I wrote this a few days back for mona1347 and then polished up to keep my mad warming-up for notnanowrimo.It is muchly plotless.
Be Still
by MaygraDean/Sam, NC17, knife!kink.
The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.
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"Don't move, Sam…" Dean angles the blade just slightly more, feeling the strain in his own back and arms, easing back and feeling Sam tremble under him, stomach fluttering as the edge of the blade digs into the soft skin of his belly. Sam's heel digs into the back of his thigh, pressing him closer, ass and thighs and body so tight around Dean, Sam's not the only one having difficulty keeping his breathing steady. The urge to thrust is almost irresistible, to pound into Sam and watch him arch and feel him writhe and buck against Dean's cock until they both come.
But this is Sam's thing, this thing with sharp edges and the possibility of blood, of pain that pricks but doesn't linger. He tilts the blade up to its point, pressing it into the skin just below Sam's navel, easing back when the first bright bead of blood shows up.
"Dean…" Sam's voice is strained and tight and high, breathless and laced with anticipation that goes far beyond lust. His eyes flicker between where the blade is pressed to his belly and then up to Dean's face. He licks his lips and his eyes narrow. He rolls his hips up suddenly, legs tightening around Dean's waist and across his shoulder.
The blade slips, digs in almost too deep before Dean flips it upward, his hips snapping forward hard enough to drive Sam further up on the bed, then again before he can actually force himself to stop, pressing the blade flat against Sam's abdomen and his other hand digging into Sam's hip to keep him still. He gives Sam half a glare and they both breathe at the same time, bodies relaxing fractionally.
There's a thin line of blood on Sam's belly, smeared by Dean's shifting hand and the sweat on Sam's skin.
Dean doesn't even know what this is because he doesn't actually want to cut Sam, and Sam doesn't really want to be cut as far as Dean knows…but he can't deny that he's ever seen Sam so turned on and conversely so fucking obedient and compliant in his life. It's not actually that hard to accept though -- Sam's been fascinated with blades and knives since he was a kid, more so than guns or the ever contentious crossbow.
Everything about Dean is starting to ache, from the insistent pulse and pressure in his nuts and dick to his lower back and thighs where he's half tucked under Sam, buried balls deep in his ass. It's only been ten minutes or so but it feels like hours. Sam's dick is flushed darkly red and slick, shiny with come that Dean wants to taste but he's not that much of a contortionist.
"Give it to me. Show me what you can do," Sam says in a tone that's about equidistance between begging and a command. "You're not going to hurt me…"
It's almost a challenge but not quite and Dean grunts and stretches up, grips the back of Sam's calf and pushes, opening Sam up wider. The heavy hilt of the knife is perfectly balanced in his hand when he drops the tip down, the point of it disappearing into Sam's navel and he pushes down until he feels resistance. Sam whines and hisses through his teeth, digging his head back into the pillows.
"Stay still," Dean orders again and rocks forward and back, once more finding a rhythm, maintaining pressure on the knife. He's so fucking close and Sam is practically rigid beneath him, tension throwing muscles into relief, making the veins pop in his arms and along his throat. It's too much and not enough and Dean presses harder, lets Sam's leg go in the need to find leverage, pumping into Sam at the same rhythm as his rapidly pounding heart.
There's blood filling Sam's navel, trickling along his skin and Sam can't keep still, pushing up once more. Dean jerks his hand back again but he can't stop, doesn't want to, and swears out loud when Sam comes, semen mixing with the blood on his skin, a keening sound in his throat. He drops the blade on Sam's stomach, the tip pointed toward Sam's dick and grabs onto slick skin, pushing Sam up to pound and thrust into him until his own orgasm rushes out of him in a sudden explosion of heat and pressure and ball-twisting pleasure. He all but collapses across Sam when he pulls free, feels the hard, unyielding chill of the blade between them, the hilt digging into his ribs, and he has to push up a little to pull it free before one of them takes more damage than either of them want.
There's Sam's blood and come smeared on the blade -- mostly come. Dean stares at it, then at the little scrapes and cuts -- no worse than paper cuts and pin pricks -- on Sam's skin. He can't help himself, his tongue coming out to lap at the blade, tasting bitterness and salt, iron and copper.
Sam's watching him -- him and the blade -- and Dean is caught again by the half veiled lust and desire in Sam's blown pupils. He flips the blade over and leans in, driving the knife into the mattress to the hilt, right next to Sam's throat.
Sam doesn't even flinch, just grips the back of Dean's neck and pulls him down, mouth and lip and tongue covering and pushing in and around and tangling with Dean's, until Dean is lightheaded and dizzy. He rolls back, pulling Sam with him, then reaches over and pulls the knife free, trailing the tip down along Sam's spine.
Sam goes still again and shivers.
And Dean has to admit that Sam's not the only one with the knife kink. If nothing else, it's a sure bet that Sam will personally make sure that all their blades are honed and sharp…for whatever or whenever they might need them.
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10/21/2006