Title: Summer Rain
Characters: Sam/Dean (Slash, PWP, schmoopy)
Summary: (Vaguely Season One) An unhurried interlude brought on by a summer storm.
Author's Notes: Happy Birthday to esorlehcar and deirdrec, both of whom love Sam/Dean and schmoop and I hope will like for exactly those reasons.
Also written for my spn25 table, this is "Taste."
In Mississippi the rain comes down like respite, washing away heat and dust and the hopelessness of hardships too long endured.
As Dean drives through the outskirts of Meridian, where doors open at farmhouses and gas stations to let the people inside step into the downpour with faces lifted toward the heavens. He cracks open the drivers' side window and breathes in the sweet smell riding in on the cool, delicious air.
"No point in checking the woods for werewolves today," Sam comments, peering out at the weather. "Too wet for that."
"We'll follow up later, tomorrow if we have to," Dean agrees. "Might as well get a room for the night— it's after three o'clock."
Sam flashes a smile so quick it's already gone. "Sure, why not?"
Dean pulls into the parking lot of the Magnolia Inn and lines up a room— far away from the office down where the trees above cast some shade and the approach on all sides can easily be seen.
"What'd you get?" Sam asks when Dean returns to the car.
"Hopefully not a dump." Dean steers them down the lot and backs the car into its space.
Inside, the room is done up in cream and pastel green and looks clean enough. A check of the bathroom confirms it—this is the nicest place they've stayed in over a month, only forty-eight dollars for both of them.
By the time Dean turns around, Sam has already closed the blinds and started pulling off his shirt. Whatever Dean was thinking about before has now been washed away by the sight of naked skin and the look on his brother's face.
Their mouths clash as they press together, Sam pulling up Dean's shirt and slipping his fingers below the waistband of Dean's pants. Sam tastes like rain, like summer turned meadow-fresh and cool-breeze beautiful instead of harsh and unforgiving. Dean draws that flavor inside him, rolling his tongue across Sam's and memorizing the feeling of getting lost right where he stands.
One sharp tug and then Dean's shirt is off too, joining Sam's on the bed. Chasing the fire in each other's kisses, Dean has Sam backed against the bed and then they're on it, rolling against each other while their hands find and conquer every single untouched inch.
Sam's neck is sweet and salty under Dean's mouth, the skin growing softer then firmer again as Dean makes his way down Sam's chest to twirl his tongue around the hard nub of a waiting nipple. Sam's hand clenches in Dean's hair— More— as he bucks underneath Dean, his erection pushing against Dean's stomach, insistent and huge.
Holding Sam down tightly, Dean mouths and licks his way south, pausing to detour toward a hollow to the side of a hip bone—velvety smooth and tasting simply of skin. Dean suckles there gently, teasingly as Sam's hand cups the back of Dean's neck and tries to hurry him along.
When Dean's lips find the trail of dark hair along Sam's belly, Sam's breathing shifts into uneven gasps, moving unsteadily beneath the welcome assault of his brother's touch.
"Dean—" Sam chokes out, always impatient for the next part.
Taking pity on him, Dean keeps going, the flavor of musk turning tangy as he travels onward.
He drives Sam to the breaking point, lips and tongue unraveling every enduring shred of self-control. Thumbs skimming the inside of Sam's thighs, Dean works the suction higher until all it takes is the light brush of his fingers over the curls there at the base before Sam's coming apart in a flood of heavy, earthen flavors while Dean's name falls all around them.
"God," Sam finally says, "you totally—"
"Yeah," Dean agrees. He might draw things out at the beginning, but he never holds back at the end, not when it's Sam. He always gives Sam everything that matters, and this is no different.
He slides up the length of Sam's body, stroking the skin as he goes. Sam's pillow is cool against Dean's face as he watches Sam come down, sees Sam's gaze go from blissed-out to interested in the space of a few short breaths.
"Your turn," Sam grins, leaning over to chase the taste of himself all through Dean's mouth. No longer rainwater cool, Sam is heat and the promise of intensity still to come.
Kissing his way over to Dean's ear, Sam nibbles around the edges of it before drawing the lobe between his teeth and nipping, sucking, swirling until Dean's helpless and hard as a rock.
"Sammy…" Dean whispers hoarsely, lost in unfocused pleasure.
Sam's hand drifts down, rolling purposefully over the front of Dean's jeans. He pushes slow and hard, making Dean groan in response, then one-hands the fly open and gets to work.
Sam's mouth never lets up on Dean's ear, driving him to distraction while he jacks Dean firmly down below. It's Dean's weakness and Sam knows it— this part of Dean's body that's hardwired straight to the groin, capable of making Dean forget his own name.
Dean thrusts up into Sam's hand, his whole body going tighter and tighter as he nears the edge. Sam pulls Dean sideways for a few hard strokes and bites down on his earlobe, and that's it— Dean inhales sharply and comes in a rush that slicks Sam's hand and splashes onto his own belly.
Sam moves over to Dean's mouth then, lazy half-kisses that wait for Dean to catch his breath.
"Still raining?" Dean finally mumbles against Sam's lips, too spent to check for himself.
"Uh-huh," Sam murmurs, running his tongue over the bottom of Dean's mouth, leaving traces of salt against the flavor of humid air and the dry satiation lingering at the back of Dean's throat.
Good, Dean thinks. He pulls Sam close against him, more than happy to wait out the storm— or even the day— exactly like this.
-- fin --