The Road Before Them by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lavishsqualor for <user site="livejourn
Mar. 15th, 2016 10:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_springflingTitle: The Road Before Them
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bareback car sex, reference to past underage
"Fuck, Sam, I said no. I can’t." Dean slammed his fist down on the steering wheel.
Sam all but growled, a deep moan rising from the back of his throat as he shifted away. With Sam’s hips turned toward the window and arms shoved across his chest, Dean could breath again.
Sam had been looking at him so much lately, eyes glaring deep and with such intent. A moment out of the scrutiny was a relief. And without having to watch the road, he was free to just fucking think for a minute.
They’d been headed north on 75 on their way out of town, hunt good and done, when the skies had opened wide. Only a few raindrops at first, maybe a dozen, but before Dean could even get the wipers on, torrents were coming down across the windshield. The leaves and the road and the dark, dark sky all melded into one, and it took less than a minute for Dean to call it quits. He pulled his girl over, off the highway and backed up down into the grass under a grove of trees.
A good thing, it was, because things only picked up from there. The flashes of lightning were the brightest white and the thunder was immediate. That was when Sam had chosen to make his most recent move. Well, not a move so much, but an imploration. “Please, Dean,” he’d said, all low and full of need.
Dean had known exactly what he’d been asking for. Sam’s still grieving, his past and now their dad, and he probably always will be, but since he’s been mostly better, it’s all he’s been asking for. He’s asking for Dean, all of Dean, for what they used to have, with his eyes and his voice, with his hands and his touch. Basically with his whole fucking heart on complete display.
But like he said, Dean can’t.
Under the trees the rain wasn’t quite as heavy, still coming down good but the sound of drops were distinguishable, not a steady sheet like it had been on the road. Dark, though, darker than the night with no stars to speak of, but shines of lightning were flashing across the side of Sam's face.
Dean breathed deep and said, "It's just, you can't break up with family.” Sam looked over at that, and Dean added, “At least not twice."
A choke from Sam. "I didn't--"
"Then tell me what it was, Sam. Tell me what I was supposed to think."
“I thought,” Sam said, and then he looked down, broke contact. “I thought that if I got away, that maybe, maybe I could at least try.”
“Try?”
“Try to give myself a chance at a normal life. Try to give you a chance.”
Dean scoffed. He’d heard it all before. He didn’t want a normal fucking life; that was Sam’s deal. He wanted Sam. He always had, for as long as he could remember, and he always would. All the girls, all the nameless fucks in the world wouldn’t stop that, couldn’t. He’d long since given up trying, he was simply resigned.
“But it was pointless,” Sam said. He turned back towards Dean, got one leg pulled onto the seat, curled up under him. “I. Dean, I tried. But there wasn’t a goddamn day you weren’t there in my mind. Not a one.”
Sam probably already knew the same was true for Dean, but Dean nodded anyway, couldn’t hide it. Every night, empty motel room or with his dad in the next bed, it was Sam in Dean’s mind as he drifted off. Every day, empty shotgun or Dad in the seat next to him, and it was Sam that Dean wanted to talk to. Always Sam.
“And why do you think something’s gonna go wrong anyway? What makes you think that I haven’t thought about all of this, that I haven’t fucking pulled that foot back from out the door. Dean, this is it. This is all I’ve got.”
It was Dean’s turn now to inch a little closer; he couldn’t fucking help himself. Just a centimeter maybe, but he pulled his hand off the wheel too, laid it out.
“Right, Dean?” Sam asked. “Isn’t it all we’ve got?”
“Yeah, Sammy.”
Sam grabbed Dean’s hand from where it lay between them, pulled it towards him and Dean followed. He slid tight to Sam’s side and leaned down, burying his face in Sam’s neck. “Here, come on now,” Sam said.
Two fingers lifting his chin up, and Dean could barely see a thing. Sam was close, but it was so dark, no streetlights no nothing, and all Dean could see was the shine of Sam’s eyes. It was enough, though, and he leaned up, gave in to what Sam was asking for.
Sam didn’t waste any time now that Dean was finally relenting, just opened wide and forced his tongue deep into Dean’s mouth, claiming the space all his own. It was already his anyway, it always had been.
Just as Dean slanted in, brought his hands up to fist into Sam’s shirt, Sam grabbed under Dean’s thigh and pulled, hauling him up and over. Sam’s hands across his back and his thighs strong under Dean, and fuck, Dean had missed this. Who the hell had he even been trying to kid when he was resisting?
A huge crack of thunder struck, and Dean jumped, had Sam’s hands smoothed down and tucked under his jacket immediately. He bent forward again, couldn’t get close enough. Sam pushed him back, though, eyes dark and greedy, and said, “Cuddle later, Dean. Need to feel you now.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you want, Sam.” And wasn’t that Dean’s default anyway?
Hands on buckles and there was no space between to work, but somehow they managed. Sam had Dean’s jeans open and his hand shoved in fast, squeezing hard around the length of Dean, and Dean’s body was humming. His other hand was around Dean’s back, down warm into the crack of Dean’s ass, and that got Dean’s body vibrating at a whole different level. “Up, Dean, come on,” Sam instructed, and Dean leaned back, pulling one leg all the way up to shove his jeans and shorts down and out of the way. Sam wasted no time getting his hands back on Dean, one squeezing his thigh and the other pushing two fingers forward into Dean’s mouth.
Dean sucked them down, sliding his tongue between the digits and slicking them good. As Sam brought them down, he took Dean’s mouth again. It was the best distraction from the burn that accompanied two fingers stretching him, and Sam had always known how to get to Dean, how to get in deep and take care of him when it counted.
It was tight, Dean was so tight, hadn’t had anything inside since the night before everything changed, the night before Sam left.
Like Sam could read his mind, he asked, “No one else, Dean?” And Dean hummed an affirmative, met with a tight squeeze of his ass and another growl from Sam, this one hungry. He sat up, pulling Sam’s fingers free, and said, “Give me more.”
Three, then, and Dean grit his teeth. Sam said, “So good. So good for me, Dean,” and Dean clenched tighter, showed Sam how good he was going to be.
Sam pulled free and leaned them over, throwing Dean off his lap and back onto the seat. “That’s enough. That’s it, can’t.”
“Yeah, Sammy. ‘M ready.”
Scrambling with his pants, Sam said, “Don't got any--”
“Don’t need any,” Dean said, and kicked his other leg free, battled his jacket down and off the seat. He reached up and fumbled with the buttons of Sam’s shirt, so thankful that they needed to do laundry and that Sam had run out of tees this morning, because he needed his hands on that skin. Pulling Sam down and over him, Dean ran his hands up Sam’s sides and down the length of his back, said, “Don’t care, Sam. Just hurry up now. Come on.”
Sam smirked and Dean saw the glint of his teeth, the wicked shine of his eyes. And then Sam was curving even further forward, one hand braced beside Dean’s head, and the other lining them up. Dean spread his legs wider, and fucking damn it, but if he wouldn’t spread his legs for his brother forever. Had been, forever, since that first night so many years ago.
When Sam finally pushed in, it was like all the air Dean had been holding onto escaped at once, a great rush out as everything fit right back into place. It was fucking natural, their fit, and it was like there wasn’t five years between this and their last.
“Dean,” Sam said, and it was Dean’s favorite way to hear him say it, all desperate and cracked, so loaded up.
Just as Sam started to ease out, a branch crashed against the window, and Dean jumped, burying Sam back in full. Sam leaned his weight down on a forearm, did a slow slide out and a gentle push back in, setting a quiet pace.
“Even the weather, Dean.”
Dean couldn’t focus, his entire being fixated on where Sam’s body met his, where he was buried inside him, but he managed a, “Hmm?”
“The storm. Conspiring against you. It wanted this.”
“Sure that’s not your freaky ESP shit?”
Sam just laughed, and as he began to thrust in earnest, quicker, jagged, huffs of air punctuated his laughter.
It was so good, too good; Dean hadn’t been prepared. As Sam kept on, his thrusts got deeper, harder, and Dean needed something to grab on to. He settled for throwing a leg up and over Sam’s waist, getting Sam notched that much closer, and then he brought a hand up into Sam’s hair.
“Yes,” Sam said, and so Dean tugged harder, pulled Sam closer, kissed him hard.
It was getting difficult to breathe, though, it was all so much, and Dean said, “Can’t--”
“I got you,” Sam huffed. His thrusts were becoming staggered, losing his careful rhythm, and then Sam squeezed a hand between them, curled his fingers tight around Dean’s cock. And that was it, Dean could not hold on any longer. Sam’s first stroke pulled Dean down and over that edge, thick streams pouring out of him as he clenched even tighter around Sam.
“Christ, Dean,” Sam stuttered, stilled for a moment, and Dean felt his release, hips shaking and shoulders juttering, and Sam pounded through it all. Dean was coming down to Sam fucking him through his own slick, and god, Dean didn’t know how he’d been making Sam wait for this. It was fucking inevitable.
Sam slid slowly out, grabbing a pair of shorts out of the wheel well to wipe Dean’s stomach and hole, cleaning them both off before he slumped to the side. In his exhaustion, his lower half fell off the seat, butt down on the floor, and Dean laughed, pulled Sam back up as he slid onto his side, making room.
“Don’t know what I was thinking, Sammy. Too goddamn long, it’s been.”
“Too long. But not anymore.”
Dean smiled, felt the scrape of Sam’s stubble against his lips. “Can’t have you leaving me again, Sam.”
Sam squeezed his arm tight, said, “Never, Dean. It’s you and me now.”
The storm had finally let up, just quiet patters against the roof, and Dean guessed they could pull themselves together, get back to the drive. He pulled Sam closer, though, decided against it for now.
The road would be there tomorrow, stretched out before them.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bareback car sex, reference to past underage
"Fuck, Sam, I said no. I can’t." Dean slammed his fist down on the steering wheel.
Sam all but growled, a deep moan rising from the back of his throat as he shifted away. With Sam’s hips turned toward the window and arms shoved across his chest, Dean could breath again.
Sam had been looking at him so much lately, eyes glaring deep and with such intent. A moment out of the scrutiny was a relief. And without having to watch the road, he was free to just fucking think for a minute.
They’d been headed north on 75 on their way out of town, hunt good and done, when the skies had opened wide. Only a few raindrops at first, maybe a dozen, but before Dean could even get the wipers on, torrents were coming down across the windshield. The leaves and the road and the dark, dark sky all melded into one, and it took less than a minute for Dean to call it quits. He pulled his girl over, off the highway and backed up down into the grass under a grove of trees.
A good thing, it was, because things only picked up from there. The flashes of lightning were the brightest white and the thunder was immediate. That was when Sam had chosen to make his most recent move. Well, not a move so much, but an imploration. “Please, Dean,” he’d said, all low and full of need.
Dean had known exactly what he’d been asking for. Sam’s still grieving, his past and now their dad, and he probably always will be, but since he’s been mostly better, it’s all he’s been asking for. He’s asking for Dean, all of Dean, for what they used to have, with his eyes and his voice, with his hands and his touch. Basically with his whole fucking heart on complete display.
But like he said, Dean can’t.
Under the trees the rain wasn’t quite as heavy, still coming down good but the sound of drops were distinguishable, not a steady sheet like it had been on the road. Dark, though, darker than the night with no stars to speak of, but shines of lightning were flashing across the side of Sam's face.
Dean breathed deep and said, "It's just, you can't break up with family.” Sam looked over at that, and Dean added, “At least not twice."
A choke from Sam. "I didn't--"
"Then tell me what it was, Sam. Tell me what I was supposed to think."
“I thought,” Sam said, and then he looked down, broke contact. “I thought that if I got away, that maybe, maybe I could at least try.”
“Try?”
“Try to give myself a chance at a normal life. Try to give you a chance.”
Dean scoffed. He’d heard it all before. He didn’t want a normal fucking life; that was Sam’s deal. He wanted Sam. He always had, for as long as he could remember, and he always would. All the girls, all the nameless fucks in the world wouldn’t stop that, couldn’t. He’d long since given up trying, he was simply resigned.
“But it was pointless,” Sam said. He turned back towards Dean, got one leg pulled onto the seat, curled up under him. “I. Dean, I tried. But there wasn’t a goddamn day you weren’t there in my mind. Not a one.”
Sam probably already knew the same was true for Dean, but Dean nodded anyway, couldn’t hide it. Every night, empty motel room or with his dad in the next bed, it was Sam in Dean’s mind as he drifted off. Every day, empty shotgun or Dad in the seat next to him, and it was Sam that Dean wanted to talk to. Always Sam.
“And why do you think something’s gonna go wrong anyway? What makes you think that I haven’t thought about all of this, that I haven’t fucking pulled that foot back from out the door. Dean, this is it. This is all I’ve got.”
It was Dean’s turn now to inch a little closer; he couldn’t fucking help himself. Just a centimeter maybe, but he pulled his hand off the wheel too, laid it out.
“Right, Dean?” Sam asked. “Isn’t it all we’ve got?”
“Yeah, Sammy.”
Sam grabbed Dean’s hand from where it lay between them, pulled it towards him and Dean followed. He slid tight to Sam’s side and leaned down, burying his face in Sam’s neck. “Here, come on now,” Sam said.
Two fingers lifting his chin up, and Dean could barely see a thing. Sam was close, but it was so dark, no streetlights no nothing, and all Dean could see was the shine of Sam’s eyes. It was enough, though, and he leaned up, gave in to what Sam was asking for.
Sam didn’t waste any time now that Dean was finally relenting, just opened wide and forced his tongue deep into Dean’s mouth, claiming the space all his own. It was already his anyway, it always had been.
Just as Dean slanted in, brought his hands up to fist into Sam’s shirt, Sam grabbed under Dean’s thigh and pulled, hauling him up and over. Sam’s hands across his back and his thighs strong under Dean, and fuck, Dean had missed this. Who the hell had he even been trying to kid when he was resisting?
A huge crack of thunder struck, and Dean jumped, had Sam’s hands smoothed down and tucked under his jacket immediately. He bent forward again, couldn’t get close enough. Sam pushed him back, though, eyes dark and greedy, and said, “Cuddle later, Dean. Need to feel you now.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you want, Sam.” And wasn’t that Dean’s default anyway?
Hands on buckles and there was no space between to work, but somehow they managed. Sam had Dean’s jeans open and his hand shoved in fast, squeezing hard around the length of Dean, and Dean’s body was humming. His other hand was around Dean’s back, down warm into the crack of Dean’s ass, and that got Dean’s body vibrating at a whole different level. “Up, Dean, come on,” Sam instructed, and Dean leaned back, pulling one leg all the way up to shove his jeans and shorts down and out of the way. Sam wasted no time getting his hands back on Dean, one squeezing his thigh and the other pushing two fingers forward into Dean’s mouth.
Dean sucked them down, sliding his tongue between the digits and slicking them good. As Sam brought them down, he took Dean’s mouth again. It was the best distraction from the burn that accompanied two fingers stretching him, and Sam had always known how to get to Dean, how to get in deep and take care of him when it counted.
It was tight, Dean was so tight, hadn’t had anything inside since the night before everything changed, the night before Sam left.
Like Sam could read his mind, he asked, “No one else, Dean?” And Dean hummed an affirmative, met with a tight squeeze of his ass and another growl from Sam, this one hungry. He sat up, pulling Sam’s fingers free, and said, “Give me more.”
Three, then, and Dean grit his teeth. Sam said, “So good. So good for me, Dean,” and Dean clenched tighter, showed Sam how good he was going to be.
Sam pulled free and leaned them over, throwing Dean off his lap and back onto the seat. “That’s enough. That’s it, can’t.”
“Yeah, Sammy. ‘M ready.”
Scrambling with his pants, Sam said, “Don't got any--”
“Don’t need any,” Dean said, and kicked his other leg free, battled his jacket down and off the seat. He reached up and fumbled with the buttons of Sam’s shirt, so thankful that they needed to do laundry and that Sam had run out of tees this morning, because he needed his hands on that skin. Pulling Sam down and over him, Dean ran his hands up Sam’s sides and down the length of his back, said, “Don’t care, Sam. Just hurry up now. Come on.”
Sam smirked and Dean saw the glint of his teeth, the wicked shine of his eyes. And then Sam was curving even further forward, one hand braced beside Dean’s head, and the other lining them up. Dean spread his legs wider, and fucking damn it, but if he wouldn’t spread his legs for his brother forever. Had been, forever, since that first night so many years ago.
When Sam finally pushed in, it was like all the air Dean had been holding onto escaped at once, a great rush out as everything fit right back into place. It was fucking natural, their fit, and it was like there wasn’t five years between this and their last.
“Dean,” Sam said, and it was Dean’s favorite way to hear him say it, all desperate and cracked, so loaded up.
Just as Sam started to ease out, a branch crashed against the window, and Dean jumped, burying Sam back in full. Sam leaned his weight down on a forearm, did a slow slide out and a gentle push back in, setting a quiet pace.
“Even the weather, Dean.”
Dean couldn’t focus, his entire being fixated on where Sam’s body met his, where he was buried inside him, but he managed a, “Hmm?”
“The storm. Conspiring against you. It wanted this.”
“Sure that’s not your freaky ESP shit?”
Sam just laughed, and as he began to thrust in earnest, quicker, jagged, huffs of air punctuated his laughter.
It was so good, too good; Dean hadn’t been prepared. As Sam kept on, his thrusts got deeper, harder, and Dean needed something to grab on to. He settled for throwing a leg up and over Sam’s waist, getting Sam notched that much closer, and then he brought a hand up into Sam’s hair.
“Yes,” Sam said, and so Dean tugged harder, pulled Sam closer, kissed him hard.
It was getting difficult to breathe, though, it was all so much, and Dean said, “Can’t--”
“I got you,” Sam huffed. His thrusts were becoming staggered, losing his careful rhythm, and then Sam squeezed a hand between them, curled his fingers tight around Dean’s cock. And that was it, Dean could not hold on any longer. Sam’s first stroke pulled Dean down and over that edge, thick streams pouring out of him as he clenched even tighter around Sam.
“Christ, Dean,” Sam stuttered, stilled for a moment, and Dean felt his release, hips shaking and shoulders juttering, and Sam pounded through it all. Dean was coming down to Sam fucking him through his own slick, and god, Dean didn’t know how he’d been making Sam wait for this. It was fucking inevitable.
Sam slid slowly out, grabbing a pair of shorts out of the wheel well to wipe Dean’s stomach and hole, cleaning them both off before he slumped to the side. In his exhaustion, his lower half fell off the seat, butt down on the floor, and Dean laughed, pulled Sam back up as he slid onto his side, making room.
“Don’t know what I was thinking, Sammy. Too goddamn long, it’s been.”
“Too long. But not anymore.”
Dean smiled, felt the scrape of Sam’s stubble against his lips. “Can’t have you leaving me again, Sam.”
Sam squeezed his arm tight, said, “Never, Dean. It’s you and me now.”
The storm had finally let up, just quiet patters against the roof, and Dean guessed they could pull themselves together, get back to the drive. He pulled Sam closer, though, decided against it for now.
The road would be there tomorrow, stretched out before them.
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