PixCT: 9-20
Sep. 20th, 2007 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pixel_0It’s that time of the week again: Cock Thursday!
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
DruCT: 9-13
PixCT: 9-13
Today
DruCT: 9-20
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Mentions of underage incest
Adult rating
1850 words
- - - - -
Dru’s Pic Pick
- - - -
He had plans to leave the state, the state with its memories and people he just couldn’t face right now, and get to the Canadian border. In this morning’s paper over a breakfast of fried eggs and orange juice, he had seen something about a monster coming out of the woods to terrorize a grocery store’s meat locker. He figured it was an easy—distracting—enough case, and he sighed as the car came over the next in an endless ripple of hills.
Then his phone rang, and Dean nearly drove right off the road.
It wasn’t really the phone that startled him. It was the ringer. The ringer that he had programmed, assigned to only one person in the whole world, was filling up the Impala with its sound.
Tires crunching over the road’s shoulder, Dean slammed on the brakes, lurched forward in his seat hard enough to feel the bite of his seatbelt, and he scrambled to find his phone within the piles of sheer stuff he had used to fill the seat beside him. Stuff he had used to fill the seat and pretend he wasn’t as fucking alone as he really was.
He lifted the phone that was singing its tormenting ring and opened it with scrabbling fingers.
“Hello?” he breathed. His heart had jumped into his throat now, thud-thudding manically.
There was a pause, a crackle of static, and Dean opened his mouth to swear, to threaten, to throttle the person who called him like this, who tricked him, and then, “Dean? That you?”
Everything dropped away.
Dean swallowed his heart and said, “Yeah, Sam, it’s me. What…what’s going on?” He cut the car’s engine to sit in silence on top of the hill that looked out over a distant farm where a red tractor and green cultivator slept amongst towering silos. Below him, beyond the black hood of the Impala, the hills rolled over one another silently, green pillowed masses that hugged the tree-lined horizon.
“I was just thinking,” Sam responded.
“Yeah? ‘Bout what?” Dean asked casually, pretending that it hadn’t been ages since they had spoken, pretending that they weren’t separated by too much time and too many states, pretending that it didn’t pain him to hear the sound of Sam’s voice once again. Still shaking, he wiped his free hand over his sweating face.
Sam laughed softly, and Dean pictured him bowing his head, casting his eyes to the floor and blushing pink in his cheeks.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam said.
Dean smiled at the mental image of his embarrassed younger brother. “Try me,” he answered as he rolled down his window. The wind was warm and earthy. It smelled of spring, the world awakening and lives started anew. Dean closed his eyes just to inhale it uninterrupted for a brief moment.
“I was—” Sam faltered. “I was thinking about that time at Pastor Jim’s.”
“There were a lot of ‘time’s at Jim’s…”
“No,” Sam replied firmly, voice strong and sure now. “The first time. The one that mattered. The one that started, y’know, it.”
“I don’t—”
“Look, um, we discussed sexuality in psychology class today, and when we had to think of our first time and how it…affected us, you were the first person in my mind, and I thought about being at Pastor Jim’s again,” Sam suddenly blurt out in a fumbling flurry. “And I had to call you and I know we said we wouldn’t do this to each other, but Dean, all I could think of was you and everybody else in class just giggled about how stupid and awkward they were in the beginning, but that…That was, well, fuck.” Sam’s laugh was scratchy. “That was because they didn’t have you.”
Dean swallowed and brought a clenched fist to his forehead. It had been so goddamn long since he had talked to Sam—just once since Stanford had risen, large and impassable, between them. That single time had been around the holidays, merely a necessity to call, to participate in the season of brotherly love for once.
Now. Now, there was no guilt or obligation of a holiday pressing on their backs. Just Sam’s voice, miles away and yet intimately close beside Dean’s ear.
“Sam—” Dean started.
“Do you remember that night, Dean? Do you?”
Dean’s voice was dry, gone hoarse when he answered, “Yes.” He’d remember it the rest of his life. For better or worse, he’d remember, and nothing on Earth could make him forget it. He’d deny it, dear God, he would deny it forever, but forget? No, he’d never forget.
Sam’s sigh was a burst of static across the line, and Dean heard the creak of a bed as if Sam was sitting down.
“I remember how scared we were,” Sam said. “I put a chair in front of the door even after we locked it.”
“Not that it would’ve stopped Dad if he had really tried. He would’ve come in anyway, and he would’ve seen—us.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. His voice lightened like he was smiling as he said, “Remember how you wouldn’t undress me because you were worried about, well, you said ‘tricking’ me at first, but later you said ‘confusing’ me?” Sam chuckled. “As if I ever had a reason for being confused when it came to you. Besides, I was old enough. I knew what I was getting myself into. I wasn’t a kid.”
Dean bit his lower lip as a low heat began to unfurl in his cock at the memory of Sam standing before him. Sam, whose fingers had slowly unbuttoned the flannel shirt that had once been Dean’s and whose eyes had been ever fixed on Dean, sitting on the bed.
“You gave me my first blowjob that night,” Sam sighed. “Remember that? I thought I was going to die right there on the spot.”
“Yeah.” Dean’s voice broke on his answer. He recalled taking Sam by the hand and leading him to the old farmhouse bed with its sturdy metal frame. Dean had skimmed his nervous hands over Sam’s smooth stomach, held onto Sam’s hips when he rested his cheek on the bristled thatch of hair around Sam’s cock.
“I came so many times that night,” Sam told Dean. “I—I didn’t even know that was possible before then. Jacking off in the shower by myself just seemed so lame after that. Even now—here—it’s not the same as you.”
Dean ground his hand against his hardening cock, feeling how it pressed desperately against the resilient denim. Come in his mouth, he had kissed Sam, salty taste of his younger brother held on his tongue, and Sam had only smiled with downcast eyes, accepting everything Dean would offer that night.
“You let me jerk you off. Right there with Pastor Jim and Dad sleeping downstairs,” Sam continued.
Needing a release so badly, Dean unzipped his pants and slipped his cock from his briefs. It was heavy, blood hot and hard in his hand, and he stroked it slowly. Hesitantly. The touch, powered by memories of Sam’s hand once wrapped where his was now, made Dean hiss sharply.
“You remember, don’t you?” Sam was asking. “Are you touching yourself like I did? Are you?”
“Sam, don’t—” Dean began, needing to say, Don’t do this, don’t make me remember, but meaning to say, Don’t stop.
“I know, I know, but I want this. I want to hear you come again. Please, Dean.”
Dean swallowed thickly over a lump in his throat and let his head fall back against the seat. His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, and his hand pumped a little faster, fingers lifting and tugging at his balls on the stroke down.
“Talk to me, Sammy. Tell me about that night, mmkay?”
“You put your hand on my cock just like—oh—just like I’m doing now.” Sam sounded distant, and his voice was strained. “You didn’t know what you were doing any more than I did. It was the first time with a guy…for both of us.”
“Did it feel good?” Dean asked as his body trembled. Between the opened flaps of his jeans, his cock throbbed where it curved up to his stomach. His fist quickened, giving a twist every time his fingers slid up over the pink head.
“Mm-hmm,” Sam murmured. “You always made me feel good…” He huffed into the phone, and Dean could tell Sam was close also. “Remember we wiped up the come with our t-shirts because we didn’t want Jim’s wife seeing it on the bedsheets?”
“And then she wondered why we—” Dean choked when a sharp warmth zipped through his body. “Why we wanted to do our own laundry the next day.”
“Dean,” Sam moaned, “Dean, I remember you—” His voice cracked, fell apart completely as he came, and when Sam started talking again after a moment, he sounded breathless. “You…kissed me on the bed, rubbed our cocks together, and…you never laughed at me, not once all night…just held me.”
Dean was gasping now at the memory of Sam pressed up against him, their cocks bumping and sliding over one another. The recalled feeling hit him hard, and Dean groaned.
“I wish that I could be there right now to see you.” Sam whispered, “Do you still close you eyes when you come, Dean?”
Dean broke in a pinched cry; his cock shot over his hand and onto the steering wheel in front of him. He banged his head back against the seat, and his body convulsed and shuddered.
It took a minute before he was fully aware that Sam was talking to him. “…cleaned up now because I’ve got to leave for class soon, but I just wanted to hear you again.”
Clearing his throat, Dean whispered through the fuzz on his mind, “Yeah. Okay. That’s okay. That’s fine, Sam.”
“Dean, look. I—I, before I go, I just wanted to let you know that I…”
I miss you. I want you. I need you.
I love you.
“Me too, Sammy.”
Sam laughed easily before saying goodbye with promises to call again soon and hanging up.
Dean remained for a long moment, frozen in his seat; the stickiness was cooling on his hand and jeans. At last, he wiped off the wet surfaces with a used napkin from yesterday’s lunch and tucked himself back into his pants as another breeze flooded the interior of the car.
Still filled with the prickled remains of his orgasm, he started the car slowly and pulled it back onto the road. The wind rolled through the tops of trees and grass that lined the road to the barns in front of him.
He glanced in his rearview mirror, and his lips twisted in the barest flicker of a smile. Behind Dean with its memories and people he just couldn’t face right now, Pastor Jim’s old farmhouse watched Dean grow smaller in the increasing distance and drive away beneath the crest of the road.
End
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
Today
Dru’s Pic Pick
He had plans to leave the state, the state with its memories and people he just couldn’t face right now, and get to the Canadian border. In this morning’s paper over a breakfast of fried eggs and orange juice, he had seen something about a monster coming out of the woods to terrorize a grocery store’s meat locker. He figured it was an easy—distracting—enough case, and he sighed as the car came over the next in an endless ripple of hills.
Then his phone rang, and Dean nearly drove right off the road.
It wasn’t really the phone that startled him. It was the ringer. The ringer that he had programmed, assigned to only one person in the whole world, was filling up the Impala with its sound.
Tires crunching over the road’s shoulder, Dean slammed on the brakes, lurched forward in his seat hard enough to feel the bite of his seatbelt, and he scrambled to find his phone within the piles of sheer stuff he had used to fill the seat beside him. Stuff he had used to fill the seat and pretend he wasn’t as fucking alone as he really was.
He lifted the phone that was singing its tormenting ring and opened it with scrabbling fingers.
“Hello?” he breathed. His heart had jumped into his throat now, thud-thudding manically.
There was a pause, a crackle of static, and Dean opened his mouth to swear, to threaten, to throttle the person who called him like this, who tricked him, and then, “Dean? That you?”
Everything dropped away.
Dean swallowed his heart and said, “Yeah, Sam, it’s me. What…what’s going on?” He cut the car’s engine to sit in silence on top of the hill that looked out over a distant farm where a red tractor and green cultivator slept amongst towering silos. Below him, beyond the black hood of the Impala, the hills rolled over one another silently, green pillowed masses that hugged the tree-lined horizon.
“I was just thinking,” Sam responded.
“Yeah? ‘Bout what?” Dean asked casually, pretending that it hadn’t been ages since they had spoken, pretending that they weren’t separated by too much time and too many states, pretending that it didn’t pain him to hear the sound of Sam’s voice once again. Still shaking, he wiped his free hand over his sweating face.
Sam laughed softly, and Dean pictured him bowing his head, casting his eyes to the floor and blushing pink in his cheeks.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam said.
Dean smiled at the mental image of his embarrassed younger brother. “Try me,” he answered as he rolled down his window. The wind was warm and earthy. It smelled of spring, the world awakening and lives started anew. Dean closed his eyes just to inhale it uninterrupted for a brief moment.
“I was—” Sam faltered. “I was thinking about that time at Pastor Jim’s.”
“There were a lot of ‘time’s at Jim’s…”
“No,” Sam replied firmly, voice strong and sure now. “The first time. The one that mattered. The one that started, y’know, it.”
“I don’t—”
“Look, um, we discussed sexuality in psychology class today, and when we had to think of our first time and how it…affected us, you were the first person in my mind, and I thought about being at Pastor Jim’s again,” Sam suddenly blurt out in a fumbling flurry. “And I had to call you and I know we said we wouldn’t do this to each other, but Dean, all I could think of was you and everybody else in class just giggled about how stupid and awkward they were in the beginning, but that…That was, well, fuck.” Sam’s laugh was scratchy. “That was because they didn’t have you.”
Dean swallowed and brought a clenched fist to his forehead. It had been so goddamn long since he had talked to Sam—just once since Stanford had risen, large and impassable, between them. That single time had been around the holidays, merely a necessity to call, to participate in the season of brotherly love for once.
Now. Now, there was no guilt or obligation of a holiday pressing on their backs. Just Sam’s voice, miles away and yet intimately close beside Dean’s ear.
“Sam—” Dean started.
“Do you remember that night, Dean? Do you?”
Dean’s voice was dry, gone hoarse when he answered, “Yes.” He’d remember it the rest of his life. For better or worse, he’d remember, and nothing on Earth could make him forget it. He’d deny it, dear God, he would deny it forever, but forget? No, he’d never forget.
Sam’s sigh was a burst of static across the line, and Dean heard the creak of a bed as if Sam was sitting down.
“I remember how scared we were,” Sam said. “I put a chair in front of the door even after we locked it.”
“Not that it would’ve stopped Dad if he had really tried. He would’ve come in anyway, and he would’ve seen—us.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. His voice lightened like he was smiling as he said, “Remember how you wouldn’t undress me because you were worried about, well, you said ‘tricking’ me at first, but later you said ‘confusing’ me?” Sam chuckled. “As if I ever had a reason for being confused when it came to you. Besides, I was old enough. I knew what I was getting myself into. I wasn’t a kid.”
Dean bit his lower lip as a low heat began to unfurl in his cock at the memory of Sam standing before him. Sam, whose fingers had slowly unbuttoned the flannel shirt that had once been Dean’s and whose eyes had been ever fixed on Dean, sitting on the bed.
“You gave me my first blowjob that night,” Sam sighed. “Remember that? I thought I was going to die right there on the spot.”
“Yeah.” Dean’s voice broke on his answer. He recalled taking Sam by the hand and leading him to the old farmhouse bed with its sturdy metal frame. Dean had skimmed his nervous hands over Sam’s smooth stomach, held onto Sam’s hips when he rested his cheek on the bristled thatch of hair around Sam’s cock.
“I came so many times that night,” Sam told Dean. “I—I didn’t even know that was possible before then. Jacking off in the shower by myself just seemed so lame after that. Even now—here—it’s not the same as you.”
Dean ground his hand against his hardening cock, feeling how it pressed desperately against the resilient denim. Come in his mouth, he had kissed Sam, salty taste of his younger brother held on his tongue, and Sam had only smiled with downcast eyes, accepting everything Dean would offer that night.
“You let me jerk you off. Right there with Pastor Jim and Dad sleeping downstairs,” Sam continued.
Needing a release so badly, Dean unzipped his pants and slipped his cock from his briefs. It was heavy, blood hot and hard in his hand, and he stroked it slowly. Hesitantly. The touch, powered by memories of Sam’s hand once wrapped where his was now, made Dean hiss sharply.
“You remember, don’t you?” Sam was asking. “Are you touching yourself like I did? Are you?”
“Sam, don’t—” Dean began, needing to say, Don’t do this, don’t make me remember, but meaning to say, Don’t stop.
“I know, I know, but I want this. I want to hear you come again. Please, Dean.”
Dean swallowed thickly over a lump in his throat and let his head fall back against the seat. His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, and his hand pumped a little faster, fingers lifting and tugging at his balls on the stroke down.
“Talk to me, Sammy. Tell me about that night, mmkay?”
“You put your hand on my cock just like—oh—just like I’m doing now.” Sam sounded distant, and his voice was strained. “You didn’t know what you were doing any more than I did. It was the first time with a guy…for both of us.”
“Did it feel good?” Dean asked as his body trembled. Between the opened flaps of his jeans, his cock throbbed where it curved up to his stomach. His fist quickened, giving a twist every time his fingers slid up over the pink head.
“Mm-hmm,” Sam murmured. “You always made me feel good…” He huffed into the phone, and Dean could tell Sam was close also. “Remember we wiped up the come with our t-shirts because we didn’t want Jim’s wife seeing it on the bedsheets?”
“And then she wondered why we—” Dean choked when a sharp warmth zipped through his body. “Why we wanted to do our own laundry the next day.”
“Dean,” Sam moaned, “Dean, I remember you—” His voice cracked, fell apart completely as he came, and when Sam started talking again after a moment, he sounded breathless. “You…kissed me on the bed, rubbed our cocks together, and…you never laughed at me, not once all night…just held me.”
Dean was gasping now at the memory of Sam pressed up against him, their cocks bumping and sliding over one another. The recalled feeling hit him hard, and Dean groaned.
“I wish that I could be there right now to see you.” Sam whispered, “Do you still close you eyes when you come, Dean?”
Dean broke in a pinched cry; his cock shot over his hand and onto the steering wheel in front of him. He banged his head back against the seat, and his body convulsed and shuddered.
It took a minute before he was fully aware that Sam was talking to him. “…cleaned up now because I’ve got to leave for class soon, but I just wanted to hear you again.”
Clearing his throat, Dean whispered through the fuzz on his mind, “Yeah. Okay. That’s okay. That’s fine, Sam.”
“Dean, look. I—I, before I go, I just wanted to let you know that I…”
I miss you. I want you. I need you.
I love you.
“Me too, Sammy.”
Sam laughed easily before saying goodbye with promises to call again soon and hanging up.
Dean remained for a long moment, frozen in his seat; the stickiness was cooling on his hand and jeans. At last, he wiped off the wet surfaces with a used napkin from yesterday’s lunch and tucked himself back into his pants as another breeze flooded the interior of the car.
Still filled with the prickled remains of his orgasm, he started the car slowly and pulled it back onto the road. The wind rolled through the tops of trees and grass that lined the road to the barns in front of him.
He glanced in his rearview mirror, and his lips twisted in the barest flicker of a smile. Behind Dean with its memories and people he just couldn’t face right now, Pastor Jim’s old farmhouse watched Dean grow smaller in the increasing distance and drive away beneath the crest of the road.
End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 06:45 pm (UTC)Oh, the porny angst! *hearts*
no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 08:58 pm (UTC)*hearts back* Thank you! :)
no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 06:45 pm (UTC)Yours is leaving 'that place' and mine is going back to it. They both do their own laundry, after. And I'm still grinning like a looney. :]
I love how messed up and hurting and entirely in love you can make them. That I should hate that Dean's alone and Sam's called him, got him to do this and is selfish in so many ways - and yet - I don't. I feel bad for them, for the distance and what they don't have anymore, but it's so clear to me what they still are that I can't hate it.
It's great how up and down Sam is. He's nervous but needy [an echo of that first, most important night]. And Dean paces him the entire way, of course, because that's what they are to each other. Here there's a bit of an additon, where Sam asks after Dean and wants to tell as much as Dean has always done for Sam.
Like how afraid they were to do 'that.' There with Jim and Dad in the house. Like that they did it anyway.
Sam's laugh was scratchy. "That was because they didn’t have you."
Mmmmmmmm. Lucky boy, Sammy. I'm glad he knows it. Glad he took the impulse and called, too, even if it leaves all that unfinished emptiness for them to grapple with after. [because really, being apart makes for only unfinished emptiness, in so many ways.]
Lovely, lovely.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 09:09 pm (UTC)Y'know, if we don't stop this whole grinning like idiots thing, people are definitely going to think we're on something. Which, bah, let them talk, yes? Yes.
They are very much in love, yes, but they are also so hurting and messed up and just, them. The whole subject of Sam leaving Dean for Stanford intrigues me (when placed with the canon definitions and our fandom created Wincest)--as you already know from previous writings. It's this interesting push and pull where they can't be together, where Sam wants something other than Dean, but not necessarily more than Dean.
I just reread your fic, found it interesting how yours takes place with the approach of winter and mine is as they're leaving winter--similar to what you mentioned where mine is leaving "that place" and yours is the return.
Thank you again.
♥
no subject
Date: 2007-09-21 05:30 pm (UTC)Sam laughed softly, and Dean pictured him bowing his head, casting his eyes to the floor and blushing pink in his cheeks.
That's _exactly_ how I saw him, Dean!
held onto Sam’s hips when he rested his cheek on the bristled thatch of hair around Sam’s cock.
This image is so... beautiful.
and…you never laughed at me, not once all night…just held me.”
And that, right there? That's my Dean.
I love every word. God bless you girls and God bless COCK THURSDAY. -grin-
no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 02:36 am (UTC)Haha. So glad you're enjoying the happiness of Cock Thursday too! We're happy and if you're happy along with us, then all the more happy cock for Thursday! :)
no subject
Date: 2007-10-02 01:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-03 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-06 08:32 am (UTC)Oh, Im so glad I found these. That was some hot, angsty stuff. I love how Sam's phone call just came out of the blue and sort of ended with a sense of... resigned longing, on both ends. aw.
Sweet writing, these are so wonderful
xoxo
no subject
Date: 2009-05-06 07:24 pm (UTC)