(no subject)
Repost of an old, dumb SPN fic that I wrote and now can't find.
Title: One Lump or Two?
Rating: 15
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Ficlet. After the Hell House prank war, Sam's not sure the truce applies to him.
AN: CRACK. As far as I remember, it's unbetad.
Some pranks are just perfect. Too perfect for man to fully take the credit. This was one of those moments when the patron Saint of Comedy Genius places a hand on the shoulder of the prankster and spits exquisite inspiration into his mind.
Sam was mad. For some reason, the spoon in the mouth had wound him up more than anything else. More than the itching powder, and that was saying something. It was something to do with being asleep when it happened. On some level, Sam believed sleep was sacred. A time you should be able to feel safe and not fear the insertion of objects.
Inspiration.
It was just good fortune that Dean gave him the opportunity. It was just pure dumb luck that Dean decided he needed that one more beer. That one more beer that made sleep just a little deeper. Just a little more like 'being passed out on the couch in a drunken stupor'.
Sam poked his brother a couple of times, checking that all the response he was going to get was a twitch. It was.
Sam wasn't exactly sober himself, and it took a few minutes standing against the wall, giggling inanely at the beauty of his plan before he could carry it out. He pressed his hand over his mouth and stifled the laughter, eventually overcoming it.
He strolled up to the sofa, turning his camera on in preparation. His time was limited. Dean looked adorable, in a gross kind of way, head lolling back over the arm, mouth invitingly open.
It was far from the first time that Sam had unbuttoned his pants in the general area of Dean's face, but it was the first time Dean had been unconscious for the event.
He pulled wee Sammy out of his pants and dusted him off. He was glad nobody could see the awkward squat that was necessary to bring the boys in dropping distance of Dean's mouth. He forced himself not to giggle as he worked his slightly sweaty testicles into Dean's waiting mouth. Artistry and vanity had him scooping little Sammy out of shot for the series of photographs he knew he would always treasure.
The slight brush of teeth and warm caress of drunken breath gave him a bit of a semi, which he used to slap Dean around the cheeks before carting it off to bed, his gallery of entertainment safe on his memory card.
The next morning, a hung-over Dean would wipe his face and complain of having drooled on himself. Sam would know that the prank was not for him. It was for all mankind.
The End.
Title: One Lump or Two?
Rating: 15
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Ficlet. After the Hell House prank war, Sam's not sure the truce applies to him.
AN: CRACK. As far as I remember, it's unbetad.
Some pranks are just perfect. Too perfect for man to fully take the credit. This was one of those moments when the patron Saint of Comedy Genius places a hand on the shoulder of the prankster and spits exquisite inspiration into his mind.
Sam was mad. For some reason, the spoon in the mouth had wound him up more than anything else. More than the itching powder, and that was saying something. It was something to do with being asleep when it happened. On some level, Sam believed sleep was sacred. A time you should be able to feel safe and not fear the insertion of objects.
Inspiration.
It was just good fortune that Dean gave him the opportunity. It was just pure dumb luck that Dean decided he needed that one more beer. That one more beer that made sleep just a little deeper. Just a little more like 'being passed out on the couch in a drunken stupor'.
Sam poked his brother a couple of times, checking that all the response he was going to get was a twitch. It was.
Sam wasn't exactly sober himself, and it took a few minutes standing against the wall, giggling inanely at the beauty of his plan before he could carry it out. He pressed his hand over his mouth and stifled the laughter, eventually overcoming it.
He strolled up to the sofa, turning his camera on in preparation. His time was limited. Dean looked adorable, in a gross kind of way, head lolling back over the arm, mouth invitingly open.
It was far from the first time that Sam had unbuttoned his pants in the general area of Dean's face, but it was the first time Dean had been unconscious for the event.
He pulled wee Sammy out of his pants and dusted him off. He was glad nobody could see the awkward squat that was necessary to bring the boys in dropping distance of Dean's mouth. He forced himself not to giggle as he worked his slightly sweaty testicles into Dean's waiting mouth. Artistry and vanity had him scooping little Sammy out of shot for the series of photographs he knew he would always treasure.
The slight brush of teeth and warm caress of drunken breath gave him a bit of a semi, which he used to slap Dean around the cheeks before carting it off to bed, his gallery of entertainment safe on his memory card.
The next morning, a hung-over Dean would wipe his face and complain of having drooled on himself. Sam would know that the prank was not for him. It was for all mankind.
The End.