8 Drabbles for 2008!
First of all, belated happy birthday wishes to stephanometra, anasuede, anoneknewmoose & laylee. Whew! I think I got 'em. I hope you had lovely ones!!
***
In honor of my 1-year LJ-versary I took drabble/ficlet requests here, and these are the results! I really hope you like them.
And special thanks to dark_reaction for doing some lookseeing and consulting/holding my virtual hand while I spazzed. And to katjad for a super-awesome beta job! I &J2; her.
For karmicunderpath: Sam/Dean and a PUPPY
A Dog Named Shoe
They were different breeds, different shapes and sizes, but they were all named "Shoe".
The first Shoe came to the Winchesters one rainy night, stowed away underneath Sam's hoodie. He would have gotten away with it too, if the little pup hadn't started licking his collar, making him laugh and waking Dean up.
The first Shoe lasted a whole week, until John found him chewing on one of his favorite pairs of boots.
The next Shoe was actually found by Dean, and she was a Shoe-ana, he teased. She was with them from Tuesday until Thursday, when Sam gave her to the little girl whose dog had been swallowed whole by a Naga.
There were eleven Shoes in total; some were just sort of adopted from whatever town they happened to be in, others were given away to people who could give them stable homes, stable lives. There was a set of two Shoes for one week; Sam kept arguing with Dean over which was the real "Shoe" and which was "Sock". One met a rather tragic end when he jumped up on the bed while Dean was cleaning his gun. That's when they stopped picking up strays, when Sam realized that they couldn't keep a dog. They couldn't offer it a safe home.
However, Dean was always full of surprises. So there was that fateful rainy night, when he came knocking on Sam's door, looking like he'd crawled through hell and back, grave-dust on his shoulders.
(And he had, really; they scraped sulfur out from under his fingernails the next day.)
But underneath his worn, singed leather jacket, there was a wriggling lump. Sam was going for the hilt of his knife, thinking Dean had brought back something from beyond.
It was a puppy. A black one, that flashed red eyes at Sam for a moment before yawning and settling against Dean with a tired sigh.
"It's a baby hellhound," Sam said.
"Hellpuppy," Dean said, brushing past Sam and making a beeline for the kitchen. He unzipped his jacket and placed it on the floor.
"You can't keep it."
"Why can't I, Sam? It's the new Shoe."
"It's evil!"
"It wasn't evil when it saved my soul from an eternity in hell."
Sam pulled his mouth tight together, frowning and furrowing his brow. "Well it can't be Shoe. We never got to keep a Shoe for more than a few weeks."
"Okay, then it's Boots."
"Boots is a cat's name."
Dean rolled his eyes and leaned against the countertop. "Oh and what, you're the authority on naming dogs, now?"
Before Sam could respond, the puppy was yipping at him slightly, with a tone rich and deep, not like a sound a normal puppy would make. Sam bent down and softly touched its head, running a finger behind its ears, and it wagged all three of its whip-like tails.
"So you saved my brother, huh?" Sam whispered to it. It barked in response. Sam lifted it up into his arms and really got a good look at it. It was rather cute, as he assumed hellpuppies went.
"Sammy," Dean started, stepping closer to him. "I know, it's kind of a screwed up pet, but," he took a deep breath and leaned close, "we're kinda screwed up too. You're one step removed from being the Prince of Darkness, and I've died more times than Buffy."
"So you're saying we should embrace the weirdness and raise a baby Hellhound to fight on our side."
Dean shrugged. "It works in the comics."
Sam kissed him, kissed him tasting the dirt in the corner of his mouth, the dryness of his mouth, kissed him, feeling him kiss back, moving his thumb to rub across Sam's cheek. Kissed Dean for every day he wanted him back, and knew he couldn't. Kissed Dean to make up for everything he failed at, everyone he could never save. Kissed Dean because he came back for him.
"Beelzepup," was the best that Dean could come up with.
*
For cathybites: More Professor!Dean and TA!Sam (from this entry, if you're confused. Question #8.)
"You definitely want to avoid Professor Joseph, she's like Joseph Stalin but without the accent. Although I wouldn't put it past her to speak like a Bond villain. And definitely don't sit in the front row if you're sitting in on Professor Stoll's class, there's a reason we call him 'Bad Breath Bob', y'know?"
Sam thinks that maybe she's the one calling him that, but he nods and smiles anyway. She snaps her gum and continues filling him in on all the gossip.
"Professor Kaplan is amazing though, he wrote me a really nice letter of recommendation; same with Professor Miller, and she's like the Mom of the department. Dr. Rosenbluth is like, crazy-smart, he's really cool about letting you use his office to study in over the weekends-I'd never have gotten my 2nd-year thesis done without him. Also Professor Lamothe will write you a recommendation even if she's only known you a week, she's really easy to work for. Same with Professor Winchester, he's just happy if you show up on time. And he's really happy if you bring an extra coffee or sandwich with you when you do."
Sam stifles a cough and a laugh, or maybe both at the same time, and leans in closer. "Uh, yeah? I think I'm gonna work for him. I put in my resume the other day."
"Well good luck! Everybody wants to work for him. The girls think he's hot, and the guys wanna get into his storage room and see all his mummified hands and skulls and stuff. Well, the straight guys wanna see that. Ugh, he never cleans that damn room, it's full of cobwebs and dust. But still it's really an easy gig. You just have to pull his lecture notes before his class, and make sure none of the undergrad girls get too frisky and his wife finds out."
Sam does choke this time, on his own saliva. "Wh-what did you say?"
"It's nothing! He doesn't mess around, doesn't touch them, they just get really forward and he needs someone to run interference-"
"No! I meant," Sam clears his throat, "I meant, his wife? He's married?"
"Uh yeah, well I figured he was, or maybe they're just like one of those couples that never break up. He's always talking about having to run home and 'see to the little lady'." She turns her head to one side. "I mean, I thought he was talking about a wife, I hope it wasn't a cat or something."
Sam takes a deep breath and tries not to show his fists clenching at his sides.
***
One minute, Dean's watching Dirty Jobs, the next he's flipped upside down, and slung over Sam's shoulder so he watches his ass wriggle back and forth as Sam carries him away from the living room. Dean also takes note of the fact that Sam is bare-ass naked. And as such, Dean feels it necessary to reach out with his hand and slap his ass, making that really nice, cracking sound.
Sam stops and growls low in his throat, but continues to walk Dean to the bedroom. Dean laughs and just sort of hangs there, admiring the view. Sam throws him on the bed and makes that noise again before crushing his lips to Dean's.
Dean starts shrugging out of his pants, fumbling with the fly and wriggling around in Sam's arms. Sam stops for a moment to let Dean start unbuttoning his shirt, busies himself by licking and sucking at the crook of Dean's neck.
"Not that I'm, uhhhh." Dean leans into the touch. "Complaining! But-"
Sam lifts his head to stare at Dean and snarl. "Little. Lady."
Dean blinks a few times. "Well, okay, so I may have misused the word 'little'."
"I am going to make you worship my cock like a god."
"Like I don't already?"
"Little! Lady!"
And that was the last thing Sam said before he pounced on Dean.
***
One broken lamp, three buttons bitten off, and a sheet ripped from the friction. Dean panting on Sam's chest as he lightly dozes.
"I'm going to make you sit in my office and transcribe all of my lectures on ancient Babylonian farm tools," Dean says, still trying to catch his breath.
"Mmm hmmm," Sam hums.
"Naked! You're going to sit in that little desk chair and type up long, boring lectures on agriculture in my office, with the heat all the way up. And then I'm going to make you translate them into Cantonese."
"No, you're not."
"… No, I'm probably not going to. I'm going to have you sit under my desk and give me head while I grade papers, though."
"Man, the other grad students were right. You are that easy."
*
For lazy_daze: Jared/Jensen, blanket!
The Worm Turns
"You wouldn't know by looking at him," Jared says, throwing back another stinging shot of tequila. "But Jensen is a total blanket hog. He wraps himself up like a fuckin' cat-a-piller. And then every mornin' a bee-you-tee-ful butterfly comes out and scratches himself while drinking coffee on the couch. It's like a fuckin' episode of Wild Kingdom, and shit."
The table starts laughing and then stops suddenly. Jared feels a hand come down on his shoulders gripping tight.
Jared knows it's Jensen when the bottle of tequila magically flies off of the table and there's this familiar lilt in the side of his ear talking about truth serum and one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor. Jared doesn't quite understand but Jensen's at the perfect angle for him to lick salty sweat from his nape, and Jensen leans in and nips at his neck.
Jensen and him fuck that night, even though he's stupid drunk and the man is a whirl of colors in tunneled vision. Jared feels his cock slide into him, feels Jensen beneath him or above him, he can't tell anymore. Tight, bracing pressure on his dick and short fingernails digging into his back, rough stubble on his cheek, sandpaper caress. Tongue on his earlobe, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand.
There's movement, either Jensen's riding him or he's actually found the state of mind to thrust in and out and it doesn't matter. It feels good, feels like the sting of tequila in his throat when they kiss. Feels like the tart of lime in Jensen's taste, the quick way he moves his lips against Jared's. Jared is in a vise, wherever time slows to a crawl.
When Jared wakes up, he's twined in the sheets and the blanket, wrapped up like a mummy or a burrito-he can't decide which. There's a layer of fabric, and a layer of Jensen splayed across his body, and then a layer of blanket. He's so warm, and even through the headache of the liquor he feels so nice all tucked-in tight, with love and the lingering smell of sex and Jensen-
Jensen burps loudly in his ear before rolling off to the side, taking all the blankets with him.
*
For nomelon: How about Sam/Dean, middle of a heatwave, Dean's first ever tub of haagen-dazs and he doesn't want to share.
Um, okay I needed to take liberty with this prompt, since I don't write Wee!cest and I'm sure Dean's had Häagen Dazs before he turned 21...
Neapolitan
Dean isn't very good at sharing.
He's good at other things. For example, he's very good at getting Sam in a state of undress. He's very good at keeping him in that state of undress, and while he has the opportunity, he's good at licking his way down Sam's chest. He's good at straddling Sam's hips just so, with the right friction of his thighs against Sam's, and his free hand working Sam's cock. He's good at teasing Sam with his tongue, licking vanilla and strawberry from the dip of his stomach. He's good at somehow talking Sam into licking chocolate from his fingers, wetting them so Dean can fucking split him open. He's good and making Sam hiss and shiver from the cold. He's good at making Sam scream.
But he's not good at sharing the leftover ice-cream afterwards. Nope. All Sam has are freezer burns on his stomach and saliva and sticky come when they're done and Dean's sitting on the kitchen counter, sucking on a spoon with a Cheshire smile.
*
For trueshellz: Dean/Sam & a lollipop.
52
Schlurp. "Forty-eight."
Sam steadies his hand on the steering wheel.
Schlurp. "Forty-nine."
But really, it's no use, he knows it's coming.
Schlurp. "Fifty! And now it's time for a very special lick…" And Dean's mouth is sticky with sugar, wet form saliva, surrounding the red candy and sucking.
"Dean…"
"Fifty-one, what?"
"I know you're bored because you can't drive because you broke your arm."
"I can't drive because someone threatened to break my other arm." Dean mutters
"That being said!" Sam says, raising his voice. "You? Are making me insane. Bite the damn lollipop or keep the freaking count to yourself."
Dean cocks his eyebrow. "Come on Sam, I want to know how many licks it takes." Schlurp "Fifty-two."
"All right!" Sam shouts, pulling off at the nearest exit, and stopping at the side of the road, away from the traffic. And there, in the tall green glass, flecked with lemony-yellow weeds and buzzing with the sounds of cicadas, there, Sam presses Dean to the ground, and tongues open his mouth. Careful of his arm in the sling, he grinds against Dean. And Dean's hand reaches out to touch the side of Sam's face, hearing Sam whisper into his ear, "I want you, I want your mouth, I want your taste."
Sam's hands are fumbling with Dean's belt, undoing the clasp and the fly and grabbing his cock. "I want you to fuck me." Dean nods, stretching out and letting Sam lick his cock and wet his own palm with his saliva. Sam's big, warm hand on his dick, and it's squeezing and stroking, making Dean hard. Dean's so turned on he can hardly think, all that goes through his body is a tremble as he realizes Sam is going to get him hard, bring him close, and then Sam is going to stretch himself, going to ride Dean's cock until he comes and collapses on top of Dean. Knows they're going to fuck in the summer sun, in the tall, green grass, going to sweat and cling to each other like there's no one else in the world.
And through that haze of sex and sweat, Dean makes a note to himself.
Fifty-two.
*
For wendy: MPREG
Hippocampus erectus
"So how's my favorite little seahorse doing?"
Jared looks up from his breakfast and glares daggers at him. "Y'know, Dr. Ackles I hate when you call me that, and how are you so chipper in the morning?" Jensen shrugs and Jared returns to his Lucky Charms, which he's got balanced atop the swell of his stomach.
Jensen rolls his eyes and dips in to snatch the bowl away. "Stop that," he says, putting the bowl on the side-table of the hospital bed. Jared makes that adorable little hurt-face, and Jensen has to take a deep breath as he sits in the chair by his bedside.
It's sad, really, falling for his patient like this. But Jared is gorgeous, tall, a smile brighter than the sun.
And pregnant. But apparently that didn't deter Jensen's libido one bit. Jensen thought that was the best part of the whole thing, his unflinching fear of commitment and inability to keep a steady relationship for more that two months. Then in comes Jared Padalecki, and the hospital's Board of Directors call Jensen, a nurse practitioner, and two ultrasound technicians into a secret meeting to explain the delicate "situation". Turns out he's related to one of the hospital's most charitable donors, one with enough clout to convince them that they need a male OB-GYN to be on-call for the duration of Jared's stay. No questions asked.
Jensen never needed to ask anyway, Jared talked a mile a minute. Within the first hour of meeting him he knew how it happened (drunk, full moon, broke an ancient tribal fertility statue in a museum when he was 11, mercury in retrograde maybe), the father's name (Chad something-something), the name of Jared's pet goldfish from second grade (Swimmy), and how many slices of pizza he fit into his mouth the night before (three and a half, with jalapeños and grilled chicken). Jensen just tried to note it all down as quickly as possible, and told Jared to stay away from the peppers if he wanted the stomach cramps to subside.
And now he'd been Jared's personal doctor for almost seven months. But Jared didn't really treat him like a doctor. He cared more about getting Jensen to sneak off and play Madden with him or watch movies than about how far along he was.
Jared wasn't a typical spoiled rich kid, and that was what his father hated. He just seemed so apathetic to the power and influence his dad's money had over the world. They met every week and argued for hours on end about whether or not Jared should put the baby up for adoption. His father said no, on the grounds of the fact that he didn't want a member of their family to be treated as such, and Jared would ask if he meant "member" or "heir". Jared wanted to let someone who couldn't have a baby have his, or at least just make sure it didn't become some medical experiment in some lab somewhere.
Jensen shook his head clear when he realized he'd been musing for far too long and Jared was whispering into his stethoscope. "Does my shoulder have a heartbeat yet?"
"Uh, um, yes! No, I mean-" Jensen laughs and tugs at his ear. "Sorry about that, could you sit up for me?"
Jared hisses at the cold stethoscope on his back and Jensen mumbles another apology and has him breathe deeply. "So, it's eight months now, right?" Jared asks, hand unconsciously going to touch his gigantic belly beneath his pajamas.
There was one thing Jared insisted on getting Jensen to do, and that was at every month, since he started showing, Jensen had to draw a line on the paper they stuck on the wall for him. Jared explained that part of the reason was that he wanted something to remember the experience by, the other being that it freaked out his father.
"Right, let's just get your pulse and your blood pressure," Jensen says.
"Of course, of course, you want me to put out first, I get it."
"Jared." Jensen gives him a warning tone, but he's smiling so it kind of ruins it.
He finishes taking the vitals, all normal, all going smoothly and Jared tries to slide out of bed easily but he lets out a huge breath with a "Whuff!"
"You okay?" Jensen's at his side, helping him stand.
"That was... embarrassing." Jared tries to laugh it off as Jensen helps him stand by the wall and starts tracing the swell of his stomach with a sharpie.
Jensen finishes and caps the sharpie, facing Jared and sliding his hands in his pockets for his pen and notebook. "So how's it going otherwise? Everything oh-"
"I'm fucking horny as hell and if I don't get laid soon I'm going to go insane."
"-kay," Jensen clears his throat. "Well that's perfectly, um, normal considering your hormone levels-"
Jared interrupts Jensen by grabbing him by his scrubs and pulling him in tight, kissing him hard. Jensen's eyes go wide and flutter shut, his hands reaching out and holding Jared.
Jared lets him go, panting and whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" against Jensen's mouth, lips still brushing against Jensen's.
Jensen's hand is resting on Jared's stomach, rubbing little circles against him. Jared realizes this and looks down, face flushing red. "Ummm, you need to, you need to stop doing that. Because it's turning me on and, fuck everything you do makes me crazy, Jensen. Even when you call me your little seahorse, I say I hate it but really it makes me jump around inside and, fuck I wanna ask you out on a date or something but-"
"But I'm your doctor," Jensen finishes.
"You’re the-the only doctor I want for me. I don't want to find someone else now."
"You won't have to. We're going to pretend this didn't happen." Jensen stops, biting his bottom lip and quickly, like mercury he drops to a crouch and pulls up Jared's tee. He kisses his stomach, just once, and Jared makes this sweet little moan in the back of his throat and Jensen stands up again, letting his shirt go. "We're going to pretend that didn't happen too."
"Okay, okay," Jared nods. "It's just, another month, right?"
"Just... another month." Jensen swallows.
*
Trufax: I totally had a goldfish named Swimmy. He lived for FIVE YEARS. I was impressed.
For thehighwaywoman: Sam/Dean? Sleepy boys on an early morning?
Doll Parts
"Sam, Sam." Warm breath in his ear, murmuring his name, a reverie.
"Sam..." Deep, scratchy voice, strained from sleep and from the night before. Yelling for him through the wails of the phantom sirens they were hunting. "Sam, you have to-" And Dean trails off again, lips against Sam's ear, body pressed flush to his.
Sam thinks maybe Dean's trying to wake him up for a moment, but there's no urgency. His body is limp in Sam's arms. Soft and ply, Sam can cradle him close and he'll go with it. He's a ragdoll, with the stitches to show for it. Scars and holes sealed up by Sam's nimble fingers.
"Dean?" Sam whispers back, brushing Dean's stubbled face with his thumb. And Dean doesn't open his eyes, just lets out another breath against Sam's face. Unintelligible mutterings, and Sam knows he's just half-dreaming.
It's morning, but the sky is overcast, raindrops fall fat against the windows of the motel room. The air smells like it's going to storm all day, wet, dreary and cold. Sam can feel it in his bones. He can already anticipate trudging through mud and getting his socks wet through his shoes because Dean has a fondness for leading him through the more heavily puddled areas, so he can tromp and splash right through them with his boots on.
"Sam, you have to wake up," Dean starts up again, this time squeezing his eyes shut tight and moaning, rubbing against Sam.
"Dean? Dean I'm awake," Sam answers, kissing the top of Dean's head, trying to smooth Dean's crinkled brow with his thumb.
"Sam, wake up," Dean whispers again before shifting in Sam's arms, over to the other side of the bed and Sam lets him. He's tired, worn and Sam stares at Dean's back. Bullet wound, a scrape that just nicked the skin, missing his spine by fractions and hairlines.
Dean is a mosaic. Like doll parts, all stitches and scar tissue at the joints. And patches of perfect pale skin, in-between the wounds and pounds of flesh taken away.
Sam hears the rain snap against the glass, and reaches for Dean.
*
For jenadamson: Jared/Jensen + the Pixies. :D
And, ZOMG this is the most self-indulgent thing I've written this YEAR.
Grope For Luna
They meet in a bar, in Boston. Jared's one of those people who stands for something, like capitalists and communist, lots of things he's heard about. He's a real left-winger who'd been to Mexico and Guatemala, and seen poverty and famine and held little children in his arms. Jensen can almost picture it. Little peasant children climbing in his great big arms, and Jared spinning them, laughing. Jared looks into his beer and says, "There're some stories I could tell you."
The farthest south Jensen'd been was to swim in the Caribbean, little fish around his legs and feet, and feeling so awkward all he could do was clink his glass to Jared's and say: "Politics go so good with beer."
Jared smiles. Big, huge smile, teeth as white as snow.
Later in that shady little corner Jared's got his tongue in Jensen's ear when Jensen tells him, "I wanna be a singer like Lou Reed."
"I like Lou Reed," Jared says.
***
"So I was living with my sister in New Jersey," Jensen says. The bar is closed, but they've moved the conversation outside, just walking through the nearly empty streets. Jared's looking at the moon in one of those kinds of ways, so Jensen knows that there's more to the meaning. "Not for very long though, but there was this motorcycle accident and she told me-"
"Hey," Jared interrupts, low voice, hand reaching out to stop Jensen's lips with his fingers. "I already like you."
Jensen screws his face. "Even if I really don't know about surrealist French cinema or even if I don't care about the ten million pounds of sludge killing the fish from New York and New Jersey?"
"I don't mean maybe," Jared says, because he's drunk and poetic like that.
*
Songs cited: Where Is My Mind, Gigantic, I've Been Tired, U-Mass, Vamos, Nimrod's Son, Subbacultcha, Hey, Debaser, Monkey Gone To Heaven, La La Love You.
Download them all here.
*sigh* Oh writing fic, I missed you so... :D
***
In honor of my 1-year LJ-versary I took drabble/ficlet requests here, and these are the results! I really hope you like them.
And special thanks to dark_reaction for doing some lookseeing and consulting/holding my virtual hand while I spazzed. And to katjad for a super-awesome beta job! I &J2; her.
For karmicunderpath: Sam/Dean and a PUPPY
A Dog Named Shoe
They were different breeds, different shapes and sizes, but they were all named "Shoe".
The first Shoe came to the Winchesters one rainy night, stowed away underneath Sam's hoodie. He would have gotten away with it too, if the little pup hadn't started licking his collar, making him laugh and waking Dean up.
The first Shoe lasted a whole week, until John found him chewing on one of his favorite pairs of boots.
The next Shoe was actually found by Dean, and she was a Shoe-ana, he teased. She was with them from Tuesday until Thursday, when Sam gave her to the little girl whose dog had been swallowed whole by a Naga.
There were eleven Shoes in total; some were just sort of adopted from whatever town they happened to be in, others were given away to people who could give them stable homes, stable lives. There was a set of two Shoes for one week; Sam kept arguing with Dean over which was the real "Shoe" and which was "Sock". One met a rather tragic end when he jumped up on the bed while Dean was cleaning his gun. That's when they stopped picking up strays, when Sam realized that they couldn't keep a dog. They couldn't offer it a safe home.
However, Dean was always full of surprises. So there was that fateful rainy night, when he came knocking on Sam's door, looking like he'd crawled through hell and back, grave-dust on his shoulders.
(And he had, really; they scraped sulfur out from under his fingernails the next day.)
But underneath his worn, singed leather jacket, there was a wriggling lump. Sam was going for the hilt of his knife, thinking Dean had brought back something from beyond.
It was a puppy. A black one, that flashed red eyes at Sam for a moment before yawning and settling against Dean with a tired sigh.
"It's a baby hellhound," Sam said.
"Hellpuppy," Dean said, brushing past Sam and making a beeline for the kitchen. He unzipped his jacket and placed it on the floor.
"You can't keep it."
"Why can't I, Sam? It's the new Shoe."
"It's evil!"
"It wasn't evil when it saved my soul from an eternity in hell."
Sam pulled his mouth tight together, frowning and furrowing his brow. "Well it can't be Shoe. We never got to keep a Shoe for more than a few weeks."
"Okay, then it's Boots."
"Boots is a cat's name."
Dean rolled his eyes and leaned against the countertop. "Oh and what, you're the authority on naming dogs, now?"
Before Sam could respond, the puppy was yipping at him slightly, with a tone rich and deep, not like a sound a normal puppy would make. Sam bent down and softly touched its head, running a finger behind its ears, and it wagged all three of its whip-like tails.
"So you saved my brother, huh?" Sam whispered to it. It barked in response. Sam lifted it up into his arms and really got a good look at it. It was rather cute, as he assumed hellpuppies went.
"Sammy," Dean started, stepping closer to him. "I know, it's kind of a screwed up pet, but," he took a deep breath and leaned close, "we're kinda screwed up too. You're one step removed from being the Prince of Darkness, and I've died more times than Buffy."
"So you're saying we should embrace the weirdness and raise a baby Hellhound to fight on our side."
Dean shrugged. "It works in the comics."
Sam kissed him, kissed him tasting the dirt in the corner of his mouth, the dryness of his mouth, kissed him, feeling him kiss back, moving his thumb to rub across Sam's cheek. Kissed Dean for every day he wanted him back, and knew he couldn't. Kissed Dean to make up for everything he failed at, everyone he could never save. Kissed Dean because he came back for him.
"Beelzepup," was the best that Dean could come up with.
*
For cathybites: More Professor!Dean and TA!Sam (from this entry, if you're confused. Question #8.)
"You definitely want to avoid Professor Joseph, she's like Joseph Stalin but without the accent. Although I wouldn't put it past her to speak like a Bond villain. And definitely don't sit in the front row if you're sitting in on Professor Stoll's class, there's a reason we call him 'Bad Breath Bob', y'know?"
Sam thinks that maybe she's the one calling him that, but he nods and smiles anyway. She snaps her gum and continues filling him in on all the gossip.
"Professor Kaplan is amazing though, he wrote me a really nice letter of recommendation; same with Professor Miller, and she's like the Mom of the department. Dr. Rosenbluth is like, crazy-smart, he's really cool about letting you use his office to study in over the weekends-I'd never have gotten my 2nd-year thesis done without him. Also Professor Lamothe will write you a recommendation even if she's only known you a week, she's really easy to work for. Same with Professor Winchester, he's just happy if you show up on time. And he's really happy if you bring an extra coffee or sandwich with you when you do."
Sam stifles a cough and a laugh, or maybe both at the same time, and leans in closer. "Uh, yeah? I think I'm gonna work for him. I put in my resume the other day."
"Well good luck! Everybody wants to work for him. The girls think he's hot, and the guys wanna get into his storage room and see all his mummified hands and skulls and stuff. Well, the straight guys wanna see that. Ugh, he never cleans that damn room, it's full of cobwebs and dust. But still it's really an easy gig. You just have to pull his lecture notes before his class, and make sure none of the undergrad girls get too frisky and his wife finds out."
Sam does choke this time, on his own saliva. "Wh-what did you say?"
"It's nothing! He doesn't mess around, doesn't touch them, they just get really forward and he needs someone to run interference-"
"No! I meant," Sam clears his throat, "I meant, his wife? He's married?"
"Uh yeah, well I figured he was, or maybe they're just like one of those couples that never break up. He's always talking about having to run home and 'see to the little lady'." She turns her head to one side. "I mean, I thought he was talking about a wife, I hope it wasn't a cat or something."
Sam takes a deep breath and tries not to show his fists clenching at his sides.
***
One minute, Dean's watching Dirty Jobs, the next he's flipped upside down, and slung over Sam's shoulder so he watches his ass wriggle back and forth as Sam carries him away from the living room. Dean also takes note of the fact that Sam is bare-ass naked. And as such, Dean feels it necessary to reach out with his hand and slap his ass, making that really nice, cracking sound.
Sam stops and growls low in his throat, but continues to walk Dean to the bedroom. Dean laughs and just sort of hangs there, admiring the view. Sam throws him on the bed and makes that noise again before crushing his lips to Dean's.
Dean starts shrugging out of his pants, fumbling with the fly and wriggling around in Sam's arms. Sam stops for a moment to let Dean start unbuttoning his shirt, busies himself by licking and sucking at the crook of Dean's neck.
"Not that I'm, uhhhh." Dean leans into the touch. "Complaining! But-"
Sam lifts his head to stare at Dean and snarl. "Little. Lady."
Dean blinks a few times. "Well, okay, so I may have misused the word 'little'."
"I am going to make you worship my cock like a god."
"Like I don't already?"
"Little! Lady!"
And that was the last thing Sam said before he pounced on Dean.
***
One broken lamp, three buttons bitten off, and a sheet ripped from the friction. Dean panting on Sam's chest as he lightly dozes.
"I'm going to make you sit in my office and transcribe all of my lectures on ancient Babylonian farm tools," Dean says, still trying to catch his breath.
"Mmm hmmm," Sam hums.
"Naked! You're going to sit in that little desk chair and type up long, boring lectures on agriculture in my office, with the heat all the way up. And then I'm going to make you translate them into Cantonese."
"No, you're not."
"… No, I'm probably not going to. I'm going to have you sit under my desk and give me head while I grade papers, though."
"Man, the other grad students were right. You are that easy."
*
For lazy_daze: Jared/Jensen, blanket!
The Worm Turns
"You wouldn't know by looking at him," Jared says, throwing back another stinging shot of tequila. "But Jensen is a total blanket hog. He wraps himself up like a fuckin' cat-a-piller. And then every mornin' a bee-you-tee-ful butterfly comes out and scratches himself while drinking coffee on the couch. It's like a fuckin' episode of Wild Kingdom, and shit."
The table starts laughing and then stops suddenly. Jared feels a hand come down on his shoulders gripping tight.
Jared knows it's Jensen when the bottle of tequila magically flies off of the table and there's this familiar lilt in the side of his ear talking about truth serum and one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor. Jared doesn't quite understand but Jensen's at the perfect angle for him to lick salty sweat from his nape, and Jensen leans in and nips at his neck.
Jensen and him fuck that night, even though he's stupid drunk and the man is a whirl of colors in tunneled vision. Jared feels his cock slide into him, feels Jensen beneath him or above him, he can't tell anymore. Tight, bracing pressure on his dick and short fingernails digging into his back, rough stubble on his cheek, sandpaper caress. Tongue on his earlobe, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand.
There's movement, either Jensen's riding him or he's actually found the state of mind to thrust in and out and it doesn't matter. It feels good, feels like the sting of tequila in his throat when they kiss. Feels like the tart of lime in Jensen's taste, the quick way he moves his lips against Jared's. Jared is in a vise, wherever time slows to a crawl.
When Jared wakes up, he's twined in the sheets and the blanket, wrapped up like a mummy or a burrito-he can't decide which. There's a layer of fabric, and a layer of Jensen splayed across his body, and then a layer of blanket. He's so warm, and even through the headache of the liquor he feels so nice all tucked-in tight, with love and the lingering smell of sex and Jensen-
Jensen burps loudly in his ear before rolling off to the side, taking all the blankets with him.
*
For nomelon: How about Sam/Dean, middle of a heatwave, Dean's first ever tub of haagen-dazs and he doesn't want to share.
Um, okay I needed to take liberty with this prompt, since I don't write Wee!cest and I'm sure Dean's had Häagen Dazs before he turned 21...
Neapolitan
Dean isn't very good at sharing.
He's good at other things. For example, he's very good at getting Sam in a state of undress. He's very good at keeping him in that state of undress, and while he has the opportunity, he's good at licking his way down Sam's chest. He's good at straddling Sam's hips just so, with the right friction of his thighs against Sam's, and his free hand working Sam's cock. He's good at teasing Sam with his tongue, licking vanilla and strawberry from the dip of his stomach. He's good at somehow talking Sam into licking chocolate from his fingers, wetting them so Dean can fucking split him open. He's good and making Sam hiss and shiver from the cold. He's good at making Sam scream.
But he's not good at sharing the leftover ice-cream afterwards. Nope. All Sam has are freezer burns on his stomach and saliva and sticky come when they're done and Dean's sitting on the kitchen counter, sucking on a spoon with a Cheshire smile.
*
For trueshellz: Dean/Sam & a lollipop.
52
Schlurp. "Forty-eight."
Sam steadies his hand on the steering wheel.
Schlurp. "Forty-nine."
But really, it's no use, he knows it's coming.
Schlurp. "Fifty! And now it's time for a very special lick…" And Dean's mouth is sticky with sugar, wet form saliva, surrounding the red candy and sucking.
"Dean…"
"Fifty-one, what?"
"I know you're bored because you can't drive because you broke your arm."
"I can't drive because someone threatened to break my other arm." Dean mutters
"That being said!" Sam says, raising his voice. "You? Are making me insane. Bite the damn lollipop or keep the freaking count to yourself."
Dean cocks his eyebrow. "Come on Sam, I want to know how many licks it takes." Schlurp "Fifty-two."
"All right!" Sam shouts, pulling off at the nearest exit, and stopping at the side of the road, away from the traffic. And there, in the tall green glass, flecked with lemony-yellow weeds and buzzing with the sounds of cicadas, there, Sam presses Dean to the ground, and tongues open his mouth. Careful of his arm in the sling, he grinds against Dean. And Dean's hand reaches out to touch the side of Sam's face, hearing Sam whisper into his ear, "I want you, I want your mouth, I want your taste."
Sam's hands are fumbling with Dean's belt, undoing the clasp and the fly and grabbing his cock. "I want you to fuck me." Dean nods, stretching out and letting Sam lick his cock and wet his own palm with his saliva. Sam's big, warm hand on his dick, and it's squeezing and stroking, making Dean hard. Dean's so turned on he can hardly think, all that goes through his body is a tremble as he realizes Sam is going to get him hard, bring him close, and then Sam is going to stretch himself, going to ride Dean's cock until he comes and collapses on top of Dean. Knows they're going to fuck in the summer sun, in the tall, green grass, going to sweat and cling to each other like there's no one else in the world.
And through that haze of sex and sweat, Dean makes a note to himself.
Fifty-two.
*
For wendy: MPREG
Hippocampus erectus
"So how's my favorite little seahorse doing?"
Jared looks up from his breakfast and glares daggers at him. "Y'know, Dr. Ackles I hate when you call me that, and how are you so chipper in the morning?" Jensen shrugs and Jared returns to his Lucky Charms, which he's got balanced atop the swell of his stomach.
Jensen rolls his eyes and dips in to snatch the bowl away. "Stop that," he says, putting the bowl on the side-table of the hospital bed. Jared makes that adorable little hurt-face, and Jensen has to take a deep breath as he sits in the chair by his bedside.
It's sad, really, falling for his patient like this. But Jared is gorgeous, tall, a smile brighter than the sun.
And pregnant. But apparently that didn't deter Jensen's libido one bit. Jensen thought that was the best part of the whole thing, his unflinching fear of commitment and inability to keep a steady relationship for more that two months. Then in comes Jared Padalecki, and the hospital's Board of Directors call Jensen, a nurse practitioner, and two ultrasound technicians into a secret meeting to explain the delicate "situation". Turns out he's related to one of the hospital's most charitable donors, one with enough clout to convince them that they need a male OB-GYN to be on-call for the duration of Jared's stay. No questions asked.
Jensen never needed to ask anyway, Jared talked a mile a minute. Within the first hour of meeting him he knew how it happened (drunk, full moon, broke an ancient tribal fertility statue in a museum when he was 11, mercury in retrograde maybe), the father's name (Chad something-something), the name of Jared's pet goldfish from second grade (Swimmy), and how many slices of pizza he fit into his mouth the night before (three and a half, with jalapeños and grilled chicken). Jensen just tried to note it all down as quickly as possible, and told Jared to stay away from the peppers if he wanted the stomach cramps to subside.
And now he'd been Jared's personal doctor for almost seven months. But Jared didn't really treat him like a doctor. He cared more about getting Jensen to sneak off and play Madden with him or watch movies than about how far along he was.
Jared wasn't a typical spoiled rich kid, and that was what his father hated. He just seemed so apathetic to the power and influence his dad's money had over the world. They met every week and argued for hours on end about whether or not Jared should put the baby up for adoption. His father said no, on the grounds of the fact that he didn't want a member of their family to be treated as such, and Jared would ask if he meant "member" or "heir". Jared wanted to let someone who couldn't have a baby have his, or at least just make sure it didn't become some medical experiment in some lab somewhere.
Jensen shook his head clear when he realized he'd been musing for far too long and Jared was whispering into his stethoscope. "Does my shoulder have a heartbeat yet?"
"Uh, um, yes! No, I mean-" Jensen laughs and tugs at his ear. "Sorry about that, could you sit up for me?"
Jared hisses at the cold stethoscope on his back and Jensen mumbles another apology and has him breathe deeply. "So, it's eight months now, right?" Jared asks, hand unconsciously going to touch his gigantic belly beneath his pajamas.
There was one thing Jared insisted on getting Jensen to do, and that was at every month, since he started showing, Jensen had to draw a line on the paper they stuck on the wall for him. Jared explained that part of the reason was that he wanted something to remember the experience by, the other being that it freaked out his father.
"Right, let's just get your pulse and your blood pressure," Jensen says.
"Of course, of course, you want me to put out first, I get it."
"Jared." Jensen gives him a warning tone, but he's smiling so it kind of ruins it.
He finishes taking the vitals, all normal, all going smoothly and Jared tries to slide out of bed easily but he lets out a huge breath with a "Whuff!"
"You okay?" Jensen's at his side, helping him stand.
"That was... embarrassing." Jared tries to laugh it off as Jensen helps him stand by the wall and starts tracing the swell of his stomach with a sharpie.
Jensen finishes and caps the sharpie, facing Jared and sliding his hands in his pockets for his pen and notebook. "So how's it going otherwise? Everything oh-"
"I'm fucking horny as hell and if I don't get laid soon I'm going to go insane."
"-kay," Jensen clears his throat. "Well that's perfectly, um, normal considering your hormone levels-"
Jared interrupts Jensen by grabbing him by his scrubs and pulling him in tight, kissing him hard. Jensen's eyes go wide and flutter shut, his hands reaching out and holding Jared.
Jared lets him go, panting and whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" against Jensen's mouth, lips still brushing against Jensen's.
Jensen's hand is resting on Jared's stomach, rubbing little circles against him. Jared realizes this and looks down, face flushing red. "Ummm, you need to, you need to stop doing that. Because it's turning me on and, fuck everything you do makes me crazy, Jensen. Even when you call me your little seahorse, I say I hate it but really it makes me jump around inside and, fuck I wanna ask you out on a date or something but-"
"But I'm your doctor," Jensen finishes.
"You’re the-the only doctor I want for me. I don't want to find someone else now."
"You won't have to. We're going to pretend this didn't happen." Jensen stops, biting his bottom lip and quickly, like mercury he drops to a crouch and pulls up Jared's tee. He kisses his stomach, just once, and Jared makes this sweet little moan in the back of his throat and Jensen stands up again, letting his shirt go. "We're going to pretend that didn't happen too."
"Okay, okay," Jared nods. "It's just, another month, right?"
"Just... another month." Jensen swallows.
*
Trufax: I totally had a goldfish named Swimmy. He lived for FIVE YEARS. I was impressed.
For thehighwaywoman: Sam/Dean? Sleepy boys on an early morning?
Doll Parts
"Sam, Sam." Warm breath in his ear, murmuring his name, a reverie.
"Sam..." Deep, scratchy voice, strained from sleep and from the night before. Yelling for him through the wails of the phantom sirens they were hunting. "Sam, you have to-" And Dean trails off again, lips against Sam's ear, body pressed flush to his.
Sam thinks maybe Dean's trying to wake him up for a moment, but there's no urgency. His body is limp in Sam's arms. Soft and ply, Sam can cradle him close and he'll go with it. He's a ragdoll, with the stitches to show for it. Scars and holes sealed up by Sam's nimble fingers.
"Dean?" Sam whispers back, brushing Dean's stubbled face with his thumb. And Dean doesn't open his eyes, just lets out another breath against Sam's face. Unintelligible mutterings, and Sam knows he's just half-dreaming.
It's morning, but the sky is overcast, raindrops fall fat against the windows of the motel room. The air smells like it's going to storm all day, wet, dreary and cold. Sam can feel it in his bones. He can already anticipate trudging through mud and getting his socks wet through his shoes because Dean has a fondness for leading him through the more heavily puddled areas, so he can tromp and splash right through them with his boots on.
"Sam, you have to wake up," Dean starts up again, this time squeezing his eyes shut tight and moaning, rubbing against Sam.
"Dean? Dean I'm awake," Sam answers, kissing the top of Dean's head, trying to smooth Dean's crinkled brow with his thumb.
"Sam, wake up," Dean whispers again before shifting in Sam's arms, over to the other side of the bed and Sam lets him. He's tired, worn and Sam stares at Dean's back. Bullet wound, a scrape that just nicked the skin, missing his spine by fractions and hairlines.
Dean is a mosaic. Like doll parts, all stitches and scar tissue at the joints. And patches of perfect pale skin, in-between the wounds and pounds of flesh taken away.
Sam hears the rain snap against the glass, and reaches for Dean.
*
For jenadamson: Jared/Jensen + the Pixies. :D
And, ZOMG this is the most self-indulgent thing I've written this YEAR.
Grope For Luna
They meet in a bar, in Boston. Jared's one of those people who stands for something, like capitalists and communist, lots of things he's heard about. He's a real left-winger who'd been to Mexico and Guatemala, and seen poverty and famine and held little children in his arms. Jensen can almost picture it. Little peasant children climbing in his great big arms, and Jared spinning them, laughing. Jared looks into his beer and says, "There're some stories I could tell you."
The farthest south Jensen'd been was to swim in the Caribbean, little fish around his legs and feet, and feeling so awkward all he could do was clink his glass to Jared's and say: "Politics go so good with beer."
Jared smiles. Big, huge smile, teeth as white as snow.
Later in that shady little corner Jared's got his tongue in Jensen's ear when Jensen tells him, "I wanna be a singer like Lou Reed."
"I like Lou Reed," Jared says.
***
"So I was living with my sister in New Jersey," Jensen says. The bar is closed, but they've moved the conversation outside, just walking through the nearly empty streets. Jared's looking at the moon in one of those kinds of ways, so Jensen knows that there's more to the meaning. "Not for very long though, but there was this motorcycle accident and she told me-"
"Hey," Jared interrupts, low voice, hand reaching out to stop Jensen's lips with his fingers. "I already like you."
Jensen screws his face. "Even if I really don't know about surrealist French cinema or even if I don't care about the ten million pounds of sludge killing the fish from New York and New Jersey?"
"I don't mean maybe," Jared says, because he's drunk and poetic like that.
*
Songs cited: Where Is My Mind, Gigantic, I've Been Tired, U-Mass, Vamos, Nimrod's Son, Subbacultcha, Hey, Debaser, Monkey Gone To Heaven, La La Love You.
Download them all here.
*sigh* Oh writing fic, I missed you so... :D