Ambiguity by frozen_delight for wolfize
Apr. 3rd, 2017 08:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_springflingTitle: Ambiguity
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Under-negotiated kink, angst and the death of a baby penguin.
There’d been more first times in Dean’s life than he could count—first time to hold a gun, first kill, first loss, first time to die. And every time he’d known instinctively that there’d be a repeat performance, whether he liked it or not.
This time was no different.
Sitting on Sam’s lap wearing nothing but a baby-blue camisole while Sam—fully-dressed!—watched an animal documentary and pinched his nipples was freakin’ humiliating.
But it was one of Sam’s most prized fantasies, as he’d revealed after accidentally touching a truth charm. The look of delighted surprise on his face when Dean knocked on his door earlier had confirmed as much. It went without saying they’d do it again. There were only so many things Dean could do to make Sam happy in this crappy world.
Apparently, Jess had liked it. Man, she’d get so wet when I touched her breasts, Sam had confessed with a faraway look in his eyes.
But Dean wasn’t Jess.
The satiny feel of the camisole on his skin he could get behind. He loved the way the material rippled over him like a caress underwater.
What Sam was doing to his nipples wasn’t half bad either. Sam had always been exceptionally good with his hands. The precision with which he could perform an autopsy was something Dean had rarely witnessed elsewhere.
As if in answer to Dean’s thoughts, Sam now traced a scalpel-sharp nail over the bud of his left nipple. Dean gasped, the wanton sound a peculiar contrast to Sam’s concentrated silence and the monotone commentary of the presenter on screen.
Sam shifted his legs, denim chafing Dean’s skin, sending sparks of pain-pleasure through Dean’s cock. Involuntarily, he rocked against Sam’s thigh, seeking more friction.
“Shhh, gorgeous, I’ve got you,” Sam cooed into his neck, hands holding Dean in place.
Dean’s cheeks burned with shame. Sam was treating him like a chick, and Dean couldn’t even say he hated it.
He hated how vulnerable it made him feel. How needy. How it made him want to hump Sam’s leg like a dog. How it awakened an ache low in his gut for something he could hardly name.
Blinking several times in rapid succession, he tried to focus on anything that wasn’t Sam’s hot breath in his nape, the thumb playing with his nipple or the painful tug of longing deep inside him.
On the TV screen before him a baby penguin padded along the edge of a floe, flapping its fluffy gray wings with excitement.
Dean smiled. The tightly-wound spiral of anxiety mixed with arousal inside him uncoiled a little.
Out of nowhere a sea leopard sank its fangs into the penguin’s tail.
Dean flinched so violently he nearly toppled of Sam’s lap. A glance behind him told him that Sam had barely reacted at all.
By the time he faced the TV screen again, all that was left of the baby penguin was a ruddy stain on the ice. Poor little guy.
Why Sam sought out even more bloodshed in his free time after all the violence they faced on the job was a mystery to Dean. The creepy serial killer stats, the wildlife documentaries—they’d be the very last thing Dean wanted after witnessing a werewolf tear out a little girl’s heart or having to talk a victim’s distraught family. Except maybe Sam took comfort in the reminder that monsters weren’t the only thing that could hurt you. There might even be something grounding about that knowledge, Dean supposed. And it was probably healthier than the comforts Dean turned to in such cases—liquor and looking for another vamp to behead.
Sam shifted again. If they kept this up much longer, Sam wouldn’t be able to feel his legs, Dean thought, his own thighs contracting in sympathy. After all, Dean wasn’t a nimble-limbed chick in her early twenties.
Immune to such scruples, Dean’s cock pulsed with pleasure. The first drops of precome formed at the head.
“Christ, baby, you’re so hot like this.” Sam was doing that cooing voice again, the one he’d never used with Dean before today. The pet name was new, too. Dean almost hoped that it was directed at a faraway memory he could never compete with.
Sam ran his thumb over the tip of Dean’s cock, then painted sticky sigils of ownership over Dean’s chest.
Dean squirmed. Disgusted. Turned on.
“Come on, gorgeous, get yourself off on me,” Sam whispered into his ear, hands kneading the flesh of Dean’s nipples. “I know you can do it.”
And damn if Dean didn’t start rocking against Sam’s thigh in earnest. Like a dog.
A kiss to his sweaty temple. “That’s it.” Dean’s weak, treacherous heart fluttered at the praise. Like a fucking dog.
He could feel his orgasm building low in his stomach. Blood rushed in his ears. His vision began to frazzle. Dean’s entire world narrowed down to the touch of Sam’s hands, the sound of Sam’s voice and the dark, liquid pull of want.
The last thing he registered before he whited out were the words, “Come for me, my pretty girl.”
***
“Hey,” Sam said later as Dean came back to himself, the fringes of his vision still white with bliss.
Dean made a non-committal sound.
Sam’s hand was a warm presence on his hip. Protective. Possessive.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come so hard.” Even through his drowsy mind Dean registered the note of awe in his brother’s voice. “You really liked that, didn’t you?”
On screen, the presenter explained that penguins couldn’t fly because they were such excellent swimmers: “No bird can excel at both.”
Dean swallowed. He thought of the sea leopard’s rapacious jaw. Of vampire blood on his fingers. “Guess so,” he muttered.
It wasn’t even a lie.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Under-negotiated kink, angst and the death of a baby penguin.
There’d been more first times in Dean’s life than he could count—first time to hold a gun, first kill, first loss, first time to die. And every time he’d known instinctively that there’d be a repeat performance, whether he liked it or not.
This time was no different.
Sitting on Sam’s lap wearing nothing but a baby-blue camisole while Sam—fully-dressed!—watched an animal documentary and pinched his nipples was freakin’ humiliating.
But it was one of Sam’s most prized fantasies, as he’d revealed after accidentally touching a truth charm. The look of delighted surprise on his face when Dean knocked on his door earlier had confirmed as much. It went without saying they’d do it again. There were only so many things Dean could do to make Sam happy in this crappy world.
Apparently, Jess had liked it. Man, she’d get so wet when I touched her breasts, Sam had confessed with a faraway look in his eyes.
But Dean wasn’t Jess.
The satiny feel of the camisole on his skin he could get behind. He loved the way the material rippled over him like a caress underwater.
What Sam was doing to his nipples wasn’t half bad either. Sam had always been exceptionally good with his hands. The precision with which he could perform an autopsy was something Dean had rarely witnessed elsewhere.
As if in answer to Dean’s thoughts, Sam now traced a scalpel-sharp nail over the bud of his left nipple. Dean gasped, the wanton sound a peculiar contrast to Sam’s concentrated silence and the monotone commentary of the presenter on screen.
Sam shifted his legs, denim chafing Dean’s skin, sending sparks of pain-pleasure through Dean’s cock. Involuntarily, he rocked against Sam’s thigh, seeking more friction.
“Shhh, gorgeous, I’ve got you,” Sam cooed into his neck, hands holding Dean in place.
Dean’s cheeks burned with shame. Sam was treating him like a chick, and Dean couldn’t even say he hated it.
He hated how vulnerable it made him feel. How needy. How it made him want to hump Sam’s leg like a dog. How it awakened an ache low in his gut for something he could hardly name.
Blinking several times in rapid succession, he tried to focus on anything that wasn’t Sam’s hot breath in his nape, the thumb playing with his nipple or the painful tug of longing deep inside him.
On the TV screen before him a baby penguin padded along the edge of a floe, flapping its fluffy gray wings with excitement.
Dean smiled. The tightly-wound spiral of anxiety mixed with arousal inside him uncoiled a little.
Out of nowhere a sea leopard sank its fangs into the penguin’s tail.
Dean flinched so violently he nearly toppled of Sam’s lap. A glance behind him told him that Sam had barely reacted at all.
By the time he faced the TV screen again, all that was left of the baby penguin was a ruddy stain on the ice. Poor little guy.
Why Sam sought out even more bloodshed in his free time after all the violence they faced on the job was a mystery to Dean. The creepy serial killer stats, the wildlife documentaries—they’d be the very last thing Dean wanted after witnessing a werewolf tear out a little girl’s heart or having to talk a victim’s distraught family. Except maybe Sam took comfort in the reminder that monsters weren’t the only thing that could hurt you. There might even be something grounding about that knowledge, Dean supposed. And it was probably healthier than the comforts Dean turned to in such cases—liquor and looking for another vamp to behead.
Sam shifted again. If they kept this up much longer, Sam wouldn’t be able to feel his legs, Dean thought, his own thighs contracting in sympathy. After all, Dean wasn’t a nimble-limbed chick in her early twenties.
Immune to such scruples, Dean’s cock pulsed with pleasure. The first drops of precome formed at the head.
“Christ, baby, you’re so hot like this.” Sam was doing that cooing voice again, the one he’d never used with Dean before today. The pet name was new, too. Dean almost hoped that it was directed at a faraway memory he could never compete with.
Sam ran his thumb over the tip of Dean’s cock, then painted sticky sigils of ownership over Dean’s chest.
Dean squirmed. Disgusted. Turned on.
“Come on, gorgeous, get yourself off on me,” Sam whispered into his ear, hands kneading the flesh of Dean’s nipples. “I know you can do it.”
And damn if Dean didn’t start rocking against Sam’s thigh in earnest. Like a dog.
A kiss to his sweaty temple. “That’s it.” Dean’s weak, treacherous heart fluttered at the praise. Like a fucking dog.
He could feel his orgasm building low in his stomach. Blood rushed in his ears. His vision began to frazzle. Dean’s entire world narrowed down to the touch of Sam’s hands, the sound of Sam’s voice and the dark, liquid pull of want.
The last thing he registered before he whited out were the words, “Come for me, my pretty girl.”
***
“Hey,” Sam said later as Dean came back to himself, the fringes of his vision still white with bliss.
Dean made a non-committal sound.
Sam’s hand was a warm presence on his hip. Protective. Possessive.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come so hard.” Even through his drowsy mind Dean registered the note of awe in his brother’s voice. “You really liked that, didn’t you?”
On screen, the presenter explained that penguins couldn’t fly because they were such excellent swimmers: “No bird can excel at both.”
Dean swallowed. He thought of the sea leopard’s rapacious jaw. Of vampire blood on his fingers. “Guess so,” he muttered.
It wasn’t even a lie.
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Date: 2017-04-18 12:18 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to comment!
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Date: 2017-04-18 12:21 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to comment!
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