Fic: 'Perpetual Weekend' (Sam/Dean; PG-13)
Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I will be broke for a week, but I don't care, tomorooow!* And five day weekend, oh, my heart can't take it.
Perpetual Weekend
Sam/Dean
PG-13. 637 words. For kellifer_fic, original prompt: Sam/Dean, tickle fight and Dean sneaking a cuddle without Sam realizing it. Title from Ladytron's “Perpetual Weekend.”
Long day at work which leads to absolutely necessary time wasting research. What research, you say? Why, watching Tall Tales over again! GOOD RESEARCH! \o/
One weekend, they decide to take time off.
No hunts, no doing favors, nothing, just holed up in some little motel in Minnesota, cable box, TV, and a ton of junk food. Dean’s idea, and he has to admit, he’s pretty awesome for thinking of it. There aren’t any good movies, and there’s shitty games on-football, teams they don’t know, but they’re watching anyway, stripped down to their boxers, t-shirts, a sixpack and a torn open box of Ring Dings right between them.
And they’re comfortable, even if they let one or two rip, and the other’s groaning and whacking with a pillow, complaining about the smell-or the time Sam burps and Dean grunts, one hand under the waistband of his boxers, other lifts the beer bottle to his lips and takes a swig.
“Change the channel.”
“No. I like this movie.”
“It’s a stupid movie, Sam.”
“You like this movie.”
Dean rolls his eyes, leans his head in Sam’s direction. “Yeah, I just told you that ages ago to shut you up.”
He takes another swig before putting the bottle down, reaches over to grab the remote. Sam bats his hand away, but Dean’s still lunging, Sam’s hand connecting with Dean’s rib, fumbles, fingertips slide down the length of his side and Dean, um. He-
“Dude. Did you just giggle?”
“No.”
This time Sam’s the one who cants his head, mouth twitching like he’s going to laugh, or mock, or something-he starts to grin and whacks Dean on the belly, a little too hard.
“The fuck, Sam!” Dean smacks Sam on the thigh and instead of it turning into an all out slapping fight-does, for a few seconds-all of a sudden they’re rolling on the bed, wrestling, but Sam’s freaking fingers keep wiggling. Before they know it, they’re having a damn tickling fight of all things, the image of Sam all gangly at fifteen, scrawny long limbs and lank hair replaced with this thick muscled dumbass- “Jesus. Get off!”
“No way!” Sam answers, and he’s laughing like a friggin’ jackass. The laughing hasn’t changed, even if he’s tickling like he’s a kid again, even if he’s too heavy and sweaty and, man, Dean’s totally not turned on by this. Nope.
Dean grunts and shoves against Sam’s shoulder, mouth working independently of his brain, tries to clamp it shut without giggling, this involuntary action coming out because uh, this isn’t ten years ago and he’s a grown man that’s not having a tickle fight with his baby brother-damn it.
But he rests, a little, with Sam’s arms wrapped around him, rubs his head against Sam’s shoulder. Does it with a huff, face twisting in a grimace as he’s trying to push Sam’s fingers away, sneaks in this little touch that he’d just as soon deny. Sam’s a big guy, fine, but it’s not like Dean’s always in the mood to be like, cradled like some chick, god, his mind’s a blur that’s punctuated by his own cursing and Sam’s dorky giggling.
Dean pulls away just as quick, Sam’s eyes closed and laughing. He coughs and wriggles out of Sam’s grasp, elbowing him in the stomach. “C’mon. Let’s grab some dinner.”
This time Sam’s the one groaning, muttering about fast food and having to deal with the aftereffects later. Dean though, Dean’s pulling a shirt on over his head, tries to hide his smile, starts listing fast food joints he noticed on the ride over to the motel.
He’s breathing Sam in when Sam’s waiting outside, later, for him to lock the door, closes his eyes and thinks of Sam’s warmth, pressing against him, today, yesterday, last week. Morning breath, sloppy kiss on Saturday morning. Sunday night, dinner, now, Sam right near Dean’s shoulder.
This, see, now this is a good weekend.
end
TOMORROW!1!!
* SPN S2 DVDs. For those continuing to stare as per usual.
Perpetual Weekend
Sam/Dean
PG-13. 637 words. For kellifer_fic, original prompt: Sam/Dean, tickle fight and Dean sneaking a cuddle without Sam realizing it. Title from Ladytron's “Perpetual Weekend.”
Long day at work which leads to absolutely necessary time wasting research. What research, you say? Why, watching Tall Tales over again! GOOD RESEARCH! \o/
One weekend, they decide to take time off.
No hunts, no doing favors, nothing, just holed up in some little motel in Minnesota, cable box, TV, and a ton of junk food. Dean’s idea, and he has to admit, he’s pretty awesome for thinking of it. There aren’t any good movies, and there’s shitty games on-football, teams they don’t know, but they’re watching anyway, stripped down to their boxers, t-shirts, a sixpack and a torn open box of Ring Dings right between them.
And they’re comfortable, even if they let one or two rip, and the other’s groaning and whacking with a pillow, complaining about the smell-or the time Sam burps and Dean grunts, one hand under the waistband of his boxers, other lifts the beer bottle to his lips and takes a swig.
“Change the channel.”
“No. I like this movie.”
“It’s a stupid movie, Sam.”
“You like this movie.”
Dean rolls his eyes, leans his head in Sam’s direction. “Yeah, I just told you that ages ago to shut you up.”
He takes another swig before putting the bottle down, reaches over to grab the remote. Sam bats his hand away, but Dean’s still lunging, Sam’s hand connecting with Dean’s rib, fumbles, fingertips slide down the length of his side and Dean, um. He-
“Dude. Did you just giggle?”
“No.”
This time Sam’s the one who cants his head, mouth twitching like he’s going to laugh, or mock, or something-he starts to grin and whacks Dean on the belly, a little too hard.
“The fuck, Sam!” Dean smacks Sam on the thigh and instead of it turning into an all out slapping fight-does, for a few seconds-all of a sudden they’re rolling on the bed, wrestling, but Sam’s freaking fingers keep wiggling. Before they know it, they’re having a damn tickling fight of all things, the image of Sam all gangly at fifteen, scrawny long limbs and lank hair replaced with this thick muscled dumbass- “Jesus. Get off!”
“No way!” Sam answers, and he’s laughing like a friggin’ jackass. The laughing hasn’t changed, even if he’s tickling like he’s a kid again, even if he’s too heavy and sweaty and, man, Dean’s totally not turned on by this. Nope.
Dean grunts and shoves against Sam’s shoulder, mouth working independently of his brain, tries to clamp it shut without giggling, this involuntary action coming out because uh, this isn’t ten years ago and he’s a grown man that’s not having a tickle fight with his baby brother-damn it.
But he rests, a little, with Sam’s arms wrapped around him, rubs his head against Sam’s shoulder. Does it with a huff, face twisting in a grimace as he’s trying to push Sam’s fingers away, sneaks in this little touch that he’d just as soon deny. Sam’s a big guy, fine, but it’s not like Dean’s always in the mood to be like, cradled like some chick, god, his mind’s a blur that’s punctuated by his own cursing and Sam’s dorky giggling.
Dean pulls away just as quick, Sam’s eyes closed and laughing. He coughs and wriggles out of Sam’s grasp, elbowing him in the stomach. “C’mon. Let’s grab some dinner.”
This time Sam’s the one groaning, muttering about fast food and having to deal with the aftereffects later. Dean though, Dean’s pulling a shirt on over his head, tries to hide his smile, starts listing fast food joints he noticed on the ride over to the motel.
He’s breathing Sam in when Sam’s waiting outside, later, for him to lock the door, closes his eyes and thinks of Sam’s warmth, pressing against him, today, yesterday, last week. Morning breath, sloppy kiss on Saturday morning. Sunday night, dinner, now, Sam right near Dean’s shoulder.
This, see, now this is a good weekend.
end
TOMORROW!1!!
* SPN S2 DVDs. For those continuing to stare as per usual.