(no subject)
Title: Under My Skin
Author captainswank
Pairing: wincest
Rating: pg
Words ~500
Summary: Songfic. With my wincest song. Post 8x13
I've got you under my skin.
I've got you deep in the heart of me.
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.
I've got you under my skin.
Forgotten chess games and ancient cups of coffee weren’t the only relics they came upon in the bunker. A thorough ransacking of the cabinets produced an old, old, old bottle of scotch. Dean thought about the dough they’d score from selling it, but only for a moment. When would they get an opportunity like this again? Might as well see what it’s like to be someone who’s loaded enough to get their hands on shit like this. They’d be back to cheap whiskey soon enough.
I'd tried so not to give in.
I said to myself: this affair never will go so well.
But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know damn well
I've got you under my skin.
They were supposed to sip it slow; that was the plan. Sip like gentlemen, revel in the decadence of the scotch and the room. But giddy with the excitement of near death and close victory they threw it back like they always did. How often did they get to celebrate? To throw a little party with an attendance of two. Sinatra serenaded them and they put on stupid little fake British accents, mm, yes, do you detect a hint of vanilla, Mr. Winchester? And Sam: quite so, quite so. And is that almond I taste? Mr. Winchester? And they laughed and they laughed and Dean fell off of his perch on the side of the table.
I'd sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear…
They’re drunk, so drunk, and it started as a fight over who’d get the last glass of the stuff, a lighting round of bare-knuckle boxing over the final drops. But boxing’s a little hard when you’re drunk, a little tough when you’re tired. Is that how they ended up leaning up against each other? Sam was going for a clinch, right, that’s how his arms ended up wrapped tight around Dean’s middle. And Dean never played by the rules, had been trying to get him in a stranglehold, so that explained the arms around his neck. They stood like that for a second and tried to slow their breathing while Frank sang on.
Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?
Use your mentality, wake up to reality.
But each time that I do just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin…
They swayed slowly in the golden light, chests pressed together warm and heavy. Dean let his head drop down to rest on his brother’s shoulder, just for a second. Hey, Dean said. How can I ever let you go off on your own like that again? What would I have done if that magic hadn’t lifted? Will these books and these papers and the comfort of these walls keep you here with me until we’re old and tired? No. Instead he said: Hey. You suck at dancing. Who the hell taught you how? Sam laughed. You, he said. Of course it was you.
'Cause I've got you under my skin.
Author captainswank
Pairing: wincest
Rating: pg
Words ~500
Summary: Songfic. With my wincest song. Post 8x13
I've got you under my skin.
I've got you deep in the heart of me.
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.
I've got you under my skin.
Forgotten chess games and ancient cups of coffee weren’t the only relics they came upon in the bunker. A thorough ransacking of the cabinets produced an old, old, old bottle of scotch. Dean thought about the dough they’d score from selling it, but only for a moment. When would they get an opportunity like this again? Might as well see what it’s like to be someone who’s loaded enough to get their hands on shit like this. They’d be back to cheap whiskey soon enough.
I'd tried so not to give in.
I said to myself: this affair never will go so well.
But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know damn well
I've got you under my skin.
They were supposed to sip it slow; that was the plan. Sip like gentlemen, revel in the decadence of the scotch and the room. But giddy with the excitement of near death and close victory they threw it back like they always did. How often did they get to celebrate? To throw a little party with an attendance of two. Sinatra serenaded them and they put on stupid little fake British accents, mm, yes, do you detect a hint of vanilla, Mr. Winchester? And Sam: quite so, quite so. And is that almond I taste? Mr. Winchester? And they laughed and they laughed and Dean fell off of his perch on the side of the table.
I'd sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear…
They’re drunk, so drunk, and it started as a fight over who’d get the last glass of the stuff, a lighting round of bare-knuckle boxing over the final drops. But boxing’s a little hard when you’re drunk, a little tough when you’re tired. Is that how they ended up leaning up against each other? Sam was going for a clinch, right, that’s how his arms ended up wrapped tight around Dean’s middle. And Dean never played by the rules, had been trying to get him in a stranglehold, so that explained the arms around his neck. They stood like that for a second and tried to slow their breathing while Frank sang on.
Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?
Use your mentality, wake up to reality.
But each time that I do just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin…
They swayed slowly in the golden light, chests pressed together warm and heavy. Dean let his head drop down to rest on his brother’s shoulder, just for a second. Hey, Dean said. How can I ever let you go off on your own like that again? What would I have done if that magic hadn’t lifted? Will these books and these papers and the comfort of these walls keep you here with me until we’re old and tired? No. Instead he said: Hey. You suck at dancing. Who the hell taught you how? Sam laughed. You, he said. Of course it was you.
'Cause I've got you under my skin.