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Apr. 2nd, 2010 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
longsufferinglyTHIS IS COMPLETELY FUCKING SELF-INDULGENT with WAY MORE TALKING than there should EVER BE in Wincest, but WHATEVER I do what I want.
And It's Alright, Ma (I Can Make It)
1745 words, Sam/Dean, NC-17. Coda for 516.
The car's already started when Sam gets his legs working. He slides into shotgun and listens to Dean not talk until he can't stand it.
"It's never--" Sam flexes his fingers, wonders what it is he wants to say. He knows that if he doesn't talk, if he doesn't try, then he's going to fall. He knows that this will be the end of him, Dean looking at him like--like something he can't think about. "Do you know what I thought of when I thought of family? When I was a kid, I mean."
Dean doesn't say anything. He stares at the windshield wipers, which aren't even moving. The sky is clear, like in a postcard.
"I thought of you and mom and dad," says Sam. "I thought of a family I wasn't in, Dean. Because--that's what you and dad were fighting for, right? All these memories I never had, this life I never got to live." He laughs a little, not happily. "God, Dean. I love mom, but I don't know anything about her. I don't know her favorite color, or her favorite food, or what she would have wanted for mother's day. I don't even know what color her eyes are."
"And?" says Dean, but it's not quite all the way to contrary. It's kind of small, like Dean might have sounded when he was a kid.
"And I wanted to know what was so great about it. I wanted to know why dad loved those memories more than he loved us, why you cared so much. I wanted to see if Thanksgiving dinner was that good, and--" Sam licks his lips. "It wasn't," he says. "There's nothing in my life that's ever been as good as you, Dean. All that stuff, the stuff I thought mattered when I was a kid--I thought it was nice, yeah. But you made me miserable."
"Means the world to me, Sammy," says Dean, still not looking at him.
"No, God, you don't--" Sam pushes his hair back. "Look, Dean. I loved Jessica. I loved Stanford. But I never got pissed at her like I got pissed at you, and I never got crazy about her like I got crazy about you, and I never--" he lets out a long breath. "No one ever made me feel like you, Dean. It's not about family, it's about you. You're the one who makes me miserable, and you're the only thing in the world that makes me really happy."
Being at Stanford had been like living underwater, maybe. It was nice, and it was different, but everything was muted and quiet.
Dean's technicolor. Dean's sometimes too much, but there's nothing else in the world that's worth anything.
"You know what my favorite memory is?" Sam asks, when Dean still doesn't say anything. "I mean, if you asked me, which no one did, by the way." He leans back. "Remember when I was, like--seven, I guess? And you took me fishing when we were in Mississippi? I thought, this is what it's like to have a dad who loves you."
Dean's hands are white on the steering wheel. It makes him a little happy to see it.
"I didn't have the family you and dad were fighting for, Dean. I never did. Sometimes--she died in my room, Dean."
"I know," Dean says. His voice is hoarse.
"I just," he swallows. "Just sometimes it felt like you guys would have been a better family without me. Like when I was gone, you--" he laughs, doesn't know how to explain the enormity of it.
Dean's quiet for a long time, and when he finally speaks, Sam has to strain to hear him. "Her favorite color was blue. I made her blue cards for everything--mother's day, birthday, hell, even Christmas. Dad said I should do red and green for Christmas, but, you know. She liked blue."
"Yeah."
"He wrote in the cards for me," says Dean. "He wasn't always like that."
"I know."
"Yeah, from my stories," says Dean, reluctantly. It feels like a victory. "You didn't get a lot of--"
"I got you," says Sam. "You're all I want, Dean," he says, and it feels like too much, too honest, but they're soul mates, maybe. Their whole lives have been too little, and Sam is sick of paying for it.
"Now," says Dean, like that matters.
"Yeah, now! So what? I was a dumb kid, Dean. Everyone's a dumb kid. Even back then, I knew you were the best thing in my life. I just thought it had to get better than that."
Dean snorts. "Clearly."
Sam rolls his eyes. "You know what? If that's what--if that's all you're gonna, then just stop now. I'll get out of the car and I'll leave because if you don't believe after all this time that I love you more than I love anything else in the fucking world, then I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do. I'm not secretly waiting to go off and leave you. All I want is--" he cuts himself off from saying you, because this chick flick moment is already going on too long, and he's shocked Dean hasn't shut him up.
"This?" says Dean. "What, driving around, fighting off fucking heaven?"
"My life's not worth living without you," Sam says. "I don't know how you haven't figured that out yet."
Dean looks over at him, finally, but it doesn't make any difference. It doesn't tell him any more.
He pulls over, slow, like they're just rolling off the road, and stops.
"Is this the part where I leave?" asks Sam. He never thought Dean would actually let him go, but he didn't think that last time either.
"You don't get it, Sam," says Dean. "You're not--you can't."
And then Dean leans over and kisses him.
Sam has seen Dean kiss girls. Dean loves kissing girls, always looks like he's having so much fun.
This is stiff and awkward, almost platonic, almost nothing, except that this is Dean, and Dean won't even hug him unless one of them has died recently. If it was anyone else, it would be nothing, but this is Dean offering him the entire world.
Dean's back in his own space in no time. "You're gonna leave me, Sammy, because--"
Sam barrels back, pushes Dean against the door so hard there's a crack when his head hits, but if that's the only thing fucking Dean up, it really needs to be gone. Dean's mouth is already open when Sam's lips hit it, and he pushes the advantage.
Sam's bigger than Dean, so he can keep him pressed down until Dean accepts he's not moving, and kisses him back.
Sam hasn't exactly thought of this. Not as much as he wanted to, anyway, although he can admit it's one of the things he figured would keep him out of heaven. He just tried to ignore it, because Dean wasn't like that.
Except he is.
He tries to get his hands under Dean's shirt and ends up bashing his elbow against the horn, a loud, sudden noise, and when he pulls back Dean looks so shocked that Sam can't help laughing, and then he can't stop laughing.
"This is just like prom all over again," Dean mutters, but there's something happy lurking in the corners of his mouth, like Sam hasn't seen in a long time.
"Which one?" asks Sam.
"Shut up," says Dean, no heat. He looks away. "You weigh a ton, Jesus."
Sam can feel Dean's hard-on against his leg, but Dean doesn't seem that concerned about doing anything about it.
"You want me to leave?" asks Sam.
"I want you to get off me. Your thigh's on my liver."
Sam pushes down, right against Dean's stomach. "Better?"
"Dude, you're totally ruining your own moment here."
Sam gets back in his seat, smirks as Dean readjusts. "Anything else?" he asks.
"You could blow me," Dean says, almost a joke, but there's still tension, like he thinks maybe he's going too far. Like Sam is okay with incestuous making out, but once their dicks get involved, he's gone.
"Yeah," says Sam, no hesitation at all. "I could do that."
Dean's shocked look is pretty much the best thing Sam has ever seen.
Sam gets right to it, just leans over, pulls down Dean's zipper, grins when he sees he isn't wearing boxers.
"You totally pissed yourself when you got shot, didn't you."
"Jesus," says Dean, but it's choked off, and not really an answer to what Sam said.
Dean's dick is hard and Sam can see his breathing get erratic and fast, grins as he gets down to business, wrapping his lips around and sucking hard.
Dean's hand is in Sam's hair in a second, and it would be awesome, except he's pulling Sam away.
"Sammy, Sam, you don't have to, God--"
Sam wraps a hand around Dean's dick, jerks it with a grin. "I'm not doing anything I don't wanna do, Dean." He jerks again, harder, loves the way Dean's hips follow his hand.
He can see the second in which Dean breaks--maybe doesn't get it, but at least accepts in, and then he pushes Sam back down.
Sam goes willingly, works the head of Dean's cock with his mouth and keeps his hand moving. He's never given head before, and he feels every time Dean winces at his teeth, but Dean's not stopping it, he's groaning and writhing and coming in Sam's mouth in no time.
Sam pulls back, spunk spilling out onto the sides of his face, but the grin he gives Dean has to be blinding.
Dean stares, like he doesn't know how to process this. Like maybe Sam giving him head actually destroyed what little is left of his brain.
Sam leans back in the seat, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flicks jizz at Dean, grins again when he wrinkles his nose. He's hard too, but it's not a big deal right now, not with Dean looking at him like he's never seen him before, like there's maybe hope after all.
"So, where are we going?" asks Sam.
"Poltergeist in Albany," says Dean, looking away so Sam won't see his smile.
"Small fry," says Sam.
"Got a better idea?" Dean asks.
"Nah," says Sam. "Let's go."
And It's Alright, Ma (I Can Make It)
1745 words, Sam/Dean, NC-17. Coda for 516.
The car's already started when Sam gets his legs working. He slides into shotgun and listens to Dean not talk until he can't stand it.
"It's never--" Sam flexes his fingers, wonders what it is he wants to say. He knows that if he doesn't talk, if he doesn't try, then he's going to fall. He knows that this will be the end of him, Dean looking at him like--like something he can't think about. "Do you know what I thought of when I thought of family? When I was a kid, I mean."
Dean doesn't say anything. He stares at the windshield wipers, which aren't even moving. The sky is clear, like in a postcard.
"I thought of you and mom and dad," says Sam. "I thought of a family I wasn't in, Dean. Because--that's what you and dad were fighting for, right? All these memories I never had, this life I never got to live." He laughs a little, not happily. "God, Dean. I love mom, but I don't know anything about her. I don't know her favorite color, or her favorite food, or what she would have wanted for mother's day. I don't even know what color her eyes are."
"And?" says Dean, but it's not quite all the way to contrary. It's kind of small, like Dean might have sounded when he was a kid.
"And I wanted to know what was so great about it. I wanted to know why dad loved those memories more than he loved us, why you cared so much. I wanted to see if Thanksgiving dinner was that good, and--" Sam licks his lips. "It wasn't," he says. "There's nothing in my life that's ever been as good as you, Dean. All that stuff, the stuff I thought mattered when I was a kid--I thought it was nice, yeah. But you made me miserable."
"Means the world to me, Sammy," says Dean, still not looking at him.
"No, God, you don't--" Sam pushes his hair back. "Look, Dean. I loved Jessica. I loved Stanford. But I never got pissed at her like I got pissed at you, and I never got crazy about her like I got crazy about you, and I never--" he lets out a long breath. "No one ever made me feel like you, Dean. It's not about family, it's about you. You're the one who makes me miserable, and you're the only thing in the world that makes me really happy."
Being at Stanford had been like living underwater, maybe. It was nice, and it was different, but everything was muted and quiet.
Dean's technicolor. Dean's sometimes too much, but there's nothing else in the world that's worth anything.
"You know what my favorite memory is?" Sam asks, when Dean still doesn't say anything. "I mean, if you asked me, which no one did, by the way." He leans back. "Remember when I was, like--seven, I guess? And you took me fishing when we were in Mississippi? I thought, this is what it's like to have a dad who loves you."
Dean's hands are white on the steering wheel. It makes him a little happy to see it.
"I didn't have the family you and dad were fighting for, Dean. I never did. Sometimes--she died in my room, Dean."
"I know," Dean says. His voice is hoarse.
"I just," he swallows. "Just sometimes it felt like you guys would have been a better family without me. Like when I was gone, you--" he laughs, doesn't know how to explain the enormity of it.
Dean's quiet for a long time, and when he finally speaks, Sam has to strain to hear him. "Her favorite color was blue. I made her blue cards for everything--mother's day, birthday, hell, even Christmas. Dad said I should do red and green for Christmas, but, you know. She liked blue."
"Yeah."
"He wrote in the cards for me," says Dean. "He wasn't always like that."
"I know."
"Yeah, from my stories," says Dean, reluctantly. It feels like a victory. "You didn't get a lot of--"
"I got you," says Sam. "You're all I want, Dean," he says, and it feels like too much, too honest, but they're soul mates, maybe. Their whole lives have been too little, and Sam is sick of paying for it.
"Now," says Dean, like that matters.
"Yeah, now! So what? I was a dumb kid, Dean. Everyone's a dumb kid. Even back then, I knew you were the best thing in my life. I just thought it had to get better than that."
Dean snorts. "Clearly."
Sam rolls his eyes. "You know what? If that's what--if that's all you're gonna, then just stop now. I'll get out of the car and I'll leave because if you don't believe after all this time that I love you more than I love anything else in the fucking world, then I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do. I'm not secretly waiting to go off and leave you. All I want is--" he cuts himself off from saying you, because this chick flick moment is already going on too long, and he's shocked Dean hasn't shut him up.
"This?" says Dean. "What, driving around, fighting off fucking heaven?"
"My life's not worth living without you," Sam says. "I don't know how you haven't figured that out yet."
Dean looks over at him, finally, but it doesn't make any difference. It doesn't tell him any more.
He pulls over, slow, like they're just rolling off the road, and stops.
"Is this the part where I leave?" asks Sam. He never thought Dean would actually let him go, but he didn't think that last time either.
"You don't get it, Sam," says Dean. "You're not--you can't."
And then Dean leans over and kisses him.
Sam has seen Dean kiss girls. Dean loves kissing girls, always looks like he's having so much fun.
This is stiff and awkward, almost platonic, almost nothing, except that this is Dean, and Dean won't even hug him unless one of them has died recently. If it was anyone else, it would be nothing, but this is Dean offering him the entire world.
Dean's back in his own space in no time. "You're gonna leave me, Sammy, because--"
Sam barrels back, pushes Dean against the door so hard there's a crack when his head hits, but if that's the only thing fucking Dean up, it really needs to be gone. Dean's mouth is already open when Sam's lips hit it, and he pushes the advantage.
Sam's bigger than Dean, so he can keep him pressed down until Dean accepts he's not moving, and kisses him back.
Sam hasn't exactly thought of this. Not as much as he wanted to, anyway, although he can admit it's one of the things he figured would keep him out of heaven. He just tried to ignore it, because Dean wasn't like that.
Except he is.
He tries to get his hands under Dean's shirt and ends up bashing his elbow against the horn, a loud, sudden noise, and when he pulls back Dean looks so shocked that Sam can't help laughing, and then he can't stop laughing.
"This is just like prom all over again," Dean mutters, but there's something happy lurking in the corners of his mouth, like Sam hasn't seen in a long time.
"Which one?" asks Sam.
"Shut up," says Dean, no heat. He looks away. "You weigh a ton, Jesus."
Sam can feel Dean's hard-on against his leg, but Dean doesn't seem that concerned about doing anything about it.
"You want me to leave?" asks Sam.
"I want you to get off me. Your thigh's on my liver."
Sam pushes down, right against Dean's stomach. "Better?"
"Dude, you're totally ruining your own moment here."
Sam gets back in his seat, smirks as Dean readjusts. "Anything else?" he asks.
"You could blow me," Dean says, almost a joke, but there's still tension, like he thinks maybe he's going too far. Like Sam is okay with incestuous making out, but once their dicks get involved, he's gone.
"Yeah," says Sam, no hesitation at all. "I could do that."
Dean's shocked look is pretty much the best thing Sam has ever seen.
Sam gets right to it, just leans over, pulls down Dean's zipper, grins when he sees he isn't wearing boxers.
"You totally pissed yourself when you got shot, didn't you."
"Jesus," says Dean, but it's choked off, and not really an answer to what Sam said.
Dean's dick is hard and Sam can see his breathing get erratic and fast, grins as he gets down to business, wrapping his lips around and sucking hard.
Dean's hand is in Sam's hair in a second, and it would be awesome, except he's pulling Sam away.
"Sammy, Sam, you don't have to, God--"
Sam wraps a hand around Dean's dick, jerks it with a grin. "I'm not doing anything I don't wanna do, Dean." He jerks again, harder, loves the way Dean's hips follow his hand.
He can see the second in which Dean breaks--maybe doesn't get it, but at least accepts in, and then he pushes Sam back down.
Sam goes willingly, works the head of Dean's cock with his mouth and keeps his hand moving. He's never given head before, and he feels every time Dean winces at his teeth, but Dean's not stopping it, he's groaning and writhing and coming in Sam's mouth in no time.
Sam pulls back, spunk spilling out onto the sides of his face, but the grin he gives Dean has to be blinding.
Dean stares, like he doesn't know how to process this. Like maybe Sam giving him head actually destroyed what little is left of his brain.
Sam leans back in the seat, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flicks jizz at Dean, grins again when he wrinkles his nose. He's hard too, but it's not a big deal right now, not with Dean looking at him like he's never seen him before, like there's maybe hope after all.
"So, where are we going?" asks Sam.
"Poltergeist in Albany," says Dean, looking away so Sam won't see his smile.
"Small fry," says Sam.
"Got a better idea?" Dean asks.
"Nah," says Sam. "Let's go."
