“I’m Dean,” the taller of the two boys says. He’s got a shock of brown hair that curls over his forehead, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and strikingly green eyes.
“And this is Sammy.” The younger boy is clinging to his brother, not meeting Ellen’s gaze. His bangs are so long they hang over his eyes. She wonders how much of the last two years he’s spent growing up in the back of a car.
Dean always, always gives Sam everything. He loves Sam like it’s some new form of breathing, one he created all on his own. And everything Dean ever does is him shouting it (love you, love you) to his brother and begging for Sam to shout it back. Sam doesn’t, of course, love him the same, and Dean wonders how many years of this almost-but-not-quite-enough he’ll be able to stand before it breaks him completely.
Adult, incest, underage. This is so dirtyhotwrong and perfect. I just can’t resist some codependent, fucked up wincest love…
He had known, right away. Dean was alive and breathing, but the world was not, not in the ways he was used to.
Adult, post-season 2 AU. This is a wonderfully lengthy and beautifully intriguing apocafic, in which the boys are the two last people on Earth. We (and they) never learn why, but the descriptions on how they cope (together, of course) are awesome.
Sam likes the idea of them being matching, of being able to put his hand on his tattoo and feel his heart beating near, and know Dean’s heart is doing just the same, keeping him alive and healthy and going strong.
Dean has his other hand on his thigh by now, fingers white where he’s digging them in, and Sam is hit by the sudden absurd urge to take it, to twine their fingers together and let Dean take his pain out on Sam.
Adult, incest. Tattoo pr0n. Gah, this is hot like burning! All the way from Sam not telling Dean what exactly the tattoos are for to the immediate aftermath of their first time.
He rubs his hands together, slicking the oil on his palms and reaches out to touch Dean’s neck lightly, spreading the balm onto his brother’s rigid neck and shoulders, his skin glistening in the overhead lights.
Another deep inhale fills Sam’s head with the smell of wet cedar in the rain, causing a nervous excitement to bubble up from his loins, heat in his belly surging into his chest as he notices how firm and muscular Dean’s back is and his arms, well, his arms are hard and bulging and-
Adult, incest, kind of sex pollen-y. A special oil brings out something in the boys neither one of them expected… The description of the massage Sam gives Dean is incredibly sensuous, a pleasure for the reader (as well as Dean, of course *g*).
This was their way of bonding, of communicating their feelings for each other. This was how the Brothers Winchester got things done. This secret place of total connection was like a fort to them–shelter and a place to hide when being on their particular road got to be too much. Dean sighed at that thought, lying back down on the mattress so he could enjoy himself.
He was so damned happy to have Sam home again.
Adult, incest, underage sex, canon-divergent. I’m not in Supernatural fandom, but this series is awesome – intensely hot and sweet! It even has a plot and a pretty great characterization of John Winchester. Important note, however: The boys start their sexual relationship when Sam is 12, with roots of it even earlier, so don’t read if that squicks you out. To me, it felt completely natural, growing out of their unusual situation (which is how I like my incest – see also, Boondock Saints).
“I, Sam Winchester, take a vow of silence in exchange for the body, breath, life and soul of Dean Winchester.”
Adult, incest, canon divergence. Stunning, gut-wrenching fic. Sam’s silence and the effects of his sacrifice on himself as well as his relationship with the returned Dean is described in beautiful words.
Warning: slightly NSFW, incest! (Well, technically they’re Sam Wesson & Dean Smith in this, so maybe not?) Anyway, this vid is compelling to watch – I’d totally see that movie (unlike the real one *g*). Music: Crazy in Love by Beyoncé.