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moragmacpherson ([personal profile] moragmacpherson) wrote2010-12-31 03:48 pm
Entry tags:

Fic: The Weight (Supernatural, NC-17, Sam/Dean) for Aldehyde

Title: The Weight
Authors: [livejournal.com profile] moragmacpherson and [livejournal.com profile] callowyn
Betas: Many thanks for the group efforts of [livejournal.com profile] viridian_magpie, [livejournal.com profile] jaimeykay, [livejournal.com profile] naatz, [livejournal.com profile] kalliel, [livejournal.com profile] dayadhvam_triad, [livejournal.com profile] dragonspell and [livejournal.com profile] autumnlilacs
Rating:: NC-17
Genre:: Slash, PWP, AU
Pairing:: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 2,666
Timeline: Nightmare (1.14)
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW and their associated corporate identities
Contents include: See listings above, also, graphic sexual content, established relationship, powers!Sam, and snarky!Winchesters
Authors' notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] aldehyde for her birthday: she asked for Sam/Dean and we tried to include a couple of other things she likes. In addition to our betas, this fic would not have been possible without the various contributions of the harem who inspired us and made this better. We all love you, Owldehyde: Happy Birthday!
Summary: In which Sam discovers there's more to his powers than seeing the future, and Dean maybe doesn't mind so much.

Dean felt the familiar buzz of leftover adrenaline tingling in his fingertips, and he gave Sam a leer as he unlocked the motel room door, hoping his expression didn’t waver. This was what they did: they solved cases and they had really fantastic sex when they were done. The fact that this case had been a human—humans can’t do that, whispered a voice in Dean’s mind—did not mean they had to break with tradition. If Dean acted like everything was normal, that meant everything was normal, and that meant Sam had no reason to be hunched over hiding behind his hair like that. Dean didn't want to think about what had just happened; Dean wanted to be fucked so hard he wouldn’t have to think at all.

“Pants off, Sammy,” he said, his voice a little too loud.

He’d never admit as much to Sam, but Dean loved the aftermath more than the hunt itself. Dean wasn’t used to being rewarded—not like this life gave many opportunities for it. He'd get a hug from a grateful would-be victim if he was lucky, or an approving nod from Dad if he was luckier. Sometimes he could even drag a laugh from Sam when Dean once again managed to find the most hideously decorated motel room in five counties. Dean was used to giving, especially to Sam; Dean was good at that. But this was its own reward.

Except that Sam, Dean noted with dismay, was still fully dressed and not making any moves to become otherwise. Dean kicked his brother in the shin, shrugging off his own leather jacket at the same time. “Hey. Come on, Samantha, I’m not getting any younger here.”

“Seriously, Dean? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” Sam shrugged away Dean’s hand on his shoulder, bitchface out in full force. “How about the part where I just shoved over a wardrobe with my mind?”

Dean’s stomach clenched, the same way it had the first time Sam told him, but he pushed that aside. “So you’re not gonna be making any trips to Narnia soon, so what? I’m still horny.”

Funnily enough, Dean was. If he didn’t think too much about what it meant—if Dean ignored the voice in the back of his mind that kept saying not human, not human, and thought instead about how Dean weighed a lot less than a wardrobe, how Sam could probably lift him up without even getting a headache—well. Once Dean had his own clothes off, he’d be ready to go, and surely it would only take a little groping to get Sam there with him. He could make Sam want this, freaky psychic powers or not. They were still them.

Sam stood in the corner of the room by the window, still rubbing that oversized forehead of his. Dean draped himself over Sam’s shoulders and began worrying little bite marks into the skin on the back of Sam’s neck. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said. “Nothing’s different.” It was easier to get out when Sam wasn’t looking at him—Sam could always tell when Dean was lying.

“Dean,” Sam said, shoulders still tense. “Quit it.” Dean ignored him, licking his way along Sam’s jaw and sliding one hand over Sam’s hip. Sam shivered, and Dean moved lower, cupping the growing length in Sam’s jeans.

“Sammy.” Dean could feel himself getting harder in response, his cock rubbing against Sam’s ass through their clothes. “Just forget it, okay? Relax.”

Not for the first time, Dean had managed to say exactly the wrong thing while horny. Sam pulled out of Dean’s grip and turned to face him.

“How am I supposed to forget about it? What if I end up like Max? What if it gets worse and I can’t control it? This isn’t normal, Dean, and you can’t make it go away by pretending it is!”

“You’re nothing like Max,” Dean said, feeling just as frustrated by Sam’s need to blame himself as he was by the unattended press of his dick under his jeans. He reached out and grabbed Sam’s chin. “Hey. We’ll figure this out.”

“You can’t just say that,” Sam said, and did he just stomp his foot? Jesus Christ, he really was a girl. “Let go of me.”

Dean dug his fingers in. “Not until you admit that you’re not him.”

“Dean.”

“Say it.”

“Dean.”

“Say it, Sam.”

“Get off,” Sam snapped, and something strong and invisible slammed Dean back against the wall behind him. Dean gaped.

“Did you just—”

“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam babbled, running his hands all over Dean’s back and chest. “I’m sorry, I—” Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam’s shirt and yanked him down into a kiss.

Dean’s dick, which had flagged a bit during the argument, was suddenly hard enough to drill through concrete. He licked into Sam’s mouth, hungry to taste that strange burst of strength again, that power that could probably pin him to the wall like a dead insect. When Sam pulled away, no doubt to apologize some more, Dean growled.

“Fuck me.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment. Then he shoved Dean back hard, rolling his hips against Dean’s as he finally began kissing in earnest. And sweet merciful fuck, Sam was good at this.

It didn't take long to get the rest of their clothes off or to get Dean prepped and ready—Dean nearly came on the spot when Sam made the bottle of lube and condom fly across the room into his hand without ever letting Dean off the wall. “Fast learner,” Dean gasped, and Sam grinned against his collarbone, pressing his fingers deeper inside. Dean’s back arched. “Fuck.

And, okay, Sam could pound Dean's ass into next Thursday like no one else, but Dean couldn’t let Sam throw him into walls without a little needling. "Jesus, Sammy, you trying to get the neighbors to call the police on us?" he asked, nipping and licking along his brother's neck, the only bit of skin he could reach. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon, not with his arms pinned to the wall above his head by an invisible pressure while Sam’s broad hands held Dean’s thighs around his waist.

Sam replied with a grunt, speeding up his thrusts. Dean loved the way sex seemed to shut down Sam’s verbal centers, replacing the five-dollar words with harsh breaths and the occasional moan. Dean, on the other hand, was pretty good at letting his thoughts be known. He laughed, breathless, when a particularly hard thrust brought flakes of paint raining down on their heads.

"Drywall, man, it ain't cheap—" and if Dean's voice jumped an octave or so on 'cheap,' that was because every inch of Sam's entirely proportional dick had just slid across his prostate. Dean groaned when his head slammed back into the wall. Shit, they were gonna get tossed out of this place if he didn't get Sam to the bed fast.

"Wanna ride you, Sam. Know you love it when I have to work for it. C'mon, man, lemme—lemme—" and there was that just right angle again, and drywall be damned, Dean was losing the willpower to do anything but flex helplessly in Sam’s grasp, psychic or otherwise.

Which, of course, was when Sam pulled out of him and threw Dean the two feet over to the bed. The bedsprings and even the metal frame made a noisy protest—Dean wasn’t a small guy, but his brother was a goddamn giant with a lifetime of back-breaking work under his belt, and Dean was pretty sure that toss hadn’t all been physical.

"Lemmy is the lead singer of Motörhead. There something else you were trying to say?" asked Sam. He crawled over the bed next to Dean, grinning. And that kind of bugged Dean: the way Sam could just flip a switch like that, going from feral, mindless fucking to wordplay about bands he claimed to hate. Dean chose to chalk that up to the freaky mind powers too.

"Was trying to say how much I wanted to ride your cock, but now that you've brought Lemmy into the picture, I can't stop staring at your moles." Dean reached out and poked the one beside Sam’s nose.

"Jerk," said Sam as he grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him over until he was straddling Sam's torso. "You just gonna talk, or you gonna get a move on?"

Dean tilted his head to the side and arched an eyebrow. "Well, now that you mention it..." He planted his hands squarely over Sam's elbows, pinning them down while he shimmied back on his knees. He let go of Sam's left arm long enough to strip the condom off and toss it away without a look, then clamped his hand back down. "There's this other thing I'm good at," Dean finished, pitching his voice low, and licked a stripe up the underside of Sam's dick.

"Sonova-" Sam’s hips arched up, cock pushing deeper into Dean's mouth. Dean noted the bed frame squealing again, but he had more important things to concentrate on right now—namely, trying not to choke. Deep throating didn't exactly come naturally to him, no matter what Sam had to say about his eating habits. But it was a skill he was willing to practice in the name of getting those noises out of Sam, breathy little cries that were currently being drowned out by the squeaking bed springs. Dean moaned around the shaft and was rewarded with a low groan from Sam.

"Fuck, Dean, don't wanna come like this," Sam gasped, his arms shaking under Dean's firm grip.

Dean kept up the suction for a second more then pulled off with a loud wet pop. "You don't want your cock sucked? That’s a first."

Sam's eyes narrowed. That same invisible force, painless but overpowering, knocked Dean off-balance so that Sam could roll them both over, trapping Dean beneath his brother's unfairly large body. "Want something more, that's all," Sam whispered into Dean's ear, close enough that Dean could feel his lips brushing over the lobe. "Gonna mark you up. Remind you whose you are. No one's gonna take you from me."

"Unh," said Dean, because how the hell else was he supposed to respond when Sam bit down on his pulse point, running his tongue across the reddened skin over and over?

“Gonna mark you on the inside,” Sam added, before tracing his lips along Dean's collarbone and down his sternum to his navel. “You want that, Dean?”

Dean struggled to pull together coherent strands of thought. He’d always used condoms on his random hookups, but this was Sam. Sam could literally hold Dean down through force of will, yet here he was, asking for permission. He might be freakishly huge, psychic, and possessive, but Sam was nothing like Max. "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, do it."

On Dean's word, Sam knelt back so he could line himself up and thrust inside. Dean gasped at the feeling of Sam sliding deep inside of him. Just Sam, nothing else, no thin covering of latex to separate them. Without a condom it felt hotter, naughtier somehow.

"Christ, Sammy, take it easy, would you?" The bed frame was making more noise than Dean was at this point, though Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to care with Sam's bare cock moving inside him, stretching him out.

Dean moved to get a hand on himself, but Sam batted it away. "Mine," Sam warned, pushing in deep.

"Come on," Dean moaned, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Just need something, what else are those giant mitts of yours good—ah, fuck," he yelped as Sam found that magic angle again. "Trying to kill me," he said as Sam's dick slid back out of him, slow this time. Sam didn't reply, just smirked and leaned down to kiss Dean. Dean wanted to accuse Sam of being a girl again, but it was so obvious that Sam wasn’t, what with Sam’s cock being buried in his ass and all. And it was hard to focus with Sam's tongue mapping the inside of his mouth. Denied the right to touch his own body, Dean got a good grip on his brother's instead, grabbing Sam's ass, thumbs catching in the grooves above Sam's hipbones as he squeezed hard enough to bruise. “Sam.”

And that must have been the secret code word, because suddenly long fingers wrapped around Dean's cock, already slick wet with sweat and precome. Sam held it in a loose grip, letting Dean's dick slide through his hand as he fucked Dean faster, harder. Suddenly, Dean felt something press gently against the back of his balls—not Sam’s hand, nothing made of flesh and bone, but a touch which still felt undeniably like Sam. Dean's dick jerked and he orgasmed, splashing white come across his stomach. It smeared between their bodies as Sam kept moving, rocking them together. Dean slumped back against the bed, sated and lazy, content to let Sam finish at his own pace.

Sam sped up his thrusts. "God, Dean, feel that?" he groaned, burying himself deep. Panting for breath, Dean absently heard the bed frame starting to rattle just as he felt the hot rush of Sam’s come inside him, filling him in a completely new way.

And then the bed collapsed.

More paint fluttered off the walls. "Can't. Breathe," Dean wheezed, pushing at Sam’s chest.

"Urk," was all Sam had to say, and it was several long moments before he managed to roll off of Dean, his cock sliding out of Dean's hole. Dean could feel drops of come oozing after it. It felt... good. Kind of messy. But good.

Dean stared up at the ceiling and breathed for a few seconds, shifting experimentally. He was a little sore, and more come leaked out when he moved, still warm but quickly drying on his skin. Marking him. When he finally felt capable of speech, he looked over at his brother, who was still panting, arm over his eyes. Dean could feel echoes of that phantom touch, pressing him down, holding him.

"So aside from the property damage, I vote we keep the freaky superpowers.”

Sam jerked upright. “I didn’t do this,” he said, an uncertain lift at the end of the sentence. “It was a cheap bed!”

Just when Dean worried that Sam was going to have another panic attack and ruin all his hard work, the bed dropped a few more inches below them. Sam burst out laughing. “You’d better pay the motel for this,” said Dean, but he was grinning too, relieved to see Sam laugh like this was the biggest problem in their lives.

“So this is your evil scheme,” Dean sighed, making sure Sam could see his put-upon expression. “You wake up with superpowers and you break a bed. Honestly, Sammy, I’ve done that at least twice without any psychic shit at all. Stop copying me.”

“How do you know it was the telekinesis?” Sam laid back on his side next to Dean, flicking the amulet on Dean’s chest and grinning up through his bangs. "Think I rammed you hard enough to break this bed the old-fashioned way."

Dean was already plotting a repeat performance. “Shut up. Everyone knows you’re the bitch in this relationship.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam put his hand on Dean's chest and drew it downwards, through the smears on Dean's belly, down his thigh until his fingertips found Dean's hole, messy with his own come. He swirled his fingers around the hole, playing with the mess before slowly sliding a finger in, pushing the leaking come back inside as he studied Dean’s face. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. “And the way you got hard when I pinned you to the wall, that was because I’m your bitch?”

Dean tried to punch Sam in the shoulder, only to find that his arm wouldn’t move from the bed. His dick gave a feeble but interested twitch. Sam smirked.

“Cheater,” Dean gritted out.

“You like it,” said Sam, still smiling like an idiot

Yeah, Dean thought. They were gonna be just fine.

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