Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2073891.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-03 Words: 1614
****** Born out of Dreams ******
by EllaStorm
Summary
     Late at night Sam wakes up in the middle of a storm, left with the
     lingering images of a dream about Dean. Words slip over his lips that
     he never should have said out loud. Dean listens.
Sam woke up to the noise of raindrops cracking against the window with the
force of bullets and the sound of the storm outside that seemed to be trying to
enter the building with its insistent, erratic howls. The motel room was
immersed in darkness, and Sam shifted on his bed, trying to find a more
comfortable position to lie in. His heart was beating fast and his pillow was
damp with quickly-cooling sweat – that must have been what woke me up, he
thought, not the rain or the wind. Another nightmare.
But as soon as he turned on his belly, feeling the scratch of the bedsheet
beneath his bare thighs and involuntarily grinding his nether regions against
the mattress he realised that he was wrong. Oh. Not a nightmare. All of a
sudden a picture flashed before his inner eye, something out of a dream, foggy
and incoherent, out of context – but still – if that’s what he had been
dreaming about… Sam shifted again, trying to suppress a groan, and buried his
face in the pillow, holding his breath as long as he could. What the fuck is
wrong with you, Sam? Eventually he had to come back up for air, gasping as
quietly as possible, before he rolled around on his side, taking the friction
away from his cock, so it would maybe, maybe, decide to leave him alone. He
closed his eyes – and opened them again immediately, because the pictures came
back, dancing beneath his closed lids, taunting and teasing the parts of his
consciousness that were not completely awake just yet. Goddamn. Being dragged
back to his senses like that, at least partially, Sam finally came to the
conclusion that it was probably best to get it the fuck over with, so he could
rest, instead of lying around with a raging hard-on between his legs, waiting
for sleep that would never come. Even if the things that he had dreamt about,
the things that had made him hard in the first place, were completely twisted.
Then don’t think about them. Think about something else.
Sam sighed as he slipped one hand into his boxers, and followed his own advice,
let his thoughts drift, carefully avoiding the dangerous corner of his mind
containing the pictures that were forbidden. The pictures that only came out
when Sam was not in control of himself. He clenched his jaw and thought of that
girl in his class, Kelly, thought of her sparkling blue eyes, of her lush lips,
what it would feel like to kiss them, what it would feel like to slip a hand
beneath her shirt and caress her skin, her breasts, her nipples, how she would
look on her knees, mouth wrapped around his cock, those lush lips and green
eyes – blue eyes, Sam, her eyes are blue.
But it was too late. The images from his dream had snuck back into his mind,
silently, persistently, and Sam was too far gone to be able to shut them out.
Suddenly Kelly’s eyes were indeed a vivid green and her hair was cropped and
spiked up with too much gel, and she wasn’t on her knees any more, no, she was
crowding Sam against a wall now, dull gold hanging from her neck on a leather
cord as she gripped his ass and pushed her hips against his, whispering
delicious filth in his ears in a harsh, deep voice. You like that, baby boy?
Want me to fuck you? Lay you out on the bed and have my way with you, pound
your sweet little ass so hard you can’t sit for a week? Sam stroked his cock
faster, rhythm speeding up, and a silent moan escaped his lips when his thumb
found the bundle of nerve endings right beneath the head. Yes, Dean, ohmyGOD,
just do it, do it, FUCK me.
His eyelids fluttered close and open again, but he didn’t see, not really, lost
in that different reality, that reality where his brother wanted him, needed
him, loved him like that. “Do you really want me to do that?” Sam froze,
stilling his movements completely at the raspy voice next to him, a voice
directly from his fantasy, inserted into the Here and Now.
Ohfuckinghellpleaseno, please let this not be real, please let this not be him.
He should have known better. The universe was never that merciful. “Sammy?”,
the voice demanded. He opened his eyes – and probably would have jumped out of
bed right thereafter, hadn’t his bones suddenly turned into a jelly-like
substance, seeping out of him and into the mattress, leaving his body behind as
a molten wreck, while his heart jackhammered against his ribs, like it wanted
to break out and bounce over the floor into the next corner.
A Dean-shaped silhouette stood looming over him, so close that he could smell
it, that mixture of leather and motor-oil that seemed to follow his brother
everywhere, even into bed, and that was better than any girl’s perfume in this
world could ever be. He saw me. He HEARD me. “I-“, Sam managed, but his voice
gave up on him. He felt like he was going out of his mind, forgetting what was
up and what was down, all of him focused on his brother, thoughts circling,
making his head spin, the sound of rain and storm from outside dying down,
muted. “You said it out loud, you know”, Dean explained calmly. “Guess you
didn’t notice. But”, he paused, “do you really want me to do it?”
Sam still found himself unable to speak, but somehow his body went back online
before his mind could make a decision, and his hand twitched upwards, grabbing
the next thing it could, which happened to be the front of the shirt Dean slept
in, warm, soft fabric. Dean let himself be pulled downwards, and then, how is
this possible, lifted the covers and climbed into Sam’s bed, all heat and scent
and warm skin over muscles and bones. “I suppose” A hand found Sam’s cheek,
rough fingertips on smooth skin, stroking softly, reverently. “That’s an
answer.”
And then there were lips on Sam’s, full lips, lips he had dreamt about at night
and never let himself think about in the harsh light of day, but somehow the
darkness made those forbidden things possible, made it possible that Dean was
actually kissing him, deep and slow, made it possible for him to kiss back, let
his tongue slip in and twist his fingers into Dean’s hair. He didn’t know how
much time passed in this magic space between sheets and endless possibilities
from one second to the next, before Dean’s hand crept lower, from his cheek
over his neck, his chest, in the direction of heat and bloodhard flesh. “Tell
me no”, he whispered against Sam’s lips. “Tell me no and I’ll stop, little
brother.”
A shiver ran down Sam’s spine at these words, and all he was capable of doing
was to kiss Dean, hard, gripping the back of his head and biting his bottom lip
in a wordless expression of do it, when his hand glided into Sam’s pants,
wringing a whimper out of his throat. “’S it good? Like you imagined?”, Dean
asked, his voice barely there, rougher than sandpaper, skilful fingers on his
cock making noises pour out of Sam’s mouth that sounded just as desperate and
needy as he felt. “You gonna come for me? Just like this?” Dean’s forehead
pressed against his, words silent and drawled out. “Gonna come with my hand
down your pants, making all those dirty little sounds?” And Sam lost it, world
whiting out at the edges, warm, sticky splatter of come soaking his underwear,
and an endless loop of DeanDeanDean sighed out into the dark room, echoed
between the walls, circling back and forth.
“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean’s hand left him, but his lips found Sam’s again, bringing
him back to earth; and Sam kissed back, wishing for a crazy, stupid moment that
he could crawl in under Dean’s skin and stay there, to feel forever like this,
forever part of him, forever whole. “Wanna make you come, too”, he breathed, as
soon as they let go of each other for a second. “You don’t have to – Jesus.”
Sam’s fingers slid down Dean’s boxer-briefs without further ado, wrapping
around him. It felt strange to have another man’s dick in his hand, like the
angle was all messed-up, but the feeling passed, and to know that Dean was
making these pretty moans because of him was more than amazing.
It didn’t take very long to bring Dean off, make him spill in hot spurts over
Sam’s fist, half-growling, half-gasping out his name; and afterwards they
kissed again, languidly, spent, unable to form words or to get out of bed once
more to clean up. Dean’s hand was tangled in Sam’s hair, and Sam’s face was
mashed into his brother’s side, his mind trying to find a way to wrap around
this incomprehensible thing that had just happened, something born out of
dreams and wrapped into layers of darkness, never meant to be real, to be this,
to be them. After a while he just gave up and accepted it, accepted that
impossible things happened during the night. Whatever was to come in the
morning – this, here, now was a carved-out piece of heaven he would store
safely in his head and heart, never to be lost, never to be forgotten.
The rain kept painting the windows in splashes of broken water, and the storm
kept howling, but Sam fell asleep only seconds later, his brother’s heartbeat
in tune with his own.
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