Prompt #1 - Pickpocket

[stillrose.livejournal.com]

Ok, I wasn't sure if midnight Saturday meant "midnight Saturday night" or 12:00am Saturday night. So just in case I'm posting this now. If the deadline is "midnight Satruday night" I'll see if I can make this a complete story by then; if not this will be a multi-part.

Anyway, this is my first fanfic and first slash story posted anywhere. lit_gal, if I haven't followed the rules somehow, please let me know and I'll correct what I needs to be changed. I really want to use this community as inspiration and a "whip" to get writing. =:)

(edited for grammar - thanks to frk_werewolf and my so)

Title: Burn
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: Week#1 – Pickpocket
Warnings: Pre-slash, wincest, language
Rating: R
Summary: Sammy needs to get away from Dean.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Sam and Dean; just borrowing them. All I own is what my cats don’t want. 

So here it is:

 

    Sam rotated his wrists in an effort to ease the chafing burn. The braided rope had rubbed painfully against his flesh while he had struggled to escape. However, the pain was nothing compared to the aching burn he felt to go to her. After quickly seeing to his wrists Sam set about untying the knots on the ropes binding his ankles.  A small snort of sibling triumph tried to sneak past Sam's lips as he felt the knots give way. Dean was good; but in this case Sam was better. He had spent a good deal of his childhood figuring out how to escape the figurative, and literal, restraints of his big brother and father. Getting free of a few ropes was a delay at best.

    Finally loose, Sam stood up and moved cautiously across the room to the bed where Dean was sprawled. Dean was fast asleep from the exhaustion of trying to keep Sam from leaving. Sam smiled at the irony of that thought. Dean was always trying to keep Sam from leaving, once again, nothing new. Before Dean had tried to keep him from leaving for college, now Dean was trying to keep Sam from leaving to go to her.

    Sam stifled a groan. This time the thought of her sent a flare of red desire deep in his groin. God he needed to get to her! She would give him release; put out the fire. She would give him everything he wanted and all he had to do was get away from Dean. Sam looked around the room as quietly as he could. The quickest way to get to her would be to take the Impala and to do that he needed keys. 

    The hotel room was small and it didn't take long for Sam to realize Dean hadn't carelessly left the keys lying about. Sam looked around again; this time he was looking for Dean's jacket. If he was lucky he'd find the keys stuffed there in a pocket. Sam really needed to get lucky. Any other time that silent pun would have him smiling but not now. Now another flare of desire gripped him and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from moaning. Sam found Dean's jacket and quietly swore at his brother. The keys weren't there either. Sam tried to steady his breathing. Anger and desire were lethal to critical thinking skills. If Sam was to escape from Dean and make it to her, he had to out think his brother.

     Normally a hung-over Sam could mentally outmatch Dean but not a desire-cursed Sam. A desired-cursed Sam versus a pissed, scared and protective Dean was not an even match. Some small part of Sam wanted the red flag of remembering he was cursed to signal the rest of him to turn around, go back to the chair, and to let Dean find a way to break the curse. But all the red flags were marching south of his personal equator and were merrily throwing themselves on his growing bonfire of need.

    Once again Sam made his way over to the bed where his brother lay stretched out on his back. This time Sam studied Dean's form more carefully. He couldn't help but notice the deep furrow between Dean's eyes. Even in his sleep, Dean was worried.

     That small part of Sam that was desperate to stop his flight wanted to run a finger down the furrow; both to comfort and to wake Dean. Instead, Sam's gaze moved on past the distinct arch of Dean's upper lip, across the street light tunneling under the window shades to stroke Dean's neck and down past the taut white T-shirt that served to accentuate Dean's well muscled chest instead of cover it. Desire was flooding Sam's body, his brain, his senses and it was making him look at his brother in a way he so did not need to see right now. Sam bit his lip again and sucked on the freshly drawn blood. The salty metallic taste and pain brought some sense of reality back.

    The keys, Sam, find the keys, Sam silently reminded himself of his goal and focused back on his search. He let his gaze ease past Dean's familiar and worn belt buckle and down over the small denim rise created by a buttoned fly to settle on Dean’s right hip.  In the low light cast from the street lamp it was easy for Sam to see the denim of Dean's jeans lying soft and smooth against Dean's hip; like a caress he thought. Sam's breath hitched again. College boy, he thought, you really need to avoid similes for the time being. Sam let his gaze wander back to Dean's other hip. Sam smiled and then winced at the pain that brought his abused lip.

    The denim wasn't so smooth over Dean's left hip. There was a round bulge and Sam knew that's where the keys had to be. Sam edged closer to the bed. The need to leave and the consuming need for her continued to burn Sam up and a fine sheen of sweat slicked his skin sensitizing him to the air stirred by the humming AC unit in the corner. Sam had to have those keys and the only way to get them was to take them from his brother.

    Overpowering Dean wasn’t an option. Sam had only ended up tied to a chair last time he tried that tack. The bright pain of wanton lust surged through Sam again as he thought of the way Dean’s body had pressed against him as they fought. The fight had left Sam once again unable to go to her and Dean even more exhausted; exhausted enough to fall asleep on the bed while Sam pleaded for Dean to just give up and let him go. Sam knew Dean would never give up.

     Briefly the obscene thought of taking the chair and slamming it over Dean’s head, beating him unconscious or worse, flashed through Sam’s mind. Sam pushed the palms of his hands to his eyes as if he could push the thoughts out of his skull. Once again pain bought him a brief moment of rationality. No, he wasn’t so far gone he could hurt Dean. Another reason why I have to get away, Sam thought. He took a calming breath and lowered his hands back down to his side.

    Sam moved to the edge of the bed so his legs gently brushed the side. He bent his long length over his brother and cautiously reached out a hand towards his brother’s left hip. Sam had always been the voice of law and reason in the family. He had always tried to be the Boy Scout even if he’d never stayed in a town long enough to join. Still, Sam was a Winchester and like his brother he had learned the arts of petty larceny from their father. Those arts had been just a few more “survival skills” to be learned along with shooting, hand-to-hand combat, and the Roman Catholic rite of exorcism.

    Carefully Sam began to ease his fingers down over his brother’s jeans and let the tips slip slowly between the rough edge of the denim and the softer cotton of the pocket lining. As Sam’s fingers crept deeper into Dean’s pocket Sam began to be aware of a new heat; Dean’s heat. The warmth rising from the skin under the worn cotton was wrapping itself around Sam’s hand.

    Sam paused for a moment to bask in the sensation. Dean wasn’t her but he was here! Sam closed his eyes and just gave into the sensation. Twin fires were licking their way through him. Oh, Sam still felt the need to go to her and he knew only she could give him release from this burn. Yet, the heat from Dean closing around his fingers was a caress of sensation that was desire made manifest. The curse Sam was under was slowly reducing him to his basest senses. Was it any wonder he could be distracted by them?

    Almost as if in silent answer he felt the sweet pull in his groin. She was calling him again. Sam opened his eyes and inched his fingers forward. Soon, Sam was caressing jagged metal. Quickly Sam hooked a finger over the keys and then began to ease them back out of Dean’s pocket.

    “Sam,” Dean’s voice was as tight, sudden and firm as the grip that clenched Sam’s wrist, “Bro, what do ya think you’re doing?”

TBC

Comments

thanks!

[stillrose.livejournal.com]

Thanks frk_werewolf! Grammar is very much my weak spot. I'm actually one of those folks who love MS Word's auto spell and grammar check. My SO is an amazing proofreader/editor and has offered to do that for me; but I'm not sure i'm to letting him read my slash just yet (though he's definitely happy I'm writing).

And yeah..I'm glad you liked the description of Dean sleeping. I really enjoyed trying to craft that scene.

sr

Re: thanks!

[frk-werewolf.livejournal.com]

No prob. Grammar is usually my weak spot as well, but every once in a while something will pop out at me while reading. And I must admit: I, too, am in love with auto-spell and grammar. Best creation ever.