Because we're finally getting some warm weather 'round these parts, and that's as good an occasion as any for some porn.
"Turns the Road Into Water, Then From Water to Sky."
Summary: "He would never admit to this, how he always reaches for you when he wakes up; you would never admit to loving it." Lazy, sunny, motel sex.
NC-17, Sam/Dean. About 1,200 words. No spoilers; stick it anywhere you want.
The motel’s curtains are too thin. You squint as you open your eyes, dappled late-afternoon sunlight warm where it plays across your leg. He sighs beside you, unconsciously flexing his hand on your hip, sleepily possessive. You smile and close your eyes again, settling back into the comfortable groove your bodies have left in the cheap mattress.
Then the lock clicks and you lift your head again. The light hadn’t woken you, you realize, the housekeeper coming down the hallway had, and she takes just a half step inside before looking up and seeing you.
The bed closest to the door is piled with your duffels and mud-stained clothes from last night’s job but is otherwise untouched; the bed you’re in, however, is trashed. The sheet is tangled between your bodies, leaving long, sunlit tracts of skin bare and you just know your ass is out and probably noticeable fucked from last night but you can’t care too much, it’s too warm and too perfect and you just blink at her. Hey, good morning.
She squeaks and jumps, almost drops her keys, is back out the door so quickly that he only opens his eyes in time to catch the snap of the door locking and her hurried, disappearing footsteps. You roll over to face him, grinning into the pillow. Think we missed checkout, he murmurs, hands warm and dry where they move across your skin. Probably, you say back, forehead nestled against his shoulder, smooth and strong. He touches your cheek, fingers tilting your chin up and thumb across your lips before he kisses you, soft and lazy. He’s more affectionate than he would be if you were both fully awake, but now, mollified by sleep and sex and the aging sun through the curtains, he laces fingers through your hair, thumb stroking reassuringly over your cheekbone. He would never admit to this, how he always reaches for you when he wakes up; you would never admit to loving it.
You break off and swear you can sense his smirk. Guess we’re stuck here another night, sliding his hand down your shoulders, into the dip at the small of your back. Looks like, you say, biting your lip when he halts his touch just above sensitive skin, a shiver running down your spine at the memory of his tongue there.
Think we can find something to occupy our time, he continues. Give that maid something to squeal about, and you gasp and grip his arm when he presses a finger inside you. Fuck, Sammy, he laughs breathlessly. Still loose.
Dean, you bite out. He’s barely got the first knuckle in but he knows every spot to hit, how to do it perfectly. Presses a little farther, hooks his finger and you can’t help rocking down to meet him. Fuck, Dean, too—Too much, too early, even though the sunlight is quickly dying into dusk. Too good, too perfect, even though the thrill in your spine every time he touches you should make you roil with guilt instead of growl with want. But need more, is all you say, all you whisper-rasp in his ear, against his skin. Need more, need you, god, Dean…
Shh, Sam, I got you, he grunts back, rough and still sleepy despite the adept, practiced movement of his fingers. I got you. Roll over.
Shit, you curse quietly, heel of your hand against the base of your cock, not yet, want it slower. You obey, roll over to face the window and he curls his body around yours and sighs unconsciously into the familiar warmth, another occurrence he would probably deny later. You breathe in sharply when his cock presses against your ass, thick and hard and god, Sam, I want… He trails off, lips and teeth and tongue on that spot behind your ear.
Can still feel you, you rumble back, and he whines a little. Want you, c’mon-
Yeah, he grunts and slides a thigh between yours, spreading your legs a bit more, the head of his cock hitting just there. And then he pushes up as you shift down and it’s fuck yes perfect.
He shudders around you—god Sammy, you’re… fuck, so hot, fuck, Sam—and then thrusts again, slow rhythm burning and hot and fuck, so good, hurts just enough and you’ll feel it later, tomorrow when you’re sitting in a roadside diner a hundred miles away, surrounded by middle-aged waitresses and senior citizens who will smile at such nice young men and you’ll smile back, you’ll smile back and shift in your seat and feel his cock inside you, bite your cheek to keep smiling because you can’t take him the way you want to, jerk him off under the table just to wipe away that fucking smirk on his face because he knows exactly the pain you’re in-
You gasp sharply and goddammit, Dean, goddammit, please, just and you lose thought, tomorrow, tomorrow, all you can feel is now—pressure and heat and slow, steady burn and yeah, Sammy, so good. He reaches around and takes your painfully hard cock and you almost sob in relief. Roughened palm and strong fingers and the cool of his ring sliding along you and god, god yes, can’t even make words anymore, just whimpers. He’s moving faster, fingers flexing, growling in your ear a litany dirty and tender, fuck, Sam, too—love you like this, opened up for me, makes me so hard to see you marked up, god so beautiful, you’re so… fuck, so perfect… yeah, you like that? You feel so good, god so hot, want you, Sammy, c’mon, come for me.
And you can’t help obeying, pressure building and coming is like white-out, only aware of his gravelly voice right behind you, stubble scraping against your jaw and you gasp his name into the pillow, ride it out while he’s still moving inside you, slow and easy as you come down, soothing kisses across your neck. You have to blink a few times once the wave is over, realize he’s still hard inside you.
Dean, you pant, hoarse and low and sex-sated and it makes him groan, start moving faster again. You turn your head to kiss him, lips brushing as you speak. C’mon, Dean, fuck me, want you to come inside me.
Fuck, Sam, he rumbles, complete loss of control and you can feel it, hear it when his voice stumbles over your name and he buries his face in your shoulder when he comes, teeth nipping at your neck as he mouths your name again, half-moaning it.
You’re both still breathing hard when he comes down, noses gently against your neck. You hold in a snort at his post-coital affection, reach down to pull the sheets higher despite the warmth he’s generating, the sun you’ve orbited around all your life, steady and protecting. He slides his leg around yours tighter, locking your bodies together. Cuddler, you accuse softly, amusedly.
He bites at your jaw, tongue laving across the mark ardently. Shuddup, he murmurs, hardly paying your comment mind as he wraps an arm around your waist. Go to sleep, Sam.
You grin but comply, settling into his embrace. The sunlight is fading, will set soon, but for now shines dying-gold against your skin, his skin, entwined.