PixCT: 07.15
SO. Having no electricity in one’s house on Thursday definitely presents a real challenge when trying to post stuff on the Internet. That said, this is Cock Friday this week, haha, on my end of things.
All right…
It's that time again...
Fic
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
~1670 words
A bit of a coda to 5.22
Warning: Dubcon
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
DruCT: 09.17
DruCT: 09.24
DruCT: 10.01
DruCT: 10.08
DruCT: 10.15
DruCT: 10.22
DruCT: 10.29
DruCT: 11.05
DruCT: 11.12
DruCT: 11.19
DruCT: 01.21
PixCT: 01.21
DruCT: 01.28
PixCT: 01.28
DruCT: 02.04
PixCT: 02.04
DruCT: 02.11
PixCT: 02.11
DruCT: 02.18
PixCT: 02.18
DruCT: 02.25
PixCT: 02.25
DruCT: 03.04
PixCT: 03.04
DruCT: 03.11
PixCT: 03.11
DruCT: 03.18
PixCT: 03.18
DruCT: 03.25
PixCT: 03.25
DruCT: 04.01
PixCT: 04.01
DruCT: 04.08
PixCT: 04.08
DruCT: 04.15
PixCT: 04.15
DruCT: 04.22
PixCT: 04.22
DruCT: 04.29
PixCT: 04.29
DruCT: 05.06
PixCT: 05.06
DruCT: 05.13
PixCT: 05.13
DruCT: 06.03
PixCT: 06.03
DruCT: 06.10
PixCT: 06.10
DruCT: 06.17
PixCT: 06.17
DruCT: 06.24
PixCT: 06.24
DruCT: 07.08
PixCT: 07.08
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 07.15
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~1670 words
Warning: Dubcon
→ Kinda coda to 5.22
- - - - -
Pix’s Pic Pick
It's here, in the church, where he can find solace. No one lifts a head to look at him as he walks down the aisle between the mostly empty pews. He walks past the organist, an older man playing a lonely hymn, and goes around to the back of the church where the statues are covered in quiet dust and soft light. He pauses for a moment, leaning against the wall, and looks up at the angel with its outstretched arms.
He smiles, thinking of angels, and all they've come to mean to him. How, not so long ago, he used to pray. How, longer ago still, his mother said that angels were watching over him.
Lucifer was an angel. Not so different from this statue here. This peaceful, generic angel that has watched over the church for more years than he's known life. All Lucifer wanted, or so he claimed, was for paradise to return to Earth. Such a lovely sentiment, Sam thinks, unless you've had Lucifer inside your head and you know him inside and out. Known him as well as he's known you.
Lucifer's paradise was bloody. The Garden of Eden was only to be found by walking through piles of corpses and hoping that the Horsemen didn't decide to take you down alongside the masses.
Sam's thinking is interrupted by a lone woman who walks past him. Rosary beads are wrapped around her hand, and her prayers to the Virgin Mary are a mumbled song falling from her lips. She looks up at him briefly, a flicker, and then turns her head away in the same beat.
He watches her walk away and realizes that he was holding his breath, waiting for her eyes to turn black--or yellow or red or white--when she looked at him. The church is a hallowed ground, yes, he knows that. But, he also knows that a church can't stop all the forces of Hell. After seeing Hell, after being there, he now exactly what's coming for him. What he has to outrun.
He remembers Dean telling him, once, seeming so long ago now, that there are no words for Hell. No forgetting. No making it better. No making Sam understand. No allowing Sam to listen.
Sam understands all that now. He's been in Hell. He's seen it and felt it, smelled and tasted it. Let it see and feel, smell and taste him right back.
Dean was right; there are no words.
He moves past the angel statue and makes his way to a small cluster of pews. They're empty, reserved for people who want to pray alone in the candlelight. He sits down, clasping his hands in his lap, and he closes his eyes.
The organ music continues to play in the background, rolling and flowing, and it surrounds him as he pictures Dean. He pictures Dean in Lisa's house. Dean, who puts on a tight smile and tries to make believe, and he can hide his feelings to anyone else, but never to Sam.
While Sam's body sits in the church, eyes closed, seemingly lost in fervent prayer, his mind separates and wanders through Lisa's home. It's night, and Ben is sleeping, hair ruffled and mouth parted while he dreams of normal things, dreams of safe things. Farther in the house, Sam pushes through the closed door to the bedroom that Dean and Lisa now share.
Unseen, undetectable, Sam hovers in the corner, watching them. They move together, clothes lost, Dean's hand on Lisa's bare breast and her mouth on Dean's neck. They whimper and sigh, and Sam doesn't even try to stop the flare of jealousy that rolls through him.
He floats around to the side of the bed and looks down at them. This is what he wanted Dean to have, Sam knows that. This is what he told Dean to do when he was gone, and Dean did it. Sam can't fault him for listening for once in his life. Still, it doesn't make this any easier.
He reaches out and touches Lisa. Not in any way that she'll ever be able to see or recognize, but enough that he can invade her mind, collapsing her senses, until she's just far enough gone. Then, he slips inside and takes her body.
A heavy weight is pressing against him--against Lisa's body--and his fingers curl into warm skin. He smells aftershave and fabric softener--all the things they never had before when it was just the two of them on the road--and when he opens his eyes, Dean's looking down at him.
"You okay?" Dean asks. He's stilled, his hand resting on Lisa's breast, but not moving. His forehead tightened in concern.
Sam wants to scream at him, wants to grab him, and say, I'm back, dammit, I'm back. I came back for you, Dean. I came because I need to save you, and I came to take you away before Hell rises up for you because you're my brother and my blood and that's good enough for them.
But, he stays silent. He told Dean to take this life; it's not for him to take away just yet. After all, Dean gave him four years at Stanford. He, at least, can give Dean a little longer in this world, too. The time will be here soon enough when he has to come for Dean.
"I'm fine," Sam lies through Lisa's mouth. He smiles, every part of him feeling small.
"You sure? You looked like you were..." Dean doesn't finish. Sam doesn't think he knows quite how to finish that thought.
"No, really." Sam says and presses his hand against Dean's chest, trying not to marvel at how it feels so similar even though things are so very different between them. "I'm all right. Keep going."
Dean hesitates for a moment, questioning, and then he nods. He bends down and kisses the person he thinks is Lisa. Sam lifts his hands to Dean's face, places one on each cheek and pulls Dean in tighter. If he's going to have this, he's going to have it all the way.
If he closes his eyes, it seems like it's the two of them--just the way things used to be. When they used to sneak around Dad to steal kisses on lips and cocks, or after they came together following Stanford and things were awkward and rocky at first, but slowly, they found their rhythm once again. Or after Dean came back from Hell and there was space and distance and heartbreak between them, but they were still together.
Dean pulls back for a moment, long enough to reach in the drawer and pull out a condom. Sam watches him, staring, but saying nothing. So rare did they use a condom between the two of them. He was Dean's first and Dean was his. He wonders now who Dean is trying to protect: Lisa or himself.
Dean leans back over Sam, and they meet eyes. It's Dean's way of asking. This much Sam knows, and then, Dean's inside him and it's as good as it ever was. Sure, the parts of this body are so much different than what Sam is used to, but the feeling's still there. It's still Dean above him and around him, inside and on top of him.
Sam links his legs behind Dean's back, curling his hands over Dean's shoulders, and moves with him, swept up in the feeling. He's lost. Lisa is sleeping in the back of her own mind, but Sam's keeping her there, keeping her quiet and silent, and he's caught up in her and caught up in Dean, and it's overtaking him, pulling his guards down.
"I'm coming," he whispers, cheek pressed against Dean's. "I'm coming."
"Me too," Dean gasps, and Sam knows Dean is talking about orgasms when Sam's thinking of a return, but it doesn't matter now. He's not going to argue the point.
Dean comes first, choking down a cry so he doesn't wake Ben just down the hall, and he thrusts a few more times before he collapses down and rolls off. Then, before Sam can say anything, Dean reaches over.
"You didn't come," he says.
"I'm okay," Sam replies.
"Let me..." Dean says, and he places his hand against the stickiness between Sam's legs and rubs the clitoris on Lisa's body. Electricity sparks through Sam, and he comes sharply, gasping, hands fisted in the sheets.
When he can breathe again, he looks over to Dean. "Thanks," he says, barely a whisper.
Dean smiles, but his eyes are still sad.
Sam reaches for him now, bringing himself closer so he can rest his head on Dean's chest. He'll have to leave soon--can't keep Lisa at bay forever--but he waits until he hears Dean slip off into sleep, that even, smooth breathing. He pushes himself up, and he bends down to kiss Dean one last time.
"I'm coming for you," he whispers. Then, he lies back down and slips out, letting Lisa return into her own mind. But, she's asleep and knows nothing of what has happened. In the morning, she won't know anything different.
Sam creeps away, out of the house and down the street, until he's back in the church and inside his body. He opens his eyes, and he's still sitting in the small pew, by himself. He rises to his feet and walks past the angel statue once again. Giving it another quick glance, he thinks of Lucifer and Michael, Castiel and Gabriel. Will any of them come to stop him when he goes back for Dean? Will any of them come down from their graves in the sky?
Sam shakes his head, exiting the church and entering the hushed night air. No, he thinks, remembering Lucifer and how he was able to shake him free, not even the angels will be able to stop him when he goes back for Dean.
End
All right…
It's that time again...
Fic
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
DruCT: 09.17
DruCT: 09.24
DruCT: 10.01
DruCT: 10.08
DruCT: 10.15
DruCT: 10.22
DruCT: 10.29
DruCT: 11.05
DruCT: 11.12
DruCT: 11.19
DruCT: 01.21
PixCT: 01.21
DruCT: 01.28
PixCT: 01.28
DruCT: 02.04
PixCT: 02.04
DruCT: 02.11
PixCT: 02.11
DruCT: 02.18
PixCT: 02.18
DruCT: 02.25
PixCT: 02.25
DruCT: 03.04
PixCT: 03.04
DruCT: 03.11
PixCT: 03.11
DruCT: 03.18
PixCT: 03.18
DruCT: 03.25
PixCT: 03.25
DruCT: 04.01
PixCT: 04.01
DruCT: 04.08
PixCT: 04.08
DruCT: 04.15
PixCT: 04.15
DruCT: 04.22
PixCT: 04.22
DruCT: 04.29
PixCT: 04.29
DruCT: 05.06
PixCT: 05.06
DruCT: 05.13
PixCT: 05.13
DruCT: 06.03
PixCT: 06.03
DruCT: 06.10
PixCT: 06.10
DruCT: 06.17
PixCT: 06.17
DruCT: 06.24
PixCT: 06.24
DruCT: 07.08
PixCT: 07.08
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 07.15
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~1670 words
Warning: Dubcon
→ Kinda coda to 5.22
- - - - -
Pix’s Pic Pick
It's here, in the church, where he can find solace. No one lifts a head to look at him as he walks down the aisle between the mostly empty pews. He walks past the organist, an older man playing a lonely hymn, and goes around to the back of the church where the statues are covered in quiet dust and soft light. He pauses for a moment, leaning against the wall, and looks up at the angel with its outstretched arms.
He smiles, thinking of angels, and all they've come to mean to him. How, not so long ago, he used to pray. How, longer ago still, his mother said that angels were watching over him.
Lucifer was an angel. Not so different from this statue here. This peaceful, generic angel that has watched over the church for more years than he's known life. All Lucifer wanted, or so he claimed, was for paradise to return to Earth. Such a lovely sentiment, Sam thinks, unless you've had Lucifer inside your head and you know him inside and out. Known him as well as he's known you.
Lucifer's paradise was bloody. The Garden of Eden was only to be found by walking through piles of corpses and hoping that the Horsemen didn't decide to take you down alongside the masses.
Sam's thinking is interrupted by a lone woman who walks past him. Rosary beads are wrapped around her hand, and her prayers to the Virgin Mary are a mumbled song falling from her lips. She looks up at him briefly, a flicker, and then turns her head away in the same beat.
He watches her walk away and realizes that he was holding his breath, waiting for her eyes to turn black--or yellow or red or white--when she looked at him. The church is a hallowed ground, yes, he knows that. But, he also knows that a church can't stop all the forces of Hell. After seeing Hell, after being there, he now exactly what's coming for him. What he has to outrun.
He remembers Dean telling him, once, seeming so long ago now, that there are no words for Hell. No forgetting. No making it better. No making Sam understand. No allowing Sam to listen.
Sam understands all that now. He's been in Hell. He's seen it and felt it, smelled and tasted it. Let it see and feel, smell and taste him right back.
Dean was right; there are no words.
He moves past the angel statue and makes his way to a small cluster of pews. They're empty, reserved for people who want to pray alone in the candlelight. He sits down, clasping his hands in his lap, and he closes his eyes.
The organ music continues to play in the background, rolling and flowing, and it surrounds him as he pictures Dean. He pictures Dean in Lisa's house. Dean, who puts on a tight smile and tries to make believe, and he can hide his feelings to anyone else, but never to Sam.
While Sam's body sits in the church, eyes closed, seemingly lost in fervent prayer, his mind separates and wanders through Lisa's home. It's night, and Ben is sleeping, hair ruffled and mouth parted while he dreams of normal things, dreams of safe things. Farther in the house, Sam pushes through the closed door to the bedroom that Dean and Lisa now share.
Unseen, undetectable, Sam hovers in the corner, watching them. They move together, clothes lost, Dean's hand on Lisa's bare breast and her mouth on Dean's neck. They whimper and sigh, and Sam doesn't even try to stop the flare of jealousy that rolls through him.
He floats around to the side of the bed and looks down at them. This is what he wanted Dean to have, Sam knows that. This is what he told Dean to do when he was gone, and Dean did it. Sam can't fault him for listening for once in his life. Still, it doesn't make this any easier.
He reaches out and touches Lisa. Not in any way that she'll ever be able to see or recognize, but enough that he can invade her mind, collapsing her senses, until she's just far enough gone. Then, he slips inside and takes her body.
A heavy weight is pressing against him--against Lisa's body--and his fingers curl into warm skin. He smells aftershave and fabric softener--all the things they never had before when it was just the two of them on the road--and when he opens his eyes, Dean's looking down at him.
"You okay?" Dean asks. He's stilled, his hand resting on Lisa's breast, but not moving. His forehead tightened in concern.
Sam wants to scream at him, wants to grab him, and say, I'm back, dammit, I'm back. I came back for you, Dean. I came because I need to save you, and I came to take you away before Hell rises up for you because you're my brother and my blood and that's good enough for them.
But, he stays silent. He told Dean to take this life; it's not for him to take away just yet. After all, Dean gave him four years at Stanford. He, at least, can give Dean a little longer in this world, too. The time will be here soon enough when he has to come for Dean.
"I'm fine," Sam lies through Lisa's mouth. He smiles, every part of him feeling small.
"You sure? You looked like you were..." Dean doesn't finish. Sam doesn't think he knows quite how to finish that thought.
"No, really." Sam says and presses his hand against Dean's chest, trying not to marvel at how it feels so similar even though things are so very different between them. "I'm all right. Keep going."
Dean hesitates for a moment, questioning, and then he nods. He bends down and kisses the person he thinks is Lisa. Sam lifts his hands to Dean's face, places one on each cheek and pulls Dean in tighter. If he's going to have this, he's going to have it all the way.
If he closes his eyes, it seems like it's the two of them--just the way things used to be. When they used to sneak around Dad to steal kisses on lips and cocks, or after they came together following Stanford and things were awkward and rocky at first, but slowly, they found their rhythm once again. Or after Dean came back from Hell and there was space and distance and heartbreak between them, but they were still together.
Dean pulls back for a moment, long enough to reach in the drawer and pull out a condom. Sam watches him, staring, but saying nothing. So rare did they use a condom between the two of them. He was Dean's first and Dean was his. He wonders now who Dean is trying to protect: Lisa or himself.
Dean leans back over Sam, and they meet eyes. It's Dean's way of asking. This much Sam knows, and then, Dean's inside him and it's as good as it ever was. Sure, the parts of this body are so much different than what Sam is used to, but the feeling's still there. It's still Dean above him and around him, inside and on top of him.
Sam links his legs behind Dean's back, curling his hands over Dean's shoulders, and moves with him, swept up in the feeling. He's lost. Lisa is sleeping in the back of her own mind, but Sam's keeping her there, keeping her quiet and silent, and he's caught up in her and caught up in Dean, and it's overtaking him, pulling his guards down.
"I'm coming," he whispers, cheek pressed against Dean's. "I'm coming."
"Me too," Dean gasps, and Sam knows Dean is talking about orgasms when Sam's thinking of a return, but it doesn't matter now. He's not going to argue the point.
Dean comes first, choking down a cry so he doesn't wake Ben just down the hall, and he thrusts a few more times before he collapses down and rolls off. Then, before Sam can say anything, Dean reaches over.
"You didn't come," he says.
"I'm okay," Sam replies.
"Let me..." Dean says, and he places his hand against the stickiness between Sam's legs and rubs the clitoris on Lisa's body. Electricity sparks through Sam, and he comes sharply, gasping, hands fisted in the sheets.
When he can breathe again, he looks over to Dean. "Thanks," he says, barely a whisper.
Dean smiles, but his eyes are still sad.
Sam reaches for him now, bringing himself closer so he can rest his head on Dean's chest. He'll have to leave soon--can't keep Lisa at bay forever--but he waits until he hears Dean slip off into sleep, that even, smooth breathing. He pushes himself up, and he bends down to kiss Dean one last time.
"I'm coming for you," he whispers. Then, he lies back down and slips out, letting Lisa return into her own mind. But, she's asleep and knows nothing of what has happened. In the morning, she won't know anything different.
Sam creeps away, out of the house and down the street, until he's back in the church and inside his body. He opens his eyes, and he's still sitting in the small pew, by himself. He rises to his feet and walks past the angel statue once again. Giving it another quick glance, he thinks of Lucifer and Michael, Castiel and Gabriel. Will any of them come to stop him when he goes back for Dean? Will any of them come down from their graves in the sky?
Sam shakes his head, exiting the church and entering the hushed night air. No, he thinks, remembering Lucifer and how he was able to shake him free, not even the angels will be able to stop him when he goes back for Dean.
End