CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS // SPN & OTHER CHARACTER Prompts Post // November 1-15
This post is for ANY AND ALL SPN & OTHER CHARACTER PROMPTS. Characters from other fandoms are allowed as long as the main pairing includes one Supernatural character. Reminder: all prompts with people under the age of 18 should be posted to the underage post.
[Reference Material]
FORMATTING
Prompts
All prompts subject lines must adhere to the following format:
REQUEST: [ ( Read more... )
[Reference Material]
FORMATTING
Prompts
All prompts subject lines must adhere to the following format:
REQUEST: [ ( Read more... )
Sam knocks back his own mugful, and apropos of nothing Dean remembers the first time Sammy drank hard liquor, twelve years old and in dad's stash like a ferret, defiant and angry, and how Dad had let him, told Dean he needed to be taught a lesson, that being sick and having a splitting head wouldn't hurt him none in the long term. Sam's not a kid, hasn't been a kid for a very long time, but whatever happens, hell, heaven or high water, he's still Dean's little brother, and if it's up to him to start this he will.
He slides down to sit beside Sam, warmth of his furnace like little brother bleeding through their respective jackets. "Man," he starts, and stops unsure of what to say. What words can he drop into this silence that'll make it better. Is there anything that can be said? He clears his throat and tries again. "Sammy, something's wrong." The utter imbecility of that statements makes him want to mock himself savagely. What's wrong Sammy? A wall in your head, and the little one said, roll it over. Time in the hell pit, plaything of two debauched archangels, can't spread your legs to save your life, can't touch in tenderness, can't kiss for fear, stumbling along with your idiot brother into the unknown, never a moment's peace, never a chance to tap out and call it a day, and it's taken this long for aforementioned idiot brother to notice all this as more than a passing casualty of war.
It's like Sam doesn't even hear, his neck twisted away, his head down low like he's trying to sleep, and Dean's about to give up, about to call it a night and crawl into bed and pretend like he can do any better tomorrow when he knows it isn’t the truth, when Sam finally speaks. It’s like the alcohol’s cut right through him, blurred his defenses, stripped the hard competent shell from him, left him exposed and raw like Dean feels most days. “I just don’t even know Dean,” he says and it’s like a confession. Dean barely dares move, almost holds his breath. “I just don’t want it anymore, don’t want the risk. It’s like if I touch them I might hurt them, who the hell knows what I might do, and when they touch me, I just want to run.” He takes in a huge shuddering breath, but his eyes are dry and hot when Dean catches them. “I don’t want to be like this, but what sort of choice do I have?”
Dean breathes in so deep he can feel the oxygen hit, lets it out all at once. “I get you Sammy,” he says as quiet as can be, knows that Sam hears him. “You can touch them, because you feel like you can maybe trust yourself to stop, but they touch you and it’s out of your hands.”
He feels, more than sees Sam’s head drop, nerveless hands tighten around the coffee mug. “I try and kiss them Dean, but I don’t think I can let them kiss me..” he falls into silence, he doesn’t need words to explain why, not with Dean. Doesn’t need to talk about that time in hell, because they’ve both been there. It’s the moments of affection that break you, the moments where it stops and you dare to hope it might be over, the seconds of time before you’re pushed into, body and soul and mind giving way before the onslaught. There are kisses in hell, and the worst ones don’t burn like fire.
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The first kiss is awkward, steps over the line that should divide, and when Dean pulls away, Sam is breathing so fast, he almost panics, but waits it out, waits for it to slow, kisses him again, if it could be called a kiss at all, mere press of dry lip against dry lip, devoid of passion and impulse, born of closeness and pain between them, and still Sam pulls away like it burns, like he can’t take it, and Dean stops instantly, lets Sam catch his breath, lets the seconds tick past and then the minutes. He can feel the fast harsh rhythm of Sam’s heart beating a rapid tattoo, like it wants to break past his ribcage, and Dean pushes a hand to his chest, like that will stop it, calm it. He’s muttering nonsense now, doesn’t care what he’s saying as long as Sam doesn’t check out, doesn’t freak.
I'd hoped to finish this tonight, but it's well past 2am and I'm too tired to write any more (it's already incoherent enough.) I'll finish it tomorrow :)
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So glad you're enjoying! I'm glad the fundamentally unsexual nature came through also. Got an hour, so will try and get this finished now.
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In this case it means listening to it. He learns fast when it's the things he loves. Learns the rhythm of Sam's breathing, the swift sudden pacing of his panic, the sound he makes when it gets too much, learns them and stores them somewhere so deep he'll never lose them, they'll be part of his blood and his bone and heart as long as he lives. Knows Sam's doing the same, because this thing has never been one way, no matter how it might have looked from the outside. He pretends not to notice that Sam's face is wet, and not just from Sam's tears, just thumbs them away with hands as firm and gentle as he can make them, because Sam has to know it's him, and he can’t tell if it’s him or the him of twenty years ago who thinks fiercely, when the fuck has he ever let Sam cry and not tried to fix it?
Sam pushes back against him, hands fumbling in Dean's jacket, pulling him closer and pushing him away like he can't decide what he wants, or what he thinks he should want. Dean makes that decision for him, he needs Sam patched, needs him up and running and living no matter how superficially. He hasn't had Sam whole in too long doesn't expect ever to again, it's been so tough, and if he could fix it he would, but he can't, all he can do is hold the pieces together with strength of will like he does with himself each day, and hope that he's helping that he's doing something to make this better.
The kiss is chaste, terribly so, like the imprint a sinner leaves on the feet of the cross, can't ever not be so Dean knows and is glad. Had been afraid some tiny freakish bit of him, the bit that had always been terrified he was a monster, would get off on this, because hell, hell had done a lot of things to him, and he still finds the remnants, still sometimes thinks thoughts that aren't his, aren't organic or natural, more monstrous than human.
But it's just Sam, Sam there and needing him and Dean will never say no to that. Can't. He eases back, time to let Sammy take the reins, and Sam tenses against him like this sudden pause is a responsibility he has to take up, then presses closer breathes in Dean's air, a shared exhalation, one breath for them both, and this is more intimate Dean thinks than anything he has ever done before. Wonders if Sam feels that as well. This is what counts, this between them, not what was done to them, not what was inflicted, that had to be borne, that they never had a choice with. This is theirs and Sam can hit him if he wants, can push him down and whale at him, and that's the point of it. They can stop. Sam's lips are warm, are dry and shy against his, and he tastes only, faintly of salt, the salt of his tequila, and perhaps tears.
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Wordcount: 3920
Kink: platonic, kissing, caretaking, hurt/comfort, Sam'n'Dean
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If that's not possible, it's fine though :)
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I'm really glad you enjoyed it! I love the dynamic as well, so had to snap this prompt up. Thank you so much for the kind words, it's fantastic to hear.
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Really, this was wonderful <3
I loved the intensity of Dean's caring here, and that in this story, it was completely platonic. So gorgeous, thank you very much ♥
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Cheers! I am really glad that it hit what you wanted :) am just sorry I couldn't work them into the car to do it.
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No problem about the car - I think I was thinking of that as a setting to influence a potential art fill rather than motel bed? This really is perfect and brilliant and UTTERLY satisfying, I think you've probably been seeing me express joy about it elsewhere today <3.
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My id is just that obvious :( I did see it! I was filled with a proud sense of warmth to be honest, and then the dilemma over how to reply. If I ignored it, it'd look like I was dissing your taste, but it is frankly beyond me to rec my own work.
/thinks way too much about small things
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Ahah, I just meant because I know you're over there; I am TERRIBLE at knowing who I'm talking to :). Well, then, I'm extra pleased to have been talking to you positively about something that made me so happy, and to know we share some iddy tendencies. At some point I'll have to friend your sock, though maybe not *today* as it'd be a major anonfail which seems counter to the game ;). You've filled more than one prompt of mine, actually; the J2 hatesex one was me, too, and that's the OTHER reason to friend you so I can see any updates!
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