summer_skin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
summer_skin) wrote2007-06-18 10:35 am
summer_skin) wrote2007-06-18 10:35 am
Entry tags:
SPN fic: Maps // Sam/Dean // R
Title: Maps
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 2387, unbeta'd
Prompt: Ink
Disclaimer: *insert witty line about not owning any of it, plz to not be suing here*
Summary: He'd changed so much that when he walked in on Sam dressing in one of the dozens of anonymous motel rooms and caught sight of a tattoo on his back, just below his left shoulder blade, Dean stopped and stared for a moment.
Author's Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
salt_burn_porn, from the prompt made by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moosesal. I cheated just a little because I've had the first four or so paragraphs kicking around for months now but this just seemed to come together, and it sorts fits in with wendy wanting drunken tattoo fic, although there's no licking. :(
I promptcathybites with costume shop.
Sammy was different now, that much was sure. Didn't get worked up when Dean called him Sammy, for one thing. Used to be that "Sam" would vehemently demand to be called "Sam" because Sammy was not a mature enough name befitting of an older, wiser "Sam".
And then he went to university.
Yeah, Sammy was different now. Little things that Dean probably couldn't even put his finger on for the most part. But he could feel it in the way Sam moved around him, could see it in the way he walked, could hear it in the way he spoke. Still too old for his age but now it fit and he had the life experience (Dean snorted on that one a little in his head) to go along with it.
He'd changed so much that when he walked in on Sam dressing in one of the dozens of anonymous motel rooms and caught sight of a tattoo on his back, just below his left shoulder blade, Dean stopped and stared for a moment. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this and wondered why he hadn't noticed this sooner.
"What's..." his voice trailed off as Sam pulled another t-shirt over his head and hid the ink from view, likely to be followed by another three layers of clothes even though they were in fucking New Mexico and it was hotter than hell.
"Hmm?" Sam turned around and caught sight of Dean staring at him. "What's what?"
"On your back?" Dean asked. Sam's mouth dropped open and he blushed a little, looking away. "Let me guess- drunken dare? Impressing a girl? Some kinky expression of love for Jessica?"
Sam shook his head, still red in the cheeks. "None of the above." He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, leaving Dean behind. "Come on, we've got to get out to that ranch before sunset."
"You're not going to tell me?" Dean called out, rushing to grab his gun and bag for the ritual they had to perform to get rid of a curse placed on a ranch at the outskirts of town. He locked and slammed the door behind him and called out to Sam who was climbing into the Impala. "Oh, come on!" Sam just shook his head with a small smile and wouldn't budge on the matter the entire night.
Dean pretended to forget about the marking for a couple weeks, trying to get another glimpse when Sam had his guard down but Sam was always one step ahead of him and seemed to know what Dean was after. He changed in the bathroom and never stripped his t-shirt off, at least when the light was on. Dean wanted to tease him for being a prude but he didn't want to push Sam too far on the tattoo and make it seem like he was teasing him about it because, really, Dean was kinda, sorta jealous. Sam did something that Dean himself could never seem to work up the guts to do. To brand himself forever with a mark, be identified always by it... it was just never something Dean could commit himself to.
He didn't like needles, either, but that was neither here nor there.
He got his chance to find out about the tattoo about two months after seeing it for the first time. Sam had taken one for the team while Dean performed a chant to cast a particularly nasty spirit out of a school and landed in one of the classroom supply closets. Dean barely looked away from the book he was using to see if Sam was all right but as soon as the chant was finished he made his way through the over turned desks and chairs to find Sam sprawled out on his back awkwardly and grimacing.
"Dude, who woulda thought a spirit would have that much upper body strength?" Dean chuckled, climbing through the busted closet door to crouch by his brother.
"You're telling me," Sam replied from between clenched teeth as he tried to roll to his side. "I think I landed on-"
"Fuck, Sam," Dean breathed as he caught sight of the set of long-handled scissors sticking out of Sam's back. "Come on, let's get you back to the hotel. Anything else hurt?"
"Don't think so," Sam gasped as he grabbed Dean's hand and let him pull him to his feet. He sat in the front seat of the Impala, hunched over while Dean drove, and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible. He accepted the pills Dean shoved into his hand gratefully, not caring what they were, and tried to ignore the pull around the metal in his back every time his body would shift as Dean went around a turn.
Once they got back to the motel Sam was still in considerable pain so Dean shoved his reserve bottle of Jack in Sam's hand and got him to spread out on his bed, belly down. Sam griped quietly about losing another good shirt that he liked as Dean cut it away and tossed the pieces on the floor but Dean was quiet, realizing that for the first time he would be able to see Sam's tattoo. He spread the material quickly, careful not to jar the scissors and leaned in close to get a better look on the pretense of examining the wound.
Sam tipped back the bottle of Jack as Dean's fingers trailed across his skin, pressing just enough against his muscle to make him hiss and wince. Dean murmured an apology and grabbed the first aid kit, spreading a towel out beside Sam to try and keep the mess to a minimum. Dean said he was going to pull the scissors out and Sam took a couple more swallows of the liquor that burned going down and braced himself. They came out easier than they both expected but the wound started bleeding immediately. Dean cursed softly under his breath and pressed spare towel to the hole, waiting.
The pills and the alcohol may not have been a good idea together but soon enough Sam was feeling no pain, even laughing to himself as Dean's fingers worked behind him, cleaning, patching and taping. The scissors hadn't gone deep enough for Dean to be too concerned but now that the alcohol was in Sam's system the blood was damn-near gushing and Dean was forced to keep pressure on. It put him in the perfect position to examine Sam's tattoo that he couldn't make out no matter how much he tried.
"What is it?" Dean murmured, more to himself but Sammy heard anyway.
"Whas what?" Sam slurred, trying to turn his head around to see Dean.
"Your tattoo. What is it?" Dean asked. He felt Sam stiffen slightly under him, then take another drink from the bottle and relax.
"Tibetan protection thing. I chanted when I got it, too. Extra... protectiony," Sam's laugh came out as a giggle.
"Protection?" Dean asked dubiously, running his fingers over the gauze taped to Sam's back.
"Not that kind," Sam said airly, waving his hand floppily. Dean waited for him to continue and when he didn't he nudged him lightly with his knee to go on. "For love."
"Protection from love?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "That didn't really work out either, did it?"
"Not that kind of love," Sam mumbled, dribbling onto the bed when he tried to take another drink. Dean reached out and gently took the bottle back from him, making a face at just how much Sam had managed to slam back and put it on the bedside table.
"What kind of love then? And why protect yourself from it?" Dean asked slowly, figuring Sam to be too drunk to stop talking. He figured right.
"I didn't wanna come back," Sam said flatly.
Dean jerked, as if slapped. "If you don't want to be here-"
"Not now!" Sam exclaimed, trying to see Dean again. "I meant when I was at school. I didn't want to come back. So I got the tattoo and tried to make it stick."
"Make what stick?"
"Not loving."
Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. Drunk Sammy might be more talkative than sober Sam but it was still like trying to draw blood from a stone to get anything out of him. "Not loving who, Sammy?"
"You."
Dean paused. "Come again?"
"It's wrong, Dean. Wanting you like- like... not like family. So I went to school an' got the tattoo and it worked for awhile but not enough and now here we are and I think I'm really going to regret this in the morning."
"Probably," Dean said softly. "But right now, Sam? Don't."
"Wha'?" Dean let Sam roll carefully onto his side so he could look back at Dean who crouched behind Sam in his line of sight. He ducked his head and pressed his lips to Sam's tattoo, tracing the lines and whorls of the foreign words with his tongue. Sam gasped and arched up as if burned while Dean pressed a hand to the gauze on Sam's wound, careful to keep pressure on.
"All those years away and you still think you need this?" Dean asked, tracing the tip of a finger over the mark. Sam's mouth dropped open and his head tipped back as he nodded slowly.
"S'wrong."
"Fuck wrong," Dean said heatedly. "We've never done anything the way everyone else does. Why should we start now? Why should we love the same as everyone else?"
"I wanted to," Sam told him with a steady-if-a-little-bloodshot gaze on Dean. "I wanted to be able to do all the normal stuff."
"And now?" Dean asked, challenge in his voice.
"You're here. You survived when the normal stuff didn't."
"Yeah," Dean breathed as he leaned forward and covered Sam's lips with his own. Sam moaned into his mouth and wrapped one arm around his neck while he steadied himself with the other. Sam's teeth bit at Dean's lips, drawing him in and keeping him there while his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Dean's neck. Dean straddled one of Sam's legs and growled into Sam's mouth when he rubbed his thigh between Dean's legs, feeling the hardness there.
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean gasped and buried his face in Sam's neck while his hips moved helplessly against Sam's leg, moving with his thrusts. Sam arched up against him sloppily, not wanting to move the right side of his body too much, as he was still able to feel the ache through his inebriation. Dean moved against him quickly and Sam breathed things into his skin and hair, lips dancing over his face and nipping at his neck as Dean caught a few words here and there- some english and some in another language.
"Dean..." Sam whispered and kissed Dean full on the lips, letting his tongue slip into Dean's mouth easily. Dean jerked against Sam and groaned as he came in his pants for the first time in years. Sam flopped back down onto the bed face first with his own groan, but this one was in pain. Dean managed to work himself out from under Sam's limbs, grimacing at the wet and cool feeling in his pants, and checked the wound. It was bleeding again and Dean cursed himself even as he shook the cobwebs from his head and grabbed the towel again.
"Sorry, Sammy," Dean muttered. He looked over at Sam to see his reaction but there wasn't any as Sam had passed out, already drooling against the pillow. He leaned down and kissed Sam's tattoo again, whispering, "I wish you'd worked better."
Sam didn't move the whole night and awoke the next morning stiff and sore, moving slowly as everything in his body screamed out at him to stop. Dean watched him move around warily from his own bed, worried Sam was going to turn a gun on him for what happened between them but Sam didn't seem to remember any of it. Sam disappeared into the bathroom and Dean bit at the inside of his mouth, trying to decided if he should mention any of it to Sam.
"Dean?" Sam called. "Can you come help me? I can't change the bandage by myself."
Dean found Sam standing in front of the mirror, half the gauze and tape hanging off his back where he'd tried to pull at it himself. Dean grabbed the first aid kit and stood behind him, pulling the rest of the tape off quickly, causing Sam to breathe in sharply.
"Could have left this on for the rest of the day," Dean said shortly, getting a washcloth to clean off the blood that dried on Sam's skin.
"It feels itchy," Sam replied, shrugging so Dean's eyes were drawn to Sam's shoulders and the tattoo under his left shoulder blade. He set his jaw and ignored it, continuing to clean the wound.
"I didn't explain it right, actually," Sam continued conversationally a few minutes later. Dean looked up and caught Sam's eyes in the mirror. "It wasn't a protection spell to keep me from loving anyone. Just from getting hurt. There was too much temptation to come back home, to come back to- well, you. I didn't want that, not after I'd spent so much time and energy getting out and insisting I could do it on my own. That I could leave you. So I got this and did a chant to protect my heart from getting hurt."
"Still didn't work," Dean replied faintly, echoing his words from last night. Sam smiled at him, a little sad.
"No, I suppose it didn't. Good thing, though."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, cause then I probably wouldn't want to do this."
And with that Sam turned around and kissed Dean, sober and sure, and spread his fingers over the tiny bites he'd had left the night before, markings of Dean's very own.
If you have a few extra seconds why not go vote in the het vs Jared/Chad poll going on right here? Also, voting is still going on atspn_heraea until June 24th so you can still read the fics and cast your scores! My fic for that is here. Sign ups for pushingenvelope are here and the link to the prompts list is within the post.
*dusts off hands* I think my work here is done.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 2387, unbeta'd
Prompt: Ink
Disclaimer: *insert witty line about not owning any of it, plz to not be suing here*
Summary: He'd changed so much that when he walked in on Sam dressing in one of the dozens of anonymous motel rooms and caught sight of a tattoo on his back, just below his left shoulder blade, Dean stopped and stared for a moment.
Author's Notes: This was written for
salt_burn_porn, from the prompt made by moosesal. I cheated just a little because I've had the first four or so paragraphs kicking around for months now but this just seemed to come together, and it sorts fits in with wendy wanting drunken tattoo fic, although there's no licking. :( I prompt
cathybites with costume shop.Sammy was different now, that much was sure. Didn't get worked up when Dean called him Sammy, for one thing. Used to be that "Sam" would vehemently demand to be called "Sam" because Sammy was not a mature enough name befitting of an older, wiser "Sam".
And then he went to university.
Yeah, Sammy was different now. Little things that Dean probably couldn't even put his finger on for the most part. But he could feel it in the way Sam moved around him, could see it in the way he walked, could hear it in the way he spoke. Still too old for his age but now it fit and he had the life experience (Dean snorted on that one a little in his head) to go along with it.
He'd changed so much that when he walked in on Sam dressing in one of the dozens of anonymous motel rooms and caught sight of a tattoo on his back, just below his left shoulder blade, Dean stopped and stared for a moment. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this and wondered why he hadn't noticed this sooner.
"What's..." his voice trailed off as Sam pulled another t-shirt over his head and hid the ink from view, likely to be followed by another three layers of clothes even though they were in fucking New Mexico and it was hotter than hell.
"Hmm?" Sam turned around and caught sight of Dean staring at him. "What's what?"
"On your back?" Dean asked. Sam's mouth dropped open and he blushed a little, looking away. "Let me guess- drunken dare? Impressing a girl? Some kinky expression of love for Jessica?"
Sam shook his head, still red in the cheeks. "None of the above." He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, leaving Dean behind. "Come on, we've got to get out to that ranch before sunset."
"You're not going to tell me?" Dean called out, rushing to grab his gun and bag for the ritual they had to perform to get rid of a curse placed on a ranch at the outskirts of town. He locked and slammed the door behind him and called out to Sam who was climbing into the Impala. "Oh, come on!" Sam just shook his head with a small smile and wouldn't budge on the matter the entire night.
Dean pretended to forget about the marking for a couple weeks, trying to get another glimpse when Sam had his guard down but Sam was always one step ahead of him and seemed to know what Dean was after. He changed in the bathroom and never stripped his t-shirt off, at least when the light was on. Dean wanted to tease him for being a prude but he didn't want to push Sam too far on the tattoo and make it seem like he was teasing him about it because, really, Dean was kinda, sorta jealous. Sam did something that Dean himself could never seem to work up the guts to do. To brand himself forever with a mark, be identified always by it... it was just never something Dean could commit himself to.
He didn't like needles, either, but that was neither here nor there.
He got his chance to find out about the tattoo about two months after seeing it for the first time. Sam had taken one for the team while Dean performed a chant to cast a particularly nasty spirit out of a school and landed in one of the classroom supply closets. Dean barely looked away from the book he was using to see if Sam was all right but as soon as the chant was finished he made his way through the over turned desks and chairs to find Sam sprawled out on his back awkwardly and grimacing.
"Dude, who woulda thought a spirit would have that much upper body strength?" Dean chuckled, climbing through the busted closet door to crouch by his brother.
"You're telling me," Sam replied from between clenched teeth as he tried to roll to his side. "I think I landed on-"
"Fuck, Sam," Dean breathed as he caught sight of the set of long-handled scissors sticking out of Sam's back. "Come on, let's get you back to the hotel. Anything else hurt?"
"Don't think so," Sam gasped as he grabbed Dean's hand and let him pull him to his feet. He sat in the front seat of the Impala, hunched over while Dean drove, and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible. He accepted the pills Dean shoved into his hand gratefully, not caring what they were, and tried to ignore the pull around the metal in his back every time his body would shift as Dean went around a turn.
Once they got back to the motel Sam was still in considerable pain so Dean shoved his reserve bottle of Jack in Sam's hand and got him to spread out on his bed, belly down. Sam griped quietly about losing another good shirt that he liked as Dean cut it away and tossed the pieces on the floor but Dean was quiet, realizing that for the first time he would be able to see Sam's tattoo. He spread the material quickly, careful not to jar the scissors and leaned in close to get a better look on the pretense of examining the wound.
Sam tipped back the bottle of Jack as Dean's fingers trailed across his skin, pressing just enough against his muscle to make him hiss and wince. Dean murmured an apology and grabbed the first aid kit, spreading a towel out beside Sam to try and keep the mess to a minimum. Dean said he was going to pull the scissors out and Sam took a couple more swallows of the liquor that burned going down and braced himself. They came out easier than they both expected but the wound started bleeding immediately. Dean cursed softly under his breath and pressed spare towel to the hole, waiting.
The pills and the alcohol may not have been a good idea together but soon enough Sam was feeling no pain, even laughing to himself as Dean's fingers worked behind him, cleaning, patching and taping. The scissors hadn't gone deep enough for Dean to be too concerned but now that the alcohol was in Sam's system the blood was damn-near gushing and Dean was forced to keep pressure on. It put him in the perfect position to examine Sam's tattoo that he couldn't make out no matter how much he tried.
"What is it?" Dean murmured, more to himself but Sammy heard anyway.
"Whas what?" Sam slurred, trying to turn his head around to see Dean.
"Your tattoo. What is it?" Dean asked. He felt Sam stiffen slightly under him, then take another drink from the bottle and relax.
"Tibetan protection thing. I chanted when I got it, too. Extra... protectiony," Sam's laugh came out as a giggle.
"Protection?" Dean asked dubiously, running his fingers over the gauze taped to Sam's back.
"Not that kind," Sam said airly, waving his hand floppily. Dean waited for him to continue and when he didn't he nudged him lightly with his knee to go on. "For love."
"Protection from love?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "That didn't really work out either, did it?"
"Not that kind of love," Sam mumbled, dribbling onto the bed when he tried to take another drink. Dean reached out and gently took the bottle back from him, making a face at just how much Sam had managed to slam back and put it on the bedside table.
"What kind of love then? And why protect yourself from it?" Dean asked slowly, figuring Sam to be too drunk to stop talking. He figured right.
"I didn't wanna come back," Sam said flatly.
Dean jerked, as if slapped. "If you don't want to be here-"
"Not now!" Sam exclaimed, trying to see Dean again. "I meant when I was at school. I didn't want to come back. So I got the tattoo and tried to make it stick."
"Make what stick?"
"Not loving."
Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. Drunk Sammy might be more talkative than sober Sam but it was still like trying to draw blood from a stone to get anything out of him. "Not loving who, Sammy?"
"You."
Dean paused. "Come again?"
"It's wrong, Dean. Wanting you like- like... not like family. So I went to school an' got the tattoo and it worked for awhile but not enough and now here we are and I think I'm really going to regret this in the morning."
"Probably," Dean said softly. "But right now, Sam? Don't."
"Wha'?" Dean let Sam roll carefully onto his side so he could look back at Dean who crouched behind Sam in his line of sight. He ducked his head and pressed his lips to Sam's tattoo, tracing the lines and whorls of the foreign words with his tongue. Sam gasped and arched up as if burned while Dean pressed a hand to the gauze on Sam's wound, careful to keep pressure on.
"All those years away and you still think you need this?" Dean asked, tracing the tip of a finger over the mark. Sam's mouth dropped open and his head tipped back as he nodded slowly.
"S'wrong."
"Fuck wrong," Dean said heatedly. "We've never done anything the way everyone else does. Why should we start now? Why should we love the same as everyone else?"
"I wanted to," Sam told him with a steady-if-a-little-bloodshot gaze on Dean. "I wanted to be able to do all the normal stuff."
"And now?" Dean asked, challenge in his voice.
"You're here. You survived when the normal stuff didn't."
"Yeah," Dean breathed as he leaned forward and covered Sam's lips with his own. Sam moaned into his mouth and wrapped one arm around his neck while he steadied himself with the other. Sam's teeth bit at Dean's lips, drawing him in and keeping him there while his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Dean's neck. Dean straddled one of Sam's legs and growled into Sam's mouth when he rubbed his thigh between Dean's legs, feeling the hardness there.
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean gasped and buried his face in Sam's neck while his hips moved helplessly against Sam's leg, moving with his thrusts. Sam arched up against him sloppily, not wanting to move the right side of his body too much, as he was still able to feel the ache through his inebriation. Dean moved against him quickly and Sam breathed things into his skin and hair, lips dancing over his face and nipping at his neck as Dean caught a few words here and there- some english and some in another language.
"Dean..." Sam whispered and kissed Dean full on the lips, letting his tongue slip into Dean's mouth easily. Dean jerked against Sam and groaned as he came in his pants for the first time in years. Sam flopped back down onto the bed face first with his own groan, but this one was in pain. Dean managed to work himself out from under Sam's limbs, grimacing at the wet and cool feeling in his pants, and checked the wound. It was bleeding again and Dean cursed himself even as he shook the cobwebs from his head and grabbed the towel again.
"Sorry, Sammy," Dean muttered. He looked over at Sam to see his reaction but there wasn't any as Sam had passed out, already drooling against the pillow. He leaned down and kissed Sam's tattoo again, whispering, "I wish you'd worked better."
Sam didn't move the whole night and awoke the next morning stiff and sore, moving slowly as everything in his body screamed out at him to stop. Dean watched him move around warily from his own bed, worried Sam was going to turn a gun on him for what happened between them but Sam didn't seem to remember any of it. Sam disappeared into the bathroom and Dean bit at the inside of his mouth, trying to decided if he should mention any of it to Sam.
"Dean?" Sam called. "Can you come help me? I can't change the bandage by myself."
Dean found Sam standing in front of the mirror, half the gauze and tape hanging off his back where he'd tried to pull at it himself. Dean grabbed the first aid kit and stood behind him, pulling the rest of the tape off quickly, causing Sam to breathe in sharply.
"Could have left this on for the rest of the day," Dean said shortly, getting a washcloth to clean off the blood that dried on Sam's skin.
"It feels itchy," Sam replied, shrugging so Dean's eyes were drawn to Sam's shoulders and the tattoo under his left shoulder blade. He set his jaw and ignored it, continuing to clean the wound.
"I didn't explain it right, actually," Sam continued conversationally a few minutes later. Dean looked up and caught Sam's eyes in the mirror. "It wasn't a protection spell to keep me from loving anyone. Just from getting hurt. There was too much temptation to come back home, to come back to- well, you. I didn't want that, not after I'd spent so much time and energy getting out and insisting I could do it on my own. That I could leave you. So I got this and did a chant to protect my heart from getting hurt."
"Still didn't work," Dean replied faintly, echoing his words from last night. Sam smiled at him, a little sad.
"No, I suppose it didn't. Good thing, though."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, cause then I probably wouldn't want to do this."
And with that Sam turned around and kissed Dean, sober and sure, and spread his fingers over the tiny bites he'd had left the night before, markings of Dean's very own.
If you have a few extra seconds why not go vote in the het vs Jared/Chad poll going on right here? Also, voting is still going on at
spn_heraea until June 24th so you can still read the fics and cast your scores! My fic for that is here. Sign ups for pushingenvelope are here and the link to the prompts list is within the post.*dusts off hands* I think my work here is done.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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