(FIC): Pawgasm - NC-17 - kink

Title: .... Let's call it "Pawgasm", because that's basically what it's about, and la_folle_allure liked the word, too.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Kink: Paws in unusual places. If that's not your thing, leave now. If the thought makes your girl- or boy-parts tingle, though, come on in.
Disclaimer: This is a figment of my imagination and nobody would ever be so stupid as to pay money for that bit of bad, kinky porn-crap. Eric Kripke OWNS everything - although I bet he wouldn't want to own this here if someone paid him.
Note: I seriously have no excuse for this. spn_porn inspired me. And well, Jared's hands, because... fucking paws, really. This is my very, very secret kink and I'm coming out now. I've always wanted to write hand-porn-fic. I'm not ashamed. No. Because... paws.
If you want plot, go read my other fics. Or... go read a real book or something.
Thank you: Thanks la_folle_allure for the beta and the squeeing and the talking.



Dean loved Sam's hands.

He loved watching those long, graceful fingers curling tight around the steering wheel or resting idly on his brother's thighs; strong hands, made for carrying heavy things, made for destruction and violence when they balled into tight fists. He knew the way they could be harsh - with skin rough and callused - and he knew how they could be tender and caressing, stroking over his skin whether they were tending to a wound or bringing him to climax.

Dean had known Sam's hands for months now. Had known how they looked and felt wrapped around his cock, stroking him with just the right amount of pressure. How gentle they cupped his head when Sam kissed him; how his stomach quivered when Sam placed his palm flat against him.

He had never known them like this, though.

"More?" Sam's voice was hoarse when he spoke and when Dean forced his eyes open he saw his brother's eyes shine with a mixture of emotion that felt like a punch to his sternum. Something tickled against him - it was Sam's pinkie finger curling beneath the three others.

Dean couldn't speak, couldn't have formed a coherent sentence if he tried, so he nodded mutely, relaying to Sam that it was okay, that yes, he wanted, needed, would possibly die if Sam didn't... The sound of the tube of lube being flipped open again was even louder than their irregular breathing.

Another finger, just a slip at first, almost unnoticeable, but the strain on his muscles increased and Dean bit his lips to keep himself from crying out. Sam's breathing was labored, more so than his, and his voice dropped even lower as he apparently overcame his shyness, his mouth forming words that made Dean's cock twitch where it lay tightly against his belly.

"God, Dean, you feel so fucking good. Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna make you come from this, just this. You want more of my fingers, want my whole damn hand? Because - everything, Dean, you can have everything, I'm gonna give you everything, whatever you want."

"Fuck," Dean pressed out, letting his head drop back, a tremble passing through his body at Sam's words, so full of filthy promises and love.

Sam kept talking, kept telling him what he was going to do, kept telling him how good he felt, how tight he was around his fingers, how beautiful he looked with his head dipped back like that, yeah, like that, Dean, but Dean's awareness tunneled down to the fullness, the pressure, the warmth, Sam's low words fading into the background under the racing of his heart and the bounding of his blood in his ears.

He went someplace - he didn't know where - this must be what an out-of-body-experience feels like, he thought, amused - and then he came crashing back down in to his body. Sam was there, moaning and biting the inside of his thigh, whispering words of disbelief and wonder and worship and Dean felt every bit of him - his knuckles, the widest part of his hand, the soft, rocking motion as he pressed his heel down and Dean felt like he was going insane, like he couldn't stand the pleasure and the knowledge of Sam's hand there. Sam was almost chanting, eyes wild as he looked at him, expression filled with so much desire and awe. Dean couldn't even stand the idea of coming because he was sure he'd be ripped apart when it happened.

Then it did happen - because it had to - and Dean didn't know if it was pleasure or pain, didn't know if he was falling or rising, didn't know where he was and where he was going, didn't know anything any more. His yell was echoed by a soft cry of pleasure/pain and then his vision whitened out before everything dissolved into black.

Warmth on his lower stomach, a washcloth or towel cleaning him, or so he thought. It felt so far away. He realized he was shaking, his whole body trembling, his thighs quivering like he had only ever seen happen to chicks and he knew he was going insane because he was laughing - or maybe he was crying or maybe both - and in between he was gasping for breath, trying to fill his lungs with precious air.

Then Sam was there, wrapped around him, cupping his face and kissing him, whispering words he didn't understand in a low, comforting voice that he did understand. Dean turned as best as his leaden muscles would allow, burying his face in Sam's neck, letting Sam's soothing words lull him into a deep exhausted sleep.