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lierdumoaTitle: 3 Times Sam Winchester Took It Up the Ass
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/OMCs (fans of The OC might recognize the uncredited Ryan Atwood cameo hidden in there), Sam/Jess, implied Sam/Dean,
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Summary: Stanford-era. 554 wds, unbeta'd.
A/N: This is an excerpt from a much larger Sam/Dean fic I've been writing on and off for the past six months or so. It works as a standalone, though, and I figured I might as well post at least some of what I've been writing.
The first time Sam took it up the ass was with a pool hustler he'd picked up at a bar. They'd played a few games. The guy had been good, but not as good as Sam. Two hundred dollars richer, Sam had felt generous enough to offer the guy a drink. Most of a bottle of Jack later the two of them had found themselves in the alley behind the bar, fumbling with each other's flys.
It could have ended there—an uncomplicated hand job and nothing to remind him of it after but a hickey and a crumpled roll of bills in his back pocket. Sam can't quite put his finger on what made him decide to go for more. It wasn't the nicest cock he'd ever seen, but something about the length and breadth of it or the way it had slapped up against the guy's stomach had just struck Sam as right.
Sam remembers licking his lips, polishing off the last of the Jack they'd been splitting between them with one long swig and saying in a voice he didn't recognize, thick and drawling, "I got a bed back at campus you can fuck me on."
He remembers laughing at how surprised the guy had looked at his offer.
The sex had been bad in the way that sex is always bad when you can't remember enough of it the next morning. Sam has the vague sense-memory of fighting a swell of drunken nausea as he lowered himself onto the guy's dick, rushing it cause he didn't have the balance to ease down slow and feeling too numb-drunk to care that it was gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning.
He remembers coming without a hand on him.
Mostly, though, he remembers the two hours of dry heaving that came with the hangover from hell he'd woken up with the day after.
The second time it had been a friend of a friend at a party. The guy had been some second semester freshman from Berkeley. He'd been a little on the short side, with sandy blonde hair, a couple shades brighter than Dean's, though why that comparison had popped into Sam's head he couldn't say. The guy had an artist's hands, architecture with a minor in engineering, calluses in all the wrong places.
The sex had been....
Sam doesn't know how to describe it, really, the weirdly detached way he'd watched himself shuddering, clenching around the guy's blunt fingers, the strange feeling at the back of his mind that he was missing something. Awkward, like they were both half expecting the other person to be someone else.
The third time had been with Jess. Sleek black harness and nonrepresentational rubber phallus, two centimeters wide. She'd gotten it on a dare and suggested Sam let her try it out on him as a joke, not really expecting him to say yes.
He remembers the way her breasts felt pressed against his back, her hands, her breath in his ear. He remembers how he'd wanted it harder, deeper, more, how he'd gone tense and quiet under her, trembling, feeling like he was bleeding out of his pores and helpless, completely incapable of putting his desperation into words.
He thinks he must have freaked her out.
They never did it again.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/OMCs (fans of The OC might recognize the uncredited Ryan Atwood cameo hidden in there), Sam/Jess, implied Sam/Dean,
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Summary: Stanford-era. 554 wds, unbeta'd.
A/N: This is an excerpt from a much larger Sam/Dean fic I've been writing on and off for the past six months or so. It works as a standalone, though, and I figured I might as well post at least some of what I've been writing.
The first time Sam took it up the ass was with a pool hustler he'd picked up at a bar. They'd played a few games. The guy had been good, but not as good as Sam. Two hundred dollars richer, Sam had felt generous enough to offer the guy a drink. Most of a bottle of Jack later the two of them had found themselves in the alley behind the bar, fumbling with each other's flys.
It could have ended there—an uncomplicated hand job and nothing to remind him of it after but a hickey and a crumpled roll of bills in his back pocket. Sam can't quite put his finger on what made him decide to go for more. It wasn't the nicest cock he'd ever seen, but something about the length and breadth of it or the way it had slapped up against the guy's stomach had just struck Sam as right.
Sam remembers licking his lips, polishing off the last of the Jack they'd been splitting between them with one long swig and saying in a voice he didn't recognize, thick and drawling, "I got a bed back at campus you can fuck me on."
He remembers laughing at how surprised the guy had looked at his offer.
The sex had been bad in the way that sex is always bad when you can't remember enough of it the next morning. Sam has the vague sense-memory of fighting a swell of drunken nausea as he lowered himself onto the guy's dick, rushing it cause he didn't have the balance to ease down slow and feeling too numb-drunk to care that it was gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning.
He remembers coming without a hand on him.
Mostly, though, he remembers the two hours of dry heaving that came with the hangover from hell he'd woken up with the day after.
The second time it had been a friend of a friend at a party. The guy had been some second semester freshman from Berkeley. He'd been a little on the short side, with sandy blonde hair, a couple shades brighter than Dean's, though why that comparison had popped into Sam's head he couldn't say. The guy had an artist's hands, architecture with a minor in engineering, calluses in all the wrong places.
The sex had been....
Sam doesn't know how to describe it, really, the weirdly detached way he'd watched himself shuddering, clenching around the guy's blunt fingers, the strange feeling at the back of his mind that he was missing something. Awkward, like they were both half expecting the other person to be someone else.
The third time had been with Jess. Sleek black harness and nonrepresentational rubber phallus, two centimeters wide. She'd gotten it on a dare and suggested Sam let her try it out on him as a joke, not really expecting him to say yes.
He remembers the way her breasts felt pressed against his back, her hands, her breath in his ear. He remembers how he'd wanted it harder, deeper, more, how he'd gone tense and quiet under her, trembling, feeling like he was bleeding out of his pores and helpless, completely incapable of putting his desperation into words.
He thinks he must have freaked her out.
They never did it again.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 04:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-20 05:46 pm (UTC)Um. Wow. I came over here to see if you'd posted your challenge vid, but found this.
...you are going to finish this story, right? Right??
In case you're wondering, I love this. Beyond the telling, honestly.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-23 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-10 07:53 pm (UTC)