PixCT: 02.11
It's that time again...
Fic
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
Preseries
~1000 words
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
DruCT: 09.17
DruCT: 09.24
DruCT: 10.01
DruCT: 10.08
DruCT: 10.15
DruCT: 10.22
DruCT: 10.29
DruCT: 11.05
DruCT: 11.12
DruCT: 11.19
DruCT: 01.21
PixCT: 01.21
DruCT: 01.28
PixCT: 01.28
DruCT: 02.04
PixCT: 02.04
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 02.11
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
Preseries
~1000 words
- - - - -
Dru's Pic Pick
Emma was a friend of Dad’s, a widow whose husband was killed by a werewolf out near the Mississippi River. She had two daughters, four and six, and whenever Dad pulled into the driveway, Emma always greeted him with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Her daughters liked to giggle at Dean and Sam, shy at first and then more talkative as the time passed.
Emma’s house was near the Appalachians in the southern part of the country where snow was a rare occasion. She had a small house, just enough room for her and the two girls, and she had a small farm with a few animals. But nothing about her place felt all that small to Dean, who was used to cramped motel rooms and being squished into the backseat of the Impala with Sam by his side.
Dad had driven over eight hours the day they arrived, and when Emma offered sleeping bags and the couch with a homemade dinner, Dad didn’t say no.
“You boys like chicken?” she asked Sam and Dean, who were sitting in the grass, as six year old Kristen tried to convince Sam that he’d be the perfect boyfriend for her.
Dean nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” Emma said. She turned to where Dad was coming out of her house. “You want to give me a hand, John?”
Dean watched as Dad followed her out to the shop where they emerged, Emma with an axe and Dad carrying a thick stump with cut marks across the top. They crossed the small yard to the chicken coop where white chickens squawked and fussed with each other. Dad and Emma disappeared from Dean’s sight, but he heard the scream of an angry chicken followed by the sharp whack of the axe. Then, the chicken was quiet, and moments passed before Dad and Emma came out of the coop again. This time, Dad held the chopping block and the axe, while Emma carried the headless chicken in her hand.
“Dean,” Dad said, “you mind watching Kristen and Sarah while me and Emma finish this up?”
Dean shrugged. He would have rather helped with the chicken, but he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice. So, he said, “Yeah, no problem.”
Kristen and Sarah didn’t remember their father. They knew he was dead, didn’t know what he’d died from, and Dean wasn’t about to explain. The girls didn’t know about hunting, didn’t know that their mom kept a shotgun under her bed and a devil’s trap drawn beneath the rug in the mudroom. Instead, they chattered on about dolls and tea parties, berry picking and the names of their favorite pet pigs. Kristen kept asking Sam if he’d be her boyfriend because they’d be perfect for each other, and Sarah wanted to Dean to push her on the tire swing.
In the backyard, the four of them played as best as they could together, although Dean felt so much older than the girls-not just in years-and he knew that Sam felt the same way, too. But, they pushed each other on the tire swing under the oak tree, and they ducked into bushes for hide-n-go-seek, all while screaming in delight. From inside the house, Dad and Emma talked, as they worked, and every now and then, Dean heard Dad laugh.
At last, as Sam was chasing kids back and forth for tag, Emma poked her head out of the house and called them in for dinner.
“Make sure you wash your hands!” she said as the four of them climbed up the porch steps and into the small bathroom in the mudroom where they fought for soap and water. Four pairs of hands tried to fit under the faucet, and soon, water was being splashed this way and that. But, little Sarah was too short to reach the sink, so Dean picked her up, arm around her waist and lifted her over Sam and Kristen so she could wash her hands properly.
At the table, they crammed in, seated on mismatched chairs that Emma had pulled from every room in the house just so they could all sit together. They held hands, heads bowed for the prayer, even though Dean wondered if the words were false because it sure didn’t seem like there was anyone up there listening and Sam kept rubbing his feet against Dean’s. For dinner, they dived into fried chicken and corn on the cob picked that afternoon, fluffy warm rolls and tangy rhubarb pie.
After dinner, once the dishes were cleaned and put away, everyone gathered in the darkened living room to watch one of Kristen and Sarah’s favorite movies. The two girls laughed, lying on the floor in front of the TV, while Emma sat in her rocking chair and John made himself comfortable in the recliner. Sam and Dean squeezed together on the couch, blanket pulled over them.
“Imagine having this,” Sam whispered.
Dean turned to look at him. “Yeah?” Beneath the blanket, he found Sam’s hand, squeezed and held.
“Maybe…we would have. If things had been…different.” He shifted, bringing their linked hands lower to brush over the bulge of his cock in his jeans. Before he could move again, Dean released his hand, cupped Sam through the denim, and smiled.
“Not that different is bad.”
Sam grinned back, the light of the movie flickering on his face in the dark room. “Not always, I suppose.” He leaned into Dean, his head coming to rest against Dean’s shoulder and eyes closing as Dean gently rubbed him to hardness, hidden beneath the blanket. “Maybe sometimes,” he agreed, “different isn’t all that bad.”
In the darkness, Dean risked a kiss on Sam’s head, even though he-they both-wanted so much more, but it would have to wait until the girls were off to bed and Dad was snoring asleep.
“Yeah, not all that bad,” Dean agreed and wrapped an arm around Sam to pull him close.
End
Fic
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
DruCT: 09.17
DruCT: 09.24
DruCT: 10.01
DruCT: 10.08
DruCT: 10.15
DruCT: 10.22
DruCT: 10.29
DruCT: 11.05
DruCT: 11.12
DruCT: 11.19
DruCT: 01.21
PixCT: 01.21
DruCT: 01.28
PixCT: 01.28
DruCT: 02.04
PixCT: 02.04
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 02.11
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
Preseries
~1000 words
- - - - -
Dru's Pic Pick
Emma was a friend of Dad’s, a widow whose husband was killed by a werewolf out near the Mississippi River. She had two daughters, four and six, and whenever Dad pulled into the driveway, Emma always greeted him with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Her daughters liked to giggle at Dean and Sam, shy at first and then more talkative as the time passed.
Emma’s house was near the Appalachians in the southern part of the country where snow was a rare occasion. She had a small house, just enough room for her and the two girls, and she had a small farm with a few animals. But nothing about her place felt all that small to Dean, who was used to cramped motel rooms and being squished into the backseat of the Impala with Sam by his side.
Dad had driven over eight hours the day they arrived, and when Emma offered sleeping bags and the couch with a homemade dinner, Dad didn’t say no.
“You boys like chicken?” she asked Sam and Dean, who were sitting in the grass, as six year old Kristen tried to convince Sam that he’d be the perfect boyfriend for her.
Dean nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” Emma said. She turned to where Dad was coming out of her house. “You want to give me a hand, John?”
Dean watched as Dad followed her out to the shop where they emerged, Emma with an axe and Dad carrying a thick stump with cut marks across the top. They crossed the small yard to the chicken coop where white chickens squawked and fussed with each other. Dad and Emma disappeared from Dean’s sight, but he heard the scream of an angry chicken followed by the sharp whack of the axe. Then, the chicken was quiet, and moments passed before Dad and Emma came out of the coop again. This time, Dad held the chopping block and the axe, while Emma carried the headless chicken in her hand.
“Dean,” Dad said, “you mind watching Kristen and Sarah while me and Emma finish this up?”
Dean shrugged. He would have rather helped with the chicken, but he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice. So, he said, “Yeah, no problem.”
Kristen and Sarah didn’t remember their father. They knew he was dead, didn’t know what he’d died from, and Dean wasn’t about to explain. The girls didn’t know about hunting, didn’t know that their mom kept a shotgun under her bed and a devil’s trap drawn beneath the rug in the mudroom. Instead, they chattered on about dolls and tea parties, berry picking and the names of their favorite pet pigs. Kristen kept asking Sam if he’d be her boyfriend because they’d be perfect for each other, and Sarah wanted to Dean to push her on the tire swing.
In the backyard, the four of them played as best as they could together, although Dean felt so much older than the girls-not just in years-and he knew that Sam felt the same way, too. But, they pushed each other on the tire swing under the oak tree, and they ducked into bushes for hide-n-go-seek, all while screaming in delight. From inside the house, Dad and Emma talked, as they worked, and every now and then, Dean heard Dad laugh.
At last, as Sam was chasing kids back and forth for tag, Emma poked her head out of the house and called them in for dinner.
“Make sure you wash your hands!” she said as the four of them climbed up the porch steps and into the small bathroom in the mudroom where they fought for soap and water. Four pairs of hands tried to fit under the faucet, and soon, water was being splashed this way and that. But, little Sarah was too short to reach the sink, so Dean picked her up, arm around her waist and lifted her over Sam and Kristen so she could wash her hands properly.
At the table, they crammed in, seated on mismatched chairs that Emma had pulled from every room in the house just so they could all sit together. They held hands, heads bowed for the prayer, even though Dean wondered if the words were false because it sure didn’t seem like there was anyone up there listening and Sam kept rubbing his feet against Dean’s. For dinner, they dived into fried chicken and corn on the cob picked that afternoon, fluffy warm rolls and tangy rhubarb pie.
After dinner, once the dishes were cleaned and put away, everyone gathered in the darkened living room to watch one of Kristen and Sarah’s favorite movies. The two girls laughed, lying on the floor in front of the TV, while Emma sat in her rocking chair and John made himself comfortable in the recliner. Sam and Dean squeezed together on the couch, blanket pulled over them.
“Imagine having this,” Sam whispered.
Dean turned to look at him. “Yeah?” Beneath the blanket, he found Sam’s hand, squeezed and held.
“Maybe…we would have. If things had been…different.” He shifted, bringing their linked hands lower to brush over the bulge of his cock in his jeans. Before he could move again, Dean released his hand, cupped Sam through the denim, and smiled.
“Not that different is bad.”
Sam grinned back, the light of the movie flickering on his face in the dark room. “Not always, I suppose.” He leaned into Dean, his head coming to rest against Dean’s shoulder and eyes closing as Dean gently rubbed him to hardness, hidden beneath the blanket. “Maybe sometimes,” he agreed, “different isn’t all that bad.”
In the darkness, Dean risked a kiss on Sam’s head, even though he-they both-wanted so much more, but it would have to wait until the girls were off to bed and Dad was snoring asleep.
“Yeah, not all that bad,” Dean agreed and wrapped an arm around Sam to pull him close.
End