smalltrolven (smalltrolven) wrote,

Fic: Aubade (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 10 of 10

Back to Part 9


“I believe you, that you meant it all,” Dean said. “C’mon, you know I’m an idiot about all this stuff.”

Sam finally turned around and looked at Dean. He sighed and suddenly looked so weary and tired, and like he was about to drop his box. Dean jumped up from the bed and took the box from his brother. He set it back on the table and led Sam to his side of the bed. The one he used to sleep on when they regularly shared a bed. It had to be a good sign that Sam let him, right?

He started to take Sam’s outer shirts off, but Sam’s hands circled his wrists, stopping him.

“You’re fucking exhausting, you know that?” Sam asked with a put-upon sigh.

“We’re both pretty high-maintenance, dude. You’d think you’d know that already, sheesh,” Dean teased, twisting his hands in Sam’s grip. Sam walked him backwards until Dean’s back was against the wall. Dean’s stomach did a flip at the familiar possessiveness in his brother’s eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing that.

“You’re mine, Dean, you know that, right?” Sam growled against Dean’s neck, nipping at the skin in several places.

Dean squirmed in his hold, gasping at the pain and pleasure assaulting him. “Yeah, I do. I’m yours, Sammy, always been yours.”

Sam stopped then, pressing his body against Dean’s, holding Dean’s arms against the wall above his head, his hands still tight around Dean’s wrists. “And who can say the same thing about me?”

“I can?” Dean asked.

“Make that into a statement instead of a question, and then maybe we’ll be getting somewhere,” Sam said with a slight growl of impatience.

“You’re mine too, Sammy,” Dean said, twisting his hands out of Sam’s grip and grabbing at Sam’s neck, twisting them into his hair. He brought Sam down to his level so he could take his lips. They were his again, his to taste and feel. His to lavish all the long, breathless kisses he’d missed all this time. All that stupid time wasted. He tried to put all of that into how he kissed Sam now.

“I believe it, I believe you,” Sam said, his hips making the case with a rhythmic pulse of delicious friction. It was almost enough until it wasn’t. Sam stepped back and Dean almost cried out at the loss. Then Sam’s hands were back, and taking off Dean’s clothes, piece by piece, slow button by slow button. His own hands tried to do the same but Sam stepped back, out of reach. “You are so fucking beautiful, Dean. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Same here,” Dean said, his heart in his throat, he’d never thought, he’d never known…no, he had, he just hadn’t let himself believe it. “Sammy, can I please?” Dean asked, making ridiculous grabby hands towards Sam, hoping he’d let him do the undressing honors.

Sam grinned, slow and wide, that sex-filled smile that made Dean groan with anticipation. “Can you please what?”

“Want to get you naked too,” Dean said, taking one small step towards him.

Sam knelt before him, and pushed him back up against the wall. He nuzzled his face into Dean’s stomach, his breath ticklish and hot. Dean felt himself thicken and strain towards Sam’s face. It was ridiculous and embarrassing how much he wanted this, how much he needed it. Sam’s tongue flicked out and circled the head, then his mouth sealed over it, lips slipping along the shaft, wet and hot and perfect. He groaned and leaned into the wall for support, hand coming up to hold onto the back of Sam’s head for balance.

Sam’s eyes flicked up and took his own over, he couldn’t look anywhere else, until Sam closed his as he sank in closer, pressing himself forward until Dean was all the way inside, deep into Sam’s throat. He cried out at how good it felt, little thrusts of his hips started without his permission, but Sam encouraged him, grabbing at his ass, kneading each buttock in one giant hand, pulling them apart, until Sam’s fingers slipped into the cleft, brushing over his hole where he was so sensitive. He cried out again in pleasure, shooting all he had down Sam’s throat.

Sam swallowed, of course he swallowed, slow and through, glorious movement along the length of Dean’s whole cock, and his eyes, his eyes oh god, they were everything. Sam meant it, Dean believed it now, not just with his heart and soul, but with his body too.

“Let me show you, Dean,” Sam said, standing up and taking his shirt off. Dean helped unbutton his jeans at least, slipping them down over Sam’s slim hips. He marveled at how his brother’s body still made him feel, possessive and hot inside, that mineminemine feeling swarming all through him.

“Show me what, Sammy?” Dean barely managed to ask.

“How I’m yours, how you’re mine,” Sam said, pushing Dean onto the bed, crawling over him, covering him, taking him over. Dean didn’t care, he wanted to be shown, he wanted to know it forever, for real—for true this time.

“No take-backs,” Dean whispered against Sam’s lips.

Sam stopped and looked down at him, eyes hungry and hot, “No do-overs either, this is it now,” Sam said and kissed him breathless all over again.

Dean didn’t know why it felt different, he didn’t remember it being as intense as this before, something had changed. It had to be that they’d just given themselves over to  each other, in front of the deities, those vows they’d made, the ground they’d consecrated, it was all part of what made this different, made it more real, more true. Dean tried to communicate that in how he kissed Sam back. And it seemed to work.

Sam had always been unstoppable, inevitable in bed, usually he just took over, but tonight, this time, he was communicating right back with Dean. Dean was hearing how much he was loved, how much he was treasured and desired with each touch, each kiss or nip. When he felt Sam’s fingers pressing into him, wet with lube (thank god since it’d been a while) he knew this was it. He couldn’t even say the phrase in his mind, but this wasn’t just sex tonight.

Sam had him opened up and was kneeling between his legs, the smooth blunt head of him pressing in, slow and steady. Sam’s eyes held his, so soft and tender, while every inch of him was taking Dean over, making him into something else—no, someone’s else. His, he was Sam’s, Dean got it now, as Sam steadily thrust his way in, hips churning and pulsing in a new rhythm, one that Dean didn’t want to keep on top of or try to control, because this was Sam communicating with his body. Dean, you’re mine, he heard loud and clear.

Dean answered back with his own thrusts and grinds, making Sam gasp loudly with the pleasure. Sam, you’re mine.

They moved together in the timeless unspoken conversation, the one that made all their vows and offerings a true and real offering to themselves, no deities need observe. This was just Sam and Dean together now, as they were always meant to be. The power of the bunker could wax and wane for all they cared. Here was the home they made together.


That might be the end, but it wasn’t, not really. Now that she was gone, they got to be together again. But of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. At first Jack didn’t know what was happening, they’d never been together like this in his whole life. But Jack liked it, his dads were a whole lot happier. Cas wasn’t around as much lately, spending most of his time trying to help get Heaven back on track, but he was happy for them as well.

They tried not to fall back into old habits that had never served them well in the past, but they were creatures of habit just like the rest of us, and they fought and sniped and made up and loved and had a life. The rings stayed shiny and on their fingers, the prayers and offerings were made on schedule, the gods and goddesses stayed happy-ish, and the bunker seemed to ramp up in its protective power. Cas had trouble getting in most of the time, and even Jack occasionally. It was great to tease them about, but also a pain in the ass.

Sam got back to his running early in the morning schedule, usually accompanied by either Jack or Dean, and sometimes both of them. At first it had been a protective thing on their parts, it was hard to not be superstitious of the dawn taking Sam away again. It felt better that way, running back towards home with the dawn’s light on his back, their family’s footsteps in sync. And if any of them ever hummed the dawn’s tune again, they didn’t mention it to each other.






noun: Morning song, poem, or music.


From French aubade (dawn serenade), from Spanish albada (aubade), from Latin albus (white). Ultimately from the Indo-European root albho- (white), which is also the source of oaf, albino, album, albumen, elflock, and albedo. Earliest documented use: 1678.

Aubade is a French word that first romanced speakers of the English language during the 1670s. In French it means "dawn serenade," and that is the meaning that English-speakers originally fell in love with. As the relationship of "aubade" with the English language grew, its meanings became a little more intimate. It blossomed into a word for a song or poem of lovers parting at dawn. Later it came to refer to songs sung in the morning hours. The affair between "aubade" and the dawn began with the Old Occitan word auba, meaning "dawn." "Auba" itself is believed to come from Latin albus, meaning “white."

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Tags: nc-17, spn-j2-bigbang, wincest
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