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hair aflame, wile look in your eyes
I'm kinda bored. And by that I mean 'not willing to write another goddamn word on this freaking story'. So, uh, I'm taking requests again. Drabblets, a picture you've wanted iconned for a while, a song you think I might have, etc. Hit me, babies.
OR, you could be awesome and fic at me. Just sayin'. Nudge, hint, nudge. Oh, and a tidbit of the beast?
Hah. Yeah. God save me, five thousand words and going strong. I think I might cry.
OR, you could be awesome and fic at me. Just sayin'. Nudge, hint, nudge. Oh, and a tidbit of the beast?
The old lady at the front desk turns out to be the owner, named Holly. She serves them Yankee pot roast out of old dishes, chattering cheerfully at them until she finds a topic they can all agree on. The meat is tender, full of flavor, and the gravy is rich enough that Dean spoons it all over his plate, corn included. Sam comments on how that sort of defeats the point of vegetables, and to Dean’s surprise, Holly berates Sam.
“There are carrots and greens in that gravy,” she says sternly. “Your boy looks fit enough already, let him put some meat on his bones.”
Through the rest of the dinner, Dean seems to fluctuate between being mortified at Holly calling him ‘fit’ and being smug that he’s allowed to eat gravy.
Hah. Yeah. God save me, five thousand words and going strong. I think I might cry.
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*lol*
♥
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"Hey, Dean," Sam says, throwing himself onto one of the queen beds and crossing his legs at the ankles. "Dean-o. Deaninator."
Dean stares at him. "Christo." And then when nothing happens, "Are you on something?"
In a truly frightening display, Sam stretches his arms above his head and bares his teeth like a wolf. "Just sweet, sweet victory, big bro." He takes a big breath, making his shirt ride up. "Nothing so satisfying as rubbing your face in it."
"Uh, you're making no sense?" Dean says. "Like, at all?"
Sam's fingers flutter across the headboard. "I was going through the trunk today, Dean, looking for the whetstone. And do you wanna know what I found hidden away in a box near the back?"
No. No way. Uh uh. He can't have -
"That's right," Sam says smugly. "I found your collection of chick music, Dean. Liz Phair? PJ Harvey? Tsk, tsk. Guess who's doing laundry for the next four months."
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He sings 'Stop Right Now' into his toothbrush and Dean rolls over groaning, clutching his pillow over his ears.
Sam wails 'The Letter' while they're driving down Route 41/62/57/ad infinitum.
He bops to Atomic Kitten in diners where their waitresses are too old to know who Atomic Kitten is (so maybe Dean acquired some of the chick music recently, it doesnt matter, because he will never acknowledge the collections existence. He is very manly.)
When they pull into motels and roadhouses, and pull out of towns, Dean has ACDC pumping louder than the banshee they just owned. But it doesnt help. Sam just glances from the tape player to Dean's face, and sniggers, settling into his seat like a permanent, idiotic, floppy-haired, chick-music-finding fixture.
Dean smiles a little. But definitely not because he loves his brother. Dean is very manly.
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OMG THAT IS PERFECT!! XD
*loves all over you*
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Dean can remember Sam's first word, his first steps, his first fist fight. Dean even knows the girl Sam lost his virginity to. Not that he's told Sam this, but well. If asked he'll just say he's waiting for the perfect time to use it. No sense wasting something so good on any old thing.
----
That's all I got.
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*sniff* it's so true. oh DEEN. thank you for this, my dear. <333
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PRIESTIFORMS AND PORN AND AWESOME EVIL CHICKS.
ps you are hot.
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ps you are hotter.
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These days, Dean doesn’t come around so much. Sam doesn’t really blame him, of course. He always knows where Dean is, though. When Dean was asleep one night, Sam shot a tracker into the thick fur of his neck ruff. Dean hardly even felt it, just yelped and rolled over. Sam was lucky – that night was the full moon, and Dean couldn’t stop the shift.
Usually, Sam’s half asleep before Dean turns up, panting heavily and with new scars on his skin. Once he’s inside the door, he pauses for a moment and then shifts, flesh bubbling, bones popping. He bites his mouth closed and whines high in his throat, and Sam aches in sympathy.
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~
"Dean."
Dean turns his eyes up to look at the brunette that's just appeared in your line of vision from where he is, not taking his lips off your neck. "What, Sammy?" He breathes, warm air ghosting over the light mark he's left on your neck. You shiver.
You look up and find the other man - Sammy - pulling a little at his collar. You're not surprised to see he has one too - but a clear bite, bruise dark and almost angry. Possessive. Your breath catches because the thought of the two of them together makes your heartbeat double.
All you can think of is please, let's all go somewhere more private and you really hope one of those boys can read your mind.
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Sammy's gaze darkens - bold and hungry and possessive; he looks like he wants to eat you, and all you can think is god, yes. Yes, please.
"Sam?" Dean asks softly and then you practically buckle as Dean's knee nudges the small of your back, exposing more of you to Sam. You swallow thickly and think fucking hell because God, that really shouldn't have been so hot.
"Mel!" Dean and Sam's attention snaps from you to your friend. You think tonight might be the first time ever that you want to strangle her - the same girl you'd been silently thanking since the moment Dean had slid up next to you, ordering you a Purple Nurple.
She stops short, eyes going wide at the sight, mouth dropping open in a way that would have been comical had you not been in the position you were in.
"Oh. My. God."
Sam starts to pull back but your hand whips out, fingers closing around the material of his hoody, jerking him back without taking your eyes off her. "Not now, Robin," you hiss because, seriously. Seriously.
She rolls her eyes at you and takes three steps closer, eyeing the boys before kissing you soundly. She pulls away when you're both breathless, and you notice Sam and Dean are both breathing faster, harder. She grins at you slyly. "God, Mel. Least you could do is share."
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Hell, even if you were, you're really glad it decided to take a walk.
Sam's hand is in Dean's hair, pressing his head back down to your neck, and he's leaning a little to the side, head turned towards Robin, kissing her. His lips linger, tongue sliding over Robin's mouth, licking their slow way inside - and you can hear it because, fuck, they're right by your ear.
You realise a few moments later that the long expanse of Sam's neck is right there, and you waste no time in leaning forwards, mouth sliding over that skin - but not marking. You know better than that - and if that bite on Sam's neck hadn't been enough, Dean's arm tightening a little certainly is.
Dean's lips slide to the back of your ear and he does something with his tongue - and holy fuck - that feels so fucking good.
Robin mewls from beside you and you turn a little, to find her eyes half closed, breathing out in soft pants through her mouth as Sam's mouth works over her jaw. "Oh, holy fuck, yes." And all you can think of hell yes. You always knew she was your best friend for a reason.
Whatever that reason is, you can't quite remember because you swear your mind goes blank when you feel Dean's hand under your skirt, sliding slowly along the inside of your thigh. "Oh god. Oh fucking god."
Sam glances over and raises a slow eyebrow, hand sliding down to cover Dean's stilling him. Their combined touch is absolutely scorching and you're arching to it before you can stop yourself.
"Not here," Sam says, lips brushing your ear. He pulls away a second later, hand on the small of Robin's back as he ushers her towards the exit. Dean slides his hand over your ass before he curls it around your waist and follows.
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“You have good taste,” Dean says with a slow smile. “Ain’t she sweet?”
“Wow…” You turn to say something to Robin but find Sam’s already got her really appreciating the framework of the car. She’s pressed up against the door, head tipped back, hair spread over the roof, Sam nipping at her neck.
He raises his head and grins wickedly at Dean – and before you can even read the meaning behind those words, Dean’s got you pinned against the car, lipping at your neck as one hand snakes around you to unlock the car door.
Sam pushes Robin inside, easing in after her – and a moment later, you and Dean are at the open door, and he’s coaxing you inside, sitting you down on the edge of the seat.
“This isn’t going to work,” you say with a soft laugh, and you hear it echoed by Robin from behind you before you hear her breath catch. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Sam’s already got her top off and he’s slid a thumb into her bra, turning in slow motions.
Dean’s hand sliding up your thigh brings most of your attention back to him. He’s leaning, one arm carelessly on the top of the Impala as the other eases your underwear aside. His body is blocking the view of you – and Robin and Sam – from anyone passing by.
“Sweetheart,” he says with a confident smirk, his voice almost a purr. He slides one finger over your clit expertly. “I can make anything work.”
He twists his finger slightly - and you don't doubt him at all.
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Dean watches for a moment, finger working its way inside you before he meets Sam's eyes.
You're either too far gone or there's some form of silent communication there but Dean's sliding that finger out excruciatingly slowly.
"Maybe you're right," he says, and right now you couldn't care less whether you were right or not because he's being a fucking tease with the way his eyes rake over your body, over Robin's and over Sam. "This would work much better elsewhere."
He shuts the door, leaves Sam crouched in the backseat with you and Robin, huge hands and long fucking fingers still teasing you both, as Dean slips into the driver's seat and guns up the engine. His car fucking purrs under you and you let out a quiet moan as he meets your eyes in the rearview mirror.
"We're gonna show you one hell of a night," Sam promises with a slow thumb along the inside of your thigh.
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Dean remembers being scared of lightening when he was little. The first memory he has of storms, he was standing on one of the chairs near the window, waiting for Dad to come home. It was dark out even though the sun hadn't fully gone down, and Sammy was asleep in his fold-away crib, fitfully waving his fists every so often.
The first bolt didn't touch ground, and Dean thought it was pretty cool. But then, he watched a bolt land in the parking lot outside their motel and light a tree on fire. The flames didn't spread, but the branches of the trees smoked and fell apart like charcoal.
Even after John was back and the familiar smell of motor oil and leather surrounded Dean like home, Dean couldn't shake the afterimage, burned onto the insides of his eyelids.
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Also? DEEEN. *Hugs him close and cuddles him*