Gift fic: Common
Jan. 22nd, 2019 01:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Common
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam and Dean
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Word Count: ~1300
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Dean with a cold is even grumpier than regular Dean, but Sam is going to take care of him anyway.
A/N: Gift fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jj1564. I hope you enjoy it! <3
Read on AO3
***
“I’m not sick,” Dean said. Immediately upon completing the sentence, he sneezed three times in rapid succession. He blew his nose noisily.
“Yeah,” Sam said sarcastically. “You’re not sick at all.”
“It’s allergies,” Dean protested. He coughed a few times, then sniffed loudly.
Sam sighed. “I’ve got our bags,” he said. “Go to bed.”
Dean grumbled. “I’m only going in because you said you’d get the bags,” he said, and clomped into the bunker. He was walking slower than usual.
When Sam had unloaded the Impala, he went into the bunker with their duffels slung over his shoulder. Dean was slumped in a chair in the library, nursing a glass of whiskey.
Sam sighed loudly. “Dean, go take a nap,” he said.
“I’m not tired,” Dean said. “And I’m definitely not sick.” His head lolled back and he closed his eyes, looking exhausted.
Sam rolled his eyes and dropped the bags. He grabbed Dean’s glass from his hand and put it on the table, then gripped Dean’s forearm and pulled him upright.
“Dude,” Dean protested weakly. Sam wrapped his arm firmly around Dean’s waist and steered him towards their room.
“You are taking a nap,” he said.
“Come on,” Dean grumbled, but it was a mark of how tired he must be that he followed Sam’s lead without further complaint.
Once in their room, he stripped off his overshirt and collapsed facedown onto the bed without removing his shoes. Sam sighed again and quickly took them off for him.
“’M fine,” Dean muttered, as Sam tucked a blanket around him.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sure you are.”
***
Dean stumbled into the kitchen a few hours later, where Sam was cooking.
“Go back to bed,” Sam said. “I’ll bring you your food.”
“I’m not a fucking invalid,” Dean muttered. He sat down at the table and rubbed his face. “Oh god, I hate everything.”
“Yeah, you have a cold,” Sam said, amused. He stirred the pot on the stove and then went to Dean, putting a hand on his shoulder and kissing his head.
“Stay away from me, you’ll catch this,” Dean said.
“We had sex yesterday and we live in each other’s air,” Sam said. “I think if I’m gonna get it, I’m gonna get it.”
“Fine,” Dean muttered. “Don’t come crying to me, though.”
“At least you’ve admitted you’re sick,” Sam said.
“No,” Dean said immediately. “This isn’t sick. I’ve had ghost sickness, you went through the trials – that’s sick. Common cold should be nothing.”
“And yet…”
Dean groaned. “Dude, this sucks so much. My nose won’t stop running and my whole face hurts.” He gave a pathetic-sounding cough and then blew his nose again.
“What are you making for your poor brother with the plague?” he asked when he was done.
“Chicken soup,” Sam said.
Dean laughed. “Really living the cliché, huh?”
Sam grinned. “Shut up, dick. It’s good for you. There’s vegetables, and protein, and salt and liquid to replenish what you’re losing through being a snot fountain.”
“Colorful image, thanks,” Dean said. “Well, I appreciate you heating up the finest Campbell’s has to offer.”
“I made it,” Sam said quietly.
Dean blinked. “What? We had the stuff for chicken soup?”
“No, I made a quick grocery run. The chicken was pre-cooked, but I somehow managed to chop vegetables and put them in a pot all by myself.”
“Wow,” Dean said. “You really love me, huh, Sammy?”
Sam snorted. “Shut up. Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
Sam ladled soup into a couple bowls and set them down on the table. He got them glasses of water and then sat down.
“Gimme a beer,” Dean ordered. “I’m sick.”
“Yeah, exactly. The last thing you need is the dehydration of alcohol.”
Dean gave a long-suffering sigh and took a sip of water before digging into the soup. It was good, and hot. His sinuses were opening up in a minute. He kept having to stop eating to blow his nose, but it felt like they were actually clearing.
***
After dinner, Dean contemplated going straight back to bed, but decided that he couldn’t give Sam the satisfaction. He curled up on his armchair in the Dean-cave instead. When Sam was done with the dishes, he joined him. He threw a blanket over Dean despite Dean’s protests, and said nothing about Dean’s choice of entertainment, even though Dean knew he was utterly bored by the All Saint’s Day movies.
“Bedtime,” Sam said, an hour later.
“I’m not – ” Dean was interrupted by another jaw-cracking yawn like the ones he’d been experiencing for the last ten minutes. Sam hauled him up and walked him to their room.
Dean tried to just collapse into the bed again, but Sam insisted on helping him undress. Dean was so tired he felt a little punchy. He giggled when Sam’s fingers brushed his sides as Sam pulled his t-shirt off.
“Bedtime for you, too,” he said, as Sam pulled the covers up around him.
“Dude, it’s only nine p.m.,” Sam said, sounding amused.
“So? I’m sick, I need a space heater. And you should get extra rest so you don’t catch this.” Dean just caught Sam’s affectionate smile as his eyes started to close.
“Okay,” Sam said softly. “Just let me brush my teeth.”
“Oral hygiene is overrated,” Dean grumbled, but Sam was gone.
Dean was already half-asleep when Sam crawled into bed with him, but he scooted towards Sam anyway, wrapping his arms around him and pillowing his head on Sam’s chest.
“You’re a good brother,” he mumbled. He heard Sam give a quiet laugh.
“Remember that in the morning,” Sam said. Dean was asleep in minutes, lulled by Sam’s body heat and Sam’s fingers stroking his hair.
***
Dean woke up early in the morning, feeling a little better. He was no longer experiencing bone-deep exhaustion, and his sinuses had drained in the night, although he knew it would likely all come back the second he lifted his head from the pillow. Better to put that off as long as possible.
In the meantime, he also had raging morning wood, and he felt just sleepily aroused enough to want to do something about it. He nuzzled Sam’s chest, rubbing up against him.
“Sam,” he said. Sam stirred and rubbed his eyes.
“What time is it?” he asked, voice still heavy with sleep. Dean wiggled as he kicked off his boxers.
“I dunno, early. Look, you wanna take care of me, right?”
“Sure,” Sam replied, sounding confused.
“Awesome.” Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and brought it to his dick. “Take care of this.”
“What? I – Dean.” Sam’s voice got sharp with annoyance. “I was sleeping.”
“’M sick,” Dean said, trying to thrust into Sam’s hand.
“Oh, now you admit you’re sick.” Sam sounded amused as well as annoyed. He pulled his hand away, and Dean made a protesting noise before he realized that Sam was licking his palm. Sam curled his hand around Dean’s cock again in a firm grip. Dean moaned, hips working against the pull of Sam’s fist.
Sam’s skin was so warm and smelled so good as Dean rubbed his face against it. Dean felt a little dizzy and dreamy with the slow, relentless build of pleasure. His orgasm almost took him by surprise, sneaking up on him and making him gasp as he spilled over Sam’s hand.
Sam reached for the Kleenex and cleaned them both off perfunctorily. Dean felt the tiredness hit him again, and he clung to Sam, soaking in the heat. Sam kissed his temple and re-settled the covers around them.
“I remembered,” Dean said suddenly, before he fell asleep.
“Remembered what?”
“You’re the best brother.”
He could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “Go back to sleep, Dean.”
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam and Dean
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Word Count: ~1300
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Dean with a cold is even grumpier than regular Dean, but Sam is going to take care of him anyway.
A/N: Gift fic for
jj1564. I hope you enjoy it! <3Read on AO3
***
“I’m not sick,” Dean said. Immediately upon completing the sentence, he sneezed three times in rapid succession. He blew his nose noisily.
“Yeah,” Sam said sarcastically. “You’re not sick at all.”
“It’s allergies,” Dean protested. He coughed a few times, then sniffed loudly.
Sam sighed. “I’ve got our bags,” he said. “Go to bed.”
Dean grumbled. “I’m only going in because you said you’d get the bags,” he said, and clomped into the bunker. He was walking slower than usual.
When Sam had unloaded the Impala, he went into the bunker with their duffels slung over his shoulder. Dean was slumped in a chair in the library, nursing a glass of whiskey.
Sam sighed loudly. “Dean, go take a nap,” he said.
“I’m not tired,” Dean said. “And I’m definitely not sick.” His head lolled back and he closed his eyes, looking exhausted.
Sam rolled his eyes and dropped the bags. He grabbed Dean’s glass from his hand and put it on the table, then gripped Dean’s forearm and pulled him upright.
“Dude,” Dean protested weakly. Sam wrapped his arm firmly around Dean’s waist and steered him towards their room.
“You are taking a nap,” he said.
“Come on,” Dean grumbled, but it was a mark of how tired he must be that he followed Sam’s lead without further complaint.
Once in their room, he stripped off his overshirt and collapsed facedown onto the bed without removing his shoes. Sam sighed again and quickly took them off for him.
“’M fine,” Dean muttered, as Sam tucked a blanket around him.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sure you are.”
***
Dean stumbled into the kitchen a few hours later, where Sam was cooking.
“Go back to bed,” Sam said. “I’ll bring you your food.”
“I’m not a fucking invalid,” Dean muttered. He sat down at the table and rubbed his face. “Oh god, I hate everything.”
“Yeah, you have a cold,” Sam said, amused. He stirred the pot on the stove and then went to Dean, putting a hand on his shoulder and kissing his head.
“Stay away from me, you’ll catch this,” Dean said.
“We had sex yesterday and we live in each other’s air,” Sam said. “I think if I’m gonna get it, I’m gonna get it.”
“Fine,” Dean muttered. “Don’t come crying to me, though.”
“At least you’ve admitted you’re sick,” Sam said.
“No,” Dean said immediately. “This isn’t sick. I’ve had ghost sickness, you went through the trials – that’s sick. Common cold should be nothing.”
“And yet…”
Dean groaned. “Dude, this sucks so much. My nose won’t stop running and my whole face hurts.” He gave a pathetic-sounding cough and then blew his nose again.
“What are you making for your poor brother with the plague?” he asked when he was done.
“Chicken soup,” Sam said.
Dean laughed. “Really living the cliché, huh?”
Sam grinned. “Shut up, dick. It’s good for you. There’s vegetables, and protein, and salt and liquid to replenish what you’re losing through being a snot fountain.”
“Colorful image, thanks,” Dean said. “Well, I appreciate you heating up the finest Campbell’s has to offer.”
“I made it,” Sam said quietly.
Dean blinked. “What? We had the stuff for chicken soup?”
“No, I made a quick grocery run. The chicken was pre-cooked, but I somehow managed to chop vegetables and put them in a pot all by myself.”
“Wow,” Dean said. “You really love me, huh, Sammy?”
Sam snorted. “Shut up. Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
Sam ladled soup into a couple bowls and set them down on the table. He got them glasses of water and then sat down.
“Gimme a beer,” Dean ordered. “I’m sick.”
“Yeah, exactly. The last thing you need is the dehydration of alcohol.”
Dean gave a long-suffering sigh and took a sip of water before digging into the soup. It was good, and hot. His sinuses were opening up in a minute. He kept having to stop eating to blow his nose, but it felt like they were actually clearing.
***
After dinner, Dean contemplated going straight back to bed, but decided that he couldn’t give Sam the satisfaction. He curled up on his armchair in the Dean-cave instead. When Sam was done with the dishes, he joined him. He threw a blanket over Dean despite Dean’s protests, and said nothing about Dean’s choice of entertainment, even though Dean knew he was utterly bored by the All Saint’s Day movies.
“Bedtime,” Sam said, an hour later.
“I’m not – ” Dean was interrupted by another jaw-cracking yawn like the ones he’d been experiencing for the last ten minutes. Sam hauled him up and walked him to their room.
Dean tried to just collapse into the bed again, but Sam insisted on helping him undress. Dean was so tired he felt a little punchy. He giggled when Sam’s fingers brushed his sides as Sam pulled his t-shirt off.
“Bedtime for you, too,” he said, as Sam pulled the covers up around him.
“Dude, it’s only nine p.m.,” Sam said, sounding amused.
“So? I’m sick, I need a space heater. And you should get extra rest so you don’t catch this.” Dean just caught Sam’s affectionate smile as his eyes started to close.
“Okay,” Sam said softly. “Just let me brush my teeth.”
“Oral hygiene is overrated,” Dean grumbled, but Sam was gone.
Dean was already half-asleep when Sam crawled into bed with him, but he scooted towards Sam anyway, wrapping his arms around him and pillowing his head on Sam’s chest.
“You’re a good brother,” he mumbled. He heard Sam give a quiet laugh.
“Remember that in the morning,” Sam said. Dean was asleep in minutes, lulled by Sam’s body heat and Sam’s fingers stroking his hair.
***
Dean woke up early in the morning, feeling a little better. He was no longer experiencing bone-deep exhaustion, and his sinuses had drained in the night, although he knew it would likely all come back the second he lifted his head from the pillow. Better to put that off as long as possible.
In the meantime, he also had raging morning wood, and he felt just sleepily aroused enough to want to do something about it. He nuzzled Sam’s chest, rubbing up against him.
“Sam,” he said. Sam stirred and rubbed his eyes.
“What time is it?” he asked, voice still heavy with sleep. Dean wiggled as he kicked off his boxers.
“I dunno, early. Look, you wanna take care of me, right?”
“Sure,” Sam replied, sounding confused.
“Awesome.” Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and brought it to his dick. “Take care of this.”
“What? I – Dean.” Sam’s voice got sharp with annoyance. “I was sleeping.”
“’M sick,” Dean said, trying to thrust into Sam’s hand.
“Oh, now you admit you’re sick.” Sam sounded amused as well as annoyed. He pulled his hand away, and Dean made a protesting noise before he realized that Sam was licking his palm. Sam curled his hand around Dean’s cock again in a firm grip. Dean moaned, hips working against the pull of Sam’s fist.
Sam’s skin was so warm and smelled so good as Dean rubbed his face against it. Dean felt a little dizzy and dreamy with the slow, relentless build of pleasure. His orgasm almost took him by surprise, sneaking up on him and making him gasp as he spilled over Sam’s hand.
Sam reached for the Kleenex and cleaned them both off perfunctorily. Dean felt the tiredness hit him again, and he clung to Sam, soaking in the heat. Sam kissed his temple and re-settled the covers around them.
“I remembered,” Dean said suddenly, before he fell asleep.
“Remembered what?”
“You’re the best brother.”
He could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “Go back to sleep, Dean.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2019-01-22 07:10 pm (UTC)Thank you sooooo much, you've really made my day xxx
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Date: 2019-01-26 04:37 am (UTC)Thank you so much for sharing, my dear. You made my morning.
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