okay but sam in middle of orgasm accidentally calling dean 'dad'.
It felt as though his lungs were being pummelled. Great shuddering blows high up under his ribcage. Frenetic. A fever-pitch of pressure and pain and warped pleasure.
Too much and yet not enough, all at once.
His shoulder blades were rawed from the rough floorboards, reddened and scraped up, and he knew it would be a nuisance come tomorrow, knew his shirt would aggravate the hurt. He found he didn’t mind. Not when Dean was gripping his hips in a white-knuckled hold, his chin tipped up, an expression of reverence settled about the press of his mouth and the furrow of his brow.
As though Sam was something to be worshipped. As though moving within the heat of Sam’s body was somehow a revelatory experience.
There was a something caustic in Dean’s eyes, flinty and hard and Sam reached up with the hand not wrapped around his erection, splayed-fingers, begging his brother to come closer. Bend down, he willed, kiss me.
Something in Dean’s jaw flickered, a clench of his molars as he let go of Sam’s hip with one hand and caught himself on it, palm pressed to the floorboard beside Sam’s head, holding himself over Sam. A cage made of blood and bone and flesh. A drip of sweat down his temple as he hit up into Sam, a ruthless pace. The corner of his mouth upturned, not quite a smile, not exactly a smirk. In-between.
It said, plain as anything, beg for it.
Because Dean never gave softness easily. There was always a price to pay.
A precise piston of Dean’s hips. The scent of warm sweat and musk and something purely Dean underneath it all. Bergamot, bright and vivid and something warmer. It was so reminiscent of how Sam remembered dad smelling; even after an arduous hunt, buried under the sulphur-scent, the grime and sour-sweat and exhaustion, dad had always smelled pleasant to Sam.
Sometimes, when he was younger, Sam would rush up to him and wrap his arms around his middle, burying his cheek against his broad chest, the steady thrum of dad’s heartbeat squished against his ear. Comforting and exquisite. He had to stop as he got older.
But now, now, with Dean bracing himself over Sam, moving within him – a deep-seated ache that he felt all the way up the line of his spine, a burbling liquid heat within his stomach, simmering, searing his blood white-hot – Sam found dad’s past rebuff didn’t hurt as much anymore.
Whittled away by the invasion high up in his bowels. A deep, rough fucking. Divine.
When he didn’t immediately beg for kisses, Dean lowered himself a little, widening his knees on the floor, pressing the front of his thighs to the underside of Sam’s, a tickle of fine hair there. Sweat making everything slippery.
“C’mon,” murmured against the line of Sam’s jaw, moist breath and grit-and-gravel voice. A brief press of Dean’s lips to the sensitive little area just under Sam’s ear. A bloom of shivers through him, goosebumps across his skin. Electric. “Beg me like a good boy.”
Something within Sam pulled taut at the low-voiced command. Like a rubber band stretched to breaking point, thin and fraying. An abrupt snapping of his self-restraint, and he turned his head towards the warm breath against the side of his neck, seeking Dean’s mouth even as he said, a dip and vault of his belly, “Please, De, I want kisses.”
“Again.” Dean demanded. Roughened tone. Sam clenched his fist around his erection, not moving it, holding himself in check; a fizzing pleasure wrought by the way Dean’s voice dipped low just like dads always had.
Sam complied, feeling the way Dean had stilled within him. No movement, just the heaviness of his arousal buried up high within Sam, hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. An impressive bit of self-control from Dean, to hold himself in check while he made demands.
“Please kiss me!” Sam’s voice came out just as raw as his back and shoulders felt. Scrubbed raw from desire.
When Dean levered himself up a fraction, holding his weight on his forearm now, a gusty breath across Sam’s bottom lip and chin, he grinned triumphantly and it was all dad. Sharp smile, canine teeth on full display. A feral sort of look. An obsidian thing moving behind his eyes, predatory and startling, and Sam fumbled for a grip on Dean’s bicep with the hand not fisting his cock, trying to draw him closer. Nails leaving reddened streaks across Dean’s skin.
“Please, please,” and unbidden, a beseeching, irrevocably wrong series of words tumbled from behind the back of his teeth, “please kiss me, daddy.”
There was a beat between the words being spoken and the harsh furrowing of Dean’s brow. A slick of sweat down his neck and across his chest, catching in the motels muted lamplight when he shifted, adjusting his weight over Sam. And then Dean swore under his breath, filthy and deep and removed the hand left on Sam’s hip, snatching for his throat instead.
Not an overly restricting grip, loose enough Sam could breathe with relative ease, tight enough he felt the press of Dean’s palm against his windpipe when he swallowed, wanting very much to take back the words. A cold bit of apprehension sitting virulent inside of him.
But Dean’s gaze was not something malicious when he bent in closer. It was simmering with heat and something sharper, a little like surprise – and yeah, yeah, understandable, Sam had surprised himself with that – and a little more like hunger. An all-consuming sort of need. Ravenous.
Dean kissed him hard enough for their teeth to clink together, a sharp pain that was immediately smoothed away by the insistence of Dean’s tongue begging entrance, wet and hot and slick when Sam parted his lips and allowed it. A shivery sort of submission warm in his chest as Dean licked out his mouth.
Dean hadn’t hit him for it. He’d crushed him under his weight instead, a press of his chest up against Sam’s, a withdraw of the length inside Sam’s ass before it was rammed up high and fast and brutal. Bruising up his lungs, it felt like.
A breathless sort of rapture.
