spn_springfling | love story by marciaelena for <user site="livejournal.com" user

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Title: love story
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Any warnings: Set after 10x14. Told in 2nd person POV.

There's a story here, you think. The untouched bottle of whisky on the dresser. The twenty watt light bulb that struggles to brighten the room. The cold floor under your feet.

You don't know how long you've been standing like this. You don't know what makes you turn around (there's no sound), but when you do you find your brother there, hovering outside in the hallway. Dressed for bed and barefoot just like you.

You left your door open tonight. You never leave it open.

"Dean?" Sam says. The inflection in his tone conveys all the questions he's not asking.

You look at him. You look at him as if you've been waiting all night for him to come to you. You look at him and it feels like all the dim light in the room (like all the waning light inside you) is just an imitation of the blazing light in him. But you look at him. You look at him and you see.

If there's a story here, you think. If there's a story then he's the beginning.

"Sammy," you say. You sound tired. There's something nameless in your voice. I can't do it. Can't fight it anymore. The words are in your head. The words are in your heart but you must be saying them out loud too, because Sam's crossing the threshold. One step and he's in the room with you, two steps and he's closer, three steps and he's in front of you.

Beginning, middle, end. All stories are told in three steps.

"Dean," he says. He's shaking his head at you.

You shake your head too. He thinks you're talking about the mark but that's not it. Not tonight. Tonight what you're thinking is, Can feel it in my bones, Sam. Deeper even, fuck, so much deeper than that. And maybe, well, maybe you're saying that, too. The words are so loud in your head that it's hard to tell where thought ends and speech begins.

"Dean," he's saying again. He sounds as desperate as you feel. He doesn't understand. You need to make him understand.

You put your hands on him. You put your hands on his hips, you rub your thumbs against his t-shirt. You drag your hands over him, you linger on his chest just to feel his heartbeat. You move your hands up to his face.

He's looking at you. He's looking at you and you don't think he understands it yet.

So you make him understand. You cup the back of his neck and you pull him down to you. You bring your mouths together and you kiss him.

There's a story here. There's a story and you're telling it to him without words. He makes a noise and it sinks into you, you feel it flicker inside you like a flame. You whimper and he grabs you like you're grabbing him, you're kissing each other like you never dared dream before and your head is spinning, the whole world's spinning and you can feel it, the orbit it makes around the sun out there in the vast dark. And that's you, that's Sam, that's the dance you've been doing since you can remember, you caught in his pull, him keeping you alive.

You move together, you stumble into bed with your eyes still closed. You strip each other naked and the feel of his skin against yours like this, the wet trail of his mouth on you, it's all too much and you're spinning faster, you're scared you'll just spin away but he holds you down, he keeps you here in the moment with him and you move together, you move together. Your doors are open and you urge him in, you need him in you where he's always been, blood and breath and brother, come in, come in, come, come in me. And he does, he does, he sweeps you along with him.

This is the middle, then. You're kissing him, he's kissing you. You're holding on to each other like there's no room for anything between you besides this. You and him, your bodies bracketing heat in a too narrow bed. All the stories you've lived condensed into a single chapter, each and every word the same. You say it in your heart, you kiss it into him, you call it by its true name.

There's a story here, and the story is yours and his. Your bodies curled together. Your bodies arched like brackets and all this love between you.

This is the middle. And Sam, he's the beginning.

What else could you be if not the end.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

jalu2.livejournal.com

Wow. Second-person POV is so very amazing to me, especially when used as well as in this fic. Dean's running monologue was beautiful and poetic in all the right ways. I loved the metaphoric and symbolic filled sex scene -- worked wonderfully without even bordering on cheesy. Absolutely gorgeous fic.

From:

love story by marciaelena for <user site="livejournal.com" user

love story by marciaelena for <user site="livejournal.com" user

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