heylove: (Default)
heylove ([personal profile] heylove) wrote on May 19th, 2011 at 01:49 pm
Fic: Again and again and again (Dean/Sam, NC-17)
Title: Again and again and again
Author: [personal profile] heylove
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Genre: Angst
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1400
Warnings: none
Summary: just a moment in time before Dean’s time on earth is up.


I’m always the one who’s waiting. Alone in our room. Sometimes worrying, sometimes consumed by fierce and hot-burning anger. Wrath. And Helplessness. I’m waiting for you to come to me, when there’s nothing, no one else you could possibly do. I’m always your last resort and it hurts me more than you’ll ever know. I love you more than you’ll ever know. We never say it out loud and I’m sure you wouldn’t either. It’s just not your thing you’d say to me, that you can’t do chick flick moments. Not now. Not anymore. Your days are numbered; you want fun and you get whatever you want. Whoever you want.

I sigh inwardly when you come back from the bathroom. It’s time. You move slowly, gracefully. Always the predator. The hunter. You hold out your hand and pull me up from the bed. Your arms sneak around my waist, your lips move from my neck to my jaw, to my own lips. A soft caress, a biting pain and then your hands descent slowly into the back of my pants, roughly grabbing my ass. Squeezing and caressing. And with that, all my doubts fly out the window. You’re here for me. Because of me. Your tongue slowly creeps between my lips and we dance. Lazily, delicate, intense. Hot, wet and open. Your fingers crawl beneath my shirt, grazing my skin, making me shiver. I moan. Drawn out and asking for more.

You push me back down on the bed. Sitting on my hips, you’re undressing me; letting your hands wander and leaving goose bumps in their wake. Your blunt nails scrape over my chest, my stomach. You push yourself off of me, hooking your fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulling them down slowly. So slowly; it’s all so slow. Too slow. I take a breath, want to tell you to hurry, but you just look at me and I swallow the words. I let my head fall back on the pillow, closing my eyes. I’m waiting. You deliberately free me of all the unnecessary garments and leave the bed for a few moments, grabbing the lube from your bag. And then you’re back, spreading my legs, smoothing your fingers over my quivering tights. A sigh echoes through the air. Not sure if it’s yours or mine. Not caring. Your lips linger on my hips while you let your hands wander down, down, down. Preparing me. Soothing me with your tongue on my skin, ignoring my need. I dare not touching myself. I’m yours.

Your fingers are moving inside me, curling, scissoring, pushing. I cannot stay quiet for long, small gasps and moans leave my lips. Involuntarily. I’m moving in tune with the motions of your digits within me. I open my eyes, look at you. You’re always so considerate while doing this. I hate it. I need to feel your desire, the force behind your mask, the pain only you can inflict upon me. I moan a single “please”.

And then it’s only one smooth, languid motion. My eyes fly shut and I gasp sharply at the burning sensation, a deep moan leaves my lips when you’re completely inside me. Not waiting for me to catch up, you start to move. Slowly at first, but more forcefully with each passing thrust right into my core. I look at you; your eyes shut in deep concentration, your brows slightly furrowed, small beads of sweat forming along them. My heart speeds up, my breath hitches. You shift a little and hit my spot dead on. I low groan escapes from my throat. And now you can’t be silent either, your harsh breathing echoes in the silent room. You hold yourself up with both arms, barely hovering over me. I can feel the heat of your body and it’s driving me insane. It’s not enough. Not enough friction. Never enough. I wrap my legs around your waist, clamp them shut to feel your every move, telling you silently that you’re mine as well. You lean down and kiss me. Sloppily, lazy, lustful. A sharp contrast to your forceful movements within me.

I’m free when you touch me. Kiss me. Love me. Hard and raw. You drill the pain right out of me. You make me scream out in lust, wrath and agony. Our bodies moving in unison, our breath mingling, our minds colliding. Your hands seem cold on my overheated body. The sounds you’re making are interfering with my thoughts. It’s overload; my mind goes blank. I’m pure feeling. My hands grab fistfuls of sheets, my fingers slowly going numb. I can feel your skin sliding over mine, your cock moving inside me. You’re completing me. Filling me like no one else ever could. I feel myself moving against your pelvis, thrusting right back at you. Wanting more. Always more. My jaw aches, my eyes burn. My head hits the headboard from the force of your thrusts. It’s too much, too intense. You hurt me. You exhaust me. I can hardly breathe. You’re slowly killing me with every move. And I let you. Over and over again. The waves of your passion rolling over me, inside me. My fingernails scratch along your back, making you gasp in pain and desire. It urges you on. Makes you want to show me who’s in control. Makes you push into me even deeper. I’m addicted to your touch, to your harsh breathing, to the pain you give me. I belong here. Beneath you, begging you to move faster, harder, deeper. And you comply. Again and again and again. Until I fall apart. I’m drowning in your sharp movements, your strong hold on my body. My heart is about to pump right out of ribcage, my voice gone, my hips arching up, my whole body shaking with the power of my orgasm. You don’t stop. Not until you reached your own completion. You just keep moving, pushing, pulling, demanding release. Silent. Hot and almost painful inside me.

I’m falling. Deeper and deeper into my own sea of misery. While you slowly come down from your high and shakily remove yourself from me. It hurts me more than in the beginning. And I’m cold. I’m so cold. The sweat on my body is cooling rapidly, leaving me shivering and wanting it over and over again. But I know you don’t.

I’m still panting harshly when you get up and away from me. I can hear your shuddering breath slowly calming down and the sheets rustling. I can hear the bathroom door being opened and the faucet turned. The water rolling down over your body, washing me away. The scent of sin. I feel dead inside. I’m just lying there and let the tears fall. You never see the them. You never care enough. I feel so dirty, so used and so unbelievably satisfied. It makes me want to throw up. Instead I relish in the aftermath of our crime. It makes me more of a sinner than you could ever be. You do it for the kicks, I do it because I need it. Crave it. Crave you. Love you in ways you would never even think of. We’re in this together, but you’re merely standing on the outer rim of sin.

I wipe a hand over my face, stroking away the sweat and the tears. The wild emotions slowly even out and I’m just tired. Tired of your asshole demeanor and physically tired. I curse silently. Curse the effect you’re having on me. Curse the fact that I’ll let you do it again if you crawl into my bed in the wee hours of night. Curse myself for loving you.

You don’t say a word when you leave the bathroom; just silently put on your clothes. I’m not sure if you even look at me and I don’t care. Morning already creeps in through the window and you walk out the door, closing it carefully. Where to I don’t know. You just leave. Waiting in the car maybe. That would be so you. You will always return when sleep finally overcame me and left me blind to your anguish, though. Blind to what you inflict upon yourself when you come back to me and realize what we’re, what you’re, doing. But you don’t let the thoughts, the guilt, the fear, linger. The sun will be up in a few hours and everything will be back to normal. We’ll be brothers again.

END
 
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