Pairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest, PWP)
Summary: Some lovely schmoop, for a change from the canon angst.
Author’s Notes: Timeless happiness, somewhere before or long after season two. Written for 60_minute_fics, for the prompt of “Sunrise.”
Sam liked the forest for a brief period of two years when he was at Stanford.
A year into school was long enough that he’d forgotten what could live there—all the things they’d been trained to hunt, all the reasons they got in, they got out, and didn’t linger. Two years of hiking, a little skiing, and it was all good. Right until a snahlforg tried to steal his study partner’s friend.
So now he remembers, stuck here growing restless as they wait for the fen-creature to awaken. Two hours of lurking behind the bushes, feeling the dampness creep through the hole in the knee of his pants. He wants to poke Dean in the arm, share the misery while the minutes drag on. Why doesn’t Dean get bored waiting like this? It drives Sam nuts that this stuff doesn’t bother Dean at all. It means that when Sam gets tired of it, it’s because he’s a bitch and not because Dean’s a monotony-eating freak.
A muffled splash echoes across the pond in the middle of the clearing, and blackish arms break the surface as the monster comes out to feed.
Dean reaches back for the blowtorch, his eyes attuned to the near-darkness as they wait for the creature to move away from the water. Five minutes or so, and then they creep out from behind their barrier and sneak up on their smelly, sodden prey.
Their muffled footsteps give them away, and the monster turns and comes back toward them, ready to attack.
Whoosh! goes the blowtorch, and the night is illuminated with the creature’s slow demise.
They wait and watch, the flames dying down as the forest returns to darkness. Quiet crackling lingers, and then Sam sweeps the remnants into the water with the help of a tree-branch broom.
“Nice,” Dean says. Their work is done and the evidence is already gone.
It’s the edge of morning, as they walk through the woods back to where they left the car. The sky tints purple, becoming lavender by the time they’ve packed the trunk.
Dean reaches for the door, but Sam catches his arm and pulls him over to the front of the car.
They lean together, side-by-side, as clouds turn red against the pink of the coming sunrise. Sam’s arm slips around Dean’s waist, stroking the buttery texture of his brother’s jacket as they watch the day begin.
A smile plays around Dean’s lips—more mischief than contentment, because Dean’s quiet can’t be relied upon to stay. Sam’s not really surprised when Dean’s hand steals up his leg, and it’s hardly a minute before he’s looking at Dean instead of the sky.
Dean steps around in front of him, moves in between Sam’s knees and kisses him with the confidence of possession and need. One hand against Sam’s chest and the other cradling his head, Dean’s love is sure and strong with a never-mentioned undertone of sweet.
Sam’s hands come around Dean’s back, pulling him closer. He caresses Dean’s tongue with his own as they rub through the fabric of their jeans.
It’s too warm suddenly—Sam leans back and unbuttons his pants as Dean’s eyes grow fierce. It takes forever, getting Sam’s boots off and everything else that’s in the way, but then the two of them are ready and the pace is on.
Dean pushes Sam up on the hood, parting his legs and moistening him skillfully with his tongue. Sam groans, head tossing side-to-side with the desperate want that all this starts but can’t fulfill. Dean breaks off, thumbs sweeping up and across the inside of Sam’s thighs, then licks up the length of him just to capture the tip and feel the way it makes Sam shake.
Dean slicks himself up, then pushes in until the warmth of Sam surrounds him. Then slowly, sweetly, he moves and thrusts as his hands brush over Sam’s skin.
The world tilts above Sam’s head, as Dean loves him in the dream-light of the morning.
When Dean brings him back to the moment with the touch that finishes him, pushes him over the edge, Sam’s thoughts swim with the rush of his climax until he has lost his sense of self, of land, of time.
Up above, the sky spins with colors that might be morning, or might be something inside Sam.
When daylight finds them short moments later, Sam is under Dean, pressed together on the hood of the car.
With steel at his back and his brother at his front, Sam could lie here forever while the world makes up its mind.
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