Self Expression (G)
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.
Additional Tags: Humor, drabble, 200 words.
Summary: written for SPN100 WOW: broken, ride. Sam demonstrates his expressive versatility.
Characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. No copright infringement intended.
I write for love only.
Dean wiped grease from his hands and sighed. Nothing soured his mood like his ride breaking down on a hunt. Still . . . silver lining . . .
He tapped on the passenger window and Sam wound it down.
“It’s a broken fanbelt,” he explained. “I need your stockings.”
Sam’s icy stare morphed into an outright glare.
“What?” Dean asked innocently.
Sam opened the door, taking care to slam it into Dean as he stepped out of the car. Hitching up his skirt, he unsnapped his suspenders and, stepping out of his heels, he rolled the nylon down his lean-muscled thighs and shapely calves, finally slamming the balled-up wad into his brother’s outstretched hand.
After Dean had completed the temporary fix, and replaced his collar, Sam was still fuming.
“Chill, Sam. I’ll buy you a new pair at the next Walmart,” Dean assured him.
Sam scowled, pointedly unappeased.
“OK, look. I promise. Next time we need to locate a toff British vampire nest by infiltrating some weirdass limey dress-up party, you can be the vicar.”
Sam favoured him with a withering glower.
“I swear!” Dean crossed his heart. “The very next time.”
“Just drive,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth.
.
Additional Tags: Humor, drabble, 200 words.
Summary: written for SPN100 WOW: broken, ride. Sam demonstrates his expressive versatility.
Characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. No copright infringement intended.
I write for love only.
Dean wiped grease from his hands and sighed. Nothing soured his mood like his ride breaking down on a hunt. Still . . . silver lining . . .
He tapped on the passenger window and Sam wound it down.
“It’s a broken fanbelt,” he explained. “I need your stockings.”
Sam’s icy stare morphed into an outright glare.
“What?” Dean asked innocently.
Sam opened the door, taking care to slam it into Dean as he stepped out of the car. Hitching up his skirt, he unsnapped his suspenders and, stepping out of his heels, he rolled the nylon down his lean-muscled thighs and shapely calves, finally slamming the balled-up wad into his brother’s outstretched hand.
After Dean had completed the temporary fix, and replaced his collar, Sam was still fuming.
“Chill, Sam. I’ll buy you a new pair at the next Walmart,” Dean assured him.
Sam scowled, pointedly unappeased.
“OK, look. I promise. Next time we need to locate a toff British vampire nest by infiltrating some weirdass limey dress-up party, you can be the vicar.”
Sam favoured him with a withering glower.
“I swear!” Dean crossed his heart. “The very next time.”
“Just drive,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth.
.