Fic: Darker Desires
Mar. 27th, 2016 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
majestic_duxkTitle: Darker Meaning
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Rating: T
Warnings/Kinks: nudity, sexual discussion, humour, wincest,
Summary: written for spn_masquerade prompt: Dean comes home to find Sam sunbathing
There was freedom in bunker living.
If something came up, something fun, that the other had absolutely no interest in attending, then you could go without using up two dodgy credit cards. Plus, and Dean wasn’t judging, Sam had become a bit of a home body.
So when there was a national LARP event only a few hours away, Sammy was more than happy to stay home, while Dean could go and get dressed up and kill monsters for fun. It was a holiday, he insisted.
And it was. Charlie was too far away, and so he had no handmaidenly duties. Not that he missed them; being a knight was pretty fun. But he kinda wished Sam was there. Or someone. Someone who would watch his back so Dean could relax. Never trust anyone had been drummed into him from a young age, and life had only reinforced that lesson. And living on the road, he and Sam were always in each other’s pockets… He just wasn’t used to it. While space was good, he had enough after two day.
He had to laugh at himself.
”Back in a week, Sammy! Try not to miss me too much,” indeed!
xxxx
It was a little hard to leave his fellow knights: Dean had made himself integral to their plan to take over the Black King’s domain. And he did kinda want to beat that smarmy dick… but he wanted to get home more. So with a comically sad face, and a promise to join their online team, he made his way back to the Impala, and hit the road. With a tail wind, good tunes, and loud singing, he made excellent time. Even stopping to get some grocery supplies (he couldn’t trust Sam to have bought anything decent), he made good time, and was back by lunchtime.
Bustling around the kitchen he had everything put away and hadn’t heard a peep from Sam. Frowning, he tapped his foot. He wasn’t going to freak out, not yet. There were still too many options. Although if he was going to leave the bunker, he would surely have told Dean. That left getting sprung a bunker booby trap, or he was just outside and hadn’t heard Dean’s triumphant return.
He’d look outside first. Yeah, that was easier. If he’d wandered into a Men of Letters trap, Dean wouldn’t even know where to start. So. Start easy.
xxxx
Dropping his stuff in his room, he crept outside. He was convinced that Sammy was out there somewhere. And he wasn’t sneaking, exactly. That would be wrong. Dean just wanted to know what his brother got up to when Dean wasn’t there. Plus, if Dean did manage to sneak on his brother, it would be a well-deserved lesson. Yeah, this was totally a lesson.
In the end, the Sasquatch wasn’t hard to find. Out the back door there was a little courtyard, and over the top of a banana lounge, was Sam’s ridiculous mop. Sneaking forward, Dean kicked a rock. It’s rattle across the gravel ridiculously loud. Cursing himself – who exactly was supposed to learn a lesson here? – Dean held his breath. Sam shuffled, and sighed, and then went silent. Dean waited, until Sam’s breathing evened out into soft, snuffling breaths.
It took great force of will to not screech out loud. Because what? The bastard was asleep?
How could Dean have not seen this, Sam losing his edge? That was the sort of thing that would get him killed in the field, and that wasn’t happening. Not on Dean’s watch. Mentally pushing up his sleeves, Dean moved forward once more ready to scare the living daylights out of his sleeping brother-
“Losing your touch, Dean?”
-who was not actually sleeping.
One sardonic eyebrow was raised as Dean stared at him mouth agape, because-
“Why do you have my baking tray?”
Sighing, Sam put the tray down.
“I’m going to wash that, you know. And scrub it. Probably with bleach.” If Dean sounded accusatory, that’s because he was.
Sam sighed even deeper. “Really? That’s your problem?
“Yes, Sam. It’s unhygienic.”
“What, so my cock in your mouth is fine, but it can’t touch-“
“It’s unhygienic, Sam! And why was your cock on my baking tray anyway?”
Sam’s mouth opened and shut a few time. Before he closed his eyes and blew out a deep breath. Dean just crossed his eyes, and tightened his lips: this was the perfect time for a bitch face.
“I was sun tanning, Dean.”
Dean couldn’t stop the snort, and Sam leveled him with bitch face 52 (I can’t believe I have to explain this to you).
“I’ve researched it, Dean.”
Well. That told Dean exactly nothing. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.
Sam gave in, frustrated. “Tanning’s bad for the skin, I get that, so I was looking for a time efficient way to get some rays. Maximum darkness for minimum time effect, this minimising the risk of sun cancer.” A timer buzzed. “And now that that’s done…”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Dean was not letting this go. “You put a timer on so you could tan your dick?”
Rolling his eyes, Sam stood and starting putting his clothes back on. Dean took a proper look, and yeah. Sam didn’t have any tan lines. Eyes narrowing, Dean scowled. Just how long had this weird habit been going on?
“You’re weird. You are really weird, but just answer me-“
“One more question, and that’s it, Dean.”
“Why the fuck do you need to tan your dick?”
Sam’s blush was a beautiful thing to behold. Sam, who could whisper the hottest, filthiest things with nothing but fire in his eye, who would stand there, naked and proud and send Dean to his knees with just a word, that Sam was blushing!
Dean fucking loved it!
“I like the look of it.” The words were muffled.
“You like the look of it?” Sam nodded and Dean’s face crinkled. “How often do you look at your dick, Sam?”
Dean pondered a moment. He considered himself very familiar with his dick. With the size, with the feel, and yeah, the look. He probably knew Sam’s better, but hey! That wasn’t a problem. And Sam’s was nice. Not that he’d ever noted it’s tan. The way it swelled, and curved to the left. It’s length. It’s taste. The way it felt in his mouth or in his ass…
Shifting uncomfortably, Dean could feel his own pasty white cock perk up at the thought of Sam’s tanned Lothario. Sam’s discomfort eased as Dean’s increased, a newly cocky smile forming. And fuck! He had the I want to fuck you through the mattress look on and Dean was totally on board.
“I like the way it looks on you, against you.”
What?
“I love fucking your ass, and looking down and seeing how pale you are.”
What the fuck?
“Sam!”
Now Dean was blushing.
“It’s one of my favourite views,” Sam informed him as he prowled forward. I don’t think I can ever get enough of it.”
He pounced.
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Rating: T
Warnings/Kinks: nudity, sexual discussion, humour, wincest,
Summary: written for spn_masquerade prompt: Dean comes home to find Sam sunbathing
There was freedom in bunker living.
If something came up, something fun, that the other had absolutely no interest in attending, then you could go without using up two dodgy credit cards. Plus, and Dean wasn’t judging, Sam had become a bit of a home body.
So when there was a national LARP event only a few hours away, Sammy was more than happy to stay home, while Dean could go and get dressed up and kill monsters for fun. It was a holiday, he insisted.
And it was. Charlie was too far away, and so he had no handmaidenly duties. Not that he missed them; being a knight was pretty fun. But he kinda wished Sam was there. Or someone. Someone who would watch his back so Dean could relax. Never trust anyone had been drummed into him from a young age, and life had only reinforced that lesson. And living on the road, he and Sam were always in each other’s pockets… He just wasn’t used to it. While space was good, he had enough after two day.
He had to laugh at himself.
”Back in a week, Sammy! Try not to miss me too much,” indeed!
xxxx
It was a little hard to leave his fellow knights: Dean had made himself integral to their plan to take over the Black King’s domain. And he did kinda want to beat that smarmy dick… but he wanted to get home more. So with a comically sad face, and a promise to join their online team, he made his way back to the Impala, and hit the road. With a tail wind, good tunes, and loud singing, he made excellent time. Even stopping to get some grocery supplies (he couldn’t trust Sam to have bought anything decent), he made good time, and was back by lunchtime.
Bustling around the kitchen he had everything put away and hadn’t heard a peep from Sam. Frowning, he tapped his foot. He wasn’t going to freak out, not yet. There were still too many options. Although if he was going to leave the bunker, he would surely have told Dean. That left getting sprung a bunker booby trap, or he was just outside and hadn’t heard Dean’s triumphant return.
He’d look outside first. Yeah, that was easier. If he’d wandered into a Men of Letters trap, Dean wouldn’t even know where to start. So. Start easy.
xxxx
Dropping his stuff in his room, he crept outside. He was convinced that Sammy was out there somewhere. And he wasn’t sneaking, exactly. That would be wrong. Dean just wanted to know what his brother got up to when Dean wasn’t there. Plus, if Dean did manage to sneak on his brother, it would be a well-deserved lesson. Yeah, this was totally a lesson.
In the end, the Sasquatch wasn’t hard to find. Out the back door there was a little courtyard, and over the top of a banana lounge, was Sam’s ridiculous mop. Sneaking forward, Dean kicked a rock. It’s rattle across the gravel ridiculously loud. Cursing himself – who exactly was supposed to learn a lesson here? – Dean held his breath. Sam shuffled, and sighed, and then went silent. Dean waited, until Sam’s breathing evened out into soft, snuffling breaths.
It took great force of will to not screech out loud. Because what? The bastard was asleep?
How could Dean have not seen this, Sam losing his edge? That was the sort of thing that would get him killed in the field, and that wasn’t happening. Not on Dean’s watch. Mentally pushing up his sleeves, Dean moved forward once more ready to scare the living daylights out of his sleeping brother-
“Losing your touch, Dean?”
-who was not actually sleeping.
One sardonic eyebrow was raised as Dean stared at him mouth agape, because-
“Why do you have my baking tray?”
Sighing, Sam put the tray down.
“I’m going to wash that, you know. And scrub it. Probably with bleach.” If Dean sounded accusatory, that’s because he was.
Sam sighed even deeper. “Really? That’s your problem?
“Yes, Sam. It’s unhygienic.”
“What, so my cock in your mouth is fine, but it can’t touch-“
“It’s unhygienic, Sam! And why was your cock on my baking tray anyway?”
Sam’s mouth opened and shut a few time. Before he closed his eyes and blew out a deep breath. Dean just crossed his eyes, and tightened his lips: this was the perfect time for a bitch face.
“I was sun tanning, Dean.”
Dean couldn’t stop the snort, and Sam leveled him with bitch face 52 (I can’t believe I have to explain this to you).
“I’ve researched it, Dean.”
Well. That told Dean exactly nothing. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.
Sam gave in, frustrated. “Tanning’s bad for the skin, I get that, so I was looking for a time efficient way to get some rays. Maximum darkness for minimum time effect, this minimising the risk of sun cancer.” A timer buzzed. “And now that that’s done…”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Dean was not letting this go. “You put a timer on so you could tan your dick?”
Rolling his eyes, Sam stood and starting putting his clothes back on. Dean took a proper look, and yeah. Sam didn’t have any tan lines. Eyes narrowing, Dean scowled. Just how long had this weird habit been going on?
“You’re weird. You are really weird, but just answer me-“
“One more question, and that’s it, Dean.”
“Why the fuck do you need to tan your dick?”
Sam’s blush was a beautiful thing to behold. Sam, who could whisper the hottest, filthiest things with nothing but fire in his eye, who would stand there, naked and proud and send Dean to his knees with just a word, that Sam was blushing!
Dean fucking loved it!
“I like the look of it.” The words were muffled.
“You like the look of it?” Sam nodded and Dean’s face crinkled. “How often do you look at your dick, Sam?”
Dean pondered a moment. He considered himself very familiar with his dick. With the size, with the feel, and yeah, the look. He probably knew Sam’s better, but hey! That wasn’t a problem. And Sam’s was nice. Not that he’d ever noted it’s tan. The way it swelled, and curved to the left. It’s length. It’s taste. The way it felt in his mouth or in his ass…
Shifting uncomfortably, Dean could feel his own pasty white cock perk up at the thought of Sam’s tanned Lothario. Sam’s discomfort eased as Dean’s increased, a newly cocky smile forming. And fuck! He had the I want to fuck you through the mattress look on and Dean was totally on board.
“I like the way it looks on you, against you.”
What?
“I love fucking your ass, and looking down and seeing how pale you are.”
What the fuck?
“Sam!”
Now Dean was blushing.
“It’s one of my favourite views,” Sam informed him as he prowled forward. I don’t think I can ever get enough of it.”
He pounced.
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