I don't know about you guys, but I cannot stop thinking about Batcave fic. Bathrobe and fancy aged liquor and possible bubble bath and stacks of books and secret doors etc!
Please prompt and write/art. I want to make more batcave stick figure art and stuff.
( Read more... )
Please prompt and write/art. I want to make more batcave stick figure art and stuff.
( Read more... )
Sam was on his own for two days, though he could’ve sworn Dean had said it would be three. Dean had made him swear he would leave the damn books alone long enough to eat - had even made him a pan of blow-your-brains-out chili sauce and left it in the fridge of their ridiculously well-equipped kitchen. (No microwave, Sammy, the hell you say well-equipped).
Dean disappeared upstairs pretty sharply after coming back, but not before doing something weird. Which for Dean, was saying something.
“Um... Dean?”
“Yeah?” Dean’s head snapped up from where he’d been...well, staring.
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah. I’m...” Dean took a step toward Sam, then seemed to catch himself. “I’m taking a shower. That is what I’m doing,” he said defiantly, like Sam was arguing with him.
“And?”
“And nothing. You...you stay there. You stay right there.”
Sam watched Dean take the stairs two at a time and thought about calling Garth to find out exactly where Kevin was these days, and if it was guarded by fairy dust or something. But first he’d see what a shower and a meal would do. Dean could get loopy on too much driving when he chose the wheel instead of sleep.
Sam turned back to a-be still his heart-hand written translation of an aramaic scroll on angels and their feathers he had a feeling was going to be more important than his dumbass brother letting his blood sugar dip.
Sam heard the sound of Dean’s footfalls on the stairs an indeterminate time later, but he didn’t look up. “There’s some pasta left, Dean, just heat it up in the pan if you want. Hey did you know...?”
Sam would never know if Dean did or not, because Dean was suddenly pushing Sam’s chair back to almost tipping point so he could maneuver himself over Sam’s lap.
“Dean!”
“Hey, Sammy.” It was quiet, almost reverential, not matching Sam’s panicky tone at all. Sam’s hands went out on a reflex to stop them falling, and found Dean’s hips enclosed in some very soft towelling. Dean was in dead guy robe again, most definitely commando underneath, and holy shit, he smelled incredible. Something deeply spiced and very expensive.
“Dean...” Sam said again, swallowing. His dick was stirring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He hadn’t had Dean in his lap ever, never mind his arms. He’d had him against a wall occasionally, in dark corners and under the covers in angry bursts of tension and desperation, but this... God, this he hadn’t had since they were first back on the road together.
“What the...? I mean, are we...?” Christ, his mouth was dry and he couldn’t get the words out. He was also mortified to realize he was shaking a little.
“Jeez, for a Man of Letters, Sammy, you’re not getting many out right now.” All said with Dean’s hands framing Sam’s face, thereby taking out any and all sarcasm.
Sam blinked once, twice. And Dean kept on sitting there, holding Sam’s face and crinkling those green eyes at him. Sam slid his hands to the small of Dean’s back and Dean’s smile just got wider.
Sam had little choice at that point but to tip Dean forward the rest of the way.
A mismatch of teeth, a rub of noses, and then...oh god, then it was perfect. Dean had had coffee on the road. And whiskey since coming back. Sam chased the taste of both and the kiss got dirty fast. Dean started rolling his hips, the friction on Sam’s dick in his jeans maddeningly sweet and not near enough. Dean broke off first, hips still moving as he panted and rested his forehead on Sam’s.
“Fucking missed you. Thought of you, here, in that.” Dean put his hands on Sam’s chest. “With that stupid smile on your face when you know new things... And I just... I want to be here. With you.”
“You are, man. You are.” Sam still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but then again, an awful lot of blood was going south fast. Sam slid his hands into the robe, straight around and down to Dean’s ass. Dean groaned against Sam’s neck, bit him there.
“You’re wearing too much, Sam.”
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