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14 February 2007 @ 12:23 pm
 
On edge, Dean/Sam, shamelessly porny (NC17)
wc: 1064
There are KNIVES involved, folks. Don't read shit you aren't ready for.




It's an innocuous movement, a flick of wrist that Sam's seen Dean do a million times, but it's different now, coloured with his new-found view of his brother.

Dean tosses the knife a few times to get a feel for the balance and Sam watches the doubled edges gleam, bright and sharp against the easy deftness of Dean's fingers. One spin, two - he can nearly hear those sharp edges sing in the cold air - and he shivers involuntarily.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean catches the movement and stops. "I told you to put more than a fucking hoodie on, dude."

"Yeah, well," Sam says, still watching Dean's hands, knuckles rough and red against the dark brown of his coat. "I wasn't planning to come." He flushes slightly at his choice of words and prays his brother doesn't notice.

"Been cooped up all day, you needed the exercise." Dean gives the knife a few more easy tosses and then twists and throws it, deadly and accurate, towards the tree.

It lands with a thwack, slightly tilted upwards and Dean frowns. "Rotated too much," he mutters, and Sam realizes he must have been counting the rotations and that's so unbelievably hot, he has to close his eyes to collect himself.

He breathes in and out carefully.

"Everything all right?" Dean asks, head tilted back and eyeing at Sam speculatively.

"Yeah, fine," Sam lies. "So you gonna finish practicing so we can get back to the hotel room?"

"You gonna stop being a whiny bitch?" Dean asks, eyes crinkled and smiling. "Didn't think so."

He collects his knife from the tree where it's buried half an inch in, handles it with a practised air, the cold metal an extension of his own body.

Alone, it doesn't mean much - Sam's not attracted to the knife, he's attracted to Dean with the knife.

Sam realizes he's been staring, no, ogling, when Dean says, "Dude," all quiet and raspy, surprised but not really and maybe a little turned on.

Okay, maybe a lot.

He fists the front of Sam's shirt and practically yanks Sam to him, lips open and wet and hot. He's still got the knife in one hand, pointed down, and Sam can feel the hard edge of it through his sweatshirt. He groans, low and aching, presses harder into the knife.

"Didn't know you were so kinky," Dean says, pulling apart and breathing hard.

"Shut up," Sam says, grabs Deans arm and uses it to tug him toward the hotel. "C'mon. And bring the knife."


***


Dean digs through his bag for the lube, Sam thinks, but comes up with something black and silky. His tie.

Sam eyes the tie nervously. The last time he let Dean tie him up, Dean left to go buy poptarts. It really wasn't as funny as Dean thought.

"Shhhh," Dean says and Sam opens his mouth to protest. He sets the knife on the bedside table with the tie. Next from his bag comes a set of handcuffs, impossibly bright and cold looking in the dim light. "Lifted these from a police station in Tulsa."

Sam licks his lips. "Crime pays."

"At least for you it does," Dean acknowledges easily. "Take off your clothes."

"What am I, a stripper?"

"Sure thing, Candy. Go slow," he says in that same level, almost-careless tone of voice.

Sam scowls, tries to act pissy like he knows he should be, but he's painfully hard and if Dean wanted him to strip and beg in public, he knows he would. Jesus fuck, this is crazy.

Sam's hands move whisper-soft over his flannel shirt and he undoes the buttons torturously slow, not because he's trying to put on a show but because he's that nervous and turned-on.

He shrugs the shirt off and moves to his undershirt.

"Leave it on," Dean says suddenly.

Sam nods, obedient for once in his life, and toes off his shoes and socks. His fingers hesitate at the fly of his jeans. "What're you going to do with the knife?" he asks, a low rasp in his voice he doesn't recognize.

"Don't worry about it," Dean says and shifts uncomfortably, making Sam smile. He knew Dean couldn't be an unaffected as he made it seem. Dean wants this as much, if not more, than him.

The knowledge carries him through the next torturous minutes as he shucks off his jeans and underwear and stands in front of Dean in nothing but a thin cotton shirt.

Dean nods toward the bed and Sam immediately knows what he wants.

He scrambles onto it, leans against the headboard, arms loose and pliant at his side. Dean sweeps a quick glance over him.

"Arms."

Sam lifts his arms towards the top bar of the headboard and wonders if Dean planned this, because no way can this be a coincidence. The handcuffs are on with a metallic snap and pull, cold metal practically burning into Sam's skin. He bites his lip to keep himself grounded,
though they both know he's one step away from the edge. His skin throbs against the stale hotel room air.

"Please," he whispers without knowing what he's asking for.

Dean slips the tie over his eyes and that's it; he's all sensation, skin humming with blood and painfully aware of every square inch of his body. A hard edge bites into the soft, pale skin on his inner thigh. He jumps, has to physically stop himself from pressing into the blade. He knows the danger. His dad once told him to respect his weapons like you would anything that could kill you in a second. Dean's the same way, could hurt Sam in all kinds of ways, but doesn't. He doesn't trust the knife, but he trusts Dean with it and something unravels in his chest.

The flat of the knife scrapes across the overly-sensitized flesh, the area of hotbed of nerves. His legs shake with the effort to keep them still. "Please," he says again, the word a single ragged breath.

Sam's skin jumps at the soft, hot press of tongue against his skin, then lips, then cheek.

"Sammy."

It's a question, a request, a plea for Sam to give himself over completely, to let go

And Sam knows the answer immediately. Whatever the question is, the answer is yes, always yes.



the end.
Ok, now that I've worked that out of my system, I'm going to eat lunch.
 
 
 
Danni: teasertaste_of_water on July 2nd, 2007 06:35 am (UTC)
*pants*

I can NOT believe that you haven't had any comments on this!

this story is so delicious and sexy that I have to physically restrain my self from licking the screen *licks lips*

what a great way to begin the day in this is going in my memories

(by the way, I'm here through a rec at the com spn_themes)
Neal's ass is magicfatale on October 11th, 2007 09:57 am (UTC)
Hahaha, SO LATE answering this. Sorry! Actually, the original is here. This is just a record of my fic for me. Thanks for the kind words!
Danni: Home nr.2taste_of_water on October 11th, 2007 06:31 pm (UTC)
I had a brief ...wtf? moment when I read your comment, then I had to read the whole fic again to refresh my memory wich was no hardship at all, so thanks for reminding me ;)

I'm just glad to see that you got the kind of response and recognition you deserve^^

danni