FIC - Fountain
title: Fountain
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating: NC-17, a tiny bit
a/n: Just a little snapshot.
summary: The job’s never as easy as it looks. And these are boys who love each other a really whole lot.
The case turns out to be the vengeful spirit of Vernon McCorkle, a man whose girlfriend had stabbed him to death with kitchen shears when he refused to marry her. Finding where he was buried is not difficult in this tiny western Pennsylvania town. So, how easy is that? Salt and burn and move the hell on. Might even have time to stop for a few beers. Score.
But does it ever really go like that for the Winchester brothers? Oh hell no, of course it doesn’t. Don’t be silly. By the time they make their way to poor Vernon’s grave, it’s pouring down rain, which turns the chilly night into an absolutely frigid night. The shovels don’t work so well when operated by fingers and hands that have gone almost completely numb, and that slows the job down considerably. Wearing gloves isn’t really an option for men who might at any time have to very quickly grab for a Bowie knife or re-load a shotgun. By the time they finally crack the wood of the coffin and cover its nasty-ass rotting contents with salt, Vernon’s spirit thinks maybe it would be a good idea to show up and make sure he gets to keep on being vengeful. Dean gets knocked to the ground before Sam has a chance to throw the makeshift torch into the grave, sending the spirit on its way for good.
When they get back to the car, Dean pulls an old blanket from the trunk and spreads it over the front seat before they get in. God forbid they should get mud and rain and grave-dirt and spirit-gunk on his baby. The ride back to the motel is completely silent. They’re both filthy, soaked and exhausted. On the up-side, no one will have to get stitched up or have dislocated joints popped back into place tonight. Wait, really? That’s an up-side? Well, yeah, finishing a job with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises definitely puts it in the win column. They check each other over as always, making sure there are no more serious injuries. Sam is resisting the temptation to lace his fingers through Dean’s as they move over his torso, Dean tries desperately to be still when Sam lingers a little too long at one of his ticklish spots.
The shower is small, but not so small that they won’t get in together. Funny how those fights over “calling the first shower” have all but disappeared since they started this…well, at first it was “this whole gay incest thing we’ve got going on”, but now it’s just them, how they live, how they know they belong to each other in every possible way and always will. There’s some half-hearted attempts at fooling around while they’re getting cleaned up, but they’re both just bone-tired and sore and need sleep.
Falling into bed after drying off, not bothering with clothes, there was that safe and familiar feeling that made nights like this worth it. Sam lays behind Dean, both of them on their side, and places his arm around Dean’s chest to pull him close under the scratchy sheets and covers. Dean pushes back into the embrace and let his head rest just below Sam’s chin. And yeah, they’d probably fuck like it was their last day on earth as soon as they woke up (honestly, who knew it wouldn’t be their last day on earth?), but for now they’re content to just listen to each other’s soft breath until sleep comes.
That is, in fact, just how it happens, beginning with Sam waking first and deciding that a blow job would be the best alarm clock ever for Dean, and ending with Sam’s face buried in a pillow, screaming as Dean’s cock hit his prostate over and over again. Good morning, sunshine.
As they head through the town square on their way back to the highway, Sam suddenly urges Dean to pull into a parking spot right in front of the courthouse, and bounds out of the passenger side of the Impala like a kid who just saw the ice cream man. Dean follows him to a fountain in the middle of the square of grass and looks up at him with indulgent yet quizzical eyes. Sam grabs his hand, puts a penny in it, gives him that grin that blots out the sun, and tells him to make a wish.
Dean smiles, but for the life of him can’t think of something to wish for.
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating: NC-17, a tiny bit
a/n: Just a little snapshot.
summary: The job’s never as easy as it looks. And these are boys who love each other a really whole lot.
The case turns out to be the vengeful spirit of Vernon McCorkle, a man whose girlfriend had stabbed him to death with kitchen shears when he refused to marry her. Finding where he was buried is not difficult in this tiny western Pennsylvania town. So, how easy is that? Salt and burn and move the hell on. Might even have time to stop for a few beers. Score.
But does it ever really go like that for the Winchester brothers? Oh hell no, of course it doesn’t. Don’t be silly. By the time they make their way to poor Vernon’s grave, it’s pouring down rain, which turns the chilly night into an absolutely frigid night. The shovels don’t work so well when operated by fingers and hands that have gone almost completely numb, and that slows the job down considerably. Wearing gloves isn’t really an option for men who might at any time have to very quickly grab for a Bowie knife or re-load a shotgun. By the time they finally crack the wood of the coffin and cover its nasty-ass rotting contents with salt, Vernon’s spirit thinks maybe it would be a good idea to show up and make sure he gets to keep on being vengeful. Dean gets knocked to the ground before Sam has a chance to throw the makeshift torch into the grave, sending the spirit on its way for good.
When they get back to the car, Dean pulls an old blanket from the trunk and spreads it over the front seat before they get in. God forbid they should get mud and rain and grave-dirt and spirit-gunk on his baby. The ride back to the motel is completely silent. They’re both filthy, soaked and exhausted. On the up-side, no one will have to get stitched up or have dislocated joints popped back into place tonight. Wait, really? That’s an up-side? Well, yeah, finishing a job with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises definitely puts it in the win column. They check each other over as always, making sure there are no more serious injuries. Sam is resisting the temptation to lace his fingers through Dean’s as they move over his torso, Dean tries desperately to be still when Sam lingers a little too long at one of his ticklish spots.
The shower is small, but not so small that they won’t get in together. Funny how those fights over “calling the first shower” have all but disappeared since they started this…well, at first it was “this whole gay incest thing we’ve got going on”, but now it’s just them, how they live, how they know they belong to each other in every possible way and always will. There’s some half-hearted attempts at fooling around while they’re getting cleaned up, but they’re both just bone-tired and sore and need sleep.
Falling into bed after drying off, not bothering with clothes, there was that safe and familiar feeling that made nights like this worth it. Sam lays behind Dean, both of them on their side, and places his arm around Dean’s chest to pull him close under the scratchy sheets and covers. Dean pushes back into the embrace and let his head rest just below Sam’s chin. And yeah, they’d probably fuck like it was their last day on earth as soon as they woke up (honestly, who knew it wouldn’t be their last day on earth?), but for now they’re content to just listen to each other’s soft breath until sleep comes.
That is, in fact, just how it happens, beginning with Sam waking first and deciding that a blow job would be the best alarm clock ever for Dean, and ending with Sam’s face buried in a pillow, screaming as Dean’s cock hit his prostate over and over again. Good morning, sunshine.
As they head through the town square on their way back to the highway, Sam suddenly urges Dean to pull into a parking spot right in front of the courthouse, and bounds out of the passenger side of the Impala like a kid who just saw the ice cream man. Dean follows him to a fountain in the middle of the square of grass and looks up at him with indulgent yet quizzical eyes. Sam grabs his hand, puts a penny in it, gives him that grin that blots out the sun, and tells him to make a wish.
Dean smiles, but for the life of him can’t think of something to wish for.