for your lovely comment, my dear! It made my night. I'm so happy you enjoyed the story. <3
Edition 4,511
Date: 2019-01-10 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-10 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-10 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-10 12:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-10 11:54 pm (UTC)