Uniform ☆ Supernatural

Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Prompt: Uniform
Date Written: 26/09/2009

The moment the door handle so much as jingled, Dean Winchester was on his feet, hand shooting up in a stiff salute. His form was sturdy and standing at attention, eyes staring forward and waiting impatiently to be addressed. Not so much that the position was uncomfortable, years of that had long since trained his body for it to become second nature. No, what he wanted to be able to do was simply-

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

Ahh and there it was. That firm tone that caused his insides to tingle. His arm dropped back to his side before he visibly relaxed, his knees bending a bit and he freely allowed himself to take in the sight of the man before him. “Thank you, sir.”

It never went past Dean how damn tempting he could be in his uniform. That pure white cloth fit perfectly over his long limbs and was pulled just right over his torso, covering up the solid form he knew entirely well lay just underneath. Even the way his eyes stared out at him from under the dark visor of his white hat made him look so-

He had to bite the inside of his lip to suppress anymore thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself again.

“Have you been waiting long?” He questioned, pulling the hat off and setting it up on one of the filing cabinets.

Dean shock his head and smirked. “I don’t like to wait around like someone I know. Sir.” He added playfully.

His view of the room shifted as large fingers were laid on his hip and guided him back until he bumped into the desk he’d been staring hungrily at only moments ago. Now, however, green eyes were tilted up by those commanding hands he adored so much. His superior slid closer, forehead pressed against his and his lips breathing charm against his own. Dean allowed one slow pant to leave his lungs early.

“Keep up the attitude and next time I’ll make you wait longer.”

That was a terrible thought and he wanted to avoid having that happen. Tipping his chin up, Dean hoped to be able to claim those lips that rested so delicately close but found that they’d started to slide down the flushed skin that patterned his cheeks. That was not the cause of Dean’s reaction time.

“And here I thought that you were actually going to pick up the pace today. You usually- ah!” He hissed, hand shooting up to tightly grip his clothed biceps. A dull pain pulsed from his ear where his General’s lips were currently pressed against. “-tease.” He finished shortly, figuring the bite had been to shut him up.

Keeping his other hand behind him, palm pressed against the desktop for support, Dean leaned into the man more only to be crushed back into the desk. Electricity pulsed through his veins at the pressure of such a close proximity. The navy blue jacket covering his shoulder was pushing to the side awkwardly and soon a familiar tongue was dragging across the skin found there. Tipping his head a bit to the opposite side, his lungs puffed out a couple quiet moans, low enough for their ears alone. Something was telling him to keep his voice low or someone outside was bound to hear and break this up.

“You’re a cruel man, General Wesson.” He chuckled softly, hoping that maybe if he annoyed the man a little, he might give Dean what he wanted.

“I don’t see how that’s supposed to be a complaint. You keep coming back, don’t you?” The reply was immediate, like he’d been expecting just that comment. His lips trailed up along his neck and placed a quick kiss to the corner of his lips before he leaned his head back a bit.

“Under orders.” Dean replied, staring back into hazel eyes that were swimming in their own satisfaction. He couldn’t really be annoyed when such a sexy smile was spread across those lips he wanted so badly.

Fingers gripped his chin tightly and Dean fell silent, curiosity peaked and aching for his hope to be fulfilled. “Do you really expect me to believe that, Winchester?” There was mockery in his voice and Dean couldn’t blame him. They both knew that was a lie. The grip tightened just the slightest and he moved in a few inches, wrapping his free arm around the Lieutenant’s waist. “You, who is practically chained to my desk, who is constantly at my beck and call, want me to believe that you’re solely here underorders?”

It wouldn’t have mattered even if Dean had wanted to reply because the General moved in more and soon their noses were brushing and he forgot how to breath for a moment. The strong fingers moved down from his chin, sliding his palm along the column of his neck as his smirk only increased.

Winchester was reduced to panting.

“Well then, I order you to leave.” He spoke but made no motion at all to let the other go. He stared into his eyes with a challenge and Dean had always been good at picking up on those.

“Like hell.” He nearly growled, both hands coming forward to curl into the rough fabric, pulling down hard on his collar to finally crush their lips together in a desperate hunger.

Fingers slid from his collar to wrap around his neck as his lips fell open in invitation. A hand slid down his hip and rested against Dean’s ass, pulling him close. That devilish tongue had no qualms about sliding against his, all too happy to produce a throaty moan from the smaller man. Melting into the kiss, he allowed himself to be dominated, content to simply be wrapped up in these enticing arms.


The man in question allowed his eyes to wander open until he noticed something. Their mouths were still connected in their heated exchange.

“Dean!” That was definitely his voice, commanding as usu-

A shove against the side of his skull and the elder bolted into a sitting position. Sniffing loudly, he realized there was a wet spot on the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away hastily.

“I leave for ten minutes and you pass out on my computer?” Sam questioned, setting down a brown paper bag and a tray that perfectly fit two paper cups. Pulling one out, he handed it over to Dean before looking at him oddly. “Did you at least findanything?”

Blinking a couple times, Dean rubbed the side of his face as he looked over at the screen lite up before him. His eyes were still a bit hazy but he shifted his position and allowed his eyes to focus. Finally, they settled on the article he’d been reading before he dozed off. He couldn’t remember having fallen asleep. Though he supposed it made perfect sense. One minute he was reading about this old Navy ghost from some war and the next he was being ravished by …

“Yeah, I found something … just … haven’t read through it completely.” He spoke, looking up at his younger brother and had to blink twice because in his sleepy state, he could have sworn he’d seen him with a white hat. Ohh, there was no way that dream was ever coming up in conversation so he had to ensure that he kept his facial expression drowsy. No sign of anything odd and Sam would be none the wiser.

It was then that he noticed the cup and plucked it from the awaiting hand. Sipping back a pipping hot gulp of coffee, Dean slowly rose to his feet and twisted himself about so that his back was facing Sam when he walked past him. It didn’t seem to matter anyway since it was then that Sam replaced his brother at the chair and pulled the computer toward him.

“Ahh, Dean! Come on!”

“What?” He called over his shoulder as he stepped into the bathroom.

“You drooled on my keyboard!”

Setting the cup down on the edge of the counter, Dean shut the door behind himself and locked it. “Just wipe it off, it’s fine.”

“That’s not the point, Dean.”

Reaching over to the tap, he turned both on full blast, figuring that’d be enough noise to drown out both whatever complaint Sam had next and would in turn keep Sam oblivious from what problem he was taking care of behind closed doors. He’d keep this fantasy to himself. It would come in handy later.

FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!

Dean Winchester is a Pushover ☆ Supernatural

Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Prompt: Feathers
Date Written: 01/06/2010

The sound of the door clicking and the jingle of keys had become all too familiar. His father was off again and he was left to make sure Sammy was tended to. Young green eyes slid away from the locked entrance and came to rest on the back of his younger brother.

Little Sammy was clutching a plain sippy cup between his chubby hands, fingers still too clumsy for a big boy mug. His own hazel eyes glittered from the flickering images on a television screen. He rocked a bit as he sat, restless nerves playing out the last of their energy. At least, that was what Dean was hoping for. It’d be difficult to help Pastor Jim put him to bed if he was still energetic.

“Dean?” The voice came as a surprise and he realized he’d spaced out.

“Sorry Sammy. What’s up?” He replied, rubbing his own chubby cheeks softly.

The smaller was staring at him with a blank expression, showing no sign of uttering so much as a whisper. Dean simply held his eyes for a long while until finally, he shifted. Wobbling as he used his hands to lift his little body, Sam soon stood before him with the sippy cup dangling in his fingers. He took a long while as he seemed to study either part of the couch that rested beside the elder.

Dean opened his mouth, ready to ask the obvious question when Sammy finally reached out to his brother; a big, goofy grin plastered against slightly crooked baby teeth. “Up!”

A quiet smile tiptoed its way onto his lips and he outstretched his own arms, gesturing back. Taking that extra step forward, Sam raised his arms a bit as Dean hauled him off the floor and into his lap. Once let go, Sam flopped about until he finally settled between Dean’s crossed legs. His eyes returned to the TV, pressing his sippy cup into his thigh as he leaned forward to point.

Dean didn’t fully understand what he’d said, the words too fast and too slurred but he was pretty sure Sammy was trying to explain what was going on in his cartoon.

Wrapping his arms around the tiny form, Dean gave him a quick and firm hug before he relaxed and settled; his hold now a loose embrace. Resting his chin on top of his head, his own eyes soon fell upon the television.

However, his mind wasn’t completely on the hand drawn action.

He wiggled his nose a bit and reached up to brush some of Sammy’s hair down. The soft strands were tickling his nose a bit too much to be comfortable. As he patted it down, he noted just how feather like it was. Reached up to his own, he brush at his bangs. It just didn’t have the same appeal. Maybe it was a toddler thing. Then again, Sammy had always had really soft hair, hadn’t he? So maybe it was just a Sammy thing.

A noise of protest came from his lap and Dean couldn’t help but indulge it. “What?”

Sam wasn’t looking at him but was instead reaching his arms out to the hand that was currently back flattening the younger’s hair down. Figuring that was what was bugging him, he stopped and held his hand out as if to show ‘alright, I’m not touching it’. However, Sam’s eyes following the movement and still he reached for it.

Curiously, Dean lowered it and presented it to him. Immediately, Sammy dug his fingers into the sleeve of his brother’s pajama shirt and pulled. Dean allowed his arm to be guided until Sam had it placed in a very specific location: back around himself.

It was a tugged a bit uncomfortably for Dean so he went to shift only to be met with clamped down fingers and another whiney noise.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sammy.” Dean replied. What reason did he really have to leave, even if he’d wanted to?

As if he wasn’t fully convinced, Sammy’s grip tightened just the slightest. This time, he tried to look back at Dean but nobody wasthat flexible.

Easily defeated, Dean gave the boy a quick squeeze and tickled his sides just enough to emit a thrilled giggle. The grip loosened and Dean felt Sammy’s sippy cup fall against his own leg. Cuddling himself back into a more comfortable position, Dean rested his chin on top of Sammy’s head once more and smiled as the boy settled back peacefully to watch his cartoon.

With a mini furnace pressed between his arms, curled around him in an unconscious, protective manner … Dean had never felt so at peace.

He found himself hoping that every night, for the rest of their lives, it would end like this. Just a moment, no matter how busy a day was. Just him, Sammy and a television set.

What a bright future that would turn out to be.

FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!

Swing of Your Hips ☆ Supernatural

Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Prompt: Hips
Date Written: 02/06/2010

Something Dean had playfully teased him about earlier was actually causing some serious reflection.

Sam was stretched out on the bed, his arms tucked neatly behind his head. A pensive expression crossed his face.

What was his favorite part about Dean?

Physically, that is.

Dean has suggested his lips for certain reasons. Of course, Sam wasn’t about to protest but the more that he thought about it, the more he found it difficult to narrow it down.

He glanced toward the bathroom door which was currently muffling the sound of running water.

With a soft sigh, Sam relaxed and allowed his eyes to slide closed. Tempted by the running water, his imagination conjured up a rather detailed silhouette.

Dean was now as bare and wet before him as if Sam was standing outside the shower.

The fantasy was distracting … but necessary.

Favorite trait … favorite … trait …

Through his mind’s eye, Sam watched Dean run a hand over his face.

Hmm. Eyes? Nose?


Well, he couldn’t really pick out a single part. It was Dean’s entire face that made Sam’s insides tingle. His personality showed through his smiles, his emotions through his eyes. He’d witnessed, on several occasions, that expression melting into comfort only to harden with rage or frustration moments later. He’d watched it light up over the simplest prospects from a free treat to a new breakthrough on a case. On the occasions when Dean would allow it, he loved seeing the look of quiet anticipation when Sam leaned in to claim an intimate kiss. He did enjoy being able to watch that split moment when Dean would unknowingly close his eyes and hitch his breath when Sam slid his hand over the small of his back.

Oh, his back.

Sam watched that shower water trickle across his shoulder blades.

Carefully distributed muscle wrapped neatly by warm, soft skin. The flesh littered with countless scars and forgotten wounds that only made it seem more flawless to Sam.

Flawless because each scar was so Dean.

His brother’s back was the most damaged that Sam had ever seen; both literally and metaphorically.

A strong sense of love pulsed from each permanent blemish.

Dean protected a lot of people and each of those left some kind of mark on his already breaking back. Most of that damage, however, Sam knew was his fault. It was such a stupid big brother complex that Dean had. He never would understand how much guilt he felt every time Dean took a hit for him. It wasn’t even a gentle ‘Oh Dean, I’m so sorry’ kinda guilt. No it was a ‘God Sam, you’re such an idiot’ kinda guilt.

But that was sort of the role of being the younger sibling, wasn’t it? To know and memorize each blow to your protector? To never forget?

.. Mmm …

That sounded a little corny, even for Sam.

Back was a no go. It was too … nostalgic.

His daydream allowed him to follow the water trickling down each limb and he drank in the sight with a quiet smile.

That was it. Right there.

The very center of Dean.

His hips.

Why hadn’t he really thought about it before?

The way that they looked, the way they felt, the way they moved.

How they shifted when Dean twisted around a corner or leaned against a doorframe. The subtle way they would roll in his sleep when he was trying to get comfortable.

How they felt under Sam’s finger when he held them loosely during tiny pecks or messy kisses. Just thinking about it, he could feel the transition between rough jeans to smooth skin. How the muscle surrounding them always gave this tiny little quiver when Sam’s lips brushed against the bone.

How they always fit a little-to-perfectly into whatever Dean wore.

There was a squeak that pierced through his ears and soon the water came to a halt. His silhouette wavered and evaporated away and soon Sam was left with the ghostly remains of a quiet fantasy.

Having come to his conclusion, he waited it out, unsure of what else to do while he lay there.

Finally, the bathroom door gave a slight shove and pushed forward. Out poured a bit of steam followed by a towel clad Dean. No dribbling water but as if fate were trying to laminated his choice, that towel hung so delicately against his hips that it was nothing short of tantalizing.

“What?” Dean questioned, glanced over at him a bit suspiciously. Understandable really, since Sam had clearly been staring and hadn’t exactly tried to cover it up.

He sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed with a smile. Motioning toward himself, Sam rolled his wrist. “Come here.”

There was a pause in the way he shifted to move toward his bag rather then Sam before he looked almost … well, like he just thought that was a stupid move. Rolling his eyes a bit, he wandered over slowly, his lips pursed. “I just got out of the shower, Sammy. I’d prefer not to have to go back in.”

Only giving a chuckle in response, Sam reached forward and let his fingers graze across the exposed hipbone. He slid is over until his palm lay against it and he pulled Dean forward just the slightest. Dean made a sort of noise that sounded like he was trying to say something but it had all gotten stuck somewhere along the line. Leaning that distance forward, Sam very carefully pressed his lips on the heat flushed skin.

There it was. That tiny little flutter he could feel just beneath his lips.

He smiled to himself as he pulled back and looked up at Dean. The elder was looking down at him like he couldn’t possibly get any gayer. Pun probably intended.

But … all the same.

Despite his brother’s ability to ruin a moment with so much as a look …

… it was the hips. Definitely.

FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!