Just to prove I'm working on something... ;)
It's not really anything new for me to have multiple projects on the way. There are the ideas I'd love to try, and then there are the things that have become more than just a phrase here, another there.
Alas, there are also the fics that have fallen flat on their faces.
But the snippets behind the cut feature fics that I have every intention of finishing. Two are associated with former stories, one is from something tigriswolf kick-started. :)
Warning: Wincest practically for all three.
Abyss
Sam's lips are parted in a dream, eyes quick under closed lids, his breaths easy in sleep.
It's a bad idea.
Dean bites his lip, hand on his brother's bed, and leans forward.
The mint of the toothpaste lingers on Sam's breath, his lips warm, dry under Dean's.
It's nothing like back then.
He doesn't dare do more than press his lips against Sam's, just in case there's sulphur on his brother's tongue.
To watch the darkness fall
The wing strokes over his face like a lover's hand, the ebon-black tips kissing his lips before the bird folds the feathers back against its body.
He can feel its eyes on him, see himself as it tilts its head, statement in its stare.
It's not over yet.
His tongue is dead in all the languages of men, his thoughts scrambling to live in the jargon of half-memories and ghost-feelings.
Sam spills out when the pain reaches his heart, and the loss steps closer than it ever has before. SamSamSam like the beat of panic, faceless and familiar, SammySam a skip when the adrenaline reaches the pacemaker.
Significant
He's not sure how often they need to do this; often enough seems to be the best answer he has any of hope of getting. He gets used to, sort of, waking up to Dean climbing into his bed, curling at his feet, lips or hands wrapped around his cock, tongue tickling the sweet spots, seeking a way under his skin.
And he can't.
Sure, Dean seems to want it; he's the one initiating it, after all. And it does feel good, to have Dean so close there's no question about him being alive. And he's still Dean.
The same Dean that turns the volume louder with a glint in his eye when Sam's drank too much the night before. The same Dean that Sam can trust to watch his back. The same Dean that argues with him about a case.
If he wasn't Dean, this wouldn't be so hard, Sam thinks.
But if he wasn't Dean, none of this had happened.