Happy birthday strangecreature!!!
These are some birthday prompts for strangecreature. Hope you enjoy them hon!! (Also? I'm personally amused by her phrasing for the third one. I'm just sayin'...)
It's the same song and dance as before - prompt, rating and warnings in the cut tag, and the text below. Since she gave me fewer prompts, a couple of them have multiple sets of 3 sentences. :)
SPN, Sam(/Jess), prompt: note-taking:
It almost feels like Stanford, back in the stacks where the only smell is the slightly musty smell of old, pressed pages, where sunlight catches on dust motes and the silence is almost tangible. The same scratch of the pen on paper, and the subtle click of laptop keys. Except that this isn't for his poli sci classes and he won't be meeting Jessica for lunch, and the pit in his stomach tightens, eyes burning with tears he won't allow to fall.
SPN, Dean-gen, prompt: nostalgia:
Dean sits on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the mall and lets his eyes fall across the crowd --damn New Jersey people and their fucking malls-- glad that at least the job is over. It's the lights flashing that catch his attention, some gaming store straight across from him with video monitors facing out to show whatever the hell the latest Super Mario Bros game is. For a second, just a second, he grins, remembering the first time Sammy put his hands on a remote control at Billy Jacob's house, the way his eyes had gone wide and lit up, a geek even then; Dean shrugs the memory off, though, cos Sam's at Stanford, and Dad will be waiting.
RPS, aaanthing with the Kanester, prompt: 2 a.m.:
They stumble out, Christian leaning into Steve like it has anything to do with the alcohol and bemoaning the fact that Dallas bars close so early -- nevermind the two bottles of Jack he's got tucked away in the pretty princess bag under his arm -- and make their way to the lightrail stop to head back to their hotel. It's quiet and dim as they drop down onto a bench, sitting just a little too close, touching just a little too much, but there's no one there to see and Christian just leans into the smell of him until he can tip his head just so and brush his lips against Steve's neck. Steve shivers despite the heat, a pleased laugh bubbling up out of him until Chris uses his teeth, one hand sliding shamelessly up the inseam of Steve's jeans.
***
Chris stares at the numbers on the clock, green and blinking and nearly 2 am, leaving him only 4 hours til he's supposed to be on set for make-up, stares at the numbers and lets his hand wander lower as he debates just one more time if he should be doing this. He gives in, hits the speed dial on his phone and has to swallow a whimper when Dave answers, his voice rough with sleep and surprise and maybe, maybe something else, if Christian lets himself hope; it pays off, for the words in his ear, buzzing through him and straight to his cock, telling him how fast, how tight, how hard he'd be fucked right now if only he'd knocked on the door instead of calling. Dave makes him wait, makes him beg, draws it out until Chris hears him grunt and cuss, and he knows that Dave has just come all over himself and finally, finally Dave tells him what he needs to hear and he tumbles over the edge after him.
AtS, Lindsey/Angel (unabashed OTP, yo), prompt: vandalism:
Lindsey doesn't flinch when his door cracks, slamming nearly off it's hinges as Angel barges in --so sloppy-- but the smart ass comment about the destruction of personal property just on the tip of his tongue slips away when Angel crosses the room all too quickly, fisting Lindsey's shirt in one hand as he all but slams his back into the desk. Lindsey's expecting angry words and a lecture on ethics, not angry kisses, not blunt teeth dragging across his lip as Angel reaches around him to clear the desk, breaking two statues, a sigil and probably his computer screen, only to push Lindsey down and pinning him with a leg between his thighs. Lindsey can't help the noise he makes, can't help the way he lifts his hips when Angel tangles a hand in his hair and tips his head to drag teeth sharpening to fangs along his jaw, along his throat.
AtS/SPN, Spike-in-the-SPN-universe, prompt: show-off:
Sam blinks; finding a good vampire is absurdly rare in and of itself without trying to consider a vampire that would willingly hunt and kill other vampires (this, of course, without considering that truly bizarre conversation about souls they had the other night after the Jim and Jack were gone). But Spike is not only enthusiastic, he's downright competitive, keeping count of how many he's dropped as they move their way through the nest.
"Show off," Dean mutters, and Sam wants to bang his head into a wall for just how jealous his brother sounds.
***
Dean would be jealous --hell, Dean would be grousing up a storm right now-- if only he could catch his breath, which is an improvement (...he thinks) on needing to find his voice, barring the part where he can't stop moaning. Spike looks up the length of him, a smirk pulling at the corner of his eyes like he knows exactly what Dean's thinking, his head still bobbing, tongue doing things to his cock that Dean's never even thought of and damn him for not needing to breathe, not needing to stop. Dean grips the sheets white knuckled, wanting to call the fucker a show off, wanting him to damn well fuck him already, but all he can seem to manage is an all too needy "Shit... fuck, fuck."
It's the same song and dance as before - prompt, rating and warnings in the cut tag, and the text below. Since she gave me fewer prompts, a couple of them have multiple sets of 3 sentences. :)
SPN, Sam(/Jess), prompt: note-taking:
It almost feels like Stanford, back in the stacks where the only smell is the slightly musty smell of old, pressed pages, where sunlight catches on dust motes and the silence is almost tangible. The same scratch of the pen on paper, and the subtle click of laptop keys. Except that this isn't for his poli sci classes and he won't be meeting Jessica for lunch, and the pit in his stomach tightens, eyes burning with tears he won't allow to fall.
SPN, Dean-gen, prompt: nostalgia:
Dean sits on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the mall and lets his eyes fall across the crowd --damn New Jersey people and their fucking malls-- glad that at least the job is over. It's the lights flashing that catch his attention, some gaming store straight across from him with video monitors facing out to show whatever the hell the latest Super Mario Bros game is. For a second, just a second, he grins, remembering the first time Sammy put his hands on a remote control at Billy Jacob's house, the way his eyes had gone wide and lit up, a geek even then; Dean shrugs the memory off, though, cos Sam's at Stanford, and Dad will be waiting.
RPS, aaanthing with the Kanester, prompt: 2 a.m.:
They stumble out, Christian leaning into Steve like it has anything to do with the alcohol and bemoaning the fact that Dallas bars close so early -- nevermind the two bottles of Jack he's got tucked away in the pretty princess bag under his arm -- and make their way to the lightrail stop to head back to their hotel. It's quiet and dim as they drop down onto a bench, sitting just a little too close, touching just a little too much, but there's no one there to see and Christian just leans into the smell of him until he can tip his head just so and brush his lips against Steve's neck. Steve shivers despite the heat, a pleased laugh bubbling up out of him until Chris uses his teeth, one hand sliding shamelessly up the inseam of Steve's jeans.
***
Chris stares at the numbers on the clock, green and blinking and nearly 2 am, leaving him only 4 hours til he's supposed to be on set for make-up, stares at the numbers and lets his hand wander lower as he debates just one more time if he should be doing this. He gives in, hits the speed dial on his phone and has to swallow a whimper when Dave answers, his voice rough with sleep and surprise and maybe, maybe something else, if Christian lets himself hope; it pays off, for the words in his ear, buzzing through him and straight to his cock, telling him how fast, how tight, how hard he'd be fucked right now if only he'd knocked on the door instead of calling. Dave makes him wait, makes him beg, draws it out until Chris hears him grunt and cuss, and he knows that Dave has just come all over himself and finally, finally Dave tells him what he needs to hear and he tumbles over the edge after him.
AtS, Lindsey/Angel (unabashed OTP, yo), prompt: vandalism:
Lindsey doesn't flinch when his door cracks, slamming nearly off it's hinges as Angel barges in --so sloppy-- but the smart ass comment about the destruction of personal property just on the tip of his tongue slips away when Angel crosses the room all too quickly, fisting Lindsey's shirt in one hand as he all but slams his back into the desk. Lindsey's expecting angry words and a lecture on ethics, not angry kisses, not blunt teeth dragging across his lip as Angel reaches around him to clear the desk, breaking two statues, a sigil and probably his computer screen, only to push Lindsey down and pinning him with a leg between his thighs. Lindsey can't help the noise he makes, can't help the way he lifts his hips when Angel tangles a hand in his hair and tips his head to drag teeth sharpening to fangs along his jaw, along his throat.
AtS/SPN, Spike-in-the-SPN-universe, prompt: show-off:
Sam blinks; finding a good vampire is absurdly rare in and of itself without trying to consider a vampire that would willingly hunt and kill other vampires (this, of course, without considering that truly bizarre conversation about souls they had the other night after the Jim and Jack were gone). But Spike is not only enthusiastic, he's downright competitive, keeping count of how many he's dropped as they move their way through the nest.
"Show off," Dean mutters, and Sam wants to bang his head into a wall for just how jealous his brother sounds.
***
Dean would be jealous --hell, Dean would be grousing up a storm right now-- if only he could catch his breath, which is an improvement (...he thinks) on needing to find his voice, barring the part where he can't stop moaning. Spike looks up the length of him, a smirk pulling at the corner of his eyes like he knows exactly what Dean's thinking, his head still bobbing, tongue doing things to his cock that Dean's never even thought of and damn him for not needing to breathe, not needing to stop. Dean grips the sheets white knuckled, wanting to call the fucker a show off, wanting him to damn well fuck him already, but all he can seem to manage is an all too needy "Shit... fuck, fuck."