Author: sangre antigua.
Rating; Title; Pairing: M; No Need to Explain; Dean(na) Winchester/Sam(antha) Winchester.
Summary: Samantha Winchester has a loud dream, and Deanna goes to help. PWP.
Warning/Disclaimer: Do not own these characters. Femmeslash. Incest. W00000000T.
Deanna couldn't explain what was going on in front of her eyes.
She could explain seemingly patternless murders, hunt and kill demons, drink grown men under the table, build up the Impala from scratch—but she could not, for the life of her, explain what was going on in the bed adjacent to her own. The sounds being ripped from Sam's mouth were guttural and animalistic, with an edge that birthed sparks of warmth in her stomach. If Deanna hadn't known any better, she would have thought Sam was in trouble or struggling against someone—or something. A vampire or a ghoul, or some kind of other black-eyed, nameless demon that they would hunt down and, eventually, kill.
The only thing Sam was struggling against was the thin, white sheet wrapped around her body. She fought it with strength Deanna surely knew she possessed, but wouldn't have guessed she still could harness in her sleep. Her movements were harsh and her breathing jagged, her rough inhales and exhales making the warmth in Deanna's stomach escalate into a heat that burned between her thighs. It was wrong—sicksicksick—for her to be excited by this, but as she turned onto her side, eyes adjusting to the darkness of their motel room and locking on Sam freeing herself from her captor, all thoughts of wrong and sick vanished, eagerly being replaced by want this and need this.
Sam had freed herself, but she was still struggling. Her elbows were dug deep into the mattress beneath her, her knees bent and her back sharply arched. Occasionally she would lower herself and grind into her mattress, her face painted with mild frustration. After a few moments of her grinding, she would raise her hips again, reaching an angle that had to hurt.
It looked like she was—
Was she humping the air?
Little Sam, little miss above-one-night-stands, was having a sex dream?
This was too great. Quickly, Deanna sat up in her bed and threw her legs over the side. She watched with rapt attention as Sam's tank top slowly rode up her taut, tanned abdomen, coming to a stop below ample breasts. The amount of exposed skin between the thin white tank and soft black panties was both too much and not enough. Deanna gaped at the muscles that contorted each and every time Sam moved, the hip bones that rose and fell as Sam wriggled around. She willed the tank top to move, willed the panties to slide down. But the tank top wouldn't move any farther, held down by the curve of Sam's breasts, and the panties tauntingly slid down, only to be slid back up by the next roll of her hips. Deanna had half a mind to amend the situation. They had to be exposed—they needed to be exposed. She could just barely make out Sam's nipples, the pale carmine nubs hard and begging to be freed from beneath the confines of her tank top, and the urge to bathe the sharp creases of Sam's hipbones with her tongue was building quickly.
She made a mental note to salt and burn that particular set of panties when laundry day came around. She would take great pleasure in destroying them. And if Sam asked about them later...well, then, the washer must have eaten them, or something. Though Deanna knew good and well that she probably wouldn't remember much about tonight besides the rough breathing, pelvic thrusts, and the torridity between her thighs.
"Fuck," whimpered Sam, yanking Deanna's thoughts away from the burial plot she had mentally begun digging for the panties. Somewhere between gawking at her breasts and damning those panties to hell, Sam had rolled onto her stomach. She alternated between sticking her ass in the air (God bless the set of dimples above the waistband of her panties) and gyrating against the mattress. It took all of Deanna's willpower not to march over there, slap that perky ass and plunge her hands, her tongue, her everything into Sam's underwear.
While her eyes took in the arch of Sam's ass, her tongue slowly wet her lips and her right hand crept down her thigh, finding purchase at damp, white panties. She pushed the cloth to the side before leisurely parting her lips, the tip of her middle finger ghosting over the crown of her clit. Her hips surged forward lightly.
"Deanna," Sam breathed. Deanna froze where she was, fingers lightly coated in her own excitement, and held her breath. The other female was still asleep, eyes closed but tightly so. Had she just been caught? Absentmindedly, she removed her hand from the apex of her thighs and braced them on either side of her. "Stop—stop teasing," she mumbled and let out a frustrated groan.
That was a green light if Deanna had ever heard one.
The hesitance that hit her was unfamiliar to her. Deanna Winchester was comfortable with her body, with the curve of her breasts, the sway of her hips, the full lips hiding a smirk. Men and women fawned over her and pursued her openly. It wasn't rare for her to come home as the sun was rising, stinking of booze and sex, wearing bite marks and scratches on her shoulders and back as badges of her escapades. Sam had always made a face at her, rambling on about how she didn't care enough about her actions and didn't respect herself. Deanna had always rolled her eyes and stripped to her tank top and panties, crawling into bed. "I use protection, mom," she replied, and promptly ignored the sigh Sam offered to the darkness.
Sam was different, though. Different from all of the men she had slept with, definitely different from all of the women she had touched, kissed and suckled upon. Sam was all big eyes and even bigger heart, long legs and full lips. Sam had the biggest brain on her that Deanna had ever come across, and a mouth quick enough to rival Deanna's own at times. There was the need to impress and protect with Sam, and the thought of crawling into bed with her scared her to death. Would she be attractive enough? Generous enough? Could she find all of Sam's weak spots?
The fact that it would be considered incest was not lost on Deanna. Sam was her younger sister, was the most important person in her life and the last person she wanted to disappoint. The love Deanna had for Sam had long surpassed the simply platonic that siblings shared. She found herself watching Sam as she walked away, all long legs and tight ass and dammit all when did she get so beautiful? At bars, she searched out girls that resembled Sam and sweet-talked them away from their barstools. It was never enough, though. She needed the real Samantha Winchester, not these poor substitutes. Morally, Deanna knew these thoughts were sick and winced at the thought of John Winchester finding out about her devious thoughts. At the same time, she thought of the ass she watched whenever Sam walked away, and the simple way she laughed at a joke.
If Deanna climbed into bed with her, would Sam wake up and freak out, or would she simply resume her dream in reality? If she reacted badly, Deanna didn't know how she would cope with the embarrassment or the rejection. But if she didn't act and lost this window of opportunity, she would never forgive herself.
Deanna figured that she had had enough time over the past few months to chew herself out about her feelings and her lack of action. She had the perfect opportunity to act, what with Sam practically screaming out her reciprocation of lust and want.
Enough sitting on my hands, Deanna decided.
Quietly, she made her way to the other bed, wincing minorly as the bed whined in protest, and guided Sam onto her back. Then, in a swift, clean movement, she straddled the younger Winchester and placed her hands on either side of Sam's face. She leaned in and breathed hotly against Sam's ear, smirking at the goosebumps dancing up and down her arms. "Sam," she whispered, nipping at virginal lobe.
Sam stirred a little, hips surging forward. They calmed as they came in contact with Deanna's own, but it was nothing near enough. They came up again and again, steadily forming a rhythm.
"Wake up," Deanna said, louder this time, the point of her tongue trailing from the bottom of Sam's ear to the very top. Beneath her, Sam shuddered. Still not enough. Rolling her eyes, Deanna sat up and mulled over the next course of action. She could keep whispering and get annoyed at the bare responses she was getting, or she could just let her hand dive into those panties and into that cavern of warmth.
Deanna decided on another route.
The tank top obstructing her view was gingerly but swiftly dealt with.
Sam had always had a beautiful chest. She filled her button-ups to the point of bursting and, try as she might to hide that beautiful sweep of luscious flesh, heads turned at the sight. A full C, Deanna mused, cupping both mounds of flesh. The frustration on Sam's face faded as Deanna lazily rubbed at pebbled nipples with each thumb. Sam's breathing was even harsher than it had been, her rutting more needy. How she was still asleep, Deanna hadn't a single clue—but she was going to fix that. An impish smile in place, Deanna leaned forward and captured a ruddy nub between her lips and tentatively began to suckle, working the other nipple with her fingers all the while.
The younger came awake with a loud moan, the sheets fisted in her hands. She stilled for a moment, meeting Deanna's eyes as the other sucked a little harder, pinched a little more, before continuing with the grinding of their hips.
Deanna pulled away with a loud pop, a pleased smirk in place, and ignored her sister's groan of protest as she moved up to eye level. Their eyes met in silence, pupils blown with lust, before crushing their lips together. Sam tasted like beer, the first in a while that she had shared with her sister in ages, and Sam, something Deanna couldn't even begin to articulate. Her tongue was warm and highly active in their little fight for dominance, but still a little taxed by sleep, Sam allowed Deanna to freely explore her mouth. She felt tongue everywhere—her lips, her own tongue, her teeth. Hell, Deanna would probably lick a path all the way to her very lungs if she could. That wicked tongue would cover every inch offered and take a mile more after that. She could practically feel it between her thighs. Sam moaned shakily into the kiss at the thought as she slipped a hand under Deanna's tank top.
"Why are you always pulling away?" Sam protested. She licked her lips impatiently as she watched Deanna shed the article of clothing, discarding it aimlessly as her generous breasts bounced.
"How long have these dreams been goin' on?" Deanna dove in for another kiss, practically ripping it and a loud, guttural grunt from Sam before pulling back again. "Days? Weeks? Months?" She stole another, bruising their lips together, catching lower lip between her teeth and biting playfully.
"A few weeks!" Sam arched off the bed as Deanna pinched at her nipples. Another carnal groan was ripped from her throat. Had Sam been able to access the reasonable part of her brain, not the needthiswantthisgoodGod part, she would have questioned if that really had come from her. She had always been a little vocal during sex, but this was loud and animalistic; nothing like the usual soft whines and occasional "yes", "more" and "harder". This was Deanna, though. The elder Winchester had always brought out a fiercer side of her, a desire to be and do more in every aspect of life. It definitely translated into sex with Deanna, if the way her nipples were painfully hard and the growing wetness between her legs spoke for anything. "Do that again," she groaned, arcing her back as her nipples were pinched.
The tops of Sam's shoulders were dusted with light kisses as Deanna brought her hips down. "Were you going to tell me?" she questioned, nuzzling into her neck. She nipped at the flesh, marveling at the taste of soap and sweat and that distinct flavor of Sam. Leisurely she brought the tip of her tongue from the base of Sam's neck to the point of her chin.
For each roll of the hips Deanna gave, Sam gave one right back. But this wasn't doing enough. Sam shifted a little, fitting Deanna's leg between her owns, and bucked up once. Stars burst before her eyes. "No," she grunted, digging her fingers into the other's back. "Didn't want to," she paused to groan as Deanna suckled her pulse, rolling her hips harshly into Sam's leg, "freak you out."
A quick laugh and then their lips were together again, feverishly tasting one another until all of their air was expelled. Panting, Deanna pulled away and sat up. "Do I look freaked out?"
No. She looked perfect. Her breasts sat beautifully at eye-level, rosy nipples hard and appealing, bouncing lightly at every gulp of air Deanna took. Her hair loosely curled down to her shoulders, the tips dampened by sweat. And her lips—god her lips—were plump and bruised, practically screaming to be captured again. Sam said none of these things as she skillfully flipped her, settling comfortably on top. She wasted no time in kissing down Deanna's throat, lavishing every inch with tongue and teeth, until she reached a nipple. There she sucked hard, relishing in the loud groans steadily leaving Deanna's mouth. With her hands she mapped the body beneath her, the curve of her hips, the swell of her thighs, and when she found purchase at the damp heat between them, she teasingly began rubbing up and down. A grateful groan was her reward as she finally bypassed the panties.
"Right there," Deanna breathed, eyes closing as teeth encompassed her other nipple and fingers skillfully began rubbing at her sex. She rolled her hips into the touch, shuddering as two fingers parted her lips and slid inside. Sam's fingers were long and thin, graceful and beautiful, worn from their work, but surprisingly soft as they entered her. The fingers inside of her went from two to three and she cried out as they curled, viciously clamoring over her sweet spot. She hissed out Sam's name as she raised her hips, just a touch away from painful.
Slowly, agonizingly slow, Sam kissed her way down the expanse of Deanna's torso, pausing to flick her tongue into her bellybutton. Deanna groaned again and spread her legs to accommodate Sam as she moved lower. When she finally reached the waistband of her panties, Sam pulled at them with her teeth, let them snap back, and removed her fingers to slide them off. Deanna lamented the loss of contact, the loss of those beautiful, skillful fingers working inside of her, but practically quivered with the knowledge of what was to replace those digits.
Before the panties even hit the floor, Sam's mouth was on her sex. Her tongue was even more adept than her fingers and twice as vicious. The tip of her tongue darted mercilessly against her as Sam's fingers found her entrance again, the three from before slipping back inside with ease. Deanna shivered beneath all of the attention and she sat up to watch, their eyes meeting as Sam feverishly lapped at her sex. With one hand, Deanna held herself up, and the other fit itself to the curve of Sam's skull, guiding the bobbing head until she was a shuddering mess and needed the other for support.
"Right there," she breathed again, arching her back. Sam continued the assault at the same breakneck speed, her curled fingers and wicked tongue never letting up. "Sammy," Deanna whined, a forth finger sliding inside.
Sam was giving it all she had, a pleasant burn building in the muscles of her arms as she thrust her fingers in again and again. She smirked victoriously as Deanna began shuddering heavily, each quiver crashing over her like a wave. Her orgasm came hard and fast, back taut as a bow and mouth wide, heavy whines spilling endlessly. Sam worked her through it, licking her leisurely from the tip of her clit to her entrance, jutting her tongue in beside her fingers, until Deanna pried her off and pulled her up.
Their lips met lazily for a while. The taste of herself coupled with the taste of Sam only made her more aroused. As they kissed they molded themselves together, Deanna's knee between Sam's thigh, rubbing against soaked panties. Pulling away, Deanna pecked her gingerly on the lips before moving down, just as gradually as Sam had. Sam laid on her back and spread her legs to give Deanna more access, lifting herself up as her underwear was removed and thrown unceremoniously to the floor. Anxiously she licked her lips.
The creamy white skin of Sam's thighs was peppered with kisses and nudges. Sam sighed contentedly, clutching the sheets around her. The pace was torturous but it was a pleasant kind of pain, allowing her anticipation to build up. She wanted this. She needed this. And she finally was getting it.
Deanna's tongue gave a curious lick before delving between her lips, the flat of her tongue coming up the length of her sex three times before savagely attacking her clit with the tip of her tongue. Sam shifted, groaned loudly and lifted her hips. Deanna snaked an arm around her, bringing her closer, and continued her assault, tongue flicking against and around the sensitive bundle of nerves until Sam was writhing with pleasure.
When Deanna looked up at watch Sam's face, she found her eyes to be closed lightly, her lips curved up in a wide smile that twitched every time her tongue swiped across her engorged sex. She looked pretty pleased with herself, and Deanna couldn't argue. Gently, Deanna slipped two fingers inside, curling and searching for her sweet spot as soon as they got situated inside of her wet heat. Sam moaned loudly and fisted the sheets even harder.
This was everything that Sam could have hoped for, though the way it fell into her lap was a little awkward. But Sam wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Her beautiful sister was lapping and nipping at her sex, her fingers thrusting in and out at a delicious pace, and she was moments away from orgasm. If she had known this would be the outcome, she would have spoken up weeks ago.
Sam's thighs clamped gently around Deanna's head as she came, shuddering animatedly. Her body was singing with the force of her orgasm. It left her body deliciously over-sensitized. She felt Deanna's fingers slipping out, the soft press of a kiss to her womanhood and the brush of moist skin as Deanna laid beside her, pleased with herself.
Nothing about this experience had been taken cautiously. They had both just dove right in. But as they lay there, basking in the warmth of afterglow, Deanna was shy about reaching out and taking Sam's hand and pressing soft kisses to each digit. Chick flick moments, as Deanna called them, weren't her thing, and yet the urge to giggle shyly and steal kisses took the place of her fading arousal. In the end it was Sam who linked their fingers. It was she who rolled on her side and initiated the lazy, blissful kisses that followed.
When Deanna broke away, she laid against the pillow and smiled. "You okay?" she questioned. She had had little apprehension about just acting, but now that everything had been said and done, she wanted to make sure Sam was okay with it. And that she had enjoyed it.
The nod Sam gave couldn't be eager enough. "Beyond," she whispered back, and offered a smile of her own.
Deanna couldn't explain when she had gotten lucky enough to have this gorgeous, spent creature before her, but she wasn't going to question it.