#chub dean winchester

[qtepasacalabaza]

if things keep going on like this he's just gonna become one of my oc's lol

also the joke basically is that Dean ask Cas if he looks fat and Cas says there is no need to worry about human beauty standards and that his value as a person is not defined by his body; while at the same time Cas thinks that his dick is the one that gets fat every time he sees Dean (I swear it's funnier in Spanish😭😭)

[party-gilmore]

[me, staring at the other members of the Fuck That Old Man poll bracket]

...alright I'm taking "old man" away from y'all

[runawaymarbles]

20 questions for fic writers!

tagged by @chubsthehamster- thanks!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

32, unless you count the book covers. I've got 106 book covers

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

487,170

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Whatever I get stuck on at any given moment. My most recent ones are 9-1-1, Inception, ATS and Hawkeye, but my repeat fandoms are Spn, X-Men, The Old Guard and Black Sails.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I'm copying chubs and doing my personal favorites, because my top four kudos'd fic are all for the same fandom (The Old Guard) and written within like three weeks of each other.

The Scroll of Saint Barnabas (9-1-1, Buddie, 15k): recency bias, but I had a lot of fun with this one. I also probably drove my girlfriend*and cousin insane during the writing process. Sorry about that. The basic premise is: we all know how time loop fics go, but what if after the loop is broken the character has PTSD from all the things that nobody else remembers? And also what if you get a knotted dildo hooked onto your permanent retainer? *though we've now established consent and parameters for whether we can have sex if one of us is stuck in a time loop. It's always important to have these conversations in advance!!!

What The Moon Was Saying (Spn, destiel, 16k.) It's about Dean rescuing Cas from the Empty, technically, but it's also about Dean working through things he refuses to think about directly, and it's also about the perspective of dead characters who aren't all-knowing and have no clue what happened after they died, and it's also about Inanna's Descent into the Underworld and how many jokes about Sumerian mythology I could fit in there that probably nobody else is going to think are funny but I think are funny, and it's also about what issues Orpheus would have had if he'd succeeded. The central thesis statement is that Margaritaville is thee Dean Winchester Mental State song.

The Mixtape, Or: Six Things You Learn in Thursday School (Spn, destiel, 6k.) I always had this idea that I was going to write a fantasy book of some kind, where the first part would be about the founding of a religion and then the following parts would jump ahead a few hundred years and see how that religion and that original story change in the telling. Instead of writing that book I wrote 6,000 words about a post-apocalyptic religion whose foundational text was the Winchester Gospels, except they don't actually have the Winchester Gospels, so they're relying on collected ephemera and thirdhand accounts. It is also about both academic and online discourse.

The House on Graymalkin Lane (X-Men, background cherik, 92k.) My nice little outsider-POV x-men haunted house fic. It started out as "the x-mansion would be a bonkers haunted house" and then it turned into a love letter to the original timeline (we barely knew ye). It's about the mortifying ordeal of being in high school and also about how all my grandparents died at once and I had a lot of complicated feelings about that.

The Ill-Made Knight (X-Men, cherik, 1.5k) OK so you know that trope that's like "if anyone is going to kill me I want it to be you"?? it's that, but instead of being used as a statement of everlasting love and devotion, it's being used as psychological warfare. And also kind of a statement of everlasting love. But in a fucked up sort of way. Because Cherik.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I didn't used to but I do now because I always like it when people reply to mine. Sometimes I miss them and respond years later but like... I got there eventually?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

the whole estate of mortal man. (Black Sails, silverflint, 40k.) Silver is immortal but has a very impermanent self. Flint is mortal and has a very permanent self. There was only one way that was ever going to end and I stand by it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Of recent ones, I guess The Most Fun A Girl Can Have? (Kate/Yelena, 8k.) They're having a pretty good time for most of it.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Not since like, high school.

9. Do you write smut?

Nope. Hats off to smut writers, you're doing God's work. It's very difficult.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven't, unless you count every Marvel fic being a crossover. And Good Omens show/book. But that seems like a cop-out.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Some very kind people translated The Punishment of Sisyphus (Black Sails crackfic) and Antebellum (Black Sails, Anne & Eleanor fic) into Russian, Stalefish (Old Guard, Nile-centric) into Polish, and Kidnapping for Dummies (Old Guard, Joe shenanigans) into Spanish. I can only read the Spanish one.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yessss. The #ImmortalHusbands Conspiracy (The Old Guard social media fic) with @phoenix-acid. That was very fun.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Why would you ask me this. This is cruel. I can barely pick a top 5.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

The Marvel pirate AU, probably. It's almost a complete story on its own as it stands. There's about half a next chapter written and I could probably us that to tie things up, if I cut out a bunch of things, but I'd have to reread all my research. I did way too much research for that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character voices? I hope it's character voices. I watch a lot of youtube compilations before writing anyone to try and get a handle on how they talk.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

The actual romance part of a romance. What do you mean they have to get together after I've set everything up so that they get together? Ridiculous.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've never done it before, but I respect people who can pull it off. I do really hate that trope though where a multilingual character calls their love interest pet names in their mother-tongue, when they are never shown using it that way (or mixing that language and English in a conversation) in canon.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

....percy jackson and the olympians.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Since I listed five favorites up there I'm switching this with the kudos question. Fic with the most kudos is Kidnapping for Dummies (The Old Guard, 3.5k)

Tagging @monstrous-femme @thegeminisage @bomberqueen17 @ellelans @annerbhp @significanceofmoths and anyone else who wants to do it. say i tagged you. nobody will ever check to find out.

[ao3feed-mash]

One shot book for my finical character crushes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8KIdDXg

by Susied05

A place where I put my one shots

Words: 10529, Chapters: 12/12, Language: English

Fandoms: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV), MASH (TV), Outer Banks (TV), Girl Meets World, West Side Story (2021), Panic (TV 2021), Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Gifted (TV 2017), Superman & Lois (TV 2021), The Darkest Minds (2018), Spirit Animals - Various Authors, Supernatural

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Other

Characters: JJ Maybank, Riven (Winx Club), Sky (Winx Club), Kiara "Kie" Carrera, Pope Heyward, John B. Routledge, Maya Hart, Lucas Friar, Farkle Minkus, Musa (Winx Club), Flora (Winx Club), Aisha | Layla (Winx Club), Bloom (Winx Club), Steve Harrington, Lucas Sinclair, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Andy Strucker, Lauren Strucker, Reed Strucker, Caitlin Strucker, Lorna Dane, Marcos Diaz (The Gifted), the gifted - Character, Jordan Kent, Jonathan "Jon" Kent (Superman & Lois TV 2021), superman and Lois - Character, Liam Stewart, Cole Stewart, Ruby Daly, Suzume, Charles Carrington "Chubs" Meriwether IV, Cate, the darkest minds - Character, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Supernatural - Character, Conor (Spirit Animals), Meilin (Spirit Animals), Rollan (Spirit Animals), Tarik (Spirit Animals), Essix (Spirit Animals), Jhi (Spirit Animals), Uraza (Spirit Animals), Briggan (Spirit Animals), Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, BJ Honeycutt, Medics of 4077th MASH, Tony (West Side Story), west side story - Character, Maria (West Side Story), Riff (West Side Story), The Jets (West Side Story), Dodge Mason, Heather Nill, Ray Hall (Panic TV), Natalie Williams (Panic TV)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8KIdDXg

[faunina]

We could think about flowers, we could think about cake We could think about wonderful promises we have the power to make There's an awful a lot of awful things we could be thinking of But for just one day let's only think about love!

they have been married!!!!! for a full year now!!!!!!! and on their first anniversary dean wakes cas up with some aggressively snuggly “hello good morning i love you !!” kisses, and cas is happier happier happier than he can EVER remember being

ID: A drawing of Dean Winchester and Castiel lying in bed, from a top-down view. Dean is dressed in dark grey boxer shorts and light grey shirt, he is wearing dark nail polish and a tattoo of Castiel’s handprint is visible on his shoulder. Castiel is not wearing any clothes, except for the wedding band on his left ring finger. The dark green duvet covers them from about the waist down. Dean has one leg swung up around Castiel’s waist and is clutching at his face, pressing a messy close-mouthed kiss to his cheek. Castiel is clutching back to him and laughing. Bright morning light filters over them in the shape of a window. A line of text above the image says “Happy Destiel Wedding Anniversary!”. End ID.

aaaaaaaaaaaand the linework! just because i really liked how this one turned out, even tho i specifically didn’t sweat the anatomy as much

[deanstefillin]

as a transmasc person, dean being played by a pretty boy with belly chub who wears heeled boots bc his younger brother is taller than him will always mean so much to me

[amaranthmori]

[nandorite]

cas eats a banana in front of dean in an attempt to be seductive but struggles to conceal the fact that he’s incredibly grossed out and overwhelmed by all the molecules, so all dean sees is cas taking tiny nibbles and gagging occasionally. they make eye contact and cas bats his eyelashes while taking a full bite of the peel.

[rockingthegraveyard]

Retired Dean is fat, fact.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester’s Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 834

Warnings: A/B/O, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, leering, mention of collaring/being leashed

*Dark!fic-please do not read if you are disturbed by this subject matter

A/N: This is a 300+ follower thank you/sneak peak of a multipart coming later this year. Knowing me, I’ll probably edit/rewrite parts of this again..

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*no Beta-all mistakes are mine

Prologue

North Dakota

1999

John Winchester cut the ignition of the Impala before climbing out and trudging through the falling snow accumulating in front of an old warehouse, the third one he’s visited today. Outside of Hell, this was the absolute last place he wanted to be right now. 

Facilities such as this one had come into existence after a pandemic nearly wiped out all Omegas in existence when eighty years earlier when a virulent disease was accidentally released from a biochemical research facility during WWI. 

Scientists eventually found a vaccine but the damage was already done, nearly 80% of the Omega population around the world perished while Alphas and Betas who contracted the virus were predominantly immune and rarely died from it. 

They calculated that over the next decade Betas could reproduce to the point that they’d become the dominant subspecies and, left unchecked, would destroy the delicate balance between the three subspecies.

The few remaining Omegas were fought over like in ancient times resulting in some countries declaring martial law, taking the remaining ones into custody.

At a hastily convened conference the world's governing bodies agreed to a controversial solution to legally procure and sell Omegas from the Wild Packs, thus entering into negotiations with them.

The Wild Packs had existed on the perimeters since civilized societies were established. They were spared the worst of the dying off, only a small percentage perished. Scientists hypothesized that their genetics, closer in nature to their common wolf ancestors, caused them to quickly develop a natural immunity to it and hoped by introducing their genetics into the mainstream population that immunity would deter any future resurgence of the plague.

In the Americas, their government contracts, called the Hibbins Law after the town the negotiations were held in, specified they were the exclusive suppliers since their Omegas regularly produced multiple litters unlike their Domestic sisters. A special hormone implant was created to send them into heat within weeks after birthing pups, keeping them continuously bred.

A little known backdoor clause in the Hibbins law permits Wild Packs Alphas to legally accept monetary payments or favors from those on the fringes to acquire Omegas directly from them considered unsuitable by governments dealers. 

And if some slated for the government accidentally slipped through and sold for exorbitant prices on the secondary market, who was gonna tell?

Stopping in front of the heavy steel door John knocked in a predetermined code and it rolled open admitting John and his two companions who silently walked into the main viewing area automatically checking out their surroundings for potential dangers.

The air is thick with the various scents of the Omegas. Swallowing hard, John forced himself to ignore his chubbing cock to concentrate on the task he had to accomplish.

There are eight raised platforms on the left side with display cages containing Omegas only clad in elaborate silver collars pronouncing them as high end specimens slated for a private auction as buyers milled around them on their phones, discussing bidding strategies with their clients.

Others were wandering around the rest of the showroom examining the lesser expensive, leather collared and leashed to eye hooks protruding from the concrete flooring, merchandise for direct sale.  

“John Winchester, this is an unexpected surprise! To whom do I owe the honor of your presence?” The nasally voice of Helms called out as he approached the trio.

Everett Helm was a Beta who had the cheerful demeanor of a used car salesman in his otherwise depressive domain. John could barely stomach the possibility of having to do any business with the small, black haired bottom feeder.

Hunters found themselves making deals with him at some point since Helms dabbled in various enterprises and could acquire almost anything they needed..for a price, but his main source of income was from the Omega trade.

Before John could respond, a badly timed foot fall caught the dealer's interest. “These must be your boys. My, they are quite delicious.” Helms said, biting his bottom lip as his eyes roved over the youngest Winchester in a calculating manner.

Dean felt his hackles go up, growling loud enough so there was no mistaking the abhorrence in his alluring green eyes stepped in front of his ever-growing little brother to block him from the ogling dealer, daring him to make a move felt Sam huddle closer and peek over his still broadening shoulders at their father. 

From his posturing, John was gonna tear into him later for attracting attention after being instructed to stay invisible. 

Sam hastily looked down glaring through his shaggy bangs at his oversized, sneaker clad feet, wishing once again he hadn’t become so clumsy with this exponential growth spurt after his sixteenth birthday and presenting as an Alpha.

The dealer acted as if nothing had happened, turning back to John and spoke first, slipping into his smooth salesman's voice, “You need an Omega for your eldest, got himself in a peck of trouble I understand.” 

John kept his expression neutral thinking...if I ever get that bastard judge alone.

Tags: SPN @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278

[dothwrites]

Hey, ummmm..... could we get destiel with “H-how long have you been standing there?”

---

set in a nebulous s5 where Sam has conveniently gone out for drinks. a little nsfw-ish underneath the cut

Dean Winchester’s life doesn’t leave him much room for privacy. The majority of his time is spent in a car which, while roomy compared to most other cars, is still a car when all is said and done. He’s been attached at the hip to his brother for five years now (barring his 40 year Hell vacation, and the less said about that, the better). The motels he frequents have walls thin enough to be classified technically as curtains. 

So whenever Dean gets the opportunity for privacy, he snatches it with open arms. 

Sam begs off that night, saying that he’s going somewhere quiet to research, but there’s a pinched look around the corners of his eyes which means he’s lying. Dean thinks it’s more likely that he’s heading back to the diner to hook up with the cute waitress from lunch. Well, mazel tov, Sammy. Dean’s left with the opportunity to spend the night as he pleases, and that’s not a bad thing. 

(It is undoubtedly a bad thing, but it certainly doesn’t stop him.)

Dean takes a shower. Without Sam banging on the door and whining at him to hurry up, it’s a leisurely affair. He can almost fool himself into thinking that the warm bordering on tepid water is scalding hot and that the motel towels are plush and comfortable. 

He walks back into the room gloriously naked. His nipples pebble in protest at the chill air, but the anticipation warms him enough to keep him comfortable. He can taste it on the tip of his tongue, the potential ripe in the air. As he unzips his duffel bag and starts to paw through the carefully arranged layers, he notices the small shake of his hands. Fuck, but he wants this. 

Dean’s fingers brush against smooth satin, and he pauses before unearthing his treasure. 

He lays the panties out against the comforter, allowing himself a moment to splendor in them. Against the dark paisley of the motel comforter, the soft pink color stands out, along with the soft white lace ringing the waist and leg holes. Tiny bows circle the waistband, delicate and delightful. The panties are large, the elastic at the thighs slightly stretched from use. He’s held onto this pair for years, kept them carefully tucked away in an old flannel shirt that he never wears. They’ve been kept a secret from Dad and Sam (if Sam came across them while Dean was in Hell, then he’s never said anything). They’re his naughty hobby, his filthy habit, his little kink that he just can’t manage to kick. It’s only in the increasingly rare moments of solitude that he can indulge himself. 

Tiny shivers chase across Dean’s body as he takes the panties in hand and bends over. There’s something deliciously vulnerable about the curve of his spine as he lifts first one foot, then the other. The fine hairs on his calves and thighs stand in salute as the satin fabric sweeps over them, almost like they’re craving the touch as badly as Dean himself. He drags the panties up to his crotch, adjusting the fit of them over his interested cock. By the time he tweaks the elastic around his hips, the shivers have increased, shaking through his body, down to his tingling fingertips. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he already looks wrecked, his eyes wide and pupils blown, his lips pink and swollen from having bitten them. A pink flush spreads across his skin, just a few shades darker than the panties. 

Dean closes his eyes and thumbs over the lace. The callouses on his thumb catch on the delicate fabric, and he has to remind himself to take this slow and savor it. Sam won’t be back for a few hours at most; if both Winchesters get lucky, then they might stretch that to the whole night. He has time to explore and reacquaint himself with this territory. 

He traces his fingers over the swiftly growing bulge in the panties before rubbing the fabric against his skin. Electricity jolts through his veins at the smooth friction, and, almost against his will, a tiny moan falls from his lips. 

Dean opens his eyes, ready to watch himself come undone, and looks into two dizzying pools of blue. 

He falls backwards with a shout, luckily landing on the bed behind him. His legs are parted in an ungainly sprawl, and he regains enough presence of mind to snap his knees shut, hiding the worst of himself. He curls protectively over his crotch, but at least retains enough dignity not to pull the blankets over his lap as he looks at Castiel. 

“H-how long have you been standing there?” 

Despite his anger, the question still comes out stuttered. Dean silently curses as heat, unrelated to arousal, floods his cheeks. Castiel tilts his head, blinking, while he considers the question. 

“Not long,” he answers, in that low smoke and whiskey voice that never ceases to make a slow curl of interest crowd in the pit of Dean’s belly. Too wide blue eyes flick down towards Dean’s lap. “Long enough.” 

Dean’s dick, traitor that it is, twitches. Dean curls his fingers into fists and thinks of all the grossest things in the world to make his half-chub go away, but underneath Castiel’s watchful gaze, it’s useless. 

Castiel, meanwhile, stands at the foot of the bed. He either looks supremely uncomfortable or entirely at ease. It’s hard to tell the difference. Either way, the sense of other still hangs on him, tied to his eyes, his hair, his hands, and the coat he wears like armor. Even though he’s become closer and more familiar, Dean can’t ever erase the sense of not human not human that screams at him whenever he looks at Castiel. Something about the way Cas moves, or turns his head, or stares, reminds Dean that he’s looking at an ageless being shifting underneath a human skin. 

The thought should be a little more disquieting than it is. 

“I thought I would find Sam here,” Cas says, craning his head to look past Dean, as though he thinks Sam might be hiding behind the bed. 

“Sam’s out for the night,” Dean says, a little shortly, because, well hell. It’s not like he really wants to talk about the pink satin elephant in the room, but it’s a little insulting that Cas just seemed to skip right over it. “You think I’d walk around like this if he was here?”

Cas’ eyes travel over Dean’s form, slower than before. “Your undergarments?” he finally asks, and fuck, that shouldn’t be as sexy as it sounds. “I did notice that they were different than your usual, but you seemed embarrassed by them, so I didn’t mention it.” 

Oh. Cas wasn’t oblivious, he was just being...tactful.

For a wild moment, Dean wonders if he’s talking with a shapeshifter, but then Cas looks at him, and he immediately dismisses the thought. No shapeshifter could have eyes that fathomless. 

It’s not like Dean hasn’t thought about it. He’s thought about Castiel, maybe more than he should have, considering that Castiel is an Angel of the Lord, and he’s a high school dropout with $6, a handful of stolen credit cards, and one (probably) expired condom in his wallet. But even though Castiel is of the stuff that grubby little grasping gremlins like Dean can only dream of, Dean’s dreamt. He’s wondered how those chapped lips would feel against his, how those huge hands would span acres of his skin, how Cas’ stubble would scrape against his thighs, how he could bury his fingers in Cas’ hair. He’s thought, in his wildest and most unhinged moments, of how Cas would react to him in the sight of his panties, laid out before him like a feast. 

Judging by the wild look in Cas’ eyes, if he hasn’t thought about it before, he sure as hell is thinking about it now. 

Cas stalks forward. He moves like a tornado tearing through the Kansas plains. He moves like the ocean, which would make the Dean the moon, caught in his relentless tide. Or is the other way around? He doesn’t know, and he can’t muster the wherewithal to really ask, not when Cas is dropping to his knees in front of him, thumbs pressing gently against the knobs of Dean’s knees. 

“Show me,” Castiel asks, and Dean could no more refuse him than he could refuse the tug of the waves. He parts his legs, revealing all of himself to Cas’ stormy blue gaze, and lets himself slip under. 

[castielscarma]

Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31785871 Rating M (dom/sub undertones, gun kink, a tad of primal kin, Dean being a brat). Summary: Dean, one of the heirs to the Win Chest Hair company gets kidnapped. It could've been worse. Dean exhales softly as the sack is removed from his head. The light emanating from the naked lightbulb is harsh and he blinks several times as his eyes adjust. Something hard is invading his mouth, making it impossible to speak. At least it's a proper gag and not a damn sock. Dean moves his jaw anyway, trying to dislodge the gag but nothing happens. He's sitting in a chair or is rather bound to it. Ropes coil around his chest and his ankles and wrists are secured too. He glances down at the knots and can't help but admire the handiwork. “Hello, Dean.” Dean's gaze shifts to his kidnapper. The man is closer to Dean's age than he thought, which tells him that this isn't some elaborate teen prank. His ruffled hair gives him a disheveled look but his blue eyes, cold as they are, pull Dean in. Messy hair aside, everything else about the man is proper, from his black shoes to his black suit pants, white shirt, and dark suit jacket. If not for the ropes and gag, and well... kidnapping, Dean was almost expecting the guy to ask him out. “Or should I say, Dean Winchester? Quite the prize I've collected.” For a brief moment, Dean feels a sting of disappointment. Sure, Dean is a prize, he's got that damn straight but not for the reason the man thinks. The kidnapper walks up to Dean and grabs him by the chin. “I think I'll get a handsome ransom for you.” Dean scoffs and stops himself from rolling his eyes. Apparently, this guy knows nothing about the Winchester clan or Win Chest Hair, the patented thermal microdermabrasion gun and technique – Dean honestly has no fucking clue how it really works – that gives guys thicker hair and the Winchesters' even thicker wallets. The knob is still there, making it impossible to speak. Dean shakes his head slightly and raises his eyebrows. “Do you have something to say?” the man asks. Dean nods. The kidnapper pauses for a second before deciding to oblige his silent request. “I can do that. But if you so much as try to scream for help, I have other ways to silence you than a gag.” Kinky. A wave of warmth washes over Dean and he clenches his hands before relaxing again. Bending over Dean, the man unbuckles the binding in the back and removes the gag. Dean inhales the subtle scent of his aftershave. He smells nice. With the gag gone, Dean moves his jaw. He grimaces against the pain. Apparently, he's been out longer than he thought if his muscles are aching. “I –“. Dean stops and clears his throat before trying again. “Not to burst your bubble here...” He lets the rest hang in the air and his kidnapper must be feeling agreeable because he gives a name. “Castiel.” Castiel. It has a nice ring to it, and coupled with the dark timbre of his voice and the bindings securing him to the chair – bindings that keep him in place, well, what's a guy to do? He sighs out his excitement. “Not to burst your bubble, Castiel, but you're overestimating my father's concern for me.” Or his love for that matter, Dean thinks. “That is even if you can convince him to save me.” As long as his brother is fine, he doubts John will lift a finger to save him. But on the other hand, having a child of his being kidnapped might be seen as a bigger inconvenience and bad press for Win Chest Hair. Can't have that. Castiel kneels down next to Dean and looks him in the eye. “Oh your father is stubborn, but I have my ways of getting what I want.” There's something with how Castiel sounds, his voice gravely and frankly hot as hell, paired with the absolute surety that he will succeed that goes straight to Dean's cock. He feels himself chub up and moves slightly on the chair to adjust himself. The ropes don't have much give and the realization that he's tied down, that he's at Castiel's mercy gives his cock incentive to grow even more. Fuck... but also, please fuck me, Dean thinks.

[simp4sam22]

Title: Unexpected

Summary: A hunt goes wrong and John is forced to watch his sons make love, something they’d been doing already, right under his nose.

Pairings: Sam and Dean, then Sam x John x Dean.

Warnings: incest, slight daddy kink, forced voyerism and then a consensual threesome.

~*~

When John woke up that morning, he hadn’t expected to be dealing with.. this. He’d dealt with witches before, okay? He knew what the hell he was doing.

But this witch.. she knew what she was doing, too. She was older than she looked, probably a century old. John was, admittedly, out of his element with this. Which was why he found himself against a pole, wrists tied together on the other side of it. In an abandoned building, of course.

His boys were on their knees in front of the witch, her spell keeping them from moving. John felt helpless as he watched her hand cradle Sam’s face.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch him!” Dean hissed before John could even say anything. Dean had a fire in his eyes, something John had seen before in the past. Dean was always protective of his little brother, it was the way John raised him after all.

The witch just smirked, nonplussed by Dean’s outburst. She turned to look at John, her deep brown eyes turning a shade of purple. Sam’s eyes rolled back as her hand rested against his forehead.

“What are you doing to him?!” John screamed. He wrestled against his restraints, but it was no use. The rope was enchanted. They were trapped and he could only blame himself.

“Sammy-“ Dean had tried to call out, but cut himself off once Sam finally looked at him. “..Sam..” His voice was tight as the youngest Winchester was finally able to move. His hand landed right on Dean’s thigh. The eighteen year old’s cheeks were flushed red, pupils blown as he slowly trailed his hand upwards.

Dean’s eyes flashed from Sam’s to John’s, and the older man couldn’t exactly explain the emotion in them. “Sam, get a hold of yourself. This.. this is a spell. She’s got, What, Sam-“ Dean‘s words cut off with a gasp as his brother gripped at his clothed cock.

“You’re fucking sick!” John yelled out to the witch, who merely laughed in response. “Stop, Sam. Now!” John ordered but to no avail. Sam seemed miles away, lost in the feeling of his brother’s jean clad cock in his hand.

“He can’t hear you, Johnny.” She pointed out uselessly. She neared Dean then, who was still begging, pretty weakly by that point, for Sam to get a hold of himself. He’d barely noticed when she came by, too distracted by Sam’s hands. He didn’t have enough time to react to her touch finding his temple, and just as Sam, his eyes rolled back. And when they returned to their natural place, they were lust blown and hooded.

“Oh, no, not-Damnit! Come on, boys, you can fight this! Stop-oh god-“ John’s voice caught in his throat as his sons started to kiss deeply, their hands working together to get their clothes off.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? The way lovers come together so naturally.” She commented from beside John. He sneered at her, which only made her grin more.

“This is the opposite of natural, you bitch. You’re manipulating them!” John pulled at the rope around his wrists in one last attempt at escape. Of course it didn’t work.

Her laugh, though pretty, felt like daggers to his ears. “You really think this is the first time? You must be blind.. because I saw what was in Samuel’s head, Winchester. He and his brother.. well.” She trailed off, motioning towards the scene unfolding in front of him.

They were naked already, clothes in a heap beside them. Dean had Sam in his lap, kissing him hotly as his hands gripped at his little brother’s ass.

John turned away, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t watch anymore. He refused to believe what the bitch was saying. It was ridiculous. Not only that, he would have noticed right away if something like that was going on.

“No, Winchester, you need to see this.” Without touching him, she used her magic to force his head to face them, his boys. Sam was leaning against Dean, his head in the crook of the older man’s shoulder. Dean had.. oh god.. Dean had his spit slick fingers inside his little brother’s ass. Two of them.

And Sam, he was.. he was moaning, his voice small and sweet. He was begging for it, begging for Dean’s cock to split him open and John wanted to cry. He wanted to cry because what he was seeing was wrong, unnatural, and was most likely going to scar his boys for life.

And above all, he could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes because he could also feel the heat of arousal pooling in his gut. He could feel himself chubbing up behind his jeans and it was just so wrong.

“Daddy’s watching, Sammy.” Dean said out of nowhere, his voice gruff with lust. Sam moaned weakly, hips pushing back against three fingers. John’s eyes widened at the sound of the words, his cock at full mast because of it.

“You gonna let daddy see you like this, all stretched out and begging for your brother’s cock?” Dean kept going, but still made no effort to look up at John. Which was probably a good thing. John didn’t know if he could handle their eye contact right then.

“Heh.. what an interesting development.” The witch bitch murmured to herself.

“By the way, my name is Evanora. Not Witch Bitch. Thought you big bad hunters would have figured that out already.”

John chuckled weakly with a shake of his head. “Naw, we know your name. We just don’t give a damn about a washed up old hag like yourself.”

She was in his view in seconds, covering up the sight of his sons. Her brown eyes flickered a deep shade of purple, her full lips pulled up in a feral grin.

“Those are big words coming from a man who’s getting hard looking at his own kids.”

His lips turned into a flat line, his face hot with embarrassment. There was no use hiding it. His cock was hard and straining against his jeans, and no matter how depraved it all was, what she was saying was true.

“Not that I can blame you. They really are beautiful, aren’t they? You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed that.” Evanora whispered against John’s ear, the sound sending shivers down the hunter’s spine and down to his length.

“The older one and his pretty plump lips? His bright green eyes? Oh, and the younger one.. such a puppy dog look those hazel, right? The sweet tilt to his voice?”

John wanted nothing more than to shut her up. He didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to hear how true it was. Thankfully, or not, her tormenting words were cut off by a loud grunt from Sam.

She got out of his line of sight and right there in front of him, Sam was sitting straight on Dean’s thick cock, stretching his spit slick hole.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Sammy.. always so tight..” and damnit, he looked tight. John couldn’t help but imagine how warm Sam would be, how he’d feel around his own-

Stop.

John forced his eyes closed and sucked in a deep breath. What was left of his sanity was screaming at him to get a grip. These were his children. And they were.. they had been..doing this for awhile, apparently.

Dean had his arms wrapped around Sam’s waist as the boy bounced, his head in the crook of his little brother’s neck. Sam was babbling about how good it was, how big Dean was, and then he turned his head slightly, just so he could look at his father. John’s breath caught in his throat at just how beautiful Sam looked right then, with his long hair sticking to his face and sweat prickling his shoulders and back-

“Daddy.” Sam gasped for John, and Dean groaned, finally looking over his brother’s shoulder to look at the older Winchester.

“Sammy is so tight, dad. So warm. Wish you-wish you could feel it, too.” And with that, he pushed Sam onto his back, his long legs over Dean’s shoulders, and fucked into him at an almost too rough pace. Sam’s red tipped cock leaked onto his own tummy as his moans reached a higher pitch.

John’s head slumped back. He was unable to look away. The worst part was that he wasn’t under any spell. He could look away if he wanted. He wasn’t even sure if the witch was still there. John couldn’t even bring himself to care.

He licked his lips as Dean gripped at the back of Sam’s thighs and pushed them down to his chest. From that angle, John was once again able to see Dean’s thick cock disappear and then reappear from Sam’s ass. Dean’s amulet hung low between them.

“Gonna come, Sammy baby. Want me to fill you up?” Dean ground out, his eyes just on Sam. The youngest Winchester nodded, his grip tight on Dean’s shoulders.

“Please, De. Want it.” Sam gasped, and Dean rammed all the way in as he came, filling Sam’s ass to the brim. And then Sam was right there with him, his back arching as he came, untouched, just from the feeling of Dean spilling his load inside of him.

John watched as they rode out their orgasms with slow, lazy kisses. Dean cradled his brother’s red cheeks, whispering out his love for Sam, and the younger brother was doing the same. For awhile, they just held each other.

John could see how much they loved each other then. It filled his chest with joy despite everything, his own erection long forgotten.

That was until his boys finally sat up and made their way over to him. “Boys-“ John tried, but the words caught in his throat when they both fell to their knees in front of him.

They each had a hand on his thighs, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Can we, Daddy?” Sam asked sweetly. Dean toyed with John’s belt, looking up at him through long lashes.

“Please, dad.” Dean blushed deeply as he begged, like he wasn’t used to being in that position. Somehow John could tell he still liked it though, and he wasn’t sure if that was real or because of the witch’s spell.

That thought alone sobered him enough to make him shake his head. “You don’t really want me, boys. The spell-“

“She’s been gone for awhile now. It’s just us. No more spell.” Dean pointed out as he reached around to remove the rope around his father’s wrists.

John rubbed at the bruises around his wrists and took in a deep breath. His cock was still rock hard and straining behind his jeans, and it was starting to hurt with how much he needed to come. And Sam and Dean, they were offering to help, without the coercion of the witch’s spell.

John didn’t know what to do. It should be easy just to say no. To just tell them to get dressed so they could leave and forget that this ever happened.

But as he opened his eyes and was brought back to the sight of his boys on their knees for him, he knew there was no way he’d be able to deny them this.

John brought his hands down to their heads, ran his fingers through their hair as he nodded. Without a moment of hesitation, Dean worked the belt through the loops and dropped it to the floor. Then Sam was unbuttoning John’s jeans, and then unzipping them. His boys both worked together to pull it down, until it and his boxers were at his ankles.

“Daddy-“ Sam gasped, followed by Dean’s gruff, “Fuck, dad.” John couldn’t help but feel bashful as they held his heavy cock in their hands.

Sam went in first, licking up the shaft greedily. John bit his lip, his grip already tight in Sam’s hair. Dean was shy with his movements, his tongue gently lapping at the leaking head. That was just as hot to John, his fingers carding through Dean’s light brown hair.

Sam’s tongue traced back to the tip, right along side Dean. The both traced the head until their tongues met, both slick with spit and pre and the sight almost made John come on the spot.

And if that wasn’t enough, Sam actually took him into his mouth, all the way. John could feel Sam’s throat spasm around his cock as he tried his best not to gag and he couldn’t hold back the groan that spilled from his lips. Dean smirked up at him.

“Sammy’s really good at this, dad.” Dean murmured as he stood up. It was somehow different having him in his face. More intimate somehow.

“Warm little mouth,” Dean whispered hotly into John’s ear just as Sam pulled back just to hollow his cheeks as he bobbed his head. “Go ahead and pull his hair. He likes that.” And then Dean was kissing his father’s neck, his hands trailing up John’s shirt.

“Shit, boys. That’s.. fuck.” John cursed, his voice gruff as he tugged at Sam’s hair just as Dean suggested. Sammy moaned around the length and looked up at John with wet, lust blown eyes.

“Daddy..” Dean murmured shyly, the sound of it made John’s hips sputter slightly. “Can I kiss you?” Dean asked, his fingers brushing gently against John’s hard nipple.

John used his free hand to take Dean by the nape of his neck. He looked his oldest over, at his freckles cheeks, flushed with heat. He was so beautiful.

Without a word, John pressed his lips against Dean’s plump ones. The hand that was up shirt moved to John’s bearded cheek as the kiss deepened.

Sam pulled off his cock then, but still used his hands to jack John off. “You two look so good.” He said through a happy sigh. John ran his fingers through his hair, the motion tender as his tongue met Dean’s.

Dean moaned hotly into John’s mouth just as Sam took him back in. John was so close. He could feel it pool in his abdomen, the heat of it threatening to boil over. He couldn’t find the words to express this. He hadn’t felt that good in so long.

His grip tightened on both his boys as he came, right down Sammy’s throat. Dean kissed him through it as Sam swallowed every drop.

Soon enough, he was done. His head fell back against the pole as he tried his best to catch his breath. Sam made his way to his feet, and he towered over both Dean and John by three good inches.

He made sure to swoop down to kiss John, not even bothering to ask like Dean had. John could taste himself on Sam’s tongue and that alone caused his soft length to twitch pathetically.

Sam had pulled away then, a satisfied smirk on his face. Dean smiled up at him and ruffled a hand through his baby brother’s hair. Sam leaned into the touch, his hazel eyes soft. Dean pulled him down and kissed him gingerly.

“You boys really do love each other.” John breathed out after he shakily pulled up his pants. His kids were still just as naked as the day they were born, not a care in the world.

Dean intertwined his fingers with Sam’s. “Well.. yeah. We have for awhile now.” He looked up at Sam then, his smile warm. The younger Winchester returned the gesture, and then reached out to take John’s hand in his.

“And we love you, too, dad.” Sam said, his voice so sweet that it made John’s chest feel nothing but warmth.

John tightened his grip but his eyes fell the floor. “Are you two sure...?” John asked. He couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t deserve their love. Not after all he’d done as a person and as their father.

They both leaned in and kissed John on the cheek. “We love you. We want you.” They whispered in unison. It made John feel happy, happier than he’d felt in a long time. After awhile, the boys finally got dressed and they all left together.

When John had woken up that morning, he hadn’t expected to deal what he’d been presented with. Somehow, though, it seemed to work exactly in his favor.

[zmediaoutlet]

have a cigar

new fic for the Sunday Morning Porn Club; having some s2 feels and thinking about how big and wild and uncertain Sam was in those early days. But also thinking about porn.

title: have a cigar pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E length: 5500 words tags: Season/Series 02, New Relationship, slight D/s, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Post-Episode: s02e05 Simon Said            

summary: What happened with Andy and Ansem unsettles Sam. Dean doesn't seem worried.

(read on AO3)

They’re over the state border from Oklahoma into Kansas when Dean indicates that he’s getting off the highway. Sam looks up at the sound of the blinker, looks around. "What, gas?" he says. They’re not that far out from Guthrie, so unless Dean has to pee—

"Nah, we’ve still got a hundred miles left in the tank," Dean says, rolling the car smoothly onto the offramp. Wellington, Kansas: population 8,105, and exactly no reason for them to be stopping. Sam frowns across the bench and Dean glances at him, and then rolls his eyes. "Jeez. A guy can’t want a break? We were up all night, man, dealing with the psychic twins. Plus you got a head injury. Sue me, I’m taking a minute."

"It's not really a head injury," Sam says. Kansas outside the car windows—mid-morning, green. "We told Ellen we’d be right there." He rubs his hand under the edge of his cast, rolling the tendons under his thumb. "What if she’s got a case or something?"

"Then it can wait half a day," Dean says, and it’s a little louder than it needs to be. He’s got a grip at ten-and-two, his jaw square. Sam looks at him and hears his voice in a perfect echo, saying you’re all part of something that’s terrible, and he bites the inside of his cheek so hard that it throbs but he doesn’t say anything, after that.

Outskirts of towns tend to look the same. Truckstop, motel attached. A McDonald’s. Dean pilots them to a vaguely dirty Mexican place that looks like it last had its decor updated in 1987, and when they’re at the dented formica table with their plastic menus Dean lets out a sigh that sounds like it came from his feet. "You think they’d give me a margarita at, uh, 11:32 in the morning?" he says.

He does look tired. Sam sucks the sore inside of his cheek. "Probably goes great with huevos rancheros," he says, and gets Dean to smile at him, so—all right. A little break.

The food’s bland, given the cornfields all around, but comforting too. They don’t talk much. Dean looks over a copy of the Wichita Eagle that someone left behind, in some obituary-scanning reflex; Sam swirls his fork through his larded refried beans and looks out the window, thinking. Andy, and Ansem. Brothers, though Andy didn’t know it until it was too late, and Ansem went bad but Andy—

Dean knocks his boot into Sam’s ankle, and Sam flinches but when he refocuses Dean’s looking at him, kinda soft. Kinda not soft. Kinda defiant, in that weird way that he’s started to do, and Sam feels heat rush into his cheeks, seeing. Dean smiles like he won something, even if his ears go pink, too, and he wipes his mouth with the balled napkin and says, "I’m going to the can," and Sam says, "Oh, great, thanks for the update," because they are brothers, and Dean smirks and walks off with a kind-of swagger and it’s not Sam’s fault that that calls attention to the shape of his ass, but Sam’s looking, either way.

The waitress offers more iced tea, when Dean’s gone. "No, gracias," Sam says. She raises her eyebrows a little but puts down the check. Sam leans back in the booth, spinning his unused knife as best he can in his busted hand, looking again out the window. Trucks, and a cornfield, and blue skies. Plain and familiar, and if he tries to imagine a demon coming here, a darkness swarming over it, somehow it just—doesn’t compute. But there was Andy, and Ansem, just a hundred miles south of here in an easy calm town that had no idea what was coming, and they brought murder with them. Killers, and freaks, and the town and its people hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it.

"What, you forget how to pay a tab?"

Sam jerks, brought back to earth. Dean’s standing slouched, one hip leaning on the table, rifling through his wallet.

"Swear, you’re a lousy date," Dean says, dropping a pile of cash onto the little plastic tray, but he’s got a smile threatening, tucked into the corners of his mouth, and Sam’s—god, he didn’t know it could—this is—different.

A motel. Corn-themed. "Real original, huh?" Dean says, under his breath, but he gets them a room, and when they’re inside with two queens and steady A/C and the shades pulled, leaving them in privacy, he drops his bag on the closer bed and looks at Sam sidelong and says, "I’m gonna shower first, ‘kay."

The bathroom door closes before Sam can say a thing. He blows out the breath stuck in his chest and sticks out the Privacy Please tag, and then he sits on the end of the bed he guesses is his, and looks at the bathroom where the shower’s hissed on, the pipes clanking inside the walls.

Not so—obvious, usually. They’ve only been—it’s been like this, between them, for—what, a few months. Barely. Since Dad, and the brutal weeks after it, and a weird raw conversation in pre-dawn light that led to Sam putting his hand on Dean’s face and Dean snarling and then practically shoving him onto his back, and—

It’s new. Dean seems to seesaw back and forth between pretending like it doesn't exist, in the light of day, and a raw grasping want that kind of scares Sam, even if it's maybe the hottest thing that's ever happened to him. No one he's ever been with has wanted him this much. He's never wanted it this much.

He washes his face in the sink. When he pushes the damp edges of his hair back he looks—okay. A little tired, but decent. His head does hurt, actually, where Tracy tried to brain him. Where she was forced to.

Sam closes his eyes. Jesus, he is tired. And—pissed off, too. When he thinks about it. Freaks, all of them, and Sam's got the visions and the migraines and this horrible feeling in his gut like something's gonna happen, some tidal wave of shit that's going to crest the horizon, and he's not going to be able to do a damn thing about it.

Andy, and Ansem. Speaking their wants into reality. Max Miller, moving things with his mind. Sam, and his dreams, and it wouldn't have to be bad. Except it always ends up bad. Death, somehow waiting, and he strips off his jacket and his boots and crawls onto the nearer bed, and buries his face into the pillow, and tries to listen to the steady familiar sound of the shower going and tries not to think about that dark wave. Drawing nearer, cresting.

*

A honk wakes him up. He blinks, drags in muffled air. When he turns over Dean's sitting on his bed, frowning at the curtains. "Just 'cause you can't drive," he mutters, and then looks back down at Sam. "Oh, finally."

Sam drags a hand over his face. No drool, that's something. He yawns, stretching out on the bed. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Dean says. He points the remote and Sam sees the TV on, muted, a newscast—and off, just as fast. Politer than Dean usually is.

"Should've woken me up," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You need all the beauty sleep you can get," and Sam smiles, can't help it, and he goes to sit up but Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and he stays put. Surprised a little. Dean, looking at him.

"Sammy," Dean says. He's tipped in toward Sam, in a t-shirt and boxers, and the look he's giving Sam is steady, considering. "You didn't have any crazy dreams, right? No big visions?"

Sam blinks. "No."

"No," Dean repeats. "So we don't have to light out of here and haul ass to, like, Weehawken or something?"

"What?" Sam says. "No. Weehawken?"

Dean shrugs. "Tried to think of somewhere that'd suck." He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, looking at Sam, and then throws a leg over Sam's and settles himself in Sam's lap, just like that. Sam grabs his hips, startled instinct, while Dean shifts and his ass sits warm and heavy against Sam's dick. "So. Want to screw?"

Jesus. "How romantic," Sam says, but his mouth's dry. Light of day, just straight-out like that. Yeah, this is new. Dean pops his eyebrows, grins in that goofy way where he's trying to be funny or sexy or something, but for Sam it just reminds him how this is—them, the two of them together like this despite all sense or reason, and his stomach flips like encountering some new nasty thing but it's just—Dean. He gets a steady look, that grin going smaller, and then Dean leans down over him and braces his hand on Sam's pec to balance and kisses him like it's his right to do it, plush and immediately wet, his mouth like something—like a dream—

Sam pushes up on an elbow, kisses back. Dean tastes like toothpaste. His stomach, warm and soft under the warm soft t-shirt, and when Sam squeezes his ass with his good hand Dean makes a little noise into his mouth, tips his hips down. Hard already, pressing into Sam's stomach, like he was waiting maybe, like maybe he'd been fooling with himself hoping Sam would wake up. Sam bites his lip because it turns out Dean likes that, even if he bitches after, and he dips and kisses Dean's throat because it turns out Dean likes that, all his vampire comments notwithstanding, and Dean cups the back of Sam's head and digs his fingers into Sam's hair and Sam flips them over, easy reversal of their weight with Dean's thighs splayed out around his hips, and Dean says fuck under his breath when Sam tugs his shirt-collar down and bites at him there, but his chest pushes up into it like a chick wanting her tits played with, so that's clearly okay. "Vampire," Dean says, predictable already, and Sam grins and then sucks there, slicking his tongue against the little dents of his teeth. Dean's hips kick up and his thighs squeeze Sam's hips, but he groans too, and says, "Moving me around. You're such a control freak."

Their hips grind together. Even through his jeans it feels incredible, his dick chubbed up to match Dean's. "Like you mind," Sam says, even if he can feel the heat rushing up into his face to say it, flat-out like that. When he picks his head up Dean's eyes are heavy, his ears that bright red they always are when he's turned on, and Sam licks his lips and watches Dean's attention drop to them. Jesus. "You want me to stop?"

"Didn't say that." He tugs at Sam's arm and Sam lifts up, kisses him open, and Dean's leg slides against his, his hands framing Sam's waist, dragging up his back. When Sam pulls back to breathe Dean's lips are puffed-wet, red as his ears, and he's—fuck, he's hot. Sam drags a thumb over his cheek, swipes the wet off his lower lip, and Dean smiles a little. Like he knows what Sam's thinking. "Just saying. You gotta be in charge, huh? Never would've guessed, Sammy." He catches Sam's wrist and fake-whispers, like a shared secret: "That was sarcasm."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, you're hilarious." He braces his cast on the bed, tugs out of Dean's grip and slides his hand down to grip Dean's dick. So close it's easy to watch Dean's eyes go a little wide, his lips parting. "You wanna shut up now?"

Dean's thigh slides against his hip. "Make me." Sam squeezes and Dean sighs out hot against his face. He blinks then, a flash of smile. "Hey, maybe you could. Use that mojo."

Sam doesn't understand for a second. He pushes up higher on his elbow, frowns.

"Get me to do whatever you want, huh?" Dean's cheeks are very red. "No control issues then. What Sammy says goes."

With his dick this hard Sam doesn't know how to react. "Dean," he says, helplessly—some mix of turned on, of pissed off. Like Sam could be like—like he could be Andy. Ansem. Some nasty magic, getting Dean to do anything. "I wouldn't."

Dean licks the point of one canine, eyes on Sam's mouth. It's not picking a fight because he's so obviously hot for it that Sam's body reacts like a strange compulsion, stretching out over his brother, pinning him down. He rocks his hips into Dean's, pins one of Dean's arms down by the wrist, and Dean groans, arches into it. "I know you wouldn't," he says, rough. Sam leans back, his stomach flipping uncertainly, and Dean grabs his neck, arches up, wild and intense and amazing like Dean always is in bed—wholly present, wholly wanting, like no one else ever has been. Everyone is always thinking about something else, always holding a little apart. Not Dean—Dean's here, pressing his dick up against Sam's dick, holding Sam close, leaning up and kissing Sam's jaw where he hasn't shaved in a day, breathing hot against his ear, saying tight and sweet, "Tell me, though—tell me, what you'd make me do—what you'd say, Sammy, tell me—"

—and Sam says, coming up from some deep place, "I'd tell you I was gonna fuck you," and Dean groans like Sam punched him in the solar plexus—a deep short breathless grunt, breaking Sam's grip to grab his hips, his ass, hauling him in like Sam's already inches deep. Jesus, jesus, Dean wants it, even here in this little dump of a motel room at three in the afternoon, the light coming in muffled through the blinds. Vivid even in the muted grey, Dean's eyes visible and his mouth wide and his face an open book, a crazy thing. No secrets, anymore, Sam's sure of it. Sam grabs his face, dips his thumb between Dean's lips. "Jesus, Dean—yeah, I'm gonna fuck you. You're gonna let me. Aren't you."

"Yeah," Dean says, deep and ready, and Sam kneels up, drags Dean's boxers down and watches his dick slap up against his stomach, and he rips his jeans open one-handed, feeling wild. Feeling powerful, and right, especially with how Dean's eyes drop immediately to see him get his dick out and his mouth works like he wishes Sam would just feed it in, like he wants it there, wants it bad, wants it—wants Sam—

"You're gonna open right up for me, aren't you?" Sam says, lightheaded almost, and Dean nods dumbly and spreads, grabs one leg up by the back of his knee so Sam can burrow fingers down into the dark place between them—soft a little, damp a little, and when he looks up into Dean's face Dean's bright fuckin red like he knows exactly what Sam's thinking, like he knew what Sam was gonna ask for. Sam spits on two fingers and feeds them in and finds Dean—open, kinda wet, and Dean says—"There was—the conditioner, in the shower—" and Sam groans wild because it's like magic, like some wished-for thing, like he's Andy and he said to Dean open yourself up for me and Dean willed himself fuckable. He feeds himself inside, inch after inch, and Dean's face flinches and his eyes squeeze tight but he's rearing up, gripping into Sam's shirt, his legs wrapping around Sam's waist, lifting off the bed practically with how he's trying to shove Sam deeper, gasping for more than Sam can give.

Sam gets his cast bolstered under the small of Dean's back, keeps his weight tipped up into the perfect place for Sam to grind into. It's not wet enough and Dean's not loose enough but it feels outrageous, and Dean's panting for it, pulling at Sam's shirt hard enough that a button pops. "Fuck, you can hold me up, huh?" Dean says, shuddery, and Sam presses up on his good arm enough that Dean really does go airborne, the strain intense but worth it for the noise Dean makes when Sam's dick jolts inside him at the new angle. Dean's face presses against Sam's, his nose bumping Sam's ear and his mouth wet at Sam's jaw, and Sam curls his hips in these short shallow pumps that wouldn't usually do it for him except that Dean's so wrapped-up close that he can feel every shaking thing it's doing, the insanity of what he can make his brother feel.

That he can make him feel—Sam groans, sits back, and Dean's clinging to him so tight he gets hauled upright and his ass shoves down on Sam's dick through sheer gravity, enough to make him tip his head back on his shoulders and groan out loud. Sam keeps him in place, holding his hips steady, and shoves up, up, watching Dean's throat go bright red, kissing there when he can't stand not to, anymore. Dean's thighs squeeze his sides and his dick's rubbing all over Sam's shirt and he gets both hands in Sam's hair, keeping him in place, and Sam's biting and fucking up and keeping both their balance and so it's a surprise, sort of, when Dean says nearly breathless against the top of his ear, "Tell me—Sammy, tell me something else, tell me what you want me to do."

Fuck. Sam bites Dean's collarbone hard enough that Dean yelps, squirms and yanks at Sam's hair to get him to pull back, and both feel so good that Sam just sucks harder before he lets go. When he tips his head up Dean's looking at him, red-faced and glassy-eyed, and Sam says without thinking much about it, "I'm gonna come in you, and then I want to eat it out. You're gonna let me." Dean's jaw drops further and Sam actually feels the spasm around the root of his dick, Dean's whole body clenching. Anticipation, he's pretty sure. Sam hasn't—they haven't done that, yet, but now it's all he wants, and he knows Dean will practically cry for it. Sam smiles at him, a weird sort of power filling up his chest, watching how his working dick makes Dean feel. "Later, too. If I want you to blow me. Tonight. Or at a rest stop—shit, parked out where someone might see, Dean. You'll do it, won't you?"

Dean groans, when Sam pushes up into him hard, keeping his hips held tight against Sam's so that he's full. The way Sam's learning he likes to be. "All right, Sammy," Dean says, soft, and Sam—fuck, he can't, he can't wait anymore, and he bears Dean back onto the mattress and lets his head bounce, and when he shoves in at just the right angle Dean shouts at the ceiling and then Sam's free to just—fuck him, to get his dick inside that hot friction where Dean's so ready for him, where he wants it because he—because he wants what Sam wants. Something Sam didn't get, when they first started this up, and it was rough and unspoken and awkward in the night. Everything he tried, something Dean just accepted and built higher, and when they kissed for the first time that wasn't like fighting it was something that—that Sam doesn't—god Dean feels good, and he's moaning against Sam's temple like he's getting some kind of dick-based religion, and Sam grips his hips and slams in without care or finesse and when he comes it's brutal, some unloading from the base of his spine, and he says—something—but his ears are roaring and his hips are flexing deep and Dean's nails are digging so hard into his back under his shirts that it hurts but even that feels good, at that second, the world aligning for a half-moment into being for fucking once in Sam's life—right.

He barely holds himself up, breathing hard into Dean's throat. Dean's still twitching, his dick like iron against Sam's stomach. He rocks against Sam, churning Sam's dick inside him where it's still hard, and they groan together, feeling it, but Dean groans louder when Sam slips out. They've fucked like this—a handful, two handfuls, of times, and they've swapped back and forth but Sam's only felt insane this way when he was on top, when he was in charge. With his body still ringing like a struck gong he licks his lips and then bites Dean's throat very deliberately, just below the amulet cord, hard enough that it'll leave a mark, and only when Dean's hissing does Sam think to ask—but. But he doesn't have to ask.

He releases his jaw, stretches it. Licks, against the hurt mark, and then crawls down the bed, kisses Dean's pec and his nipple and his soft belly and his hip, and brushes his cheek stubble and all against Dean's straining dick and feels Dean's thighs jump around his shoulders. When he looks up Dean's watching him, head off-center on a pillow and his eyes slitted, dark. "What am I going to do now?" Sam says.

Dean licks his lower lip. "You—" He swallows. "What you said."

"Yeah," Sam says, and pushes Dean's thighs up in time to watch his sore-fucked rosy asshole flex and drip, a runnel of white that Sam dips and collects with his tongue—salt, and bitter, but good enough that Sam's bones shiver in his skin. He laps across Dean's asshole and feels it so hot and soft, and Dean moans rich enough up above that Sam's own dick twitches, caught in a semi between his hip and the bed. He licks deeper, his tongue almost dipping inside, and then hooks two fingers in easy on the wet he left behind, and Dean cries out but only spreads wider, fisting himself and letting Sam do—whatever he wants, whatever he needs, because Dean is—because Sam is—

Dean comes quieter than Sam expects, every time. His whole body freezes for a second and then he makes this deep sound in his chest, in his throat, arching toward Sam like for comfort, almost. Almost. Sam licks him through it and then lifts up, holding his fingers tight up where he'd buried them, watching Dean's face while the last of it spurts from his dick, while he slowly, slowly relaxes into the bed.

It's—god. Afternoon. Why is that what Sam thinks, but it's what he thinks. Afternoon and the sound of a semi roaring to life in the parking lot, and Ellen waiting a few hours north of here, and the world resettling into something that has to be dealt with. Sam works his jaw, lets his fingers slip out when Dean spasms around them. He doesn't—he doesn't regret this, ever, not since that first time when they both had to take a minute—but he feels… He swallows, and sits back on his knees. Jesus, he's still dressed. Jeans and button-down and socks, sweat and worse griming him up. He zips up, feeling weird.

Dean rubs a hand up his stomach, smearing his own jizz over his belly and undershirt. His amulet's swung around on his neck, laying against the pillow. "Dude, that was sick," he says, but in a way that's weirdly admiring. Sam licks his lips, the remaining afterglow twisting in his belly. Dean lets his heels slip down the bed, his legs splayed around Sam, and he's red-faced still, but maybe that's just because they're both so—out there. Exposed. Even so, Dean touches his knee against Sam's hip, the corner of his mouth turned up. "Seriously. You're like a freight train when you get going, you know that?"

Sam swallows. Thick aftertaste in his mouth. "Shut up," he says, and finally goes for the buttons on his shirt. Jeez, Dean really did rip one off—Sam'll have to hunt for it on the carpet or wherever. He likes this shirt, it doesn't deserve to get ruined by—this.

"Hey, did you hear me complaining?"

Sam keeps unbuttoning, wrestles the shirt off his sweaty arms. He's gonna need a shower before they go anywhere.

"Sammy," Dean says, and Sam swings a leg over, goes to get off the bed. Shower, and clean clothes, and maybe they won't be late enough that Ellen asks questions—"Hey!"

Sam's forearm is grabbed before he can get away and Dean tugs hard enough that Sam'll have to wrench something to get away. He pauses, still on one knee on the bed, and when he looks Dean's up on one elbow, still naked from the waist down, frowning at him. "What," Sam says.

"What." Dean squints at him, and he's not blushed up anymore, not turned on. Looking at Sam like he wishes he could peel back Sam's skull and see what he's thinking, but Dean's never been good at that, really. Sam wishes he were, sometimes. All his life he'd wished for some kind of privacy, but then when he got it everything just ended up—worse. When it mattered Dean couldn't see him, see what counted, and now, with what's happening—

"Come back here," Dean says, firm, but his tug on Sam's arm is gentle as anything. Sam sits, half-on the bed with his hip tucked up against Dean's hip, and Dean's still looking at him with that intense so-thoughtful look, and it's—it's killing Sam, kind of, deep in his gut, that Dean doesn't know, that he can't know, that Sam's by himself here even when like five minutes ago they were about as close as Sam's ever been, will ever be, to anyone.

"You're wigging out," Dean says, after a few beats of silence, and Sam snorts and says, "Yeah, that’s me," and maybe it's bitter and too much and too weird but Sam doesn't know any other way to be, now, but Dean sighs and says, "Fuck, Sammy," kinda quiet. He reaches up and gets Sam by the neck and tugs him down, down, until there's no choice really but to kiss, and Dean opens up soft and wide and easy like they've been doing this for years, like he knows exactly what Sam needs. Sam gets a hand on his jaw, holds his face. His lips a little chapped, toothmarks on the inside like he was biting himself before to stay quiet, and when they stop Sam leans his forehead against Dean's, lets their noses brush together, breathes his air. Dean runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Sam's head, a slow carding pull. Sam sighs.

"I don't know if I need to give you like a signed customer satisfaction survey," Dean says, in his normal voice, "but that was good. For me."

Sam's eyelids squeeze tight without him even meaning to. Purplish sparky bursts against the darkness.

"Hey," Dean says, and pushes him back an inch. Sam doesn't open his eyes, just lets Dean move him, and feels Dean's hand on his throat, his thumb braced right over Sam's pulse. "Seriously. If it's too weird, or—or if you don't—damn, Sam, I know you want it. Talking like that. And I'm obviously good with it too, I just practically came my brains out. So don't let it be weird, okay. It's just you and me."

"Like that's not weird?" Sam says, weirdly croaky and feeling how his voice vibrates against Dean's grip. When he looks again Dean's face is striped with the light from the blinds, the sun dipping just enough. A band of shadow across his eyes, a band of greyed-out yellow across his nose, showing the freckles he pretends he doesn't mind. Sam pushes further up and Dean lets him go, frowning at him while Sam picks the amulet off the pillow, resettles it into its place over Dean's sternum. He fiddles with it, avoiding Dean's eyes. Sharp little horns pricking his thumb. How haven't they blunted, he wonders, after all this time. He presses his thumb harder into one, letting it hurt, and watches his hand rather than look at Dean's face. "I don't know, man. I'm just—that stuff last night, it's not—it's bad. I don't want that. The power. The dreams are bad enough, you know?"

Dean gets a grip in Sam's t-shirt—loose, but enough that if he held fast Sam probably couldn't get away. "If you hadn't had 'em we wouldn't have gotten there," Dean says. "Tracy probably would've died."

"Ansem might've lived," Sam says back, and Dean makes a tch sound, not very under his breath. Sam sucks the inside of his cheek, that sore spot. Still sore. Dean's better at this, Sam thinks. This calculation. Who deserves to live and who deserves to die. Who's good and who's not. Tracy for Ansem, Sam thinks, but Andy still murdered someone. Bullet to the brain, and now who's a monster.

"Sorry," Dean says, and for that Sam does look up, frowning. There's a glimpse of white teeth as Dean worries at one corner of his lip. "I guess it's not really a—I wasn't trying to make like it's not a big deal."

Sam shrugs. "Scares you, doesn't it?" Dean blinks, expression tightening. "You said. Freaks me out, too. I don't think anybody here's saying it's not a big deal." Sam lets the amulet go, rubs the pad of his thumb to feel the deep dents he's made. They look like holes in him. "It just—first it was Max and now Andy. It goes wrong every time."

Dean sits up, fast. "We don't know that," he says, more intense than he really ought to be when he's half-naked. "Sammy. We're not gonna let it go that way, okay? You and me. We can handle it."

He gets his hand on the turn of Sam's jaw, makes Sam look at him, and Sam does because it's not like looking at Dean's a hardship. He tries a smile and Dean nods, like Sam's agreeing to something. He really can't read Sam's mind. Sam wonders if that's something he'll be able to do, soon, coming down the pipe of this shitty year, but before he can tug away at that miserable thought Dean's leaned in and is kissing him, again. Soft, coaxing when Sam's stiff, and he puts one hand solid on Sam's chest, grounding and warm. Sam sighs, leans into it. It's nice, and he might as well let Dean have something.

"Better," Dean says, quiet, when they pull apart, and Sam nods even if it wasn't a question. He's let his hand fall onto Dean's bare thigh and he squeezes the muscle there, trying to say—he doesn't even know what. Dean kisses him again, quick, and then lifts his eyebrows. "You still going to make me blow you at a rest stop? That's nasty, man."

Sam huffs and Dean grins, even if it's small. "Don't need magic powers to know you're easy," Sam says, and even if it feels like an effort he manages to make it sound light.

"Damn right I am," Dean says, and Sam smiles and says, "Okay, okay, I'm taking a shower," and lets Dean pat his chest before he closes himself into the little room, fluorescents and yellow tile, bright and just a little dingy.

Andy said Tracy was scared of him. Sam believes it. He saw her face, this morning in the ambulance. That dim horror. Dean's not there. Scared of the situation, about what might happen, but he's not afraid of Sam, yet. Sam tips his head back against the door, imagining it. Taking Dean's hand and pitching his voice a certain way—that weird tone that he'd heard in Andy's voice but which hadn't affected him—and saying kiss me, and Dean going soft and easy and smiling, and doing it, no questions asked. Doing other things, just because Sam asked.

His stomach turns hard enough that for a second he really thinks he's going to puke. Hits different than it did when his dick was doing the thinking. The things he could do, with that power—he's lucky that it's just the dreams he has to worry about. Although—back with Max—there was that wardrobe, that he moved—

"Hey, get a move on," Dean says, muffled through the door. Sam opens his eyes, shocked back to the moment. "We get cleaned up and out of here, I only got to pay for a half day, and we've got to get up to the Roadhouse by tonight."

"You're the one who wanted a break," Sam says, and Dean says, quieter, yeah, yeah. Sam's breathing hard, remembering. That wardrobe. It came out of Sam like a punch, pure instinct, but—Sam's learned how to do a lot harder things than to throw a punch.

He strips out of his clothes, turns on the shower. Hot. Runs his hand under the water, waiting for it heat up, and thinks that, in the right circumstances, anyone can be pushed.

"Sam, seriously!" Dean calls out.

Sam folds his hand into a fist, hard enough that he feels the tendons strain. They're not going to let anything happen. He might have to ask Dean to swear that's true. For now, his skin's crawling, but that's okay. He gets in the shower. They have road to cover, before the day's done.

[cestlestial-beings]

sex dream

Summary: Claire has a sex dream. Sam overhears her moaning his name.

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Sam Winchester, Claire Novak, Dean Winchester Pairing: Sam Winchester/Claire Novak Word Count: 1900 AO3: Link

Sam is kissing Claire and it feels good, it feels good because it’s him, because she’s wanted him for so long and now they’re here, right where she wants to be. She hums, satisfied, against his lips, and then his mouth is leaving hers, trailing kisses across her jaw, down her neck. He nips lightly at the skin and her breath catches. She wouldn’t have expected to like it, but it feels like he’s marking her, making her his, and it makes her core ache with desire.

More kisses, across her chest. He swirls a tongue around her nipple and she grasps at his sleeve helplessly, breathing hard. His teeth graze over her breast as he keeps going down, down between her legs.

His tongue slides along her slit and skims over her clit and pleasure spikes through her, so strong it almost hurts. She gasps. Her fingers run through Sam’s hair—thick and soft—as his tongue slips inside her and she moans. “Sam,” she says. He’s all she can think about. “Sam. Oh my god. Sam.”

And then she wakes up, his name on her lips.

---

Crap. She’s in the back seat of the Impala. When she opens her eyes, Sam is partly turned, looking back at her with raised eyebrows, and Dean’s gaze is reflected to her through the rearview mirror. 

Both of them look away immediately. Sam clears his throat as casually as he can, but it still seems forced. She feels her face start to heat up. They know. They know. She moaned Sam’s name just as she was waking up. Who knows what else had come out.

Even now, she can feel the wet between her legs. She crosses her legs, and she grits her teeth together tightly as the pressure is applied to her already aroused clit.

She forces herself to stay awake for the remaining two hours of the car ride home from their hunt, back to the bunker—her home now, for the past few weeks. The palpable awkwardness is painful, and Sam keeps glancing back at her, but she doesn’t want to doze off and let anything slip out again.  

When they get back to the bunker, she makes an excuse and all but runs all the way back in to her room. She shuts the door and flops back on her bed. This is so bad. Her face heats up again and she wishes she could just disappear. How different are things going to be with the Winchesters—with Sam—now that they’d overheard her moaning his name during a sex dream?

---

Claire is on her way to the kitchen, but freezes when she hears Sam’s and Dean’s voices. 

“You need to let her down easy,” Dean says, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. Claire edges closer to the door, keeping herself as quiet as she can.

“I don’t think I should bring it up unless she does,” Sam replies. “It’s just a harmless crush, if that.”

“She’s nineteen, Sam.”

“Jesus, Dean, you think I don’t know that?”

“I’m just saying. It’ll hurt less if you tell her now.”

“Or it’ll make it uncomfortable for everybody.”

Their conversation gradually shifts to a different topic, and Claire slips away. She’ll come back later. She can’t face them now.

---

Music blares in Claire’s headphones as she sits in bed, idly doodling a vampire in her notebook. Her door opens slightly and she jumps, pulling off her headphones.

Sam peeks his head in.

“Don’t you knock?” she asks.

“I did,” he said. “You didn’t answer.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I have to talk to you,” he says.

She pauses. He wants to talk. This is going to be A Talk. About the dream. About how she feels. She’s suddenly shy and defensive. She shrugs and swings her legs over the side of her bed. “Um. Sure. I guess.”

“Can I come in?”

“Mi casa es tu casa.” She gestures to the bed, and he sits down next to her. She feels his presence like he’s a fire, warming her just by being near.

Sam takes a deep breath. “So I’m under the impression you might be… Feeling something for me.”

Claire buries her face in her hands, already feeling her face start to burn. “Oh my god.”

“Because…”

“Yeah, I know why you think that.”

“I mean… It’s fine if you do feel that way,” Sam says. “But I want to clear the air a little bit. Nothing like that will happen between us. It’s kind of… inappropriate, you know?”

Inappropriate. She scowls and snaps her head up to look at him. “Inappropriate? Yeah? How?”

“The age difference alone, it wouldn’t be right for me to—“

“I’m an adult.”

“Barely.”

“I’m so fucking sick of this, Sam!” His eyes widen at her outburst. “You think I’m adult enough to have your back on hunts. I’m adult to drink you and Dean under the table. But somehow, in this, I’m too young? Who the hell do you think you’re protecting?”

“Claire—“

“Don’t make excuses about ‘it not being right.’ Just tell me why you don’t want me. I’m not mature enough, right? You don’t like a girl who hasn’t had enough time to process her teenage trauma?”

“Claire—“

“Or is it just me? I’m not good enough for you? Maybe you just—“

And his lips are on hers. Every word she had ready to spill out in a rant against Sam disappears from her head, and she’s just kissing him. He cups the side of her face and his skin is rough but his touch is gentle as he pushes her hair over her shoulder, pulls her in closer.

She’d kissed other people before, and a few of them had been bad at it. A few of them had been good. But Sam is phenomenal. Gently sliding his tongue along her lips, swirling their tongues together as he strokes her cheek with his thumb. She feels a warmth settle in the pit of her stomach.

He pulls back and she lets out a small noise, needy and disappointed. She already misses his lips. 

“You are good enough for me, Claire,” he says softly. “I just don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she says, and she grabs his flannel and pulls him close again and kisses him again, and she feels his mouth curve up in a smile against hers.

God, she’s waited so, so long for this. She fumbles with the buttons on his shirt and he helps until it’s open and she pushes his shirt off. Jesus. She’s seen him a couple times before without a shirt but only briefly. And she’d never seen him before like this, all hers. She runs a hand down his pecs and along his stomach. “Oh my god,” she says. She feels self-conscious in comparison—sure, muscled enough, but there’s still a little chub from the extra road trip snacks, and—and his mouth is on her neck now, his tongue against her skin, and she forgets about that for now. She just wants more of him on more of her, so she doesn’t resist when he slides off her t-shirt, unhooks her bra, tugs it off of her.

One hand slides up her soft stomach and cups her breast, the other slides down to the waistband of her plaid pajama pants, into her panties which are—fuck, which are the embarrassing ones that Alex gave her as a joke before she left to hunt full-time, the ones with vampire fangs and the words BITE ME on the ass—but she forgets about that too as Sam strokes along where she’s already wet and to her clit. She gasps as his fingertips brush over the sensitive area.

“Have you done this before?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” she lies. 

“What do you like?” he asks.

She feels a fleeting moment of panic. She’d explored on her own, a little, but not enough to know what would she liked. Finally she recomposes herself and raises an eyebrow. “How about you try and find out?” 

He laughs and takes her challenge, laying her back on the bed and shimmying her out pants and panties as he kisses her stomach. Thank god he doesn’t notice the vampire-themed underwear.

She’s surprised at how okay she feels with being completely bare in front of him like this. Flickers of self-consciousness push at the edge of her mind, but this is Sam, and Sam is safe.

He pushes her thighs up over his shoulders and runs his tongue along her folds. She inhales sharply as his tongue flicks over her clit. His tongue continues to explore her and she grasps helplessly at his hair. God, it’s just as soft as she’d imagined and—god—the stubble scratching against her inner thighs is somehow so erotic and—GOD—his big hands running over her bare skin feel good and—“God!” she moans, as she comes. “God. Sam. Sam.”

She tugs him up and he crawls up to meet her, pressing his lips to hers again. His lips taste like her—she thinks—but he still tastes like him and it’s intoxicating.

She struggles to catch her breath as she pulls away and meets his eyes. “Sam,” she says. “I need you inside me.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I don’t have a condom.”

“But I’m on the pill,” she says desperately.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He runs his fingers lightly down her cheek. “Do you really want more?”

She nods.

“There’s other things we can do,” he says, and his hand slips between her legs. He slides in two fingers and she bites her lip, holding back a moan. “This good?”

She wants to say no, she wants to say she wants more but damn if his fingers stroking inside her as he kisses her again doesn’t feel good and soon, too soon, she comes again, and this time it’s so much that she doesn’t want more. Sam seems to sense it and pulls his fingers out, giving her space.

“Fuck,” she says hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling as she tries to catch her breath. Sam is watching her, a slight smile pulling up the edge of his mouth.

Reality starts to come back to her as she comes down from her orgasm high. Sam had come here to tell her that a relationship would between them would be inappropriate, and then this had happened. What if this was it, what if he regrets it and things are never the same and…

She rolls onto her side to look into his eyes. “Sam,” she says softly. “Tell me this isn’t it. Tell me this isn’t the only time.”

He sighs and takes Claire’s hand in his. “It doesn’t have to be the only time,” he replies, and relief rushes through her. “You’re right. You don’t need protecting.” He smiles faintly at her.

“Good,” she says, and she gives him a quick kiss. She laughs softly.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I can’t believe I was embarrassed about that sex dream a couple days ago,” she says. “Turns out it was the secret to getting laid all along.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“You want me to tell you about it?” she asks, running a finger down his chest.

He licks his lips, his eyes half-lidded with desire. “Yes. In detail, please.”

She smiles. 

[amaranthmori]