"Oh somewhere deep inside of these bones, an emptiness began to grow..." ~NMB4 Xmas
So....
supernaturalfic rejected my j2_remix post because the title is too long. "In My Dreams You're Blowing Me" it is, then! XP Whatever, i've decidedyou get four drabbles a day, and a randomy random pic.
This is my pumpkin! He is original and spiffy!
For flyingsoftly: TFLN
"I'm pretty sure I'm almost gay. Like, I'd do it if I had no choice. Like, if I were in prison I'd try it.”
“But you’re not in prison,” Misha informs the mostly naked man in his arms.
“Semantics,” Mike waves away and goes back to working his way down Misha’s stomach with his tongue.
“If we were in prison,” Misha muses, trying not to let his breath hitch, “which one of us would make the other their bitch?”
Mike head pops up again. “I dunno. We’re both kinda pretty.”
“So we’d both be made bitches.”
Mike shrugs, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he started stripping to Carrie Underwood. Bizarrely enough. “I guess?”
“Maybe we’d be allowed visitation of each other,” Misha tries, running a soothing hand over Mike’s hair.
“Maybe. Tiny doesn’t like to share.”
“Well, neither does Butch.”
Mike looks devastated. Misha isn’t doing too much better. Then Mike brightens, and it’s like the sun shining into a very dark formerly sunless place, like a dungeon. Or a chastity belt.
“Hey,” he says and sprawls out over Misha’s legs to prop his chin on Misha’s bellybutton. “Maybe I’m just gay for you!”
“I like that plan much better,” Misha sniffles and rolls him over.
For ace_of_spades6: this is a very short grind!fic. Hope you like it bb!
It’s dark in the club, but not nearly dark enough for the way Sam is grinding on him.
“Jesus,” Dean bites out against Sam’s neck. Sam’s hips just roll harder. “Public sex kink, much?”
“Says the guy who barely gets them to the back alley,” Sam murmurs so low against his lips it’s like breathing in lava. “Or the bathroom. Or the backseat…”
“Fuck, Sam.” He’s not doing that anymore, not since they started this thing, but Sam has years of pent-up jealousy and Dean is more than willing to let his brother take it out on him. He grabs the back of Sam’s head, drags him down until he can growl against his ear, “I’ll let you fuck me. Any-all-of those places, just.”
“I am, Dean,” Sam promises like he’s surprised Dean thought he had to offer, and his hips grind down in a slow, torturous circle, “Gonna take you here, first, in front of everybody. Get you off in a hot sloppy mess inside your boxers. Better enjoy it, Dean,” he purrs over Dean’s helpless moan, “Last time you’re getting off until I get you home.”
For scintilla10: 5 times Eliot didn't understand Hardison's geeky references, and one time he did. (sorta)
1) “Woah. Dude. Y’all have some serious anger management issues.”
“I just killed twenty men with a fuzzy pipe cleaner,” Eliot snarled, “and you want to start riling me now?”
"Hey, man,” Hardison said with his hands up, but in that annoying smiling way that isn’t bleeding, “Make love, not warcraft-I got you.”
“What the-that’s not the saying.”
"…You don’t say. Huh. My bad.”
2) "Shit, man,” Hardison groans. Loudly. Probably because he knows Eliot is going to ignore him. “Picard’s down by ten points in the polls. If you say-Kirk is better,” Hardison adds like he’s choking on his own lungs, (heh), “I’mma have to slap a bitch.”
“I hate stakeouts,” Eliot tells his knife collection. Pointedly.
3) He’s pressed flat to an unfortunately pleasant smelling stupidly tall black guy in a phone booth with a headset poking his ass (oh, that better be a headset), and all Hardison can think to say about their situation is, “Man, the Tardis always makes these things look so spacey.”
Eliot closes his eyes and starts counting all the ways he could kill him with one thumb.
4) One thing Hardison’s massively huge hands are good for is stopping blood flow. Eliot files it away for a time when he’s not bleeding with a hundred well-trained assassins closing in.
“Oh, shit. Oh, man.” Eliot’s actually a little surprised Hardison isn’t anywhere else, considering his aversion to gore. He can’t actually look at Eliot’s wound, brown eyes wide and fixed on his face. “I don’t suppose there’s some sort of secret subliminal code I could turn into an octopus and make you watch-or maybe if I just lean in close and say…Miranda…"
Eliot does them both a favor and passes out.
5) When he comes to in the hospital Hardison is sleeping by his bed, long limbs sprawled everywhere and the ugliest orange knit hat on his head.
6) When Hardison comes to, Eliot stares at him and his stupid hat and passes him a note. Hardison looks at it for not nearly enough time.
‘1f u (4|\| r34d th1$ u r34££y |\|33d t0 g37 £41d.’
Then he grins.
For loolookitty: Pic + Happy FTW = (in my brain) Happy Birthday Pre-Slash? *facepalm*
Sometimes Sam thinks Dean doesn’t smile more because the world might implode with how handsome he is, and then he thinks these are probably not the kind of thoughts he should have about his big brother.
Still. It’s worth the risk of world annihilation. He’s fifteen and it’s Dean’s birthday and Sam is going to make him smile if it kills him. Only, you know, not, because with Sam dead Dean might never smile again.
He gets a ride to school with Dad so Dean can sleep in, and it doesn’t matter so much that Dad only takes him because he’s on his way to a hunt. (Doesn’t matter than Dad’s not going to be there-or it might, but not by the time Sam gets done.) Sam runs around to all of Dean’s classes with Dean’s homework he checked over (um, maybe finished) himself, saying that Dean wasn’t sure if he was feeling well enough to come in to school but he wanted to make sure they got his work. They give him hard looks and he smiles at them under his bangs, watching them melt.
When the Impala pulls up in the middle of second period Sam bounces out of his chair like it’s spring-loaded, snags a pass for the bathroom and meets Dean in the hall. Light blue shirt, his hair still bed-messy, thick silver watch he won in a poker game and Sam’s amulet around his neck. And pissed off, but he can’t be scared of Dean.
“I’m late, assmunch,” Dean snaps, cuffing him upside the head before turning to his locker. “Should’ve woke me up.”
The combination clicks and the locker slams open; Dean goes still and Sam starts beaming.
“If you think I’m sharing this cupcake with you…” It’s as big as his head, but Sam spent a good hour in Wallmart looking for a toy car that looked anything like the Impala to put on top, so he doesn’t care.
He really doesn’t care when Dean loops an arm around his shoulders and hauls him in for a sideways hug, his smile pressed against Sam’s hair.