Eight Cozy Nights (of Porn): Number Four!
Psych was on tonight, oh happiness!
Um, this went waaaaay angstier then I (or perhaps you) expected, sorry, but I just kind of let it run. But hey, I got to porn a little. WIN!
(Schmoop will return tomorrow)
Title: Faded From The Winter
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,645
Notes: teaatsix requested: Anything that includes nosekissing, bonus if Dean gets all annoyed about sam being girlie. So much love to anasuede for the beta!! ♥!!
Summary: A hunter that has lost his way, a brother who believes he will return.
Faded From The Winter
Once upon a time, there was a hunter, lost in the cold, dark woods. He'd been tracking a terrible, terrible creature for miles and miles, by following the deep footprints it had left behind.
Unfortunately, the wind blew fiercely that day, and the hunter lost the tracks in the torrent of powder-fine snow that beat down upon him.
The hunter himself was cold, tired and very, very hungry. He had nowhere to go but straight ahead, towards the light in the distance. And so he did, over snowy hills and through thick patches of barren forest. For what seemed like forever, he walked forward.
He finally reached the source of the light, a cabin in the woods. He peeped inside to see a young man sitting by a roaring fire, warming his hands. He was tall, and broad-shouldered, with a messy shag of hair and a familiarity the hunter could not quite place.
The hunter stumbled over to the door, and banged on it with the last of his strength, before crumbling in on himself, falling on the porch.
***
"Your cheeks are so red." The youth says, earnest eyes. The hunter is struck suddenly by his beauty, and by the feeling returning to his toes.
"Your cheeks are red as roses, the tips of your ears, your nose..." The youth swallows. "I would like to help you. How can I?"
"I don't know."
***
The hunter doesn't say much, and the youth speaks enough for him. The hunter doesn't have answers for his questions, but his companion seems to make them up through a series of questions and conclusions. The hunter doesn't quite know how he does it.
"I have to call you something though, and 'hey you' isn't much of a name. Don't you think? Of course we all want names, we all want something that's ours, completely our own. Which is why you should choose one, something you feel connected to, something you can own. Man is the civilized animal, we own property; we own ourselves, y'know?"
"You talk a lot, Sam." The hunter says, looking out of the window, fogged over with the cold.
"I don't have many that I can talk to," Sam answers with a shrug. "Until my brother returns."
"What about your brother?" the hunter says picking his head up.
"He's not back yet. He's been gone a long time."
"Are you worried?"
"No." Sam smiles. "He always comes back to me."
***
The hunter sleeps on the couch, and one night the heat goes out in the sitting room. Sam nudges him awake and he feels the force of the cold in his lungs. They start a fire and Sam dozes on the floor while the hunter watches the flicking flames.
"What is your brother doing, that took him away?"
Sam murmurs an answer. "He's a hunter, like you."
The hunter grunts, an affirmation, and turns back to the fire, the warmth on his face, letting the light burn away at his vision. When he closes his eyes he can still see the light there, still feel it.
It won't fade away.
***
The life Sam keeps is one of a bare minimum. He will drive into the city in his brother's car once a week and bring back food, only essentials. The one time he splurges is when the hunter tells him about a strange dream he had, with a yellow-eyed dog scratching at the front door.
Sam buys a bottle of whiskey and they drink the night away. The hunter feels warm.
But because he must pull his weight, even though Sam says it isn't necessary, he does chores. Cleans the house, keeps the frost and snow off the car, even though the tarp keeps most of it out. He chops up firewood and brings it inside on a particularly unremarkable day.
Bitter cold still pulls at his chest, his eyes watering.
"Your cheeks are so red," Sam says, looking up from his book, standing and walking towards him. "Your cheeks are red as roses, the tips of your ears, your nose..."
"That's the first thing you ever said to me."
"I would like to kiss them."
The hunter nods, slowly, and he does. Sam kisses his cheeks, his fingers and even his nose, rubbing against it.
"You're such a gigantic girl, Sam." The hunter laughs and ducks his head, scratches behind it, and Sam catches his lip.
Bitter cold day freezing his lungs and Sam's hands holding his, warming them. Sam's mouth licking his chapped lips, softening them with his affections.
There's a familiarity he can't quite shake.
***
Moving into Sam, moving against him, curve of his neck and body. Down they go, on to the throw rug by the fireplace. The fire crackles and for a moment, he's lost in the gaze. But then Sam turns his face back to meet his eyes. The hunter sees olive skin and orange hue, shadows against muscles as Sam pulls off his clothes. They undress and touch, they kiss and taste each other.
Sam moves against him again, rutting and pressing against the hunter's thigh. Kisses his nose again and he swats him away.
"Quit that."
"It's like a cherry."
"Not an excuse."
"I would like to fuck you," Sam says, earnest eyes and without a quiver in his voice.
The hunter nods. Sam rises and leaves to his bedroom, returning with a tube of something, pillows and a down comforter.
"Do you just want to, I don't know, do this on your bed?" he asks with a smirk.
Sam shakes his head no. "I like the fire."
"Me too."
"I know."
Soon Sam is pressing fingers against him, slick and cold and he wonders if it should hurt, if it means anything if it does, if he loves him already. Sam kisses his collarbone, fascinated with the way it juts out, with the slivers of scar tissue tattooed all over his shoulders and chest.
"Each one of these is an amazing story, you'll tell it to me someday." Sam stretches him out more and he throws his head against the pillow, sweat forming at his temples, heart a flutter of heat and blood rush.
"You're red everywhere now."
"You... are very good at pointing out the obvious, Sam."
Sam smiles and steadies his hands on his shoulders, nods. And the hunter returns the nod as Sam pushes in, and he feels Sam move inside him. A rumble in his chest, and Sam groans. The hunter trembles with the feeling, the emotion and the memory pulling at his throat. Sam pulling at his throat, his arms and torso, pulling him close.
Then the lights flicker and the stars shine underneath his eyes. He's filled with Sam, surrounded by warmth and softness and an overwhelming knowledge of everything around him and inside him. Of the sweat pouring off his body and of Sam lapping it up like a cat into cream. Of the taste of his lips and the feel of Sam's hair under his fingers, tangled and pulling him close. The quickness of both of their hips, the slick of his own dick as Sam strokes it along. The feeling of Sam coming into him, of his own mind-shattering orgasm that follows along.
Sam in his arms, Sam's smell and warmth and light. Sam's kisses.
***
He wakes up in Sam's bed before sunrise, and watches the youth sleep. He takes in every doofy face he makes with a wry grin, maps out the planes of his face and body. He runs his fingers along Sam's face and draws hearts with his fingertips.
"Maybe I'm a gigantic girl too, now."
"I heard that..." Sam says as he stirs awake.
"Hi," he says, kissing Sam with all the morning breath he can muster. Sam scrunches his nose and he laughs at him.
"You're a pig." Sam climbs atop him, a favorite position he's come to enjoy. He rubs Sam's thighs and lets his mind wander as Sam bends down to kiss his chest.
"Whose guns are those, in the trunk of the car?" he asks.
"My brother's."
"How can he be hunting without them?"
"He's forgetful sometimes. I'm not worried, though."
The hunter laughs. "What kind of hunter forgets-"
"He forgets things sometimes. When he's in great danger, when everything hangs by a thread about to break, he falls into a fugue. Goes away."
The hunter sits up, takes Sam's face in his hands. Wetness falling onto his thumbs as he rubs the corners under Sam's eyes. Kisses him and tries to say love with every press of their lips together. He whispers instead, "I am so sorry."
Sam sniffs, shakes his head. "No- no need to be sorry, he's coming back to me. He always does."
***
They do the dishes after a simple meal together, and the hunter starts up his questioning again. Sam indulges him, having the tables turned on the other end. He doesn't question back, just answers him openly, honestly, passing him a dish to dry like it was nothing in the world.
"Are you mad at him for leaving?"
"Never."
"Sam..."
"I'm not mad at all."
"It's just..." The hunter sighs. "For some reason, I feel like he's not coming back this time."
Sam doesn't say anything, just takes his dry hand with wet soapy ones, and kisses his palm like a promise, like a benediction.
***
They're outside, fighting in the snow. Well, not really fighting. There's a lot of pushing and laughing and snow being tossed around, when the ground shakes, and Sam stops to see a terrible-looking monster approaching them. The hunter steps forward, putting his body in-between Sam and the beast.
Sam scrambles up and throws the tarp off the car, opens the trunk at lightning speed, and turns to fire his sawed-off at the creature. The hunter uses the time Sam's bought him to grab a bowie knife and go for the monster's throat.
Red falls against the white of the snow, and Dean Winchester returns to himself.
daddy's ghost behind you
sleeping dog beside you
you're a poem of mystery
you're the prayer inside me
spoken words like moonlight
you're the voice that i like
needlework & seedlings
in the way you're walking
to me from the timbers
faded from the winter
Iron and Wine - Faded From The Winter
Um, this went waaaaay angstier then I (or perhaps you) expected, sorry, but I just kind of let it run. But hey, I got to porn a little. WIN!
(Schmoop will return tomorrow)
Title: Faded From The Winter
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,645
Notes: teaatsix requested: Anything that includes nosekissing, bonus if Dean gets all annoyed about sam being girlie. So much love to anasuede for the beta!! ♥!!
Summary: A hunter that has lost his way, a brother who believes he will return.
Faded From The Winter
Once upon a time, there was a hunter, lost in the cold, dark woods. He'd been tracking a terrible, terrible creature for miles and miles, by following the deep footprints it had left behind.
Unfortunately, the wind blew fiercely that day, and the hunter lost the tracks in the torrent of powder-fine snow that beat down upon him.
The hunter himself was cold, tired and very, very hungry. He had nowhere to go but straight ahead, towards the light in the distance. And so he did, over snowy hills and through thick patches of barren forest. For what seemed like forever, he walked forward.
He finally reached the source of the light, a cabin in the woods. He peeped inside to see a young man sitting by a roaring fire, warming his hands. He was tall, and broad-shouldered, with a messy shag of hair and a familiarity the hunter could not quite place.
The hunter stumbled over to the door, and banged on it with the last of his strength, before crumbling in on himself, falling on the porch.
***
"Your cheeks are so red." The youth says, earnest eyes. The hunter is struck suddenly by his beauty, and by the feeling returning to his toes.
"Your cheeks are red as roses, the tips of your ears, your nose..." The youth swallows. "I would like to help you. How can I?"
"I don't know."
***
The hunter doesn't say much, and the youth speaks enough for him. The hunter doesn't have answers for his questions, but his companion seems to make them up through a series of questions and conclusions. The hunter doesn't quite know how he does it.
"I have to call you something though, and 'hey you' isn't much of a name. Don't you think? Of course we all want names, we all want something that's ours, completely our own. Which is why you should choose one, something you feel connected to, something you can own. Man is the civilized animal, we own property; we own ourselves, y'know?"
"You talk a lot, Sam." The hunter says, looking out of the window, fogged over with the cold.
"I don't have many that I can talk to," Sam answers with a shrug. "Until my brother returns."
"What about your brother?" the hunter says picking his head up.
"He's not back yet. He's been gone a long time."
"Are you worried?"
"No." Sam smiles. "He always comes back to me."
***
The hunter sleeps on the couch, and one night the heat goes out in the sitting room. Sam nudges him awake and he feels the force of the cold in his lungs. They start a fire and Sam dozes on the floor while the hunter watches the flicking flames.
"What is your brother doing, that took him away?"
Sam murmurs an answer. "He's a hunter, like you."
The hunter grunts, an affirmation, and turns back to the fire, the warmth on his face, letting the light burn away at his vision. When he closes his eyes he can still see the light there, still feel it.
It won't fade away.
***
The life Sam keeps is one of a bare minimum. He will drive into the city in his brother's car once a week and bring back food, only essentials. The one time he splurges is when the hunter tells him about a strange dream he had, with a yellow-eyed dog scratching at the front door.
Sam buys a bottle of whiskey and they drink the night away. The hunter feels warm.
But because he must pull his weight, even though Sam says it isn't necessary, he does chores. Cleans the house, keeps the frost and snow off the car, even though the tarp keeps most of it out. He chops up firewood and brings it inside on a particularly unremarkable day.
Bitter cold still pulls at his chest, his eyes watering.
"Your cheeks are so red," Sam says, looking up from his book, standing and walking towards him. "Your cheeks are red as roses, the tips of your ears, your nose..."
"That's the first thing you ever said to me."
"I would like to kiss them."
The hunter nods, slowly, and he does. Sam kisses his cheeks, his fingers and even his nose, rubbing against it.
"You're such a gigantic girl, Sam." The hunter laughs and ducks his head, scratches behind it, and Sam catches his lip.
Bitter cold day freezing his lungs and Sam's hands holding his, warming them. Sam's mouth licking his chapped lips, softening them with his affections.
There's a familiarity he can't quite shake.
***
Moving into Sam, moving against him, curve of his neck and body. Down they go, on to the throw rug by the fireplace. The fire crackles and for a moment, he's lost in the gaze. But then Sam turns his face back to meet his eyes. The hunter sees olive skin and orange hue, shadows against muscles as Sam pulls off his clothes. They undress and touch, they kiss and taste each other.
Sam moves against him again, rutting and pressing against the hunter's thigh. Kisses his nose again and he swats him away.
"Quit that."
"It's like a cherry."
"Not an excuse."
"I would like to fuck you," Sam says, earnest eyes and without a quiver in his voice.
The hunter nods. Sam rises and leaves to his bedroom, returning with a tube of something, pillows and a down comforter.
"Do you just want to, I don't know, do this on your bed?" he asks with a smirk.
Sam shakes his head no. "I like the fire."
"Me too."
"I know."
Soon Sam is pressing fingers against him, slick and cold and he wonders if it should hurt, if it means anything if it does, if he loves him already. Sam kisses his collarbone, fascinated with the way it juts out, with the slivers of scar tissue tattooed all over his shoulders and chest.
"Each one of these is an amazing story, you'll tell it to me someday." Sam stretches him out more and he throws his head against the pillow, sweat forming at his temples, heart a flutter of heat and blood rush.
"You're red everywhere now."
"You... are very good at pointing out the obvious, Sam."
Sam smiles and steadies his hands on his shoulders, nods. And the hunter returns the nod as Sam pushes in, and he feels Sam move inside him. A rumble in his chest, and Sam groans. The hunter trembles with the feeling, the emotion and the memory pulling at his throat. Sam pulling at his throat, his arms and torso, pulling him close.
Then the lights flicker and the stars shine underneath his eyes. He's filled with Sam, surrounded by warmth and softness and an overwhelming knowledge of everything around him and inside him. Of the sweat pouring off his body and of Sam lapping it up like a cat into cream. Of the taste of his lips and the feel of Sam's hair under his fingers, tangled and pulling him close. The quickness of both of their hips, the slick of his own dick as Sam strokes it along. The feeling of Sam coming into him, of his own mind-shattering orgasm that follows along.
Sam in his arms, Sam's smell and warmth and light. Sam's kisses.
***
He wakes up in Sam's bed before sunrise, and watches the youth sleep. He takes in every doofy face he makes with a wry grin, maps out the planes of his face and body. He runs his fingers along Sam's face and draws hearts with his fingertips.
"Maybe I'm a gigantic girl too, now."
"I heard that..." Sam says as he stirs awake.
"Hi," he says, kissing Sam with all the morning breath he can muster. Sam scrunches his nose and he laughs at him.
"You're a pig." Sam climbs atop him, a favorite position he's come to enjoy. He rubs Sam's thighs and lets his mind wander as Sam bends down to kiss his chest.
"Whose guns are those, in the trunk of the car?" he asks.
"My brother's."
"How can he be hunting without them?"
"He's forgetful sometimes. I'm not worried, though."
The hunter laughs. "What kind of hunter forgets-"
"He forgets things sometimes. When he's in great danger, when everything hangs by a thread about to break, he falls into a fugue. Goes away."
The hunter sits up, takes Sam's face in his hands. Wetness falling onto his thumbs as he rubs the corners under Sam's eyes. Kisses him and tries to say love with every press of their lips together. He whispers instead, "I am so sorry."
Sam sniffs, shakes his head. "No- no need to be sorry, he's coming back to me. He always does."
***
They do the dishes after a simple meal together, and the hunter starts up his questioning again. Sam indulges him, having the tables turned on the other end. He doesn't question back, just answers him openly, honestly, passing him a dish to dry like it was nothing in the world.
"Are you mad at him for leaving?"
"Never."
"Sam..."
"I'm not mad at all."
"It's just..." The hunter sighs. "For some reason, I feel like he's not coming back this time."
Sam doesn't say anything, just takes his dry hand with wet soapy ones, and kisses his palm like a promise, like a benediction.
***
They're outside, fighting in the snow. Well, not really fighting. There's a lot of pushing and laughing and snow being tossed around, when the ground shakes, and Sam stops to see a terrible-looking monster approaching them. The hunter steps forward, putting his body in-between Sam and the beast.
Sam scrambles up and throws the tarp off the car, opens the trunk at lightning speed, and turns to fire his sawed-off at the creature. The hunter uses the time Sam's bought him to grab a bowie knife and go for the monster's throat.
Red falls against the white of the snow, and Dean Winchester returns to himself.
daddy's ghost behind you
sleeping dog beside you
you're a poem of mystery
you're the prayer inside me
spoken words like moonlight
you're the voice that i like
needlework & seedlings
in the way you're walking
to me from the timbers
faded from the winter
Iron and Wine - Faded From The Winter