citrusjava (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
citrusjava) wrote2013-09-15 07:12 pm
citrusjava) wrote2013-09-15 07:12 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Celebrate You, Baby (Dean/Sam, light R, praise kink)
Title: Celebrate You, Baby
Author: CitrusJava
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: light R? How do you rate kink?
Words: 1470
Warnings/kinks: Praise kink, light d/s, rushed, unbetaed
Notes: Set during Tall Tales. This is me day 2, season 2 entry for the 8 Days of Wincest Challenge.
Special thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
balder12, who introduced me to the fantastic concept of praise kink. There's all sorts of other kinks in there, that I don't have names for. Tell me, if you have them.
(more notes in the end)
Summary: They both threw themselves into this stupid fight instead of talking. But Sam needs Dean to look at him the way he does.
Sam never talks about Dean's dirty socks in the sink, the gun oil all over Sam's sheets, his moldy take-away boxes whenever they stay at the same place long enough for mold to form.
It's not worth the way it gnawes at Sam's insides, fighting with Dean. It's easier when they're fighting about something big – Dad, Stanford, "you're not getting yourself killed over this". Sam can coast on adrenalin and conviction and do what needs to be done. But when it's Dean pacing and throwing around stupid accusations, Sam has time to think about it, way too much time. Time to start feeling lonely for the way Dean looks at him, most of the time. For the way Dean likes him.
When Dean focuses on Sam, really focuses on him, it's both terrifying and comforting. Dean has the ability to zero in and pull the tiniest details out of Sam's soul. And you'd think someone who could do that would be understanding, but Dean isn't nice about them, either. "You were happy Dad didn't come home on time". Sam had a test the next morning. Dad being gone meant he was out drinking and Sam could get some last minute studying in. It didn't mean Dad was in mortal danger, like Dean always thought. "You liked it when your hot demon friend told me I treated you like luggage", well, no, not exactly. But it was good to have someone on his side, just for a moment.
When it was just him and Dean, Dean's opinion sometimes felt like the only possible truth in the world.
It always ended with something like "Well, that's great, Sam". It was amazing, unbelievable, that a person could look so worried, so flirty and so condemning at once.
And Sam would get annoyed, so annoyed. Cause Dean was being childish, mulish and arbitrary, seeing the world in black and white, like always. Cause being annoyed helped. Cause a large part of Sam, the part that always ran away and slipped through Sam's fingers, just wanted to curl up at Dean's feet and make Dean like him again. Just wants Dean's hand on Sam's back, reassuring.
Sam puts everything he has into squashing that part. Making it shut up. Holds it in place by clenching his arms and glaring out the front window. Holds it in the clench of his jaw. In his meticulous calculation. Grabs on cruelly, twists with pliers, wraps his thighs around it, sits on it. Because that part – that's the part that wouldn't have allowed him to go to Stanford. That's the part that stops him from kissing people who aren't Dean. That's the part that's stronger than Sam, and if Sam's gonna win, he needs to throw himself into arguments before he has the time to think about it. Needs to blame Dean and never stop to think.
But now he's had over a week to think. About the way Dean wasn't shocked, when he thought Sam killed a hunter. Wasn't surprised that Sam called for help, covered in blood that wasn't his.
About Dean not being there to catch Sam, to make sure Sam didn't do something horrible. Sam killed someone – or didn't. And if Dean wasn't gonna stop him, how can Sam ever feel safe again?
They both threw themselves into this stupid fight instead of talking. Sam leaving crumbs in the car and Dean chewing too loudly, Dean's idea of research at the bar and Sam being a tight ass prude and Dean not listening, but this has been going on for too long. Sam's not one to admit it, but he doesn't care anymore, about the socks and the money and his laptop. He needs Dean – to look at him like Sam's a good person. A person at all. Or to decide Sam isn't. Decide, and deal with that. Needs Dean to shut the fuck up about the car, at least. Sam's nerves are so frayed he's gonna scream, or break something, something bad.
He grabs for the money in Dean's hand, cause that's what they do, and Dean dodges, whirls back, slams Sam against the wall, using his weight to hold Sam in place. Sam's about to slide away, when Dean grabs Sam's wrists together, above his head, and a sound breaks out of Sam, his jaw unclenching.
He can see his expression mirrored in Dean's, pure eyes through wild fringe. Dean presses Sam's body against the wall. He looks solid and rough, annoyed as fuck and not having that. Sam just wants to –
"You took the air out of Baby's tires" Dean says, incredulous, and this is no joke. Dean is completely serious. He's the most immature, annoying –
"I told you, I didn't do that!" Sam spits out. He could just -
Dean squeezes Sam's wrists harder, just a little painfully, his face lighting up for a blink, in the pleasure of allowing himself that small cruelty
Sam makes another sound, not exactly a sob, a sigh, and sags in Dean's hold, sliding a little down the wall. He needs Dean's judgment, needs to know Dean will do something if Sam's not all right. Wants Dean to know Sam didn't do anything to his car. Wants Dean to be pleased with him again. Like some sort of -
Dean looks at Sam with such intent, the bottom of Sam's stomach melts with fearful pleasure. This is home, under this gaze of Dean's. This is the safest place he knows.
He blinks, can't believe his eyes are getting wet. Sam went to collage, and he's not an idiot about crying like Dean is. It makes sense to cry, and men should cry when they have a good reason. But men are men, and he, Sam, should never cry, definitely not over something like Dean thinking he messed with the Impala. Because Sam is not six, and Dean is – and Dean is just Dean.
The reasoning doesn't help.
Dean reacts to Sam's tears like he always does, free hand dropping the money and flying to cup Sam's face, tilt it to get a better look, make sure Sam's all right. "Sammy?"
And before Sam gathers himself enough to pull away, he relaxes into the touch, into Dean's voice. And Dean catches that, cause he's Dean, and Sam is his.
"You really didn't do it" he says, wondering. And Sam's fourteen, shaking his head, eyes on the swirly pattern of the carpet.
Dean's thumb on Sam's cheekbone softens, touch turning into an unofficial caress, wiping away the wetness.
"I wouldn't, Dean", Sam says. His voice sounds rough and warm. Still avoiding Dean's eyes, he watches Dean's throat move as Dean swallows. OK, eyes. He makes himself look up. "I wouldn't" The Impala is important. One of the few things Dean claims for himself. One of the few things Dean needs for his world to remain stable. Sam knows. He wouldn't mess it up.
Dean considers Sam's face. Nods, slowly. "OK".
Sam nods too, trying to gather his grown up sensibilities. He doesn't have to hear Dean say anything more. It's Dean. He doesn't say things. Part of living with Dean is knowing that.
But Dean hasn't let go of Sam's wrists yet, and his hand is still on Sam's face. For a second, Sam wonders if perhaps Dean's going to – and he swallows down a hungry sound.
And for once, it's good that Dean can sometimes see as deep in as Sam goes.
"Always with the talking, Sammy", he says, soft. And he's smiling, just a little bit. Not charming, not for Sam. A gentle smile, a little sad, thinking back, and so fond Sam would slump to the floor if Dean wasn't holding him stable.
"You're an annoying son of a bitch", Dean says, voice like when he used to ruffle Sam's hair. "But you're a good kid, Sammy".
And Sam would kick his ass, if he wasn't too busy breathing.
Dean's eyes go wider, hand sliding down to Sam's chest, anchoring, cupping the beat .
"You are... huh. You're a good, good boy, Sammy", Dean tries, experimental, but there's enough emotion and truth in the words that Sam can't suppress a warm shiver.
"Sammy..." Dean says, wondering, almost a question, full of tenderness. "You're ok, you're my good boy", and kisses Sam on the top of his head.
***
Later, running to the Imlala before the cops find the trickster's corpse, Sam pauses outside, guts twisting. Needs to know they're ok.
"Look, Dean, um", he searches for words that don't come. "I just wanna say that I'm..."
Dean cringes, tiny flinch, bracing for the uncomfortable moment, and Sam can't finish the sentence – can't make things worst.
But Dean pauses, looks Sam in the eye. "Hey. Me too".
And the tension in Sam's stomach eases a bit.
Endnotes: It feels fandom-anachronistic to be writing praise kink for season 2, but hey, doing it anyway!
I really wanted praise kink that wasn't praise for sex, or for serving the dom in the scene. Couldn't find any, trying to figure out how to write it now, hope it works :)
Author: CitrusJava
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: light R? How do you rate kink?
Words: 1470
Warnings/kinks: Praise kink, light d/s, rushed, unbetaed
Notes: Set during Tall Tales. This is me day 2, season 2 entry for the 8 Days of Wincest Challenge.
Special thanks to
balder12, who introduced me to the fantastic concept of praise kink. There's all sorts of other kinks in there, that I don't have names for. Tell me, if you have them. (more notes in the end)
Summary: They both threw themselves into this stupid fight instead of talking. But Sam needs Dean to look at him the way he does.
Sam never talks about Dean's dirty socks in the sink, the gun oil all over Sam's sheets, his moldy take-away boxes whenever they stay at the same place long enough for mold to form.
It's not worth the way it gnawes at Sam's insides, fighting with Dean. It's easier when they're fighting about something big – Dad, Stanford, "you're not getting yourself killed over this". Sam can coast on adrenalin and conviction and do what needs to be done. But when it's Dean pacing and throwing around stupid accusations, Sam has time to think about it, way too much time. Time to start feeling lonely for the way Dean looks at him, most of the time. For the way Dean likes him.
When Dean focuses on Sam, really focuses on him, it's both terrifying and comforting. Dean has the ability to zero in and pull the tiniest details out of Sam's soul. And you'd think someone who could do that would be understanding, but Dean isn't nice about them, either. "You were happy Dad didn't come home on time". Sam had a test the next morning. Dad being gone meant he was out drinking and Sam could get some last minute studying in. It didn't mean Dad was in mortal danger, like Dean always thought. "You liked it when your hot demon friend told me I treated you like luggage", well, no, not exactly. But it was good to have someone on his side, just for a moment.
When it was just him and Dean, Dean's opinion sometimes felt like the only possible truth in the world.
It always ended with something like "Well, that's great, Sam". It was amazing, unbelievable, that a person could look so worried, so flirty and so condemning at once.
And Sam would get annoyed, so annoyed. Cause Dean was being childish, mulish and arbitrary, seeing the world in black and white, like always. Cause being annoyed helped. Cause a large part of Sam, the part that always ran away and slipped through Sam's fingers, just wanted to curl up at Dean's feet and make Dean like him again. Just wants Dean's hand on Sam's back, reassuring.
Sam puts everything he has into squashing that part. Making it shut up. Holds it in place by clenching his arms and glaring out the front window. Holds it in the clench of his jaw. In his meticulous calculation. Grabs on cruelly, twists with pliers, wraps his thighs around it, sits on it. Because that part – that's the part that wouldn't have allowed him to go to Stanford. That's the part that stops him from kissing people who aren't Dean. That's the part that's stronger than Sam, and if Sam's gonna win, he needs to throw himself into arguments before he has the time to think about it. Needs to blame Dean and never stop to think.
But now he's had over a week to think. About the way Dean wasn't shocked, when he thought Sam killed a hunter. Wasn't surprised that Sam called for help, covered in blood that wasn't his.
About Dean not being there to catch Sam, to make sure Sam didn't do something horrible. Sam killed someone – or didn't. And if Dean wasn't gonna stop him, how can Sam ever feel safe again?
They both threw themselves into this stupid fight instead of talking. Sam leaving crumbs in the car and Dean chewing too loudly, Dean's idea of research at the bar and Sam being a tight ass prude and Dean not listening, but this has been going on for too long. Sam's not one to admit it, but he doesn't care anymore, about the socks and the money and his laptop. He needs Dean – to look at him like Sam's a good person. A person at all. Or to decide Sam isn't. Decide, and deal with that. Needs Dean to shut the fuck up about the car, at least. Sam's nerves are so frayed he's gonna scream, or break something, something bad.
He grabs for the money in Dean's hand, cause that's what they do, and Dean dodges, whirls back, slams Sam against the wall, using his weight to hold Sam in place. Sam's about to slide away, when Dean grabs Sam's wrists together, above his head, and a sound breaks out of Sam, his jaw unclenching.
He can see his expression mirrored in Dean's, pure eyes through wild fringe. Dean presses Sam's body against the wall. He looks solid and rough, annoyed as fuck and not having that. Sam just wants to –
"You took the air out of Baby's tires" Dean says, incredulous, and this is no joke. Dean is completely serious. He's the most immature, annoying –
"I told you, I didn't do that!" Sam spits out. He could just -
Dean squeezes Sam's wrists harder, just a little painfully, his face lighting up for a blink, in the pleasure of allowing himself that small cruelty
Sam makes another sound, not exactly a sob, a sigh, and sags in Dean's hold, sliding a little down the wall. He needs Dean's judgment, needs to know Dean will do something if Sam's not all right. Wants Dean to know Sam didn't do anything to his car. Wants Dean to be pleased with him again. Like some sort of -
Dean looks at Sam with such intent, the bottom of Sam's stomach melts with fearful pleasure. This is home, under this gaze of Dean's. This is the safest place he knows.
He blinks, can't believe his eyes are getting wet. Sam went to collage, and he's not an idiot about crying like Dean is. It makes sense to cry, and men should cry when they have a good reason. But men are men, and he, Sam, should never cry, definitely not over something like Dean thinking he messed with the Impala. Because Sam is not six, and Dean is – and Dean is just Dean.
The reasoning doesn't help.
Dean reacts to Sam's tears like he always does, free hand dropping the money and flying to cup Sam's face, tilt it to get a better look, make sure Sam's all right. "Sammy?"
And before Sam gathers himself enough to pull away, he relaxes into the touch, into Dean's voice. And Dean catches that, cause he's Dean, and Sam is his.
"You really didn't do it" he says, wondering. And Sam's fourteen, shaking his head, eyes on the swirly pattern of the carpet.
Dean's thumb on Sam's cheekbone softens, touch turning into an unofficial caress, wiping away the wetness.
"I wouldn't, Dean", Sam says. His voice sounds rough and warm. Still avoiding Dean's eyes, he watches Dean's throat move as Dean swallows. OK, eyes. He makes himself look up. "I wouldn't" The Impala is important. One of the few things Dean claims for himself. One of the few things Dean needs for his world to remain stable. Sam knows. He wouldn't mess it up.
Dean considers Sam's face. Nods, slowly. "OK".
Sam nods too, trying to gather his grown up sensibilities. He doesn't have to hear Dean say anything more. It's Dean. He doesn't say things. Part of living with Dean is knowing that.
But Dean hasn't let go of Sam's wrists yet, and his hand is still on Sam's face. For a second, Sam wonders if perhaps Dean's going to – and he swallows down a hungry sound.
And for once, it's good that Dean can sometimes see as deep in as Sam goes.
"Always with the talking, Sammy", he says, soft. And he's smiling, just a little bit. Not charming, not for Sam. A gentle smile, a little sad, thinking back, and so fond Sam would slump to the floor if Dean wasn't holding him stable.
"You're an annoying son of a bitch", Dean says, voice like when he used to ruffle Sam's hair. "But you're a good kid, Sammy".
And Sam would kick his ass, if he wasn't too busy breathing.
Dean's eyes go wider, hand sliding down to Sam's chest, anchoring, cupping the beat .
"You are... huh. You're a good, good boy, Sammy", Dean tries, experimental, but there's enough emotion and truth in the words that Sam can't suppress a warm shiver.
"Sammy..." Dean says, wondering, almost a question, full of tenderness. "You're ok, you're my good boy", and kisses Sam on the top of his head.
***
Later, running to the Imlala before the cops find the trickster's corpse, Sam pauses outside, guts twisting. Needs to know they're ok.
"Look, Dean, um", he searches for words that don't come. "I just wanna say that I'm..."
Dean cringes, tiny flinch, bracing for the uncomfortable moment, and Sam can't finish the sentence – can't make things worst.
But Dean pauses, looks Sam in the eye. "Hey. Me too".
And the tension in Sam's stomach eases a bit.
Endnotes: It feels fandom-anachronistic to be writing praise kink for season 2, but hey, doing it anyway!
I really wanted praise kink that wasn't praise for sex, or for serving the dom in the scene. Couldn't find any, trying to figure out how to write it now, hope it works :)
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<3
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THANK YOU! <3
I want to write more Sam/Dean praise kink, probably not a sequel, though.
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:)
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I'm pretty excited about it :)
That's why writing it for season 2 feels anachronistic - it wasn't around, as far as I know, when season 2 aired :-)
I'm so so glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for commenting, and for telling me specifically what you liked about it, it really means a lot to me.
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I love that you liked the Impala thing, specifically!
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That scene in season 8 was such a long time coming... I was so glad it was spoken, it really needed to be (and oh, man, Jared, Sam!)...
Thank you!
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(Anonymous) 2013-09-17 12:34 am (UTC)(link)no subject
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I keep being an accidental nonnie on your journal
Very stealthy of you!
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I agree that Dean's approval means a lot to Sam. I think it fueled a lot of what went on in season 4, and perhaps Sam staying, hunting, at least partially. Sam is a bit condescending about small things (to them) like Dean's porn, and rationalizes his way out of just treating Dean the way Dean treats John, uses that rebellion, hangs onto it, but under all of that, I believe he feels Dean is ultimate, in a way. Beyond being right, somehow "it's always Dean". I believe Sam really needs Dean's approval, and doesn't often get it. And Dean doesn't really realize it.
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This so lovely and perfect and everything I like about praise-kink fic. It's so nice to see it written well and without sex. :)
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I'm glad you enjoyed it!
I would so love for there to be more fic that has intimate interactions that are meaningful, sometimes kinky or such, without the mandatory sex .... I like reading sex too, and more so with pairings like Sam and Dean where it has more social impact IMOO, but I need more of an option....
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