Supernatural Christmas Fic: Meet me
Dec. 14th, 2008 10:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
erdaTitle: Meet Me
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
keefaq
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Word count: 2480
Rating:NC-17
Disclaimer: Transformative Work
Warning: Wincest
Summary: Sam, Dean, Mistletoe; Sam/Dean
A/N Just a little Christmas fluff inspired by This SGA story
Beta byskinscript Thank you!
It’s the height of the Christmas season, and they’ve just finished off a complicated job with nary a scratch on anyone except the demon, which they’ve exorcized in the old fashioned, tried and true, Latin chanting, devil’s trap way. They’re free to kick back and have some fun, but Sam is sulking and frowning like a two year old, determined to put a damper on Dean’s mood just because he can.
It starts in the restaurant. There’s some mistletoe hanging in the entryway, and the waitress steps under it as they come in, so what’s he supposed to do? It’s not his fault Sammy was lagging behind and missed his chance. Dean happens to know Sam doesn’t even like kissing random strangers, so why does he look so sour when Dean takes the lady up on her offer? It’s just a little kiss, friendly-like, but Sammy glowers and pushes past them to drop his ginormous butt all over the first empty booth in the place, taking up so much room Dean has to kick his legs away in order to sit down. Sam frowns through the whole meal, answering his attempts at small talk with grunts and shrugs.
After they eat, Dean wants to drive over to the mall and see this big Christmas display all the signs are pimping. He turns the radio on, sings along to What Child is This for a bit, but he has to stop because he doesn’t know most of the words. “Dude,” he says to Sam, “Quit your sulking.” Sam looks out the window, his body stiff with some resentment Dean can’t clown him out of. “It’s almost Christmas, Sammy,” he says.
That reminds him of their last Christmas together, and maybe reminds Sam, too, because he stretches out his legs, rolls his shoulders back, and gives Dean one of his reluctantly indulgent smiles. Dean has to look away for a second. He can’t look at Sam for long without having to worry about getting caught with something on his face that shouldn’t be there. Sam’s smile has always fucked with his head, but it’s gotten worse since he dragged himself out of his grave. He’s learned things about himself, about his feelings for Sam, lately, that he can’t ever share. Thankfully Sam has let go of his bad mood. By the time they get to the mall, he’s mocking Dean’s sentimentality gleefully, and Dean is bouncing with Christmas spirit.
The display is touted as a Christmas garden, and they walk through it together. It’s maybe a little cheesy, but Dean doesn’t mind, and Sam seems willing to indulge him. They wave to the electronically nodding reindeer, and throw pennies into the magic Christmas pond. Sam keeps his trap shut when they see that the pond doesn’t even have any water in it, just a shiny aluminum foil bottom. A plastic sign decorated with sparkly white paint supposed to look like snow points the way to Santa. There’s a pack of giggling girls ahead, and Sam’s smile fades away when he sees the mistletoe hanging from the trellis that forms the doorway to Santa’s throne room.
“You got some hang up about mistletoe or something, Dude?” Dean asks.
Sam says something about people who will take any excuse to grope strangers, which Dean doesn’t listen too closely to, cause he figures Sam is just jealous. There are four or five decent looking girls under that mistletoe, plenty to go around, and he hopes Sam’ll cheer up when he sees Dean is willing to share. But he’s still the older brother, so naturally he gets first dibs, and he lays a good, enthusiastic- if closed mouth- kiss on the prettiest one, before turning back to urge Sam to take a turn. Sam turns red and pushes rudely past the girls into the throne room, leaving Dean to soothe all their ruffled feathers. Some of them need a second kiss to help them through the pain of Sam’s rejection. He has to take down all their numbers so as not to hurt their feelings, and he tries to remember which one started the argument over whose pen he’s going to use so he can make sure to call her last.
Sam seems bizarrely fascinated by all the crap for sale in Santa’s throne room. The room is decorated with red and green disco type lights, and Dean stops to watch Sam moving under the swirling colors. Sam, despite his size, is graceful. He gives off an energy that makes people step aside instinctively to make room for him.
The throne room is crowded with kids more or less waiting in line to sit in Santa’s lap, and Sam sarcastically asks him if they have to get in line, too. He’s turned back into a complete sourpuss, and Dean maybe makes a little remark about bipolar disorder that pisses him off even more.
While Sam lectures him about what an ass he is to make light of a real illness that some unfortunate people suffer from, like you, Dean can’t help saying under his breath, they squeeze through the mob and head back out to the car.
Sam suddenly decides he has some burning research questions he has to look up at the library, so Dean drops his cranky face off there. At least it’s close enough to their hotel that Sam can walk himself back. Maybe a brisk walk through the light snow that’s started will cool his bad temper. Dean intends to head straight back to the hotel, but then he gets a better idea and stops off at the local Walgreen’s first.
It’s one of the best gags Dean has ever thought up, and he can’t wait for Sammy to get back from the library. He is going to totally flip the fuck out when he sees what Dean has done, and Dean is planning on laughing his head off while Sammy stomps around telling him what a stupid jerk he is. There’s nothing better than a riled up Sammy to make the Christmas season bright.
Sam finally comes back, practically blown in the door by the gusty winds that have been gaining strength all evening. He’s got powdery bits of snow in his hair and his cheeks are red. Dean’s heard about people turning purple with rage, but now he knows first hand that it’s not just a figure of speech. . Sam looks around, goes darker red and then purple and finally almost black with fury, as he takes in what Dean has done. Small bundles of fake plastic mistletoe are hung all over the room. Dean’s sitting in the only corner that is free of the stuff, and it’s impossible to get into the room without passing under at least two of them.
Dean’s choking back laughter that’s sure to turn into a howl when he finally lets it loose.
But the fury drains out of Sam’s face and is replaced by a look of triumph that wipes the amusement right off Dean. “Fine,” Sam says, and he pulls himself up straight, steps into the room right under the first bunch of mistletoe and smirks. “Looks to me like I’m right under this hideously fake arrangement. What are you going to do about it?”
Dean can almost admire the way Sam has flipped the trick back onto him, but he’s not a guy to back down from a challenge, and Sam is sure as hell challenging him. He suddenly feels like he’s the one being played, and Sam’s so sure of himself, sure that Dean will back down, that he takes up the challenge; he steps right up against his brother and grabs him. He’s going to lay one on him, a really big dramatic, bend you over smacking kiss that will make Sammy squirm with embarrassment, but when their lips make contact all the comedy drains out of the moment.
Dean planned on kissing Sam, but it’s Sam kissing him, tonguing open his mouth and moving in with intent. Sam seems to have grown some extra hands, because he’s everywhere, under Dean’s shirt, around the back of his neck, pulling at his hair, slipping down the small of his back and grabbing onto his ass to pull him in, and Dean just goes, because it’s so good, so fucking good, that he can’t not. All the reasons this is a bad idea have been blown out of him by Sam’s hot, pushy mouth and grabbing hands. All he can think about is that’s it’s Christmas, and he’s never gotten all he’s wanted from the holiday before. There’s no way he’s backing away from a willing Sam.
Sam pulls him down on the bed closer to the door. Dean feels so pliant it’s like he’s already post coital, except not, and when Sam’s knee presses between his legs he can’t help but shove his cock up against Sam’s muscular thigh. The white hot spike of pure sensation makes him light headed. Sam grunts in surprise, and his hands go all over Dean again, pulling ineffectually at his shirt, and then his jeans. It takes Dean a while to get what Sam’s trying to do and start helping him. He’s taken off his shirt and opened his jeans when Sam suddenly pulls away.
“Damn it, Sammy,” he says, because he’s going to have to kill them both if Sam is changing his mind. It’s way too late for that.
Sam’s kneeling on the floor, still fully dressed, digging around in one of his bags, and when he stands up he’s got a condom and a bottle of lotion in his hand. Dean’s mouth goes dry, he even coughs a little to cover the overwhelming surge of lust that goes through him at the thought that Sammy wants to, that’s he fully intends to, to do that. Dean grabs both his wrists and pulls him down, ruts up against him, and maybe begs a little. Sam’s laughing at him, at the way big brother has completely lost his cool, but Dean doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t give a damn what he’s giving away about himself, how Sam can see just how much he wants it, as long as Sam is willing to give it to him.
He tries to hold on when Sam pushes back away from him. “Dean,” he says, his voice soft, like he thinks Dean might break apart if he isn’t careful. “This’ll work a lot better if you let me take my clothes off.”
Dean pushes up to the head of the bed so he can prop himself up and watch as Sam gets undressed, and Sam takes his time, watching Dean watch, stops after he takes his shirt off to pull off Dean’s pants and underwear together. Dean’s eyes drop to watch as Sam slides his own pants off and drops them beside the bed. Sam just sits and lets him look his fill, one bare foot still on the floor, the other drawn up and tucked under his thigh. His smile turns into a smirk. “Like what you see?” he asks. It’s so fake porny that Dean huffs out a laugh.
Sam holds the lotion out to him. Dean is so surprised he doesn’t know quite what to say, but he knows he isn’t going to take the tube. Fortunately Sam sees something in his face, and his eyes go dark with lust. “You really want me to-” Dean can’t quite meet Sam’s eyes, but he nods, glad he’s not the only one having trouble talking. Sam doesn’t take any time to think about it, just opens the tube and pushes Dean’s legs apart, lays one hand palm down against his knee and runs it up his thigh right to his cock, and back down, pushing against Dean like he needs to make sure he’s real.
“You wanna do it like this?” Dean asks, “cause I can roll over if you want,” and saying that, offering to roll over for Sam, makes his cock twitch, but his voice sounds normal. It’s the same tone he uses when he asks if Sam wants to stop to get something to eat. He might wonder some more about that, but Sam slides a finger inside him right then and there’s nothing left to think with.
Dean rolls his hips up to meet Sam’s hand. “Want it bad, don’t you?” Sam asks. It’s not funny at all anymore, it’s just the outright, total, simple, fucking truth. Dean doesn’t even try to hold in the noises he wants to make, noises that make Sam lean forward and kiss him, wet and sloppy, make him stutter Dean’s name in a beautifully cracked voice.
Sam’s cock is already pushing against him. It’s been a long time since Dean’s done this, and Sam is a big guy, but he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, relaxing his body to help things along, and Sam slowly eases his way in until he bottoms out, balls brushing against Dean’s ass. He rests there for a minute before he starts to move. Dean’s overcome with heat at the thought that Sam is giving him this, fucking him. He resists the urge to grab his aching cock because he knows it will be all over in a second if he touches himself, and he wants this to last a long, long time. He can tell Sam has the same idea by the way he keeps stopping every second or third thrust, taking slow deep breaths like a long distance runner pacing himself.
For all their efforts to slow things down, it’s a pitifully short time before Sam can’t hold back and loses it, grabbing Dean’s hips and pulling him in roughly. One, two, three strokes and he shudders all over, head dropping down almost against Dean’s chest. He barely manages to get his huge hand wrapped around Dean’s cock and Dean follows him into orgasm, come spilling over Sam’s long fingers and pooling up on Dean’s stomach. Sam relaxes down onto him and Dean lets him. He’ll always let him.
Dean drifts a while in the afterglow, but soon he starts wondering if he should say something.
Sam wraps his long fingers around Dean’s wrist as if he thinks Dean might try to escape. “Maybe we could get a tree,” he says. “To go with your decorations.”
“Yeah?” Dean isn’t entirely sure Sam isn’t mocking him. “So you don’t really hate mistletoe?” he asks.
Sam huffs a laugh against his neck, sits up and studies the room. “We should get a tree,” he says, “and maybe a string of lights for around the window.”
It all sounds like too much trouble to Dean. He just wants to lie back and watch Sammy without having to worry about getting caught. “Okay,” he finally says. “But later.”
End.
Author:
keefaqFandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Word count: 2480
Rating:NC-17
Disclaimer: Transformative Work
Warning: Wincest
Summary: Sam, Dean, Mistletoe; Sam/Dean
A/N Just a little Christmas fluff inspired by This SGA story
Beta by
skinscript Thank you!It’s the height of the Christmas season, and they’ve just finished off a complicated job with nary a scratch on anyone except the demon, which they’ve exorcized in the old fashioned, tried and true, Latin chanting, devil’s trap way. They’re free to kick back and have some fun, but Sam is sulking and frowning like a two year old, determined to put a damper on Dean’s mood just because he can.
It starts in the restaurant. There’s some mistletoe hanging in the entryway, and the waitress steps under it as they come in, so what’s he supposed to do? It’s not his fault Sammy was lagging behind and missed his chance. Dean happens to know Sam doesn’t even like kissing random strangers, so why does he look so sour when Dean takes the lady up on her offer? It’s just a little kiss, friendly-like, but Sammy glowers and pushes past them to drop his ginormous butt all over the first empty booth in the place, taking up so much room Dean has to kick his legs away in order to sit down. Sam frowns through the whole meal, answering his attempts at small talk with grunts and shrugs.
After they eat, Dean wants to drive over to the mall and see this big Christmas display all the signs are pimping. He turns the radio on, sings along to What Child is This for a bit, but he has to stop because he doesn’t know most of the words. “Dude,” he says to Sam, “Quit your sulking.” Sam looks out the window, his body stiff with some resentment Dean can’t clown him out of. “It’s almost Christmas, Sammy,” he says.
That reminds him of their last Christmas together, and maybe reminds Sam, too, because he stretches out his legs, rolls his shoulders back, and gives Dean one of his reluctantly indulgent smiles. Dean has to look away for a second. He can’t look at Sam for long without having to worry about getting caught with something on his face that shouldn’t be there. Sam’s smile has always fucked with his head, but it’s gotten worse since he dragged himself out of his grave. He’s learned things about himself, about his feelings for Sam, lately, that he can’t ever share. Thankfully Sam has let go of his bad mood. By the time they get to the mall, he’s mocking Dean’s sentimentality gleefully, and Dean is bouncing with Christmas spirit.
The display is touted as a Christmas garden, and they walk through it together. It’s maybe a little cheesy, but Dean doesn’t mind, and Sam seems willing to indulge him. They wave to the electronically nodding reindeer, and throw pennies into the magic Christmas pond. Sam keeps his trap shut when they see that the pond doesn’t even have any water in it, just a shiny aluminum foil bottom. A plastic sign decorated with sparkly white paint supposed to look like snow points the way to Santa. There’s a pack of giggling girls ahead, and Sam’s smile fades away when he sees the mistletoe hanging from the trellis that forms the doorway to Santa’s throne room.
“You got some hang up about mistletoe or something, Dude?” Dean asks.
Sam says something about people who will take any excuse to grope strangers, which Dean doesn’t listen too closely to, cause he figures Sam is just jealous. There are four or five decent looking girls under that mistletoe, plenty to go around, and he hopes Sam’ll cheer up when he sees Dean is willing to share. But he’s still the older brother, so naturally he gets first dibs, and he lays a good, enthusiastic- if closed mouth- kiss on the prettiest one, before turning back to urge Sam to take a turn. Sam turns red and pushes rudely past the girls into the throne room, leaving Dean to soothe all their ruffled feathers. Some of them need a second kiss to help them through the pain of Sam’s rejection. He has to take down all their numbers so as not to hurt their feelings, and he tries to remember which one started the argument over whose pen he’s going to use so he can make sure to call her last.
Sam seems bizarrely fascinated by all the crap for sale in Santa’s throne room. The room is decorated with red and green disco type lights, and Dean stops to watch Sam moving under the swirling colors. Sam, despite his size, is graceful. He gives off an energy that makes people step aside instinctively to make room for him.
The throne room is crowded with kids more or less waiting in line to sit in Santa’s lap, and Sam sarcastically asks him if they have to get in line, too. He’s turned back into a complete sourpuss, and Dean maybe makes a little remark about bipolar disorder that pisses him off even more.
While Sam lectures him about what an ass he is to make light of a real illness that some unfortunate people suffer from, like you, Dean can’t help saying under his breath, they squeeze through the mob and head back out to the car.
Sam suddenly decides he has some burning research questions he has to look up at the library, so Dean drops his cranky face off there. At least it’s close enough to their hotel that Sam can walk himself back. Maybe a brisk walk through the light snow that’s started will cool his bad temper. Dean intends to head straight back to the hotel, but then he gets a better idea and stops off at the local Walgreen’s first.
It’s one of the best gags Dean has ever thought up, and he can’t wait for Sammy to get back from the library. He is going to totally flip the fuck out when he sees what Dean has done, and Dean is planning on laughing his head off while Sammy stomps around telling him what a stupid jerk he is. There’s nothing better than a riled up Sammy to make the Christmas season bright.
Sam finally comes back, practically blown in the door by the gusty winds that have been gaining strength all evening. He’s got powdery bits of snow in his hair and his cheeks are red. Dean’s heard about people turning purple with rage, but now he knows first hand that it’s not just a figure of speech. . Sam looks around, goes darker red and then purple and finally almost black with fury, as he takes in what Dean has done. Small bundles of fake plastic mistletoe are hung all over the room. Dean’s sitting in the only corner that is free of the stuff, and it’s impossible to get into the room without passing under at least two of them.
Dean’s choking back laughter that’s sure to turn into a howl when he finally lets it loose.
But the fury drains out of Sam’s face and is replaced by a look of triumph that wipes the amusement right off Dean. “Fine,” Sam says, and he pulls himself up straight, steps into the room right under the first bunch of mistletoe and smirks. “Looks to me like I’m right under this hideously fake arrangement. What are you going to do about it?”
Dean can almost admire the way Sam has flipped the trick back onto him, but he’s not a guy to back down from a challenge, and Sam is sure as hell challenging him. He suddenly feels like he’s the one being played, and Sam’s so sure of himself, sure that Dean will back down, that he takes up the challenge; he steps right up against his brother and grabs him. He’s going to lay one on him, a really big dramatic, bend you over smacking kiss that will make Sammy squirm with embarrassment, but when their lips make contact all the comedy drains out of the moment.
Dean planned on kissing Sam, but it’s Sam kissing him, tonguing open his mouth and moving in with intent. Sam seems to have grown some extra hands, because he’s everywhere, under Dean’s shirt, around the back of his neck, pulling at his hair, slipping down the small of his back and grabbing onto his ass to pull him in, and Dean just goes, because it’s so good, so fucking good, that he can’t not. All the reasons this is a bad idea have been blown out of him by Sam’s hot, pushy mouth and grabbing hands. All he can think about is that’s it’s Christmas, and he’s never gotten all he’s wanted from the holiday before. There’s no way he’s backing away from a willing Sam.
Sam pulls him down on the bed closer to the door. Dean feels so pliant it’s like he’s already post coital, except not, and when Sam’s knee presses between his legs he can’t help but shove his cock up against Sam’s muscular thigh. The white hot spike of pure sensation makes him light headed. Sam grunts in surprise, and his hands go all over Dean again, pulling ineffectually at his shirt, and then his jeans. It takes Dean a while to get what Sam’s trying to do and start helping him. He’s taken off his shirt and opened his jeans when Sam suddenly pulls away.
“Damn it, Sammy,” he says, because he’s going to have to kill them both if Sam is changing his mind. It’s way too late for that.
Sam’s kneeling on the floor, still fully dressed, digging around in one of his bags, and when he stands up he’s got a condom and a bottle of lotion in his hand. Dean’s mouth goes dry, he even coughs a little to cover the overwhelming surge of lust that goes through him at the thought that Sammy wants to, that’s he fully intends to, to do that. Dean grabs both his wrists and pulls him down, ruts up against him, and maybe begs a little. Sam’s laughing at him, at the way big brother has completely lost his cool, but Dean doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t give a damn what he’s giving away about himself, how Sam can see just how much he wants it, as long as Sam is willing to give it to him.
He tries to hold on when Sam pushes back away from him. “Dean,” he says, his voice soft, like he thinks Dean might break apart if he isn’t careful. “This’ll work a lot better if you let me take my clothes off.”
Dean pushes up to the head of the bed so he can prop himself up and watch as Sam gets undressed, and Sam takes his time, watching Dean watch, stops after he takes his shirt off to pull off Dean’s pants and underwear together. Dean’s eyes drop to watch as Sam slides his own pants off and drops them beside the bed. Sam just sits and lets him look his fill, one bare foot still on the floor, the other drawn up and tucked under his thigh. His smile turns into a smirk. “Like what you see?” he asks. It’s so fake porny that Dean huffs out a laugh.
Sam holds the lotion out to him. Dean is so surprised he doesn’t know quite what to say, but he knows he isn’t going to take the tube. Fortunately Sam sees something in his face, and his eyes go dark with lust. “You really want me to-” Dean can’t quite meet Sam’s eyes, but he nods, glad he’s not the only one having trouble talking. Sam doesn’t take any time to think about it, just opens the tube and pushes Dean’s legs apart, lays one hand palm down against his knee and runs it up his thigh right to his cock, and back down, pushing against Dean like he needs to make sure he’s real.
“You wanna do it like this?” Dean asks, “cause I can roll over if you want,” and saying that, offering to roll over for Sam, makes his cock twitch, but his voice sounds normal. It’s the same tone he uses when he asks if Sam wants to stop to get something to eat. He might wonder some more about that, but Sam slides a finger inside him right then and there’s nothing left to think with.
Dean rolls his hips up to meet Sam’s hand. “Want it bad, don’t you?” Sam asks. It’s not funny at all anymore, it’s just the outright, total, simple, fucking truth. Dean doesn’t even try to hold in the noises he wants to make, noises that make Sam lean forward and kiss him, wet and sloppy, make him stutter Dean’s name in a beautifully cracked voice.
Sam’s cock is already pushing against him. It’s been a long time since Dean’s done this, and Sam is a big guy, but he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, relaxing his body to help things along, and Sam slowly eases his way in until he bottoms out, balls brushing against Dean’s ass. He rests there for a minute before he starts to move. Dean’s overcome with heat at the thought that Sam is giving him this, fucking him. He resists the urge to grab his aching cock because he knows it will be all over in a second if he touches himself, and he wants this to last a long, long time. He can tell Sam has the same idea by the way he keeps stopping every second or third thrust, taking slow deep breaths like a long distance runner pacing himself.
For all their efforts to slow things down, it’s a pitifully short time before Sam can’t hold back and loses it, grabbing Dean’s hips and pulling him in roughly. One, two, three strokes and he shudders all over, head dropping down almost against Dean’s chest. He barely manages to get his huge hand wrapped around Dean’s cock and Dean follows him into orgasm, come spilling over Sam’s long fingers and pooling up on Dean’s stomach. Sam relaxes down onto him and Dean lets him. He’ll always let him.
Dean drifts a while in the afterglow, but soon he starts wondering if he should say something.
Sam wraps his long fingers around Dean’s wrist as if he thinks Dean might try to escape. “Maybe we could get a tree,” he says. “To go with your decorations.”
“Yeah?” Dean isn’t entirely sure Sam isn’t mocking him. “So you don’t really hate mistletoe?” he asks.
Sam huffs a laugh against his neck, sits up and studies the room. “We should get a tree,” he says, “and maybe a string of lights for around the window.”
It all sounds like too much trouble to Dean. He just wants to lie back and watch Sammy without having to worry about getting caught. “Okay,” he finally says. “But later.”
End.
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