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s1e9 drabble

He’s fighting to free himself, fingers trying to dig under the cord around his neck, to pull it away. It’s too tight; he can’t get a grip and he’s losing…he’s losing…

Suddenly Dean is there, saving him, unwinding the cord and pulling him close. Sam feels Dean’s stubble against his cheek, Dean’s hand cradling his head. He grabs onto Dean, fingers twisting into his jacket as he holds him tight.

‘Sammy.’ Dean’s voice is husky with relief. He pulls back and holds Sam’s face in his hands, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. ‘You’re okay.’

It’s a statement and a question and a promise.

‘Yeah. Yeah, Dean. I’m o—‘

His words are cut off by Dean’s lips. Sam pulls him in tighter, opening up to his kiss and giving back as good as he gets. They’re panting for breath, Dean’s lips moving down his jaw to his neck, and Sam starts to feel like all he can do is hang on while Dean ensures he’s alive with lips and teeth and tongue.

‘Sammy.’

‘Dean!”

‘Sammy… Sam!’

“Sam! Come on, dude, chow time!” Dean slaps a hand down on Sam’s shoulder.

“W-wha—” Sam flails awake, looking around wildly at his surroundings and praying Dean hasn’t noticed the current problem in his pants. Dean’s smirking at him, but that tells Sam very little. Sam hunches over under the guise of scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair, and asks in a sleep-husky voice, “Where are we?”

“Biggerson’s, just outside Kansas City. Come on, I’m starving.”

“You go on and get a table. I’ll follow you in a minute.”

Dean’s smirk returns. “So it was that kinda dream. Glad the nightmares are easin’ up, little brother. That heavy breathing had me worried for a sec.” Dean squeezes his shoulder with a grin. Sam hopes his tense reaction reads as irritation to Dean rather than suppressed pleasure. Dean gets out of the car and leans in through the open door. “Alright dude. I’ll see ya in a minute. Just…if you’re gonna jerk it, mind your manners. Don’t make a mess in my Baby.”

Sam presses his forehead against his closed fist and pivots his face to roll his eyes at Dean. “Sure thing, jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean gives a winning smile, pats his pockets and nods when everything is where it should be, and swaggers toward the diner.

Sam takes several calming breaths, wondering which is more messed up: his dreams or his reality. Is it worse that his mind turned a near death experience into an erotic dream, or that his brother teasing him only worsened his current predicament?

***

They end up getting a motel room later that night. Dean wants to hit a bar, and he’s got that look that tells Sam Dean probably won’t be back in the room until morning.

Sam needs to let off some steam, too, but Dean’s way of random hookups isn’t really his thing.

They drink a couple beers and hustle a game of pool together before Dean splits off on the prowl. Sam watches surreptitiously, nursing another beer, but turns his attention elsewhere when Dean’s imminent success becomes obvious. For a brief moment, he considers trying out Dean’s way of letting off steam, but quickly nixes the idea when he realizes he’s comparing the looks of all his prospects to either Jessica or Dean.

Sam is getting tired of thinking about how fucked up he is. He finishes off his beer and decides to leave.

Sam waits until he’s back in their room, thoroughly ensconced in the embrace of shower steam, before replaying the dream images he’s been pushing away for hours. He teases himself with it, grip feathery light on his cock as he draws out the scene: Dean’s mouth on his, kissing down, hands moving from Sam’s face down his body… pulling him in tighter, kisses hungry, moving to press himself against Sam, between his sprawled legs… Sam thrusting his hips up in kind as Dean says his name over and over, ‘Sammy, Sammy, Sam…’

“Dean...” Sam is stripping his cock rapidly now, unable to hold back any more, needing roughness and the slight drag of skin against wet skin with only shower water and the dribbles of precome to ease the way. Imagines Dean biting a kiss into the side of his neck where the lamp cord had been; bites the meaty part of the arm he’s been using to lean against the wall, grunting his helpless release into the impression of his teeth.

He watches the water wash the physical evidence of his deviancy down the drain, and wishes his soul could be washed clean so easily. The brief warmth of satiation turns cold when he turns the water off and sees the bite mark he left on his arm.

The skin isn’t broken, but it’s going to bruise.

#spn s1e9 #spn drabble #wincest drabble #wincest #pining!sam #excerpts from my s1 rewatch coda writing exercise #things i'll probably never finish #strangulation kink #kind of