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Entry tags:
PixCT: 12-13
It's a double win this week! New SPN and Cock! \o/
Fic:
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
762 words
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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
DruCT: 12-06
PixCT: 12-06
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Today
DruCT: 12-13
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
762 words
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Dru's Pic Pick
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He parks the Impala by the side of the road and cuts the engine.
He considers just leaving the keys in the ignition, doors unlocked, because he doesn’t think he’ll need them, but since he’s not sure exactly how this whole thing works—now especially with so many things changed—he slips the keys into his front pocket. He leaves his belongings in the car, carrying nothing more than the clothes on his back and the weapons in his pockets. He doesn’t think he’ll need anything. Not where he’s going.
He locks the doors and crosses the ditch to enter the forest.
The sun is abnormally bright and warm for this late in the year, and the leaves are a mix of rich summer green and crisp autumn brown. They crunch as he walks, steadily, and every tree he passes seems to bring back yet another memory.
He remembers slamming Dean in this tree, fisting desperate hands in Dean’s shirt and saying stupid things that sounded of nonsense but meant everything he’d been holding back until that breaking moment. Dean understood though. Of course he had, and against that tree, they kissed. Fingers twisted in each other’s hair, and they had kissed so hard and so furious, everything finally revealed that Sam’s head had spun. It wasn’t the first time, no, but the first time where there hadn’t been alcohol or supernatural forces to blame, something they could deny in the morning. The first time that they chose.
Over by this other tree, the oak ready to spill its acorns over the ground, they came here later—years later, perhaps—and Sam let Dean jerk him off with the clouds splitting overhead. It was pouring, warm slick summer rain, and Dean’s mouth was hot as he mouthed his way down Sam’s neck. His fingers slipped over Sam’s cock, so wet from the endless rain, and Sam turned his eyes to the sky when he came, crying Dean’s name.
He walks deeper into the forest, passing the place where Dean and he sat together. Ate their lunch after a long drive across the country, back from a hunt and off to something they hadn’t yet found. Sam capped his water bottle and tried to keep the smirk off his face when Dean wondered what he was up to. Straddling Dean’s legs, Sam undid his jeans, keeping their eyes locked together, and wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock. Dean thumped his head against the tree, swore and huffed, and after he shot into Sam’s mouth, Sam kissed him, come passing on their tongues.
Sam moves farther, past ash and oak, past maple and pine, until he comes to the clearing. The bench where they once sat together has lost some of its wooden planks to time, and long, stringy grass has grown up around the base. This little place—more than the trees and the stolen moments beyond here—was theirs.
He lifts his eyes to the clouds, big, fat cumulus against a stark blue backdrop. Around him, the birds are singing something sweet and soft in the trees.
Dean’s dead.
Dean’s been dead for barely over a month now. Taken away by the demon to whom he sold his soul without looking back. Taken away in the night where his tears didn’t show unless he turned his face to the slivered moon. Taken away from Sam.
So now Sam sits, perches carefully, on the edge of the bench where he and Dean used to come before Dean left him behind. Closing his eyes, Sam remembers their rhyme that the old woman taught them and the words they practiced together, and he only hesitates for only the barest flicker of a heartbeat to whisper them aloud. After all, he’s waited a month for this. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.
The wind shifts, a cool breeze amongst the warmth against his cheek, and he keeps his eyes closed for a minute longer, breathes in, lets it out, and then. Then he dares to open his eyes.
The forest is the same. The trees and birds’ songs are the same. Even the bench is still rickety and fallen, and he thinks the similarities odd in this new place, this not quite so parallel universe where the witches used to gather before he and Dean found it and learnt its magic ways.
Everything is the same. Everything except.
Except for, “Hey, Sammy. Long time no see. Miss me?”
Sam stands, laughing and crying all at once, and he runs to him.
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
He parks the Impala by the side of the road and cuts the engine.
He considers just leaving the keys in the ignition, doors unlocked, because he doesn’t think he’ll need them, but since he’s not sure exactly how this whole thing works—now especially with so many things changed—he slips the keys into his front pocket. He leaves his belongings in the car, carrying nothing more than the clothes on his back and the weapons in his pockets. He doesn’t think he’ll need anything. Not where he’s going.
He locks the doors and crosses the ditch to enter the forest.
The sun is abnormally bright and warm for this late in the year, and the leaves are a mix of rich summer green and crisp autumn brown. They crunch as he walks, steadily, and every tree he passes seems to bring back yet another memory.
He remembers slamming Dean in this tree, fisting desperate hands in Dean’s shirt and saying stupid things that sounded of nonsense but meant everything he’d been holding back until that breaking moment. Dean understood though. Of course he had, and against that tree, they kissed. Fingers twisted in each other’s hair, and they had kissed so hard and so furious, everything finally revealed that Sam’s head had spun. It wasn’t the first time, no, but the first time where there hadn’t been alcohol or supernatural forces to blame, something they could deny in the morning. The first time that they chose.
Over by this other tree, the oak ready to spill its acorns over the ground, they came here later—years later, perhaps—and Sam let Dean jerk him off with the clouds splitting overhead. It was pouring, warm slick summer rain, and Dean’s mouth was hot as he mouthed his way down Sam’s neck. His fingers slipped over Sam’s cock, so wet from the endless rain, and Sam turned his eyes to the sky when he came, crying Dean’s name.
He walks deeper into the forest, passing the place where Dean and he sat together. Ate their lunch after a long drive across the country, back from a hunt and off to something they hadn’t yet found. Sam capped his water bottle and tried to keep the smirk off his face when Dean wondered what he was up to. Straddling Dean’s legs, Sam undid his jeans, keeping their eyes locked together, and wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock. Dean thumped his head against the tree, swore and huffed, and after he shot into Sam’s mouth, Sam kissed him, come passing on their tongues.
Sam moves farther, past ash and oak, past maple and pine, until he comes to the clearing. The bench where they once sat together has lost some of its wooden planks to time, and long, stringy grass has grown up around the base. This little place—more than the trees and the stolen moments beyond here—was theirs.
He lifts his eyes to the clouds, big, fat cumulus against a stark blue backdrop. Around him, the birds are singing something sweet and soft in the trees.
Dean’s dead.
Dean’s been dead for barely over a month now. Taken away by the demon to whom he sold his soul without looking back. Taken away in the night where his tears didn’t show unless he turned his face to the slivered moon. Taken away from Sam.
So now Sam sits, perches carefully, on the edge of the bench where he and Dean used to come before Dean left him behind. Closing his eyes, Sam remembers their rhyme that the old woman taught them and the words they practiced together, and he only hesitates for only the barest flicker of a heartbeat to whisper them aloud. After all, he’s waited a month for this. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.
The wind shifts, a cool breeze amongst the warmth against his cheek, and he keeps his eyes closed for a minute longer, breathes in, lets it out, and then. Then he dares to open his eyes.
The forest is the same. The trees and birds’ songs are the same. Even the bench is still rickety and fallen, and he thinks the similarities odd in this new place, this not quite so parallel universe where the witches used to gather before he and Dean found it and learnt its magic ways.
Everything is the same. Everything except.
Except for, “Hey, Sammy. Long time no see. Miss me?”
Sam stands, laughing and crying all at once, and he runs to him.
End
no subject
Then the magic! And being there but truly not, and Dean, back with him somehow. Beautiful, with a tinge of sad longing, then the ooh! punctuating the end.
Hmm, the picture of that place must be just as thinky as the place itself. Or at least, by our stories, so it would seem. And yes agreed on the overlaps. *lilairplanes*
♥
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It was a thinky CT week, wasn't it? Hm. Last week was angsty and this week was thinky...Maybe next week back to porny and nothing more?
Thank you, hon. :)
♥
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Simply beautiful, my dear. ♥
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The ending was ouch. But good :-)
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Thank you very much :)
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\o/
Thank you! :)
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*happily broken*
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Thank you. :)
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I just wanted to cry...then I was happy and sad and I feel like I'm on my period and that's not me lol
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Thanks for reading! :)