coupla drabbles I has wrote
Jul. 3rd, 2008 12:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityFirst of all, let it be said that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bigfiction and I can come up with some pretty off the wall prompts. You have been warned, lol. :p
1.
“Sammy, be careful.”
Sam thinks its an odd time for him to remember what Dean said to him after he climbed up the big rock wall and grabbed hold of the swinging rope, defiance shining in his eyes; odd and ironic.
The outline of Dean’s lips and the papery thin skin covering his eyes are blue, the rest of him as pale as the white wisps of clouds drifting overhead. Sam counts in his head as he presses in on Dean’s chest with both hands, one one-thousand, two-one thousand, pleasepleaseplease one-thousand, just like Dad taught him. He grapples for Dean’s wrist by his side, pressing thumb and forefinger around the bone to feel for a pulse. A terrified, desperate sob escapes Sam’s lips, but he continues.
“C’mon Sammy, been long enough.” He can hear Dean’s voice in his head. Sam’s arms are give out, like wet noodles from pumping Dean’s chest for so long, can’t remember exactly how long they’ve been here, Dean pasty and lifeless on the ground. His soggy, wet hair falls in a curtain in front of his face when he leans over Dean, warm salt water splashing on Dean’s cheeks. Sam grabs Dean under the arms and lifts him up, holding him against his body as he cries, thinks all my fault, thinks I’m not going back, not without him, then Dean’s body is shaking violently and there’s cold water splashing against Sam’s neck and Dean’s coughing, coughing, breathing oh god he’s breathing, and Sam’s laughing, laughing, laughing.
“The fuck, Sammy?” Dean stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “My throat feels like I just swallowed a brillo pad whole and you think this is funny, why?”
Sam can’t stop though, can’t stop laughing because if he stops laughing he’ll start crying again, crying because he’s so goddamn fucking happy Dean’s breathing again, crying because for six whole minutes he had to wonder what life would be like without Dean and it wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t anything.
2.
“That’s pretty cool.” Gia leans too close, but luckily he’s on the end so there’s no one else to spy on him.
Sam just kinda shrugs, mostly to get her off his shoulder; her perfume smells like a combination of all the chicks Dean’s ever dated and its starting to give him a migraine. “I’m not doing anything.”
“It’s cool,” Gia whispers. “I won’t narc on you, Sam.”
“Thanks,” he gives her a charming, half smile and she leaves him alone for the rest of class, just long enough to accomplish what he needed to do.
***
Dean slams the door when he gets home later that evening, rattling the cheap single pane windows in the apartment. Sam looks up from his Geometry book, protractor in one hand, compass in the other, number two pencil perched perfectly between his lips.
“What’s your problem?” He asks, then before Dean can answer. “What’s for dinner?”
“Leftovers,” Dean grumbles, throwing a king size bag of Funyons at Sam’s head. “Assholes yanked me out of Home Ec today.” He slumps down on the sofa next to Sam, disturbing his neat piles of graph paper.
“Yeah? How come?” Sam asks, moving his grape soda out of the way before Dean’s boot kicks it over.
“Said I never registered for the class. Bullshit. I know I registered for that class, because Nikki Green always takes Home Ec and I need to get me some of that, immediately. God, this sucks out loud. Bastards!”
Sam hides the smile creeping onto his face with his book, curls his legs underneath him on the couch. Dean pops the top on his soda and turns the tv on with the remote, pulling Sam’s feet into his lap as he laughs at a re-run of The Golden Girls.
On Monday, Sam gets three straight days of detention because he forgot to erase something from the computer he used and was tracked back to hacking into the school’s records. When Dean asks, he tells him some kid picked on him for not having brand name shoes and he broke his nose. Dean’s happy Sam grew a pair and stood up for himself and Sam’s happy Dean won’t be getting closer to Nikki Green. It’s a win-win situation. Well, that’s what Sam tells himself anyway.
3.
Dean’s lips taste salty, the hint of tequila and lime on his tongue as Sam slides between him and the steering wheel. His chest is hard and flat beneath Sam’s palms, fingers splayed out, formed around Dean’s thick, defined pecs, and it feels so different than dancing with Heather, having her soft, heavily-perfumed body pressed up against his all night. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get that out of his clothes, probably have to burn them.
Dean nips at his lip, pinching soft, fleshy skin between his teeth, tongue lapping up a droplet of blood that squeezes out. “Hey,” His voice is hoarse, husky, been waiting for Sam out here all damned night. “What about your prom date, Sammy? Wouldn’t want to be rude.”
“Told her..had a,” Sam mumbles as he bites at Dean’s jaw, fingers pulling and tugging at Dean’s shirt, fighting with his arms and muscles to get it over his head, elbowing the steering wheel once, making them both jump when the horn softly sounds. “Family emergency.”
“Wasn’t very polite,” Dean murmurs next to Sam’s ear as he pulls Sam’s shirt out of his slacks and slides his hands underneath, following sharp boy curves, bone and muscle filling out his scrawny body. “Besides, s’posed to get laid on prom night, Sammy. Doncha know anything?”
“S’ the plan, actually,” Sam says, followed by a moan as Dean reaches between them, rubs the outline of Sam’s cock through his slacks.
“You mean…” Dean doesn’t finish his sentence, eyes blown wide as he looks at Sammy, amber light spilling onto his face from the street lamp.
“Yeah, I do.” Then Sam’s kissing him again, covering Dean’s mouth, getting drunk on the last trace of alcohol in his mouth, licking away the grains of salt on his lips, in the corner of his mouth, until Dean’s moaning low in his chest and fumbling with Sam’s zipper.
“But, what about. We don’t have-”
“Jacket pocket,” Sam mutters, dragging his tongue down the side of Dean’s neck, sweet and salty, like his favorite candy bar. “Inside.”
Dean fumbles for Sam’s long ago discarded jacket and finally pulls out a condom and a small bottle of lube, and almost laughs; far be it for Sammy not to be prepared for something. They decide at the same time that the front seat just isn’t going to cut it and somehow make it into the backseat, Sam losing his pants in the process. Dean lifts his hips and Sam pulls his jeans off, to his ankles at least, watches wide-eyed as Dean slides the thin, red latex over his cock, slicks it up till it’s shiny with lube.
“God, Sam,” his voice is broken, unsure. “You sure ‘bout this? You don’t have-”
“I want to,” Sam whispers, throwing one leg over Dean to straddle him. “Wanted to for fucking ever, Dean.” Then he’s sliding down, sliding around Dean’s warm, slick cock, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder, whimpering and sobbing, and Dean’s just about ready to call the whole thing off when Sam’s back arches into a perfect bow and he moans Dean’s name, low and long and drawn out, and begs Dean to start moving.
“Y-you sure, Sammy?” Dean’s trembling. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Yes,” Sam whimpers against his skin, nails digging pinkish half-moons into Dean’s arms. “Fuck me, god.”
“Christ,” Dean hisses, wraps his fingers around Sam’s bony hips and forces their bodies together, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Sam’s tight little body squeezes around him, draws him in deeper, so deep he can hardly breath. “FucksotightSammygodyessofuckinggood.”
“Dean,” Sam half-whines, half-moans, nails digging into Dean’s already aggravated skin as their bodies move together, filled to the brim with Dean’s cock, hot and hard inside of him, fucking him open. “Mmm, feels good. Don’t stop.”
Dean throws his head back and moans, gripping Sam’s hips so hard he’s afraid he might leave odd, finger-shaped bruises on them, but he can’t find it in him to let go. “Don’t,” he gasps as Sam sinks down on him once more. “have to worry ‘bout that, Sammy. Not, ahh, ever gonna stop. Jesus.”
Sam whimpers, braces his hands on the headrests and lets Dean guide him; in, out, fuck, god, yes. “Dean,” he moans. “Dean, please.”
“What is it, Sammy?” Dean looks at him, brushes the hair that had fallen in Sam’s face out of his eyes and traces his lips with his thumb. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Touch me,” Sam pleads, then sucks Dean’s thumb into his mouth. He closes his eyes and feels Dean’s fingers curl around his cock, doesn’t know how many strokes it takes for him to come, but it isn’t much until he feels that sticky warmth coating his chest, his belly, Dean’s fingers. Sam rides Dean as he comes, muscles squeezing Dean’s cock like a vice, then they’re both coming, both shouting and moaning at the same time, clinging on to sweat slickened bodies as they each wait for the tremors of orgasm to die down.
“God, Sammy. That was,” Dean murmurs hoarsely as he runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Jesus, haven’t ever felt anything like that.”
“I love you,” Sam says, but he doesn’t give Dean time to reply before he’s slipping off of him, fumbling around for his clothes before they get caught by some rent-a-cops or something equally embarrassing. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Heather’s a virgin, and I didn’t want to be ‘that’ guy.”
It takes Dean a minute, watching Sam shimmy back into his black dress slacks before he laughs. “Dude, no one wants to be ‘that’ guy.” He waits until they both are fully dressed and back in the front seat before he asks if Sam wants to go back to the party.
Sam shrugs. “Not really. They’re not really my friends, you know?”
Dean nods, then in an uncharacteristic Dean movement, reaches over and grabs Sam’s hand. “We are epically fucked up, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, we are,” Sam says, then leans into Dean and kisses him, slips his tongue inside and curls it around Dean’s, lets his fingers brush the stubble on Dean’s jaw line as Dean kisses him back. “But I don’t mind it so much sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Dean grins, turns the key and the Impala rumbles to life. “Yeah, me either.”
bigfiction and I can come up with some pretty off the wall prompts. You have been warned, lol. :p1.
“Sammy, be careful.”
Sam thinks its an odd time for him to remember what Dean said to him after he climbed up the big rock wall and grabbed hold of the swinging rope, defiance shining in his eyes; odd and ironic.
The outline of Dean’s lips and the papery thin skin covering his eyes are blue, the rest of him as pale as the white wisps of clouds drifting overhead. Sam counts in his head as he presses in on Dean’s chest with both hands, one one-thousand, two-one thousand, pleasepleaseplease one-thousand, just like Dad taught him. He grapples for Dean’s wrist by his side, pressing thumb and forefinger around the bone to feel for a pulse. A terrified, desperate sob escapes Sam’s lips, but he continues.
“C’mon Sammy, been long enough.” He can hear Dean’s voice in his head. Sam’s arms are give out, like wet noodles from pumping Dean’s chest for so long, can’t remember exactly how long they’ve been here, Dean pasty and lifeless on the ground. His soggy, wet hair falls in a curtain in front of his face when he leans over Dean, warm salt water splashing on Dean’s cheeks. Sam grabs Dean under the arms and lifts him up, holding him against his body as he cries, thinks all my fault, thinks I’m not going back, not without him, then Dean’s body is shaking violently and there’s cold water splashing against Sam’s neck and Dean’s coughing, coughing, breathing oh god he’s breathing, and Sam’s laughing, laughing, laughing.
“The fuck, Sammy?” Dean stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “My throat feels like I just swallowed a brillo pad whole and you think this is funny, why?”
Sam can’t stop though, can’t stop laughing because if he stops laughing he’ll start crying again, crying because he’s so goddamn fucking happy Dean’s breathing again, crying because for six whole minutes he had to wonder what life would be like without Dean and it wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t anything.
2.
“That’s pretty cool.” Gia leans too close, but luckily he’s on the end so there’s no one else to spy on him.
Sam just kinda shrugs, mostly to get her off his shoulder; her perfume smells like a combination of all the chicks Dean’s ever dated and its starting to give him a migraine. “I’m not doing anything.”
“It’s cool,” Gia whispers. “I won’t narc on you, Sam.”
“Thanks,” he gives her a charming, half smile and she leaves him alone for the rest of class, just long enough to accomplish what he needed to do.
***
Dean slams the door when he gets home later that evening, rattling the cheap single pane windows in the apartment. Sam looks up from his Geometry book, protractor in one hand, compass in the other, number two pencil perched perfectly between his lips.
“What’s your problem?” He asks, then before Dean can answer. “What’s for dinner?”
“Leftovers,” Dean grumbles, throwing a king size bag of Funyons at Sam’s head. “Assholes yanked me out of Home Ec today.” He slumps down on the sofa next to Sam, disturbing his neat piles of graph paper.
“Yeah? How come?” Sam asks, moving his grape soda out of the way before Dean’s boot kicks it over.
“Said I never registered for the class. Bullshit. I know I registered for that class, because Nikki Green always takes Home Ec and I need to get me some of that, immediately. God, this sucks out loud. Bastards!”
Sam hides the smile creeping onto his face with his book, curls his legs underneath him on the couch. Dean pops the top on his soda and turns the tv on with the remote, pulling Sam’s feet into his lap as he laughs at a re-run of The Golden Girls.
On Monday, Sam gets three straight days of detention because he forgot to erase something from the computer he used and was tracked back to hacking into the school’s records. When Dean asks, he tells him some kid picked on him for not having brand name shoes and he broke his nose. Dean’s happy Sam grew a pair and stood up for himself and Sam’s happy Dean won’t be getting closer to Nikki Green. It’s a win-win situation. Well, that’s what Sam tells himself anyway.
3.
Dean’s lips taste salty, the hint of tequila and lime on his tongue as Sam slides between him and the steering wheel. His chest is hard and flat beneath Sam’s palms, fingers splayed out, formed around Dean’s thick, defined pecs, and it feels so different than dancing with Heather, having her soft, heavily-perfumed body pressed up against his all night. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get that out of his clothes, probably have to burn them.
Dean nips at his lip, pinching soft, fleshy skin between his teeth, tongue lapping up a droplet of blood that squeezes out. “Hey,” His voice is hoarse, husky, been waiting for Sam out here all damned night. “What about your prom date, Sammy? Wouldn’t want to be rude.”
“Told her..had a,” Sam mumbles as he bites at Dean’s jaw, fingers pulling and tugging at Dean’s shirt, fighting with his arms and muscles to get it over his head, elbowing the steering wheel once, making them both jump when the horn softly sounds. “Family emergency.”
“Wasn’t very polite,” Dean murmurs next to Sam’s ear as he pulls Sam’s shirt out of his slacks and slides his hands underneath, following sharp boy curves, bone and muscle filling out his scrawny body. “Besides, s’posed to get laid on prom night, Sammy. Doncha know anything?”
“S’ the plan, actually,” Sam says, followed by a moan as Dean reaches between them, rubs the outline of Sam’s cock through his slacks.
“You mean…” Dean doesn’t finish his sentence, eyes blown wide as he looks at Sammy, amber light spilling onto his face from the street lamp.
“Yeah, I do.” Then Sam’s kissing him again, covering Dean’s mouth, getting drunk on the last trace of alcohol in his mouth, licking away the grains of salt on his lips, in the corner of his mouth, until Dean’s moaning low in his chest and fumbling with Sam’s zipper.
“But, what about. We don’t have-”
“Jacket pocket,” Sam mutters, dragging his tongue down the side of Dean’s neck, sweet and salty, like his favorite candy bar. “Inside.”
Dean fumbles for Sam’s long ago discarded jacket and finally pulls out a condom and a small bottle of lube, and almost laughs; far be it for Sammy not to be prepared for something. They decide at the same time that the front seat just isn’t going to cut it and somehow make it into the backseat, Sam losing his pants in the process. Dean lifts his hips and Sam pulls his jeans off, to his ankles at least, watches wide-eyed as Dean slides the thin, red latex over his cock, slicks it up till it’s shiny with lube.
“God, Sam,” his voice is broken, unsure. “You sure ‘bout this? You don’t have-”
“I want to,” Sam whispers, throwing one leg over Dean to straddle him. “Wanted to for fucking ever, Dean.” Then he’s sliding down, sliding around Dean’s warm, slick cock, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder, whimpering and sobbing, and Dean’s just about ready to call the whole thing off when Sam’s back arches into a perfect bow and he moans Dean’s name, low and long and drawn out, and begs Dean to start moving.
“Y-you sure, Sammy?” Dean’s trembling. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Yes,” Sam whimpers against his skin, nails digging pinkish half-moons into Dean’s arms. “Fuck me, god.”
“Christ,” Dean hisses, wraps his fingers around Sam’s bony hips and forces their bodies together, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Sam’s tight little body squeezes around him, draws him in deeper, so deep he can hardly breath. “FucksotightSammygodyessofuckinggood.”
“Dean,” Sam half-whines, half-moans, nails digging into Dean’s already aggravated skin as their bodies move together, filled to the brim with Dean’s cock, hot and hard inside of him, fucking him open. “Mmm, feels good. Don’t stop.”
Dean throws his head back and moans, gripping Sam’s hips so hard he’s afraid he might leave odd, finger-shaped bruises on them, but he can’t find it in him to let go. “Don’t,” he gasps as Sam sinks down on him once more. “have to worry ‘bout that, Sammy. Not, ahh, ever gonna stop. Jesus.”
Sam whimpers, braces his hands on the headrests and lets Dean guide him; in, out, fuck, god, yes. “Dean,” he moans. “Dean, please.”
“What is it, Sammy?” Dean looks at him, brushes the hair that had fallen in Sam’s face out of his eyes and traces his lips with his thumb. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Touch me,” Sam pleads, then sucks Dean’s thumb into his mouth. He closes his eyes and feels Dean’s fingers curl around his cock, doesn’t know how many strokes it takes for him to come, but it isn’t much until he feels that sticky warmth coating his chest, his belly, Dean’s fingers. Sam rides Dean as he comes, muscles squeezing Dean’s cock like a vice, then they’re both coming, both shouting and moaning at the same time, clinging on to sweat slickened bodies as they each wait for the tremors of orgasm to die down.
“God, Sammy. That was,” Dean murmurs hoarsely as he runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Jesus, haven’t ever felt anything like that.”
“I love you,” Sam says, but he doesn’t give Dean time to reply before he’s slipping off of him, fumbling around for his clothes before they get caught by some rent-a-cops or something equally embarrassing. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Heather’s a virgin, and I didn’t want to be ‘that’ guy.”
It takes Dean a minute, watching Sam shimmy back into his black dress slacks before he laughs. “Dude, no one wants to be ‘that’ guy.” He waits until they both are fully dressed and back in the front seat before he asks if Sam wants to go back to the party.
Sam shrugs. “Not really. They’re not really my friends, you know?”
Dean nods, then in an uncharacteristic Dean movement, reaches over and grabs Sam’s hand. “We are epically fucked up, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, we are,” Sam says, then leans into Dean and kisses him, slips his tongue inside and curls it around Dean’s, lets his fingers brush the stubble on Dean’s jaw line as Dean kisses him back. “But I don’t mind it so much sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Dean grins, turns the key and the Impala rumbles to life. “Yeah, me either.”
