PixCT: 10-02
Oct. 2nd, 2008 04:52 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
Midseries
~475 words
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
Sept 07 - Sept 08
DruCT: 09-18
PixCT: 09-18
DruCT: 09-25
PixCT: 09-25
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 10-02
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
Midseries
~475 words
- - - - -
Pix's Pic Pick
"Make a wish," he says.
"Can't wish off milkweed," Sam replies as Dean plucks the pod off the stem and holds it up to Sam's lips. "Gotta be dandelions," Sam continues stubbornly.
"Why?" Dean asks. The seeds tremble, white wisps of silk flirting with the warm autumn breeze that surrounds them. They're alone, just the two of them in this sprawling field where an abandoned farmhouse sits on the hilltop and pays no attention to them.
"Can't," Sam says and lowers his eyes.
Dean cups his hand over the pod and pulls it closer to his chest, protecting it from the wind. The wind moves past him, runs playfully through the goldenrod that grows tall along the fence line.
Dean sighs, doesn't meet Sam's eyes when he says, "Please, Sam, make a wish."
Carefully, confused, Sam looks down at Dean. "Why is this so important to you? What—what's going on, Dean?"
Dean exhales, hard and edgy, strength leaving him. His resilience is weakening as his grave grows warmer, and he looks away from Sam when he says, "I'm leaving in a month, Sam. I'm leaving for Hell, and look—I’m not asking you to make a wish to save me, to save my life, but..." He lingers and scratches the back of his head with his free hand. "But if there's anything you wish for that I can give you, can do for you...I just...I thought I should know now while I'm still around, right?" His laugh is a single bitter note.
Sam doesn't—can't—say anything now. There are a million things he'd wish for, the first being Dean's freedom from a demon's deal. Smaller, more frivolous things whiz through his mind, wishes of his greedy subconscious, going back to school, having more money, having more sex and a better love life, and hell, Dean'd get a laugh if Sam wished for a bigger cock, because why not? But these are all such petty things. Such stupid petty things when his brother stands before him now with death's shadow at his feet.
He reaches for the milkweed pod and cracks it open along its spine, the dried hull rough against his fingers. He blows gently, barely needs to try with the wind strong enough to do the rest for him, and as the seeds twirl and dance, disappearing above treetops bathed in golden sunset, he blinks back the burn of tears.
"Sam," Dean whispers, resting his hand on Sam's arm.
"Yeah," Sam replies, voice ragged, and he lets Dean pull him in close.
Lets Dean tilt his head and kiss him on the lips, so soft and gentle, and whisper, "I'll come back for you. I wished for that, Sammy, and I promise, I'll come back for you."
Sam closes his eyes, holds Dean tightly, and thinks of his own wish. His wish for angels.
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
Pix's Pic Pick
"Make a wish," he says.
"Can't wish off milkweed," Sam replies as Dean plucks the pod off the stem and holds it up to Sam's lips. "Gotta be dandelions," Sam continues stubbornly.
"Why?" Dean asks. The seeds tremble, white wisps of silk flirting with the warm autumn breeze that surrounds them. They're alone, just the two of them in this sprawling field where an abandoned farmhouse sits on the hilltop and pays no attention to them.
"Can't," Sam says and lowers his eyes.
Dean cups his hand over the pod and pulls it closer to his chest, protecting it from the wind. The wind moves past him, runs playfully through the goldenrod that grows tall along the fence line.
Dean sighs, doesn't meet Sam's eyes when he says, "Please, Sam, make a wish."
Carefully, confused, Sam looks down at Dean. "Why is this so important to you? What—what's going on, Dean?"
Dean exhales, hard and edgy, strength leaving him. His resilience is weakening as his grave grows warmer, and he looks away from Sam when he says, "I'm leaving in a month, Sam. I'm leaving for Hell, and look—I’m not asking you to make a wish to save me, to save my life, but..." He lingers and scratches the back of his head with his free hand. "But if there's anything you wish for that I can give you, can do for you...I just...I thought I should know now while I'm still around, right?" His laugh is a single bitter note.
Sam doesn't—can't—say anything now. There are a million things he'd wish for, the first being Dean's freedom from a demon's deal. Smaller, more frivolous things whiz through his mind, wishes of his greedy subconscious, going back to school, having more money, having more sex and a better love life, and hell, Dean'd get a laugh if Sam wished for a bigger cock, because why not? But these are all such petty things. Such stupid petty things when his brother stands before him now with death's shadow at his feet.
He reaches for the milkweed pod and cracks it open along its spine, the dried hull rough against his fingers. He blows gently, barely needs to try with the wind strong enough to do the rest for him, and as the seeds twirl and dance, disappearing above treetops bathed in golden sunset, he blinks back the burn of tears.
"Sam," Dean whispers, resting his hand on Sam's arm.
"Yeah," Sam replies, voice ragged, and he lets Dean pull him in close.
Lets Dean tilt his head and kiss him on the lips, so soft and gentle, and whisper, "I'll come back for you. I wished for that, Sammy, and I promise, I'll come back for you."
Sam closes his eyes, holds Dean tightly, and thinks of his own wish. His wish for angels.
End
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Date: 2008-10-06 01:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 07:38 pm (UTC)