Eight Crazy Nights, part two
Already so far behind! In my defense, I am having a bit of a BSOD issue, or really hard drive failing to be recognized issue. Thank God for backup computers.
For
on_verra: a follow up to Crossing the Bridge: Afterwards, Sam and Dean feel compelled to talk about it.
Someone had to explain to Bobby that they’d added a lap to the apocalypse countdown. Sam let Dean do it, which in retrospect might’ve been a mistake. Dean started out with “We figured out how to keep him out of our hair for a year,” which didn’t get far, and quickly degenerated to “No, it wasn’t a deal. Not a deal deal-Okay, look, Bobby, it was-” Dean’s panicked eyes met Sam’s for a second before dancing away. “It was a sex thing, okay? Sam did a sex thing for Lucifer and it bought us a year.”
Bobby’s shock and disgust apparently outweighed his need for further details, or anyway Dean hung up and Bobby didn’t call back.
Dean let out an appalled/relieved breath and rubbed his temple. “Okay,” he said. “Now we use that time to figure out how to gank Lucifer’s sorry ass.”
They were still in this nice hotel room that smelled like them: showered and shaved and sitting on separate beds, but he could remember how Dean’s skin had felt pressed against his own, and Sam couldn’t switch gears that quickly. He was used to Dean’s judgment, or so he told himself. But this was a new level of fucked-up. “Do you think I’m-?”
Dean stared at him, then visibly lost patience. “In danger of losing your girlish figure? No, Sam, I-”
“A whore,” Sam said, heavily. “That’s what you call someone who has sex to get something valuable, right?”
Dean’s face went through several configurations of anger and distress. “Fuck no, Sam! You-he didn’t give you a choice. I’m the-” He looked away, swallowed. “I’m the guy who fucked his baby brother and got off on it,” he finished, like he was confessing to being a willing torturer.
“Wow,” Sam said before he could think better of it. “That takes ‘do as I say, not as I do’ to a whole new level.”
Dean blinked.
“Do you think I was lying? Last night, when I said-”
“I heard you the first ten times,” Dean said, in his best ‘I hate the existence of language because it enables this conversation’ voice, the one that meant that he actually needed to talk and needed Sam to pretend that Sam was the one forcing the issue.
“I love you, Dean. We went there together. And I’m not sorry about any part of it. That’s pretty much the only choice I’ve made that I can say that about.”
Dean’s eyes were glossy. “You should never have had to do it.” No question but that he was talking about how he’d broken the first seal and then repudiated Sam right when Sam was ready to kill Lilith, like Sam was only ever knocking down dominoes from a line Dean had set in motion. Sam was going to lose him to his own guilt, but Sam didn’t know-had never known-how to talk to him in a way that didn’t hurt. Sometimes managing Dean was the hardest part of this whole clusterfuck, Sam thought.
There was one method of communication Dean did understand, though.
Sam moved from the bed he was sitting on, the one that they hadn’t fucked on, to the one where Dean was. He sat, shoulder to shoulder, Dean’s warmth soothing him even as Dean’s indrawn breath warned of an impending fist to his face.
“Hey,” he said, and shifted so that he could cup Dean’s jaw in his hand. Dean was staring resolutely at his own lap, hunt-roughened fingers clenched on his thighs. Slowly, slowly, Dean let his face be turned. His unshaven skin was prickly against Sam’s palm. His eyes were the green of a drowning ocean. “I need you to be strong enough to stay with me,” he told Dean. “I can do this. But I need you behind me, man.”
By the dirty joke that flickered in Dean’s eyes for a second before Dean shut his mouth on it, Sam knew that he still had a chance. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Dean was panting, and Sam felt it in the tripling beat of his own heart. “Sammy …” he breathed, fear-sour and familiar.
Sam desperately wanted to close the last distance between them. You said there was nothing you wouldn’t do for me, he wanted to remind Dean. But he needed Dean to choose, just as he’d needed Dean to speak the words last night. He did let his hand fall to Dean’s shoulder, the other at Dean’s waist, waiting. Hoping.
When Dean kissed him, when Dean pushed him down flat on the bed, Sam did him the kindness of keeping his eyes closed, even when Dean’s tears dripped hot onto Sam’s cheeks. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and held on. Dean was never going to be okay with this, and he wasn’t wrong. But whether the world ended in a year or not, Sam was done walking away. Lucifer’s mistake had been getting his siblings tangled up in his war with his father. Sam knew better. Maybe he was Dean’s cross to bear; maybe Dean was his. Either way, whatever nails got driven through the both of them, they were together.
For now, it was enough.
for
hannah: Supernatural, Rufus kicking ass with Sam and Dean in secondary roles or not even showing up at all.
“A thousand young,” Rufus grumbled to himself as he smashed another tiny body. “More like three thousand, I tell you.” At least they weren’t as dark as their mother-half-formed, fetal things that turned his stomach just to look at, but whose pale flesh was easier to see against the forest floor’s backdrop. He kept fighting the urge to reconfirm that the mama was actually dead, reminding himself that he’d never met anything that could survive being cut into twenty pieces, each piece burned, and the ashes buried in consecrated boxes.
Honestly, anything that could come back after that probably deserved to eat humanity and then the universe.
A sobbing, eldritch noise indicated the presence of another goatling. Rufus kicked a branch, exposing-ugh, three of them, tangled together in a parody of intimacy. He swallowed against the lurch of his dinner wanting to come back up and thrust his sharpened shovel into the center of the knot, severing two heads and three legs. Another stroke and the third head popped loose, accumulating leaves as it rolled away from the rest of the corpses.
“‘Oh, no, Rufus, this ain’t no gruntwork,’” he mocked Singer’s sincere good ol’ boy tones, needing something to hear that wasn’t the whimpers of nameless beasts whose very existence threatened to tear the fabric of his sanity. “‘There’s no one else in these parts I can trust, and you know those Winchester boys have me tearin’ what’s left of my hair, otherwise you know I’d be there.’ Yeah, right.”
He spat, right in front of a questing, chitinous leg that hesitated in its probing just long enough for him to identify the main body, churning just under the earth like a deformed worm. His shovel struck again. “Can’t even use a shotgun, not with the holes closin’ right up like jelly from an ancient, hideous recipe,” he continued, reduced to wordless grumbling as he separated the two halves of the asymmetrical, nauseating body. Faintly glowing blood oozed into the earth and he saw the fallen leaves shrivel further at its touch.
“When I get back,” he promised Singer, “you an’ me are gonna have a conversation about nameless, faceless horrors and the proper disposal thereof.”
for
daria234: Covert Affairs, Eyal/Auggie, they turn sex into a competition
“An egg,” Auggie said. Eyal’s huffed breath told him that he was right, and he smirked.
Eyal rubbed the smooth shell down his abs one more time. “But is it hard-boiled, or fresh?”
The pressure had been gentle, but maybe that had been on purpose. “If you get egg on my sheets, we’re going to have a problem,” Auggie warned.
“You are far too coherent,” Eyal decided, and Auggie heard the clink of the egg landing in the small bowl he used for his keys. Then Eyal’s mouth was on his dick, Eyal’s hands pressing on his upper thighs as if that could really keep Auggie in place if Auggie decided to move-
But why would he want to move when lying back got him a blowjob this good?
He tipped his head back and grinned in the general direction of the ceiling. The sun was warm on his face, his sheets were rumpled and smelled like the sex they’d been having for hours. After this round, he’d let Eyal try to stump him with random household objects (and the occasional piece of secret spy tech) a few times more, and then they’d have dinner with Annie, because nobody in his life was in danger of dying.
All in all, it was a pretty good day.
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.
For
on_verra: a follow up to Crossing the Bridge: Afterwards, Sam and Dean feel compelled to talk about it.
Someone had to explain to Bobby that they’d added a lap to the apocalypse countdown. Sam let Dean do it, which in retrospect might’ve been a mistake. Dean started out with “We figured out how to keep him out of our hair for a year,” which didn’t get far, and quickly degenerated to “No, it wasn’t a deal. Not a deal deal-Okay, look, Bobby, it was-” Dean’s panicked eyes met Sam’s for a second before dancing away. “It was a sex thing, okay? Sam did a sex thing for Lucifer and it bought us a year.”
Bobby’s shock and disgust apparently outweighed his need for further details, or anyway Dean hung up and Bobby didn’t call back.
Dean let out an appalled/relieved breath and rubbed his temple. “Okay,” he said. “Now we use that time to figure out how to gank Lucifer’s sorry ass.”
They were still in this nice hotel room that smelled like them: showered and shaved and sitting on separate beds, but he could remember how Dean’s skin had felt pressed against his own, and Sam couldn’t switch gears that quickly. He was used to Dean’s judgment, or so he told himself. But this was a new level of fucked-up. “Do you think I’m-?”
Dean stared at him, then visibly lost patience. “In danger of losing your girlish figure? No, Sam, I-”
“A whore,” Sam said, heavily. “That’s what you call someone who has sex to get something valuable, right?”
Dean’s face went through several configurations of anger and distress. “Fuck no, Sam! You-he didn’t give you a choice. I’m the-” He looked away, swallowed. “I’m the guy who fucked his baby brother and got off on it,” he finished, like he was confessing to being a willing torturer.
“Wow,” Sam said before he could think better of it. “That takes ‘do as I say, not as I do’ to a whole new level.”
Dean blinked.
“Do you think I was lying? Last night, when I said-”
“I heard you the first ten times,” Dean said, in his best ‘I hate the existence of language because it enables this conversation’ voice, the one that meant that he actually needed to talk and needed Sam to pretend that Sam was the one forcing the issue.
“I love you, Dean. We went there together. And I’m not sorry about any part of it. That’s pretty much the only choice I’ve made that I can say that about.”
Dean’s eyes were glossy. “You should never have had to do it.” No question but that he was talking about how he’d broken the first seal and then repudiated Sam right when Sam was ready to kill Lilith, like Sam was only ever knocking down dominoes from a line Dean had set in motion. Sam was going to lose him to his own guilt, but Sam didn’t know-had never known-how to talk to him in a way that didn’t hurt. Sometimes managing Dean was the hardest part of this whole clusterfuck, Sam thought.
There was one method of communication Dean did understand, though.
Sam moved from the bed he was sitting on, the one that they hadn’t fucked on, to the one where Dean was. He sat, shoulder to shoulder, Dean’s warmth soothing him even as Dean’s indrawn breath warned of an impending fist to his face.
“Hey,” he said, and shifted so that he could cup Dean’s jaw in his hand. Dean was staring resolutely at his own lap, hunt-roughened fingers clenched on his thighs. Slowly, slowly, Dean let his face be turned. His unshaven skin was prickly against Sam’s palm. His eyes were the green of a drowning ocean. “I need you to be strong enough to stay with me,” he told Dean. “I can do this. But I need you behind me, man.”
By the dirty joke that flickered in Dean’s eyes for a second before Dean shut his mouth on it, Sam knew that he still had a chance. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Dean was panting, and Sam felt it in the tripling beat of his own heart. “Sammy …” he breathed, fear-sour and familiar.
Sam desperately wanted to close the last distance between them. You said there was nothing you wouldn’t do for me, he wanted to remind Dean. But he needed Dean to choose, just as he’d needed Dean to speak the words last night. He did let his hand fall to Dean’s shoulder, the other at Dean’s waist, waiting. Hoping.
When Dean kissed him, when Dean pushed him down flat on the bed, Sam did him the kindness of keeping his eyes closed, even when Dean’s tears dripped hot onto Sam’s cheeks. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and held on. Dean was never going to be okay with this, and he wasn’t wrong. But whether the world ended in a year or not, Sam was done walking away. Lucifer’s mistake had been getting his siblings tangled up in his war with his father. Sam knew better. Maybe he was Dean’s cross to bear; maybe Dean was his. Either way, whatever nails got driven through the both of them, they were together.
For now, it was enough.
for
hannah: Supernatural, Rufus kicking ass with Sam and Dean in secondary roles or not even showing up at all.
“A thousand young,” Rufus grumbled to himself as he smashed another tiny body. “More like three thousand, I tell you.” At least they weren’t as dark as their mother-half-formed, fetal things that turned his stomach just to look at, but whose pale flesh was easier to see against the forest floor’s backdrop. He kept fighting the urge to reconfirm that the mama was actually dead, reminding himself that he’d never met anything that could survive being cut into twenty pieces, each piece burned, and the ashes buried in consecrated boxes.
Honestly, anything that could come back after that probably deserved to eat humanity and then the universe.
A sobbing, eldritch noise indicated the presence of another goatling. Rufus kicked a branch, exposing-ugh, three of them, tangled together in a parody of intimacy. He swallowed against the lurch of his dinner wanting to come back up and thrust his sharpened shovel into the center of the knot, severing two heads and three legs. Another stroke and the third head popped loose, accumulating leaves as it rolled away from the rest of the corpses.
“‘Oh, no, Rufus, this ain’t no gruntwork,’” he mocked Singer’s sincere good ol’ boy tones, needing something to hear that wasn’t the whimpers of nameless beasts whose very existence threatened to tear the fabric of his sanity. “‘There’s no one else in these parts I can trust, and you know those Winchester boys have me tearin’ what’s left of my hair, otherwise you know I’d be there.’ Yeah, right.”
He spat, right in front of a questing, chitinous leg that hesitated in its probing just long enough for him to identify the main body, churning just under the earth like a deformed worm. His shovel struck again. “Can’t even use a shotgun, not with the holes closin’ right up like jelly from an ancient, hideous recipe,” he continued, reduced to wordless grumbling as he separated the two halves of the asymmetrical, nauseating body. Faintly glowing blood oozed into the earth and he saw the fallen leaves shrivel further at its touch.
“When I get back,” he promised Singer, “you an’ me are gonna have a conversation about nameless, faceless horrors and the proper disposal thereof.”
for
daria234: Covert Affairs, Eyal/Auggie, they turn sex into a competition
“An egg,” Auggie said. Eyal’s huffed breath told him that he was right, and he smirked.
Eyal rubbed the smooth shell down his abs one more time. “But is it hard-boiled, or fresh?”
The pressure had been gentle, but maybe that had been on purpose. “If you get egg on my sheets, we’re going to have a problem,” Auggie warned.
“You are far too coherent,” Eyal decided, and Auggie heard the clink of the egg landing in the small bowl he used for his keys. Then Eyal’s mouth was on his dick, Eyal’s hands pressing on his upper thighs as if that could really keep Auggie in place if Auggie decided to move-
But why would he want to move when lying back got him a blowjob this good?
He tipped his head back and grinned in the general direction of the ceiling. The sun was warm on his face, his sheets were rumpled and smelled like the sex they’d been having for hours. After this round, he’d let Eyal try to stump him with random household objects (and the occasional piece of secret spy tech) a few times more, and then they’d have dinner with Annie, because nobody in his life was in danger of dying.
All in all, it was a pretty good day.
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.