Category: Sam/Dean (Wincest, Drabbles)
Summary: Three 100-word Wincest drabbles shrouded in hope. The darker set is "A Lack Of Certainty" (Wincest with angst).
Author's Notes: These, and several other wonderful drabbles, came about as a result of a 10-Drabble-Request Meme, allowing visitors to choose drabble type, pairing and a prompt word (if desired). Details for each are below. All three are unrelated Wincest glimpses.
Soaring (for particlesofgale. Sam/Dean, first time sweetness, Prompt: “nape”)
Sam is seventeen the first time he kisses Dean-- tall enough to take without asking.
His mouth is sweetly soft against Dean’s shaking lips, so sure and telling that Dean wonders if it’s real. The arms around him are strong, one hand brushing so lovingly across the nape of his neck. Dean unfolds along every hinge, pulling Sam down to lie beside him.
In the grass Sam leans above him, fingers gently slipping through Dean’s hair. He coaxes and caresses as his kisses explain themselves. Then Dean opens inside and out, with his brother soaring down unexpectedly to meet him.
Finding Stillness (for deirdre_c. Sam/Dean, Prompt: “skinny-dipping”)
“Why are we out here in the middle of the night when we’re not chasing anything?”
“I like the moonlight. Outdoors isn’t always about work.”
“There’s a lake,” Dean says thoughtfully.
“And no-one else,” Sam finishes up.
They leave their clothes on the shore, the water glistening through the heavy, humid air. Diving, pushing, rough-housing together they swim and float and watch the distant stars. Sam sits awhile half-submerged, until Dean rises up before him sleek and gleaming under the moon.
Sam reaches, pulls him down, and they love each other to completion with no wind to steal their sounds.
Revelation (for maygra. Slash Sam/Dean, Prompt: “Sacred”)
The hunt defines his purpose, but Sam’s touch defines his soul.
Dean knows killing, knows waiting ‘til the time is right. He keeps his game face on, struts his confidence and ‘casual’ for the world. It’s real, this façade, when his soldier-half’s in charge.
But when Sam finds him underneath that surface, Dean is transmuted by a love he’s never known. Sam’s lips offer benediction for Dean’s driven-down desires. Sam’s hands form a sacrament of trust.
Dean never knew his love would be returned once released from darkness. So profane—so unworthy—but Sam takes it and renders it pure
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