There's nothing forbidden anymore. No boundary, no grey area, just Sam and Dean doing whatever they have to do to be together, and fuck everything else. If Dean ever has the shadow of a thought about protecting Sam or doing the right thing, it's gone with the first touch of Sam's skin on his. It's a race to the bottom and both of them want to win, sibling rivalry and closeness morphed into something harder and darker.
They leave marks on each other, marks of possession -- "You're mine," Sam might say, clawing at Dean's side hard enough to draw blood, and Dean would only grin and arch into it and the next moment he'd be biting at Sam's lip, tasting the blood.
Or Sam might say, "I want," stretched out helpless under Dean, and Dean wouldn't need to ask what, he'd just take what he himself wanted. Bury himself deep inside Sam, bite hard at the exposed curve of his neck, dig his fingers into his hips -- and Sam would give it all, take it all, without needing to be asked, his nails and teeth leaving their own marks, their own bruises.
Or there might be no words at all, and handcuffs and rope and knives and fucking and coming, and if humanity ever flickered in Sam, a need to ask if Dean's okay, it dies again fast -- lost in the savage joy on Dean's face, lost in his tight heat.
"Anything you want," Sam says, a promise, and it's not a lovesick sweet nothing, it's the truth, because there's nothing to stop them anymore.
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Date: 2009-06-24 10:30 pm (UTC)They leave marks on each other, marks of possession -- "You're mine," Sam might say, clawing at Dean's side hard enough to draw blood, and Dean would only grin and arch into it and the next moment he'd be biting at Sam's lip, tasting the blood.
Or Sam might say, "I want," stretched out helpless under Dean, and Dean wouldn't need to ask what, he'd just take what he himself wanted. Bury himself deep inside Sam, bite hard at the exposed curve of his neck, dig his fingers into his hips -- and Sam would give it all, take it all, without needing to be asked, his nails and teeth leaving their own marks, their own bruises.
Or there might be no words at all, and handcuffs and rope and knives and fucking and coming, and if humanity ever flickered in Sam, a need to ask if Dean's okay, it dies again fast -- lost in the savage joy on Dean's face, lost in his tight heat.
"Anything you want," Sam says, a promise, and it's not a lovesick sweet nothing, it's the truth, because there's nothing to stop them anymore.