alwaysenduphere (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alwaysenduphere) wrote2009-11-21 08:14 pm
alwaysenduphere) wrote2009-11-21 08:14 pm
Entry tags:
fic: Muscle Memory
Title: Muscle Memory
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 1,149
Prompt: Dean and Sam's first time in over two years, set in season five.
Notes: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spuffy_girl via the Fall Fandom Free For All. I should really give up trying to finish prompts on time. :(
After the flood of white light, the piercing sound of hell coming through to earth (through an opening he created), after a nightmareish plane ride that he's sure cemented Dean's fear of them, there's just awkward silence and a car ride.
He tries a couple of times in the car, opens his mouth. Once or twice he gets a syllable out, Dean's whole name even once, but the looks Dean gives him every time just make him want to crawl in a hole. So he stays quiet.
In the ragged motel room they finally stop in, Dean leaves him alone for over forty minutes. Sam sits on the edge of his bed staring at the floor for all of them. When Dean returns, he throws a bag in Sam's direction, but Sam has to move to actually catch it. "Grub," Dean says. It's the first word he's spoken since Ilchester, Maryland. He's still not looking at Sam. "Bobby's coming with the car in a few hours."
Sam eats the burger, his chewing the only sound in the room. He's not even sure how he's hungry. It tastes like tofu, and he's not sure if that's just him or if Dean got him a veggie burger out of spite. (Wouldn't put it past him, Sam thinks.) His mind buzzes while he eats, trying to come up with something to say that doesn't sound entirely pathetic (like he feels). He watches Dean move around the room, never settling in one place for long. Cleaning the weapons, cleaning himself, checking online. The TV turns on and flips through a few channels before Dean sighs and flips it back off. Sam hasn't seen Dean this restless since..."before hell," he finishes out loud, last bite of burger muffling his words.
Dean looks at him (finally looks at him again) and Sam watches his face for any clues he might actually say something. He doesn't, but doesn't make any move to silence Sam either, so Sam trudges on. "Right before you went to hell, you were like this. Couldn't sit in one place for long, didn't want to talk to me. It's ironic, really." He tries to shoot the bag into the trashcan next to where Dean's sitting at the desk, but it hits the side and tumbles down. Dean watches it fall. "Ironic because now I'm the one in hell." Dean looks up, his face unreadable. "I'm sorry, Dean. And I realize that's a ridiculous thing to say, nothing really compares and nothing really makes it better, but you've gotta let me try. Because if you don't let me try..." He knows he's rambling, knows this isn't any version of what he had worked out to say in his head, but it doesn't matter as long as it’s out.
He slides off the bed and walks over to pick up his trash, aware of Dean's eyes on him the whole time. "Life is hell without you in it," he says quietly, staring at the wall.
When Dean's hand wraps around his wrist, Sam's whole body shudders. He turns around slowly, moves with the pull of Dean's hand until they're facing. Sam's towering over Dean sitting in the chair but he feels so small the way Dean looks at him.
"Don't ever say that." Dean's voice is rough when it comes out, but Sam can't tell if it’s because of emotion or lack of use (emotion, his whole body screams). He waits for Dean to go on, to say more words, say anything. He holds back a sigh of relief when Dean finally continues. "You don't know anything about hell," he says, and drops Sam's wrist and stands up in one fluid motion. It's not what Sam was hoping for at all, but at least its communication.
"Dean," he starts, not really having a next sentence, but he not really needing one when Dean hauls back and hits him hard in the jaw. Sam feels the corner of his lip split, tastes blood (demon blood). Dean's eyes follow his tongue as he licks at the wound, but Sam's not sure what he sees in them. So not sure that when Dean lunges at him again, he stiffens, bracing for the punch.
His body recoils when Dean's lips hit his with only slightly less force than the punch. He stumbles backward, grasping the wall to keep his balance, as Dean kisses him. After just moments, Dean pushes away from him, panting. "Sam, I-" Sam kisses him back.
To Sam, it all seems like muscle memory from that point. (His lips on Dean's, his hands around Dean's hips.) They're not gentle, they never were, always a struggle to prove who needs who more. (Dean's lips around his neck, Dean's hands around his dick.)
"Two fucking years," Dean mumbles in the time it takes him to pull off Sam's shirt. He's wedged Sam against the wall now, leg in between Sam's splayed ones.
Sam hears the trash can clunk to the side when Dean steps back to take off his own shirt. "Whose fault is that, huh?" (Always futures of hell looming on the horizon.) "You're the one-"
"I know what I said," Dean growls out, biting Sam's neck in the process. The moan that escapes Sam serves to spur Dean on further. "What I said doesn't really matter anymore, does it? I'm here, you're here, hell Lucifer's here, but we're all in this together." He punctuates together with a single firm squeeze inside Sam's restricting jeans. "You fucked up big, no doubt, but I am still here. For some reason, I am still here with your sorry ass." Sam moans into Dean's neck as his large hand twists around in the tight space of Sam's jeans. "You don't get to know what hell is like, okay?"
The sound of panting and his zipper being pulled down are the only sounds in the room as Sam nods his head. There's a fleeting moment (his pants around his ankles, his body vibrating against Dean's) where Sam realizes this isn't anywhere near what he imagined this night would turn into, but does he give a shit? (No.) His head slams back against the wall as Dean speeds up the pace around him, his hands tightening and twisting in just the perfect way (Remembering in just the perfect way), and Sam's coming undone in his brother's hands with a gasp. He hears Dean chuckle, feels Dean move away (legs vibrating wobbly with the loss, always. ) Sam sighs and rests his weight against the wall, eyes closed.
When the world falls back into focus and his legs are truly beneath him, he opens his eyes and finds Dean on the bed, naked. (His hands around Dean's waist, his mouth around Dean's dick). Dean places a hand gently on Sam's cheek before Sam goes down on him. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 1,149
Prompt: Dean and Sam's first time in over two years, set in season five.
Notes: for
spuffy_girl via the Fall Fandom Free For All. I should really give up trying to finish prompts on time. :(After the flood of white light, the piercing sound of hell coming through to earth (through an opening he created), after a nightmareish plane ride that he's sure cemented Dean's fear of them, there's just awkward silence and a car ride.
He tries a couple of times in the car, opens his mouth. Once or twice he gets a syllable out, Dean's whole name even once, but the looks Dean gives him every time just make him want to crawl in a hole. So he stays quiet.
In the ragged motel room they finally stop in, Dean leaves him alone for over forty minutes. Sam sits on the edge of his bed staring at the floor for all of them. When Dean returns, he throws a bag in Sam's direction, but Sam has to move to actually catch it. "Grub," Dean says. It's the first word he's spoken since Ilchester, Maryland. He's still not looking at Sam. "Bobby's coming with the car in a few hours."
Sam eats the burger, his chewing the only sound in the room. He's not even sure how he's hungry. It tastes like tofu, and he's not sure if that's just him or if Dean got him a veggie burger out of spite. (Wouldn't put it past him, Sam thinks.) His mind buzzes while he eats, trying to come up with something to say that doesn't sound entirely pathetic (like he feels). He watches Dean move around the room, never settling in one place for long. Cleaning the weapons, cleaning himself, checking online. The TV turns on and flips through a few channels before Dean sighs and flips it back off. Sam hasn't seen Dean this restless since..."before hell," he finishes out loud, last bite of burger muffling his words.
Dean looks at him (finally looks at him again) and Sam watches his face for any clues he might actually say something. He doesn't, but doesn't make any move to silence Sam either, so Sam trudges on. "Right before you went to hell, you were like this. Couldn't sit in one place for long, didn't want to talk to me. It's ironic, really." He tries to shoot the bag into the trashcan next to where Dean's sitting at the desk, but it hits the side and tumbles down. Dean watches it fall. "Ironic because now I'm the one in hell." Dean looks up, his face unreadable. "I'm sorry, Dean. And I realize that's a ridiculous thing to say, nothing really compares and nothing really makes it better, but you've gotta let me try. Because if you don't let me try..." He knows he's rambling, knows this isn't any version of what he had worked out to say in his head, but it doesn't matter as long as it’s out.
He slides off the bed and walks over to pick up his trash, aware of Dean's eyes on him the whole time. "Life is hell without you in it," he says quietly, staring at the wall.
When Dean's hand wraps around his wrist, Sam's whole body shudders. He turns around slowly, moves with the pull of Dean's hand until they're facing. Sam's towering over Dean sitting in the chair but he feels so small the way Dean looks at him.
"Don't ever say that." Dean's voice is rough when it comes out, but Sam can't tell if it’s because of emotion or lack of use (emotion, his whole body screams). He waits for Dean to go on, to say more words, say anything. He holds back a sigh of relief when Dean finally continues. "You don't know anything about hell," he says, and drops Sam's wrist and stands up in one fluid motion. It's not what Sam was hoping for at all, but at least its communication.
"Dean," he starts, not really having a next sentence, but he not really needing one when Dean hauls back and hits him hard in the jaw. Sam feels the corner of his lip split, tastes blood (demon blood). Dean's eyes follow his tongue as he licks at the wound, but Sam's not sure what he sees in them. So not sure that when Dean lunges at him again, he stiffens, bracing for the punch.
His body recoils when Dean's lips hit his with only slightly less force than the punch. He stumbles backward, grasping the wall to keep his balance, as Dean kisses him. After just moments, Dean pushes away from him, panting. "Sam, I-" Sam kisses him back.
To Sam, it all seems like muscle memory from that point. (His lips on Dean's, his hands around Dean's hips.) They're not gentle, they never were, always a struggle to prove who needs who more. (Dean's lips around his neck, Dean's hands around his dick.)
"Two fucking years," Dean mumbles in the time it takes him to pull off Sam's shirt. He's wedged Sam against the wall now, leg in between Sam's splayed ones.
Sam hears the trash can clunk to the side when Dean steps back to take off his own shirt. "Whose fault is that, huh?" (Always futures of hell looming on the horizon.) "You're the one-"
"I know what I said," Dean growls out, biting Sam's neck in the process. The moan that escapes Sam serves to spur Dean on further. "What I said doesn't really matter anymore, does it? I'm here, you're here, hell Lucifer's here, but we're all in this together." He punctuates together with a single firm squeeze inside Sam's restricting jeans. "You fucked up big, no doubt, but I am still here. For some reason, I am still here with your sorry ass." Sam moans into Dean's neck as his large hand twists around in the tight space of Sam's jeans. "You don't get to know what hell is like, okay?"
The sound of panting and his zipper being pulled down are the only sounds in the room as Sam nods his head. There's a fleeting moment (his pants around his ankles, his body vibrating against Dean's) where Sam realizes this isn't anywhere near what he imagined this night would turn into, but does he give a shit? (No.) His head slams back against the wall as Dean speeds up the pace around him, his hands tightening and twisting in just the perfect way (Remembering in just the perfect way), and Sam's coming undone in his brother's hands with a gasp. He hears Dean chuckle, feels Dean move away (legs vibrating wobbly with the loss, always. ) Sam sighs and rests his weight against the wall, eyes closed.
When the world falls back into focus and his legs are truly beneath him, he opens his eyes and finds Dean on the bed, naked. (His hands around Dean's waist, his mouth around Dean's dick). Dean places a hand gently on Sam's cheek before Sam goes down on him. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."