PixCT: 08-28
Aug. 28th, 2008 02:40 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
~570 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
May 08
June 08
July 08
DruCT: 08-07
PixCT: 08-07
DruCT: 08-14
PixCT: 08-14
DruCT: 08-21
PixCT: 08-21
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 08-29
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
Preseries
~570 words
- - - - -
Pix's Pic Pick
This is what freedom feels like. This is that moment, suspended in breathless time, when you'll be able to look back and say, Yes, yes, I lived, didn't I? I was alive, and it was wonderful.
The sun has disappeared below the horizon, falling asleep underneath the tops of goldenrod and corn stalks that grow along the edge of the roads out here. You don't know what time it is, don't care to know because the visible pink smear in the distance tells you that still have the whole night together.
Dean drives this car, an antique blue convertible, like he drives all his cars. Right hand curled over the steering wheel, left one tapping a beat on the outside of the door and foot pushing the gas to make the speed soar higher and higher. It doesn't matter to him that this car's stolen, and you'll need to have it back before the sun rises again. To Dean, a car is his escape. The Impala is back at home now, couldn't turn it on and risk Dad waking, and this car's a beauty you found parked on a neighbor's lawn with a "for sale" sign in her windshield.
Too bad the neighbor kids can hotwire a car in under two minutes.
The sign's in the backseat, and Dean's whipping around these country corners so carelessly, so effortlessly. You throw your head back and toss your arms in the air. The wind passes over you, cool and clean, the smell of summer on its tail, cutting through your clothing, and you laugh despite yourself.
You're free out here. No one to judge you as that freak kid who lives in the trailer park with a dad who's never home. No one to look at you when you wander behind your brother and father into a hunter's bar. No one to wonder why you and Dean stand so close sometimes and why you still don't mind sharing a bed when the nights aren't cold.
You laugh again, can't help yourself, and Dean looks over at you and smiles, eyes alight in the glow of the dashboard panel. He's beautiful like this, with the dying day behind him and an endless road in front of him. It's all he's ever needed. A road to drive and a day to live. You smirk when you mentally add, and his brother beside him to that list.
You slide over into the middle passenger seat so your knee bumps against his. He doesn't look up, keeps his eyes on the road bathed white from the headlights. You rest your hand on his leg, littlest finger coming to rest on the inseam of his jeans where his cock sleeps. But this isn't about sex, no, not now. Maybe later you'll convince him to pull over to the side of the road where willows bow and oaks preen, and you'll slide your hands up his shirt and he'll kiss the nape of your neck. You'll rock together in the backseat, wrap your legs around him and pull him near, and he won't say sappy words you know aren't him and you won't say dirty things you know aren't you. You don't need to say anything when you're together. But there will be time for that later.
Now, he looks over at you and asks, "Where to, Sammy?"
You smile and say nothing, and he knows exactly where to go.
End
"Runaway" by Trailer Park Pam
Fic:
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
- - - - -
Today
Pix's Pic Pick
This is what freedom feels like. This is that moment, suspended in breathless time, when you'll be able to look back and say, Yes, yes, I lived, didn't I? I was alive, and it was wonderful.
The sun has disappeared below the horizon, falling asleep underneath the tops of goldenrod and corn stalks that grow along the edge of the roads out here. You don't know what time it is, don't care to know because the visible pink smear in the distance tells you that still have the whole night together.
Dean drives this car, an antique blue convertible, like he drives all his cars. Right hand curled over the steering wheel, left one tapping a beat on the outside of the door and foot pushing the gas to make the speed soar higher and higher. It doesn't matter to him that this car's stolen, and you'll need to have it back before the sun rises again. To Dean, a car is his escape. The Impala is back at home now, couldn't turn it on and risk Dad waking, and this car's a beauty you found parked on a neighbor's lawn with a "for sale" sign in her windshield.
Too bad the neighbor kids can hotwire a car in under two minutes.
The sign's in the backseat, and Dean's whipping around these country corners so carelessly, so effortlessly. You throw your head back and toss your arms in the air. The wind passes over you, cool and clean, the smell of summer on its tail, cutting through your clothing, and you laugh despite yourself.
You're free out here. No one to judge you as that freak kid who lives in the trailer park with a dad who's never home. No one to look at you when you wander behind your brother and father into a hunter's bar. No one to wonder why you and Dean stand so close sometimes and why you still don't mind sharing a bed when the nights aren't cold.
You laugh again, can't help yourself, and Dean looks over at you and smiles, eyes alight in the glow of the dashboard panel. He's beautiful like this, with the dying day behind him and an endless road in front of him. It's all he's ever needed. A road to drive and a day to live. You smirk when you mentally add, and his brother beside him to that list.
You slide over into the middle passenger seat so your knee bumps against his. He doesn't look up, keeps his eyes on the road bathed white from the headlights. You rest your hand on his leg, littlest finger coming to rest on the inseam of his jeans where his cock sleeps. But this isn't about sex, no, not now. Maybe later you'll convince him to pull over to the side of the road where willows bow and oaks preen, and you'll slide your hands up his shirt and he'll kiss the nape of your neck. You'll rock together in the backseat, wrap your legs around him and pull him near, and he won't say sappy words you know aren't him and you won't say dirty things you know aren't you. You don't need to say anything when you're together. But there will be time for that later.
Now, he looks over at you and asks, "Where to, Sammy?"
You smile and say nothing, and he knows exactly where to go.
End
"Runaway" by Trailer Park Pam
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-18 08:15 am (UTC)I actually for the first time in a long time felt this, one, the dusk horizon, the smell of the summer breeze....it was nice like the perfect summer night.
Twas happy, and I needed some happy today.
:D
no subject
Date: 2008-09-22 04:11 pm (UTC)Oh, yay! I'm so glad we could put that bit of happy into your day!
Thank you very much! :D