Second

Author: Yari (yanjari)

Rating: R – for vague porn/masturbation

Pairing: Wincest/ unrequited

Words: 498

Spoilers: After ‚imtod'- ep. AU

Summary: Sam remembers

A/N: It took me a lot of uncertainty and several days to finally get this little plotbunnie down. I really hope it hasn't been done before, because the possibility was just so obvious to me...

Second

Dean would've called him emo kid, and a big, fucking push-over, if he were to see it. But Dean isn't , he isn't, which makes his eyes blur and his thoughts spiralling, while soon ,gone', becomes dead and forfeited and unreachable and just taken, taken, taken.

There's bile in his throat, coarse sheets rustling too loud in his ears. The dingy motel room appears slightly unreal, all hard plains, shadows and glaring lights. He stumbles over empty shells and piles of used clothes, tracing worn, warm leather, his bare foot steps on the EMF, sickening crunch, doesn't matter, the damn thing is broken anyway.

Slow red flickering, he doesn't realise he's falling, but then there's the cool wooden floor knocking the breath out of him.

Something sticky and decidedly uncomfortable is clinging to his left cheek, can't determine if it's beer or blood, could even be tears or vomit for that matters, but somehow he just can't find himself to care. Dean would have killed, if...

In his mind it's like turning the switch on a twisted slideshow of what could've been and what ifs. Dean smiling at him, wattage nearly burning the trees around them to crisps. Dean on the hood of the Impala, the same car that now waits before the motel, shiny as new, because Sam had insisted that Dean would ask for it, would if he wasn't dead anyway.

Dean, drunken gaze slithering across him. Dean, long bloody smear on his cheek, rifle in hand, looking so damned ‚right', like that was exactly who he was meant to be. Dean, reaching for him over the small space between them, reaching.

He's hard and straining already, Dean, flicking him the bird, lazy grin, devilish glint in his eyes.

Hands scrambling for the zipper of his jeans, rush of fresh, cool air, sweetest thing ever. Slowly easing himself under the waistband of his boxers, cotton sliding against him. And Dean, pulling him down on his back, warm hands inexpertly soft on his belly.

Eyes sliding shut, but he can't keep the feeling inside, coiling and twisting behind his ribcage, ripping itself from his throat in a strangled, animalistic moan. Dean, laying open-mouthed kisses onto his jaw, his cheeks, head tilted in rapt concentration , a worn, calloused hand sliding between his legs and gripping. Quicksilver smile, green eyes widening just a fraction and that is all it takes for Sam to come, hard.

When he gets his breathing back under control he just feels cold, stickiness on his fingers, feels so wrong, goddamned lot like being cheated. The hands he brings to his mouth are wet and red, the taste and smell of copper and cum nearly making him choke.

The light flickers and dies down, just as the broken EMF cackles and whines. Sam drags himself to his feet, slowly, every muscle in him screaming, and he crushes the damn thing under the weight of his bare foot, splinters digging into his sole.

Just another thing he's broken.