Sight
The vision before him is gorgeous, no other way to describe it. His long chestnut hair damp, sexy, and tousled. Liquid pools of jade blown wide from passion, reflecting trust, devotion, and pleasure, the image of his hidden strength. Looking into those eyes tells him everything he needs to know that never needs to be spoken. His lips part slightly to allow the tip of his pink tongue to trace around his lips, swollen and red from kissing. Hip bones framing the firm muscles rippling under velvet tanned skin that quivers with every touch, and nestled in a thatch of dark hair, a shaft of blood darkened desire rising toward his belly. He could see the head, a perfect mushroom glistening in the filtered moonlight as it twitched and leaked creamy fluid in anticipation. He knew that each sensuous stroke sent sparks across his mind and flashes of brilliant color behind his fluttering eyelids, and he watched as the love of his life writhed and finally came apart only for him. His body, then calming from the same touch that sparked its fire, muscles relaxing, lips now curling into a gentle smile as ‘love you so much’ is silently mouthed against his own skin just before a sated sleep claims him.
Sound
Sometimes, when the nightmares or the visions are so terrible, the only thing he can cling to is the thud of Dean’s heart. As he curls into the gentle place inside Dean’s arms, the steady beat against his head is comforting, almost mesmerizing. That heartbeat is strong and determined to fight and protect all that is right here. Almost from his birth, that sound is the only absolute he has even known as home. It is instinct, image, and recall. It is a remembered safety that is always right there for him to find. Dean understands and gently holds his head closer; listening for the gentled snuffles and murmurs that mean he is helping his baby brother fight the demons, helping Sam find the way back to him. As the panic fades, Sam will also be able to hear the steady, sure voice whispering that everything is okay, he has him
Then, there are the times when the air is filled with sighs and moans of his name as pleasure courses through his older brother’s body. Just knowing he is the cause of those sounds, knowing that he too can offer Dean some peace, makes him smile every time he hears them. There is the groan from deep in his throat as Sam caresses him, the whisper of his breath hitching right before he comes, and the resonance from the growl of unleashed desire and love as Dean reaches his release.
No matter the origin or nature of the sound, the result is pure comfort for them, representing a relationship so intimate, so honest and pure; they hear the echoes even in absolute silence.
Taste
It is probably written somewhere to know what his brother tastes like is a sin, but he does know and doesn’t really care what anyone would have to say about that.
Even if he were blindfolded, he can tell what part of Sam’s body he is caressing with his tongue by the forbidden flavors that are etched in his mind. The musk-spice taste is just above Sam’s collarbone, it is a wonderfully delicious spot that he can nuzzle and lick endlessly as Sam writhes beneath him.
Vanilla-clover is the mouth that welcomes him, parts open only for him as he plunges inside to taste heaven. Deeper, the flavor shifts to something darker like patchouli
Honey sweet tells him he is at the chiseled expanse of Sam’s chest as he sucks and nips at his nipples to relish in the essences there.
Sam’s navel is salty under his tongue; almost so that he is thirsty, but the only nectar that will quench the thirst from this salt is lower though, it is the most intimate flavor of Sam. When it flows from its release deep within his core, it is earthen and heavy, definitely fertile like the quintessence of life, the taste of paradise.
Smell
Sam’s memory is shrouded with all the scents of his brother. The scent of him working on the Impala is dirt, grease, sweat, and peace. When he has been on the prowl in a bar it is beer, smoke, and stale perfume. There are darker scents too, those of blood, death, slime, and graveyards. Those scents make him cringe, but they are still part of Dean.
Resting his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, the hint of safety lingers there. Fingers wrapped tight in Dean’s shirt, nuzzling it to his face is the smell of comfort after seeing too much; the scent of worn leather, the safe haven of having done too much. Dean’s scent is sanctuary and restoration, like the cleansing wash of a summer’s storm, it neutralizes the horror of the places they have to travel to and escape from.
The heavy scent of gunpowder-earth of Dean’s hair rises up from its place against Sam’s chest as he presses against him at night. He inhales the sweetness of intimacy, of desire, and belonging only with and to Dean. They are the only ones in the world at the moment.
Touch
Dean has always stroked Sam's hair, the feel of the soft strands drifting through his fingers bringing him as much comfort as it does Sam. The silky-smooth feel grounding him, telling him Sam is right there while reminding Sam that Dean is close, that he is safe.
There has always been something about holding his little brother. It makes him feel warm and happy, knowing Sammy is protected, that he trusts Dean enough to want him to hold him, to snuggle. It is something only they share. Dean holds him like he belongs there, no different than the moon and the stars, always together.
Sam sighs knowingly, and snuggles in closer, head riding in the crook of his brother's neck as the shaggy untamable locks caress the line of Dean’s jaw.
Their fingers gently stroke across hot satin-smooth skin, for comfort, for the undeniable need to feel the life that is right there. There is always passion, love, and devotion in their touches, the caress of calloused fingers, worn hard from battles fought, turning to silk on the other's skin as their touches heal and purify. These touches are always the ones they crave. No other touch gives them this, the complete feeling of being cherished.
He captures Sam’s mouth as it opens to his, to the soul-deep connection that seeks, to a lingering moment to nip and suck his lips.
His nipples are already hard before Dean’s tongue finds them. Slowly he moves down, continuing his teasing, tempting descent in his intimate dance of love with Sam. Sam lifts and strains against the weight of Dean holding him still and there is a fusion of timing and styles that makes ‘two’ become ‘one’.
Writhing under Dean’s hands, Sam is heat in motion as the pleasure drives through him. He loves the sensation of Sammy coming beneath him. When they mutually reach their completion, that wondrous moment feels like ecstasy. There is nothing more sensuous than that moment.
After, as Dean drifts to sleep, he knows he will wake to the grasp of Sam’s hand holding his, signifying that Sam will never release him, never let him fall, that touch will hold them together. Nothing has ever touched him like that, all the way to his core. That simple touch is a full circle completion of who Dean is.
Senses by sammysslave
Author's Notes:
A snapshot of Sam and Dean experiencing each other through the five senses. My thanks to Supernaturalgrl for the wonderful beta and support and The Huntress for all her encouragement.