The Truth 1/5 & timestamp
Feb. 22nd, 2011 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rain_n_snowTitle: The Truth
Rating: NC-17
Author: deansgirl369
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 19000+ total
Summary: The truth has a way of coming out. Will it tear the brothers apart or will they both get something they have always wanted?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Kripke. I only let them do what they really want to without Eric in the way!
“You want a beer?” Sam asked as he turned from the booth where Dean was just sitting down, exhaustion written in every line of his body, to head to the bar, the words almost a statement and not a question, because of course Dean wanted a beer.
“No.” Dean said, and almost looked surprised himself.
“Whiskey?” Sam questioned. Dean usually only drank whiskey when he was really messed up or in pain. Sam looked at Dean a little closer, maybe he had missed something, and he was a little concerned now.
Dean shook his head once, brow furrowed. “No. I don’t want anything to drink. Water maybe?”
Sam looked even more confused, but headed toward the bar and Dean leaned back in his seat, eyes closing on a long blink.
Dean felt strange. Something was off and he had felt it since they had been in the witch’s cabin. ‘Fuckin hate witches.’
Returning from the bar with a beer for himself and water, what the fuck? for Dean, Sam slid into the opposite side of the booth, eying Dean curiously. “Dude, water?”
“Yeah.” Dean turned to look around the bar, avoiding Sam’s eyes and even he wasn’t sure why.
A blonde with big tits and a small waist, short shorts and cowboy boots gave Dean a sly smirk and a small wave as she caught his eye from across the room. Sam snorted, ‘well, that was quick.’ But Dean didn’t return the wave, in fact he didn’t seem to really register the interest, and Sam knew something was wrong. Not that he was complaining about Dean refusing to acknowledge the first skank that looked his way, but it certainly wasn’t classic Dean. She was precisely his type, cheap looking, cute and easy.
“What’s wrong with her?” Sam questioned, watching Dean closely.
“Nothing is wrong with her. “ Dean answered quickly, but didn’t turn his attention to Sam.
“So, why aren’t you already out the door with her?”
Dean appeared to be gritting his teeth, but the answer came quickly enough, “I don’t want her.”
“Seriously? Are you feeling sick, Dean?” Sam hadn’t taken his eyes off Dean, something was going on.
“Yes. No. Just shut up, Sam. Shit, you talk a lot.”
Sam didn’t acknowledge the demand or the insult. “So, if you don’t want her…and I don’t see anything else here you might wanna screw, and you aren’t drinking…you wanna just go? Back to the room, I mean?”
Dean sighed, looked slightly pained. “No. I don’t want to go back to the room.” Dean was looking at the table, concentrating on something, like he was trying hard to figure something out. “Can we please just not talk, Sam? Give me five minutes of peace.”
But Sam wasn’t playing along, too intrigued to be quiet. Everything had to be explained, sorted out, figured out, answered with Sam. Shit.
“Dean, when was the last time you got laid?”
Dean hesitated, looked like he was thinking hard, like he had to get the answer right. “Seven months and three days ago.”
“When was the last time you jerked off?”
Dean’s shot daggers at Sam, but again, the answer was immediate, “This morning. Shut the fuck up, Sam. Shut up. Can you fucking hear me? Shut up. I don’t want to fucking talk anymore.”
So why was he? Sam had never gotten so many answers to his questions out of Dean so easily. And he wasn’t going to let it drop.
Dean was starting to sweat. Fucking witches. It was obvious that he wasn’t able to fucking lie, wasn’t able to just not answer. This was fucking painful. Sam was starting to catch on, and he was terrified what was going to come out. Shit shit fuck.
Sam was trying to figure out what the best questions were. Because Dean was answering and for whatever reason, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. “What’s the kinkiest thing you ever did?”
“I let some girl tie me up and spank me.”
Sam resisted smiling, wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile. Somehow the answer made his dick twitch in his pants, but also his stomach churn just a little. “Did you like it?”
“I liked being tied up. I didn’t like being spanked.” Dean refused to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Huh. Tell me about it.”
Dean glared at him, but said nothing. ‘Huh.’ Apparently only direct questions worked in this situation. “Why did you like being tied up?”
“I liked someone else being in control.” Dean wanted to scream. He felt like his skin was too tight, like he was going to lose it completely.
Sam knew he was pushing Dean to the limit, but this was irresistible. He would pay later, he knew.
“Stop asking me questions, Sam. Please?”
It almost worked. Sam cringed inwardly. But too many years of secretive Dean made him push onward. There were too many things he wanted, felt like he needed, to know.
“Have you ever been in love?” Sam held his breath, wishing he could take back that question, not sure he was ready to hear the answer.
“Yes.” Dean dropped his head onto his hands. Sam was going to torture him. This was getting worse. This was going to ruin his life. If Sam got to the ugliest things, he couldn’t lie and it would mean watching Sam walk away again, this time for good.
“A girl I knew?” Sam heard himself ask, and dammit but he wanted to stop himself.
“No.” Dean felt relief tingle through him. Temporarily averted crisis. Thank God.
Sam scrunched his eyes. No more of that. He needed not to hurt them both with that shit anymore. More interesting questions, less gut wrenching ones.
“Do you love your car more than me, Dean?” Sam grinned, trying to tease Dean.
“No.”
Sam’s smile broadened, not that he didn’t know that one, but it felt good to make Dean say it.
“Do you think about the same thing all the time when you jack off?”
“No.” Dean’s voice was muffled, since he hadn’t raised his head from his hands resting on the table.
“Mmmm, do you think about the same person all the time when you jerk off?” Sam thought about his own fantasies, sadly pretty much all revolving around Dean. Damn but he was glad he wasn’t the one with the truth spell on him. Not that Dean didn’t have any idea he was interested, but that would be too much.
“Almost always, yeah.” Dean’s head came up, but he stared at the wall. “Ok, Sam. I’ll do whatever you want if you stop asking me these fucking questions. Please, dude. This is fucking torture. You are gonna be sorry.”
Sam thought about it for a second. He was tempted to ask for something, something he really wanted, but he wouldn’t force Dean to do that, couldn’t. Besides, it wouldn’t work that way, even though it was tempting…. but this was the chance of a lifetime, and he was pretty sure he would eventually break Dean on the kissing thing. Maybe not more, but seriously—kissing? Dean had never really denied Sam anything he truly wanted.
Sam bit his tongue and held his breath, but pressed on. “Have you ever had sex with another guy?”
“No!” Dean looked at Sam momentarily, hoping this was going to throw him off the subject he feared most.
“Have you done anything sexual with a guy?”
“No. I’m not gay, Sam.” That came out easily, it wasn’t a lie, and Dean felt better. He wasn’t gay.
“You are going to hurt me when this wears off, I know it. But you would do the same thing, Dean. You know you would. You won’t admit it…wait. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” Dammit, of course he would.
Dean thought about punching Sam in the face. That might shut him up. Of course, it would probably also get them thrown into jail. He would get up and leave, but without the public forum, this would be even scarier and more out of control. There was nothing to be done but let Sam beat him to death, until he asked that one question that sent Sam running away. It was coming, he was shocked one of them hadn’t already broken the fucking seal, exposed the ugly shit inside him.
“Why don’t you want to leave the bar, Dean?”
“Because there are people here and I don’t want to be alone with you while I can’t lie.” Dean looked surprised at his own answer, but probably only because he didn’t want to say it, not because he didn’t already know it.
Sam thought for a moment, then realized he wanted to know. Maybe he needed to know.
“Who?”
Dean’s breath caught. The question wasn’t specific enough apparently , because he didn’t feel the need to answer, but he knew it would be in just a second. He bolted for the door. He was to the car, and almost had the door open before Sam caught up with him, wrapping his arms around him from behind.
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Shrugging violently, Dean cursed the fates for letting Sam turn out so fucking strong. He couldn’t break away and he couldn’t lie. This was it. This was the fucking moment.
Sam’s breath was too close to his ear, his cock too close to his ass, his arms too close to Dean’s hardening cock. But it wasn’t sexual. Not for Sam. He was just refusing to let Dean break away. But Dean closed his eyes, keeping his body under control as much as possible as he waited for the killing blow.
Why was that the question that finally drove Dean out of the bar? That overcame his need to be in a public place for this session of truth? Apparently it was important, and even though Sam knew it was going to hurt, he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Who do you think about when you jack off, Dean?”
“You. You Sam. Its fucking you, ok? There, are you happy? Is this what you fucking wanted? Dammit, damnit dammit.” Dean felt his eyes sting, knew he was seconds away from tears. This was more painful than the time he was almost torn apart by the Wendigo. He waited for Sam to shove him away, to punch him, to say goodbye. He felt the tension shoot through Sam, every muscle tightening as if for attack, but then he stilled, his grip loosening slightly.
“If I let you go will you get in the car with me? Will you run?” Sam asked softly, breath ghosting over Dean's ear.
“Yes.” He answered the first question. “No.” Damnit. It was too late to run anyway, it was finally out there.
Sam released Dean, stepped away and walked to his side of the car, which was open by the time he reached the door. They sat in silence as Dean drove to the motel, but his hands shook and he felt his breath heaving out of him as if he had just outrun a demon. He was terrified to look at Sam. Now he was afraid Sam was the one who was going to run. And he would have no right to follow him, no matter how much it hurt. Hurt? Hell it would probably kill him this time.
When they got inside, Dean sat down on his own bed, head dropped forward, fight gone.
“Tell me, Dean. Tell me what you think about.” Sam sat down next to Dean, close but not touching him in anyway.
“Not a question, Sam. And why don’t you fucking stop with the torture? God, I know you want to fucking leave me now.” His voice broke on the last word.
“Do you want me to leave, Dean?”
“No. God, no, Sammy. I’ll beg you if you want me to. I’ll do anything to keep you here. I will promise you never, ever to bring it all up again. I would never have done it anyway. I’m sorry, I never, never wanted you to know. I’ve kept it inside for…” He paused. Too much information.
But apparently he wasn't even allowed to keep that secret. “How long, Dean? How long have you thought about it?”
“Since before you left for Stanford. For about a year before.” Dean visibly shrunk in on himself, jerking when Sam’s hand came to rest on his arm. Sam removed his hand.
They sat in silence for long, strained moments. Sam knew what he wanted. He wasn't going anywhere, hell, he was so close to getting everything he ever wanted, the last thing he was thinking was about leaving. But he was also selfish, and he wanted. He wanted what he knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop himself from asking.
“I’m not leaving, Dean. Not going anywhere. But you said you would do anything. I want you to tell me. Tell me what you think about, what you have fantasized about. You promised, and that’s what I want.”
Dean’s eyes met Sam’s pleadingly. “Why do you want to break me like that? Do you like being disgusted by me? Gonna throw it in my face. Fuck, Sam…this is painful…I said I was sorry…” His voice trailed off and he looked away, seeming to focus his attention inward, pulling away as much as possible from his brother.
Sam shook his head violently. “Dammit, Dean, what do you think of me that you think I would do that to you? Do you really think I want to hurt you? I’m not disgusted, or I wouldn’t ask. But you promised ‘anything I wanted’ and that’s what I’m asking. I want you to tell me. I will NOT throw it in your face. Ever.”
Dean shook visibly. This was so fucking hard. But Sam was right, he had said he would do anything, and he had meant it. He sat there for what felt like years, gathering his courage.
Then, looking over Sam’s shoulder, focusing on nothing in particular Dean drew in a deep breath and just let it flow out of him. “I think about kissing you, Sammy. I think about licking your neck, sucking bruises down the side of your throat that tell everyone who sees them that you are mine. I think about seeing you laid out naked and waiting for me, wanting me. I think about tasting every inch of your skin. I think about running my hands over every fucking beautiful part of you. I think about what your cock looks like and imagine you wanting me, hard for me. I think about your huge hands on my body, how fucking much I want to know you want me enough to put your hands on me. I think about the noises you might make, how it would sound to hear you beg for me.” He paused, still not looking at Sam.
Sam was panting, his breath hitching on each intake. He was tingling with need, desperate for more, to hear more, to know everything. And to make it all reality. His cock was so hard it hurt, was pressing against his jeans like it was going to burst through his zipper. He waited for Dean to continue, not wanting to break the flow of his train of thought, but anxious for him to go on.
Drawing a deep breath, Dean continued, “I think about sucking your cock, about taking it in my mouth and feeling it hot and hard and shoving down my throat. I think about being on my knees while you fuck my mouth, force me to take all of it. I think about you blowing me, about your pretty mouth taking me in, wanting to taste me too. I think about fingering your ass, about opening you up, working you until you beg me to fuck you, to bury my dick deep inside you. I think about fucking you until I’m all you can think about. I think about riding your cock, about how good it would feel to be filled with you, surrounding you, you pounding into me so I feel it for days. I think about you coming all over my stomach, all over me, about what your come would taste like, about licking it off you, about seeing my come on your lips.”
Dean fell silent, and he looked smaller, totally vulnerable in a way Sam had never seen before.
They sat in silence for what felt like forever, both lost in thought. Sam pressed the heel of his hand to his cock. He was still so hard it hurt. And he was elated...to know that Dean wanted him, that he wasn't alone in his desire, well, it was overwhelming.
He shifted his eyes to Dean, who was still staring off into the distance, his jaw locked, his expression pained. “Who were you in love with, Dean?”
Dean opened his mouth to answer and realized he didn’t feel compelled to say. And just like that, it was over.
chap 2
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master post
Rating: NC-17
Author: deansgirl369
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 19000+ total
Summary: The truth has a way of coming out. Will it tear the brothers apart or will they both get something they have always wanted?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Kripke. I only let them do what they really want to without Eric in the way!
“You want a beer?” Sam asked as he turned from the booth where Dean was just sitting down, exhaustion written in every line of his body, to head to the bar, the words almost a statement and not a question, because of course Dean wanted a beer.
“No.” Dean said, and almost looked surprised himself.
“Whiskey?” Sam questioned. Dean usually only drank whiskey when he was really messed up or in pain. Sam looked at Dean a little closer, maybe he had missed something, and he was a little concerned now.
Dean shook his head once, brow furrowed. “No. I don’t want anything to drink. Water maybe?”
Sam looked even more confused, but headed toward the bar and Dean leaned back in his seat, eyes closing on a long blink.
Dean felt strange. Something was off and he had felt it since they had been in the witch’s cabin. ‘Fuckin hate witches.’
Returning from the bar with a beer for himself and water, what the fuck? for Dean, Sam slid into the opposite side of the booth, eying Dean curiously. “Dude, water?”
“Yeah.” Dean turned to look around the bar, avoiding Sam’s eyes and even he wasn’t sure why.
A blonde with big tits and a small waist, short shorts and cowboy boots gave Dean a sly smirk and a small wave as she caught his eye from across the room. Sam snorted, ‘well, that was quick.’ But Dean didn’t return the wave, in fact he didn’t seem to really register the interest, and Sam knew something was wrong. Not that he was complaining about Dean refusing to acknowledge the first skank that looked his way, but it certainly wasn’t classic Dean. She was precisely his type, cheap looking, cute and easy.
“What’s wrong with her?” Sam questioned, watching Dean closely.
“Nothing is wrong with her. “ Dean answered quickly, but didn’t turn his attention to Sam.
“So, why aren’t you already out the door with her?”
Dean appeared to be gritting his teeth, but the answer came quickly enough, “I don’t want her.”
“Seriously? Are you feeling sick, Dean?” Sam hadn’t taken his eyes off Dean, something was going on.
“Yes. No. Just shut up, Sam. Shit, you talk a lot.”
Sam didn’t acknowledge the demand or the insult. “So, if you don’t want her…and I don’t see anything else here you might wanna screw, and you aren’t drinking…you wanna just go? Back to the room, I mean?”
Dean sighed, looked slightly pained. “No. I don’t want to go back to the room.” Dean was looking at the table, concentrating on something, like he was trying hard to figure something out. “Can we please just not talk, Sam? Give me five minutes of peace.”
But Sam wasn’t playing along, too intrigued to be quiet. Everything had to be explained, sorted out, figured out, answered with Sam. Shit.
“Dean, when was the last time you got laid?”
Dean hesitated, looked like he was thinking hard, like he had to get the answer right. “Seven months and three days ago.”
“When was the last time you jerked off?”
Dean’s shot daggers at Sam, but again, the answer was immediate, “This morning. Shut the fuck up, Sam. Shut up. Can you fucking hear me? Shut up. I don’t want to fucking talk anymore.”
So why was he? Sam had never gotten so many answers to his questions out of Dean so easily. And he wasn’t going to let it drop.
Dean was starting to sweat. Fucking witches. It was obvious that he wasn’t able to fucking lie, wasn’t able to just not answer. This was fucking painful. Sam was starting to catch on, and he was terrified what was going to come out. Shit shit fuck.
Sam was trying to figure out what the best questions were. Because Dean was answering and for whatever reason, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. “What’s the kinkiest thing you ever did?”
“I let some girl tie me up and spank me.”
Sam resisted smiling, wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile. Somehow the answer made his dick twitch in his pants, but also his stomach churn just a little. “Did you like it?”
“I liked being tied up. I didn’t like being spanked.” Dean refused to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Huh. Tell me about it.”
Dean glared at him, but said nothing. ‘Huh.’ Apparently only direct questions worked in this situation. “Why did you like being tied up?”
“I liked someone else being in control.” Dean wanted to scream. He felt like his skin was too tight, like he was going to lose it completely.
Sam knew he was pushing Dean to the limit, but this was irresistible. He would pay later, he knew.
“Stop asking me questions, Sam. Please?”
It almost worked. Sam cringed inwardly. But too many years of secretive Dean made him push onward. There were too many things he wanted, felt like he needed, to know.
“Have you ever been in love?” Sam held his breath, wishing he could take back that question, not sure he was ready to hear the answer.
“Yes.” Dean dropped his head onto his hands. Sam was going to torture him. This was getting worse. This was going to ruin his life. If Sam got to the ugliest things, he couldn’t lie and it would mean watching Sam walk away again, this time for good.
“A girl I knew?” Sam heard himself ask, and dammit but he wanted to stop himself.
“No.” Dean felt relief tingle through him. Temporarily averted crisis. Thank God.
Sam scrunched his eyes. No more of that. He needed not to hurt them both with that shit anymore. More interesting questions, less gut wrenching ones.
“Do you love your car more than me, Dean?” Sam grinned, trying to tease Dean.
“No.”
Sam’s smile broadened, not that he didn’t know that one, but it felt good to make Dean say it.
“Do you think about the same thing all the time when you jack off?”
“No.” Dean’s voice was muffled, since he hadn’t raised his head from his hands resting on the table.
“Mmmm, do you think about the same person all the time when you jerk off?” Sam thought about his own fantasies, sadly pretty much all revolving around Dean. Damn but he was glad he wasn’t the one with the truth spell on him. Not that Dean didn’t have any idea he was interested, but that would be too much.
“Almost always, yeah.” Dean’s head came up, but he stared at the wall. “Ok, Sam. I’ll do whatever you want if you stop asking me these fucking questions. Please, dude. This is fucking torture. You are gonna be sorry.”
Sam thought about it for a second. He was tempted to ask for something, something he really wanted, but he wouldn’t force Dean to do that, couldn’t. Besides, it wouldn’t work that way, even though it was tempting…. but this was the chance of a lifetime, and he was pretty sure he would eventually break Dean on the kissing thing. Maybe not more, but seriously—kissing? Dean had never really denied Sam anything he truly wanted.
Sam bit his tongue and held his breath, but pressed on. “Have you ever had sex with another guy?”
“No!” Dean looked at Sam momentarily, hoping this was going to throw him off the subject he feared most.
“Have you done anything sexual with a guy?”
“No. I’m not gay, Sam.” That came out easily, it wasn’t a lie, and Dean felt better. He wasn’t gay.
“You are going to hurt me when this wears off, I know it. But you would do the same thing, Dean. You know you would. You won’t admit it…wait. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” Dammit, of course he would.
Dean thought about punching Sam in the face. That might shut him up. Of course, it would probably also get them thrown into jail. He would get up and leave, but without the public forum, this would be even scarier and more out of control. There was nothing to be done but let Sam beat him to death, until he asked that one question that sent Sam running away. It was coming, he was shocked one of them hadn’t already broken the fucking seal, exposed the ugly shit inside him.
“Why don’t you want to leave the bar, Dean?”
“Because there are people here and I don’t want to be alone with you while I can’t lie.” Dean looked surprised at his own answer, but probably only because he didn’t want to say it, not because he didn’t already know it.
Sam thought for a moment, then realized he wanted to know. Maybe he needed to know.
“Who?”
Dean’s breath caught. The question wasn’t specific enough apparently , because he didn’t feel the need to answer, but he knew it would be in just a second. He bolted for the door. He was to the car, and almost had the door open before Sam caught up with him, wrapping his arms around him from behind.
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Shrugging violently, Dean cursed the fates for letting Sam turn out so fucking strong. He couldn’t break away and he couldn’t lie. This was it. This was the fucking moment.
Sam’s breath was too close to his ear, his cock too close to his ass, his arms too close to Dean’s hardening cock. But it wasn’t sexual. Not for Sam. He was just refusing to let Dean break away. But Dean closed his eyes, keeping his body under control as much as possible as he waited for the killing blow.
Why was that the question that finally drove Dean out of the bar? That overcame his need to be in a public place for this session of truth? Apparently it was important, and even though Sam knew it was going to hurt, he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Who do you think about when you jack off, Dean?”
“You. You Sam. Its fucking you, ok? There, are you happy? Is this what you fucking wanted? Dammit, damnit dammit.” Dean felt his eyes sting, knew he was seconds away from tears. This was more painful than the time he was almost torn apart by the Wendigo. He waited for Sam to shove him away, to punch him, to say goodbye. He felt the tension shoot through Sam, every muscle tightening as if for attack, but then he stilled, his grip loosening slightly.
“If I let you go will you get in the car with me? Will you run?” Sam asked softly, breath ghosting over Dean's ear.
“Yes.” He answered the first question. “No.” Damnit. It was too late to run anyway, it was finally out there.
Sam released Dean, stepped away and walked to his side of the car, which was open by the time he reached the door. They sat in silence as Dean drove to the motel, but his hands shook and he felt his breath heaving out of him as if he had just outrun a demon. He was terrified to look at Sam. Now he was afraid Sam was the one who was going to run. And he would have no right to follow him, no matter how much it hurt. Hurt? Hell it would probably kill him this time.
When they got inside, Dean sat down on his own bed, head dropped forward, fight gone.
“Tell me, Dean. Tell me what you think about.” Sam sat down next to Dean, close but not touching him in anyway.
“Not a question, Sam. And why don’t you fucking stop with the torture? God, I know you want to fucking leave me now.” His voice broke on the last word.
“Do you want me to leave, Dean?”
“No. God, no, Sammy. I’ll beg you if you want me to. I’ll do anything to keep you here. I will promise you never, ever to bring it all up again. I would never have done it anyway. I’m sorry, I never, never wanted you to know. I’ve kept it inside for…” He paused. Too much information.
But apparently he wasn't even allowed to keep that secret. “How long, Dean? How long have you thought about it?”
“Since before you left for Stanford. For about a year before.” Dean visibly shrunk in on himself, jerking when Sam’s hand came to rest on his arm. Sam removed his hand.
They sat in silence for long, strained moments. Sam knew what he wanted. He wasn't going anywhere, hell, he was so close to getting everything he ever wanted, the last thing he was thinking was about leaving. But he was also selfish, and he wanted. He wanted what he knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop himself from asking.
“I’m not leaving, Dean. Not going anywhere. But you said you would do anything. I want you to tell me. Tell me what you think about, what you have fantasized about. You promised, and that’s what I want.”
Dean’s eyes met Sam’s pleadingly. “Why do you want to break me like that? Do you like being disgusted by me? Gonna throw it in my face. Fuck, Sam…this is painful…I said I was sorry…” His voice trailed off and he looked away, seeming to focus his attention inward, pulling away as much as possible from his brother.
Sam shook his head violently. “Dammit, Dean, what do you think of me that you think I would do that to you? Do you really think I want to hurt you? I’m not disgusted, or I wouldn’t ask. But you promised ‘anything I wanted’ and that’s what I’m asking. I want you to tell me. I will NOT throw it in your face. Ever.”
Dean shook visibly. This was so fucking hard. But Sam was right, he had said he would do anything, and he had meant it. He sat there for what felt like years, gathering his courage.
Then, looking over Sam’s shoulder, focusing on nothing in particular Dean drew in a deep breath and just let it flow out of him. “I think about kissing you, Sammy. I think about licking your neck, sucking bruises down the side of your throat that tell everyone who sees them that you are mine. I think about seeing you laid out naked and waiting for me, wanting me. I think about tasting every inch of your skin. I think about running my hands over every fucking beautiful part of you. I think about what your cock looks like and imagine you wanting me, hard for me. I think about your huge hands on my body, how fucking much I want to know you want me enough to put your hands on me. I think about the noises you might make, how it would sound to hear you beg for me.” He paused, still not looking at Sam.
Sam was panting, his breath hitching on each intake. He was tingling with need, desperate for more, to hear more, to know everything. And to make it all reality. His cock was so hard it hurt, was pressing against his jeans like it was going to burst through his zipper. He waited for Dean to continue, not wanting to break the flow of his train of thought, but anxious for him to go on.
Drawing a deep breath, Dean continued, “I think about sucking your cock, about taking it in my mouth and feeling it hot and hard and shoving down my throat. I think about being on my knees while you fuck my mouth, force me to take all of it. I think about you blowing me, about your pretty mouth taking me in, wanting to taste me too. I think about fingering your ass, about opening you up, working you until you beg me to fuck you, to bury my dick deep inside you. I think about fucking you until I’m all you can think about. I think about riding your cock, about how good it would feel to be filled with you, surrounding you, you pounding into me so I feel it for days. I think about you coming all over my stomach, all over me, about what your come would taste like, about licking it off you, about seeing my come on your lips.”
Dean fell silent, and he looked smaller, totally vulnerable in a way Sam had never seen before.
They sat in silence for what felt like forever, both lost in thought. Sam pressed the heel of his hand to his cock. He was still so hard it hurt. And he was elated...to know that Dean wanted him, that he wasn't alone in his desire, well, it was overwhelming.
He shifted his eyes to Dean, who was still staring off into the distance, his jaw locked, his expression pained. “Who were you in love with, Dean?”
Dean opened his mouth to answer and realized he didn’t feel compelled to say. And just like that, it was over.
chap 2
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master post
