PixCT: 11-01
Nov. 1st, 2007 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pixel_0It's that time again...
Fic:
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
Preseries
786 words
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07
October 07
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 11-01
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
Preseries
786 words
- - - - -
Dru's Pic Pick
(Special note from Dru about this pic: This is not merely an invitingly mussed single bed. This bed measured under 3' width. It was amazingly comfy, but indeed, quite narrow. Suffice to say, it gave me ideas.)
- - - -
The traffic’s a murmur outside the closed window with its curtains drawn tight to separate them, to make this their own private place. The traffic’s the noise of faraway voices on the highway and on looping, endless streets, but there are no words here. Only hushed sighs and whimpers caught on needy tongues in a bed too small for one. They’re entwined, legs and arms together, fingers curled over backs and twisted tight in dark hair.
Dean rises up, back curved to lift his mouth, spit shiny and blood red, away from his brother’s cock and to kiss Sam on the lips. Their faces are damp, hot to the touch, and they both believe it’s their sweat, their lust and love, that does this to them and nothing more. Lips meet, eager and welcoming, and Sam wraps his hands around Dean’s neck and waist, tugging, keeping him close as long as he can.
Cramped together in this bed, planes of skin and muscle all touching, and they’ve pushed the blankets and pillows, pristine white and so thick, to the floor. They’ve always needed more room, more space, more of everything when they are together. They can stand on the desert’s edge together, look out over infinite oceans, and still feel like all their air is being taken away. Always insatiable for what they should not have started.
Sam’s cock bumps, leaving a slick trail over Dean’s belly, and Sam links his arms around his brother’s neck, loops himself to hold even tighter and thrusts pleas against Dean. No matter what they choose to believe, time will not stop for them, and Sam’s body trembles with that desire for sweet release.
Dean whispers in his ear, so his lips brush the soft skin along Sam’s jaw, promises wishes and spills secrets. He reaches down between their bodies, eyes focused tight on his brother’s face to watch how Sam’s eyes roll and mouth gapes when Dean wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock.
Clinging tight, Sam lets Dean carry him through this until his mind rolls and body shakes, and he’s spilling, white and sticky, on Dean’s sweat slippery fist.
Although Dean doesn’t ask, so much more on his mind than the heavy weight of his cock against Sam’s hip, Sam still jerks Dean off. Hard and fast to bring broken obscenities spitting from Dean’s gorgeous lips, and Dean buries his face in Sam’s chest when he huffs and cries out.
They wipe themselves off with that blanket they’d tossed aside when they first collapsed, greedy and hungry and desperate, on this bed. Sam dresses first and Dean manages to pull on a pair of jeans and nothing more before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Looking over his shoulder, Sam sees Dean with a weary hand cupped over his mouth, eyes distant and sad, staring out at their uncertain future.
“Dean,” Sam whispers, and Dean glances up, thoughts scattering, and he smiles that brilliantly beautiful smile he saves only for Sam. Dean stands, comes closer and hugs Sam, tight and fierce, and his hands shake when they pull at Sam’s shirt on his back.
He steps away, clears his throat, and hands Sam a roll of bills that’s much too big to be practical. But Dean doesn’t let Sam protest, and he says, “Go get ‘em, kiddo. That’ll tide you over for a while.”
Sam sniffs, wipes at his nose with the edge of his sleeve and bows his head. He nods, slow and heavy, water hot in his eyes, and he tells Dean, “I will. But, you? You gotta take care of yourself, okay?”
Dean’s eyes are bleary, already bloodshot with tears he won’t let fall, and he coughs an agreement but doesn’t say good-bye. Can’t say it and they know it. This isn’t good-bye for them. They still have so much left and this will never really end.
So Sam gathers his things, his duffel bag of limited clothes and backpack with an unfamiliar laptop computer by the door. He swallows, harsh and painful, lump so thick and cold in his throat, and he opens the door. Outside the motel once minutes have passed, he boards the bus that pulls up to the curb, and the driver looks down at him, tall kid from nowhere with hair in his eyes and a brother left behind, and the driver asks, “Where to, son?”
Sam doesn’t lift his eyes, just reaches for his money, and says for the first time because he’s left Dean for this and he can’t have them both, but this is what he chose because he wants something more from life than his family can ever give, and Sam says, “The campus…Stanford.”
End
Fic:
- - - - -
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
(Special note from Dru about this pic: This is not merely an invitingly mussed single bed. This bed measured under 3' width. It was amazingly comfy, but indeed, quite narrow. Suffice to say, it gave me ideas.)
The traffic’s a murmur outside the closed window with its curtains drawn tight to separate them, to make this their own private place. The traffic’s the noise of faraway voices on the highway and on looping, endless streets, but there are no words here. Only hushed sighs and whimpers caught on needy tongues in a bed too small for one. They’re entwined, legs and arms together, fingers curled over backs and twisted tight in dark hair.
Dean rises up, back curved to lift his mouth, spit shiny and blood red, away from his brother’s cock and to kiss Sam on the lips. Their faces are damp, hot to the touch, and they both believe it’s their sweat, their lust and love, that does this to them and nothing more. Lips meet, eager and welcoming, and Sam wraps his hands around Dean’s neck and waist, tugging, keeping him close as long as he can.
Cramped together in this bed, planes of skin and muscle all touching, and they’ve pushed the blankets and pillows, pristine white and so thick, to the floor. They’ve always needed more room, more space, more of everything when they are together. They can stand on the desert’s edge together, look out over infinite oceans, and still feel like all their air is being taken away. Always insatiable for what they should not have started.
Sam’s cock bumps, leaving a slick trail over Dean’s belly, and Sam links his arms around his brother’s neck, loops himself to hold even tighter and thrusts pleas against Dean. No matter what they choose to believe, time will not stop for them, and Sam’s body trembles with that desire for sweet release.
Dean whispers in his ear, so his lips brush the soft skin along Sam’s jaw, promises wishes and spills secrets. He reaches down between their bodies, eyes focused tight on his brother’s face to watch how Sam’s eyes roll and mouth gapes when Dean wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock.
Clinging tight, Sam lets Dean carry him through this until his mind rolls and body shakes, and he’s spilling, white and sticky, on Dean’s sweat slippery fist.
Although Dean doesn’t ask, so much more on his mind than the heavy weight of his cock against Sam’s hip, Sam still jerks Dean off. Hard and fast to bring broken obscenities spitting from Dean’s gorgeous lips, and Dean buries his face in Sam’s chest when he huffs and cries out.
They wipe themselves off with that blanket they’d tossed aside when they first collapsed, greedy and hungry and desperate, on this bed. Sam dresses first and Dean manages to pull on a pair of jeans and nothing more before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Looking over his shoulder, Sam sees Dean with a weary hand cupped over his mouth, eyes distant and sad, staring out at their uncertain future.
“Dean,” Sam whispers, and Dean glances up, thoughts scattering, and he smiles that brilliantly beautiful smile he saves only for Sam. Dean stands, comes closer and hugs Sam, tight and fierce, and his hands shake when they pull at Sam’s shirt on his back.
He steps away, clears his throat, and hands Sam a roll of bills that’s much too big to be practical. But Dean doesn’t let Sam protest, and he says, “Go get ‘em, kiddo. That’ll tide you over for a while.”
Sam sniffs, wipes at his nose with the edge of his sleeve and bows his head. He nods, slow and heavy, water hot in his eyes, and he tells Dean, “I will. But, you? You gotta take care of yourself, okay?”
Dean’s eyes are bleary, already bloodshot with tears he won’t let fall, and he coughs an agreement but doesn’t say good-bye. Can’t say it and they know it. This isn’t good-bye for them. They still have so much left and this will never really end.
So Sam gathers his things, his duffel bag of limited clothes and backpack with an unfamiliar laptop computer by the door. He swallows, harsh and painful, lump so thick and cold in his throat, and he opens the door. Outside the motel once minutes have passed, he boards the bus that pulls up to the curb, and the driver looks down at him, tall kid from nowhere with hair in his eyes and a brother left behind, and the driver asks, “Where to, son?”
Sam doesn’t lift his eyes, just reaches for his money, and says for the first time because he’s left Dean for this and he can’t have them both, but this is what he chose because he wants something more from life than his family can ever give, and Sam says, “The campus…Stanford.”
End
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no subject
Date: 2007-11-01 11:42 pm (UTC)Anyway, as I was saying...
I should know better then to read anything preseries cause I know it's going to make me cry. I did it anyway cause you wrote it. Sigh...
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 07:12 pm (UTC)*offers tissues* Aw, thank you so much, hon. :)