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It's that time again...

Fic:
  • Slash (Dean/Sam)
  • Adult
  • Preseries
  • ~750 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
  • November 07

    - - - - -


    Today
  • DruCT: 12-06
  • My fic:
    Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
    Adult rating
    Preseries
    ~750 words



    - - - - -

    Pix's Pic Pick



    - - - - -


    To the front of the room the professor went
    A man of flowing words and wise of tongue
    An assignment for a class of many he had
    Papers slapped down on his desk just like that
    Crossed his arms and looked at his students
    “Write me an emotion,” he said
    “Make me cry, make me laugh,
    Make me hurt or make me think.
    Tell me your story in a poem so I’ll feel.”

    Sam shuffled home, professor’s lines in his head
    In California now, away from all he'd held close
    And he knew about anger and he knew about pain.
    Those, he thought, when he flicked on room light
    Would be easy enough to write about
    Looked out his window, at his settings and dorm
    Desk that wasn’t his and bed he hadn’t yet made
    He opened a notebook, crisp blue rows ready to fill
    He lifted his pen and lowered his eyes
    Thought about Dad, thought about Dean
    Thought about tears and fears, secrets and dreams
    Tried to plan, tried to concoct, wished for control
    But the pen had a mind of its own and went on its way
    Careless and fleeting, quick and flowing, it spilled words

    “I left him behind, you see,” he wrote
    “Back with his life I’ll no longer lead
    I think about him now so far away, so long apart
    He showed me the world and he showed me the stars
    I showed him my bag by the door and plans beyond.
    All through my life, he was my keeper, my friend
    He held me when I cried, patched me when I bled
    More than a presence, one I could grasp, he was eternally there
    Wounds and heartaches, separation and split worlds were not all we did share
    There was laughter and jokes, pranks to be had
    He could read my mind, knew every wish of my heart

    Even this—horrible, twisted this—he knew before I opened my mouth
    I thought I’d move on out here on my own
    Find a sweet girl or a smiling new boy
    To replace what I abandoned and to fill what he gave
    But I can’t forget and time doesn’t dull
    The feel of his eyes and the touch of his hands
    The weight of his cock and the taste of his lips
    The smell of his skin under first morning's light
    The way that he walked, head held so high
    How he fought and swore at all who came between
    How he never, ever, gave up for me

    We shared everything, that’s why
    Not just clothes and crayons, that old bike in the garage
    We shared skin and fingers, a body at night
    Shared kisses and sighs, caught breaths in the air
    Pleas and whimpers, twisted fingers in clothes
    Shared stolen pleasure we should never have found
    But we did and we had and we could not turn back
    Once we had learned the greatest truth in our lives
    That this—we—was the most perfect thing to be kept

    It was two people coming together in every which way
    Forming and sharing and coming to be
    There was—never will be—no greater, nothing more precious
    Two to one and one to trump all
    And I left him. Left him for this
    But this in all its pomp and its glory
    Its puffed out chest of academics and pride
    That says it’ll offer me a future with success and a job
    Says it could be better than all I left behind
    Will never shine brighter than the force that he is.”

    Sam narrowed his eyes and shook out his hand
    Stared at the paper and sighed deep inside
    It needed a title, a way to be named
    He thought of the emotion, what the teacher would ask
    Hoped he wouldn’t be ask to read this out loud
    To expose his greatest secret to those who would judge
    He lingered, knowing what he should write
    Hesitant to admit and to say such things
    But that pen, that betraying pen, went on its own
    Heavy and black, words as strong as the emotion itself
    He wrote at the top, “A love poem.”

    He stared a moment longer before he tore out the page
    Crumbled the paper in furious fists
    Ashamed and embarrassed, hating what he’d just done
    Sent crooked handwriting flying into the trash

    He pushed back his memories
    Turned off the light
    And called it a night

    End
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