On the Roses
Feb. 9th, 2014 09:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: On the Roses
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated, with Infinite Love, to: My beloved husband, and always inspiring Muse, my darling Drew -- I love you, sweetheart; happy (early) Valentine's Day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Wincest all the way, baby! (Dean/Sam)
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt: None
Word Count: 1,270
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
They don't speak as they pull into the diner, but Dean does glance sideways at his passenger and notes, with a quiet and large smile, how Sam's eyes are lighting up. He leads the way inside, still not talking until they sit down with their menus, and he pulls out a new credit card, flashing it in the light so Sam will know to order whatever he wants. Sam sees the card, cocks his head in surprise, but smiles. Dean's grin grows: Sammy's smile alone makes this trip worthwhile.
He doesn't pick up the paper. He doesn't watch the chicks. He watches Sam, instead, as his beloved little brother devours his food. He enjoys a nice, thick hamburger himself and is reminded of why Sam's always loved this place. No one cooks better than the greasy chef in this little joint.
He goes to the bathroom and pops a song onto the old jukebox on his way back to the table. Sam lifts his head as their song starts to play. His eyes meet his, but he doesn't say anything. Much more important to Dean, he doesn't complain. He listens to the music instead, and Dean watches his big, brown eyes shimmer as he remembers the other times their song has played.
He wonders which times in particular Sammy is remembering as he eats his cobbler. He himself thinks of the first time they heard the song, when he was teaching Sammy how to dance in the privacy of the little, run-down hotel room John had left them in that time. He thinks, too, of the clan of Vampires they busted in a club while the song was playing and of the times he's laid Sammy down to its tune. His grin grows wide and mischievous as he remembers one late night, when he was driving them to their next mission, their song came on the radio, and Sammy went down on him.
He grabs his beer and nearly chugs the whole thing down as he thinks of that time. He's hard at the mere memory and wants nothing more than to throw Sammy over this table and make love to his little brother until they're both panting hard, muscles rippling, mouths screaming with pleasure in between wild kisses, and their memories of the recent events completely forgotten. But that can't happen yet, he reminds himself forcibly, sitting the empty can down and crunching it a little in his grasp. Sammy still doesn't want him.
He will by the end of this night, Dean swears, but he doesn't want him yet. He doesn't want him to love him. He doesn't even want him to be his brother. But they've been down these roads before, and Dean knows there's nothing they can really do to stop this love between them. They can no more not be soul mates than they can not be brothers, and no matter what Sam says, the blood that runs between their veins keeps them always as brothers.
The connection of their hearts keeps them always in love. God knows Dean knows that more than anybody else. He's loved his little brother for as long as he can remember. He was the first one whom he dreamed of sexually; unlike other boys his age whose first fantasies were of Pamela Anderson, Tiffani Amber Thiessen, or some other hot chick off the television, Dean dreamed of his little brother coming to him and of them finding their way along the sexual path of life together the first time and every time after that.
He coughs suddenly. A ball's forming in his throat, threatening to choke him. He flags the waiter down, grabs another beer, and nearly drinks it all down, too, in a single gulp. Sam's watching him now, his eyes shining, and Dean notes he's finished eating. He waves the waiter back, pays their bill, and leads the way out.
Sammy's still quiet as he climbs into the Impala beside him. Dean knows that means he's thinking, and he drives several more miles before finally daring to place a hand on Sam's jeaned calf. "Dean -- " his little brother starts, and the elder Winchester yanks his hand away as though a snake's about to bite it.
Sam hushes again. Dean watches him watching the scenery out the window as they pass through another couple of small towns before he finally pulls into another little hotel as the sun is beginning to climb over the horizon. He lets Sam walk in first, then grabs his stones, and follows behind him.
Sammy's standing in the doorway, shocked and unmoving. There's one bed in the room, and it's covered with roses. Sam turns slowly to look at him. "Dean," he says, and Dean notes how his little brother's Adam's apple is bobbing like crazy. His body tenses except for his knees which suddenly feel weak. God, how he wants to take the man into his arms and cover that bobbing apple with kisses and licks all day long!
"Sammy," he forces himself to speak the words he's planned all week long, but at first, he can't speak beyond a squeak. "Sammy," he tries again. Still, his voice croaks, but he continues on. "I've tried not loving you, man! I have, but I can't!"
It's the truth. They've talked about this before. He's done everything he can to work Sam out of his system. He had his first sex the day after he dreamed of his little brother coming to his bed. He can't even remember the girl's name, but he took her only because he wanted to forget about wanting his baby brother. Most of the women he's had have all been for that simple fact: He's tried to drown Sammy out of his system.
He's tried to give his little brother a life away from him, tried to let him have another love, tried to let him find his own happiness, but they always end up back together. He's scrubbed himself until he's bled, and still, all he's wanted is his Sammy. Now he stands before him, at dawn on Valentine's Day, every inch of his heart and soul aching just to be touched by him with love once more.
Sam stands on the precipice again. He can have a life without his brother, or he can have the man he loves. He gazes into his big, misting eyes. He looks down upon the man who wears a whimpering puppy dog expression better than any one else they've ever known. He looks into the eyes of the brother he's always loved, the only one he's ever truly loved and wanted to be loved by, and at last, his resolve crashes.
"Dean . . . " His voice trails off. He shakes his head helplessly. Dean starts to turn to leave, but Sam finally reaches out, grabs him, and pulls him back around. "I love you, too, man!" he cries, tears slipping from his anguished eyes, and then they're falling back across the roses, the door to the time just between night and day still left hanging wide open.
Their hands are busily trying to grasp every part of each other, their mouths moaning as their lips and tongue dart against each other, their hearts beginning to soar. Dean feels his brother's staff long and hard against his own, and inside, he roars, a man loved once more. His hands shove up into Sammy's dark, wavy hair. He grabs him hard against him, tells him again how much he loves him, and then he takes him on the roses.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated, with Infinite Love, to: My beloved husband, and always inspiring Muse, my darling Drew -- I love you, sweetheart; happy (early) Valentine's Day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Wincest all the way, baby! (Dean/Sam)
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt: None
Word Count: 1,270
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
They don't speak as they pull into the diner, but Dean does glance sideways at his passenger and notes, with a quiet and large smile, how Sam's eyes are lighting up. He leads the way inside, still not talking until they sit down with their menus, and he pulls out a new credit card, flashing it in the light so Sam will know to order whatever he wants. Sam sees the card, cocks his head in surprise, but smiles. Dean's grin grows: Sammy's smile alone makes this trip worthwhile.
He doesn't pick up the paper. He doesn't watch the chicks. He watches Sam, instead, as his beloved little brother devours his food. He enjoys a nice, thick hamburger himself and is reminded of why Sam's always loved this place. No one cooks better than the greasy chef in this little joint.
He goes to the bathroom and pops a song onto the old jukebox on his way back to the table. Sam lifts his head as their song starts to play. His eyes meet his, but he doesn't say anything. Much more important to Dean, he doesn't complain. He listens to the music instead, and Dean watches his big, brown eyes shimmer as he remembers the other times their song has played.
He wonders which times in particular Sammy is remembering as he eats his cobbler. He himself thinks of the first time they heard the song, when he was teaching Sammy how to dance in the privacy of the little, run-down hotel room John had left them in that time. He thinks, too, of the clan of Vampires they busted in a club while the song was playing and of the times he's laid Sammy down to its tune. His grin grows wide and mischievous as he remembers one late night, when he was driving them to their next mission, their song came on the radio, and Sammy went down on him.
He grabs his beer and nearly chugs the whole thing down as he thinks of that time. He's hard at the mere memory and wants nothing more than to throw Sammy over this table and make love to his little brother until they're both panting hard, muscles rippling, mouths screaming with pleasure in between wild kisses, and their memories of the recent events completely forgotten. But that can't happen yet, he reminds himself forcibly, sitting the empty can down and crunching it a little in his grasp. Sammy still doesn't want him.
He will by the end of this night, Dean swears, but he doesn't want him yet. He doesn't want him to love him. He doesn't even want him to be his brother. But they've been down these roads before, and Dean knows there's nothing they can really do to stop this love between them. They can no more not be soul mates than they can not be brothers, and no matter what Sam says, the blood that runs between their veins keeps them always as brothers.
The connection of their hearts keeps them always in love. God knows Dean knows that more than anybody else. He's loved his little brother for as long as he can remember. He was the first one whom he dreamed of sexually; unlike other boys his age whose first fantasies were of Pamela Anderson, Tiffani Amber Thiessen, or some other hot chick off the television, Dean dreamed of his little brother coming to him and of them finding their way along the sexual path of life together the first time and every time after that.
He coughs suddenly. A ball's forming in his throat, threatening to choke him. He flags the waiter down, grabs another beer, and nearly drinks it all down, too, in a single gulp. Sam's watching him now, his eyes shining, and Dean notes he's finished eating. He waves the waiter back, pays their bill, and leads the way out.
Sammy's still quiet as he climbs into the Impala beside him. Dean knows that means he's thinking, and he drives several more miles before finally daring to place a hand on Sam's jeaned calf. "Dean -- " his little brother starts, and the elder Winchester yanks his hand away as though a snake's about to bite it.
Sam hushes again. Dean watches him watching the scenery out the window as they pass through another couple of small towns before he finally pulls into another little hotel as the sun is beginning to climb over the horizon. He lets Sam walk in first, then grabs his stones, and follows behind him.
Sammy's standing in the doorway, shocked and unmoving. There's one bed in the room, and it's covered with roses. Sam turns slowly to look at him. "Dean," he says, and Dean notes how his little brother's Adam's apple is bobbing like crazy. His body tenses except for his knees which suddenly feel weak. God, how he wants to take the man into his arms and cover that bobbing apple with kisses and licks all day long!
"Sammy," he forces himself to speak the words he's planned all week long, but at first, he can't speak beyond a squeak. "Sammy," he tries again. Still, his voice croaks, but he continues on. "I've tried not loving you, man! I have, but I can't!"
It's the truth. They've talked about this before. He's done everything he can to work Sam out of his system. He had his first sex the day after he dreamed of his little brother coming to his bed. He can't even remember the girl's name, but he took her only because he wanted to forget about wanting his baby brother. Most of the women he's had have all been for that simple fact: He's tried to drown Sammy out of his system.
He's tried to give his little brother a life away from him, tried to let him have another love, tried to let him find his own happiness, but they always end up back together. He's scrubbed himself until he's bled, and still, all he's wanted is his Sammy. Now he stands before him, at dawn on Valentine's Day, every inch of his heart and soul aching just to be touched by him with love once more.
Sam stands on the precipice again. He can have a life without his brother, or he can have the man he loves. He gazes into his big, misting eyes. He looks down upon the man who wears a whimpering puppy dog expression better than any one else they've ever known. He looks into the eyes of the brother he's always loved, the only one he's ever truly loved and wanted to be loved by, and at last, his resolve crashes.
"Dean . . . " His voice trails off. He shakes his head helplessly. Dean starts to turn to leave, but Sam finally reaches out, grabs him, and pulls him back around. "I love you, too, man!" he cries, tears slipping from his anguished eyes, and then they're falling back across the roses, the door to the time just between night and day still left hanging wide open.
Their hands are busily trying to grasp every part of each other, their mouths moaning as their lips and tongue dart against each other, their hearts beginning to soar. Dean feels his brother's staff long and hard against his own, and inside, he roars, a man loved once more. His hands shove up into Sammy's dark, wavy hair. He grabs him hard against him, tells him again how much he loves him, and then he takes him on the roses.
The End
