PixCT: 11.20
Nov. 20th, 2008 03:52 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
~1600 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
Sept/Oct 08
DruCT: 11.06
PixCT: 11.06
DruCT: 11.13
PixCT: 11.13
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 11.20
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~1600 words
- - - - -
Dru's Pic Pick
He was bent over his desk, holding a pencil with one hand and squeezing the bridge of his nose out of frustration with the other. It was getting late, and he still had a week’s worth of homework to finish. He sighed and sat up straighter to crack his back. As he did so, he heard a soft scraping from the living room. He stiffened at the noise, and without hesitating, he reached for the baseball bat that was leaning against the side of his desk.
Quietly, he crept out to the living room where the scraping sound became louder, and he realized it was someone picking the lock. Silently, he swore to himself and raised the bat higher as the door began to open.
The person stepped inside and--
"Holy shit, Sam! Goddammit, it's me!"
Sam froze, bat in mid-swing, ready to crash down, and he gaped.
"Dean?"
"Yeah!" Dean closed the door. "Christ! Who the hell did you think it was?"
"Somebody breaking into my apartment!"
"Dude, it's me!"
Sam exhaled sharply, cooling his adrenaline. "Yeah, I see that now, but you could've called."
Dean shrugged. "Could've, but didn't. Besides, you would've told me not to come. Gotten angry and been all pissy about the idea of me swinging by."
Sam didn't respond. He knew Dean was right on that account. Had Dean called, Sam would have refused to see him. There just simply wasn't room for Dean to be at Stanford, and Sam wasn't willing to make any.
"What'd you stop by for anyway?" Sam asked, turning away and returning to the bedroom where his textbooks remained opened, pencils and highlighters scattered across their pages. He placed the baseball bat back against the desk while Dean stood in the doorway, watching him.
"Just to say hi. Been a while since I've seen you. Thought I should make sure you're okay." He placed the top of his thumb in his mouth, sucking down on it. "You're okay, right?"
"I'm fine," Sam said. "You don't need to worry about me."
"I didn't worry about you," Dean shot back. "Can't a guy just come by to say 'hi' to his little brother?"
"Hi, then."
"What's your problem?" Dean asked. He was still sucking on his thumb.
What Sam wanted to say was that his problem wasn't anger. Wasn't anger at Dean being here. It was fear that if Dean came back, Sam wouldn't be able to stop himself from needing Dean in his life. His crazy, desperate need for Dean that had taken him almost three years to finally control, and he was terrified of losing it. But Sam didn't say any of that. He, instead, said, "What's wrong with your thumb?"
"Got a freakin' splinter in it."
"And what? You can't get it out?"
"Too damn small."
Sam sighed. "Wait here." He turned and went into the bathroom. When he came back out, Dean was still standing in the doorway. "Here," Sam said, lifting a pair of small silver tweezers to Dean's thumb. "Let me get it..."
Dean didn't say anything as Sam grabbed his hand and looked carefully at Dean's swollen thumb. Yup, there it was. A tiny little black dot of a splinter of some sort. Using the tweezers, Sam gently pulled out the piece of wood. It was small, but it was big enough to irritate, as splinters were known to do.
He flicked the splinter to the ground. "There," he said, "all set."
Dean looked down at his thumb and rubbed it against the side of his index finger. "Thanks," he replied.
"Yeah, don't mention it," Sam said, going back into the bathroom to replace the tweezers where they belonged.
"Whose fancy tweezers are those?" Dean called.
"What?"
"They're not yours. Even as girly as you are, I know you don't have a pair that nice."
Sam didn't say anything for a long moment as Dean stared evenly at him. Finally, Sam swallowed and said, "My girlfriend's."
Dean nodded, but it was a jerky, detached bob, and he looked away from Sam's face when he did it.
"What's her name?" he asked, eyes still on the floor.
"Jessica...Jess." It felt weird, this, telling Dean about Jess. Even just her name seemed like he was revealing a dark secret he wasn't supposed to be sharing.
"What's she like?"
"Jess? She's...she's nice," Sam answered, and instantly felt embarrassed saying so.
Dean smiled, but it was sad and distant. "I'm glad," he said, and they both knew he really wasn't. Before Sam could say anymore, Dean cleared his throat. "Um, you wanna, you wanna go grab something to eat? Dinner or something?"
"I...I really can't," Sam said. "I've got all this homework to finish and..." His voice lingered off, as they stood there, feet apart but years separated.
"Yeah, okay," Dean replied and he turned, going back out to the living room. Sam followed him, and once there, they stood, staring at each other, caught in silence and grief and tension.
"Look, I...I mean, you can...I…" Sam stumbled, wanting to say, I'm sorry I don't call more, and, it's not you, it really is me.
"Sam," Dean said, and it was soft and gentle, that one word. "Don't worry about it." He smiled tightly.
Sam nodded stiff and awkward, and Dean came forward to pat him on the shoulder. His hand lingered there, grip strong and warm through Sam's t-shirt, and that touch, such a little thing, sent Sam falling headfirst into what he thought he left behind.
He bent his head down and kissed Dean. It was a quick, light kiss, more of a nip at his lips, and they did this a few times, rapid little kisses before Sam said, "Goddammit, Dean," and he placed his hands on the sides of Dean's face, holding on tightly.
Dean inhaled, sharp and long, his nose mashed against Sam's face with their lips pressed together fiercely. He moaned in the back of his throat, and his hand fisted where it still rested on Sam's shoulder.
They staggered, standing, with white knuckles holding onto one another, grunting and fighting for breath through their squashed noses. Dean tasted like home. He tasted faintly like onions and pickles from a diner and coffee, black just the way he liked. He tasted like home, and he tasted like the road and that crazy, messy fucked-up life Sam stupidly thought he was strong enough to leave behind.
But Dean was that life, and Sam could never leave him behind.
Sam shoved off Dean's coat, and it fell to the ground in a forgotten leather heap.
"Where..." Dean panted, "where do you...?"
Sam shook his head. Couldn't go to the bedroom. Not on the bed that he shared with Jess. Shit, this was bad enough, kissing his brother in the apartment he shared with the girl he was now cheating on. Not on the bed. Not there because he didn't want to roll over in the middle of the night and smell Dean on the pillows and sheets. Didn't want to smell and remember and feel himself break all over again.
"Uh, couch," Sam said, giving a nod to the saggy brown couch in the corner of the room. "Yeah, there..."
He pushed as much as Dean pulled towards the couch where they crashed down on it, Dean below and Sam on top. Their feet hung off the ends, too tall for it, and Dean's head was resting against the cushioned arm. They continued kissing there, these gulping kisses that left Sam shaking and Dean gasping.
Then, suddenly, Dean pulled back, pushing up on Sam's shoulder. "Wait...wait," he whispered. His hair was a mess where Sam had been tugging at it, and his lips were wet and pink.
"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "What's wrong?"
"Look, Sam, you don't have to...I mean, your girl...and I don't want to make things messy for you two. I...I don't want to screw this up for you."
Sam smiled. "You can never screw anything up."
"You're such a sap," Dean chuckled, and he reached up and pulled Sam back down into another kiss.
With Dean groaning beneath him, Sam couldn't stop the heat that enveloped him, flushing his cheeks and hardening his cock. He rutted against Dean with his hips, searching for Dean's own erection. As if knowing, Dean spread his legs so Sam could fit better between, and with that, Sam could feel it, Dean's own cock pressed hard against his zipper.
"Yeah," Sam hissed, gnawing at Dean's jaw. "Yeah, right there."
Dean groaned, head tilted back and hands twisted in Sam's shirt.
They didn't bother undoing their pants. Weren't thinking clearly enough to do anything besides thrust against each other, Dean arching up to meet Sam's rocking hips.
It was over quickly, both of them coming brutally, too overwhelmed in simply being together again to make it last any longer. They both came with a shout, Dean first, then Sam, his hand slapping against the couch.
Sam collapsed on top of Dean, a sagging, heavy weight, and Dean pressed his cheek to Sam's head, still breathing hard.
After a long pause of catching their breath and slowing their minds, Dean said, "You made me come in my jeans, asshole."
Sam laughed then. Laughed long and hard, his body shaking against Dean's until it spread to Dean, who laughed as well. So they laid together, jeans wet and sticky, muscles lax, but laughing all the same.
Finally, Sam said, "So, after we get, um, ourselves cleaned up here, you wanna go grab dinner?"
Dean smiled, big and wide, this time, and he said, "Yeah, of course."
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 was bent over his desk, holding a pencil with one hand and squeezing the bridge of his nose out of frustration with the other. It was getting late, and he still had a week’s worth of homework to finish. He sighed and sat up straighter to crack his back. As he did so, he heard a soft scraping from the living room. He stiffened at the noise, and without hesitating, he reached for the baseball bat that was leaning against the side of his desk.
Quietly, he crept out to the living room where the scraping sound became louder, and he realized it was someone picking the lock. Silently, he swore to himself and raised the bat higher as the door began to open.
The person stepped inside and--
"Holy shit, Sam! Goddammit, it's me!"
Sam froze, bat in mid-swing, ready to crash down, and he gaped.
"Dean?"
"Yeah!" Dean closed the door. "Christ! Who the hell did you think it was?"
"Somebody breaking into my apartment!"
"Dude, it's me!"
Sam exhaled sharply, cooling his adrenaline. "Yeah, I see that now, but you could've called."
Dean shrugged. "Could've, but didn't. Besides, you would've told me not to come. Gotten angry and been all pissy about the idea of me swinging by."
Sam didn't respond. He knew Dean was right on that account. Had Dean called, Sam would have refused to see him. There just simply wasn't room for Dean to be at Stanford, and Sam wasn't willing to make any.
"What'd you stop by for anyway?" Sam asked, turning away and returning to the bedroom where his textbooks remained opened, pencils and highlighters scattered across their pages. He placed the baseball bat back against the desk while Dean stood in the doorway, watching him.
"Just to say hi. Been a while since I've seen you. Thought I should make sure you're okay." He placed the top of his thumb in his mouth, sucking down on it. "You're okay, right?"
"I'm fine," Sam said. "You don't need to worry about me."
"I didn't worry about you," Dean shot back. "Can't a guy just come by to say 'hi' to his little brother?"
"Hi, then."
"What's your problem?" Dean asked. He was still sucking on his thumb.
What Sam wanted to say was that his problem wasn't anger. Wasn't anger at Dean being here. It was fear that if Dean came back, Sam wouldn't be able to stop himself from needing Dean in his life. His crazy, desperate need for Dean that had taken him almost three years to finally control, and he was terrified of losing it. But Sam didn't say any of that. He, instead, said, "What's wrong with your thumb?"
"Got a freakin' splinter in it."
"And what? You can't get it out?"
"Too damn small."
Sam sighed. "Wait here." He turned and went into the bathroom. When he came back out, Dean was still standing in the doorway. "Here," Sam said, lifting a pair of small silver tweezers to Dean's thumb. "Let me get it..."
Dean didn't say anything as Sam grabbed his hand and looked carefully at Dean's swollen thumb. Yup, there it was. A tiny little black dot of a splinter of some sort. Using the tweezers, Sam gently pulled out the piece of wood. It was small, but it was big enough to irritate, as splinters were known to do.
He flicked the splinter to the ground. "There," he said, "all set."
Dean looked down at his thumb and rubbed it against the side of his index finger. "Thanks," he replied.
"Yeah, don't mention it," Sam said, going back into the bathroom to replace the tweezers where they belonged.
"Whose fancy tweezers are those?" Dean called.
"What?"
"They're not yours. Even as girly as you are, I know you don't have a pair that nice."
Sam didn't say anything for a long moment as Dean stared evenly at him. Finally, Sam swallowed and said, "My girlfriend's."
Dean nodded, but it was a jerky, detached bob, and he looked away from Sam's face when he did it.
"What's her name?" he asked, eyes still on the floor.
"Jessica...Jess." It felt weird, this, telling Dean about Jess. Even just her name seemed like he was revealing a dark secret he wasn't supposed to be sharing.
"What's she like?"
"Jess? She's...she's nice," Sam answered, and instantly felt embarrassed saying so.
Dean smiled, but it was sad and distant. "I'm glad," he said, and they both knew he really wasn't. Before Sam could say anymore, Dean cleared his throat. "Um, you wanna, you wanna go grab something to eat? Dinner or something?"
"I...I really can't," Sam said. "I've got all this homework to finish and..." His voice lingered off, as they stood there, feet apart but years separated.
"Yeah, okay," Dean replied and he turned, going back out to the living room. Sam followed him, and once there, they stood, staring at each other, caught in silence and grief and tension.
"Look, I...I mean, you can...I…" Sam stumbled, wanting to say, I'm sorry I don't call more, and, it's not you, it really is me.
"Sam," Dean said, and it was soft and gentle, that one word. "Don't worry about it." He smiled tightly.
Sam nodded stiff and awkward, and Dean came forward to pat him on the shoulder. His hand lingered there, grip strong and warm through Sam's t-shirt, and that touch, such a little thing, sent Sam falling headfirst into what he thought he left behind.
He bent his head down and kissed Dean. It was a quick, light kiss, more of a nip at his lips, and they did this a few times, rapid little kisses before Sam said, "Goddammit, Dean," and he placed his hands on the sides of Dean's face, holding on tightly.
Dean inhaled, sharp and long, his nose mashed against Sam's face with their lips pressed together fiercely. He moaned in the back of his throat, and his hand fisted where it still rested on Sam's shoulder.
They staggered, standing, with white knuckles holding onto one another, grunting and fighting for breath through their squashed noses. Dean tasted like home. He tasted faintly like onions and pickles from a diner and coffee, black just the way he liked. He tasted like home, and he tasted like the road and that crazy, messy fucked-up life Sam stupidly thought he was strong enough to leave behind.
But Dean was that life, and Sam could never leave him behind.
Sam shoved off Dean's coat, and it fell to the ground in a forgotten leather heap.
"Where..." Dean panted, "where do you...?"
Sam shook his head. Couldn't go to the bedroom. Not on the bed that he shared with Jess. Shit, this was bad enough, kissing his brother in the apartment he shared with the girl he was now cheating on. Not on the bed. Not there because he didn't want to roll over in the middle of the night and smell Dean on the pillows and sheets. Didn't want to smell and remember and feel himself break all over again.
"Uh, couch," Sam said, giving a nod to the saggy brown couch in the corner of the room. "Yeah, there..."
He pushed as much as Dean pulled towards the couch where they crashed down on it, Dean below and Sam on top. Their feet hung off the ends, too tall for it, and Dean's head was resting against the cushioned arm. They continued kissing there, these gulping kisses that left Sam shaking and Dean gasping.
Then, suddenly, Dean pulled back, pushing up on Sam's shoulder. "Wait...wait," he whispered. His hair was a mess where Sam had been tugging at it, and his lips were wet and pink.
"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "What's wrong?"
"Look, Sam, you don't have to...I mean, your girl...and I don't want to make things messy for you two. I...I don't want to screw this up for you."
Sam smiled. "You can never screw anything up."
"You're such a sap," Dean chuckled, and he reached up and pulled Sam back down into another kiss.
With Dean groaning beneath him, Sam couldn't stop the heat that enveloped him, flushing his cheeks and hardening his cock. He rutted against Dean with his hips, searching for Dean's own erection. As if knowing, Dean spread his legs so Sam could fit better between, and with that, Sam could feel it, Dean's own cock pressed hard against his zipper.
"Yeah," Sam hissed, gnawing at Dean's jaw. "Yeah, right there."
Dean groaned, head tilted back and hands twisted in Sam's shirt.
They didn't bother undoing their pants. Weren't thinking clearly enough to do anything besides thrust against each other, Dean arching up to meet Sam's rocking hips.
It was over quickly, both of them coming brutally, too overwhelmed in simply being together again to make it last any longer. They both came with a shout, Dean first, then Sam, his hand slapping against the couch.
Sam collapsed on top of Dean, a sagging, heavy weight, and Dean pressed his cheek to Sam's head, still breathing hard.
After a long pause of catching their breath and slowing their minds, Dean said, "You made me come in my jeans, asshole."
Sam laughed then. Laughed long and hard, his body shaking against Dean's until it spread to Dean, who laughed as well. So they laid together, jeans wet and sticky, muscles lax, but laughing all the same.
Finally, Sam said, "So, after we get, um, ourselves cleaned up here, you wanna go grab dinner?"
Dean smiled, big and wide, this time, and he said, "Yeah, of course."
End
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Date: 2008-11-22 06:07 am (UTC)Thank you!