FIC: A Lack of Real Spice (In Your Life)
Can't blame this crack on cold medicine, sadly. My list of fic to-do's continues to grow dust and I really am going to get back and finish up Delusion--soon.
Though when I wax on it, I think this is my mind's way of practicing writing from Sam's perspective, & flexing my Sammy voice. I have more disquiet writing him then I do writing Dean. Hopefully this all will help me get stronger and someone will get a chuckle. :D
Title: A Lack of Real Spice (In Your Life)
Author: memphis86
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,941
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the Smiths or Morrissey (more's the pity). Title is from "A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours"
Summary: Dean hates The Smiths, Sam decides to mess with change his mind. Chaos ensues.
Author's Note: Um, if you don't listen to The Smiths, or never heard of them? You will not understand any of the song references (and you make me weep because I am old). Go Hype Machine or Elbo.ws it up.
Sam is what you would call a music lover. He has a distinct personal taste, yes. Anything Jarvis Cocker has touched turns to gold in his ears. But in general he's learned to be tolerant of most genres of music.
Especially Dean's.
Because you kind of have to be in order to stand driving with him for godless amounts of time on end. You have to take the KISS and the Metallica and the Ozzy and the dubious amounts of cock rock. You don't have to grin, but you have to bear it.
Thing is, Dean doesn't always return the favor.
Sam loves The Smiths, and Dean hates them. To the point that when Sam is driving and Morrissey starts belting, Dean will whine and fidget and generally throw a tantrum until Sam changes the station.
He hates The Smiths, he hates Morrissey's solo work. The one and only thing he will concede is that he likes the opening guitar riff of "How Soon Is Now?". And even that took a lot of prodding.
When they're on the road, in-between jobs, and everything starts to lull; Sam gets bored. He visits local libraries and jumps Dean in the shower but it's not enough stimulation for his wandering mind.
The bars are dead and it's summer so there are no college parties to crash and the daylight drags on too long. Dean happily sips beer and lolls like a cat next to a sunny window, but Sam gets headaches. Dean calls him prickly and finicky and persnickety and keeps on rhyming insults until Sam storms off and gets out of Dean's sunlight.
Problem for Dean is; when Sam gets this bored, he gets ideas.
The radio is softly playing, local AM talk radio station. Sam is half-listening and Dean is napping on his bed. It goes to a music program, a retrospective on The Smiths, of all things.
That's when things click.
At the first few chords of "Bigmouth Strikes Again" Dean picks up his head and groans, "Ugh. Turn that whiny, girly, emo shit off, Sammy."
Somehow the idea pops into Sam's head and he turns it up three notches. Dean rolls over and yells again but Sam's moved quickly to him. He's unzipping his jeans and licking his lips.
The guitar is going and Morrissey is singing and Sam is going down on Dean. He does everything he knows will drive Dean insane with his tongue, changing pressure and the angle of his head and switching back and forth and Dean is moaning almost along with the music.
They get about halfway through the program when Dean comes and lies quietly for the rest of it.
***
Dean's driving the next time it happens, The Smiths come on the radio and instead of tuning to another station like Dean asked, Sam looks at him and turns the volume down for a minute.
"You see any cops?"
"No, why?"
"Road's pretty empty, right?"
"What are you-?"
Sam turns the volume all the way up and "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" is on blast. Sam unbuckles his belt and bends down to Dean's lap.
"Sam!" Dean's already clenching his teeth, "At least fix the damn radio before you- oh!" Dean has one hand on the steering wheel and he has to start biting the other one, hard.
Dean's wearing slacks instead of jeans because it's summer. So he can pretty much start Dean off just by nuzzling and rubbing him through the thin fabric of his pants.
Sam only has so long before the song ends so he has to make it quick, whips Dean's hard cock out of his pants and alternates the pressure of his mouth and his hand. Fast and rough and Dean has moved a hand to the top of his head, which is signal for him to go slower.
Sam ignores this and moves as fast as he can, finally eliciting a moan from Dean just as the song ends.
There's something else on the radio, and Sam picks up his head and settles back into his seat.
Dean's eyes are ready to pop out of his head, his mouth is wide open and his cheeks are bright red. It's all he can do to keep his hand steady on the wheel. "What the hell was that?!"
Sam shrugs, "Dunno, I kinda lost the mood there."
"So you're not? You're just gonna leave me here?!!"
"I have a headache."
"I hate you so much." Dean pulls over and finishes himself off.
***
Sam plans the next one, he's got his favorite album queued up on his CD player and his headphones are on full blast, he tests it out and yes! The tinny but clear sounds of "Death of a Disco Dancer" play through.
Dean comes into the room to a naked Sam, on his bed.
Sam raises an eyebrow, and Dean smirks, practically pouncing on top of him.
It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Sam has Dean's head right next to the CD player, and Dean scrunches his face and asks "Is that-?"
Sam cuts him off with a tongue down his throat.
And it's all his best moves, everything he knows Dean likes. Sam's bringing his A-game and Dean is writhing and laughing and generally having a good time.
Sam just keeps his head steady, makes sure he can hear the music. And then laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. It's a lame idea but it beats boredom, or just going through the motions. Sam eventually loses himself in the moment.
Dean knows the differences between the physical and the intimate. He knows how to push Sam's buttons too. That a kiss is more then a kiss when Dean follows it by ghosting his fingers over Sam's lips, then catching his gaze and smiling. He knows it's infinitely hotter to suck on his collarbone then to suck on the familiar spot on his neck. Sometimes Dean just runs his thumbs in circles on Sam's face and it feels wonderful, like he's tracing the outlines of him as a sense memory. Or at least that's what Sam tells himself.
There's warmth and there's sweat and then a shout and Sam comes. Sam moves slowly and ends up in the shower with Dean, letting him wash his back before being wrapped up in a big fluffy towel. The next morning his CD player is dead but he declares it a success.
***
Sam's not messing around anymore, and Dean is probably catching on. Every time a Smiths song comes on, he blows Dean, no questions asked. Just drops whatever he's doing and goes down on him, no matter how he feels.
Dean only really protests the one time when he's cleaning the guns, and Sam really is going to get himself shot or stabbed one day. The other times Dean just sits back and makes happy sounds.
Just listening to the opening riff of "How Soon Is Now?" makes Dean hard. Sam starts to worry he's done some kind of Pavlovian psycho-damage; but he relaxes when Dean turns up the volume and sings along while Sam sucks him off.
Whatever doesn't kill him, after all.
***
They're in a college bar, Dean's flirting like crazy with the coeds. Sam is on his laptop, sipping some local microbrewery lager named after a duck, and enjoying being a face in the crowd. They've actually picked up a few jobs now, and it feels good. Like his blood is flowing again. He feels satisfied and no longer like he's just idling away. Life is good.
Of course, that's when "There is a Light That Never Goes Out" comes on.
Sam doesn't really notice it at first, they've been playing his kind of music all night, another upside of the summer ending and the college towns coming back to life.
Dean's hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes hard enough to bruise. Sam turns his head sharply and Dean has a terrible look in his eyes. It's a mix of lust and panic and he jerks his head to the side and makes for the exit.
It's then that Sam notices Dean holding his jacket in front of him.
Oh god, he broke his brother.
Sam closes his laptop and shoves it in his bag, downs the last three gulps of beer in one mouthful and goes after Dean.
When he meets Dean at the entrance, he looks from side to side before dragging Sam into the nearest shadowy alley.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Sam babbles but Dean throws his jacket aside and pins him to the wall, his erection pressing hard into Sam's thigh.
"Don't be sorry," Dean says kissing the fuck out of him. He pulls back and Sam gulps in air. "Just. Fix. It."
Sam unzips Dean and drops to his knees. He tries his best to relieve Dean but it's not enough and his jaw is aching. Dean's forehead is pressed against the cold brick wall behind him. He's panting and Sam knows he took things too far.
It's awkward and painful, and if Sam were in the mood? Totally hot. But guilt-ridden alleyway sex isn't really Sam's idea of a good time. He shouldn't have messed with Dean for all those weeks.
But it's either leave Dean in pain or take some himself; so he just bites his lips and lets Dean fuck him hard. His forehead keeps smacking the brick and Dean's hands clenching on his shoulders is starting to ache.
Sam contemplates humming a few bars of the first Smiths song he can think of, but finally Dean comes and smacks him hard, against the wall. Dean is slumped behind him and his heartbeat is steadily slowing down.
Sam is still half-hard but he doesn't let Dean do anything. He gets them cleaned up and in the car. Then it's a cold shower and sleeping alone.
***
"You know, guilt and angst don't really do it for me, contrary to my current music proclivities."
Sam grits his teeth and pointedly ignores Dean, as he continues wrapping gauze around his hand. The brick scraped off quite a bit of skin, not that he's complaining. Just sulking.
"What, no smartass remark about whether or not I used the word 'proclivities' correctly? I don't even rate an annoyed Sammy eyeroll? C'mon man, don't leave me hanging. You owe me."
Sam glares at Dean as he bites one end of the gauze and pulls it tight. He uses his free hand to cut and tape the ends around his hand. He'd refused to let Dean near him even for medical care.
"Seriously, though; you're gonna mope about this for how much longer?"
Shut up, Sam holds back, "Dean, what if I hadn't been there?"
"Then, obviously, I would have started an orgy."
"Dean!"
"Oh c'mon, I would've found you." Dean winks.
"Yeah, but- I shouldn't of been messing with your head like that. I did it because I was bored, and I was sick of you not liking my music and-"
"Whatever, heads up!" Dean throws a tape at Sam's face. It's only by virtue of enduring years of Dean throwing things at his head that Sam is able to catch it-with two bandaged hands no less.
"What's this?"
"For the next time you get bored."
He turns the tape over in his hands, it reads "FOR SAMMY ONLY!" in red ink.
"What is it?"
"It's my all-Smiths mixtape." Dean smiles.
Sam finally smiles back and secretly wonders if he can do the same thing with The Cure.
***
End!
Though when I wax on it, I think this is my mind's way of practicing writing from Sam's perspective, & flexing my Sammy voice. I have more disquiet writing him then I do writing Dean. Hopefully this all will help me get stronger and someone will get a chuckle. :D
Title: A Lack of Real Spice (In Your Life)
Author: memphis86
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,941
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the Smiths or Morrissey (more's the pity). Title is from "A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours"
Summary: Dean hates The Smiths, Sam decides to mess with change his mind. Chaos ensues.
Author's Note: Um, if you don't listen to The Smiths, or never heard of them? You will not understand any of the song references (and you make me weep because I am old). Go Hype Machine or Elbo.ws it up.
Sam is what you would call a music lover. He has a distinct personal taste, yes. Anything Jarvis Cocker has touched turns to gold in his ears. But in general he's learned to be tolerant of most genres of music.
Especially Dean's.
Because you kind of have to be in order to stand driving with him for godless amounts of time on end. You have to take the KISS and the Metallica and the Ozzy and the dubious amounts of cock rock. You don't have to grin, but you have to bear it.
Thing is, Dean doesn't always return the favor.
Sam loves The Smiths, and Dean hates them. To the point that when Sam is driving and Morrissey starts belting, Dean will whine and fidget and generally throw a tantrum until Sam changes the station.
He hates The Smiths, he hates Morrissey's solo work. The one and only thing he will concede is that he likes the opening guitar riff of "How Soon Is Now?". And even that took a lot of prodding.
When they're on the road, in-between jobs, and everything starts to lull; Sam gets bored. He visits local libraries and jumps Dean in the shower but it's not enough stimulation for his wandering mind.
The bars are dead and it's summer so there are no college parties to crash and the daylight drags on too long. Dean happily sips beer and lolls like a cat next to a sunny window, but Sam gets headaches. Dean calls him prickly and finicky and persnickety and keeps on rhyming insults until Sam storms off and gets out of Dean's sunlight.
Problem for Dean is; when Sam gets this bored, he gets ideas.
The radio is softly playing, local AM talk radio station. Sam is half-listening and Dean is napping on his bed. It goes to a music program, a retrospective on The Smiths, of all things.
That's when things click.
At the first few chords of "Bigmouth Strikes Again" Dean picks up his head and groans, "Ugh. Turn that whiny, girly, emo shit off, Sammy."
Somehow the idea pops into Sam's head and he turns it up three notches. Dean rolls over and yells again but Sam's moved quickly to him. He's unzipping his jeans and licking his lips.
The guitar is going and Morrissey is singing and Sam is going down on Dean. He does everything he knows will drive Dean insane with his tongue, changing pressure and the angle of his head and switching back and forth and Dean is moaning almost along with the music.
They get about halfway through the program when Dean comes and lies quietly for the rest of it.
***
Dean's driving the next time it happens, The Smiths come on the radio and instead of tuning to another station like Dean asked, Sam looks at him and turns the volume down for a minute.
"You see any cops?"
"No, why?"
"Road's pretty empty, right?"
"What are you-?"
Sam turns the volume all the way up and "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" is on blast. Sam unbuckles his belt and bends down to Dean's lap.
"Sam!" Dean's already clenching his teeth, "At least fix the damn radio before you- oh!" Dean has one hand on the steering wheel and he has to start biting the other one, hard.
Dean's wearing slacks instead of jeans because it's summer. So he can pretty much start Dean off just by nuzzling and rubbing him through the thin fabric of his pants.
Sam only has so long before the song ends so he has to make it quick, whips Dean's hard cock out of his pants and alternates the pressure of his mouth and his hand. Fast and rough and Dean has moved a hand to the top of his head, which is signal for him to go slower.
Sam ignores this and moves as fast as he can, finally eliciting a moan from Dean just as the song ends.
There's something else on the radio, and Sam picks up his head and settles back into his seat.
Dean's eyes are ready to pop out of his head, his mouth is wide open and his cheeks are bright red. It's all he can do to keep his hand steady on the wheel. "What the hell was that?!"
Sam shrugs, "Dunno, I kinda lost the mood there."
"So you're not? You're just gonna leave me here?!!"
"I have a headache."
"I hate you so much." Dean pulls over and finishes himself off.
***
Sam plans the next one, he's got his favorite album queued up on his CD player and his headphones are on full blast, he tests it out and yes! The tinny but clear sounds of "Death of a Disco Dancer" play through.
Dean comes into the room to a naked Sam, on his bed.
Sam raises an eyebrow, and Dean smirks, practically pouncing on top of him.
It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Sam has Dean's head right next to the CD player, and Dean scrunches his face and asks "Is that-?"
Sam cuts him off with a tongue down his throat.
And it's all his best moves, everything he knows Dean likes. Sam's bringing his A-game and Dean is writhing and laughing and generally having a good time.
Sam just keeps his head steady, makes sure he can hear the music. And then laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. It's a lame idea but it beats boredom, or just going through the motions. Sam eventually loses himself in the moment.
Dean knows the differences between the physical and the intimate. He knows how to push Sam's buttons too. That a kiss is more then a kiss when Dean follows it by ghosting his fingers over Sam's lips, then catching his gaze and smiling. He knows it's infinitely hotter to suck on his collarbone then to suck on the familiar spot on his neck. Sometimes Dean just runs his thumbs in circles on Sam's face and it feels wonderful, like he's tracing the outlines of him as a sense memory. Or at least that's what Sam tells himself.
There's warmth and there's sweat and then a shout and Sam comes. Sam moves slowly and ends up in the shower with Dean, letting him wash his back before being wrapped up in a big fluffy towel. The next morning his CD player is dead but he declares it a success.
***
Sam's not messing around anymore, and Dean is probably catching on. Every time a Smiths song comes on, he blows Dean, no questions asked. Just drops whatever he's doing and goes down on him, no matter how he feels.
Dean only really protests the one time when he's cleaning the guns, and Sam really is going to get himself shot or stabbed one day. The other times Dean just sits back and makes happy sounds.
Just listening to the opening riff of "How Soon Is Now?" makes Dean hard. Sam starts to worry he's done some kind of Pavlovian psycho-damage; but he relaxes when Dean turns up the volume and sings along while Sam sucks him off.
Whatever doesn't kill him, after all.
***
They're in a college bar, Dean's flirting like crazy with the coeds. Sam is on his laptop, sipping some local microbrewery lager named after a duck, and enjoying being a face in the crowd. They've actually picked up a few jobs now, and it feels good. Like his blood is flowing again. He feels satisfied and no longer like he's just idling away. Life is good.
Of course, that's when "There is a Light That Never Goes Out" comes on.
Sam doesn't really notice it at first, they've been playing his kind of music all night, another upside of the summer ending and the college towns coming back to life.
Dean's hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes hard enough to bruise. Sam turns his head sharply and Dean has a terrible look in his eyes. It's a mix of lust and panic and he jerks his head to the side and makes for the exit.
It's then that Sam notices Dean holding his jacket in front of him.
Oh god, he broke his brother.
Sam closes his laptop and shoves it in his bag, downs the last three gulps of beer in one mouthful and goes after Dean.
When he meets Dean at the entrance, he looks from side to side before dragging Sam into the nearest shadowy alley.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Sam babbles but Dean throws his jacket aside and pins him to the wall, his erection pressing hard into Sam's thigh.
"Don't be sorry," Dean says kissing the fuck out of him. He pulls back and Sam gulps in air. "Just. Fix. It."
Sam unzips Dean and drops to his knees. He tries his best to relieve Dean but it's not enough and his jaw is aching. Dean's forehead is pressed against the cold brick wall behind him. He's panting and Sam knows he took things too far.
It's awkward and painful, and if Sam were in the mood? Totally hot. But guilt-ridden alleyway sex isn't really Sam's idea of a good time. He shouldn't have messed with Dean for all those weeks.
But it's either leave Dean in pain or take some himself; so he just bites his lips and lets Dean fuck him hard. His forehead keeps smacking the brick and Dean's hands clenching on his shoulders is starting to ache.
Sam contemplates humming a few bars of the first Smiths song he can think of, but finally Dean comes and smacks him hard, against the wall. Dean is slumped behind him and his heartbeat is steadily slowing down.
Sam is still half-hard but he doesn't let Dean do anything. He gets them cleaned up and in the car. Then it's a cold shower and sleeping alone.
***
"You know, guilt and angst don't really do it for me, contrary to my current music proclivities."
Sam grits his teeth and pointedly ignores Dean, as he continues wrapping gauze around his hand. The brick scraped off quite a bit of skin, not that he's complaining. Just sulking.
"What, no smartass remark about whether or not I used the word 'proclivities' correctly? I don't even rate an annoyed Sammy eyeroll? C'mon man, don't leave me hanging. You owe me."
Sam glares at Dean as he bites one end of the gauze and pulls it tight. He uses his free hand to cut and tape the ends around his hand. He'd refused to let Dean near him even for medical care.
"Seriously, though; you're gonna mope about this for how much longer?"
Shut up, Sam holds back, "Dean, what if I hadn't been there?"
"Then, obviously, I would have started an orgy."
"Dean!"
"Oh c'mon, I would've found you." Dean winks.
"Yeah, but- I shouldn't of been messing with your head like that. I did it because I was bored, and I was sick of you not liking my music and-"
"Whatever, heads up!" Dean throws a tape at Sam's face. It's only by virtue of enduring years of Dean throwing things at his head that Sam is able to catch it-with two bandaged hands no less.
"What's this?"
"For the next time you get bored."
He turns the tape over in his hands, it reads "FOR SAMMY ONLY!" in red ink.
"What is it?"
"It's my all-Smiths mixtape." Dean smiles.
Sam finally smiles back and secretly wonders if he can do the same thing with The Cure.
***
End!