![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ficlet Blurbs!
Anatomy of a Hug
Jensen, Jared; PG
written originally for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dev_earl
See, the thing is…the thing is, Jared’s a tactile person.
He likes to bump hips and arms with Jensen while they walk, and he’s forever leaning over Jensen’s shoulder to read the script when he forgets his own, hand steadying himself against Jensen’s back. And normally, Jensen is completely fine with that. Jared is physically affectionate, so what?
But the other thing is, Jared’s also a hugger. And when he hugs, it isn’t just a manly pat on the back or a quick squeeze. He likes to hold on tight, curling his long fingers up so they cover the sharp curve of Jensen’s shoulder blades and pushing until Jensen is so crushed against Jared he can barely breathe.
And they fit, even thought to look at the two of them you’d never know it. They’re all sharp angles and roughness, but when Jared nudges Jensen’s head into that little place under his chin, something clicks and there’s even a soft nook for Jensen’s nose to press into.
There’s no awkward where do I put my hands? moment, either. Jensen’s arms automatically go around Jared’s neck and shoulders, and he has to clutch hard at whatever hideous shirt Jared is wearing so his co-star’s exuberance doesn’t knock them both over.
Because of course Jared’s hugs are exuberant.
He’s like an overgrown lab puppy, his paws too big for his body, his eyes too big for his face, and his heart too big for his chest. Sometimes, Jensen just wants to reach up and bury his hands in Jared’s hair so he can scritch him properly, right behind the ears.
But, okay, so the problem Jensen has with the hugging is it makes him all mushy. And not in the way that Jared’s given him a dead arm or something, but in the way where his stomach feels a little fluttery and his face gets kind of hot.
It’s embarassing.
When he’s doing an interview and Jared casually comes up behind him, draping himself all over Jensen, Jensen tries to laugh for the camera and not let on the fact that his heart is beating double-time in his chest.
Autumn, Children
Sam, Dean; PG, angst
dedicated to_3amconfession. maybe, eventually, i'll get back into the angsty groove for you, hon.
Sam left on a Tuesday.
It stormed that day, tree branches blowing in the heavy winds and the occasional flash of lightening on the horizon. The rain made a steady pitter-patter sound on the roof of the car, almost like music, and Dean remembers it was calming. The radio was off, because Sam wanted to—
Dean always stops remembering there.
---
He should have known, really. All the signs were there, he had just chosen to ignore them. Every time Sam’s eyes would linger on a bus stop; every time he would smile just a little too long at a child skipping along between his parents; every time he couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes after a hunt—yeah, he saw it all; should have known.
---
That Wednesday, Dean packed up all his stuff and took a plane from Las Vegas to Boston.
He thinks, sometimes, that Sam would have been proud of him for that flight. Then he remembers that he only did it to get as far away from Sam as possible, as quickly as possible.
Boston was a refuge, the New England rhythm falling around him like an old, warm coat he’d only just remembered he had in the closet. He stayed there to watch the leaves change, yellow to orange to red to brown; it reminded him of fire, beautiful and terrible at the same time.
When leaves fall, they die, after all.
---
In the middle of December, Dean bundled himself up and went down to the park, even though it was below twenty degrees and not many people were likely to wander by. He sat himself down on a bench next to an old lady who was feeding the birds and just watched her.
She was beautiful, in her own way, quiet and warm, each soft wrinkle on her face a sign of life and love. He never learned her name, never spoke to her, but she gave him some bird seed and he learned how to hold his hand out right—keep your fingers curled, don’t jerk or startle—so the pigeons would come right up to him and eat out of his palm.
He walked her back to her tiny, ramshackle apartment without a word. When they reached the stairs, she turned to him and pressed two fingers between his brows, like a prayer, and kissed his cheek.
It was like an electric shock, and suddenly Dean couldn’t imagine staying in one place any longer. He was out of Boston by mid-February.
---
After that, it got a little easier. Dean went back to hunting—bought a trusty old car made out of good steel, put seven thousand miles on her within the first year, got his old gun back, and played his Metallica tapes until they were shredded.
Your Nuts Roasting On An Open Fire
Jensen/Jared; PG-13
also written for_3amconfession but never finished. i suck, kim, i'm sorry!
“You’re cute when you’re trying not to freeze to death,” Jared says, biting his lip against laughter. Jensen flips him off, because, seriously, what the fuck.
“This is not the time, Jared,” he grumbles, still poking at the fire with stick. He knows he must look kind of stupid, bundled up in pretty much everything he owns, but it’s cold, okay? They’re in the middle of a Canadian winter, in a stupid forest, no way of getting in touch with the outside world, and if he wants to dress up in a freaking bunny suit to keep warm, that is totally his prerogative.
“Aw, come on,” Jared cajoles. He is entirely too cheerful for their sort of situation. “It’s not that bad, yeah? After all, we’ve got each other.”
Jensen swears that if Jared ever bats his eyelashes like that again, he will not be held responsible for his actions. “I really, really hate you. Like, for serious.”
“Nah, you don’t. You love me. Because I brought the food, remember?” Jared says, wiggling his eyebrows at the package of hot dogs sitting next to the fire pit.
“Why do you always think wieners will solve everything?” Jensen snaps. He only realizes what he’s said when Jared falls off the log, crying with laughter. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, blushing. “Shut up.”
Jealous of Your Cigarette (The Original)
Sam/Dean; PG-13
how the fic i wrotedullemarulle was originally supposed to go. and then jensen went, "wait, wait, i like to get pushed around! write me!"
Dean loves to make Sam jealous. He knows it's probably not the best idea, since Sam can easily step on him with those monstrous feet of his, but he can't resist. It's so rare to see Sam actually lose it that when Dean gets the opportunity, well, what else is he supposed to do?
Opportunity presents itself that night while the two of them are sitting at a crappy bar in New Jersey, sloshing back a few beers. His name is Eric, and he's a shameless flirt.
"So, you come here often?" is the first thing Eric says, and Dean has to give it to him: you gotta have balls to use that kind of a line and still expect results.
Sam looks up sharply. "No, we're just passing through," he says, like a warning. Eric steamrolls right on, ignoring Sam narrowed eyes completely, much to Dean's amusement.
"That's cool. How long you guys gonna be in town?" he asks with what he must think is a discreet wink in Dean's direction. Jesus, how does this guy not get decked all the time? Suddenly, Eric brightens. "Hey, so is this like a ‘two brothers against the world’ thing?”
The muscle of Sam’s jaw twitches and Dean quickly intervenes, smiling as he steps on Sam’s foot. “We’re partners. Job on the road and all that,” he says.
Eric leans forward on the table like some kind of bubblegum cheerleader, all big eyes and hair twirling. “Must be really exciting,” he murmurs.
“I guess,” Dean says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. Sam is valiantly trying to ignore the both of them, now, head down and staring at a stack of print-outs. “What do you do for a living, Eric?”
It’s almost like watching a cat perk up at the sight of a mouse. “I’m a mechanic,” he bubbles, and…wait. Ha, things just got so much easier.
“Oh man, you have got to see my ride,” Dean says, standing up and grabbing his beer off the table. Without sparing Sammy a look, he pulls Eric to his feet and out the door at the back of the bar, towards the Impala.
She shines in the dim street-lamp light like a bright, black diamond. Dean’s heart flutters in his chest.
Eric makes a sort of half-gurgled noise of longing and slides his hand up the hood, worshipfully. “She’s yours?” he asks in a soft voice.
“Yeah,” Dean says, proud as a father. He trails after Eric’s path along the Impala’s shiny paint job with his own fingers, watches Eric’s eyes go dark and follow them.
On My Way Off the Barstool
Dean, Angel; PG-13
i...really have no excuse for this crossover.
“You know,” Dean started, wobbling unsteadily on his bar stool, “you’re not so bad for a—hic—creature of darkness. Have good hair—ver-very nice hair.”
Angel smirked around the rim of his glass, watching in amusement as Dean twirled himself on the bar stool and proclaimed his love for all things alcoholic, only barely catching himself on the edge of the table before he fell over.
“You’re hair’s not bad, either,” Angel said, reaching over to steady his new friend. “How do you get it to stick up like that without gel?”
Dean tried to tap the side of his nose and missed, nearly poking his own eye out. “Secret thing. Very secret. So secret I can’t even call it a secret. It’s, like, Fort Knox-y or something.” He paused, glancing at Angel’s hand on his shoulder. “What’re you doing?”
“Just making sure you don’t fall over,” Angel replied innocently.
Dean grinned. “Good! Good man—er, vampire. For a second, thought you were trying to make a move on me. That would have been awkward, ‘cause, like, I kind of have a boyfriend and he’d get all pissy.”
“Would he now?”
Dean nodded so hard he nearly fell backwards. Which, okay, ow. “Yeah, ‘cause, like, we’re the only things left, y’know? And he would totally kick your ass. He’s ridiculous feet tall, insane inches—mean with a knife, too,” he said, sucking in a breath. “There was this one time we were sparring in New Jersey and I said something that really pissed him off, right?”
“Uh huh,” Angel said, when Dean seemed like he expected a comment. “What’d you say?”
You Know How I Like It
original femmeslash; R
you trust me, right? um. right??
Sure, the two of you have never gone farther than a few kisses and some groping before, but no one is home, you have the house to yourself for the weekend, and you're getting kind of impatient.
So, you put on your best underwear and invite her over, tell her to bring all her stuff, it'll be like a sleep over. Yeah, sure, a naked sleepover.
She must have heard something in your voice, some excitement or tremor, because as soon as the door closes behind her, she's on you, pushing you back towards the couch and climbing into your lap.
Bedroom, you manage between hot, drugging kisses. She ignores you, working her way down your neck with long swipes of her tongue and sharp nips that leave you with fingers clenched tight in the couch's upholstery. By the time she pulls back, mouth wet and red, you’ve completely forgotten you said anything to begin with.
She pulls you up by your hands, strips you out of your shirt and lets it fall on the coffee table like a taunt. You follow her helplessly when she winks at you and sashays down the hallway toward your bedroom, her hips rolling and dipping. You drop your pants on the way, just leave them in the hallway where you stepped out of them, and in the extra time it takes you to get there, she’s already sitting on the edge of your bed, fingers resting on the zipper to her jeans.
You don’t—can’t—say anything more coherent than her name as you watch her flick open the buttons of her shirt and then undo her pants. She doesn’t stop until she’s completely naked, even her pretty red panties tossed off to the side.
Let’s take this slow, she says, and she’s smirking as her fingers feather down her stomach, dip into her navel. You probably should have realized before now that she’s a complete tease, but it takes you a little by surprise when she lays back and spreads her legs with her hands. Just watch.
And you do, oh God, you do. You watch her fingers slide down her stomach and rub tight little circles over her clit until she's moaning. You watch those same fingers slip further down and push carefully into her. You watch when it gets to be too much for her and she comes, back arched, whimpering and gasping.
Cotton Candy Sweet
Sam/Dean; PG-13
originally forpoisontaster. but, um, then i wrote her wee!chesters. w00t.
It’s far from the worst thing they’ve ever done for a job, sitting out on a sun-drenched hill. Really, Dean thinks he could probably get used to this.
Sam is draped half across his chest, twirling a blade of grass between his long, tapered fingers and popping a piece of bubble gum. Dean can feel his heart beating steadily from where they’re pressed together, even through the layers of clothing. It’s a comforting thing—ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
The body on top of him shifts until Sam’s face is in his line of vision, shaggy hair falling forward to shadow his eyes. Wordlessly, he leans forward to kiss Dean, soft and sweet and tasting of bubble gum.
The kiss lingers for a few long moments, Sam sweeping his tongue gently over the bow of Dean’s bottom lip and into his mouth with a kittenish sound. It’s lazy and affectionate, everything Dean feels for Sam at this moment distilled into the press of lips-against-lips. When Sam finally pulls back, Dean feels drugged, sluggish, and the sudden rush of cool air on his face is as shocking as Sam’s sudden tug on his arm.
He nearly goes flying when Sam pulls him forcefully onto his side in the high grass. What’re you-- he starts, and then Sam’s wrapping around him, long limbs folding him in until all he can feel, smell, taste is Sam.
Shh, Sam says, and his voice is soft, mouth pressed right up against Dean’s ear. His breath, warm and moist across the shell of Dean’s ear, sends a current down Dean’s spine--buzzing like the wings of a bumblebee.
Yeah, this is good.
Exaudi Vocem Meam
Sam/Remus; R
aww, baby's first spn fic. too bad it's a crossover. pls don't eat me.
Sam is going to die.
Really, there's nothing for it; Dean will have to learn to hunt on his own, because Sam is going to die. And, oh no, he couldn't go out fighting, or saving someone. He's going to go out because there is a man across the library table licking chocolate off his fingers.
Sam feels that the universe really must hate him.
He has to translate this passage before Dean gets back and starts tearing him a new one for not doing his geekboy job, he knows he does, but damnit if that man isn't the most distracting thing in the world. It would be another thing entirely if he weren't doing it so innocently, just sitting there with a book open and licking chocolate from the whorls of his fingertips like it was the most normal thing in the world. Sam has, unfortunately, been on the receiving end of some pretty sad acts of seduction before and he can deal with those.
But this—the distracted way the man is doing it—is driving Sam completely up the wall with lust.
Trying to put the completely unnecessary images out of his mind and concentrate on the Latin phrases in front of him, Sam is completely caught off guard when something brushes against his thigh, and nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up in time to catch the man across from him smirking, small and knowing, and Jesus, that shouldn't be so attractive.
Then, whatever thing had touched him before is back, closer to his admittedly hard dick, and he squirms in his seat. He looks down and is surprisingly unsurprised to see a sock-clad foot pushing against him through the denim of his jeans.
The man across from him, termed now "Tease" in Sam's head, finally tilts his head back and catches Sam's eyes. For a minute, Sam is entirely unaware of everything else--the people around them, the fact that Dean is probably on his way here and will surely torture him—too caught up in golden-green eyes to care. Those eyes are grinning at him as the man wiggles his toes against Sam's crotch.
He barely holds in a whimper, pushing himself forward into that retreating touch. After a minute where he realizes the foot isn't coming back, he looks up. As if waiting for his attention, the man smiles a butter-wouldn't-melt smile and casually drops his pen.
Sam stops breathing.
He's just working himself up into a vehement denial, telling himself that no way would a total stranger do that in the middle of a public library, when small hands pop the top button on his jeans, tug down the zipper and draw his dick out. Sam grips the pencil in his hand and tries not to make any sudden movements or noises, and fuck if he isn't that much closer to coming when a girl down the table looks at him curiously when he pencil breaks.
A hot, wet mouth engulfs the tip of his erection and it's all he can do not to thrust forward and moan. The words on the page in front of him swim and that talented--god, so talented--mouth works him thoroughly. De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meam: Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae.
His orgasm sneaks up on him and he barely has time to stuff the end of the pencil in his mouth before he's gasping and coming. That gorgeous mouth works him for a few seconds, swallowing, before the man reappears on the other side of the small study table, pen in hand and a smug smile on his bruised lips.
Sam vows right then and there to come to the library more often.
Holy crap, I'm sorry. That got kind of long, didn't it? Jesus Christ.
Jensen, Jared; PG
written originally for
dev_earlSee, the thing is…the thing is, Jared’s a tactile person.
He likes to bump hips and arms with Jensen while they walk, and he’s forever leaning over Jensen’s shoulder to read the script when he forgets his own, hand steadying himself against Jensen’s back. And normally, Jensen is completely fine with that. Jared is physically affectionate, so what?
But the other thing is, Jared’s also a hugger. And when he hugs, it isn’t just a manly pat on the back or a quick squeeze. He likes to hold on tight, curling his long fingers up so they cover the sharp curve of Jensen’s shoulder blades and pushing until Jensen is so crushed against Jared he can barely breathe.
And they fit, even thought to look at the two of them you’d never know it. They’re all sharp angles and roughness, but when Jared nudges Jensen’s head into that little place under his chin, something clicks and there’s even a soft nook for Jensen’s nose to press into.
There’s no awkward where do I put my hands? moment, either. Jensen’s arms automatically go around Jared’s neck and shoulders, and he has to clutch hard at whatever hideous shirt Jared is wearing so his co-star’s exuberance doesn’t knock them both over.
Because of course Jared’s hugs are exuberant.
He’s like an overgrown lab puppy, his paws too big for his body, his eyes too big for his face, and his heart too big for his chest. Sometimes, Jensen just wants to reach up and bury his hands in Jared’s hair so he can scritch him properly, right behind the ears.
But, okay, so the problem Jensen has with the hugging is it makes him all mushy. And not in the way that Jared’s given him a dead arm or something, but in the way where his stomach feels a little fluttery and his face gets kind of hot.
It’s embarassing.
When he’s doing an interview and Jared casually comes up behind him, draping himself all over Jensen, Jensen tries to laugh for the camera and not let on the fact that his heart is beating double-time in his chest.
Autumn, Children
Sam, Dean; PG, angst
dedicated to
_3amconfession. maybe, eventually, i'll get back into the angsty groove for you, hon.Sam left on a Tuesday.
It stormed that day, tree branches blowing in the heavy winds and the occasional flash of lightening on the horizon. The rain made a steady pitter-patter sound on the roof of the car, almost like music, and Dean remembers it was calming. The radio was off, because Sam wanted to—
Dean always stops remembering there.
---
He should have known, really. All the signs were there, he had just chosen to ignore them. Every time Sam’s eyes would linger on a bus stop; every time he would smile just a little too long at a child skipping along between his parents; every time he couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes after a hunt—yeah, he saw it all; should have known.
---
That Wednesday, Dean packed up all his stuff and took a plane from Las Vegas to Boston.
He thinks, sometimes, that Sam would have been proud of him for that flight. Then he remembers that he only did it to get as far away from Sam as possible, as quickly as possible.
Boston was a refuge, the New England rhythm falling around him like an old, warm coat he’d only just remembered he had in the closet. He stayed there to watch the leaves change, yellow to orange to red to brown; it reminded him of fire, beautiful and terrible at the same time.
When leaves fall, they die, after all.
---
In the middle of December, Dean bundled himself up and went down to the park, even though it was below twenty degrees and not many people were likely to wander by. He sat himself down on a bench next to an old lady who was feeding the birds and just watched her.
She was beautiful, in her own way, quiet and warm, each soft wrinkle on her face a sign of life and love. He never learned her name, never spoke to her, but she gave him some bird seed and he learned how to hold his hand out right—keep your fingers curled, don’t jerk or startle—so the pigeons would come right up to him and eat out of his palm.
He walked her back to her tiny, ramshackle apartment without a word. When they reached the stairs, she turned to him and pressed two fingers between his brows, like a prayer, and kissed his cheek.
It was like an electric shock, and suddenly Dean couldn’t imagine staying in one place any longer. He was out of Boston by mid-February.
---
After that, it got a little easier. Dean went back to hunting—bought a trusty old car made out of good steel, put seven thousand miles on her within the first year, got his old gun back, and played his Metallica tapes until they were shredded.
Your Nuts Roasting On An Open Fire
Jensen/Jared; PG-13
also written for
_3amconfession but never finished. i suck, kim, i'm sorry!“You’re cute when you’re trying not to freeze to death,” Jared says, biting his lip against laughter. Jensen flips him off, because, seriously, what the fuck.
“This is not the time, Jared,” he grumbles, still poking at the fire with stick. He knows he must look kind of stupid, bundled up in pretty much everything he owns, but it’s cold, okay? They’re in the middle of a Canadian winter, in a stupid forest, no way of getting in touch with the outside world, and if he wants to dress up in a freaking bunny suit to keep warm, that is totally his prerogative.
“Aw, come on,” Jared cajoles. He is entirely too cheerful for their sort of situation. “It’s not that bad, yeah? After all, we’ve got each other.”
Jensen swears that if Jared ever bats his eyelashes like that again, he will not be held responsible for his actions. “I really, really hate you. Like, for serious.”
“Nah, you don’t. You love me. Because I brought the food, remember?” Jared says, wiggling his eyebrows at the package of hot dogs sitting next to the fire pit.
“Why do you always think wieners will solve everything?” Jensen snaps. He only realizes what he’s said when Jared falls off the log, crying with laughter. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, blushing. “Shut up.”
Jealous of Your Cigarette (The Original)
Sam/Dean; PG-13
how the fic i wrote
dullemarulle was originally supposed to go. and then jensen went, "wait, wait, i like to get pushed around! write me!"Dean loves to make Sam jealous. He knows it's probably not the best idea, since Sam can easily step on him with those monstrous feet of his, but he can't resist. It's so rare to see Sam actually lose it that when Dean gets the opportunity, well, what else is he supposed to do?
Opportunity presents itself that night while the two of them are sitting at a crappy bar in New Jersey, sloshing back a few beers. His name is Eric, and he's a shameless flirt.
"So, you come here often?" is the first thing Eric says, and Dean has to give it to him: you gotta have balls to use that kind of a line and still expect results.
Sam looks up sharply. "No, we're just passing through," he says, like a warning. Eric steamrolls right on, ignoring Sam narrowed eyes completely, much to Dean's amusement.
"That's cool. How long you guys gonna be in town?" he asks with what he must think is a discreet wink in Dean's direction. Jesus, how does this guy not get decked all the time? Suddenly, Eric brightens. "Hey, so is this like a ‘two brothers against the world’ thing?”
The muscle of Sam’s jaw twitches and Dean quickly intervenes, smiling as he steps on Sam’s foot. “We’re partners. Job on the road and all that,” he says.
Eric leans forward on the table like some kind of bubblegum cheerleader, all big eyes and hair twirling. “Must be really exciting,” he murmurs.
“I guess,” Dean says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. Sam is valiantly trying to ignore the both of them, now, head down and staring at a stack of print-outs. “What do you do for a living, Eric?”
It’s almost like watching a cat perk up at the sight of a mouse. “I’m a mechanic,” he bubbles, and…wait. Ha, things just got so much easier.
“Oh man, you have got to see my ride,” Dean says, standing up and grabbing his beer off the table. Without sparing Sammy a look, he pulls Eric to his feet and out the door at the back of the bar, towards the Impala.
She shines in the dim street-lamp light like a bright, black diamond. Dean’s heart flutters in his chest.
Eric makes a sort of half-gurgled noise of longing and slides his hand up the hood, worshipfully. “She’s yours?” he asks in a soft voice.
“Yeah,” Dean says, proud as a father. He trails after Eric’s path along the Impala’s shiny paint job with his own fingers, watches Eric’s eyes go dark and follow them.
On My Way Off the Barstool
Dean, Angel; PG-13
i...really have no excuse for this crossover.
“You know,” Dean started, wobbling unsteadily on his bar stool, “you’re not so bad for a—hic—creature of darkness. Have good hair—ver-very nice hair.”
Angel smirked around the rim of his glass, watching in amusement as Dean twirled himself on the bar stool and proclaimed his love for all things alcoholic, only barely catching himself on the edge of the table before he fell over.
“You’re hair’s not bad, either,” Angel said, reaching over to steady his new friend. “How do you get it to stick up like that without gel?”
Dean tried to tap the side of his nose and missed, nearly poking his own eye out. “Secret thing. Very secret. So secret I can’t even call it a secret. It’s, like, Fort Knox-y or something.” He paused, glancing at Angel’s hand on his shoulder. “What’re you doing?”
“Just making sure you don’t fall over,” Angel replied innocently.
Dean grinned. “Good! Good man—er, vampire. For a second, thought you were trying to make a move on me. That would have been awkward, ‘cause, like, I kind of have a boyfriend and he’d get all pissy.”
“Would he now?”
Dean nodded so hard he nearly fell backwards. Which, okay, ow. “Yeah, ‘cause, like, we’re the only things left, y’know? And he would totally kick your ass. He’s ridiculous feet tall, insane inches—mean with a knife, too,” he said, sucking in a breath. “There was this one time we were sparring in New Jersey and I said something that really pissed him off, right?”
“Uh huh,” Angel said, when Dean seemed like he expected a comment. “What’d you say?”
You Know How I Like It
original femmeslash; R
you trust me, right? um. right??
Sure, the two of you have never gone farther than a few kisses and some groping before, but no one is home, you have the house to yourself for the weekend, and you're getting kind of impatient.
So, you put on your best underwear and invite her over, tell her to bring all her stuff, it'll be like a sleep over. Yeah, sure, a naked sleepover.
She must have heard something in your voice, some excitement or tremor, because as soon as the door closes behind her, she's on you, pushing you back towards the couch and climbing into your lap.
Bedroom, you manage between hot, drugging kisses. She ignores you, working her way down your neck with long swipes of her tongue and sharp nips that leave you with fingers clenched tight in the couch's upholstery. By the time she pulls back, mouth wet and red, you’ve completely forgotten you said anything to begin with.
She pulls you up by your hands, strips you out of your shirt and lets it fall on the coffee table like a taunt. You follow her helplessly when she winks at you and sashays down the hallway toward your bedroom, her hips rolling and dipping. You drop your pants on the way, just leave them in the hallway where you stepped out of them, and in the extra time it takes you to get there, she’s already sitting on the edge of your bed, fingers resting on the zipper to her jeans.
You don’t—can’t—say anything more coherent than her name as you watch her flick open the buttons of her shirt and then undo her pants. She doesn’t stop until she’s completely naked, even her pretty red panties tossed off to the side.
Let’s take this slow, she says, and she’s smirking as her fingers feather down her stomach, dip into her navel. You probably should have realized before now that she’s a complete tease, but it takes you a little by surprise when she lays back and spreads her legs with her hands. Just watch.
And you do, oh God, you do. You watch her fingers slide down her stomach and rub tight little circles over her clit until she's moaning. You watch those same fingers slip further down and push carefully into her. You watch when it gets to be too much for her and she comes, back arched, whimpering and gasping.
Cotton Candy Sweet
Sam/Dean; PG-13
originally for
poisontaster. but, um, then i wrote her wee!chesters. w00t.It’s far from the worst thing they’ve ever done for a job, sitting out on a sun-drenched hill. Really, Dean thinks he could probably get used to this.
Sam is draped half across his chest, twirling a blade of grass between his long, tapered fingers and popping a piece of bubble gum. Dean can feel his heart beating steadily from where they’re pressed together, even through the layers of clothing. It’s a comforting thing—ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
The body on top of him shifts until Sam’s face is in his line of vision, shaggy hair falling forward to shadow his eyes. Wordlessly, he leans forward to kiss Dean, soft and sweet and tasting of bubble gum.
The kiss lingers for a few long moments, Sam sweeping his tongue gently over the bow of Dean’s bottom lip and into his mouth with a kittenish sound. It’s lazy and affectionate, everything Dean feels for Sam at this moment distilled into the press of lips-against-lips. When Sam finally pulls back, Dean feels drugged, sluggish, and the sudden rush of cool air on his face is as shocking as Sam’s sudden tug on his arm.
He nearly goes flying when Sam pulls him forcefully onto his side in the high grass. What’re you-- he starts, and then Sam’s wrapping around him, long limbs folding him in until all he can feel, smell, taste is Sam.
Shh, Sam says, and his voice is soft, mouth pressed right up against Dean’s ear. His breath, warm and moist across the shell of Dean’s ear, sends a current down Dean’s spine--buzzing like the wings of a bumblebee.
Yeah, this is good.
Exaudi Vocem Meam
Sam/Remus; R
aww, baby's first spn fic. too bad it's a crossover. pls don't eat me.
Sam is going to die.
Really, there's nothing for it; Dean will have to learn to hunt on his own, because Sam is going to die. And, oh no, he couldn't go out fighting, or saving someone. He's going to go out because there is a man across the library table licking chocolate off his fingers.
Sam feels that the universe really must hate him.
He has to translate this passage before Dean gets back and starts tearing him a new one for not doing his geekboy job, he knows he does, but damnit if that man isn't the most distracting thing in the world. It would be another thing entirely if he weren't doing it so innocently, just sitting there with a book open and licking chocolate from the whorls of his fingertips like it was the most normal thing in the world. Sam has, unfortunately, been on the receiving end of some pretty sad acts of seduction before and he can deal with those.
But this—the distracted way the man is doing it—is driving Sam completely up the wall with lust.
Trying to put the completely unnecessary images out of his mind and concentrate on the Latin phrases in front of him, Sam is completely caught off guard when something brushes against his thigh, and nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up in time to catch the man across from him smirking, small and knowing, and Jesus, that shouldn't be so attractive.
Then, whatever thing had touched him before is back, closer to his admittedly hard dick, and he squirms in his seat. He looks down and is surprisingly unsurprised to see a sock-clad foot pushing against him through the denim of his jeans.
The man across from him, termed now "Tease" in Sam's head, finally tilts his head back and catches Sam's eyes. For a minute, Sam is entirely unaware of everything else--the people around them, the fact that Dean is probably on his way here and will surely torture him—too caught up in golden-green eyes to care. Those eyes are grinning at him as the man wiggles his toes against Sam's crotch.
He barely holds in a whimper, pushing himself forward into that retreating touch. After a minute where he realizes the foot isn't coming back, he looks up. As if waiting for his attention, the man smiles a butter-wouldn't-melt smile and casually drops his pen.
Sam stops breathing.
He's just working himself up into a vehement denial, telling himself that no way would a total stranger do that in the middle of a public library, when small hands pop the top button on his jeans, tug down the zipper and draw his dick out. Sam grips the pencil in his hand and tries not to make any sudden movements or noises, and fuck if he isn't that much closer to coming when a girl down the table looks at him curiously when he pencil breaks.
A hot, wet mouth engulfs the tip of his erection and it's all he can do not to thrust forward and moan. The words on the page in front of him swim and that talented--god, so talented--mouth works him thoroughly. De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meam: Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae.
His orgasm sneaks up on him and he barely has time to stuff the end of the pencil in his mouth before he's gasping and coming. That gorgeous mouth works him for a few seconds, swallowing, before the man reappears on the other side of the small study table, pen in hand and a smug smile on his bruised lips.
Sam vows right then and there to come to the library more often.
Holy crap, I'm sorry. That got kind of long, didn't it? Jesus Christ.
no subject
the hug one?! KILLED ME DED! so fucking cute, like asfk;lkdf;sjdgoiwejglskjdg. :D
they're all fabulous, of course. that one's just soooo cuttteeeee!
no subject
This icon is what started it. Look at Jensen's head! It's, like, made to be right there, in the crook of Jared's neck. MADE TO BE.
no subject
these were all absolutely loverly, dear
but the last one? ohemgee *fans self* um...hifuncrossover!
*gives you cookies*
i need skillz like yours, honestly. yo.
*cuddles*
no subject
And, yo yourself, you totes have mad skillz. Homie.
no subject
It stormed that day, tree branches blowing in the heavy winds and the occasional flash of lightening on the horizon. The rain made a steady pitter-patter sound on the roof of the car, almost like music, and Dean remembers it was calming. The radio was off, because Sam wanted to—
Dean always stops remembering there.
BEST. PARAGRAPH. EVER. This is the hurtiest 'Sam is leaving' line I have ever read and it makes me want to bawl like a baby.
no subject
no subject
Hahaha! Hideous shirt! And the image of Jared as a big puppy who wants a scratch!! So true.
Autumn, Children: I love the way you describe the storm, the autumn and the leaves and the way Boston feels. The imagery is fantastic. I love the sadness in this line …Then he remembers that he only did it to get as far away from Sam as possible, as quickly as possible.
Your Nuts Roasting On An Open Fire: Ahahahaha, funny stuff. And very cute. Jensen’s indignant behavior is the best. WEINERS!
On My Way Off the Barstool: All I could think was, “Angel’s such a nice guy not taking advantage of Dean and ruining the brother love. But you know, I’m always open to a threesome. Just because.
Cotton Candy Sweet: t’s lazy and affectionate, everything Dean feels for Sam at this moment distilled into the press of lips-against-lips. When Sam finally pulls back, Dean feels drugged, sluggish, and the sudden rush of cool air on his face is as shocking as Sam’s sudden tug on his arm.
…and then Sam’s wrapping around him, long limbs folding him in until all he can feel, smell, taste is Sam.
Shh, Sam says, and his voice is soft, mouth pressed right up against Dean’s ear. His breath, warm and moist across the shell of Dean’s ear, sends a current down Dean’s spine…
Beautiful schmoop. I loved it.
Exaudi Vocem Meam: Sam vows right then and there to come in the library more often. Need I say more?
o.0 A wise woman once said, Holy crap, I'm sorry. That got kind of long, didn't it? I think that can apply to me also!!
no subject
Thank you for being fabulous, by the way. I Loff You.
no subject
REMUS IS A SLUT! A geeky library slut! OMG. *loves to tiny bits and pieces*
And sloshed!Dean telling amused!Angel that his tall boyfriend will beat him up! Absolutely PRICELESS. I seem to have a Thing for SPN/Angel crossovers lately, and that was just perfect.
These were all so fun and great :D Yay.
no subject
Also, OMG, yes. You've read
no subject
no subject
Then straight after that you angst and then fluff again and then sexiness! And I don't even care that my emotions are all over the place, 'cause you are just that good.
I love these :D
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject