hellfirecondo: (Sam watersports)
[personal profile] hellfirecondo
I bet you're surprised I'm posting. (Me too.) I bet you're surprised it's SPN fic! (Not as surprised as me!!)

The Space Between
Sam/Dean. | incest. watersports. desperation. referenced character death. mentions of underage [17]. language. spoilers for 12.1. | R. | 1095 words.

When it happens, the first real thing Sam feels isn't the heat of it against his belly or the shame of breaking even in so small a way. It's the crippling grief of knowing his brother is gone. Before… before, this would have been something they could have shared. Maybe not the capture, kidnapping, and torture, but it would have been something Sam would have snapped a photo of with his phone to share with Dean later, to cause Dean to make those breathless little stutter-moans as he thinks about Sam doing this.

Because, in the past, Dean would have found Sam, even if Sam didn't get himself out first. Dean would never abandon him. Not like you left him to rot in Purgatory, Sam's traitorous mind whispers. But he knows those are just echoes. He doesn't feel that guilt so keenly anymore, though maybe this situation, with its intolerable knowledge that Dean is just gone, maybe blasted into atoms and off in the empty that Billie promised them… well, it makes a sort of sense he'd feel some of that guilt trickle back in. Which is what brings him back to his predicament, the way he's thinking of Dean because this was always a contract between them, a thing they'd long since vowed without words to never share with another.

They'd been teenagers the first time it happened. Sam had been only thirteen. It hadn't even been sexual then, not really; Dean had kept that part of himself back from Sam, protecting him like he always did, even from himself—until Sam was old enough that Dean deemed it okay. (Which was seventeen, actually.) Dean didn't so much hold with "laws" that the rest of the world worked by, but he swears—swore—that he knew Sam well enough to know when it was okay to kiss him, to touch him. Sam remembers it a little differently. Sam remembers grabbing Dean by the scruff of the neck and bruising his lush lips with an inexperienced, almost violent kiss. Dean will—would—tell you that he started it all, that everything is his fault. But Sam knows better. Sam knows they inked this contract in their own shared blood, equal conspirators, no one at fault. It's funny. Even now, tied to a chair with his hands chained and manacled behind his back, being blamed for the world ending (or almost) over and over, the guilt Sam feels isn't for fucking his brother.

He doesn't think he'll ever feel guilty for that. It was the best thing he'd ever done—the best thing that had ever come to pass in his life. Their relationship, when it turned on a breath and changed into something fuller, heavier, more real, was something he's always thought was meant to happen. As if they were drawn together like the sun pulls the earth, and their lips were always meant to meet, their thighs to rub together, their bodies to grind and writhe and strain against each other.

And this other thing. This moment, right now, when the trickle of guilt reminds Sam of the trickle of urine slowly working its way down the thigh of his jeans. Between being tied up for hours and doused in cold water, Sam's bladder is aching for release, and Sam doesn't have the heart to deny himself, even if Dean is gone forever. After all, it pleases him perversely that when Toni comes back, he'll smell ripely of sweat and piss and maybe she'll wrinkle her perfect little nose and her stiff upper lip will suffer just a little discomposure.

So Sam sighs, and relaxes, and closes his eyes as his head drops back; he's still thinking of Dean and feeling like a supernova has died within him as he lets go. It's still just a thin stream at first, the push through hardwired behaviour taking a moment even though it's not like this British woman allowed him to go to the bathroom, anyway. But the trickle quickly becomes a torrent, until Sam is soaked with it, from his shirt over his belly to the ankles of his jeans dripping onto the floor. Sam almost wants to laugh at the thought of how much piss there has to be to have drenched the full length of his jeans, considering how tall he is. He might, if he weren't so lost in thoughts of Dean. Every breath, every heartbeat is Dean's name now. Pissing himself on purpose—not even trying to hold back—is something he would have only done for Dean, once. But now he figures he might as well dedicate this to Dean anyway, if only in his mind. Maybe somewhere, wherever his brother is, Dean can tell that Sam is thinking of him. Can know that Sam has done this, in part, in Dean's memory. Because he sure as fuck didn't do it so that Toni could think she'd broken him. Not even a little.

Sam inhales, a deep thoughtful breath, and sighs it back out again. He's soaked in sweat now, too; the release of urine has led to a release of endorphins too, and Sam is a little surprised he didn't come, even though he can't currently touch himself.

Toni can do her worst. But Sam will only ever be broken by Dean, undone by his brother's touch, his brother's love, and remade in the same moment, in the space between living and dying. Sam knows more than anyone that between each breath, each heartbeat, is a little death that takes place out of time. He's been there more than once, during his visions or being tortured in the cage with Lucifer. He knows that a person can be living and dying at the same time.

And Sam, right now? He's living and dying. But he'll do it on his own terms. He'll do it for Dean.

When the door opens and the blonde steps through and says, "I see we had a little accident," Sam smiles and knows it's a smirk. He knows that once this expression was on his face when his eyes shone black, and he knows that between being possessed by a demon and being Lucifer's plaything, he's stronger than this woman. She ought to be afraid.

You see that, Dean? he thinks as she flinches and catches herself just before she steps backward. I'm still the scariest thing out there. The nightmare the monsters warn their kids of. And I will get out of here.


Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.


hellfirecondo: (Default)

April 2017

910111213 1415

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 11:46 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios