Fic: Anticipation
Jun. 27th, 2014 05:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cowboyguyAnticipation
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: rated H for horny Winchesters. Dean has a sneezekink. Don't like? Don't read.
Summary: Written as a fill for this prompt in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tarotgal's commentfic meme -- Sam gets a crazy long amount of warning before he's about to sneeze. This is fantastic when they're sneaking around and they're at risk of his allergies alerting someone or something to they're presence, and not so fantastic when it's the middle of the night in Spring, his tickling nose is keeping him awake and Goddamn it he just wants to sneeze! Discuss.
It’s quiet in the Impala. The last hunt hadn’t ended well — sure, they’d taken care of the ghost, but the local PD hadn’t been too happy about two trespassers digging up a historic graveyard — and they’ve been driving all day just to put more distance between them. It’s past 11:00 now, Sam notices from the clock on the dashboard. He looks over to Dean, whose face is lit by the intermittent orange glow of highway streetlights. Dean is blinking rapidly, with that dazed but intense look on his face that means he’s focusing on nothing but the road. They’re both on the edge of passing out, so Sam signals for him to take the next exit, and they pull into a motel parking lot across the street from a 24-hour diner.
Sam stumbles out of the car, stamping his feet against the pavement until he feels like he’s standing on solid ground again. After almost twelve hours of non-stop driving, walking feels weird and disconnected. Even the air is making him tired. It’s a warm spring night, and the air is heavy with humidity, like it’s about to rain, even though Sam can’t see any clouds. It just makes his body feel more sluggish. He stifles a yawn, turning to look at Dean over the roof of the car. “Pillow. Bed. Now.”
Dean actually does yawn, but shakes his head. “Nah, not yet. I’m starving. Wanna grab some food?” He jerks a thumb across the street, to the little diner with a couple of cars still in the parking lot.
Sam shrugs and nods. “M’kay.” He shuffles after his brother. He looks both ways before crossing the street, like a good little boy who doesn’t want to get hit by the one car that might still be out on the road. They trudge up the sidewalk, past a couple of overgrown flower beds outside the front entrance, and head inside.
* * *
Inside the diner, they grab an empty booth in the front corner, next to one of the open windows that isn’t actually doing much to cool the place down, and mumble their orders at the waitress who looks as exhausted as they probably do. She heads off to get their drinks, and Sam leans his head back against the wall with a tired sigh. Dean’s resting his chin in the palm of one hand, elbow propped against the table like he’s just trying to keep himself upright. He starts playing with the sugar packets, stacking them up into lopsided towers until they topple and slide across the laminate tabletop.
A warm breeze flows through the open window, bringing with it the heavy, earthy scent of the flowers outside. Sam sniffs quietly, staring out at the nearly-empty parking lot.
The waitress brings their drinks back, and Sam takes a sip of his glass of water. There’s a slight tickling feeling in his nose and the back of his throat, and he sniffs again, more loudly this time.
Dean immediately looks up at the sound, watching him. Sam just clears his throat and rubs his fingers distractedly under his nose, trying to chase away the tickle.
“Sam?” Dean says quietly, low enough that the trucker at the bar and the teenage couple at the other end of the restaurant can’t hear him.
“Huh?” Sam says, blinking.
“Are you— do you have to—?” There’s a certain tone to Dean’s voice that Sam doesn’t often hear, longing but hesitant.
Oh. Right.
Sam had forgotten about Dean’s… particular preference.
He reaches up and tries to close the window, but it’s stuck. And the more he thinks about it, the more he does have to sneeze. “I don’t know, maybe,” he tells Dean, rubbing his itchy nose again. The longer they sit here, the stronger the scent of flowers gets. Problem is, no matter what, Sam’s sneezes always take forever to actually happen. He draws in a careful breath, nose twitching a little.
Dean leans in closer. His eyes are wider, more alert, watching Sam’s every movement. “Are you seriously going to do this to me right now?” His voice is low, a little desperate with wanting.
Sam huffs out a hitched breath, equal parts frustrated and distracted by the building sensation in his nose. “Sorry, it’s just… something’s… huh… getting to me.”
Dean’s definitely paying attention now, eagerness in his voice and his broad grin. “Well, you certainly know how to wake a guy up,” he says.
Sam can’t help but smile back, shaking his head a little in disbelief. He’s still exhausted, not really in the mood to do anything but go to sleep, but Dean is focused, all his energy reappearing just like that.
The waitress interrupts, setting plates of food down in front of them, and they’re both distracted for a moment. Sam looks down at his BLT, and the congested feeling behind his eyes shifts. “Uh… huh…” He holds up a hand, eyelids fluttering closed, and sucks in a couple of hitching breaths. And then it’s gone again. The tickle fades, and Sam shakes his head, breathing out.
Dean looks a little disappointed as he picks up his burger, eyes shifting back and forth between Sam and his food.
“Sorry,” Sam apologizes quietly.
Dean shrugs, trying to look nonchalant about it, but Sam can still see the need in Dean’s eyes. They eat without talking, the silence only interrupted by Sam’s frequent sniffles and hesitating breaths as the feeling builds and then fades again.
He swallows the last bite of his sandwich, and then finally, finally, he can feel it. The tickle gets so strong, and he sucks in a breath, mouth open as he tries to just let the sneeze happen before it disappears again. “Uh… I… hhh… ehhh…” He cups his hands in front of his face, hunching forward with a shuddering sneeze. “ahhh…HHHRSCHH-UHHH!”
Beneath the table, Dean’s knee jerks against his leg. Sam opens his eyes, sniffing desperately, to find Dean with his wallet out, tossing a handful of cash onto the table. He jumps out of the booth and grabs Sam, hauling his brother out of the diner behind him.
* * *
Apparently the first sneeze was only the beginning, because as they head back across the street to the motel, Sam is sniffling like crazy, the itch intensifying until he feels like he’s constantly on the edge of sneezing. As soon as the door closes, Dean pounces on him with a growl, hands fisting in the fabric of Sam’s shirt. He slams Sam up against the wall, and then Dean’s mouth is on his, kissing frantically like he can’t get enough.
Sam brings his hands up against the back of Dean’s head, long fingers running through the scruffy hair at the base of Dean’s neck, pulling his brother closer. Dean moans quietly, voice muffled against Sam’s skin.
Sam’s breath hitches again as the need to sneeze grows.
“Dean… need a ti-hhh…” He reaches out a hand toward the tissue box on the nightstand.
“No,” Dean murmurs, lips pressed to the skin of Sam’s throat. “I want that feeling to build… and build…” He reaches a hand under the waistband of Sam’s boxers, and Sam gasps, rocking forward into Dean’s touch. “I want to see the look on your face…”
“Ohh…” is all Sam can say as Dean’s hand wraps around his cock, stroking in time with Sam’s desperate breathing. “Hhhh…guh— gonna—” His nose twitches, and Dean reaches his other hand up to lay a finger against the side of Sam’s nose, the pressure against his cheekbone making the urge subside for a moment.
“Not yet, Sammy,” Dean whispers, pressing himself against Sam, grinding against his brother through layers of denim. His teeth catch on Sam’s jaw, nipping at the line of stubble. “Remember what I said?” he grins into Sam, breath ghosting across his skin.
Sam nods with a half-swallowed moan.
Dean’s hard against him, and deliciously firm in all the right places, muscles toned from a lifetime of hunting. Sam wants to help, to reciprocate, but he’s too busy trying to coax the sneeze out, taking shallow half-breaths, trying not to lose the sensation that’s hovering right on the edge. And he thinks Dean can probably take care of himself. So Sam braces against the wall and lets him go to work.
Dean keeps up an even rhythm, hand working Sam, and every feeling in Sam’s body gets stronger and more intense until he feels like he’s floating on the tide, waiting for the wave to crash. Dean reaches up and traces a finger along every part of Sam’s nose, teasing the sensitive skin until Sam has to turn away, his head rocking back against the wall with a soft thump.
“Wa— wait—” Sam stutters. Dean slows and goes still, pulling back to watch Sam struggle to get control of his breathing. He wants so badly just to sneeze, to feel that release, but he’s trying to hold it for as long as he can. For Dean.
He doesn’t last more than a couple of seconds.
“Ngh… need you…” Sam begs, pressing Dean’s hand back down. Dean tightens his grip around Sam’s cock and starts to tease at his nose again with light touches and feather-soft kisses, keeping Sam right there on the edge until the itch is so strong he can’t stand it anymore.
Sam inhales with a whimper. “Dean— now—”
Dean leans back, eyes wide with desire, and Sam pitches forward with a massive sneeze. “HHGGHSHSHHH!” He buries his face into Dean’s shoulder, gasping, as Dean crushes Sam against him. “HHRSCHSHHHH!”
Dean thrusts against Sam’s thigh with a muted groan as he loses it, arching forward to press Sam back into the wall. The friction of denim against skin sends Sam over the edge and he explodes, a guttural sound of relief ripping from his throat as his vision whites out.
When Sam starts breathing again, they’re tangled together, breathing heavily, bodies rocking back and forth into each other. Sam breathes out a shuddering sigh, burying his face into the fabric of Dean’s shirt and then tugging it aside to get at Dean’s collarbone.
He feels Dean’s fingers against the hem of his shirt, asking permission, and Sam nods, shoulders rolling with the movement as Dean pulls Sam’s arms out of his faded plaid button-down.
“I’m not tired anymore,” Dean grins, tugging Sam’s t-shirt up over his head. “What about you?”
Sam plants a firm hand on Dean’s chest and pushes his brother back until his legs hit the bed and he collapses onto it, pulling Sam down with him.
“Not one bit,” Sam replies.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: rated H for horny Winchesters. Dean has a sneezekink. Don't like? Don't read.
Summary: Written as a fill for this prompt in
tarotgal's commentfic meme -- Sam gets a crazy long amount of warning before he's about to sneeze. This is fantastic when they're sneaking around and they're at risk of his allergies alerting someone or something to they're presence, and not so fantastic when it's the middle of the night in Spring, his tickling nose is keeping him awake and Goddamn it he just wants to sneeze! Discuss.It’s quiet in the Impala. The last hunt hadn’t ended well — sure, they’d taken care of the ghost, but the local PD hadn’t been too happy about two trespassers digging up a historic graveyard — and they’ve been driving all day just to put more distance between them. It’s past 11:00 now, Sam notices from the clock on the dashboard. He looks over to Dean, whose face is lit by the intermittent orange glow of highway streetlights. Dean is blinking rapidly, with that dazed but intense look on his face that means he’s focusing on nothing but the road. They’re both on the edge of passing out, so Sam signals for him to take the next exit, and they pull into a motel parking lot across the street from a 24-hour diner.
Sam stumbles out of the car, stamping his feet against the pavement until he feels like he’s standing on solid ground again. After almost twelve hours of non-stop driving, walking feels weird and disconnected. Even the air is making him tired. It’s a warm spring night, and the air is heavy with humidity, like it’s about to rain, even though Sam can’t see any clouds. It just makes his body feel more sluggish. He stifles a yawn, turning to look at Dean over the roof of the car. “Pillow. Bed. Now.”
Dean actually does yawn, but shakes his head. “Nah, not yet. I’m starving. Wanna grab some food?” He jerks a thumb across the street, to the little diner with a couple of cars still in the parking lot.
Sam shrugs and nods. “M’kay.” He shuffles after his brother. He looks both ways before crossing the street, like a good little boy who doesn’t want to get hit by the one car that might still be out on the road. They trudge up the sidewalk, past a couple of overgrown flower beds outside the front entrance, and head inside.
* * *
Inside the diner, they grab an empty booth in the front corner, next to one of the open windows that isn’t actually doing much to cool the place down, and mumble their orders at the waitress who looks as exhausted as they probably do. She heads off to get their drinks, and Sam leans his head back against the wall with a tired sigh. Dean’s resting his chin in the palm of one hand, elbow propped against the table like he’s just trying to keep himself upright. He starts playing with the sugar packets, stacking them up into lopsided towers until they topple and slide across the laminate tabletop.
A warm breeze flows through the open window, bringing with it the heavy, earthy scent of the flowers outside. Sam sniffs quietly, staring out at the nearly-empty parking lot.
The waitress brings their drinks back, and Sam takes a sip of his glass of water. There’s a slight tickling feeling in his nose and the back of his throat, and he sniffs again, more loudly this time.
Dean immediately looks up at the sound, watching him. Sam just clears his throat and rubs his fingers distractedly under his nose, trying to chase away the tickle.
“Sam?” Dean says quietly, low enough that the trucker at the bar and the teenage couple at the other end of the restaurant can’t hear him.
“Huh?” Sam says, blinking.
“Are you— do you have to—?” There’s a certain tone to Dean’s voice that Sam doesn’t often hear, longing but hesitant.
Oh. Right.
Sam had forgotten about Dean’s… particular preference.
He reaches up and tries to close the window, but it’s stuck. And the more he thinks about it, the more he does have to sneeze. “I don’t know, maybe,” he tells Dean, rubbing his itchy nose again. The longer they sit here, the stronger the scent of flowers gets. Problem is, no matter what, Sam’s sneezes always take forever to actually happen. He draws in a careful breath, nose twitching a little.
Dean leans in closer. His eyes are wider, more alert, watching Sam’s every movement. “Are you seriously going to do this to me right now?” His voice is low, a little desperate with wanting.
Sam huffs out a hitched breath, equal parts frustrated and distracted by the building sensation in his nose. “Sorry, it’s just… something’s… huh… getting to me.”
Dean’s definitely paying attention now, eagerness in his voice and his broad grin. “Well, you certainly know how to wake a guy up,” he says.
Sam can’t help but smile back, shaking his head a little in disbelief. He’s still exhausted, not really in the mood to do anything but go to sleep, but Dean is focused, all his energy reappearing just like that.
The waitress interrupts, setting plates of food down in front of them, and they’re both distracted for a moment. Sam looks down at his BLT, and the congested feeling behind his eyes shifts. “Uh… huh…” He holds up a hand, eyelids fluttering closed, and sucks in a couple of hitching breaths. And then it’s gone again. The tickle fades, and Sam shakes his head, breathing out.
Dean looks a little disappointed as he picks up his burger, eyes shifting back and forth between Sam and his food.
“Sorry,” Sam apologizes quietly.
Dean shrugs, trying to look nonchalant about it, but Sam can still see the need in Dean’s eyes. They eat without talking, the silence only interrupted by Sam’s frequent sniffles and hesitating breaths as the feeling builds and then fades again.
He swallows the last bite of his sandwich, and then finally, finally, he can feel it. The tickle gets so strong, and he sucks in a breath, mouth open as he tries to just let the sneeze happen before it disappears again. “Uh… I… hhh… ehhh…” He cups his hands in front of his face, hunching forward with a shuddering sneeze. “ahhh…HHHRSCHH-UHHH!”
Beneath the table, Dean’s knee jerks against his leg. Sam opens his eyes, sniffing desperately, to find Dean with his wallet out, tossing a handful of cash onto the table. He jumps out of the booth and grabs Sam, hauling his brother out of the diner behind him.
* * *
Apparently the first sneeze was only the beginning, because as they head back across the street to the motel, Sam is sniffling like crazy, the itch intensifying until he feels like he’s constantly on the edge of sneezing. As soon as the door closes, Dean pounces on him with a growl, hands fisting in the fabric of Sam’s shirt. He slams Sam up against the wall, and then Dean’s mouth is on his, kissing frantically like he can’t get enough.
Sam brings his hands up against the back of Dean’s head, long fingers running through the scruffy hair at the base of Dean’s neck, pulling his brother closer. Dean moans quietly, voice muffled against Sam’s skin.
Sam’s breath hitches again as the need to sneeze grows.
“Dean… need a ti-hhh…” He reaches out a hand toward the tissue box on the nightstand.
“No,” Dean murmurs, lips pressed to the skin of Sam’s throat. “I want that feeling to build… and build…” He reaches a hand under the waistband of Sam’s boxers, and Sam gasps, rocking forward into Dean’s touch. “I want to see the look on your face…”
“Ohh…” is all Sam can say as Dean’s hand wraps around his cock, stroking in time with Sam’s desperate breathing. “Hhhh…guh— gonna—” His nose twitches, and Dean reaches his other hand up to lay a finger against the side of Sam’s nose, the pressure against his cheekbone making the urge subside for a moment.
“Not yet, Sammy,” Dean whispers, pressing himself against Sam, grinding against his brother through layers of denim. His teeth catch on Sam’s jaw, nipping at the line of stubble. “Remember what I said?” he grins into Sam, breath ghosting across his skin.
Sam nods with a half-swallowed moan.
Dean’s hard against him, and deliciously firm in all the right places, muscles toned from a lifetime of hunting. Sam wants to help, to reciprocate, but he’s too busy trying to coax the sneeze out, taking shallow half-breaths, trying not to lose the sensation that’s hovering right on the edge. And he thinks Dean can probably take care of himself. So Sam braces against the wall and lets him go to work.
Dean keeps up an even rhythm, hand working Sam, and every feeling in Sam’s body gets stronger and more intense until he feels like he’s floating on the tide, waiting for the wave to crash. Dean reaches up and traces a finger along every part of Sam’s nose, teasing the sensitive skin until Sam has to turn away, his head rocking back against the wall with a soft thump.
“Wa— wait—” Sam stutters. Dean slows and goes still, pulling back to watch Sam struggle to get control of his breathing. He wants so badly just to sneeze, to feel that release, but he’s trying to hold it for as long as he can. For Dean.
He doesn’t last more than a couple of seconds.
“Ngh… need you…” Sam begs, pressing Dean’s hand back down. Dean tightens his grip around Sam’s cock and starts to tease at his nose again with light touches and feather-soft kisses, keeping Sam right there on the edge until the itch is so strong he can’t stand it anymore.
Sam inhales with a whimper. “Dean— now—”
Dean leans back, eyes wide with desire, and Sam pitches forward with a massive sneeze. “HHGGHSHSHHH!” He buries his face into Dean’s shoulder, gasping, as Dean crushes Sam against him. “HHRSCHSHHHH!”
Dean thrusts against Sam’s thigh with a muted groan as he loses it, arching forward to press Sam back into the wall. The friction of denim against skin sends Sam over the edge and he explodes, a guttural sound of relief ripping from his throat as his vision whites out.
When Sam starts breathing again, they’re tangled together, breathing heavily, bodies rocking back and forth into each other. Sam breathes out a shuddering sigh, burying his face into the fabric of Dean’s shirt and then tugging it aside to get at Dean’s collarbone.
He feels Dean’s fingers against the hem of his shirt, asking permission, and Sam nods, shoulders rolling with the movement as Dean pulls Sam’s arms out of his faded plaid button-down.
“I’m not tired anymore,” Dean grins, tugging Sam’s t-shirt up over his head. “What about you?”
Sam plants a firm hand on Dean’s chest and pushes his brother back until his legs hit the bed and he collapses onto it, pulling Sam down with him.
“Not one bit,” Sam replies.