FIC: Drabbles for Sam's 25th Birthday
So I really, REALLY fail at the drabble game. Um. I have been writing all weekend and so far I have only finished nine of Sam's Birthday Drabbles, because they keep exploding into actual fics of, like, over 2,000 words. :/ So I decided to post the long ones on their own as fics, all beta'd and everything, and as I write the shorter ones, I'll post them in batches. Here are the first four! Unbeta'd, a range of pairings and ratings.
For astolat: "Dean trying to celebrate Sam's birthday while Sam doesn't even realize what day it is!"
With Good Intentions, Sam/Dean, PG, 640 words
Sam wakes up to the smell of hot coffee and some sort of distinctly non-fast food type of breakfast wafting past him. Dean's sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, holding-is that a tray?
"Mornin' Sammy," he says, oddly chipper.
It must be past ten by now, and Sam can't figure out why his alarm didn't go off at seven so they could hit the road on time. "Um, good morning?" Sam tries, voice still scratchy with sleep. "What's that?"
"Breakfast." Dean sounds proud of himself, and it's weirding Sam out.
"Right," he says, and Dean plunks the tray in his blanketed lap.
"Eat up!"
*
It keeps going like that, all day, and Sam is starting to think the worst.
Dean tossed him the keys when they'd finished checking out and told Sam he was too tired to drive. He didn't even say anything when Sam turned on NPR, just feigned sleep, curled against the window.
He told Sam to take the exit that would bring them down to Florida and the warm summer weather instead of up to New England and the chilly spring rain, even though last night Dean had pitched a fit about taking the Maine case first.
They stopped at an Arby's (Sam's favorite) for lunch instead of Roy Rogers's (Dean's).
Dean not only didn't complain, but actually got out of the car with Sam when Sam stopped to check out one of the historical markers on the side of the highway.
"Are you dying?" Sam says suddenly. The road is flat and deserted, and he turns to stare at Dean without worrying about ending up in a ditch. "Or leaving? Am I dying?"
Dean blinks back at him, nonplussed. "Huh?" he says, eloquently.
"What the hell is going on, Dean? You're acting really weird today and I don't get it. You're like-you're doing stuff! And not doing stuff! And it's really not you! I'm having the best day ever and you're not picking on me and I got to have a roast beef sandwich for lunch and it's scaring me, goddammit!" He pulls over, throwing the car into park before it's completely rolled to a stop, and he can hear something grinding in a way it's really not supposed to. Dean doesn't even shout at him.
What Dean does do is look-guilty. Guilty and kind of self-righteously pissed off in turns. And if Sam didn't know better, he'd say Dean was blushing.
"I'm not dying," Dean says, gruff. "And neither are you. Not yet, anyway."
Sam just shakes his head, eyes wide. "Well then what-"
"Sam, it is your goddamn birthday." Dean thunders. "I was just trying to be nice for Christ's sake, you don't have to go turning it into a national crisis." He huffs petulantly and crosses his arms over his chest. He's definitely blushing, now.
Sam lets his jaw drop open, doesn't even care he probably looks like a mouth-breather. It takes long seconds for him to process. "What? It's-oh my god. It is my birthday, isn't it?"
"Yes. That is what I have been trying to tell you, you complete moron. So sue me for-"
Sam slides across the seat between them, pushing up into Dean's space, pulling his arms away from his chest and crowding up against him before he can finish his sentence. Dean's not expecting it, but as soon as Sam leans in, Dean's leaning in too, and they meet in a kiss. Dean's lips are soft and dry, his tongue slicking warm into Sam's mouth, and it's sweet and slow and flavored with Diet Coke and curly fries.
Normally they only end up doing this kind of thing when someone's in mortal peril or they're both really fucking wasted, but it's a special occasion.
It's Sam's birthday.
*
For beckaandzac: "Sam/Jess with Sam in frilly panties."
Pretty In, Sam/Jess, NC-17, 718 words
It was Jess's idea, actually. Sam has to keep telling himself that as he's changing, standing in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door in the bathroom. He turns slowly to see himself from all angles, and he's blushing so deep the pink tinge of his skin blots all the way down his neck and across his chest.
They're frilly, is the thing. Delicate pink lace, soft ruffles that tickle the sensitive creases above his thighs. He turns sideways to survey the layers of lace cradling his ass, his cock, fabric pulled tight and distorted until the seams stretch around him. He can't deny that it's-striking. At the least. He reaches down to adjust himself, the obscene bulge threatening to pop the stitches as he feels his cock growing harder. It's shameful and embarrassing and god it's fucking hot.
He takes one last look at himself and then opens the door.
"Ready?" Jess says at the sound of the creaking hinges. She's rummaging around in the drawer of the nightstand, searching for something. But when she looks up and sees Sam, she stops stock-still, lips forming a perfectly glossed 'O'. "Holy fuck, Sam," she breathes.
Sam's burning up, hot with lust and shame and he doesn't even know what as Jess stares at him. Her eyes rake over him from head to toe, then she's openly staring at his hips, cock, balls, trussed up and on display in the pink panties.
He can feel the ooze of precome from his dick as the wet spot smears and spreads in the lace, knows he's so hard his cock must be jutting out, stretching the waistband of the panties away from the flat line of his stomach. Sam can't look down, though, doesn't know what he'll do if he actually sees it, for himself.
Jess crawls towards him, climbs off the foot of the bed to kneel in front of him. Her long, delicate fingers knead at his ass, brush over the frilly layers and slide under the leg-bands, tickling and teasing him. Her eyes are wide and dark, lips red and wet as she leans forward to rub her cheek against his cock, lace maddeningly caught between them. "I'm gonna make you come in your panties," she says, voice throaty and rough. "Come messy all over them, won't even be able to help yourself-"
Sam presses his lips together tightly, tries not to whine and embarrass himself even more. Tries not to beg. But Jess is sucking him now, sucking him through the fabric, soaking it with her spit mingled with his precome, so messy it's about to drip down his thighs.
"All wet for me," Jess whispers between maddening sucks, tongue pushing the lace against the head of his cock, dragging it against the slit. "All wet like a girl, Sam, dripping and desperate for my mouth."
"Yes," Sam hisses, and he can't hold back the half-sob caught in his throat. Can't even hold himself up anymore, leaning back against the wall behind him as Jess sucks at him, mouths at him. He's so hot, the room is stuffy and unbearable, his knees are about to give out and the spiraling pull in his balls, spinning up into his hips, his gut-it's too much.
He doesn't even have time to warn Jess. He comes, suddenly and so hard he can't feel anything but the shooting thrill through every nerve. That and the flood of come as he gushes into the panties, hips shoving abortively against Jess's mouth, wringing out each wrenching spurt. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," he pants, eyes rolling back in his head.
Jess reaches up, gripping him around his hips and helping to ease him down on the floor next to her when he can't stand anymore. "Made a mess in your panties, Sam," she murmurs against his ear, fingers of one hand running soft through his hair, stroking at the back of his neck, other hand pressing at his softening cock, smearing it around in the thick slimy mess of his come. "Such a good boy, such a good boy for me. You're so good, Sam." She kisses him, gentle and perfect, the taste of him still on her lips. "Happy birthday, baby," she whispers around a smile.
*
For rivers_bend: "Sam, Dean, Jared, and or Jensen, fingers and ice cream."
And A Cherry On Top, Jared/Jensen, R, 551 words
Jared comes back from his run with the dogs just after nine AM. He spent the whole last mile pushing himself through the stifling summer heat, imagining how amazing it's going to be when he gets back home. He'll have a long, cold shower, slide into bed with Jensen, still naked and damp, and kiss him awake with slow, easy kisses. Maybe even coax a morning blowjob out of him if Jared's lucky.
But after he puts the dogs in the backyard and goes inside, he realizes he's going to have to make new plans. Jensen's already up, sitting in his boxers and nothing else at the kitchen table, and he's got-
"Is that ice cream?" Jared says, toeing his running shoes off by the door and padding into the kitchen. He may possibly be dripping sweat on their wooden floors, but that's just too damn bad. It's eight million degrees outside and there's bound to be some casualties. "Nine in the morning, and you're eating ice cream?"
Jensen shrugs and turns to make a face at Jared. "Whatever, I felt like ice cream. I was hot, it looked good. Who says what's acceptable for breakfast, anyway? Vanilla ice cream's like sugary milk, right, and after you eat cereal the milk is all sugary, so it's totally a breakfast food."
Jared's about to head back to their room to take his shower, but Jensen makes a sort of low, sing-song hum of disapproval as Jared passes. Jensen's mouth is full of ice cream, so he can't say anything when Jared comes back to stand over him, purposefully dripping sweat onto Jensen's bare chest. "Come on, Jen, gotta go take my shower, I st-"
But Jensen just pulls him down, hands wrapping around Jared's sweat-slick biceps, and presses a heaped spoon of ice cream to Jared's lips. Jared eats it, trying to save it from getting plopped on the floor. "You know you love it," Jensen says once he's swallowed his own mouthful.
Jared leans down farther, capturing Jensen's sweet-sticky lips in an ice cream kiss, sliding his tongue into Jensen's mouth, sharing the cool vanilla at the back of his teeth.
"Yeah, well," Jared says breathlessly once he's pulled away. "I certainly love somethin'." The kiss smeared melted ice cream all over Jensen's lips and chin; it's about to drip down to his neck if Jared doesn't catch it. He slides his fingertips against Jensen's skin, up his jaw, wiping away the vanilla. "Sorry," Jared says quietly, smiling.
"Should be," Jensen says, and takes the creamy-white tips of Jared fingers in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over them, making deep, throaty noises that go straight to Jared's cock just as much as the visuals do.
"Oh god," Jared groans, half-hard already. "Oh god, don't stop." But Jensen's already pulling away, giving Jared's long fingers one last indulgent swipe with his tongue.
"I think maybe you need some company while you're showering," Jensen says, glint of mischief in his eyes.
"I think maybe you're right," Jared says, and pulls him up with a moan. "The things you do to me. Ice cream for breakfast, debauchery in the shower."
"You love it," Jensen says again, leading Jared back to their bedroom with a sticky-sweet hand.
*
For dev_earl: "J². Shoe shopping."
If The Shoe Fits, Jared/Jensen, NC-17, 453 words
Jensen presses Jared up against the clearance rack, practically growling into his mouth. Jensen's been half-hard for the past forty minutes at least, Jared teasing him, whispering dirty things in his ear when the store clerks aren't looking, and Jensen just can't fucking take it anymore.
"You trying to tease me, Jared?" he mutters, lips hot against Jared's chin, his neck, his ear. He's never been more glad for poor service in a retail outlet, no workers to be seen anywhere on the sales floor. "Get me all hot so I'll embarrass myself right here in the middle of the store?"
Jared tries to shake his head, but Jensen presses strong fingers around Jared's neck, index finger flirting against his jugular. "Maybe I'll embarrass you, instead," Jensen says, and bites at the juncture of neck and shoulder. That spot never fails to draw a reaction from Jared, and this time is no different. He shakes and shivers, trying to muffle his needy whine. Jensen follows it up by jamming his thigh between Jared's legs, pressing and shifting it against the hard line of Jared's cock.
Jared's chest is heaving, like he can't get enough air, his lips moving on silent pleas. Jensen stills them with a deep, greedy kiss, pressing closer and feeling the shallow thrusts of Jared's hips against the resistance of Jensen's thigh. "Anybody could see you right now," Jensen whispers. "Anyone at all. There's probably even a security camera getting this on tape. You all desperate, falling apart for me." Jared chokes back a moan and hisses in a sharp breath. "Coming for me," Jensen finishes, and Jared's convulsing under him, his face going bright then slack. Jensen pulls away right after, leaving Jared to regain his balance and catch his breath, still wobbly against the rack of shoes behind him.
Jensen busies himself perusing the rest of the store, waiting for Jared to collect himself. He feels Jared behind him before he sees him. "So. Your bright idea for a way to spend our day off is to take me shoe shopping with you," Jensen says. "I'm sorry, man, but that's really, really gay."
Jared raises an incredulous eyebrow. He's walking a little funny, and Jensen smiles, knowing it must be because of the sticky mess in his jeans. "That's rich," Jared laughs. "So says the man who just rubbed me to orgasm in the clearance section." He's keeping his voice low, but Jensen gets a thrill knowing someone could still hear him. "Pot calling the kettle a flamer, if you ask me." Jared just smiles, eying Jensen's persistent erection smugly. "Besides, I still need a jacket and some jeans. Plenty of time for payback."
*
For astolat: "Dean trying to celebrate Sam's birthday while Sam doesn't even realize what day it is!"
With Good Intentions, Sam/Dean, PG, 640 words
Sam wakes up to the smell of hot coffee and some sort of distinctly non-fast food type of breakfast wafting past him. Dean's sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, holding-is that a tray?
"Mornin' Sammy," he says, oddly chipper.
It must be past ten by now, and Sam can't figure out why his alarm didn't go off at seven so they could hit the road on time. "Um, good morning?" Sam tries, voice still scratchy with sleep. "What's that?"
"Breakfast." Dean sounds proud of himself, and it's weirding Sam out.
"Right," he says, and Dean plunks the tray in his blanketed lap.
"Eat up!"
*
It keeps going like that, all day, and Sam is starting to think the worst.
Dean tossed him the keys when they'd finished checking out and told Sam he was too tired to drive. He didn't even say anything when Sam turned on NPR, just feigned sleep, curled against the window.
He told Sam to take the exit that would bring them down to Florida and the warm summer weather instead of up to New England and the chilly spring rain, even though last night Dean had pitched a fit about taking the Maine case first.
They stopped at an Arby's (Sam's favorite) for lunch instead of Roy Rogers's (Dean's).
Dean not only didn't complain, but actually got out of the car with Sam when Sam stopped to check out one of the historical markers on the side of the highway.
"Are you dying?" Sam says suddenly. The road is flat and deserted, and he turns to stare at Dean without worrying about ending up in a ditch. "Or leaving? Am I dying?"
Dean blinks back at him, nonplussed. "Huh?" he says, eloquently.
"What the hell is going on, Dean? You're acting really weird today and I don't get it. You're like-you're doing stuff! And not doing stuff! And it's really not you! I'm having the best day ever and you're not picking on me and I got to have a roast beef sandwich for lunch and it's scaring me, goddammit!" He pulls over, throwing the car into park before it's completely rolled to a stop, and he can hear something grinding in a way it's really not supposed to. Dean doesn't even shout at him.
What Dean does do is look-guilty. Guilty and kind of self-righteously pissed off in turns. And if Sam didn't know better, he'd say Dean was blushing.
"I'm not dying," Dean says, gruff. "And neither are you. Not yet, anyway."
Sam just shakes his head, eyes wide. "Well then what-"
"Sam, it is your goddamn birthday." Dean thunders. "I was just trying to be nice for Christ's sake, you don't have to go turning it into a national crisis." He huffs petulantly and crosses his arms over his chest. He's definitely blushing, now.
Sam lets his jaw drop open, doesn't even care he probably looks like a mouth-breather. It takes long seconds for him to process. "What? It's-oh my god. It is my birthday, isn't it?"
"Yes. That is what I have been trying to tell you, you complete moron. So sue me for-"
Sam slides across the seat between them, pushing up into Dean's space, pulling his arms away from his chest and crowding up against him before he can finish his sentence. Dean's not expecting it, but as soon as Sam leans in, Dean's leaning in too, and they meet in a kiss. Dean's lips are soft and dry, his tongue slicking warm into Sam's mouth, and it's sweet and slow and flavored with Diet Coke and curly fries.
Normally they only end up doing this kind of thing when someone's in mortal peril or they're both really fucking wasted, but it's a special occasion.
It's Sam's birthday.
*
For beckaandzac: "Sam/Jess with Sam in frilly panties."
Pretty In, Sam/Jess, NC-17, 718 words
It was Jess's idea, actually. Sam has to keep telling himself that as he's changing, standing in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door in the bathroom. He turns slowly to see himself from all angles, and he's blushing so deep the pink tinge of his skin blots all the way down his neck and across his chest.
They're frilly, is the thing. Delicate pink lace, soft ruffles that tickle the sensitive creases above his thighs. He turns sideways to survey the layers of lace cradling his ass, his cock, fabric pulled tight and distorted until the seams stretch around him. He can't deny that it's-striking. At the least. He reaches down to adjust himself, the obscene bulge threatening to pop the stitches as he feels his cock growing harder. It's shameful and embarrassing and god it's fucking hot.
He takes one last look at himself and then opens the door.
"Ready?" Jess says at the sound of the creaking hinges. She's rummaging around in the drawer of the nightstand, searching for something. But when she looks up and sees Sam, she stops stock-still, lips forming a perfectly glossed 'O'. "Holy fuck, Sam," she breathes.
Sam's burning up, hot with lust and shame and he doesn't even know what as Jess stares at him. Her eyes rake over him from head to toe, then she's openly staring at his hips, cock, balls, trussed up and on display in the pink panties.
He can feel the ooze of precome from his dick as the wet spot smears and spreads in the lace, knows he's so hard his cock must be jutting out, stretching the waistband of the panties away from the flat line of his stomach. Sam can't look down, though, doesn't know what he'll do if he actually sees it, for himself.
Jess crawls towards him, climbs off the foot of the bed to kneel in front of him. Her long, delicate fingers knead at his ass, brush over the frilly layers and slide under the leg-bands, tickling and teasing him. Her eyes are wide and dark, lips red and wet as she leans forward to rub her cheek against his cock, lace maddeningly caught between them. "I'm gonna make you come in your panties," she says, voice throaty and rough. "Come messy all over them, won't even be able to help yourself-"
Sam presses his lips together tightly, tries not to whine and embarrass himself even more. Tries not to beg. But Jess is sucking him now, sucking him through the fabric, soaking it with her spit mingled with his precome, so messy it's about to drip down his thighs.
"All wet for me," Jess whispers between maddening sucks, tongue pushing the lace against the head of his cock, dragging it against the slit. "All wet like a girl, Sam, dripping and desperate for my mouth."
"Yes," Sam hisses, and he can't hold back the half-sob caught in his throat. Can't even hold himself up anymore, leaning back against the wall behind him as Jess sucks at him, mouths at him. He's so hot, the room is stuffy and unbearable, his knees are about to give out and the spiraling pull in his balls, spinning up into his hips, his gut-it's too much.
He doesn't even have time to warn Jess. He comes, suddenly and so hard he can't feel anything but the shooting thrill through every nerve. That and the flood of come as he gushes into the panties, hips shoving abortively against Jess's mouth, wringing out each wrenching spurt. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," he pants, eyes rolling back in his head.
Jess reaches up, gripping him around his hips and helping to ease him down on the floor next to her when he can't stand anymore. "Made a mess in your panties, Sam," she murmurs against his ear, fingers of one hand running soft through his hair, stroking at the back of his neck, other hand pressing at his softening cock, smearing it around in the thick slimy mess of his come. "Such a good boy, such a good boy for me. You're so good, Sam." She kisses him, gentle and perfect, the taste of him still on her lips. "Happy birthday, baby," she whispers around a smile.
*
For rivers_bend: "Sam, Dean, Jared, and or Jensen, fingers and ice cream."
And A Cherry On Top, Jared/Jensen, R, 551 words
Jared comes back from his run with the dogs just after nine AM. He spent the whole last mile pushing himself through the stifling summer heat, imagining how amazing it's going to be when he gets back home. He'll have a long, cold shower, slide into bed with Jensen, still naked and damp, and kiss him awake with slow, easy kisses. Maybe even coax a morning blowjob out of him if Jared's lucky.
But after he puts the dogs in the backyard and goes inside, he realizes he's going to have to make new plans. Jensen's already up, sitting in his boxers and nothing else at the kitchen table, and he's got-
"Is that ice cream?" Jared says, toeing his running shoes off by the door and padding into the kitchen. He may possibly be dripping sweat on their wooden floors, but that's just too damn bad. It's eight million degrees outside and there's bound to be some casualties. "Nine in the morning, and you're eating ice cream?"
Jensen shrugs and turns to make a face at Jared. "Whatever, I felt like ice cream. I was hot, it looked good. Who says what's acceptable for breakfast, anyway? Vanilla ice cream's like sugary milk, right, and after you eat cereal the milk is all sugary, so it's totally a breakfast food."
Jared's about to head back to their room to take his shower, but Jensen makes a sort of low, sing-song hum of disapproval as Jared passes. Jensen's mouth is full of ice cream, so he can't say anything when Jared comes back to stand over him, purposefully dripping sweat onto Jensen's bare chest. "Come on, Jen, gotta go take my shower, I st-"
But Jensen just pulls him down, hands wrapping around Jared's sweat-slick biceps, and presses a heaped spoon of ice cream to Jared's lips. Jared eats it, trying to save it from getting plopped on the floor. "You know you love it," Jensen says once he's swallowed his own mouthful.
Jared leans down farther, capturing Jensen's sweet-sticky lips in an ice cream kiss, sliding his tongue into Jensen's mouth, sharing the cool vanilla at the back of his teeth.
"Yeah, well," Jared says breathlessly once he's pulled away. "I certainly love somethin'." The kiss smeared melted ice cream all over Jensen's lips and chin; it's about to drip down to his neck if Jared doesn't catch it. He slides his fingertips against Jensen's skin, up his jaw, wiping away the vanilla. "Sorry," Jared says quietly, smiling.
"Should be," Jensen says, and takes the creamy-white tips of Jared fingers in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over them, making deep, throaty noises that go straight to Jared's cock just as much as the visuals do.
"Oh god," Jared groans, half-hard already. "Oh god, don't stop." But Jensen's already pulling away, giving Jared's long fingers one last indulgent swipe with his tongue.
"I think maybe you need some company while you're showering," Jensen says, glint of mischief in his eyes.
"I think maybe you're right," Jared says, and pulls him up with a moan. "The things you do to me. Ice cream for breakfast, debauchery in the shower."
"You love it," Jensen says again, leading Jared back to their bedroom with a sticky-sweet hand.
*
For dev_earl: "J². Shoe shopping."
If The Shoe Fits, Jared/Jensen, NC-17, 453 words
Jensen presses Jared up against the clearance rack, practically growling into his mouth. Jensen's been half-hard for the past forty minutes at least, Jared teasing him, whispering dirty things in his ear when the store clerks aren't looking, and Jensen just can't fucking take it anymore.
"You trying to tease me, Jared?" he mutters, lips hot against Jared's chin, his neck, his ear. He's never been more glad for poor service in a retail outlet, no workers to be seen anywhere on the sales floor. "Get me all hot so I'll embarrass myself right here in the middle of the store?"
Jared tries to shake his head, but Jensen presses strong fingers around Jared's neck, index finger flirting against his jugular. "Maybe I'll embarrass you, instead," Jensen says, and bites at the juncture of neck and shoulder. That spot never fails to draw a reaction from Jared, and this time is no different. He shakes and shivers, trying to muffle his needy whine. Jensen follows it up by jamming his thigh between Jared's legs, pressing and shifting it against the hard line of Jared's cock.
Jared's chest is heaving, like he can't get enough air, his lips moving on silent pleas. Jensen stills them with a deep, greedy kiss, pressing closer and feeling the shallow thrusts of Jared's hips against the resistance of Jensen's thigh. "Anybody could see you right now," Jensen whispers. "Anyone at all. There's probably even a security camera getting this on tape. You all desperate, falling apart for me." Jared chokes back a moan and hisses in a sharp breath. "Coming for me," Jensen finishes, and Jared's convulsing under him, his face going bright then slack. Jensen pulls away right after, leaving Jared to regain his balance and catch his breath, still wobbly against the rack of shoes behind him.
Jensen busies himself perusing the rest of the store, waiting for Jared to collect himself. He feels Jared behind him before he sees him. "So. Your bright idea for a way to spend our day off is to take me shoe shopping with you," Jensen says. "I'm sorry, man, but that's really, really gay."
Jared raises an incredulous eyebrow. He's walking a little funny, and Jensen smiles, knowing it must be because of the sticky mess in his jeans. "That's rich," Jared laughs. "So says the man who just rubbed me to orgasm in the clearance section." He's keeping his voice low, but Jensen gets a thrill knowing someone could still hear him. "Pot calling the kettle a flamer, if you ask me." Jared just smiles, eying Jensen's persistent erection smugly. "Besides, I still need a jacket and some jeans. Plenty of time for payback."
*