SGA spam tomorrow, including possibly a small cracklet fic and a Rodney Fanmix which may or may not already be titled Alien Space Ship of Love.
Wow, it sucks not having any friends in your entire state. I have the house to myself for the first time in ages, and I can't even appreciate the fact, because I'm all alone and I'm even starting to miss my father's busybody ways - at least then I didn't have hours by myself to sink into stupid, ridiculous self-reflection.
When you're alone by choice, it's so much easier to occupy yourself with all the things you want to be doing, you know? It's just no fun to wander around an empty, big house at three AM, knowing that the entire town is quiet around you, and there's no one within walking distance that you can go to if you need help or you need to talk. I spent an hour actually doing dishes this evening, just because I had nothing else that I wanted to do. Some of the things I washed were already clean.
Okay, now I feel like even more of a loser, so first five people to comment get a ficlet of their choosing.
I feel like a tool because I haven't spoken to you in ages, but I just wanted to give you big smishes. *snuuuuuuuuuuugs*
Now, if I manage to get in for the ficlets in time, would love Sam/Dean, maybe some porny H/C after Sam's been injured? Or even, non-porny if that works for you better.
Sam takes one look at Dean's face and says, "How bad?"
A muscle in Dean's jaw jumps, and his eyes look at a little red, but his voice is steady when he says, "Bad," and puts his hand gently on Sam's chest.
It's an odd enough gesture that panic's already building in the pit of Sam's stomach. He tries to catalogue all of his limbs, but he can wiggle his toes and curl his fingers in against his palms, and nothing else is even aching.
"What happened?" he asks eventually.
He remembers being knocked against a wall, remembers the cold rush of air when the ghost pressed against his front and touched the side of his jaw with icy fingers, her eyes as dead and gray as the rest of her, but after that it all goes dim. Dean's fingers are warm enough to scatter even those memories, though, when they press in the exact place where the ghost's had been.
Neither of them speak for a minute, the weight of what Dean's about to do hanging over them like it does every time they cross that line, and then their mouths are pressed together; Dean's tongue smooths over Sam's lower lip, gentle and tentative in a way that has Sam arching up unexpectedly, needing. One of Dean's hands cradles the back of his head familiarly - I've got you, little brother - and there's sudden heat all along Sam's side, welcome weight that ties him to the present, keeps him grounded.
"It's - Dean, I'm okay," he breathes when Dean gives him the room. Stubble scrapes against his neck, and - christ, is Dean actually nuzzling him? "Dean?"
"Shut up," Dean says.
For once, Sam obeys, letting his brother settle half-over him, wrapping an arm around those broad shoulders. His hand is already going numb, but he doesn't mind. He's just about to drift off when Dean raises his head and sucks in a breath like he's about to speak; he lets it out again without saying a word, but Sam gets the meaning away from the way Dean's tension slowly melts away until he's pliant and soft and his lips are catching in the dent just behind Sam's ear.
"You know," he says, quiet like he's not quiet sure if Sam's still awake - he jumps gratifyingly when Sam murmurs, "Yeah, I know."
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I feel like a tool because I haven't spoken to you in ages, but I just wanted to give you big smishes. *snuuuuuuuuuuugs*
Now, if I manage to get in for the ficlets in time, would love Sam/Dean, maybe some porny H/C after Sam's been injured? Or even, non-porny if that works for you better.
*smish*
A muscle in Dean's jaw jumps, and his eyes look at a little red, but his voice is steady when he says, "Bad," and puts his hand gently on Sam's chest.
It's an odd enough gesture that panic's already building in the pit of Sam's stomach. He tries to catalogue all of his limbs, but he can wiggle his toes and curl his fingers in against his palms, and nothing else is even aching.
"What happened?" he asks eventually.
He remembers being knocked against a wall, remembers the cold rush of air when the ghost pressed against his front and touched the side of his jaw with icy fingers, her eyes as dead and gray as the rest of her, but after that it all goes dim. Dean's fingers are warm enough to scatter even those memories, though, when they press in the exact place where the ghost's had been.
Neither of them speak for a minute, the weight of what Dean's about to do hanging over them like it does every time they cross that line, and then their mouths are pressed together; Dean's tongue smooths over Sam's lower lip, gentle and tentative in a way that has Sam arching up unexpectedly, needing. One of Dean's hands cradles the back of his head familiarly - I've got you, little brother - and there's sudden heat all along Sam's side, welcome weight that ties him to the present, keeps him grounded.
"It's - Dean, I'm okay," he breathes when Dean gives him the room. Stubble scrapes against his neck, and - christ, is Dean actually nuzzling him? "Dean?"
"Shut up," Dean says.
For once, Sam obeys, letting his brother settle half-over him, wrapping an arm around those broad shoulders. His hand is already going numb, but he doesn't mind. He's just about to drift off when Dean raises his head and sucks in a breath like he's about to speak; he lets it out again without saying a word, but Sam gets the meaning away from the way Dean's tension slowly melts away until he's pliant and soft and his lips are catching in the dent just behind Sam's ear.
"You know," he says, quiet like he's not quiet sure if Sam's still awake - he jumps gratifyingly when Sam murmurs, "Yeah, I know."
Re: *smish*
Oh babe, this is GORGEOUS. Exactly what I was wanting. Thank you so much. ♥