Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Date Written: 02/06/2010
Something Dean had playfully teased him about earlier was actually causing some serious reflection.
Sam was stretched out on the bed, his arms tucked neatly behind his head. A pensive expression crossed his face.
What was his favorite part about Dean?
Physically, that is.
Dean has suggested his lips for certain reasons. Of course, Sam wasn’t about to protest but the more that he thought about it, the more he found it difficult to narrow it down.
He glanced toward the bathroom door which was currently muffling the sound of running water.
With a soft sigh, Sam relaxed and allowed his eyes to slide closed. Tempted by the running water, his imagination conjured up a rather detailed silhouette.
Dean was now as bare and wet before him as if Sam was standing outside the shower.
The fantasy was distracting … but necessary.
Favorite trait … favorite … trait …
Through his mind’s eye, Sam watched Dean run a hand over his face.
Hmm. Eyes? Nose?
Well, he couldn’t really pick out a single part. It was Dean’s entire face that made Sam’s insides tingle. His personality showed through his smiles, his emotions through his eyes. He’d witnessed, on several occasions, that expression melting into comfort only to harden with rage or frustration moments later. He’d watched it light up over the simplest prospects from a free treat to a new breakthrough on a case. On the occasions when Dean would allow it, he loved seeing the look of quiet anticipation when Sam leaned in to claim an intimate kiss. He did enjoy being able to watch that split moment when Dean would unknowingly close his eyes and hitch his breath when Sam slid his hand over the small of his back.
Oh, his back.
Sam watched that shower water trickle across his shoulder blades.
Carefully distributed muscle wrapped neatly by warm, soft skin. The flesh littered with countless scars and forgotten wounds that only made it seem more flawless to Sam.
Flawless because each scar was so Dean.
His brother’s back was the most damaged that Sam had ever seen; both literally and metaphorically.
A strong sense of love pulsed from each permanent blemish.
Dean protected a lot of people and each of those left some kind of mark on his already breaking back. Most of that damage, however, Sam knew was his fault. It was such a stupid big brother complex that Dean had. He never would understand how much guilt he felt every time Dean took a hit for him. It wasn’t even a gentle ‘Oh Dean, I’m so sorry’ kinda guilt. No it was a ‘God Sam, you’re such an idiot’ kinda guilt.
But that was sort of the role of being the younger sibling, wasn’t it? To know and memorize each blow to your protector? To never forget?
.. Mmm …
That sounded a little corny, even for Sam.
Back was a no go. It was too … nostalgic.
His daydream allowed him to follow the water trickling down each limb and he drank in the sight with a quiet smile.
That was it. Right there.
The very center of Dean.
Why hadn’t he really thought about it before?
The way that they looked, the way they felt, the way they moved.
How they shifted when Dean twisted around a corner or leaned against a doorframe. The subtle way they would roll in his sleep when he was trying to get comfortable.
How they felt under Sam’s finger when he held them loosely during tiny pecks or messy kisses. Just thinking about it, he could feel the transition between rough jeans to smooth skin. How the muscle surrounding them always gave this tiny little quiver when Sam’s lips brushed against the bone.
How they always fit a little-to-perfectly into whatever Dean wore.
There was a squeak that pierced through his ears and soon the water came to a halt. His silhouette wavered and evaporated away and soon Sam was left with the ghostly remains of a quiet fantasy.
Having come to his conclusion, he waited it out, unsure of what else to do while he lay there.
Finally, the bathroom door gave a slight shove and pushed forward. Out poured a bit of steam followed by a towel clad Dean. No dribbling water but as if fate were trying to laminated his choice, that towel hung so delicately against his hips that it was nothing short of tantalizing.
“What?” Dean questioned, glanced over at him a bit suspiciously. Understandable really, since Sam had clearly been staring and hadn’t exactly tried to cover it up.
He sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed with a smile. Motioning toward himself, Sam rolled his wrist. “Come here.”
There was a pause in the way he shifted to move toward his bag rather then Sam before he looked almost … well, like he just thought that was a stupid move. Rolling his eyes a bit, he wandered over slowly, his lips pursed. “I just got out of the shower, Sammy. I’d prefer not to have to go back in.”
Only giving a chuckle in response, Sam reached forward and let his fingers graze across the exposed hipbone. He slid is over until his palm lay against it and he pulled Dean forward just the slightest. Dean made a sort of noise that sounded like he was trying to say something but it had all gotten stuck somewhere along the line. Leaning that distance forward, Sam very carefully pressed his lips on the heat flushed skin.
There it was. That tiny little flutter he could feel just beneath his lips.
He smiled to himself as he pulled back and looked up at Dean. The elder was looking down at him like he couldn’t possibly get any gayer. Pun probably intended.
But … all the same.
Despite his brother’s ability to ruin a moment with so much as a look …
… it was the hips. Definitely.
FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!