Deeper Than Skin
Mar. 5th, 2011 11:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ohsamTitle : Deeper Than Skin
Author : Meigun-Blaze
Word Count : 4499
Rating : NC-17
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Warnings : Sex, rimming, snow. Mostly PWP
Summary : When a sudden snowstorm has Sam remembering Hell and his body temperature dropping, Dean has to get him warm again, using any means necessary.
Author's Note : Dean's magical Jizz heals all!
It’s like having ice water injected directly into his veins. It starts somewhere in the pit of his stomach and works its way up until he’s exhaling millions of tiny crystals that float briefly on the air like a warning before drifting away. His once golden skin pales, until it begins to turn blue from the inside. He starts to shake, and really, he should be used to this by now, but each time he panics, and it feels like the first time.
Sam hates these days, even worse than the others. The ones where they let him burn. Slowly turning up the heat until he literally cooks from the inside out. He even likes torture better than this. There’s just something about the cold that Sam has never liked, and now…
His teeth are chattering, his body is shutting down, but it never goes numb. He can still feel every sharp pain. Like tiny daggers piercing him repeatedly. His limbs hang loosely, freezing and turning into blocks of ice to snap off and shatter when they hit the ground. They like to do this. Tear him apart and put him back together again to start the whole thing all over, in new and creative ways.
Sam doesn’t think he can get any colder. He should know better, because that’s when the voice floats in his head.
“Most people don’t know. Remember, Sam? Most people don’t know I run cold.”
*
They’re driving through Hammett, Idaho when the snowstorm takes them by surprise. The heat in the Impala is on the fritz and Dean knows they don’t have the proper attire to handle this kind of weather. All he has is his leather jacket and Sam’s got his layers of plaid and an old Stanford sweater riddled with holes. Do they even own a decent pair of gloves?
The roads are becoming slick and slippery as the snow gathers on the asphalt and the sky gets darker by the second. Dean’s fingers are already turning numb where they clutch the steering wheel, and next to him, Sam struggles to take in a breath, the cold not allowing his lungs to fully extend. Fuck this, Dean’s not driving any further. His eyes stay peeled for signs of some kind of motel, and he sighs with relief when he spots a mom and pop kind of place.
Dean pulls into the parking lot and keeps the engine running. He takes one look at Sam, hunkering down in his seat, trying to preserve warmth and he decides that he’ll brave the weather in order to get them a room. Once his door is open, he dashes out quickly before too much of the storm can get inside.
When he gets back, room keys in hand, Sam doesn’t look too good. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and he stares straight ahead at nothing.
Dean parks in front of the room, and he has to go around to pull Sam from the car. It’s like he’s turned into a motionless statue. Dean leads him to the door, praying it’ll be warmer than the Impala. It’s frigid inside. Cold from disuse but it’s a definite improvement. Dean settles Sam on one of the beds before heading towards the heater, turning it up and it clicks on with a soft hiss of life. When he turns back around, Sam’s right where he left him, not even making a move to get warm.
“Hey?” Dean demands, quickly going to his side. “Sam?” He snaps his fingers in front of his eyes. No response.
“Shit.” Dean whispers, grabbing up the blankets on the spare bed and draping them over his brother’s shoulders, calling his name and hoping it’ll wake him from whatever has a hold of him. Dean’s hands run over Sam’s arms, creating friction and heat.
“Sam!” Dean yells again, his skin brushes against Sam’s fingers and they’re freezing. “Jesus.” He mutters, taking both Sam’s hands and pushes his jacket aside, shoving them underneath the fabric of his shirt to rest over the heated flesh of his abdomen, cringing at the icy sting.
Sam takes in a deep shuddering breath, almost like he’s been underwater too long, and for the first time, his eyes focus to zero in on Dean’s face.
“Hey.” He whispers softly, one hand moving up to cup Sam’s cheeks while the other still holds his freezing limbs to his now-freezing stomach. They’re like ice cubes.
“Where did you go?”
Sam’s teeth are chattering and Dean’s not sure if he should take that as a good sign. At least he no longer seems numb and he’s moving now.
“M-most people d-don’t know he r-runs c-cold.” Sam stutters. “So c-cold it burns.” He finishes, eyes haunted. Dean has no idea what he’s talking about, but then he flashes back almost a year-and-a-half ago to a ransacked room in Detroit where Sam had said yes to the Devil.
“Most people don’t know I run cold.”
Sam’s remembering something about hell, and it’s been brought on by the weather? Dean has to get Sam warm, right the fuck now. As gently as he can, he removes Sam’s boots before peeling off the socks. They’re drenched from the short walk in the snow and his feet are an alarming shade of blue.
Dean panics. He hasn’t read a lot on frostbite, and he’s not about to leave his brother like this to go searching on the internet. He knows some, but not enough. Don’t heat the person too quickly, body heat is best. Dean wants to put Sam in a warm shower, wrap him up in blankets, anything to make him better now, but he has to do this right.
Sam’s arms fall from Dean’s stomach without Dean to hold them in place, and he’s back to staring at nothing again, muttering too softly under his breath for Dean to hear.
“Come on, Sam.” He calls, bending Sam’s knees until they touch his chest, and Dean does the same as he did for Sam’s hands, shoving them under his shirt, using the heat of his skin to thaw them. Sam and Dean gasp at the same time, one in relief, the other in discomfort. It seems to be the shock Sam needs, though.
“Are you with me again?” Dean demands and Sam manages a weak nod.
“Good. Keep your feet where they are, no matter how much it hurts, got it?” He asks, and Sam nods again. This is good. Being responsive is a good sign.
Dean bends over a bit to grab up Sam’s hands and this time he places them on the small of his back where his body heats like a furnace. Dean lets out the same shuddering gasp when cold flesh hits him and Sam has the indecency to worry more for him even though he’s the half-frozen one.
“Dean-”
“Just shut up and get warm.”
Sam does as he’s told, having no strength left to fight. He’s so tired, he wants to sleep and his lids flutter, excited by the idea.
“Don’t even think about it, Sam. You stay with me, you got that?”
Sam’s nodding automatically even though he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.
“Cold.” He whispers and he wants to cry but he doesn’t think his body can work right and produce tears.
“Shit.” Dean mutters. This isn’t enough. He needs to be doing more. The heater hasn’t even had a chance to fully heat the whole room and his own temperature is dropping just from trying to raise Sam’s.
“Hold on, Sammy.” He whispers, ripping his jacket off and tugging his shirt over his head. As quick as he can, he toes off his boots and pulls down his jeans along with his wet socks. He leaves his boxers on for now, even though they feel damp with the very cold itself.
“Your turn, Sammy.” He voices, tone going for reassuring. Sam’s limbs are stiff, and he’s not much help with undressing, but he tries and Dean appreciates that. Feels it like a warmth in his chest. Dean gets Sam down to his boxers as well before he’s pulling them both towards the center of the mattress. Sam’s shivering like a leaf on the wind when Dean pulls the blankets over them and then pulls Sam into his arms. Sam goes gratefully, latching onto Dean’s heat like a missile. Now that the covers are up, Dean covertly reaches down and yanks their boxers off and all the while Sam clutches him like a scared child.
“Get warm, Sam. Get warm.” He chants, even when it’s not aloud. Sam’s pressed to him completely from head to toe, and Dean throws his leg over Sam’s thigh, bringing them closer. Sam’s limp cock rubs against his own and Dean grits his teeth and bares it. He has to. It’s almost like torture being this close. Being so naked and yet having to hide at the exact same time.
“S’cold.” Sam whimpers again and it kills Dean inside because he feels so completely helpless.
“I know, Sammy, I know. It’ll get better, just give it time.”
Sam’s eyes are glazing again and Dean’s afraid of losing him. This can’t be caused by the cold alone. Dean was in the same snowstorm and he isn’t even half as affected as Sam is. This has to be about hell. About Lucifer and Michael taking turns on breaking Sam apart, piece by piece. Dean’s teeth sink into his lip until he can taste blood.
Dean feels hands on him then. Sam’s big paws moving down, seeking the place radiating the most heat…
“Sam!” Dean can’t help but squeal when Sam’s icy fingers wrap around his half-hard dick, sea-green eyes still fuzzy and distant, completely unaware of what he’s doing.
Sam’s stroking him, firm and strong yet gentle at the same time, and even though it feels like having ice cubes on his cock, he’s responding, hardening until he’s thick and full.
“Sam…you can’t-you gotta stop.” He begs half-heartedly, cause this is exactly what he’d been pining over not even a moment ago.
“You’re so warm, Dean. I-I need it.” Sam confesses and Dean’s eyes widen. He’s sure Sam doesn’t know what he’s asking for so he bats his hands away. Sam’s in his face then, growling for all intents and purposes like a territorial animal. He’s not really here with him. He’s in the pit, fighting for something-anything to hold onto. Dean sees it then. Something in his brother’s eyes flash with recognition, and he’s whimpering, almost cowering as he burrows his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and sobs softly, hands still striping his fully hard length.
“Please, Dean? Please? I need you! It wont go away! It wont-”
“Shhh.” Dean whispers, hands coming up to run through Sam’s hair. His body is shaking from the constant stimulation Sam is lavishing his dick with and he’s trying so hard to hold himself back. Keep himself in check.
“It’s okay, Sam. Tell me what you want.” He reassures and Sam’s mouthing at his neck, now. Words muffled on his skin.
“You’re so warm here.” He makes the observation with a firm squeeze to Dean’s member, and Dean can’t fight the arch of his hips into Sam’s hand. “Give it to me, Dean. Want to be warm, too. Make me warm?” Sam begs, and Dean’s pupils are blown wide at the very idea.
His brother wants him to fuck him.
“Sam-”
“Dean.” Sam interrupts, face no longer hiding, and they’re a breath apart. Sam’s ever-changing sea-green eyes staring into his emerald ones. There’s clarity there. Dean can see it. Sam knows what he’s asking. “Please, just touch me.”
Sam’s ice cold fingers wrap around his wrist, forcing his hand lower to cup his little brother’s half-hard cock and Dean sucks in a breath just as Sam does, feeling like there’s not enough air in the room.
Almost like it has a mind of its own, Dean hand begins to move along Sam’s dick. Exploring the inexplicably soft; yet hard, flesh of his brother’s arousal. Sam’s length is impressive, but even though he’s taller, Dean’s still as long as he is. Must be the genes. The thought is so wrong he almost stops, but Sam’s keening now. Making little breathy moans of approval as he continues to stroke Dean, matching his brother’s rhythm.
Sam’s hips snap to meet his fist and Dean’s do the same, but then his brother stops, face contorting into pain.
“S’cold, Dean. Still so cold.” Sam whimpers and Dean’s heart breaks a little more. “In here.” Sam lifts his palm and places it flat on his abdomen. “It always starts here.” He whispers, and to Dean, he’s six years old again, telling him about the monster under his bed, cause dad wont listen.
“Make me warm, Dean?” The request is like a plea. A little brother asking his older brother to make it all better again, and Dean wants to. Is going to.
“Okay, Sam. I’ll make you warm again.”
Dean’s lips cover his, and when Sam feels the heat of his mouth, he presses back hungrily. Greedily taking everything Dean has to give. Dean’s lips slant over Sam’s over and over again and Sam keeps up easily. Dean thrusts his tongue inside the cavern of Sam’s mouth. He tastes sweet here, like the lollipops he used to give him when they were kids. The taste is addicting and he fucks his tongue in and out, mimicking what he really wants to do. Sam arches into it and fucking moans down Dean’s throat. He can feel it in his toes.
Dean breaks off, traveling down Sam’s skin, mapping it like a well-driven road. Sam’s hands release Dean’s cock in favor of burying them in the short strands of his hair, anchoring his brother to him, as if Dean was going anywhere. He doesn’t want to be anywhere but here.
Sam sighs when Dean mouths at his neck, bites down on the vulnerable flesh near his collarbone, tongue circling his nipple before suckling it like he was a girl, but Sam’s pleasantly surprised by what it does to his body and he’s able to let it go. Dean takes his time with Sam, learning every muscle, every reaction to pleasure. Studying Sam like he was a rare find, and needed to be treasured. Sam’s a trembling mess in his arms, desperately wanting Dean to move down, down, down. But his brother stays vigilant. Tonguing every expanse of cold-pale skin he comes across, warming it with his touch and heat until it’s golden again.
“Dean, Please!” Sam can’t help but beg when his brother laps at his jutting hipbones like it’s crème.
“Yeah, okay Sammy.” Dean concedes, finally moving lower. Sam moans when he feels the sweet heat of Dean’s breath feather against his leaking cock.
“Spread your legs, Sam.” Dean commands softly and Sam’s lids flutter closed as he obeys Dean’s request.
“Not gonna touch your dick.” He informs him and Sam’s eyes snap back open.
“You’re warm enough here, already. Don’t want you to come just yet.”
“Dean!” Sam flat out whines, dignity be damned.
“Don’t worry, Sammy. I’m gonna make you warm.” Dean reassures and Sam shivers from something other than the cold. Dean’s hands grip his thighs then, spreading him even wider and Sam’s just about to ask what for when he feels it. Dean’s tongue, languidly circling his hole, getting him slick and wet before stiffening to a point and thrusting in, taking all that saliva and coating his insides with it.
Sam’s back is off the bed, mouth a silent ‘O’ of pleasure. He never knew. He never-
Dean’s tongue swirls and flicks teasingly, thrusting in mercilessly, fucking Sam and Sam fucks back onto his face. Dean’s never done anything like this. He tried it a few times on some of the women he’s been with, and they all seemed to like it well enough after getting over the initial embarrassment, but Sam? Sam takes to it like it’s as essential as breathing, and his responses alone are enough to give Dean a kind of high. He’s the one doing this to Sam. He’s responsible.
Sam tastes heavy here. Tangy, like those sour gummy things he used to be addicted to, and just like Sam was addicted to the sweets, Dean’s addicted to Sam. It’s all going to be too much too if he doesn’t slow down. He would be content to eat Sam to completion, but he wants more for their first time. In case it’s their last. Dean pulls his face away, and Sam tries to bare down to keep him there, groaning when he’s unsuccessful, but he’s back to moaning when Dean thrusts in a finger, instead.
“Jesus Sam, you’re so wet.” Dean marvels. “Fucking tight, too.”
Sam’s moan sounds like an, “Mmm-hmm.” and it’s so elicit that it’s just like the pornos Dean likes to watch. Dean thrusts his finger in and out, slowly at first, before gaining speed.
“You want more?” Dean asks and Sam nods so violently he’s afraid that he’ll cause damage, so Dean quickly adds in a second finger, stretching Sam’s rim around the digits and it’s such a fucking beautiful sight.
“Wish you could see yourself like this, Sammy. Wanna come from just watching you.” His fingers create a scissoring motion, and Sam’s eyes are wide now, staring into Dean’s with trust, want, loyalty…love. It’s all there, and Dean’s fingers slam into his brother with abandon when he sees it. Sam’s whimpering from pleasure now, his cock leaking so much pre-come Dean gets distracted by the steady drops. He pulls out his fingers, and Sam groans in protest, suddenly feeling too empty and the cold creeps back up on him.
Sam’s just about to complain when Dean’s finger dips into the slit of his cock, gathering any liquid he can find before going back down towards his stretched hole and shoving all that pre-come up his ass. It’s so fucking hot, the idea of Dean taking his own fluids and using them as lubricant, pushing it back inside like he’s some kind of whore. Sam almost comes, but Dean’s fingers are there, wrapping around the base of his dick and staving off his orgasm. His eyes squeeze shut, and tears leak from the corners of his eyes at being denied for so long.
“Please.” It’s the only thing left he knows how to say. Words are beyond him at this point. Dean takes a look at his handy work and smiles to himself. Sam’s skin is no longer that pale sickly-looking blue. Instead, it’s back to it’s natural golden hue, but even better it’s spotted in pink, flushed with Sam’s arousal and it's not the cold he's shaking from anymore.
Dean places his fingers at Sam’s mouth with the whispered command of, “Suck,” and Sam does so, no fight. No questions. Sam arches off the bed when Dean shoves three fingers into his hole without warning. They just sit there, not moving from the initial thrust, and Sam fidgets on the end of them.
“God Sam, you love this, don’t you? Look at how you squirm on my fingers. Want to see you do that on my cock, Sammy. Wanna watch you come from me pounding into you.”
Dean’s fingers crook, and Sam sees stars. He knows he’d be fucking done if Dean just touched that spot a few more times, but maddeningly, Dean pulls both sets of finger out. The ones from his ass as well as his mouth. The saliva slick fingers he uses to wrap around his own dick, and Sam moans in jealousy as he watches Dean stroke the angry red length till it glistens with spit. Sam’s just about to reach down when Dean’s moving again.
Dean’s body flattens against Sam’s and Sam takes his weight easily. They fit together alarmingly well, like two jagged pieces of a puzzle that become smooth once connected.
“Wrap your legs around me, Sammy.” Dean instructs, hoping it’ll make the angle somehow more pleasurable. Sam’s legs come up, thighs wrapping securely around Dean’s hips.
“Please.” Sam begs again, it’s what Dean’s reduced him to.
“Okay, baby. Okay.” Dean promises, mouth closing over his. Sam’s never been kissed like this before. Dean kisses just like he lives. With everything he has. Sam’s never been dominated before, either. He’s never had to place his trust so fully in someone when being intimate. When he was with others, he didn’t experiment in certain things, never allowed himself to be in a weak position, just in case. But with Dean…
Everything’s different with Dean.
Sam feels it then. The bulbous head of Dean’s cock, pressing incessantly against his hole until it gives, sucking Dean inside like he belongs there. Sam cries out. Not from pain, but in wonder. He can feel every hot inch of his brother’s flesh searing his insides as he slowly presses in. It’s almost like it goes on forever, but then he feels Dean’s balls press against the cleft of his ass and when he bottoms out, he still wants more.
Sam’s eyes are wide as they unapologetically search Dean’s face. He’s sweating, eyes clenched as he struggles to remain still. To let Sam adjust.
“Please?”
There’s that whispered plea again.
“Christ Sam, I’m trying to give you time-”
“Please?”
It’s all Dean needs, yanking out before slamming back in and Sam arches into it, begging for more, needing it. His hands grip the hard muscle of Dean sweat-slick back, trying to find purchase before finally allowing his nails to sink in. To mark and draw blood, and that idea makes them both shudder, the thought of bruising and marking and claiming.
Dean’s own hands travel down to Sam’s ass, gripping each cheek to spread them apart obscenely and he watches as his own dick sinks into Sam’s stretched hole, rim blinking in the light from all the lubricant, almost winking at him.
“Fuck, you should see yourself, Sam. Look, Sammy. Open your eyes. See what I’m doing to you?”
Sam opens his eyes. Doesn’t want to, because he feels so close to losing it, losing everything until he’s empty. But Dean asked him, so…
Sam’s eyes peak down his body where his brother’s cock disappears over and over again inside him.
“Dean!” Sam cries out, clenching his eyes shut and refusing to open them again. Since Sam obviously can’t look, Dean describes it to him in detail.
“Every time I go to pull out, it’s like you try to suck me back in, greedy for more. You want more, Sam?” Sam nods, still not opening his eyes.
“And the noises you make.” Sam can hear it. The almost embarrassing wet squelching noises every time Dean moves in and out.
“You’re stretched so wide to take me, but it didn’t seem to phase you. Think you can take more?” His fingers feather over his entrance, right up against the puckered-out skin where his dick brushes. The pads of his digits push, adding pressure, but they never penetrate.
Sam can’t take much more. His mind is in a state of chaos. Equations float by, memories flash, and it almost feels like dying, or being born, all these things making themselves clear until they vanish and he’s left clueless once again. Dean’s fingers leave his pink and abused hole in favor of pushing his ass-checks together, restricting his passage. Sam screams, world blacking out at the delicious friction. At Dean’s cock so hot and hard and pronounced inside of him and that’s it. He’s fucking done.
Sam writhes on the end of Dean’s cock, coming in spurts as Dean continues to fuck his tightened passage, milking him through it, each thrust stabbing his prostate with scary precision, almost like Dean has a map to the thing. Sam’s still coming, and Dean’s the one not letting him stop. The stimulation is too much. Borderline painful but Sam’s so fucking grateful. So fucking full.
Sam’s cock gives a twitch, but he’s leaking dry now as Dean continues to pound away at his ass. He’s loose and pleasantly fucked out and it’s warmer, now. It’s just not as warm as Sam wants to be.
“So fucking beautiful when you come, Sammy. So fucking good for me.” Dean grunts, cock-head still tagging his sweet spot and making him twitch with continuous waves of pleasure. He can’t believe he came without Dean touching him once. It’s impressive, he has to admit, and he wants his brother to know what it feels like. Dean has to know.
Sam’s got his finger in his mouth, and Dean’s thrusts become erratic just from that sight alone. It’s not fucking fair just how irresistible his little brother is. Sam’s finger leaves his mouth with a resounding, ‘Pop,’ and Dean’s too distracted by his glistening lips to track where it’s going. Dean leans back down to kiss Sam when he feels it. His brother’s got a sweet-slick finger circling his entrance before it sinks in completely. Sam’s got big, long fingers and Dean’s body shudders.
“Sam-”
Sam crooks his finger than, and it's so sweet it has Dean coming like it was a trigger switch, cock pulsing as it shoots load after load after load into Sam ass, right up against his prostate, and there. Right there is what Sam needed. He feels it. The scorching heat of Dean’s release, warming him up from the inside until he knows that he cold can never touch him again.
They’re both shaking, coming down from the high of orgasm as Dean pets him soothingly and Sam clutches him like he’s riding out a wave. His sweat is starting to cool on his body, and Dean’s jizz is leaking out of his abused hole, turning cold as the seconds tick by, but it doesn’t matter. Not with Dean pressed warmly against him, arms wrapped lovingly around him and he feels a heat that goes deeper than skin.
“You okay?” Dean whispers quietly, and they’re kids again, whispering in their shared bed as their father sleeps in the one next to them.
Sam’s eyes struggle to stay open, so content he can fall asleep like this. Sweaty, a mess, and with Dean, just as sticky pressed against him. It’s perfect.
“S’warm.” Sam slurs, lazy smile gracing his kiss-swollen lips, and Dean’s own eyes crinkle in amusement, showing crows feet and laugh lines and Sam can’t help but stare in wonderment at how beautiful his brother is.
“Night, Dean. Love you.”
“Love you too, Sammy.” Dean answers, and even though Sam’s eyes have finally given up the fight to stay open, he still feels it when Dean pulls the blanket up and over them. Still feels it when Dean pulls him on top of his chest and wraps his arms tightly around him. Sam can hear Dean’s heartbeat under his ear, and he can still feel the heat Dean gave him, thawing the ice and keeping the memories at bay.
THE END
Author : Meigun-Blaze
Word Count : 4499
Rating : NC-17
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Warnings : Sex, rimming, snow. Mostly PWP
Summary : When a sudden snowstorm has Sam remembering Hell and his body temperature dropping, Dean has to get him warm again, using any means necessary.
Author's Note : Dean's magical Jizz heals all!
It’s like having ice water injected directly into his veins. It starts somewhere in the pit of his stomach and works its way up until he’s exhaling millions of tiny crystals that float briefly on the air like a warning before drifting away. His once golden skin pales, until it begins to turn blue from the inside. He starts to shake, and really, he should be used to this by now, but each time he panics, and it feels like the first time.
Sam hates these days, even worse than the others. The ones where they let him burn. Slowly turning up the heat until he literally cooks from the inside out. He even likes torture better than this. There’s just something about the cold that Sam has never liked, and now…
His teeth are chattering, his body is shutting down, but it never goes numb. He can still feel every sharp pain. Like tiny daggers piercing him repeatedly. His limbs hang loosely, freezing and turning into blocks of ice to snap off and shatter when they hit the ground. They like to do this. Tear him apart and put him back together again to start the whole thing all over, in new and creative ways.
Sam doesn’t think he can get any colder. He should know better, because that’s when the voice floats in his head.
“Most people don’t know. Remember, Sam? Most people don’t know I run cold.”
*
They’re driving through Hammett, Idaho when the snowstorm takes them by surprise. The heat in the Impala is on the fritz and Dean knows they don’t have the proper attire to handle this kind of weather. All he has is his leather jacket and Sam’s got his layers of plaid and an old Stanford sweater riddled with holes. Do they even own a decent pair of gloves?
The roads are becoming slick and slippery as the snow gathers on the asphalt and the sky gets darker by the second. Dean’s fingers are already turning numb where they clutch the steering wheel, and next to him, Sam struggles to take in a breath, the cold not allowing his lungs to fully extend. Fuck this, Dean’s not driving any further. His eyes stay peeled for signs of some kind of motel, and he sighs with relief when he spots a mom and pop kind of place.
Dean pulls into the parking lot and keeps the engine running. He takes one look at Sam, hunkering down in his seat, trying to preserve warmth and he decides that he’ll brave the weather in order to get them a room. Once his door is open, he dashes out quickly before too much of the storm can get inside.
When he gets back, room keys in hand, Sam doesn’t look too good. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and he stares straight ahead at nothing.
Dean parks in front of the room, and he has to go around to pull Sam from the car. It’s like he’s turned into a motionless statue. Dean leads him to the door, praying it’ll be warmer than the Impala. It’s frigid inside. Cold from disuse but it’s a definite improvement. Dean settles Sam on one of the beds before heading towards the heater, turning it up and it clicks on with a soft hiss of life. When he turns back around, Sam’s right where he left him, not even making a move to get warm.
“Hey?” Dean demands, quickly going to his side. “Sam?” He snaps his fingers in front of his eyes. No response.
“Shit.” Dean whispers, grabbing up the blankets on the spare bed and draping them over his brother’s shoulders, calling his name and hoping it’ll wake him from whatever has a hold of him. Dean’s hands run over Sam’s arms, creating friction and heat.
“Sam!” Dean yells again, his skin brushes against Sam’s fingers and they’re freezing. “Jesus.” He mutters, taking both Sam’s hands and pushes his jacket aside, shoving them underneath the fabric of his shirt to rest over the heated flesh of his abdomen, cringing at the icy sting.
Sam takes in a deep shuddering breath, almost like he’s been underwater too long, and for the first time, his eyes focus to zero in on Dean’s face.
“Hey.” He whispers softly, one hand moving up to cup Sam’s cheeks while the other still holds his freezing limbs to his now-freezing stomach. They’re like ice cubes.
“Where did you go?”
Sam’s teeth are chattering and Dean’s not sure if he should take that as a good sign. At least he no longer seems numb and he’s moving now.
“M-most people d-don’t know he r-runs c-cold.” Sam stutters. “So c-cold it burns.” He finishes, eyes haunted. Dean has no idea what he’s talking about, but then he flashes back almost a year-and-a-half ago to a ransacked room in Detroit where Sam had said yes to the Devil.
“Most people don’t know I run cold.”
Sam’s remembering something about hell, and it’s been brought on by the weather? Dean has to get Sam warm, right the fuck now. As gently as he can, he removes Sam’s boots before peeling off the socks. They’re drenched from the short walk in the snow and his feet are an alarming shade of blue.
Dean panics. He hasn’t read a lot on frostbite, and he’s not about to leave his brother like this to go searching on the internet. He knows some, but not enough. Don’t heat the person too quickly, body heat is best. Dean wants to put Sam in a warm shower, wrap him up in blankets, anything to make him better now, but he has to do this right.
Sam’s arms fall from Dean’s stomach without Dean to hold them in place, and he’s back to staring at nothing again, muttering too softly under his breath for Dean to hear.
“Come on, Sam.” He calls, bending Sam’s knees until they touch his chest, and Dean does the same as he did for Sam’s hands, shoving them under his shirt, using the heat of his skin to thaw them. Sam and Dean gasp at the same time, one in relief, the other in discomfort. It seems to be the shock Sam needs, though.
“Are you with me again?” Dean demands and Sam manages a weak nod.
“Good. Keep your feet where they are, no matter how much it hurts, got it?” He asks, and Sam nods again. This is good. Being responsive is a good sign.
Dean bends over a bit to grab up Sam’s hands and this time he places them on the small of his back where his body heats like a furnace. Dean lets out the same shuddering gasp when cold flesh hits him and Sam has the indecency to worry more for him even though he’s the half-frozen one.
“Dean-”
“Just shut up and get warm.”
Sam does as he’s told, having no strength left to fight. He’s so tired, he wants to sleep and his lids flutter, excited by the idea.
“Don’t even think about it, Sam. You stay with me, you got that?”
Sam’s nodding automatically even though he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.
“Cold.” He whispers and he wants to cry but he doesn’t think his body can work right and produce tears.
“Shit.” Dean mutters. This isn’t enough. He needs to be doing more. The heater hasn’t even had a chance to fully heat the whole room and his own temperature is dropping just from trying to raise Sam’s.
“Hold on, Sammy.” He whispers, ripping his jacket off and tugging his shirt over his head. As quick as he can, he toes off his boots and pulls down his jeans along with his wet socks. He leaves his boxers on for now, even though they feel damp with the very cold itself.
“Your turn, Sammy.” He voices, tone going for reassuring. Sam’s limbs are stiff, and he’s not much help with undressing, but he tries and Dean appreciates that. Feels it like a warmth in his chest. Dean gets Sam down to his boxers as well before he’s pulling them both towards the center of the mattress. Sam’s shivering like a leaf on the wind when Dean pulls the blankets over them and then pulls Sam into his arms. Sam goes gratefully, latching onto Dean’s heat like a missile. Now that the covers are up, Dean covertly reaches down and yanks their boxers off and all the while Sam clutches him like a scared child.
“Get warm, Sam. Get warm.” He chants, even when it’s not aloud. Sam’s pressed to him completely from head to toe, and Dean throws his leg over Sam’s thigh, bringing them closer. Sam’s limp cock rubs against his own and Dean grits his teeth and bares it. He has to. It’s almost like torture being this close. Being so naked and yet having to hide at the exact same time.
“S’cold.” Sam whimpers again and it kills Dean inside because he feels so completely helpless.
“I know, Sammy, I know. It’ll get better, just give it time.”
Sam’s eyes are glazing again and Dean’s afraid of losing him. This can’t be caused by the cold alone. Dean was in the same snowstorm and he isn’t even half as affected as Sam is. This has to be about hell. About Lucifer and Michael taking turns on breaking Sam apart, piece by piece. Dean’s teeth sink into his lip until he can taste blood.
Dean feels hands on him then. Sam’s big paws moving down, seeking the place radiating the most heat…
“Sam!” Dean can’t help but squeal when Sam’s icy fingers wrap around his half-hard dick, sea-green eyes still fuzzy and distant, completely unaware of what he’s doing.
Sam’s stroking him, firm and strong yet gentle at the same time, and even though it feels like having ice cubes on his cock, he’s responding, hardening until he’s thick and full.
“Sam…you can’t-you gotta stop.” He begs half-heartedly, cause this is exactly what he’d been pining over not even a moment ago.
“You’re so warm, Dean. I-I need it.” Sam confesses and Dean’s eyes widen. He’s sure Sam doesn’t know what he’s asking for so he bats his hands away. Sam’s in his face then, growling for all intents and purposes like a territorial animal. He’s not really here with him. He’s in the pit, fighting for something-anything to hold onto. Dean sees it then. Something in his brother’s eyes flash with recognition, and he’s whimpering, almost cowering as he burrows his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and sobs softly, hands still striping his fully hard length.
“Please, Dean? Please? I need you! It wont go away! It wont-”
“Shhh.” Dean whispers, hands coming up to run through Sam’s hair. His body is shaking from the constant stimulation Sam is lavishing his dick with and he’s trying so hard to hold himself back. Keep himself in check.
“It’s okay, Sam. Tell me what you want.” He reassures and Sam’s mouthing at his neck, now. Words muffled on his skin.
“You’re so warm here.” He makes the observation with a firm squeeze to Dean’s member, and Dean can’t fight the arch of his hips into Sam’s hand. “Give it to me, Dean. Want to be warm, too. Make me warm?” Sam begs, and Dean’s pupils are blown wide at the very idea.
His brother wants him to fuck him.
“Sam-”
“Dean.” Sam interrupts, face no longer hiding, and they’re a breath apart. Sam’s ever-changing sea-green eyes staring into his emerald ones. There’s clarity there. Dean can see it. Sam knows what he’s asking. “Please, just touch me.”
Sam’s ice cold fingers wrap around his wrist, forcing his hand lower to cup his little brother’s half-hard cock and Dean sucks in a breath just as Sam does, feeling like there’s not enough air in the room.
Almost like it has a mind of its own, Dean hand begins to move along Sam’s dick. Exploring the inexplicably soft; yet hard, flesh of his brother’s arousal. Sam’s length is impressive, but even though he’s taller, Dean’s still as long as he is. Must be the genes. The thought is so wrong he almost stops, but Sam’s keening now. Making little breathy moans of approval as he continues to stroke Dean, matching his brother’s rhythm.
Sam’s hips snap to meet his fist and Dean’s do the same, but then his brother stops, face contorting into pain.
“S’cold, Dean. Still so cold.” Sam whimpers and Dean’s heart breaks a little more. “In here.” Sam lifts his palm and places it flat on his abdomen. “It always starts here.” He whispers, and to Dean, he’s six years old again, telling him about the monster under his bed, cause dad wont listen.
“Make me warm, Dean?” The request is like a plea. A little brother asking his older brother to make it all better again, and Dean wants to. Is going to.
“Okay, Sam. I’ll make you warm again.”
Dean’s lips cover his, and when Sam feels the heat of his mouth, he presses back hungrily. Greedily taking everything Dean has to give. Dean’s lips slant over Sam’s over and over again and Sam keeps up easily. Dean thrusts his tongue inside the cavern of Sam’s mouth. He tastes sweet here, like the lollipops he used to give him when they were kids. The taste is addicting and he fucks his tongue in and out, mimicking what he really wants to do. Sam arches into it and fucking moans down Dean’s throat. He can feel it in his toes.
Dean breaks off, traveling down Sam’s skin, mapping it like a well-driven road. Sam’s hands release Dean’s cock in favor of burying them in the short strands of his hair, anchoring his brother to him, as if Dean was going anywhere. He doesn’t want to be anywhere but here.
Sam sighs when Dean mouths at his neck, bites down on the vulnerable flesh near his collarbone, tongue circling his nipple before suckling it like he was a girl, but Sam’s pleasantly surprised by what it does to his body and he’s able to let it go. Dean takes his time with Sam, learning every muscle, every reaction to pleasure. Studying Sam like he was a rare find, and needed to be treasured. Sam’s a trembling mess in his arms, desperately wanting Dean to move down, down, down. But his brother stays vigilant. Tonguing every expanse of cold-pale skin he comes across, warming it with his touch and heat until it’s golden again.
“Dean, Please!” Sam can’t help but beg when his brother laps at his jutting hipbones like it’s crème.
“Yeah, okay Sammy.” Dean concedes, finally moving lower. Sam moans when he feels the sweet heat of Dean’s breath feather against his leaking cock.
“Spread your legs, Sam.” Dean commands softly and Sam’s lids flutter closed as he obeys Dean’s request.
“Not gonna touch your dick.” He informs him and Sam’s eyes snap back open.
“You’re warm enough here, already. Don’t want you to come just yet.”
“Dean!” Sam flat out whines, dignity be damned.
“Don’t worry, Sammy. I’m gonna make you warm.” Dean reassures and Sam shivers from something other than the cold. Dean’s hands grip his thighs then, spreading him even wider and Sam’s just about to ask what for when he feels it. Dean’s tongue, languidly circling his hole, getting him slick and wet before stiffening to a point and thrusting in, taking all that saliva and coating his insides with it.
Sam’s back is off the bed, mouth a silent ‘O’ of pleasure. He never knew. He never-
Dean’s tongue swirls and flicks teasingly, thrusting in mercilessly, fucking Sam and Sam fucks back onto his face. Dean’s never done anything like this. He tried it a few times on some of the women he’s been with, and they all seemed to like it well enough after getting over the initial embarrassment, but Sam? Sam takes to it like it’s as essential as breathing, and his responses alone are enough to give Dean a kind of high. He’s the one doing this to Sam. He’s responsible.
Sam tastes heavy here. Tangy, like those sour gummy things he used to be addicted to, and just like Sam was addicted to the sweets, Dean’s addicted to Sam. It’s all going to be too much too if he doesn’t slow down. He would be content to eat Sam to completion, but he wants more for their first time. In case it’s their last. Dean pulls his face away, and Sam tries to bare down to keep him there, groaning when he’s unsuccessful, but he’s back to moaning when Dean thrusts in a finger, instead.
“Jesus Sam, you’re so wet.” Dean marvels. “Fucking tight, too.”
Sam’s moan sounds like an, “Mmm-hmm.” and it’s so elicit that it’s just like the pornos Dean likes to watch. Dean thrusts his finger in and out, slowly at first, before gaining speed.
“You want more?” Dean asks and Sam nods so violently he’s afraid that he’ll cause damage, so Dean quickly adds in a second finger, stretching Sam’s rim around the digits and it’s such a fucking beautiful sight.
“Wish you could see yourself like this, Sammy. Wanna come from just watching you.” His fingers create a scissoring motion, and Sam’s eyes are wide now, staring into Dean’s with trust, want, loyalty…love. It’s all there, and Dean’s fingers slam into his brother with abandon when he sees it. Sam’s whimpering from pleasure now, his cock leaking so much pre-come Dean gets distracted by the steady drops. He pulls out his fingers, and Sam groans in protest, suddenly feeling too empty and the cold creeps back up on him.
Sam’s just about to complain when Dean’s finger dips into the slit of his cock, gathering any liquid he can find before going back down towards his stretched hole and shoving all that pre-come up his ass. It’s so fucking hot, the idea of Dean taking his own fluids and using them as lubricant, pushing it back inside like he’s some kind of whore. Sam almost comes, but Dean’s fingers are there, wrapping around the base of his dick and staving off his orgasm. His eyes squeeze shut, and tears leak from the corners of his eyes at being denied for so long.
“Please.” It’s the only thing left he knows how to say. Words are beyond him at this point. Dean takes a look at his handy work and smiles to himself. Sam’s skin is no longer that pale sickly-looking blue. Instead, it’s back to it’s natural golden hue, but even better it’s spotted in pink, flushed with Sam’s arousal and it's not the cold he's shaking from anymore.
Dean places his fingers at Sam’s mouth with the whispered command of, “Suck,” and Sam does so, no fight. No questions. Sam arches off the bed when Dean shoves three fingers into his hole without warning. They just sit there, not moving from the initial thrust, and Sam fidgets on the end of them.
“God Sam, you love this, don’t you? Look at how you squirm on my fingers. Want to see you do that on my cock, Sammy. Wanna watch you come from me pounding into you.”
Dean’s fingers crook, and Sam sees stars. He knows he’d be fucking done if Dean just touched that spot a few more times, but maddeningly, Dean pulls both sets of finger out. The ones from his ass as well as his mouth. The saliva slick fingers he uses to wrap around his own dick, and Sam moans in jealousy as he watches Dean stroke the angry red length till it glistens with spit. Sam’s just about to reach down when Dean’s moving again.
Dean’s body flattens against Sam’s and Sam takes his weight easily. They fit together alarmingly well, like two jagged pieces of a puzzle that become smooth once connected.
“Wrap your legs around me, Sammy.” Dean instructs, hoping it’ll make the angle somehow more pleasurable. Sam’s legs come up, thighs wrapping securely around Dean’s hips.
“Please.” Sam begs again, it’s what Dean’s reduced him to.
“Okay, baby. Okay.” Dean promises, mouth closing over his. Sam’s never been kissed like this before. Dean kisses just like he lives. With everything he has. Sam’s never been dominated before, either. He’s never had to place his trust so fully in someone when being intimate. When he was with others, he didn’t experiment in certain things, never allowed himself to be in a weak position, just in case. But with Dean…
Everything’s different with Dean.
Sam feels it then. The bulbous head of Dean’s cock, pressing incessantly against his hole until it gives, sucking Dean inside like he belongs there. Sam cries out. Not from pain, but in wonder. He can feel every hot inch of his brother’s flesh searing his insides as he slowly presses in. It’s almost like it goes on forever, but then he feels Dean’s balls press against the cleft of his ass and when he bottoms out, he still wants more.
Sam’s eyes are wide as they unapologetically search Dean’s face. He’s sweating, eyes clenched as he struggles to remain still. To let Sam adjust.
“Please?”
There’s that whispered plea again.
“Christ Sam, I’m trying to give you time-”
“Please?”
It’s all Dean needs, yanking out before slamming back in and Sam arches into it, begging for more, needing it. His hands grip the hard muscle of Dean sweat-slick back, trying to find purchase before finally allowing his nails to sink in. To mark and draw blood, and that idea makes them both shudder, the thought of bruising and marking and claiming.
Dean’s own hands travel down to Sam’s ass, gripping each cheek to spread them apart obscenely and he watches as his own dick sinks into Sam’s stretched hole, rim blinking in the light from all the lubricant, almost winking at him.
“Fuck, you should see yourself, Sam. Look, Sammy. Open your eyes. See what I’m doing to you?”
Sam opens his eyes. Doesn’t want to, because he feels so close to losing it, losing everything until he’s empty. But Dean asked him, so…
Sam’s eyes peak down his body where his brother’s cock disappears over and over again inside him.
“Dean!” Sam cries out, clenching his eyes shut and refusing to open them again. Since Sam obviously can’t look, Dean describes it to him in detail.
“Every time I go to pull out, it’s like you try to suck me back in, greedy for more. You want more, Sam?” Sam nods, still not opening his eyes.
“And the noises you make.” Sam can hear it. The almost embarrassing wet squelching noises every time Dean moves in and out.
“You’re stretched so wide to take me, but it didn’t seem to phase you. Think you can take more?” His fingers feather over his entrance, right up against the puckered-out skin where his dick brushes. The pads of his digits push, adding pressure, but they never penetrate.
Sam can’t take much more. His mind is in a state of chaos. Equations float by, memories flash, and it almost feels like dying, or being born, all these things making themselves clear until they vanish and he’s left clueless once again. Dean’s fingers leave his pink and abused hole in favor of pushing his ass-checks together, restricting his passage. Sam screams, world blacking out at the delicious friction. At Dean’s cock so hot and hard and pronounced inside of him and that’s it. He’s fucking done.
Sam writhes on the end of Dean’s cock, coming in spurts as Dean continues to fuck his tightened passage, milking him through it, each thrust stabbing his prostate with scary precision, almost like Dean has a map to the thing. Sam’s still coming, and Dean’s the one not letting him stop. The stimulation is too much. Borderline painful but Sam’s so fucking grateful. So fucking full.
Sam’s cock gives a twitch, but he’s leaking dry now as Dean continues to pound away at his ass. He’s loose and pleasantly fucked out and it’s warmer, now. It’s just not as warm as Sam wants to be.
“So fucking beautiful when you come, Sammy. So fucking good for me.” Dean grunts, cock-head still tagging his sweet spot and making him twitch with continuous waves of pleasure. He can’t believe he came without Dean touching him once. It’s impressive, he has to admit, and he wants his brother to know what it feels like. Dean has to know.
Sam’s got his finger in his mouth, and Dean’s thrusts become erratic just from that sight alone. It’s not fucking fair just how irresistible his little brother is. Sam’s finger leaves his mouth with a resounding, ‘Pop,’ and Dean’s too distracted by his glistening lips to track where it’s going. Dean leans back down to kiss Sam when he feels it. His brother’s got a sweet-slick finger circling his entrance before it sinks in completely. Sam’s got big, long fingers and Dean’s body shudders.
“Sam-”
Sam crooks his finger than, and it's so sweet it has Dean coming like it was a trigger switch, cock pulsing as it shoots load after load after load into Sam ass, right up against his prostate, and there. Right there is what Sam needed. He feels it. The scorching heat of Dean’s release, warming him up from the inside until he knows that he cold can never touch him again.
They’re both shaking, coming down from the high of orgasm as Dean pets him soothingly and Sam clutches him like he’s riding out a wave. His sweat is starting to cool on his body, and Dean’s jizz is leaking out of his abused hole, turning cold as the seconds tick by, but it doesn’t matter. Not with Dean pressed warmly against him, arms wrapped lovingly around him and he feels a heat that goes deeper than skin.
“You okay?” Dean whispers quietly, and they’re kids again, whispering in their shared bed as their father sleeps in the one next to them.
Sam’s eyes struggle to stay open, so content he can fall asleep like this. Sweaty, a mess, and with Dean, just as sticky pressed against him. It’s perfect.
“S’warm.” Sam slurs, lazy smile gracing his kiss-swollen lips, and Dean’s own eyes crinkle in amusement, showing crows feet and laugh lines and Sam can’t help but stare in wonderment at how beautiful his brother is.
“Night, Dean. Love you.”
“Love you too, Sammy.” Dean answers, and even though Sam’s eyes have finally given up the fight to stay open, he still feels it when Dean pulls the blanket up and over them. Still feels it when Dean pulls him on top of his chest and wraps his arms tightly around him. Sam can hear Dean’s heartbeat under his ear, and he can still feel the heat Dean gave him, thawing the ice and keeping the memories at bay.
THE END
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Date: 2011-03-06 10:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-06 10:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-06 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-07 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-06 05:26 pm (UTC)Positively gorgeous! I loved the idea that Sam would have been tortured with extreme cold, as well as fire. And, the way Dean "warmed" him, from the inside out, was very steamy. Loved it.
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Date: 2011-03-07 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-06 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-07 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-07 11:00 am (UTC)I don't think I've ever made somebody speechless before! I'm glad you liked it! Thank you for the lovely comment!
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Date: 2011-03-09 05:05 am (UTC)