Category: Sam/Dean (Wincest, PWP)
Summary: PWP, established relationship. Sweet, sweet meadow sex. Imagine it...
Author’s Notes: This is the revised version of the story written for 60_minute_fics (the prompt was “Do I Make You Porny, Baby?”). Not terribly different, but with some editing and polishing in the final version.
That the ground was grassy was a huge plus—every fall went that much easier when it came. That it was secluded was a given—they didn’t dare spar with an audience, not when a couple of guys fighting would get the cops called in anymore.
That it was five days since there’d been any kind of sex was pure chance. Hopeless, aching, rolling over one another and pinning each other down all rough-hard-bruising-breathless chance.
It was Dean who cracked first.
Sam was so aggravatingly tall now, so much longer than Dean. Once he’d flipped Dean over on his back, Sam could sit far enough down on Dean’s thighs to immobilize him and still reach up high enough to lock down Dean’s arms. Dean could squirm and writhe and buck all he wanted, but Sam just Could Not Be Moved.
Sam was above him then, grinning and riding along with Dean’s frustration. It took exactly one low laugh next to his ear and one sweep of Sam’s thumb across his mouth before Dean rolled in a slow thrust up underneath his brother and parted his lips to nip and lick that thumb. Sam shivered, returning helplessly to that sinful mouth— Dean’s most powerful weapon of all. Sam’s lips followed in turn, kissing, wrestling with the stubble-edged softness that was everything like Dean himself. All warning and toughness on the outside, wet welcome and need on the inside, Dean was a secret only Sam was permitted to know.
Winning was forgotten, along with the upper-hand and spin-kick techniques and whatever the hell else they’d been working on that day.
Dean’s arms were pliant under Sam’s hand, just waiting for the chance to be freed, to roam and push-pull and stroke any part of Sam they could find. Instead, Sam slid up further, seated on and lap-dancing over Dean’s imprisoned, rigid heat. Sam ground his hips side-to-side slowly to the music of Dean’s moaning. He slid the other hand up to meet the first, parting Dean’s arms and clasping their hands together as he leaned forward and silk-slip-stroke-loved Dean with his mouth. Dean was many things-- everything—but the blending of skill and affection conquered him like no-one Sam had ever known. It was so sweet and easy, bringing Dean off like this, and Sam mouthed over Dean’s neck and brushed his hands lightly down Dean’s arms as his brother cried out and shuddered and gasped.
Sam kissed and soothed as Dean gained his breath and his stillness once more. Shifting off to lie down next to Dean, he moved his fingers gently over Dean’s temples and into his hair. Dean finally opened his eyes, his gaze heavy-lidded and depthless as it drifted up toward Sam’s. The smile he gave Sam at moments like this was worth all of it—the darkness, the danger, the worlds-inside taboo of the two of them together.
The light was golden now, touching the grass and the vivid green of Dean’s glowing eyes. The air hummed quietly with the presence of hidden life.
In the afternoon haze, Dean pulled Sam’s head firmly toward his own. He kissed Sam slowly, thoroughly before the other hand slid down the length of Sam’s chest. Rubbing with languid intent, he eased his fingers up to fumble briefly with Sam’s fly. It resisted those one-handed efforts, and finally Dean rolled Sam onto his back and used his hands freely, lost in the richness of it all. His mouth teased and twirled, fingers sweeping up under Sam’s shirt and caressing that flat belly, those lanky hips. The pleasure Dean took from this was so obvious, his loving so intense, that it wasn’t long before Sam was arching his back and giving away all semblance of self and control to his brother. It was glorious—so sharp and darkly perfect that Sam’s world spun in red behind his eyes. The earth could have swallowed him whole and he would not have noticed the loss of the sun. It was inside him, inside Dean, when they were together like this.
Dean crawled up beside him afterward, his head in the crook of Sam’s neck and his body molded against every curve and line and crevice. They lay as one, half-asleep with the release of so much energy. Dean’s arm embraced Sam’s chest, and Sam’s hand stroked it in return as he breathed in the hidden-memory scent of Dean’s hair.
The day was ending, and this moment was complete.
The surrounding chirp of crickets rose toward dusk as the rustle-soft whisper of wind soothed the heat of the battle now finished.
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