Work Text:
NEED
By Shorts
It had been two weeks since they had stumbled across the site of unexplained deaths that had claimed a number of children. Upon investigating, it turned out to be the spirit of a child molester that haunted the off road cabins that catered to families. Seemed a few years back the monster that disguised itself as a man had been killed and buried by way of rough justice by the families he had destroyed. Unfortunately, they didn’t find and destroy the remains before the entity had killed the twin little boys that had been there with their family.
The guilt of failing had buried itself deep inside and Dean kept pushing them from hunt to hunt until last night, or more accurately early this morning, a pissed off poltergeist slammed him through a wall. The result was bone deep bruising and cuts from splintered wood. Sam stopped just short of blaming himself for not watching his back and instead had volunteered to take care of their laundry, both of which Dean was willing to accept.
The sound of the Impala faded as Sam drove away and Dean rolled over. He hissed as the bruises on his back protested and he shifted into a sitting position. Skin and muscle flared into pain as he stuffed a pillow against the headboard and leaned back. Tipping his head, he closed his eyes against the throbbing that radiated through him.
Pressing his lips tightly together, Dean opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The steady, deep ache across his back and shoulders had him responding in a way that Sam wouldn’t be too pleased about. For Sam, it was all a matter of containing Dean’s need to reconnect, to make sure it didn’t endanger him beyond what Sam deemed acceptable.
Sighing, Dean lifted his head and stared down at his hands. The sharp pain brought clarity and exoneration for his failure in protecting the innocent. It also reminded him he was only human. A fact that he was afraid he would lose while constantly being surrounded by all the evil, horror and monsters.
Sam tried, and for the most part he succeeded, but there was still that element of chance that only existed when it was delivered with the single intent of destroying him. The edge of uncertainty had been lost when Sam had discovered his penchant for release . . . to reconnect. The risk had been blunted to a degree.
Shifting, he pressed back against the pillow and headboard, once again flaring the pain until it bordered on agony. He could feel the healing skin split and the small trickle of blood make its way downward. He gritted his teeth as he continued to press backward until a gasp passed his lips and his vision blurred through watering eyes. Slumping, he gripped his pendant before resting his hand on his chest. The pressure built against the confines of his jeans and he deliberately teased himself before undoing his jeans to ease the exquisite discomfort.
Slipping the fingers of his right hand under the denim, he knew any attempt to draw this out would be futile. He encircled his straining erection with a tight grip, squeezing ruthlessly as he roughly moved his fist up and down, his knuckles scraping along the metal teeth of his zipper. Biting his bottom lip, his hips twitched in time with his stroking, ignoring the protesting of fragile flesh along his back.
The rocking of his hips and the slide of his fist blended pleasure and pain into one intense sensation. Too soon he felt the tell tale tingle radiating from deep in his gut, his legs scrambling for purchase on the tangled bedding. Clenching his teeth together, he huffed hard and fast, his lip curling as he surrendered to the inevitable.
Arching, he strained with every aching fiber toward release. A choked sob was all he allowed himself as he came, coating his hand and stomach. Dropping his head forward, he waited until his breathing and heart rate slowed before forcing himself to move. With careful movements, he made his way to the bathroom to wash away the evidence of his unspoken need.