Fanfiction ^^
Title: I'll String Along with You
Pairing: Dean and Jerry
Disclaimer: This is the rewrite I mentioned before... yay!
magpie_05 liked this chappie much better than the first so I hope you all think I did a good job! Other chapters will come soon, promise! And for anyone that's interested, here's a pretty painting of Jerrela I'm working on and one day it will be a full blown painting with Dean in there n' all but I'm particularly proud of how pretty Jerrela is coming along X3
P.S. I suck at digital painting so don't expect much from an unfinished piece....
Chapter One
Princess, July 1946
Soon you and I will borrow
The moon for just the two of us.
Sweetly and so discreetly
We'll be completely alone
No other world, only our own.
Atlantic City in July could fry eggs on the hood of your car. Nighttime offered a brief but moderate alleviation from this. Even so, they left the window open in hopes of a breeze to stray through the Venetian window shades. Outside is the occasional sound of a V8 engine zipping up Missouri Ave., or the cat yowling by the trashcans behind Gaetano’s. Music emanates up the street from the club 500. Neon signs like the one above the door of The Silverchair glow with all the yellow incandescence of the moon, naked against a black pitch duly reflected in the wet asphalt of the street. It’s a nocturnal world, thriving beneath the deep, dark, placid exterior.
Jerry lay in bed, hearing only the sound of Dean’s breathing. It was soft and slow and peaceful, deep in sleep. Any discomfort he might have felt from the heat, Dean never elicited a response. He’d complain about the cold with all the aptitude of a fussy old woman though. A trickle of sweat slid slowly down the side of his face. The moisture left a trail that at the right angle trapped a glimmer of light that shimmered. Jerry stared with all the fascination of a young boy looking at something shiny.
And Dean grumbled low in his throat.
“What’s the matter, bubby?” Jerry cooed softly. He’d shut his eyes slightly, lying with his head on the pillow as though he’d actually been asleep a moment before.
As if to fill the momentary quiet, the vent in the corner of the room rattled to life, spitting cool air into the room. Jerry grinned at the man squinting blearily across the pillow at him, feeling silly. “Hello, Handsome.”
Before he could think twice, a fluffy down pillow was shoved square in Jerr’s face. Momentarily stunned, Jerry peers wide-eyed over the pillow at Dean who looks perfectly innocent, or as innocent as an Italian boy from Steubenville, Ohio possibly can look. They’re both grinning now; Jerry chuckles, leering down his nose at Dean. Dean’s smile tightens at the corners, eyes gleaming. For a split second nobody moves and then, like the bell chimes in a boxing ring, they were everywhere at once; tearing up the bed, the linens, grabbing at the sheets, shoving blankets, pillows and every soft object within reach at the other man.
Maneuvering through the small, cramped compartment is a familiar game. They both snatch up the corner of a pillow and yank it. The only thing louder than the sound of hysterical laughter and mock threats is that of linen ripping down the middle. Still they fight, even when it begins to snow feathers and they’re gasping for breath. Dean ducks as Jerry throws a shoe across the room, sending it flying out the window. Dean lifted his bushy black eyebrows, agog.
Jerry barely hesitated, “They didn’t match your pants any how!”
Dean rushed him. Jerry squirmed after the arrest, strong arms wrapped around his back and they tripped backwards, gasping and sucking in air as they crumpled on the bed in a haze of feather down.
“Them’s… gonna costs ya some… boy,” Dean panted, arms still wrapped around Jerry. The middleweight boxer was surprisingly heavy lying on top of the smaller man.
Jerry made a wry mouth, “Eh you’re meshugeneh,” Jerry managed somehow, and squirmed again, suddenly uncomfortable. A few seconds later, Dean rolled off Jerry and lay on his back. Jerry paused, staring at the bare-chested man lying besides him. He looked around and saw the pajama top lying limp across a suitcase. Jerry smiled sheepishly, remembering the buttons he’d sent flying through the air.
“I’ll return the favor one day,” Dean promised, apparently on the same train of thought. Jerry believed him.
Moisture beading on their foreheads, both men made one last half-assed beeline over the bed for the bathroom.
“Oh no you don’t, out you get, bubby,” Dean chortled, picking Jerry up and depositing him outside the bathroom door as though he weighed nothing.
“Hey, Dean!” Jerry banged on the door with his fist. “That’s not fair, I beat you fair and square,” he whined. He heard Dean turn on the tap, humming nonchalantly as he splashed his face with cold water. Jerry pouted, recognizing defeat.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking around as the last of the down finally settled. Two days ago a neighbor would’ve been banging a hole through the ceiling by now, maybe they’d since given up. Repressing a yawn, Jerry slumped onto the bed, exhausted.
Pairing: Dean and Jerry
Disclaimer: This is the rewrite I mentioned before... yay!
magpie_05 liked this chappie much better than the first so I hope you all think I did a good job! Other chapters will come soon, promise! And for anyone that's interested, here's a pretty painting of Jerrela I'm working on and one day it will be a full blown painting with Dean in there n' all but I'm particularly proud of how pretty Jerrela is coming along X3
P.S. I suck at digital painting so don't expect much from an unfinished piece....
Chapter One
Princess, July 1946
Soon you and I will borrow
The moon for just the two of us.
Sweetly and so discreetly
We'll be completely alone
No other world, only our own.
Atlantic City in July could fry eggs on the hood of your car. Nighttime offered a brief but moderate alleviation from this. Even so, they left the window open in hopes of a breeze to stray through the Venetian window shades. Outside is the occasional sound of a V8 engine zipping up Missouri Ave., or the cat yowling by the trashcans behind Gaetano’s. Music emanates up the street from the club 500. Neon signs like the one above the door of The Silverchair glow with all the yellow incandescence of the moon, naked against a black pitch duly reflected in the wet asphalt of the street. It’s a nocturnal world, thriving beneath the deep, dark, placid exterior.
Jerry lay in bed, hearing only the sound of Dean’s breathing. It was soft and slow and peaceful, deep in sleep. Any discomfort he might have felt from the heat, Dean never elicited a response. He’d complain about the cold with all the aptitude of a fussy old woman though. A trickle of sweat slid slowly down the side of his face. The moisture left a trail that at the right angle trapped a glimmer of light that shimmered. Jerry stared with all the fascination of a young boy looking at something shiny.
And Dean grumbled low in his throat.
“What’s the matter, bubby?” Jerry cooed softly. He’d shut his eyes slightly, lying with his head on the pillow as though he’d actually been asleep a moment before.
As if to fill the momentary quiet, the vent in the corner of the room rattled to life, spitting cool air into the room. Jerry grinned at the man squinting blearily across the pillow at him, feeling silly. “Hello, Handsome.”
Before he could think twice, a fluffy down pillow was shoved square in Jerr’s face. Momentarily stunned, Jerry peers wide-eyed over the pillow at Dean who looks perfectly innocent, or as innocent as an Italian boy from Steubenville, Ohio possibly can look. They’re both grinning now; Jerry chuckles, leering down his nose at Dean. Dean’s smile tightens at the corners, eyes gleaming. For a split second nobody moves and then, like the bell chimes in a boxing ring, they were everywhere at once; tearing up the bed, the linens, grabbing at the sheets, shoving blankets, pillows and every soft object within reach at the other man.
Maneuvering through the small, cramped compartment is a familiar game. They both snatch up the corner of a pillow and yank it. The only thing louder than the sound of hysterical laughter and mock threats is that of linen ripping down the middle. Still they fight, even when it begins to snow feathers and they’re gasping for breath. Dean ducks as Jerry throws a shoe across the room, sending it flying out the window. Dean lifted his bushy black eyebrows, agog.
Jerry barely hesitated, “They didn’t match your pants any how!”
Dean rushed him. Jerry squirmed after the arrest, strong arms wrapped around his back and they tripped backwards, gasping and sucking in air as they crumpled on the bed in a haze of feather down.
“Them’s… gonna costs ya some… boy,” Dean panted, arms still wrapped around Jerry. The middleweight boxer was surprisingly heavy lying on top of the smaller man.
Jerry made a wry mouth, “Eh you’re meshugeneh,” Jerry managed somehow, and squirmed again, suddenly uncomfortable. A few seconds later, Dean rolled off Jerry and lay on his back. Jerry paused, staring at the bare-chested man lying besides him. He looked around and saw the pajama top lying limp across a suitcase. Jerry smiled sheepishly, remembering the buttons he’d sent flying through the air.
“I’ll return the favor one day,” Dean promised, apparently on the same train of thought. Jerry believed him.
Moisture beading on their foreheads, both men made one last half-assed beeline over the bed for the bathroom.
“Oh no you don’t, out you get, bubby,” Dean chortled, picking Jerry up and depositing him outside the bathroom door as though he weighed nothing.
“Hey, Dean!” Jerry banged on the door with his fist. “That’s not fair, I beat you fair and square,” he whined. He heard Dean turn on the tap, humming nonchalantly as he splashed his face with cold water. Jerry pouted, recognizing defeat.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking around as the last of the down finally settled. Two days ago a neighbor would’ve been banging a hole through the ceiling by now, maybe they’d since given up. Repressing a yawn, Jerry slumped onto the bed, exhausted.