PixCT: 05-15

[pixel_0]

It's that time again...

Fic:

Slash (Dean/Sam)

Adult

~360 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

December 07

January 08

February 08

March 08

April 08

DruCT: 5-01

PixCT: 5-01

DruCT: 5-08

PixCT: 5-08
- - - - -


Today

DruCT: 5-15

My fic:

Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot

Adult rating

~360 words

- - - - -

Dru's Pic Pick



Sam wakes alone, the motel room silent and the taste of blood familiar in his mouth. He sighs, stretches, and stumbles blearily to the bathroom. While he pisses, he rests his head against the wall beside the toilet, and his cock in his hand is a heavy, dead, weight.

He showers, eyes still half-closed, but opened enough to see the white soap turn to red bubbles as it spirals down the drain. The water is warm, welcomed, against his back, and he almost--just barely--finds himself wanting to smile at the sensation. He doesn't smile.

Finished showering and dressed in a fresh pair of clothes, he goes back out to where his bed waits. There are crimson blossoms on the sheets, and he strips the covers, trying to ignoring the stains. He throws the blankets in a heap on the floor on the opposite side of the bed where he can't see them unless he tries. He'll put clean sheets on the bed later today. Not right now though.

There's a coffee maker with a clean mug beside it, and he looks down at the mug, creates a story about who left it here for him and where they got it. As the coffee drips and steams, he stares at the white birds, trapped forever in their red plane. When the pot's finished brewing, he pours himself a cup, doesn't bother with cream or sugar, and goes to sit at the small table with the uneven fourth leg.

He sips his coffee, thinks back to last night, and his lips twitch. They aren't sure whether to smile or weep at the memory. They settle on pursed, drawn tight, as he wonders what Dean will bring back tonight. If it will be cinders on his tongue or acid on his fingertips. Whatever it is, whatever Dean has, Sam will greet him as he has always greeted Dean. With love. With kisses and want and touches. With his opened heart.

Sam sighs, lifts his eyes away from the coffee mug where the birds fly, and he sees the set of footprints leading out the door. The footprints are bloody, and the footprints are Dean's.

End

Comments

[drvsilla.livejournal.com]

I think we spend too much time together. ;D [this is not a complaint. heh.]

Dude. Ouch- Poor Boys! I have the feeling of Dean finding Sam via Hell, and Sam simply waits, accepts & endures everything he must in order to have that, keep hold, however tenuously, of his brother.

Who knew about this mug, srsly.

Lovely, and brittle, this. ♥

[pixel-0.livejournal.com]

Haha, um, wherever would you get THAT idea?

Did I ever tell you my original idea was that it'd be Sam sitting at the table, enjoying coffee by himself and it'd just be angsty and sappy? But, for whatever reason, had to roll out the dark and creepy. Go figure. *eyeroll*

Thank you. ♥

[legoline.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I got a lump in my throat now though by now, I expect nothing less of your fics :-)

and he almost--just barely--finds himself wanting to smile at the sensation. He doesn't smile.


That's just like a punch in the gut. Wow.

[pixel-0.livejournal.com]

Hee, and it was supposed to be dark and creepy! *g*

Thank you! *squishes*

[leighm.livejournal.com]

This gave me chills. They seem the same to each other as always, though.

Wow.

[pixel-0.livejournal.com]

Thank you! :)

♥