fic: Wherefore these dim monuments
title: Wherefore these dim monuments
words: 600w
podfic: here by applegeuse
a/n: This is a birthday present for oddishly who prompted Sam is going to be offended if Dean doesn't kiss him in public on Valentine's Day. I don't know what resulted, but it is under the cut.
Sam is going to be offended if Dean doesn't kiss him in public on Valentine's Day. Offended.
He decides this the day of. Three o'clock in the afternoon. In a morgue.
Dean is unaware of the stakes. He is taking a scalpel to a refrigerated body, which lies stiff, recumbent, a mocking reminder that Sam, unkissed, is not all that bad off. Dean has spleen juice on his shirt and bags under his eyes that indicate just how much sleep they didn't get last night.
They'd been hiding out in a sewer, stalking something slimy. Therein lies the spark. The moment they'd been crouched together in the pitch dark, and gross breathing had been getting louder, ragged and advancing down the echoing tunnel. Sam had said, "you know, I hadn't planned to die here."
Dean's words had huffed against his cheek. "Thirteenth of February, eaten by a monster in a sewer. Know what that means? No Valentine's Day kiss."
A joke, obviously. Sam had answered, "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen. Aha. Ahahaha." And almost gotten them killed for reals. But.
But here they are, here Sam is, working himself up to being agitated over something that is impossible. He's like, thirty years old and a realist and also not a chick. He's setting himself up for a joke's-on-you type situation, where failure is 100 to 1 and the only success is incest.
But the heart wants what the heart wants, and Sam's is pounding hard with a jealousy as useless as it is poignant, two floors underground while random doctors mill about the room, documenting things on clipboards, Dean hemming and hawing over the purpled corpse when they look his way, like he knows what he's doing.
Dean cuts the heart out of the corpse's chest cavity, and Sam steels himself. There's a pause, possibly imagined, and then Dean puts the heart on the scales to weigh it instead of offering it Sam's way. He moves on to the kidneys.
Sam lets out a breath. "Fuck," he mutters.
This is just one more break from reality. His hands are shaking. He flips open their case file and walks around so the tray is between them to get some distance.
Dean glances up at him, and then goes back to carving.
Sam sighs, out through his nose, and Dean looks up and smirks.
Smirks.
And says, "Unbelievable."
"Your face," Sam retorts by rote. And then, "wait, what is?"
He gestures to the heart. "You were waiting for me to-"
"Was not," Sam says. Far too quickly. "Just because you've done it before doesn't- Patterns, you know. You're just predictable. Some would say boring, and last night you said-"
Dean spins the scalpel before plunging it in the corpse's leg so he can grab Sam's tie and pull him close.
"You know, I'd kill just about anything for you. In fact, I do. Often. And this is what you want?"
The room's gone a little quiet. Sam doesn't look around, instead keeping his eyes safely on Dean's mouth. They're just two FBI guys, talking close over a vic, nothing to see.
Dean says, "Man, I thought I was the one who liked PDA but you're into this sort of shit, aren't you?"
"There's something very noble," Sam says carefully. "About follow through on promises, is all I'm-"
"Okay," Dean says.
"Uh?"
"Okay, all right?"
Decided, Dean yanks him closer to breathe against his mouth, and then.
Then, it's a kiss. Behind them, someone drops a head. Dean fists Sam's tie tighter and Sam, no longer in danger of being offended, plants his hands on the tray and leans into it, kissing Dean back, thinking, well all right, then.
words: 600w
podfic: here by applegeuse
a/n: This is a birthday present for oddishly who prompted Sam is going to be offended if Dean doesn't kiss him in public on Valentine's Day. I don't know what resulted, but it is under the cut.
Sam is going to be offended if Dean doesn't kiss him in public on Valentine's Day. Offended.
He decides this the day of. Three o'clock in the afternoon. In a morgue.
Dean is unaware of the stakes. He is taking a scalpel to a refrigerated body, which lies stiff, recumbent, a mocking reminder that Sam, unkissed, is not all that bad off. Dean has spleen juice on his shirt and bags under his eyes that indicate just how much sleep they didn't get last night.
They'd been hiding out in a sewer, stalking something slimy. Therein lies the spark. The moment they'd been crouched together in the pitch dark, and gross breathing had been getting louder, ragged and advancing down the echoing tunnel. Sam had said, "you know, I hadn't planned to die here."
Dean's words had huffed against his cheek. "Thirteenth of February, eaten by a monster in a sewer. Know what that means? No Valentine's Day kiss."
A joke, obviously. Sam had answered, "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen. Aha. Ahahaha." And almost gotten them killed for reals. But.
But here they are, here Sam is, working himself up to being agitated over something that is impossible. He's like, thirty years old and a realist and also not a chick. He's setting himself up for a joke's-on-you type situation, where failure is 100 to 1 and the only success is incest.
But the heart wants what the heart wants, and Sam's is pounding hard with a jealousy as useless as it is poignant, two floors underground while random doctors mill about the room, documenting things on clipboards, Dean hemming and hawing over the purpled corpse when they look his way, like he knows what he's doing.
Dean cuts the heart out of the corpse's chest cavity, and Sam steels himself. There's a pause, possibly imagined, and then Dean puts the heart on the scales to weigh it instead of offering it Sam's way. He moves on to the kidneys.
Sam lets out a breath. "Fuck," he mutters.
This is just one more break from reality. His hands are shaking. He flips open their case file and walks around so the tray is between them to get some distance.
Dean glances up at him, and then goes back to carving.
Sam sighs, out through his nose, and Dean looks up and smirks.
Smirks.
And says, "Unbelievable."
"Your face," Sam retorts by rote. And then, "wait, what is?"
He gestures to the heart. "You were waiting for me to-"
"Was not," Sam says. Far too quickly. "Just because you've done it before doesn't- Patterns, you know. You're just predictable. Some would say boring, and last night you said-"
Dean spins the scalpel before plunging it in the corpse's leg so he can grab Sam's tie and pull him close.
"You know, I'd kill just about anything for you. In fact, I do. Often. And this is what you want?"
The room's gone a little quiet. Sam doesn't look around, instead keeping his eyes safely on Dean's mouth. They're just two FBI guys, talking close over a vic, nothing to see.
Dean says, "Man, I thought I was the one who liked PDA but you're into this sort of shit, aren't you?"
"There's something very noble," Sam says carefully. "About follow through on promises, is all I'm-"
"Okay," Dean says.
"Uh?"
"Okay, all right?"
Decided, Dean yanks him closer to breathe against his mouth, and then.
Then, it's a kiss. Behind them, someone drops a head. Dean fists Sam's tie tighter and Sam, no longer in danger of being offended, plants his hands on the tray and leans into it, kissing Dean back, thinking, well all right, then.