Pairing: Sam/Dean (Slash)
Summary: A swift storm of sensuality and second thoughts.
Author’s Notes: A trifecta! Written for 60_minute_fics (“Dreams”), for kaz2y5’s “The Great Outdoors” challenge, and most importantly… jetpants’ birthday. :D
Water mist. The air is heavy with it, a haze in the afternoon sun.
Secret or solace, it brushes their skin. Silk-wet touch over bodies no more separate than a hair’s-breadth second drifting past.
If I— but the answer is there. Dean’s mouth captures the thought before it is lost, his fingertips drawing the shape of Sam’s soul.
The wind is now is Forever and Yes, its soft embrace curling around the edges of where they meet. Dean is flush against him, hands gently holding Sam’s face. His kiss is love-pure ardor-bright passion, and Sam is helpless as the heat of it steals his breath. Down, down, sinking soaring lifting roaring he rides Dean’s mouth in a shockwave of Wait and There and Ohhhh…
His hands measure the moment, the hard-smooth muscle of shoulders and back that say Dean and Would you? and Mine. Sam pulls him up, closer, a slick-rub-slide of Yes and More and Please. The careful pierce and glide of Dean inside is orange-sky vivid and sweet.
Arching and angling, Sam’s hand wrapped around Dean’s hip, theirs is a rhythm of perfect, fluid trust. Dean rocks up and in, the two of them tangle-fire wrought-up and gasping in the dizzying swell of pressure-pleasure-promise. A cry escapes Sam’s throat, head thrown back into purple twilight freefall, and Dean’s moan pulls him back to mark their completion with tooth-sharp muffled ecstasy against Dean’s shoulder.
In lakeside quiet, waves lap against the rocks in time with their heartbeats. Dean is heavy perfection between Sam’s legs, against his chest, and his hair lifts feather-light against Sam’s neck under birdcall branches.
With darkness comes silence. But neither man moves toward the world from this cloudfall haven. Here, the future will find its tomorrow, and necessity lies buried underneath the blanket of Ever and Always.
Through the soft-black nighttime of muffled sounds, coldness seeps in like a summons from the unloved Present. Sam shifts under a too-thin threadbare sheet.
His eyes open to the light from the parking lot, and he can see that the bed beside him is empty.
He’s alone, with the rain and his dream-swirl thoughts. Because Dean still hasn’t come home from the bar-room down the road.
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