Current mood:	gloomy
Entry tags:	fic, spn fic, wincest

Fic: Vicarious (SPN, Sam/Dean, NC-17)
I love ignited almost as much as I love Fresca. And if you've ever heard any of my many Fresca-related adventures, you would know that I love my Stefackles a whole lot.

And then she goes and does an amazing Wincest manip that I can't stop staring at.

So, um, in reaction to this gorgeous manip & wallpaper of my ultimate kink, wallsex, which you can find here, I give you porn. Expanded greatly from comment porn left on Stef's lj.

Vicarious
Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Sexual Situations, Language
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Reference to Born Under a Bad Sign
Summary: Isn’t this what you always wanted?
Word Count: 1,100
Author’s Notes: Because visual porn = words sometimes. Title taken from the Tool song Vicarious.


Feedback is adored.


*



Patience, the long and the slow of it, hitting him like good booze, Dean never gets that, only the raw of it, rotgut, hard ache, has to have the sour breath of the lie on him. Sam asks him, "Isn't this what you always wanted?"

Hard cock already out of jeans, his own pants shucked down, boxers a lame defense, wedged against the crook of his ass, Sam panting already, anticipating, promising, "Gonna make you ache till you're beggin' me to come, Dean."

Dean can't do much, hell, can barely shake his head, just keeps his lips pressed together, not tight mind you, can't give the game away, has his play-by-play stored in his head, last place he's sane, body's aching for it, his own cock is hard, leaking, friction-pressure too much, the scrape of the wall barely muffled by the thin barrier of his boxers.

Crazy filth coming out of Sammy's mouth, didn't know he had it in him, does, somewhere deep, but Dean has to let that go, has to let a whole lot go, uneven fingernails digging into the angle of his hip, leaving bruises or worse.

Sees the fall of Sam's hair, the bangs, swooping over Sam's face, bad shadow, darkness gone dancing, Sam's mouth opening, it's a bad angle, rough angle. More teeth than lips coming toward his mouth, but Dean crooks his neck, feels the crack, he's too tense, always cracking his neck, but it's a good reason than any, Sam's mouth sealing over his, seal more a mark, mine, goddamn cliché. Doesn't open his mouth until Sam pushes his tongue in, forces Dean to open and that's when he lets it go, hell of a thing, holy water barely more than saliva at this point.

But tell him there's little else to save his brother and fuck, what Dean wouldn't do.

Better Dean than Sam, that’s what he’s gotta believe in, draw it out, sucks Sam’s tongue through the burn, steam of him. Can’t use his hands, pinned by Sam, still holding so fierce that one rough twist and both of his wrists will shatter, fucker’s strong now.

Recites the incantation through the kiss, wags his tongue over Sam’s, thinks, yeah, take that when Sam (it’s still Sam there deep in, can feel all of this, knows that Sam’s been drawn to the surface ‘cause that’s just how this works) bites Dean’s lip hard, draws the necessary blood.

Necessary, yeah, it always comes down to fucking blood.

Idiot demon, cocky and bold, tosses a few of Sammy’s looks, uses, for once, what Sam’s never really bothered with, the height and weight advantage, worse than that, the fucking psych 101 and thinks he’s got Dean beat. Best brother there is and you always looked after me, best mom in the world and what the fuck, doesn’t want to hear that, would rather be razed open, he’s willing for that, deserves more maybe.

Too bad Dean’s a stubborn sonnabitch and made sure to take a swig of holy water just before he got up real close and personal to a nice comfy wall.

Blood, part two, now here comes the third, gotta follow the ritual right and it’s always gonna be threes, third part of getting a fucking demon out, break the seal but good. Risks some broken bones, worth it, spits saliva-holy-water-blood onto the bricks in front of him, murky as hell, says what needs to be said.

Not gonna forget the scream for a long time, but the grip slackens, Dean gets the feeling back in his fingertips. Sam’s backing off him, slumps down the wall and Dean hesitates before turning around, hitches up his pants some and slowly makes his way down, careful ‘cause he’s still hard as fuck.

Fuck. Pulls Sam’s arm over towards him, sees each and every charm that Bobby’d given them, yeah, they’re scratched all to hell. All to hell, exactly, runes to ruin any shot of keeping Sam safe from possession. New tricks up demonic sleeves, good to know. They’re gonna figure out a new way to start kicking demons to hell, permanently, Dean swears that, maybe mumbles something through the blood and the bruise of his bottom lip, gonna be ugly come tomorrow.

“Dean,” Sam says, his voice hoarse, ‘cause even if he wasn’t the one screaming, it’s still his vocal chords that got screwed all to hell. “I-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean manages, even if it’s more of a bubbled mess, has to spit out more blood, fucking eruption of coppery wet pooling under his tongue. “Don’t want to hear it now.”

His cock’s still hard and Dean can see, out of the corner of his eye, Sam’s in the same way, maybe worse, hasn’t bothered to try pulling his pants back up.

Isn’t this what you always wanted?

“We’re so fucked,” Dean tells Sam, rolls over, sitting atop of Sam like it ain’t nothing, and making it nothing, not thinking, best way to send yourself to hell and fuck if he ain’t screwing himself out of a shot at freakin’ purgatory, pushing back Sam’s hair, looking him straight in the eyes.

Bridge the gap, that’s what he’s waiting for and it hurts deep when Sam’s lips press against the damage left of Dean’s mouth.

Shoves his hand in Sam’s boxers, hisses, fucking leaking for him, hasn’t gotten a fair deal, no way they’re getting up to finish what the demon started, what they’ve been ignoring, building bitter between them.

“You, Sammy, been wanting to fuck me in the ass for how long? Gotta be patient, little brother, make it worth the wait. Wouldn’t want to violate me,” he says, hard, Sam moaning, can’t help it, Dean doesn’t have to play nice. Doesn’t, not at all, gets Sam spurting all over, hips shaking, stuttering as Sam rocks into the orgasm.

Not gonna be long after that, guides Sam to how Dean likes it, but it’s always been close spaces, shared rooms, knowing how they’ve each liked it, firm at the base, deep strokes, swirl of Sam’s thumb over the head of Dean’s dick, gasping when Sam says, “like that,” hollow victory.

“Just like that,” Dean grunts, coming, thinking of the hard scrape of bricks, Sam’s dick pressing into the crease of his ass, sick lurch of believing that could be a way, that'll make it okay, ‘cause it isn’t both of them then, it’s something else making it happen, not their own fucked up destiny leading them to doing this, here and now.

Just this this.

Isn’t this what he’s always wanted?

Fuck him, but yes.

end