SPN Fic: Joy in the Small Places
Okay, this isn't the fic I've been talking about, but this scene just leaped into my head and I haven't been able to stop laughing since, so I thought I'd share it with y'all.
Joy in the Small Places
By Maraceles
(bare hints of Sam/Dean, PG-13, ~650 words)
Feedback is always appreciated!
Nodding my head like yeah, moving my hips like yeah. I put my hands up, they’re playing my song…
The music, if Dean could even call it that, was blaring from the TV when he got back. Sam must have left it on MTV when he’d gotten up to take a shower; Dean could see the steam escaping from the crack in the bathroom door, even though he couldn’t hear the water running. Sam must have just gotten out.
Dean dumped the sack of McDonald’s down on the motel table and started searching for the remote. Bedside table? Nope. Dresser? No deal. The TV was one of those old models, an old dial on the front, converter box on top of the thing; Dean looked at it-damn, the buttons were broken.
Dean took a quick scan of the room before deciding that Sam must have brought it with him into the bathroom. He waited a moment, then two, wondering if he should bother barging in there-but that music was just fuckin’ terrible, he wasn’t dealing with it for a second longer…
A quick cursory knock, not like Sammy could hear him over the music, but whatever, Dean had seen all of him and more, and he pushed open the door.
And stopped, staring.
And bit down on his lip, hard, trying not to laugh.
There Sammy was, dancing around to the music in front of the fogged-up mirror, completely butt-ass naked. He had a comb in his hand, but it wasn’t anywhere near his head-it was on his hip, along with the rest of his hand, which was sitting there and wiggling around with the rest of his ass. Moving my hips like yeah, the music crooned again, and Dean found himself clutching at the door frame for support.
As he watched, Sam flung his hands in the air, waving them around. He had his head back, nodding it back and forth, and Dean could just barely hear his low voice, singing along with the music, but yeah, it was there, Sammy was totally singing along. Dean was going to have blackmail material for years.
Just as Dean was about to start howling with laughter, Sam suddenly jumped around, his hands still in the air, his hips still shaking. His dick flopped with the rest of him, and that was it, Dean was gone, he felt himself falling down the door frame, no longer able to support himself. Sam’s face as he took in Dean’s presence was priceless, mouth open and totally appalled, his eyes wide open with shock-Dean took it in and then he couldn’t even breathe, he was laughing so hard.
It took a few seconds-a few wonderful, joyous, absolutely blackmail-worthy seconds, but Sam finally put his hands down, taking a deep lungful of air as he tried to compose himself. Dean stared up at him from the half-vinyl, half-carpeted floor of the doorway, still gasping for air. He waved his hand at his brother, a kind of ‘go on, go on’ motion, and he saw his brother’s face darken, scowling.
Two seconds later, the TV was off.
Dean held his breath, his cheeks puffed out with air; he was sure his face was red with the effort of holding it all in. It just made it better-he couldn’t wait to see what Sammy would do next. He raised his eyebrows at his brother, Well? they said, and he waited.
Sam only sighed. “Get on with it,” he said, resignedly. “You’ll just give yourself an aneurysm.”
But his face as he said it was turning soft, fond, and more than that, happy, and though he was naked and embarrassed and Dean was rolling around on a dirty, dusty floor, and the apocalypse was happening around them and the world might end, Dean found himself laughing over that the most of all.
::::
Joy in the Small Places
By Maraceles
(bare hints of Sam/Dean, PG-13, ~650 words)
Feedback is always appreciated!
Nodding my head like yeah, moving my hips like yeah. I put my hands up, they’re playing my song…
The music, if Dean could even call it that, was blaring from the TV when he got back. Sam must have left it on MTV when he’d gotten up to take a shower; Dean could see the steam escaping from the crack in the bathroom door, even though he couldn’t hear the water running. Sam must have just gotten out.
Dean dumped the sack of McDonald’s down on the motel table and started searching for the remote. Bedside table? Nope. Dresser? No deal. The TV was one of those old models, an old dial on the front, converter box on top of the thing; Dean looked at it-damn, the buttons were broken.
Dean took a quick scan of the room before deciding that Sam must have brought it with him into the bathroom. He waited a moment, then two, wondering if he should bother barging in there-but that music was just fuckin’ terrible, he wasn’t dealing with it for a second longer…
A quick cursory knock, not like Sammy could hear him over the music, but whatever, Dean had seen all of him and more, and he pushed open the door.
And stopped, staring.
And bit down on his lip, hard, trying not to laugh.
There Sammy was, dancing around to the music in front of the fogged-up mirror, completely butt-ass naked. He had a comb in his hand, but it wasn’t anywhere near his head-it was on his hip, along with the rest of his hand, which was sitting there and wiggling around with the rest of his ass. Moving my hips like yeah, the music crooned again, and Dean found himself clutching at the door frame for support.
As he watched, Sam flung his hands in the air, waving them around. He had his head back, nodding it back and forth, and Dean could just barely hear his low voice, singing along with the music, but yeah, it was there, Sammy was totally singing along. Dean was going to have blackmail material for years.
Just as Dean was about to start howling with laughter, Sam suddenly jumped around, his hands still in the air, his hips still shaking. His dick flopped with the rest of him, and that was it, Dean was gone, he felt himself falling down the door frame, no longer able to support himself. Sam’s face as he took in Dean’s presence was priceless, mouth open and totally appalled, his eyes wide open with shock-Dean took it in and then he couldn’t even breathe, he was laughing so hard.
It took a few seconds-a few wonderful, joyous, absolutely blackmail-worthy seconds, but Sam finally put his hands down, taking a deep lungful of air as he tried to compose himself. Dean stared up at him from the half-vinyl, half-carpeted floor of the doorway, still gasping for air. He waved his hand at his brother, a kind of ‘go on, go on’ motion, and he saw his brother’s face darken, scowling.
Two seconds later, the TV was off.
Dean held his breath, his cheeks puffed out with air; he was sure his face was red with the effort of holding it all in. It just made it better-he couldn’t wait to see what Sammy would do next. He raised his eyebrows at his brother, Well? they said, and he waited.
Sam only sighed. “Get on with it,” he said, resignedly. “You’ll just give yourself an aneurysm.”
But his face as he said it was turning soft, fond, and more than that, happy, and though he was naked and embarrassed and Dean was rolling around on a dirty, dusty floor, and the apocalypse was happening around them and the world might end, Dean found himself laughing over that the most of all.
::::