7x18 Comment-fic Meme
Hello! lazy-daze and I have decided that the time for comment-fic is now. In this past episode, Sam and Dean get shwasted Dean says, "I miss these talks." However, we do not see said talk on-screen.
AND THUS, THE INCEPTION OF:
( Read more... )
AND THUS, THE INCEPTION OF:
( Read more... )
"Dean," says Sam again. "That's his name."
"He's real pretty," says the guy. Dean wonders if he knows he's telling it to the whole bar, then decides he doesn't give a shit anyway and focuses on the curve of Sam's mouth instead. He's wearing the kind of disinterest that shrieks promise for later. Dean likes this disguise on Sam. He shifts in his seat, wanting to be able to pay attention to it.
"Real pretty," Sam agrees. He leans in a bit closer to his new friend and shapes his next words neatly for Dean to see. "You seen his mouth?"
"Oh yeah," says the guy. He's practically salivating. Sam's gonna have his drool all over him if he gets much closer.
Dean takes a drink of his beer then sets it back on the table, runs his tongue over his lips. Sam's eyes narrow and he tosses back half his own beer before leaning in again, this time flicking a finger Dean's way. "His fuckin' eyelashes, man." Dean flutters them. It's good cover for rolling his eyes. Sam thinks he's being funny.
The guy swallows loud enough that Dean can hear him from halfway across the room. "Eyelashes," he repeats intelligently. Dean sneaks a look sideways, wanting to enjoy the impatience as it sweeps across Sam's face, but he misses it.
"Nice ass, too, if you can get him off it."
"Yeah?"
Dean stays pointedly seated.
"Yeah." Sam's voice has taken on a rough quality that means he's forgotten he's talking to someone who isn't Dean. Dean smirks. Lightweight. "Round as a peach."
Sam shapes it out in the air with the hand not clutching his glass. This is a game, or Dean hopes it is, so he tries not to stare. Sam's friend doesn't.
Sam tilts his head to the side. "And," he says, "you think he looks good over there? You want to taste his skin. His fucking freckles."
Dean and his fucking freckles don't know what to make of that.
Sam continues. "They're so cute, man, they're precious. You should see him in summer, turns into a schoolgirl every year. Gets a whole face full. Wanna try counting 'em."
One look at the other guy tells Dean that Sam's the only one who wants to count his freckles.
"You wanna -- lick him up all over. See if the rest of him tastes any different."
"Different to --" starts the guy, sounding hopeful.
"His freckles," says Sam. Of course his freckles. Dean frowns and looks away, hoping for a mirror somewhere. Schoolgirl, what the fuck. Schoolgirls don't have the monopoly on freckles. See for instance: Dean.
"Oh," says the guy. He sounds disappointed. Dean smirks.
*
Ten minutes later, Dean gets his fingers in Sam's hair and with an effort drags his head up from the crook of his neck. He frowns, settling back a bit in Sam's lap and ignoring the not inconsiderable part of him that wants Sam's mouth right back where it was. And the sad little noise that Sam's new friend makes, still stood over by the bar. "Freckles."
"I like 'em."
"You don't say." Dean tightens his fingers. "I'm not a schoolgirl."
Sam smiles at him, gaze refocusing sloppily. "I'll put a dress on you next time. For authenticity."
"For authenticity," says Dean, "you should leave it off. I'm all man, baby. Freckles and everything. Freckles especially."
"Of course you are," says Sam. He returns his mouth to Dean's neck and gets started on another hickey. Christ.
Dean angles his head back to give Sam better access and decides not to argue it.
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Oh my gosh, I love fic where they realize that they may be somewhat alone in their obsession. Like, it's never crossed their mind that other people wouldn't share in it.
ALSO: CROSSDRESSING.
♥ ♥ ♥
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Also "ALSO: CROSSDRESSING" is the answer to all the things. I'm so glad you know that too. Starry eyes.
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