Prompt by Canbea - Sam and Dean sexy times and swimming pool. I deviated away from the former and concentrated more on the latter. Inspired a little by a scene from Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief (film)
Time it took us,
To, where the water was
That's what the water gave me.
And time goes quicker
Between the two of us.
Oh, my love, don't forsake me
Take what the water gave me.
Florence and the Machine – What the Water Gave Me
(.:.)
He watches him, the way his hair wafts beneath the moonlit ripples of the water's surface, wind crinkling the reflective exterior like furled paper. It's beautiful in a way - a brief respite from everything. It laps around his bare ankles, jeans rucked up awkwardly around his knees. He makes no move to get in, more than happy to watch the bubbles float lazily to the surface from below, breaking the mirrored pane of glass, popping to break the tension of the warm Texan night air.
Dean runs a hand through his hair, eases himself further in, water accepting him easily up to his shins, lapping hungrily at the backs of his knees. It tickles the soft, sensitive skin in an odd way, a cold, sharp sensation that bleeds into warmth as he grows accustomed to it. Sam's been down there too long. But - no wait he can see him now, hazel eyes reaching up towards him from the murky depths, great long legs crossed against the bottom, arms resting against his knees as if he is meditating. But he's not - he's not Cas, Sam's not into all that crap.
He shifts, great lean body uncurling itself like a leaf in fall - a fern in spring. He floats weightlessly for a while, hair and limbs suspended in a limbo so beautiful Dean finds his mouth dry despite the humidity, despite him needing to lick a wetness back into his lips that just won't come.
He's beautiful. He's his.
Dean watches lazily from beneath hooded eyes as Sam makes to surface, body undulating under the weight of the water, moon and stars embracing him as he breaks the surface, water falling across skin, caressing stubble and juts of bone, tanned skin and sweat washed by purity. He gasps - laughs, sucks in breath like a starved man. He treads water, the pool not deep but deep enough that he must stand on tip toe to breathe, hair slickened across his forehead and hanging in his eyes in a way Dean finds most endearing.
Sam swims blind over to his brother, great strokes of powerful arms, Dean's eyes drinking in the way the light from above shifts against the muscle and bone of his shoulders, collecting in pools in the small of his back, the pits of his spine. Dean parts his legs to accommodate Sam, runs a hand through his brother's slick hair to keep it from his eyes, a small, soft smile playing on his lips as the scents of chlorine and Sam's aftershave mix with the scents of the open plains just outside the confines of the motel car park. Crickets chirp and some other insect drones continuously, the soft thrum and drum of cars on the interstate somehow managing to meld with those more natural to create one warm blanket of sound.
Somewhere to their right a streetlamp flickers from entirely natural causes.
Sam smiles, planting his large paws either side of his brother's thighs before he levers himself up, damp chest soaking Dean through the worn cotton of his t-shirt as his lips barely caress his brother's; a chaste kiss, warm and wet and leaving a sting of chlorine Dean'll be able to taste for days to come.
Dean sighs, allows himself to get dragged in, water welcoming him like an old friend. It engulfs him entirely as Sam takes him down, his eyes and mouth and body a siren song Dean has never found himself able to resist. It's a great weight around him – the water, though not in a bad way, replacing the weight of the world with an immense pressure of echoing noise and the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. He opens his eyes to the world he'd looked down on not moment ago, finds it dark, light filtering down from above, a blue haze marred only by one long, tan expanse of human flesh as it writhes beneath his own hands, delicious contact, sweet noise as bubbles briefly escape a mouth he recaptures with his own. Their bodies intertwine and lay dormant, content to remain in simple connection, forehead again forehead, Sam's arm hooked around his waist to keep them together, toes brushing the tiled bottom to keep them anchored. He smiles, eyes crinkling, bubbles captured in the waves of his hair like pearls in the weed of the sea. Sam looks as though he belongs there; the azure texture of the world they've delved into seeming to agree. It sifts down through the water from above, dapples his body, casts shadows across hard muscle and bone that leaves highlights to flit across skin – brighten his eyes.
The light licks as Dean licks, kisses where Dean kisses.
Sam is beautiful
And he's all his.
(.:.)
And Oh, poor Atlas
The world's a beast of a burden
You've been holding up a long time.
And all this longing
And the ships are left to rust,
That's what the water gave us.
Florence and the Machine – What the Water Gave Me