interpretthis | Drabble: Deluge

Title: Deluge

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: Mature

Summary: Sam grinned one of those grins that tears across your mouth when you know you’re alive and a part of the universe and Dean whistled, low.

Notes: For onehoureternity. (Oh hallo, run-on sentence!)

The rain fell down around them in torrents, drenching the Impala, pounding on the windshield, streaking the world outside, distorting it until all they could see was the blurry smudge of the empty highway and the clean transparency of the waterlogged, indistinguishable world beyond.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

They looked at each other then, because there was certainly nothing to see in the swimming world outside, and the utter closeness and realness and aliveness of his brother’s face compared to the drowning world he’d just torn his eyes from hit Sam like a blow to the gut. His mind skipped a beat. He saw something in Dean’s eyes, something deep and dark and hungry hiding just above the curve of that sly, soft pink smirk, and dragged his gaze away to drench it in the view from the windshield once more. It was unreal, this storm. The road was deserted. The world was being washed clean. There was no way anything could survive this cleansing, this distortion. Not even a demon could withstand the drenching. The world was dissolving and with it all the pain and anger and fear. Sam grinned one of those grins that tears across your mouth when you know you’re alive and a part of the universe and Dean whistled, low, and they looked at each other again, silently, and Sam’s grin disappeared and Dean’s smirk didn’t seem to have quite as much of its shit together as it usually did and that deep hungry darkness in his eyes reappeared and Sam let out a breath that carried with it a “Dean”. And then suddenly the hungry darkness wasn’t deep, wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was thick with something that Sam had never, ever heard, and as much as it scared him, he wanted to hear it again and again and again until his ears were raw and he was filled with more fear than he’d ever held and somehow, sometime the Impala had come to a stop and someone else’s eyes – hungry and dark – were close to his, so close, and someone else’s hot breath was ghosting over his face and there. There it was again, that sound, rich and fucking heavy with pent-up desire and need and fuckyespleasewant, except that this time it had come from his own lips.

“Dean.”

Dean groaned and his hand – warm and rough – gripped Sam’s chin and their lips crashed together, heat on heat, hunger on hunger, darkness on darkness, and Sam moaned against his brother’s lips as the rain pounded into his mind, spreading clarity through the cloud of desire cause fuck if this wasn’t the way he’d always wanted it, and if Dean’s ravenous lips and low groans had any truth to them, Sam wasn’t the only one.

“Bitch,” Dean choked out.

“Jerk,” Sam hissed against his lips as he shifted into his brother’s lap.

And, god, everything was the same and everything was different. The rain was painting the world silver-gray around the awkwardly-parked Impala and their lips were working fiercely, fingers roaming, groans skimming over heated skin and Sam grinned against Dean’s neck because fuck if he wasn’t alive as hell.