Your Hands Weave Stories
Mar. 18th, 2011 06:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ohsamTitle : Your Hands Weave Stories
Author : Meigun-Blaze
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Rating : NC-17
Word Count : 1008
Warnings : None
Disclaimer : I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS STORY!
Summary : Sam’s got a thing for Dean’s hands.
Sam knows he’s supposed to be looking into the death of Valerie Bryant, and he’s usually very good at concentrating and staying focused, especially with an interesting case like this one, but when it comes to Dean, all bets are off. He’s trying to hide behind his laptop. Force his face to stay on the screen, but his rebellious eyes skitter away until they find what they really want to see.
Dean.
It happens every seven seconds or so. Sam reads maybe a paragraph, mind registering only a word or two, a sentence if he’s lucky. Then it’s right back to staring at his brother again. Attention caught like Dean is doing amazing things, when in fact, he’s only cutting his fingernails.
Sam’s always had a thing for Dean’s hands. He’s come in his pants before, just from watching Dean clean the guns, or work on the Impala. One of the best orgasms of his life was when he witnessed him make an E.M.F. detector out of an old radio. Dean’s always been clever at stuff like that. Finding old and broken pieces of scraps, only to work them over with those hands. Change it. Make something new and useful and ten times better than it was before.
Sam no longer bothers with the pretense of reading the article, and openly stares at him. Dean knows he’s looking, and the little smirk that shows in the corners of his lips is proof enough for Sam that Dean’s teasing him on purpose now. He’s on his bed, trashcan pulled up in front of him, catching the little clippings that fall away as he presses down on the metal, adding pressure to the nail before it snaps off and Sam grows hard in his jeans.
Dean knows just how much Sam loves his hands. Everything about them. The way they hold a bottle of beer, how it differs from the way he draws his gun, takes aim, and squeezes the trigger. He knows just how Dean likes to hold his knife. Knows what those hands look like covered in engine grease. What they look like covered in come, gripping his cock so tight that he’s on the verge of exploding. And Sam knows what his hands feel like. How the calloused fingers create a beautiful contrast to the soft skin of his palm. Sam has kissed every inch of Dean’s hands, and he’s begged more times then he can count for those same fingers to be inside him.
Dean always gives Sam what he wants, and last night, Sam had sucked on Dean’s fingers for almost five minutes straight, eyes rolled up the entire time and loving every minute of it. When Dean couldn’t handle anymore, he’d taken his slicked up fingers out of Sam’s mouth and thrust them up his ass, fucking into him repeatedly.
Sam’s eyes had widened. They did every time when Dean did this, only this time, it was different. Sam’s eyes had been shocked, almost borderline pain, and that’s when Dean saw it. His fingernails were too long and caught on the skin of Sam’s rim, creating a slice, small, but big enough to draw blood.
Dean tried to withdraw immediately, but Sam gripped his wrist and stilled his hand, keeping him there, squirming on the end of his fingers, moaning like never before and Dean was ensnared. Sam wanted this. Wanted the pain mixed with the pleasure. It was the contrast he craved, like with Dean’s hands. The soft skin coinciding with the rough patches.
“Please?” He begged. “Keep going.”
And Dean had; of course, given in, moving down between Sam’s cheeks to use his tongue and lap at the cut he had created. Sam had lost it than, hips trying to fuck against his brother’s face as he came long and hard.
Dean stubbornly refused to keep his fingernails, though, even when Sam swore that he didn’t mind.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sammy. No matter how much you like it.”
And, yeah, Sam had been disappointed…
But it was also a hell of a turn on. Because Dean’s hands? His strong, powerful, quick-as-a-bullet hands? Could touch Sam with a softness that went against everything Sam knew about his brother. He’s seen Dean kill with his bare hands before. Snapping bones as easily as if they were twigs. But with him? Dean’s so gentle, sometimes. So careful and loving and Sam knew that he was the only one. The only one that Dean had ever treated so preciously.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” Dean asked, smirk growing bigger, eyes still focused on his hands, even though he was finished with his nails.
Sam got up, chair scraping back against the faded worn carpet, and Dean did look at him then. Eyes narrowing in confusion at the scheming look on Sam’s face.
“I know that I’m about to be doing something. Really. Good.” Sam promised, slowly moving in towards Dean and he smiled.
“Oh really?”
“Really.” Sam answered, pushing Dean down to the bed and Dean went willingly, letting Sam move him however he pleased. Sam loomed over him, slowly moving down until his skin hovered over Dean’s, brushing briefly like a phantom whisper and Dean shivered, eyes fluttering closed. Lashes ridiculously long as they caressed over his pale freckled cheek.
“Sam?” He whispered, lids staying closed and Sam quieted him.
“Let me take care of you now.” Sam offered, hands making a grab for Dean’s, lifting them to his lips to kiss both palms and each individual finger.
“Let me?”
Dean’s eyes were wide as he stared up into Sam’s, and he could do nothing but nod, giving into him once again.
Sam placed one last kiss to Dean’s hands before placing them down on the bed to rest by his head. Sam took in his fill, gaze drinking in the rest of his body, and he could find countless things, big and little things on Dean’s form to love. Every inch of skin told a story. A freckle here, a scar there. Dean was gorgeous, everywhere, and Sam set about showing him just how much he was loved.
THE END
Author : Meigun-Blaze
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Rating : NC-17
Word Count : 1008
Warnings : None
Disclaimer : I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS STORY!
Summary : Sam’s got a thing for Dean’s hands.
Sam knows he’s supposed to be looking into the death of Valerie Bryant, and he’s usually very good at concentrating and staying focused, especially with an interesting case like this one, but when it comes to Dean, all bets are off. He’s trying to hide behind his laptop. Force his face to stay on the screen, but his rebellious eyes skitter away until they find what they really want to see.
Dean.
It happens every seven seconds or so. Sam reads maybe a paragraph, mind registering only a word or two, a sentence if he’s lucky. Then it’s right back to staring at his brother again. Attention caught like Dean is doing amazing things, when in fact, he’s only cutting his fingernails.
Sam’s always had a thing for Dean’s hands. He’s come in his pants before, just from watching Dean clean the guns, or work on the Impala. One of the best orgasms of his life was when he witnessed him make an E.M.F. detector out of an old radio. Dean’s always been clever at stuff like that. Finding old and broken pieces of scraps, only to work them over with those hands. Change it. Make something new and useful and ten times better than it was before.
Sam no longer bothers with the pretense of reading the article, and openly stares at him. Dean knows he’s looking, and the little smirk that shows in the corners of his lips is proof enough for Sam that Dean’s teasing him on purpose now. He’s on his bed, trashcan pulled up in front of him, catching the little clippings that fall away as he presses down on the metal, adding pressure to the nail before it snaps off and Sam grows hard in his jeans.
Dean knows just how much Sam loves his hands. Everything about them. The way they hold a bottle of beer, how it differs from the way he draws his gun, takes aim, and squeezes the trigger. He knows just how Dean likes to hold his knife. Knows what those hands look like covered in engine grease. What they look like covered in come, gripping his cock so tight that he’s on the verge of exploding. And Sam knows what his hands feel like. How the calloused fingers create a beautiful contrast to the soft skin of his palm. Sam has kissed every inch of Dean’s hands, and he’s begged more times then he can count for those same fingers to be inside him.
Dean always gives Sam what he wants, and last night, Sam had sucked on Dean’s fingers for almost five minutes straight, eyes rolled up the entire time and loving every minute of it. When Dean couldn’t handle anymore, he’d taken his slicked up fingers out of Sam’s mouth and thrust them up his ass, fucking into him repeatedly.
Sam’s eyes had widened. They did every time when Dean did this, only this time, it was different. Sam’s eyes had been shocked, almost borderline pain, and that’s when Dean saw it. His fingernails were too long and caught on the skin of Sam’s rim, creating a slice, small, but big enough to draw blood.
Dean tried to withdraw immediately, but Sam gripped his wrist and stilled his hand, keeping him there, squirming on the end of his fingers, moaning like never before and Dean was ensnared. Sam wanted this. Wanted the pain mixed with the pleasure. It was the contrast he craved, like with Dean’s hands. The soft skin coinciding with the rough patches.
“Please?” He begged. “Keep going.”
And Dean had; of course, given in, moving down between Sam’s cheeks to use his tongue and lap at the cut he had created. Sam had lost it than, hips trying to fuck against his brother’s face as he came long and hard.
Dean stubbornly refused to keep his fingernails, though, even when Sam swore that he didn’t mind.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sammy. No matter how much you like it.”
And, yeah, Sam had been disappointed…
But it was also a hell of a turn on. Because Dean’s hands? His strong, powerful, quick-as-a-bullet hands? Could touch Sam with a softness that went against everything Sam knew about his brother. He’s seen Dean kill with his bare hands before. Snapping bones as easily as if they were twigs. But with him? Dean’s so gentle, sometimes. So careful and loving and Sam knew that he was the only one. The only one that Dean had ever treated so preciously.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” Dean asked, smirk growing bigger, eyes still focused on his hands, even though he was finished with his nails.
Sam got up, chair scraping back against the faded worn carpet, and Dean did look at him then. Eyes narrowing in confusion at the scheming look on Sam’s face.
“I know that I’m about to be doing something. Really. Good.” Sam promised, slowly moving in towards Dean and he smiled.
“Oh really?”
“Really.” Sam answered, pushing Dean down to the bed and Dean went willingly, letting Sam move him however he pleased. Sam loomed over him, slowly moving down until his skin hovered over Dean’s, brushing briefly like a phantom whisper and Dean shivered, eyes fluttering closed. Lashes ridiculously long as they caressed over his pale freckled cheek.
“Sam?” He whispered, lids staying closed and Sam quieted him.
“Let me take care of you now.” Sam offered, hands making a grab for Dean’s, lifting them to his lips to kiss both palms and each individual finger.
“Let me?”
Dean’s eyes were wide as he stared up into Sam’s, and he could do nothing but nod, giving into him once again.
Sam placed one last kiss to Dean’s hands before placing them down on the bed to rest by his head. Sam took in his fill, gaze drinking in the rest of his body, and he could find countless things, big and little things on Dean’s form to love. Every inch of skin told a story. A freckle here, a scar there. Dean was gorgeous, everywhere, and Sam set about showing him just how much he was loved.
THE END
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