Diaries of the Next Disney Princess

xxkastielxx:

When Sam fucks Dean, he’s all man—grunting, fucks like a hammer, slams his hips and his cock into Dean so hard Dean’s almost afraid he won’t ever be able to walk again.  Sammy bites him—bites his collar bone, his neck, his pecks, his nipples—where ever he can reach.  Sam grabs his hips so hard it leaves bruises.  Sam doesn’t moan when he fucks Dean, he grunts, he pants, he curses, but he never moans.  Sam usually gives Dean a dirty fuck after a hunt when neither of them were sure the other would make it out alive.  Sam fucks Dean, fucks Dean like he isn’t sure he’ll ever get to do this again.  Sam is young, eager to please, eager to show Dean just how young he isn’t, but Dean will always have that little endearing smirk as he watches his brother try to prove himself when he doesn’t need to.  

When Dean fucks Sam, Dean doesn’t fuck Sam—he makes love to him.  Sam is languid and soft when Dean makes love to him.  Dean likes it this way.  He rolls his hips, driving his dick home and edging that perfect sweet spot inside of Sam and Sam arches his back, elongates his neck like a fuckin’ prize for Dean, like a silver platter of tan skin waiting to be worshipped.  Dean kisses Sam—kisses his eyes, his nose, his lips, lets his lips graze the soft skin of Sam’s pecks, lets them run across Sam’s nipples and grins when they harden even more under his touch.  When Dean makes love to Sam, he worships him—touches everywhere, kisses everywhere, because when Sam moves his body to reach Dean’s touch, he’s like a God demanding praise and Dean is all too willing to give it.  Sam looks Dean in the eyes when Dean makes love to him—stares longingly, and Dean can see the loved etched into the green-gold flecks.  Sam moans underneath Dean.  Lets himself go enough to moan, a real moan, stretched and sluggish coming out of his throat.  Sam doesn’t curse when Dean makes love to him.  The only word he does say is “Dean.”

When Sam and Dean lay together after sex, no matter who was on top, no matter who touched who, they laid wrapped together so impossibly close and so intimate that Dean wondered why he ever laid with anyone else like this other than Sam, because Sam just fit, he just fit into Sam so perfectly, so right.  The never say anything.  Their fingers are always laced together, both hands, in a messy yet neat ball of fingers and palms right between their chests, and their foreheads are always pressed together while their legs are tangled in a mess almost bigger than their hands are, and they’re naked and they just fit together right.  They just…  fit.

When Dean kisses Sam goodnight, he lingers, always, like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s afraid to fall asleep because he doesn’t want Sam to not be there when he wakes up.  He’s afraid it’ll all have been a dream, or worse, that Sam regrets it.

Sam never regrets it—never has, never will, because he loves Dean, and his love should be enough.  Saved the world once.

(via deanofthemoment)

piparminttuperhonen:

I really wanna read some…

I just realized that based on the answers, I was not quite clear in my request. I wished to know if there is any fics based on the idea in Changing Channels where Sam is the Impala and Dean being the mechanic he is knows just where to touch to get the engine purr just right.