Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5951611.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Snippets
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-08 Completed: 2016-02-14 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 2663
****** Stuck In A Moment ******
by Juul
Summary
     Snippets written for Wincest Love Week 2.0 for Willingwinchester
Notes
     I’ll warn at the beginning of each ficlet that requires it for nsfw
     content. Also, all of these writings are unbeta’d, so I apologize in
     advance for any and all mistakes I overlooked. Mostly, I apologize to
     Sam and Dean for toying with them to amuse myself. This collection is
     entitled Stuck In A Moment That’s a title I stole from a U2 song
***** Every Little Hair Knows Your Name *****
Monday (8th) - Things they love about each other
Every Little Hair Knows Your Name - Jens Lekman
 
It’s so hard, too hard, to pick only a handful of things he loves about Dean,
Sam thinks. He loves everything about Dean. Maybe that’s because Dean is his
everything. The first thing that comes to mind is his voice, that deep dark
rumble that caused so much knee wobbling and confusion in Sam’s brain as soon
as it started to drop. There’s the way it whispers reassurances and promises of
love and compliments, but also the way Dean’s voice can lie so smoothly, just
because he’s a cocky smart-ass son of a bitch. Of course, there’s also all of
the filth that spills out of Dean’s mouth on occasion, the kind that makes Sam
go completely crazy. Dean has the freckles, and the eyes, and the steady hands
that never shake under pressure, and he’s got this way about him when he’s
talking to children, and he’s got this smile on his face whenever he’s working
on the Impala, and he’s got this crazy way he sings along to Tainted Love on
the radio, just because it’s their song. Sam loves Dean’s his voice most of
all.
Here’s the thing. For the first seventeen years of his life, Dean never once
considered himself gay. But then there was Sammy all of a sudden, becoming tall
like a weed and lanky and awkward and generally being a fourteen-year-old, and
everything changed for Dean. He fell in love. Real, honest-to-God devoted hart
throbbing love, the kind he always used to scoff at on TV. He fell in love with
his scrawny little squirt of a brother. He fell in love with hazel eyes, and
unruly brown hair, and the hogging of the covers, and the way he whines
“Deeaaan,” whenever Dean pesters him. He fell in love with long clumsy fingers
and eager chapped lips and he fell in love with the rustling of pages in the
back of the Impala, and with soft, gentle snores. Five years later, Dean fell
in love all over again. That second time, it was less like sparks and more like
lava, when Sam suddenly became hard planes and angles and lean muscle and broad
shoulders. Two thick upper arms that can pin Dean in place easily. If you asked
him, he’d say he loves both Sams equally. Secretly, they both know that the
broad shoulders completely undo Dean. Sam works out just to tease him some
mornings.
***** Soul Love *****
Soul Love - David Bowie
Dean was looking at the fluorescent green numbers on the digital alarm clock,
mentally counting down the seconds. 11:59:56, 11:59:57, 11:59:58, 11:59:59, 00:
00. His wrist was already bared, and Dean immediately looked down at the pale
skin. He felt a burning sensation, like someone was etching the name into his
skin. The name, what was it? He couldn’t quite make it out yet. He squinted in
the soft lamplight, tried to breathe slowly and stay calm, and then suddenly
the writing became clear and calm flew out the window.
The inside of Dean’s wrist said “Sam Winchester” in neat, familiar, loopy
script.
Dean had turned sixteen thirty seconds ago. As promised, the name of his
soulmate had appeared on his wrist at exactly that moment. His soulmate was his
brother. There was a loud knock on the door and an excited yelp.
“Who is it, Dean? Who is it? Can I come in yet? Please?”
Dean hastily yanked his sleeve down and murmured “Yeah,” in a grave tone.
“Who is it, Dean? Who is it?”
Dean didn’t have to feign the tears in his voice when he said: “The writing’s
black, Sammy, whoever it is is already dead.”
Sam gave him a pained look, but Dean wasn’t paying attention. The knowledge
that he was exactly as much of a sick fuck as he’d always feared, that the
evidence of it was branded on his skin, was eating away at him. He had four
years to figure out what to do.
***** Fluorescent Adolescent *****
Fluorescent Adolescent - Arctic Monkeys
Warning: kind of nsfw, discussion of sexual topics. Sam’s fifteen, so underage,
but there’s no actual sexual contact.
“D’you wanna play truth or dare?”
Dean raised his eyebrows. No, he did not want to play truth or dare with his
more than mildly intoxicated fifteen year old brother. He did not. He was a
fucking adult now, damn it. Sam’s eyes were big and brown and they seemed to
glow in the soft light of the streetlamp outside.
“Yeah, sure, Sammy, whatever you want.”
Sam’s grin lit up the whole room. “Truth or dare?”
“Uhm,” shit, this was such a bad idea, “truth, I guess.”
“Tell me one of your wank fantasies.”
The question came out so quickly that Dean was sure Sam had been sitting on it
for a good long time.
He scoffed. “Whaddaya mean? Tits and stuff. Why? What are your wank fantasies?”
He was sure he hadn’t quite hit the right note between teasing and curious,
because Sam eyed him oddly.
“That’s not what I meant, dumbass. I meant, in detail.”
Dean was silent.
“Last night, Dean. When I heard you jerk off. What were you thinking about?”
Another beat of silence, then: “Fucking someone from behind in the backseat of
the Impala.” He said it quickly, as though that would make it easier, and he
didn’t meet Sam’s eyes.
Sam nodded, and made a little movement under the table. Was he touching
himself?
Christ.
“That’s all I wanted to know. You ever feel like telling me who it was, I’m
kinda curious.”
“Go to bed, Sam.”
Dean downed the rest of the whiskey and he slept on the couch that night. He
could hear the soft breathy sounds of Sam jerking off, and tried very very hard
not to imagine what his brother might be thinking.
***** Truth Hits Everybody *****
Thursday (11th) - truth spell
Truth Hits Everybody - The Police
Warning: kind of nsfw, some dirty talk.
“So, do you want to get a burger somewhere?”
They were in the Impala and dinnertime was approaching. They’d just ganked a
nasty witch and Dean felt like celebrating with greasy food. Sam’s answer took
him by surprise.
“No.” It was firm and certain and Sam looked a little surprised himself. Dean
raised his eyebrows.
“Well then, smart-ass, whaddayawant?”
“I want to take you back to the motel room and peel off all your clothes and
lick the sweat off the back of your neck.”
Dean gaped over at Sam. The car swerved out of the lane for a few seconds, but
Dean managed to keep them on the road.
“What?”
Sam was blushing, he’d closed his eyes as though he was ashamed, but none the
less he repeated in a clear voice: “I want to take you back to the motel room
and peel off all your clothes and lick the sweat off the back of your neck.”
“Sam, are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine, Dean. I’ve just had more than enough of always looking at your
gorgeous lips and never kissing them.”
“Sam. What the fuck?” Dean was getting uncomfortable now. What the hell had
happened to the considerate, demure little brother he knew? Why was Sam
suddenly saying these things?
“Sam, why do you say that?”
Sam looked at Dean helplessly. “Because it’s true.”
Shit. Shit. God fucking damn it. Dean banged both hands against the steering
wheel hard when the thought occurred to him. “Sam. You’ve been hit with a truth
spell.”
“What?”
“Come on, dude. Try telling me your name is Abraham Lincoln or something.”
Sam opened his mouth and drew in a big breath, but no sound came out. He turned
bright red.
“Dean,”
“It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“But… did you hear those things I said just now?”
“Yes,” Dean said. It was time for him to be honest, especially because he could
be sure Sam would return the courtesy. “I wouldn’t…” he hesitated. “I wouldn’t
object to any of those things you just mentioned.”
Uncomfortable, hot silence filled the car for a few minutes. Eventually, Sam
asked:
“Really?”
“Yeah. In fact, can I ask a couple’a more questions?”
Sam swallowed and didn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he nodded.
“How long have you wanted that?”
Sam’s response was immediate and clear: “Since I was thirteen. Oh my fucking
God.”
Dean nodded, trying to hide some of his shock and excitement. “And what exactly
do you want?”
Sam’s words came so quickly it was like they were tripping over one another. “I
want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. I want to suck your dick. I want to
kiss you until your lips are swollen. I want to hear every sound you make when
I make you feel good, Dean. I could make you feel so good.”
Dean pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. He couldn’t get them back to the
hotel room fast enough.
***** Nowhere Is Home *****
Friday (12th) - Curtainfic
Nowhere is Home - The Dexys
It wasn’t a surprise to either of them, in the end, when Dean suggested it. Sam
always wanted to settle down, always. It was an unspoken fact, an unfulfilled
desire he managed to suppress until Dean was ready. Then, when he was, it was
completely up to him to say so.
They picked a town almost at random, not too far north to be cold but not too
far south to be hot. Someplace, Dean demanded, where there was a decent
steakhouse. Someplace, Sam demanded, where there was a decent bookstore.
The house had an honest to God white picket fence, and they spent a fortune on
all the things Dean wanted. Sheets with a ridiculous thread count and fluffy
towels and one of those insanely complicated shower heads. Sam ran more credit
card scams the month they moved in than he had in all those years on the road.
He pulled it off, though, and they could retire and rest easy. Sam figured it
was about time, Dean was starting to get old, and society owed them, so what
the hell.
The sign on the door read “Dean Winchester and Sam Campbell,” and they told all
the neighbors they’d been married eight years. Dean got an exact replica of his
ring made and Sam never took it off except to do the dishes.
In the morning, Dean would sleep in. Sam would go downstairs in sweatpants and
fry up a couple of eggs. He squeezed fresh orange juice every morning. Then he
took everything up to Dean and they ate in bed. Some mornings there’d also be a
newspaper on the tray, and Dean couldn’t help but scan it for hunts
occasionally. When he spotted one, he messaged someone. Someone who wasn’t
them.
They lived happily ever after.
***** 6. Tenderness On The Block *****
Saturday (13th) - Undercover couple
Tenderness On The Block - Warren Zevon
It started out as a joke. Of course, like everything in a hunter’s life, it
ended up dead serious. Dean had dropped out of school three states ago, but
he’d pick Sam up from every school every afternoon, leaning against the side of
the Impala and grinning.
His mere presence made the girls whisper to each other and the boys turn loud
and boisterous. Dean would spread his arms and Sam would hasten towards him,
fuck what people thought of them, and hug Dean and smell him just for a second
and be grateful that the schooldays was over.
“What’re they whisperin’ about, Sammy?” Dean asked one afternoon after Sam had
walked around the hood of the car to climb in the shotgun seat.
Sam snorted. “They think you’re my boyfriend.”
Dean laughed. “They think that? The hell?”
“It’s actually kinda awesome,” Sam said, eyes trained on the footwell. “All the
boys respect me and the girls all want to hang out with me because everyone’s
got a crush on you.”
“Everyone?” Dean laughed a bit more, wiggled his eyebrows.
The next day when Dean picked Sam up from school, he picked his brother off the
ground, pushed him against the door of the car and kissed him on the mouth.
That was the way it started; as a joke, maybe. But as soon as Sam started
kissing back and opened his mouth a little to let Dean in, it became dead
serious.
***** 7. My Funny Valentine *****
Sunday (14th) - Valentine’s Day
My Funny Valentine - Elvis Costello
It was their relationship’s worst kept secret that Sam was a sappy romantic.
The second worst-kept secret was how much Dean loved that about him. Dean had
always known Sam was a romantic, had seen it when he wrote Valentine’s Cards to
girls in primary school, and sent them roses in junior high. The way he took
them out to dinner at Italian places and always, always paid for it no matter
how broke they were. Sam was a traditionalist, and Dean knew it.
When they were younger, Sam’s romantic tendencies had often been the butt of
Dean’s jokes. But as they grew older, those little gestures started making Dean
uncomfortable, because he secretly wanted all those things for himself. He
wanted Sam to hold doors open for him and bring him home little presents and
shit, but Sam only did those things for his girlfriends, the girls he
fleetingly romanced behind the bleachers of whatever high school they were at
that month.
It was only a few years later that everything had changed. That they had been
hurt and drunk and Dad had only been dead for a month and it was all the
permission they needed to start kissing, clumsy and eager like teenagers.
Exactly a week after that, Sam bought a box of chocolates at a gas station and
put them in Dean’s seat while he was in the restroom. Dean didn’t comment. He
grinned broadly, leaned over the console and kissed Sam, right there in the
front seat of the car, in broad daylight.
It became something of a tradition after that. They would celebrate
anniversaries; weeks at first, then months and six months and years and
decades. They’d also celebrate birthdays. Most important, most celebrated of
all, was Valentine’s Day. It went something like this: They would buy each
other presents, splurge on a real hotel room with a bathtub large enough to fit
two grown men, and spend the evening together like that, surrounded by bubbles
and other decadent shit that Dean scoffed at but secretly loved.
Sam’s favorite part of the evening was when they crawled into the king sized
bed, warm and relaxed, Sam as the little spoon, and Dean would whisper in his
ear all the reasons he loved him.
Sam tried to remember all of the reasons, but the list had grown too long for
that a few years back. Here were the one that stood out, though:
Dean loved Sam’s eyes.
Dean loved the way Sam talked to victims and witnesses, the way he made all of
his boisterous gigantic presence kind and gentle and un-intimidating when the
situation called for it.
Dean loved the way Sam laughed when they saw a dog.
Dean loved Sam’s hair
He loved his hands.
He loved the way Sam always slept more peacefully in the Impala than anywhere
else.
He loved the way Sam looked when Dean first pushed into him, like the pleasure
of it was a surprise each time.
He loved Sam’s voice, especially when it got rough from drink and late nights
and shouting Dean’s name.
He loved the way Sam always unpacked his alarm clock, no matter what motel room
they were staying at or how long they were staying there, like the stupid clock
made the place his somehow.
He loved that Sam had written in Sharpie, on the underside of the clock where
he thought Dean wouldn’t see; “Sam and Dean forever.”
Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he was a bit of a romantic himself.
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