Fic: Doors Left Open (Sam/Dean, G)
Jun. 17th, 2013 03:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smalltrolvenTitle: Doors Left Open
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smalltrolven
Pairing : Sam/Dean, established
Rating: G
Word Count: 1788
Summary: According to a mosquito-bitten Sam, Dean needs to remember to close the door of the Bat Cave.
Warnings: None, except season 8 spoilers
Author Note: Not my characters only my words. Written for 2013![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnspringfling for 2 of 3 of verucasalt123 great prompts.
a: Were you born in a barn?
b: Nothing you confess could make me love you less.
You can also read this over on AO3.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Listen Dean, I know it’s a new thing, us having our own place like this. But you gotta remember to close the outside door. It’s not like a motel room door that closes on its own, you know?” Sam pointedly itches the red welts on his forearms, voice echoing off the tiled walls of the Men of Letter’s shower room.
“I’ll try Sammy, ‘m sorry you got all those mosquito bites. Didn’t know they were so bad here in Kansas.” Dean stands close behind him and begins rubbing the Benadryl lotion into the warm skin of Sam’s upper back.
“Yeah, yeah, you just never get bitten and I do.” Sam complains, looking at Dean standing behind him in the reflection in the mirror.
“I get bites all the time.” Dean protests, maybe a little too strenuously for the smile that’s playing on his face.
Rolling his eyes, Sam answers, “From me you do, not so much the mosquitos.”
“Well you can be just as annoying as those little blood-suckers.” Dean says, pinching both of Sam’s earlobes sharply and then rubbing them gently to soothe the sting, making Sam shiver at the extra sensation. After all these years of soothing the Savage Sam when he’s itchy and annoyed, he knows this distraction thing works.
Sam closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of his brother’s rough finger tips on his neck and shoulders and the instant relief from all the itchy bites when he spreads the cooling gel lotion over the spots he couldn’t reach. “Or how ‘bout this, next time you’re out, stop at the hardware store and get one of those self-closing things to put on the door.”
“Why don’t you just write me up a damn honey-do list already?” Dean grumbles.
“What the hell is that?” Sam asks, because he has no clue what that phrase means.
“You know, that list of jobs that need to be done around the house that a wife makes for a husband to do so she doesn’t have to nag him all the time. Honey-do.” Dean answers, thinking back to the list that Lisa had started keeping for him towards the end, how satisfying it was to cross things off, even if they were easy little things just to make her happy.
“Sure honey, I’ll get right on that.” Sam says with a sarcastic emphasis on honey.
“Oh god, don’t start.” Dean says with a teasing warning and a resigned complaint in his voice.
Sam turns and takes the bottle of Benadryl out of Dean’s hands and sets it on the counter, then he pulls Dean in close, and whispers in his ear, “Too late, you already are my honey.”
Dean grumbles even though it feels so good to be held by this teasing whispering Sam, “At least we’re near the bathroom, so I can make it in time when I barf from all the sweet talk.”
“Liar. Know you love it.” Sam whispers, kissing his way up and down Dean’s neck, and licking at that spot behind Dean’s ear that always makes him lose control the fastest. And he loves it too, calling Dean sweet names like that when they both know how much he really means them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Another sunshine-filled morning, with a heaviness to the air, there’s going to be rain later Dean muses to himself, sipping his first cup of coffee while sitting on the front hood of the Impala. His peaceful reverie is interrupted by Sam’s aggrieved cry of, “Dude, were you born in a barn?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure you were.” Dean snarks back.
“Don’t you talk about my mother like that!” Sam yells out the open door, his hair a wild morning mess, official Men of Letters robe open and flapping, hilariously short on him.
“You look like an absolute vision of loveliness this morning Sammy.” Dean sarcastically coos at him, hoping he’ll shut up about the damn door already. “Dude, it’s really time for a haircut, don’t you think?”
“I’ll cut my hair when you remember to close the damn door, how about that?” Sam stalks over and grabs the coffee cup right out of Dean’s hand, draining it in one mouthful. He leans in to kiss Dean good morning, even though they’re arguing, at least this time it’s about something relatively unimportant.
Dean sinks into the kiss somehow, even though he’s leaning up, he feels himself becoming part of Sam in that way that they have together, so long now, so much between them, it’s in every kiss, always right there under the surface. They both taste like coffee and it smells like rain and the sun is warming up the soft skin on the back of Sam’s neck because Dean has his hand wrapped up in all that hair, pulling it to the side.
He strokes his fingers gently on the nape of Sam’s neck. “See Sammy, doesn’t that sun feel good on your neck?” Dean kisses his way around so that he can nuzzle there on the now sun-warmed skin, the Sam smell so intense and perfect in this usually hidden place, the skin so pale and soft because it’s always covered by all that gloriously annoying hair.
Sam melts into him, the empty coffee cup forgotten so it slides off the Impala hood, cracking on the gravel at their feet. Sam is surprised to realize that he feels so completely safe right now in this moment. Dean holding him, kissing his vulnerable neck, under the sun. He wishes he could say that, because he knows it’s kind of the mission statement of his brother’s life, so he mumbles something unintelligible just to try on saying the words out loud.
“What’d you say Sammy?” Dean asks, lips moving against the tender skin on Sam’s neck.
“Can’t say it out loud.” Sam mumbles into Dean’s shoulder.
Dean wishes he could just make him, so they don’t have to drag this out and make a big deal out of it. Or even that he could sing him that line from that old Pretenders song he was listening to last night on the radio in the Impala, Nothing you confess could make me love you less, because of course he couldn’t actually say something like that out loud, but expressing the sentiment coded in their usual language is worth a try, “C’mon dude, you can tell me anything. You know that right?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s just…” Sam trails off, helpless to be able to express himself the way he really wants to, because he knows it will just piss Dean off, and not in a fun, teasing little-brother sanctioned way. And now he wishes he hadn’t even bothered mumbling anything in the first place. He tucks himself even closer into Dean, burying his head like his five year old self always did, face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder.
Dean feels his enormous thirty something old brother go limp and somehow small in his arms, it’s like he’s all of a sudden holding a Sam that’s five who knows he’s said something he shouldn’t have. He tries to reassure Sam, “You were just bitching at me about closing the door, I wasn’t really mad.”
“I know you weren’t, it’s just sometimes when I say stuff, you close off, like you’re mad that I’ve said it out loud or something.” Sam says, shrugging with his voice and his body.
That’s kind of it for Dean, he pries Sam off of him and straightens him up, still holding him by the shoulders, but now they can look each other in the eye, “Sammy, if you’ve got something to say, just lay it on me, okay. I won’t close off or whatever, I promise. ‘Cause now you’ve got me worried. Did I mess something up besides the door?”
Sam searches Dean’s face and sees that he has worried him, so unnecessarily, with everything else going on, Dean does not need an extra worry. Not from him especially, so he rushes to get the words out, so his brother won’t have to worry one extra second longer, “No, it’s a good thing. I just thought, when you were kissing the back of my neck like that, how completely safe I feel right now. Because you’re here, and we’ve got this place. And I wanted to tell you that, because I know you always feel like that’s your job, to make sure that I’m safe.”
Dean struggles not to close off because he promised, but it’s not as hard as usual somehow, because he realizes quickly how much he really needed to hear that from Sam. After everything that’s happened lately, it’s good to know. So he smiles, fingers tightening on Sam’s shoulders, looking at him directly so Sam can see there’s no teasing, just straight up gratitude, “Good to know. Thanks, I guess I needed to hear that.”
Sam’s eyes widen in amazement that his brother actually answered in such a straightforward way, “You did?”
“Yeah, I always wonder if I’m taking care of you well enough. You never say anything when I’m not, you stoic little bastard.”
Sam laughs, delighted that they’re actually talking about this, but he has to point out the important thing that’s changed since they were little kids, “This isn’t just about you taking care of me though Dean, it’s a mutual thing now, you get that right?”
Dean rolls his eyes in response, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Seeing the sarcastic eye roll he expects from Dean, Sam can’t help but kid him right back, “But you’re still the big brother and don’t forget it.”
“Something like that.” Dean grins up at him widely, one of those whatta-you-gonna-do-about-it-little-brother challenging smiles.
Sam has nothing that can possibly win against the determination that’s behind that smile, this he knows for sure, “You just never stop do you?”
Dean’s eyes are twinkling with amusement now and he shakes his head in mock-solemnity, “Never ever.”
“Good. That’s probably why I feel so safe right now. You’re a rock.” Sam leans down and kisses that familiar mocking smile, with an intensity that surprises both of them. The sudden passion that springs up is almost too much, for the gentleness of the morning so far. The kiss changing to something more than the
continuation of their conversation, when Dean’s hands migrate down to cup Sam’s ass and pull him flush up against Dean between his wide-spread legs.
“Rock your world you mean.” Dean growls in Sam’s ear in that throaty rumble that makes his knees a little weak.
“That too.” Sam admits with a slow smile that no one sees. Happy that he hasn’t screwed up this pretty much perfect morning after all.
~FIN~
Author:
smalltrolvenPairing : Sam/Dean, established
Rating: G
Word Count: 1788
Summary: According to a mosquito-bitten Sam, Dean needs to remember to close the door of the Bat Cave.
Warnings: None, except season 8 spoilers
Author Note: Not my characters only my words. Written for 2013
spnspringfling for 2 of 3 of verucasalt123 great prompts.a: Were you born in a barn?
b: Nothing you confess could make me love you less.
You can also read this over on AO3.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Listen Dean, I know it’s a new thing, us having our own place like this. But you gotta remember to close the outside door. It’s not like a motel room door that closes on its own, you know?” Sam pointedly itches the red welts on his forearms, voice echoing off the tiled walls of the Men of Letter’s shower room.
“I’ll try Sammy, ‘m sorry you got all those mosquito bites. Didn’t know they were so bad here in Kansas.” Dean stands close behind him and begins rubbing the Benadryl lotion into the warm skin of Sam’s upper back.
“Yeah, yeah, you just never get bitten and I do.” Sam complains, looking at Dean standing behind him in the reflection in the mirror.
“I get bites all the time.” Dean protests, maybe a little too strenuously for the smile that’s playing on his face.
Rolling his eyes, Sam answers, “From me you do, not so much the mosquitos.”
“Well you can be just as annoying as those little blood-suckers.” Dean says, pinching both of Sam’s earlobes sharply and then rubbing them gently to soothe the sting, making Sam shiver at the extra sensation. After all these years of soothing the Savage Sam when he’s itchy and annoyed, he knows this distraction thing works.
Sam closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of his brother’s rough finger tips on his neck and shoulders and the instant relief from all the itchy bites when he spreads the cooling gel lotion over the spots he couldn’t reach. “Or how ‘bout this, next time you’re out, stop at the hardware store and get one of those self-closing things to put on the door.”
“Why don’t you just write me up a damn honey-do list already?” Dean grumbles.
“What the hell is that?” Sam asks, because he has no clue what that phrase means.
“You know, that list of jobs that need to be done around the house that a wife makes for a husband to do so she doesn’t have to nag him all the time. Honey-do.” Dean answers, thinking back to the list that Lisa had started keeping for him towards the end, how satisfying it was to cross things off, even if they were easy little things just to make her happy.
“Sure honey, I’ll get right on that.” Sam says with a sarcastic emphasis on honey.
“Oh god, don’t start.” Dean says with a teasing warning and a resigned complaint in his voice.
Sam turns and takes the bottle of Benadryl out of Dean’s hands and sets it on the counter, then he pulls Dean in close, and whispers in his ear, “Too late, you already are my honey.”
Dean grumbles even though it feels so good to be held by this teasing whispering Sam, “At least we’re near the bathroom, so I can make it in time when I barf from all the sweet talk.”
“Liar. Know you love it.” Sam whispers, kissing his way up and down Dean’s neck, and licking at that spot behind Dean’s ear that always makes him lose control the fastest. And he loves it too, calling Dean sweet names like that when they both know how much he really means them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Another sunshine-filled morning, with a heaviness to the air, there’s going to be rain later Dean muses to himself, sipping his first cup of coffee while sitting on the front hood of the Impala. His peaceful reverie is interrupted by Sam’s aggrieved cry of, “Dude, were you born in a barn?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure you were.” Dean snarks back.
“Don’t you talk about my mother like that!” Sam yells out the open door, his hair a wild morning mess, official Men of Letters robe open and flapping, hilariously short on him.
“You look like an absolute vision of loveliness this morning Sammy.” Dean sarcastically coos at him, hoping he’ll shut up about the damn door already. “Dude, it’s really time for a haircut, don’t you think?”
“I’ll cut my hair when you remember to close the damn door, how about that?” Sam stalks over and grabs the coffee cup right out of Dean’s hand, draining it in one mouthful. He leans in to kiss Dean good morning, even though they’re arguing, at least this time it’s about something relatively unimportant.
Dean sinks into the kiss somehow, even though he’s leaning up, he feels himself becoming part of Sam in that way that they have together, so long now, so much between them, it’s in every kiss, always right there under the surface. They both taste like coffee and it smells like rain and the sun is warming up the soft skin on the back of Sam’s neck because Dean has his hand wrapped up in all that hair, pulling it to the side.
He strokes his fingers gently on the nape of Sam’s neck. “See Sammy, doesn’t that sun feel good on your neck?” Dean kisses his way around so that he can nuzzle there on the now sun-warmed skin, the Sam smell so intense and perfect in this usually hidden place, the skin so pale and soft because it’s always covered by all that gloriously annoying hair.
Sam melts into him, the empty coffee cup forgotten so it slides off the Impala hood, cracking on the gravel at their feet. Sam is surprised to realize that he feels so completely safe right now in this moment. Dean holding him, kissing his vulnerable neck, under the sun. He wishes he could say that, because he knows it’s kind of the mission statement of his brother’s life, so he mumbles something unintelligible just to try on saying the words out loud.
“What’d you say Sammy?” Dean asks, lips moving against the tender skin on Sam’s neck.
“Can’t say it out loud.” Sam mumbles into Dean’s shoulder.
Dean wishes he could just make him, so they don’t have to drag this out and make a big deal out of it. Or even that he could sing him that line from that old Pretenders song he was listening to last night on the radio in the Impala, Nothing you confess could make me love you less, because of course he couldn’t actually say something like that out loud, but expressing the sentiment coded in their usual language is worth a try, “C’mon dude, you can tell me anything. You know that right?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s just…” Sam trails off, helpless to be able to express himself the way he really wants to, because he knows it will just piss Dean off, and not in a fun, teasing little-brother sanctioned way. And now he wishes he hadn’t even bothered mumbling anything in the first place. He tucks himself even closer into Dean, burying his head like his five year old self always did, face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder.
Dean feels his enormous thirty something old brother go limp and somehow small in his arms, it’s like he’s all of a sudden holding a Sam that’s five who knows he’s said something he shouldn’t have. He tries to reassure Sam, “You were just bitching at me about closing the door, I wasn’t really mad.”
“I know you weren’t, it’s just sometimes when I say stuff, you close off, like you’re mad that I’ve said it out loud or something.” Sam says, shrugging with his voice and his body.
That’s kind of it for Dean, he pries Sam off of him and straightens him up, still holding him by the shoulders, but now they can look each other in the eye, “Sammy, if you’ve got something to say, just lay it on me, okay. I won’t close off or whatever, I promise. ‘Cause now you’ve got me worried. Did I mess something up besides the door?”
Sam searches Dean’s face and sees that he has worried him, so unnecessarily, with everything else going on, Dean does not need an extra worry. Not from him especially, so he rushes to get the words out, so his brother won’t have to worry one extra second longer, “No, it’s a good thing. I just thought, when you were kissing the back of my neck like that, how completely safe I feel right now. Because you’re here, and we’ve got this place. And I wanted to tell you that, because I know you always feel like that’s your job, to make sure that I’m safe.”
Dean struggles not to close off because he promised, but it’s not as hard as usual somehow, because he realizes quickly how much he really needed to hear that from Sam. After everything that’s happened lately, it’s good to know. So he smiles, fingers tightening on Sam’s shoulders, looking at him directly so Sam can see there’s no teasing, just straight up gratitude, “Good to know. Thanks, I guess I needed to hear that.”
Sam’s eyes widen in amazement that his brother actually answered in such a straightforward way, “You did?”
“Yeah, I always wonder if I’m taking care of you well enough. You never say anything when I’m not, you stoic little bastard.”
Sam laughs, delighted that they’re actually talking about this, but he has to point out the important thing that’s changed since they were little kids, “This isn’t just about you taking care of me though Dean, it’s a mutual thing now, you get that right?”
Dean rolls his eyes in response, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Seeing the sarcastic eye roll he expects from Dean, Sam can’t help but kid him right back, “But you’re still the big brother and don’t forget it.”
“Something like that.” Dean grins up at him widely, one of those whatta-you-gonna-do-about-it-little-brother challenging smiles.
Sam has nothing that can possibly win against the determination that’s behind that smile, this he knows for sure, “You just never stop do you?”
Dean’s eyes are twinkling with amusement now and he shakes his head in mock-solemnity, “Never ever.”
“Good. That’s probably why I feel so safe right now. You’re a rock.” Sam leans down and kisses that familiar mocking smile, with an intensity that surprises both of them. The sudden passion that springs up is almost too much, for the gentleness of the morning so far. The kiss changing to something more than the
continuation of their conversation, when Dean’s hands migrate down to cup Sam’s ass and pull him flush up against Dean between his wide-spread legs.
“Rock your world you mean.” Dean growls in Sam’s ear in that throaty rumble that makes his knees a little weak.
“That too.” Sam admits with a slow smile that no one sees. Happy that he hasn’t screwed up this pretty much perfect morning after all.
~FIN~
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