Say It Loud by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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Jun. 12th, 2012 11:10 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_springflingTitle: Say It Loud
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Any warnings: permanent injury
Written bycheckthemargins for smalltrolven!
Sam's vocal cords were severed by a harpy in the Arizona desert a month and a half ago. Dean's glad, naturally, that his brother didn't bleed out and die.
But he's still not used to the silence.
***
The scar is thin and pearly-white and smooth. Sam's a little self-conscious about it, adjusts the collar of his shirts obsessively, is more comfortable in the fake FBI agent suit now than he is his usual ugly button-ups, but it's really not that noticeable, drawn like a white grin across his throat. The ER doctors had though it'd been done with a scalpel. Dean hadn't had a good story for them. As soon as Sam was sedated and out of the woods, he'd smuggled him out. Sam's still a little bitch about the damn scar though, except when he's asleep right here next to Dean in the passenger seat, head tilted back and to the side and sunlight bouncing off too-smooth tissue and making it glisten.
Dean reaches out, imagines waves of sound from the Zeppelin tape down low in the cassette player vibrating all around his hand as he moves it, and touches Sam's neck, thumbs at the scar and feels Sam swallow, Adam's apple bobbing. Sam sighs, not a sound, and dreams on.
***
Sam picks up sign language so fast Dean wants to punch him in the fact just on principal. Sam's been good at everything he's ever tried since he was born. It's upsetting and awesome. He'd be flashing his hands like he's been speaking with them his whole life within just a few days. Now he's all making friends and shit, and a lot more people know this damn language than Dean ever thought would. Everywhere they go, someone'll inevitably fall head over ass for Sam and his scar and his stupid hair and his dimples and break out in sign like they teach it in school nowadays or something.
Lisa's niece was schooled in baby sign language while Dean was living with Lisa and Ben. So Dean knows how to say very useful things like 'juice' and 'blanket' and 'cracker'. Sam has accommodated for him. Dean asks him if he's hungry, Sam baby-signs 'cracker'. It's a thing they've got going.
"Dude," Dean says one morning, brother-made Pop-Tart in mouth, towel wrapped around his waist and still damp from his shower. "This really works for me, you bein' quiet all the time. I mean, I don't think I realized just how much you used to fucking talk, y'know?"
Sam, sitting on one of the motel room beds with his laptop in front of his crossed legs, presents him with both middle fingers. It's not baby sign language, but Dean gets it.
***
The thing is, with as much as Dean mercilessly teases Sam about it, the whole quiet thing is kind of terrifying.
It's not like Dean's got issues about Sam or anything (ha!), it's just that he's gotten used to some things over the past 9 years, and the 17 before Sam went off to school. So while he still gets the sound of Sam's breathing and the feel of his skin and body heat right next to him in bed at night, he really misses the snoring, and the way Sam used to murmur in his sleep, and the sound of him singing along in his God-awful voice to whatever's on the radio whenever Dean lets him drive so he can grab a couple hours of sleep.
After Purgatory—after months and months of inhuman screeching and roaring and growling and screaming coming from every direction—the only sound Dean had been able to stand for days had been Sam. Sam moving, or shifting, or walking, his footsteps or his voice. Sam talked a lot then, talked Dean through stuff, like washing the dishes or showering or putting one step in front of the other back in a place that no longer felt real.
And Sam, of course, little fucker, had to go and one up him, so now Dean's got to make enough noise for the both of them.
***
Sex with Sam is good. Always has been, always will be. He is the Alpha and the Omega and all that shit. He's got a big dick and he's all attentive and shit, and he feels good all hulking over Dean and pinning him down. Dean's slick with sweat and heat, his chest heavy and achy with how good it feels, Sam so deep inside him he can't tell them apart. He's stretched tight around his brother's dick and Sam's hand is on his cock, stroking real slow and hard like the thrust of his hips.
Sex with Sam is usually loud, too, because Sam's a mouthy bitch in every facet of his damn life, and when he gets desperate like this he gets tender and sappy and ridiculous, all "Dean, got you, need you, fuck Dean love you, love you, love you'. This isn't the first time they've done it since Sam lost his voice, but it's the quietest place they've been in while fucking since it happened. Sam can still make noise, little gaspy sounds that don't require the vibration of cords that don't work anymore. He's breathing them hot and needy against the side of Dean's neck, smearing a trail of them up across his jaw and over his chin, pushing them into his mouth with his tongue and Dean swallows them, the only audibly offering his brother can give anymore.
He's got his legs wrapped around Sam's waist and one hand digging divots into Sam's broad back. He sucks on Sam's tongue and rubs his other palm up Sam's side, through sweat and lube and an overabundance of gun oil that started this whole thing, got them slick and shiny and naked and in bed in the first place. He fingers his way up Sam's arm bracing him over Dean and across Sam's shoulder and fingers at the edge of the scar. Sam inhales sharply, pulls back and opens his mouth to speak, but can't. Dean tilts his head back, bares his throat, wets his lip and rocks his hips up, feels his cock throb hard when the head of Sam's cock rubs just fucking right against his prostate and lets out a loud, low moan.
Dean, Sam is mouthing, and Dean nods and tightens his legs, tightens his ass around Sam's thick cock and swears when Sam rolls his balls in his hand. Dean.
"C'mon, Sammy, 'm gonna—"
Sam lifts his hand from Dean's dick and baby-signs 'juice', nails Dean's spot again at the same time and Dean chokes out a laugh he can't even control and comes, just like that. Sam speeds up, fucks him through it, rides the waves of Dean's orgasm into his own, shudders and gasps, open-mouthed and eyes closed and so fucking gorgeous.
He pulls out slowly, collapses onto his side next to Dean, rolls onto his back. Dean follows him, rolls on top and rubs his spent cock all over Sam's rock hard abs, laughs when Sam grins sleepily, dimples pressed deep into his cheeks.
Sam signs something. Dean's pretty sure it means asshole or something, but then he presses his big palm over the middle of Dean's chest and digs his fingers in a little so the skin around them blanches. Dean rolls his eyes—Sam's such a girl—and braces himself on one hand so he can sign one of the few phrases he knows.
Sam smiles hugely, signs it right back, leans up and catches Dean's mouth with his own and Dean curls his palm around the back of Sam's head and holds him right there.
Dean's pretty sure he picked that one up the fastest because it's the only one that matters. He doesn't need to sign so Sam'll understand him. Sam can hear just fine. He just needs it for this, when his tongue can wrap around the chick flick moment. He just needs it for this, the only words he can never say out loud.
END
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Any warnings: permanent injury
Written by
checkthemargins for smalltrolven!Sam's vocal cords were severed by a harpy in the Arizona desert a month and a half ago. Dean's glad, naturally, that his brother didn't bleed out and die.
But he's still not used to the silence.
***
The scar is thin and pearly-white and smooth. Sam's a little self-conscious about it, adjusts the collar of his shirts obsessively, is more comfortable in the fake FBI agent suit now than he is his usual ugly button-ups, but it's really not that noticeable, drawn like a white grin across his throat. The ER doctors had though it'd been done with a scalpel. Dean hadn't had a good story for them. As soon as Sam was sedated and out of the woods, he'd smuggled him out. Sam's still a little bitch about the damn scar though, except when he's asleep right here next to Dean in the passenger seat, head tilted back and to the side and sunlight bouncing off too-smooth tissue and making it glisten.
Dean reaches out, imagines waves of sound from the Zeppelin tape down low in the cassette player vibrating all around his hand as he moves it, and touches Sam's neck, thumbs at the scar and feels Sam swallow, Adam's apple bobbing. Sam sighs, not a sound, and dreams on.
***
Sam picks up sign language so fast Dean wants to punch him in the fact just on principal. Sam's been good at everything he's ever tried since he was born. It's upsetting and awesome. He'd be flashing his hands like he's been speaking with them his whole life within just a few days. Now he's all making friends and shit, and a lot more people know this damn language than Dean ever thought would. Everywhere they go, someone'll inevitably fall head over ass for Sam and his scar and his stupid hair and his dimples and break out in sign like they teach it in school nowadays or something.
Lisa's niece was schooled in baby sign language while Dean was living with Lisa and Ben. So Dean knows how to say very useful things like 'juice' and 'blanket' and 'cracker'. Sam has accommodated for him. Dean asks him if he's hungry, Sam baby-signs 'cracker'. It's a thing they've got going.
"Dude," Dean says one morning, brother-made Pop-Tart in mouth, towel wrapped around his waist and still damp from his shower. "This really works for me, you bein' quiet all the time. I mean, I don't think I realized just how much you used to fucking talk, y'know?"
Sam, sitting on one of the motel room beds with his laptop in front of his crossed legs, presents him with both middle fingers. It's not baby sign language, but Dean gets it.
***
The thing is, with as much as Dean mercilessly teases Sam about it, the whole quiet thing is kind of terrifying.
It's not like Dean's got issues about Sam or anything (ha!), it's just that he's gotten used to some things over the past 9 years, and the 17 before Sam went off to school. So while he still gets the sound of Sam's breathing and the feel of his skin and body heat right next to him in bed at night, he really misses the snoring, and the way Sam used to murmur in his sleep, and the sound of him singing along in his God-awful voice to whatever's on the radio whenever Dean lets him drive so he can grab a couple hours of sleep.
After Purgatory—after months and months of inhuman screeching and roaring and growling and screaming coming from every direction—the only sound Dean had been able to stand for days had been Sam. Sam moving, or shifting, or walking, his footsteps or his voice. Sam talked a lot then, talked Dean through stuff, like washing the dishes or showering or putting one step in front of the other back in a place that no longer felt real.
And Sam, of course, little fucker, had to go and one up him, so now Dean's got to make enough noise for the both of them.
***
Sex with Sam is good. Always has been, always will be. He is the Alpha and the Omega and all that shit. He's got a big dick and he's all attentive and shit, and he feels good all hulking over Dean and pinning him down. Dean's slick with sweat and heat, his chest heavy and achy with how good it feels, Sam so deep inside him he can't tell them apart. He's stretched tight around his brother's dick and Sam's hand is on his cock, stroking real slow and hard like the thrust of his hips.
Sex with Sam is usually loud, too, because Sam's a mouthy bitch in every facet of his damn life, and when he gets desperate like this he gets tender and sappy and ridiculous, all "Dean, got you, need you, fuck Dean love you, love you, love you'. This isn't the first time they've done it since Sam lost his voice, but it's the quietest place they've been in while fucking since it happened. Sam can still make noise, little gaspy sounds that don't require the vibration of cords that don't work anymore. He's breathing them hot and needy against the side of Dean's neck, smearing a trail of them up across his jaw and over his chin, pushing them into his mouth with his tongue and Dean swallows them, the only audibly offering his brother can give anymore.
He's got his legs wrapped around Sam's waist and one hand digging divots into Sam's broad back. He sucks on Sam's tongue and rubs his other palm up Sam's side, through sweat and lube and an overabundance of gun oil that started this whole thing, got them slick and shiny and naked and in bed in the first place. He fingers his way up Sam's arm bracing him over Dean and across Sam's shoulder and fingers at the edge of the scar. Sam inhales sharply, pulls back and opens his mouth to speak, but can't. Dean tilts his head back, bares his throat, wets his lip and rocks his hips up, feels his cock throb hard when the head of Sam's cock rubs just fucking right against his prostate and lets out a loud, low moan.
Dean, Sam is mouthing, and Dean nods and tightens his legs, tightens his ass around Sam's thick cock and swears when Sam rolls his balls in his hand. Dean.
"C'mon, Sammy, 'm gonna—"
Sam lifts his hand from Dean's dick and baby-signs 'juice', nails Dean's spot again at the same time and Dean chokes out a laugh he can't even control and comes, just like that. Sam speeds up, fucks him through it, rides the waves of Dean's orgasm into his own, shudders and gasps, open-mouthed and eyes closed and so fucking gorgeous.
He pulls out slowly, collapses onto his side next to Dean, rolls onto his back. Dean follows him, rolls on top and rubs his spent cock all over Sam's rock hard abs, laughs when Sam grins sleepily, dimples pressed deep into his cheeks.
Sam signs something. Dean's pretty sure it means asshole or something, but then he presses his big palm over the middle of Dean's chest and digs his fingers in a little so the skin around them blanches. Dean rolls his eyes—Sam's such a girl—and braces himself on one hand so he can sign one of the few phrases he knows.
Sam smiles hugely, signs it right back, leans up and catches Dean's mouth with his own and Dean curls his palm around the back of Sam's head and holds him right there.
Dean's pretty sure he picked that one up the fastest because it's the only one that matters. He doesn't need to sign so Sam'll understand him. Sam can hear just fine. He just needs it for this, when his tongue can wrap around the chick flick moment. He just needs it for this, the only words he can never say out loud.
END
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no subject
Date: 2012-06-13 03:16 am (UTC)Lisa's niece was schooled in baby sign language while Dean was living with Lisa and Ben. So Dean knows how to say very useful things like 'juice' and 'blanket' and 'cracker'. Sam has accommodated for him. Dean asks him if he's hungry, Sam baby-signs 'cracker'. It's a thing they've got going. and the raunchy version later in the fic. ;)
I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh or cry. This was phenomenal, thank you. <333
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Date: 2012-06-13 04:00 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-06-13 11:01 am (UTC)(Also, JUICE. Heh.)
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Date: 2012-06-13 01:27 pm (UTC)Gorgeous <3
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Date: 2012-06-13 01:47 pm (UTC)and gosh, you pulled it off so beautifully! going to be reading this one again and again, most definitely. JUICE.
He just needs it for this, the only words he can never say out loud. ♥ ♥
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Date: 2012-06-13 11:09 pm (UTC)Ha!
Very gorgeously written story! It was sad but also made me happy to see Sam still making the best of his situation; reading it through Dean's POV made it all the more emotional. I also love the added the detail of Sam helping Dean after Purgatory and Sam still mouthing Dean's name during sex. Lovely work!
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