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So I am supposed to be writing drabbles. for that meme going around. This turned into an actual fic, so I decided to go ahead and post it on its own.
Title: These Are Not My Wounds
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Words: ~800
Spoilers: FOR SPN 4:19
Summary: for the prompt: possessive sex after 4:19. (angst)
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sadcypress
Three hundred miles from Windom, after Sam passes out for the second time, Dean leaves him in a motel room, tells him to stay put, comes back forty-five minutes later with a bag of O-neg and an IV kit.
That leads to a fight about blood transfusion safety, slit wrists and psych consults, and the fact that Dean is not, and never has been, a doctor, but it turns out that Sam is just too weak to protest effectively, and Dean hardly has to hold him down to get the needle in. Which, Dean is not at all loath to point out, he manages on the first try.
Once the blood is in and he's had a good night's sleep though, Sam does have to admit he feels a lot better.
The next day, Dean makes Sam eat a spinach omelet for breakfast, he buys him a double bacon cheeseburger for lunch, and he brings steaks back to the room from the place two streets over for dinner.
"Okay," Sam says, feeling like he's never going to need to eat again, "I get it. I lost a lot of blood."
The day after that, Dean is back to criticizing everything Sam does, snapping when Sam offers to drive, turning up the radio to ear-splitting levels, and generally giving Sam a headache.
When they stop for the night, Sam gets out his gun to clean it, and he's thinking about the day he hit his first target with all three bullets, about how proud Dean had been, when Dean interrupts him: "Thinking about Adam?" Dean doesn't sound sad, or sympathetic; he sounds pissed off. "Wishing he was here instead of me?"
"What?" Yeah, Dean is into his second beer already, but Sam can't actually believe he's thinking that.
"Come on, Sam. You were jumping at the chance to have a brother you aren't ashamed of." Dean's jaw and fists are clenched, and he looks like he's ready to jump off the bed and punch Sam in the face.
Sam rises preemptively, and stands over his brother, making use of his height and his shoulders. "You're kidding me, right?"
"You know what? Fuck it. I'll see you later." Dean stands up and pushes past Sam, heading towards the door.
Sam does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Dean by the arms and kisses him.
He thought when he got Dean back from hell that things could go back to this between them. But somehow between losing his faith he was ever going to get Dean back and Dean and Bobby turning up at his door, that possibility seemed to have slipped away. Everything since has gotten more and more complicated until Sam can't even remember how they were then, in the days before.
But it comes crashing back with Dean pulled tight to his chest, their lips moving together like they're starving for each other.
Sam falls on Dean on the bed, cringing when it jars the stitches on his arms, but not stopping, not pulling away, not so much as letting Dean catch his breath.
"You're my brother, you asshole. You," Sam says, though he doesn't even know if the words make sense pressed into Dean's neck, his collar bone, his jaw.
He bites Dean's skin, licks it, claws at Dean's clothes and tries to help as Dean tugs at his, but it's messy and not very effective. They end up rutting and grabbing, biting at each other's lips, and it feels more like fighting than sex, but Sam can't get enough of it.
Sam comes in his jeans—just like the first time he and Dean kissed, too many years ago for him to even imagine now—and rolls off his brother.
"Don't you fucking leave me," Dean says, clutching at Sam's shoulder and the back of his neck, but Sam was only moving to get his hand on Dean's dick and when he does, that stops Dean's complaints.
Sam undoes Dean's buttons, gets his fingers around his brother's length, and barely has a chance to remember what this feels like before Dean is spilling over his palm. When he's got his breath back, Dean turns on his side, facing away from Sam, tucking himself back into his jeans.
"Dean?" Sam says, reaching to touch his brother's shoulder.
But Dean flinches away and says, "Not tonight, Sam. Just— Not tonight."
Sam stands and heads for the bathroom to clean up. When he comes back, Dean has taken off his boots and climbed under the covers.
Sam pretends that he believes Dean is sleeping.
Title: These Are Not My Wounds
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Words: ~800
Spoilers: FOR SPN 4:19
Summary: for the prompt: possessive sex after 4:19. (angst)
A/N: For
sadcypress Three hundred miles from Windom, after Sam passes out for the second time, Dean leaves him in a motel room, tells him to stay put, comes back forty-five minutes later with a bag of O-neg and an IV kit.
That leads to a fight about blood transfusion safety, slit wrists and psych consults, and the fact that Dean is not, and never has been, a doctor, but it turns out that Sam is just too weak to protest effectively, and Dean hardly has to hold him down to get the needle in. Which, Dean is not at all loath to point out, he manages on the first try.
Once the blood is in and he's had a good night's sleep though, Sam does have to admit he feels a lot better.
The next day, Dean makes Sam eat a spinach omelet for breakfast, he buys him a double bacon cheeseburger for lunch, and he brings steaks back to the room from the place two streets over for dinner.
"Okay," Sam says, feeling like he's never going to need to eat again, "I get it. I lost a lot of blood."
The day after that, Dean is back to criticizing everything Sam does, snapping when Sam offers to drive, turning up the radio to ear-splitting levels, and generally giving Sam a headache.
When they stop for the night, Sam gets out his gun to clean it, and he's thinking about the day he hit his first target with all three bullets, about how proud Dean had been, when Dean interrupts him: "Thinking about Adam?" Dean doesn't sound sad, or sympathetic; he sounds pissed off. "Wishing he was here instead of me?"
"What?" Yeah, Dean is into his second beer already, but Sam can't actually believe he's thinking that.
"Come on, Sam. You were jumping at the chance to have a brother you aren't ashamed of." Dean's jaw and fists are clenched, and he looks like he's ready to jump off the bed and punch Sam in the face.
Sam rises preemptively, and stands over his brother, making use of his height and his shoulders. "You're kidding me, right?"
"You know what? Fuck it. I'll see you later." Dean stands up and pushes past Sam, heading towards the door.
Sam does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Dean by the arms and kisses him.
He thought when he got Dean back from hell that things could go back to this between them. But somehow between losing his faith he was ever going to get Dean back and Dean and Bobby turning up at his door, that possibility seemed to have slipped away. Everything since has gotten more and more complicated until Sam can't even remember how they were then, in the days before.
But it comes crashing back with Dean pulled tight to his chest, their lips moving together like they're starving for each other.
Sam falls on Dean on the bed, cringing when it jars the stitches on his arms, but not stopping, not pulling away, not so much as letting Dean catch his breath.
"You're my brother, you asshole. You," Sam says, though he doesn't even know if the words make sense pressed into Dean's neck, his collar bone, his jaw.
He bites Dean's skin, licks it, claws at Dean's clothes and tries to help as Dean tugs at his, but it's messy and not very effective. They end up rutting and grabbing, biting at each other's lips, and it feels more like fighting than sex, but Sam can't get enough of it.
Sam comes in his jeans—just like the first time he and Dean kissed, too many years ago for him to even imagine now—and rolls off his brother.
"Don't you fucking leave me," Dean says, clutching at Sam's shoulder and the back of his neck, but Sam was only moving to get his hand on Dean's dick and when he does, that stops Dean's complaints.
Sam undoes Dean's buttons, gets his fingers around his brother's length, and barely has a chance to remember what this feels like before Dean is spilling over his palm. When he's got his breath back, Dean turns on his side, facing away from Sam, tucking himself back into his jeans.
"Dean?" Sam says, reaching to touch his brother's shoulder.
But Dean flinches away and says, "Not tonight, Sam. Just— Not tonight."
Sam stands and heads for the bathroom to clean up. When he comes back, Dean has taken off his boots and climbed under the covers.
Sam pretends that he believes Dean is sleeping.
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