Their Own Little World

[soncnica]

Title: Their Own Little World
Author: soncnica
Rating: NC-17
Genre/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Wordcount: cca. 3.900
Summary: When the lights go out, their prison cell becomes their own little world.
Warnings: prison!sex(fic), rimming, marking, biting, language
Beta: The amazing, amazing, amazingly awesome spn_j2fan.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
A/N: Written for this kinda old prompt on spnkink_meme: Sam/Dean. Angst free, slow, lights out bunk sex with the boys in prison in the same cell. Lots of foreplay and simple touching, heavy breathing and neck nibbling with muffled voices so the other inmates don't hear. Once the lights go off it's their own little world. (Prison shouldn't be this fun.)

Enjoy.

This is their world.

"Lights out!"

A deep voice calls out, the sound of it echoing down the long, bare hallways before there is a loud snapping sound signaling the light switch being pulled. Before their little cell is enveloped in a light blue hue of the dull lights out on the hallway, they can hear lights turning off one by one, the noise making Sam twitchy, because it won't be long now and he'll be able to have Dean for himself. Finally. It has been a long, hot summer day and just seeing his brother play some hoops made his dick harden.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The light in their cell goes out, painting the gray metal bars and the shiny white floor with a dull blue color they became accustomed to early on in the two years they'd been in prison.

One.

Breathe.

Two.

Breathe.

Three.

Breathe.

Safe.

He jumps down from the top bunk where he had made a home for himself; he carved sigils on the wall with his fingernails - scratching off the white paint - a devils trap, some runes, a pentagram, and any other protective symbols he could remember, he etched in the wall near his head. Dean never called him on it, just smiled with a spark in his eyes.

His feet hit the floor without a sound, like a feather landing on grass.

"Dean?"

He whispers, crouching next to his brother's bed, his hand on Dean's right forearm, feeling all the muscles there bunching up and then relaxing slowly, smiling a little at the way his brother hides his face in the pillow, clutching at the fabric with his fingers.

"Yeah?"

Dean whispers back, his gruff voice muffled by the pillow, making it sound almost… sleepy, but Sam knows that Dean is anything but sleepy.

This is their time in their little world.

-:-

He leans forward, licking Dean's ear and whispering softly, knowing that his hot breath on the wet ear is going to get Dean where he wants to have him.

"'m gonna fuck you," he runs his hand up Dean's bicep to stroke his brother's tense shoulder, smoothing out the tension, and then down his forearm again, fingers dancing lightly on the raised hair there.

"And you're gonna love it. But," he crawls on top of his brother, Dean's legs adjusting, giving him space, his chest melting into Dean's back, settling down his weight against his brother's back and Dean doesn't even make a sound, "you'll be quiet." He kisses the sweaty hair that curled up at his brother's nape sometime during the day. "Won't you? Won't make a sound, will ya man?"

"No."

"'s right…" Sam pushes his hand down, skimming his fingers lightly over the waistband of Dean's pants - some thin cotton fabric that had been worn way too much by way too many people - making his brother shiver under him. He knows he's teasing, knows Dean wants more, but this is all he has to offer to make his brother need.

"Ain't gonna make a sound." He breathes into Dean's ear and feels his brother shudder. It just makes his dick even harder and he makes tiny little bites down Dean's back, bringing the tight skin between his teeth and leaving it red.

And these are the only words he dares to whisper so softly, directly into his brother's ear, so quietly that he's not even sure he said them at all.

Sound can travel very far in this prison. They learned that the hard way.

-:-

This is their world of getting undressed in no time at all; white t-shirts thrown to the floor, orange pants tossed on top of them. It's their world of soft touches and calming fingertips on heated skin. Their world of silent touches, heat and barely whispered words over the sounds of snores and cries coming from the other cells. Their world of touches that just skim the skin or make marks where no one but them will know about.

Their world of swallowed up hisses and whimpers; hot mouth on hot mouth, tongues licking moans off of wet lips, breaths inhaled through harsh breaths.

Their world of barely controlled cries for moremoremorefaster.

Their world of bruising kisses, awkwardly exchanged, tasting the only safe place they both have… each other and nothing else. There is no one anywhere that will ever feel as safe as they feel lying so close to each other it's hard to breathe.

-:-

It's their own little world caught in a prison cell with a bed and a toilet.

Their own little world on Dean's bunk; the bed doesn't make any sound, doesn't creak, doesn't move, doesn't have any holes in the mattress. It's soft and warm and clean and theirs.

It's their own little world of feeling like they're fuckin' flying. Like they're free.

All that exists here are kisses and licks and fingers touching skin. All there is are moans and groans and whimpers swallowed up by hungry mouths so that they never reach the darkness of the cell.

Make no sound.

"Shh…"

-:-

"Slow…" Dean mouths the word, but doesn't voice it out loud, his lips forming it so sinfully Sam has to go down and push: "Yeah…" into his brother's mouth.

The night is their time, always was even when they were free to roam the country. Lights out is their time and it always will be, God damn it! Nothing is ever going to change that. And time spent like this is always desperate; slow and gentle, something to remember during the days when life is hard and then fast and hard when they know they're going to live through the next day.

But no matter when, it's always careful and steady, need pulled back.

It's so much better that way. Bringing pleasure to the edge and then pulling back, breathing and doing it again.

They never know when they'll have to stop doing this. When they'll get caught. It's a thrill, a hum in their blood that just makes everything better.

-:-

His mouth on Dean's spine, hot tongue licking and kissing, leaving a trail of cooling saliva down Dean's vertebrae, hitting the place he's been craving for all day.

He licks, once, twice, three times over his brother's quivering hole, wanting so badly to just push his dick in and lose himself in the heat. In the safety.

He strokes a hand up Dean's flank, fingers dipping into the space between his brother's ribs, calming his brother down, and letting his palm rest on Dean's hip, holding him down, because Dean apparently has hot coal under his chest.

He wants to say so much, words like easy, steady, I gotcha, but he can't… night time is silence, night time is peace and quiet and he doesn't want to interrupt that. Can't. So he presses his brother's body harder to the bed, leaving marks on his brother's skin. Marks only he'll know are there. Marks that make his brother his.

-:-

Dean tastes of soap and Dean. Musky and hot and home and life, and it makes his mouth salivate so much that he's drooling all over his brother's ass. He wants… so much: to have this, to remember this, to touch and feel and taste. There's a whimper forming in the back of his throat, but he can't… so he leans down and pushes the whimper and his spit into his brother's hole with his tongue, slicking it all up. It's the only thing they've got. His saliva and Dean's pre-come. Early in their incarceration Dean helped, sucking his fingers and all, but that made his brother utter some of the strangest noises, so they stopped doing that after a few tries. It was too much of a risk.

Can't get caught. Not in here.

-:-

He wants his brother on his hands and knees, but the space they have to work with is small, too small for that. Sometimes he dreams of having his brother that way, so that he could really put some power into his thrusts, but… it just isn't possible. Maybe one day when they get out. Maybe one day soon, if Bobby's plan works out.

He pulls back and grins, eyes stuck on Dean's back and how all the muscles there are moving. How his brother is moving; writhing, shaking, trying to fuckin' twist his whole body away, like he's in pain. It's beautiful in the dull light, perfect skin painted blue and all his to take. He delves back to Dean's ass and licks a wide stripe from his brother's balls to his hole, squeezing his brother's hip tighter, forcing his brother to still his movements, before sliding his hand below Dean to get to his dick.

It's hard and hot and dripping, and he scoops some of the pre-come from the tip, making Dean bite the pillow and swallow down any noise he wants to make.

He knows Dean wants to cuss, wants to groan this long groan that he used to make… God, sometimes… sometimes Sam wants to hear his brother. Wants to hear him so badly it makes his heart ache. He wants to hear Dean beg and cry out and make all the noises he used to make… but in here?

That would just get them caught and that would be the death of them.

-:-

He taps his brother on his ass cheek, letting him know that he's going to put a finger in him, just so that Dean won't shoot off the bed, or scream, or twist away from him.

Dean coughs. A normal sound, everyone coughs, but in their little world that means 'm ready, do it, fuck do it, come on', and Sam does.

It's tight and hot and no matter how many times they do this, it still makes Sam close his eyes and breathe out, then breathe in and save this feeling in the deepest corners of his brain, so that he will never forget. Ever. No matter what happens.

He adds a second finger right after, because he knows Dean can take it. He's sloppy while scissoring them inside Dean; all of the spit he used comes running out of the hole and he leans forward to put some back in.

He can feel Dean shaking beneath his hand that still holds him firmly against the bed. Shaking like a leaf on unsteady waters.

He wants to say something, anything, but can't. So he pushes his tongue inside his brother's hole, making some room with his fingers, stretching the skin more, stretching the hole more, licking and sucking and all but spitting inside his brother.

He's many things, they both are, but hurting his brother is not who he is. Never was. Doesn't want to be and never will be. He knows that.

He wants to whisper Dean, but can't.

He wants to whisper I want you so bad, but can't.

He wants to whisper you're mine, but can't.

He wants to whisper 'm yours, but can't.

But he knows that his brother already knows all that.

Because this is their own little world, where words mean nothing.

It's all in the touches, fingertips to overheated skin, smoothing the trembles and the goosebumps, relaxing excitement into pleasure. It's all in the way their breaths come out together in harsh pants that they try so hard to muffle. It's all in the way they are shaking from need and want, all in the way their skin slides together slicked with sweat, all in the way they both have to hold back the noises that try so desperately to escape.

All in the way they live for each other.

-:-

He taps Dean's ass cheek again, a signal for ''m adding a third finger', and watches Dean push himself onto his forearms, spreading his legs just a little bit wider. Sam knows that his brother wants to get up on his hands and knees, knows that it would be so much better, but the space is just not there. He's already scratching the bottom of his own bunk with his back… it's just not possible.

So he squeezes his fingers on Dean's hip, letting his brother know that it's okay, and that makes Dean relax back down.

The third fingers is a tight fit, but he smoothes it all down with his tongue and mouth and more spit.

He knows Dean would keen if he could. Knows his brother would moan so loudly that it would shake the bed. But all Dean can do is twist his body a bit to the right, his right leg falling down the low bed and bite another hole in the pillow and try not to tear the fabric apart.

-:-

Three fingers and his tongue are what's keeping Dean on edge and he would like nothing more than to just push inside his brother, fuck him into the mattress and make him lose his brain through his dick, but he can't. Can't do that. Not yet.

Because the night is their own little world, a world that lasts for eight hours, give or take, and he has time. The guards come around sometimes, but all they see is two brothers sharing a bed. Nothing strange about that. At all.

Prison is a strange place and stranger things have happened. Or they just don't give a fuck.

-:-

In and out, in and out he pushes his fingers, scissors them, but always avoiding Dean's prostate, because that would just end this too soon, and he wants to be inside Dean when his brother comes. It's in the simple things like that, that Sam finds his pleasure.

That and looking into his brother's eyes when Dean comes, because in that moment, he can see the Impala rushing down back roads, he can see the way his brother used to sit on the bed and clean their weapons, he can see how much Dean wants him… wants this. Can see his brother come undone under him. Makes him come undone above him.

-:-

He pulls out his fingers and gathers some more spit in his mouth to push into Dean's asshole. He'd go to his own dick for some pre-come, but he knows that just one touch would set him off and that would be a waste, because he wants to fuck his brother more than once tonight.

-:-

They have a simple code for 'turn around' and it's a kiss on the small of Dean's back. An open mouthed kiss that is more licking off his brother's sweat that anything else.

But it gets the job done and he never loses touch with Dean's hips, holding his brother to the bed while Dean turns over on his back.

They can do this. There's just enough space between the two bunks.

-:-

In the blue light, his brother's lips are almost purple, spit-slicked and swollen from biting on them. But all the while, he presses them tightly together, trying to keep from uttering a sound. His eyes are closed shut, squeezed together so tight it has to hurt and Sam reaches out to them, runs his finger softly over the eyelids, making Dean open his eyes. There's no green in those huge eyes, all the color swallowed by the black pupils. His hair's plastered to his head, sweat running down his face, down his neck, down his chest, and Sam just has to taste. Has to… kiss it, taste it, have it.

By the way Dean is holding on to his sides, and digging his fingers into his ribs, Sam knows that Dean is hanging on, scared that he'd fly away. Or that Sam would be taken away. It's a fear they both share, but try to make disappear with tiny, barely there touches during the day. Innocent slaps on the back, brushes of their arms… something that's real.

He wants to say Dean, but he can't. He wants to whisper his brother's name into his skin, follow the sound everywhere. But he can't.

He wants to say you taste so good, but he can't. All he can do is run his tongue down Dean's neck, breathing out over the flutter of his brother's heart beat, down to his nipples that are standing out in peaks, latching on to them and rolling them around with his tongue.

He wants to kiss his brother, but is scared that if Dean would open his mouth, he'd scream and Sam wouldn't be able to swallow down that sound. Probably wouldn't even want to.

And they can't have that.

So he looks up into his brother's eyes, blinks, and Dean pulls up his legs, all the way up until his knees are touching his own chest and Sam can push his arms underneath his knees.

Dean sighs and turns his head away, biting his lip on the 'fuck' that's trying to escape his mouth. Sam knows… he knows his brother inside and out.

He wants to whisper 'relax', he wants to say 'breathe', he wants to say 'look at me', but he knows that Dean knows all that already.

-:-

It's his turn to cough now, when he pushes slowly into the tight heat of his brother's hole, the spit and his pre-come slicking the way a little, but it's still so tight, so overwhelming, so hard to breathe that he's sure he lost some time there, because Dean's trying to tug at him with his arms and legs and yeah, okay.

He must be hurtin' his brother, must burn a little, he probably hasn't stretched him enough, hasn't spent enough time fingering him, hasn't used enough spit, but… he can't do anything about it now. All he can do is watch his brother's eyes and mouth 'I gotcha'.

Dean's eyes are wide open, trust and fuckin' love so obvious in them, sweat and tears hanging onto the long lashes and his throat's working, stuffing down all the noises, until a weird hacking/snore like sound escapes his mouth, a noise that makes Sam push all the way in, because just hearing Dean's voice is enough to make him see sparks of light dance before his eyes. He shuts them closed, for just a second, just to engrave this feeling into his brain… for later.

It's their own little world, where they can taste freedom on each other's skin. Their own little world where touch is a word meaning family and freedom. Their own little world where looking at each other's eyes is like riding in the Impala down a never ending highway. A world, where they can have everything; family and love and pleasure and where despair is lost in between shared gasps and bruising fingers holding on to warm flesh.

It's the only thing they've got, when everything else had been stripped away from them. They still have each other.

-:-

His brother's tugging at him again, hands sweeping all over his body, everywhere Dean can reach, it tickles and it makes him hotter than ever, forcing him to open his eyes and move. And he does. He pulls out and pushes back in, slowly, too slow to even be called anything, but then he picks up the pace, making Dean's face scrunch up into a grimace and then relax back into lines of pleasure.

They don't break eye contact. Not for a long time. It's all they have.

But then Sam's arms start to hurt, holding himself up like that, his shoulder hasn't been feeling all that great lately and he has to lower his head onto Dean's chest, lower his body onto his brother's, rest for just a second, just to feel his brother's heart beat. He knows Dean gets it, knows it by the way his brother is breathing in his ear, the way his thighs tremble underneath his hands. He looks up and Dean looks down and the feeling of home and safety is enough to make him fuckin' come.

-:-

He bites down on Dean's shoulder when he comes, leaving a bite mark for sure, but he doesn't care. He wants to yell and cry out, but he can't and his brother's shoulder is right there.

And when he comes back to himself, ungluing his teeth from his brother's skin, he feels Dean's walls clamp down on his softening dick and hot wetness hit his stomach. He made his brother come untouched. Sure he felt Dean's dick rub his stomach all the time, but… he never put his hand on it. Never touched it.

Dean bites his shoulder and tugs at his hair so forcefully it freakin' hurts, so… they're even, he guesses.

Fuck.

-:-

Their breaths are loud, so loud it's like a rush in his ears and he's worried for a second, but he can't stop panting. And when Dean shakes his head and runs his hand up and down Sam's heaving chest, he calms down. Relaxes into the motion, slows down his breathing.

He lowers Dean's legs, strokes his thighs, because they probably have some cramps, and pulls out, licking the hiss from his brother's mouth as he does.

And then he can't stop himself. Can't… stop his hand from going higher up his brother's thigh, up to his softening dick, running his index finger up the hot, wet skin making Dean bite his lip, because it's probably too much and then below his balls until he can push two fingers into his brother's hole.

It's really wet; spit and come and sweat and everything making it slick, and it's stretched wide, so wide he can add a third finger with no effort. He could probably push a forth finger in too.

It's mesmerizing and when he looks up into his brother's eyes and twists his fingers inside that wet heat, pushes them on his brother's prostate, scissors them a little, Dean pushes down and yeah… they can go again.

But… he pulls his fingers out and looks at them, making damn sure there's no blood there, because that's not who he is, and he lets out a shaky breath, because there's nothing even remotely looking like blood running down his fingers. Nothing even close to blood.

It's okay. Everything is okay.

-:-

A drop of sweat falls from his bangs on Dean's nose and he goes after it.

It's their own little world and they still have some time to live in it, before real life's going to come crashing down on them like a tidal wave.

-:-

"Hey Winchester!"

Dean spins around coming nose to red pimply nose of another inmate, one he knows is in the cell to the left of theirs, but they have never spoken.

All he knows of the guy is that he snores and that he's in for some murders or something. Very petty crimes in Dean's book.

"Next time you'll be making those sounds, pretty, pretty sounds, they'll be 'cause my dick'll be up your ass."

Dean snorts at the red zit on the guy's fat nose and the sound of the guy's neck breaking makes Dean's lip tug up in a smile. When the guy falls to the tiled floor and Sam comes into view, Dean grabs his brother's nape and pulls him down for a kiss. It's a messy kiss, all tongue, teeth and spit and breath mixing with breath, when the guards finally manage to pry Sam away.

Solitary confinement.

Fuck it.

The End.