Prompt Responses: Slash
Here are the prompt responses that you asked for over here. Since I know that some of you are non-Wincest, I separated the responses into two different posts: one for the gen and one for the Wincest.
Both of these are exactly 500 words, and they do feel a bit short since I couldn't go completely overboard on my usual detailed descriptions. I really hope everyone likes theirs.
- - - - -
For
drvsilla: Supernatural. Sam/Dean, as explicit as you want. Something happy- a contented moment.
Dean wakes to the smell of maple syrup. The blankets around him are soft and warm, forming a comforting cocoon from which he does not want to leave. He buries his face deep within the scattered array of pillows, smelling familiar cotton and crisp detergent. Then, he hears the sound of dishes. The china clink of plates and the metallic plink of silverware, the tap of glasses and the scrape of a cast iron frying pan.
Curiosity pulls him from bed and drags his feet to the floor. He grabs his bathrobe-navy blue terrycloth with a hole in one of the pockets-from a hook on the back of the door as he exits the bedroom and makes his way into the kitchen. The smell of syrup grows stronger, and there’s the nostalgic scent of breakfast food in the air as well.
When he enters the kitchen, Sam is setting a plate heaping with pancakes-light, fluffy and brown-onto the table, and he looks up as Dean comes closer.
“Hey. It’s about time that you woke up,” Sam grins. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”
Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment, allowing his eyes to scan over the table where their cracked dishes share the space with orange juice and butter, black coffee and honey. Then, he looks to Sam. Sam who is still in his green t-shirt and red flannel pants pajamas. Sam who has flour on the front of his shirt and scattered in his dark hair.
“You know how to cook?” Dean asks, even though the question has an obvious answer.
Sam nods, but doesn’t speak and instead moves closer to Dean, bringing his hand up and running his knuckles over Dean’s rough, morning unshaven cheek. His other hand slides around the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean raises his own fingers to touch the ends of Sam’s hair, dusted white with pancake flour.
Sam bends his head and kisses Dean, slowly, softly, nothing desperate or needy, nothing passionate or fiery, just sweet and tender. When he begins to move away, Dean pulls him back and their lips meet again. Sam tastes like maple syrup and orange juice, like morning sunshine and forgotten childhood laughter.
Dean’s hands are wrapped in Sam’s hair, long, silken strands slipping through his fingers, and he keeps kissing and kissing, as Sam’s arms wrap themselves around him. It’s comforting without being controlling, loving without being obsessive. It’s the perfect feel, and Dean sighs at the touch of the warm hands at his back.
Finally, he pulls back and looks up into Sam’s eyes. His younger brother’s face is flushed, and his skin is hot to the touch, but then Sam’s face breaks into a large, smirking grin, and he asks, “Are we ever going to eat?”
“You sure we have to?” Dean whispers.
Sam laughs quietly, knowing what Dean is searching for, but he walks away toward the table. “C’mon, Dean, let’s eat. Breakfast is waiting.”
- - - - -
For
shullerina: Dean & Sam at a bar, Dean's playing pool. And losing. And not on purpose. To someone we all know and love (yep, crossover please, anyone you like from anywhere). Extra points if Dean flirts with whoever and Sam gets jealous. Cos we all love a jealous Sam.
“Oh honey,” Dean purred, “you’re kicking my ass. You’re an amazing player, you know that?”
From the bar, Sam fought back to the urge to bang his head against the table. Instead, he took another deep gulp of his beer and shot a glare to the pool table where his brother grinned at a flashily dressed girl whose black hair had been teased in a glitter adorned afro.
“You are an idiot,” the girl snapped at Dean in a thick urban accent. “Original Cindy is gonna kick your ass. Not because she wanna go to bed with you, but because she’s just that good.”
“C’mon,” Dean chuckled, “who said anything about bed? Unless you’re feeling sleepy already.”
Sam gritted his teeth at how low Dean was stooping to get into bed with someone. Even though Sam had to admit that since they weren’t speaking to each other after the latest flop of a hunt, it had been too long since either of them had gotten any kind of sex.
But losing to a girl in pool? That was just a new low for Dean.
There was a sharp crack as the pool balls skittered across the green felt, and Dean whistled lowly. “You sank another one. Wow, you are just too good, honey. I mean, really, you could be showing me some moves. Want a new student?”
Sam lifted his head and turned to face the pool table. Dean was leaning against the table, smiling, while the girl rested her hand on her hip and raised her eyebrow. At a nearby table, a black-haired girl and a guy with a large nose and messy mop of hair clapped their hands, whistled, and cried, “Kick his ass, Cindy! Show him who’s got the moves around here!”
Cindy leaned down and shot again, but she missed, and her ball bounced off the sides of the table, away from any pockets.
“That’s okay. You’re still so much better than I’ll ever be,” Dean smiled pleasantly. He aimed, and while it was an incredibly easy shot that Sam had seen him make with a broken arm and black eye, Dean forced himself to miss. “Damn,” Dean said sheepishly, “how ‘bout that? I guess it’s your turn now, huh?”
“Aiight, that’s it. ‘Til you get it through your thick head that I ain’t sleepin’ with you, I ain’t playin’ no more,” Cindy said, snapping her fingers in front of Dean’s face.
“But, baby, who said anything about sleeping together?”
Sam finally had enough. He set his glass down sharply on the bar and crossed the room. Dean looked up. “Hey Sammy, I want you to meet-”
And before Dean could finish, Sam grabbed his face in his hands and mashed his lips fiercely against Dean’s, forcing his tongue inside Dean’s mouth. When Sam pulled away, both of them were breathless, and Cindy smirked. “Men. Such liars. You could’ve just said you liked the fellas to begin with. It would’ve been a lot less trouble.”
- - - - -
End
Both of these are exactly 500 words, and they do feel a bit short since I couldn't go completely overboard on my usual detailed descriptions. I really hope everyone likes theirs.
- - - - -
For
drvsilla: Supernatural. Sam/Dean, as explicit as you want. Something happy- a contented moment.
Dean wakes to the smell of maple syrup. The blankets around him are soft and warm, forming a comforting cocoon from which he does not want to leave. He buries his face deep within the scattered array of pillows, smelling familiar cotton and crisp detergent. Then, he hears the sound of dishes. The china clink of plates and the metallic plink of silverware, the tap of glasses and the scrape of a cast iron frying pan.
Curiosity pulls him from bed and drags his feet to the floor. He grabs his bathrobe-navy blue terrycloth with a hole in one of the pockets-from a hook on the back of the door as he exits the bedroom and makes his way into the kitchen. The smell of syrup grows stronger, and there’s the nostalgic scent of breakfast food in the air as well.
When he enters the kitchen, Sam is setting a plate heaping with pancakes-light, fluffy and brown-onto the table, and he looks up as Dean comes closer.
“Hey. It’s about time that you woke up,” Sam grins. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”
Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment, allowing his eyes to scan over the table where their cracked dishes share the space with orange juice and butter, black coffee and honey. Then, he looks to Sam. Sam who is still in his green t-shirt and red flannel pants pajamas. Sam who has flour on the front of his shirt and scattered in his dark hair.
“You know how to cook?” Dean asks, even though the question has an obvious answer.
Sam nods, but doesn’t speak and instead moves closer to Dean, bringing his hand up and running his knuckles over Dean’s rough, morning unshaven cheek. His other hand slides around the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean raises his own fingers to touch the ends of Sam’s hair, dusted white with pancake flour.
Sam bends his head and kisses Dean, slowly, softly, nothing desperate or needy, nothing passionate or fiery, just sweet and tender. When he begins to move away, Dean pulls him back and their lips meet again. Sam tastes like maple syrup and orange juice, like morning sunshine and forgotten childhood laughter.
Dean’s hands are wrapped in Sam’s hair, long, silken strands slipping through his fingers, and he keeps kissing and kissing, as Sam’s arms wrap themselves around him. It’s comforting without being controlling, loving without being obsessive. It’s the perfect feel, and Dean sighs at the touch of the warm hands at his back.
Finally, he pulls back and looks up into Sam’s eyes. His younger brother’s face is flushed, and his skin is hot to the touch, but then Sam’s face breaks into a large, smirking grin, and he asks, “Are we ever going to eat?”
“You sure we have to?” Dean whispers.
Sam laughs quietly, knowing what Dean is searching for, but he walks away toward the table. “C’mon, Dean, let’s eat. Breakfast is waiting.”
- - - - -
For
shullerina: Dean & Sam at a bar, Dean's playing pool. And losing. And not on purpose. To someone we all know and love (yep, crossover please, anyone you like from anywhere). Extra points if Dean flirts with whoever and Sam gets jealous. Cos we all love a jealous Sam.
“Oh honey,” Dean purred, “you’re kicking my ass. You’re an amazing player, you know that?”
From the bar, Sam fought back to the urge to bang his head against the table. Instead, he took another deep gulp of his beer and shot a glare to the pool table where his brother grinned at a flashily dressed girl whose black hair had been teased in a glitter adorned afro.
“You are an idiot,” the girl snapped at Dean in a thick urban accent. “Original Cindy is gonna kick your ass. Not because she wanna go to bed with you, but because she’s just that good.”
“C’mon,” Dean chuckled, “who said anything about bed? Unless you’re feeling sleepy already.”
Sam gritted his teeth at how low Dean was stooping to get into bed with someone. Even though Sam had to admit that since they weren’t speaking to each other after the latest flop of a hunt, it had been too long since either of them had gotten any kind of sex.
But losing to a girl in pool? That was just a new low for Dean.
There was a sharp crack as the pool balls skittered across the green felt, and Dean whistled lowly. “You sank another one. Wow, you are just too good, honey. I mean, really, you could be showing me some moves. Want a new student?”
Sam lifted his head and turned to face the pool table. Dean was leaning against the table, smiling, while the girl rested her hand on her hip and raised her eyebrow. At a nearby table, a black-haired girl and a guy with a large nose and messy mop of hair clapped their hands, whistled, and cried, “Kick his ass, Cindy! Show him who’s got the moves around here!”
Cindy leaned down and shot again, but she missed, and her ball bounced off the sides of the table, away from any pockets.
“That’s okay. You’re still so much better than I’ll ever be,” Dean smiled pleasantly. He aimed, and while it was an incredibly easy shot that Sam had seen him make with a broken arm and black eye, Dean forced himself to miss. “Damn,” Dean said sheepishly, “how ‘bout that? I guess it’s your turn now, huh?”
“Aiight, that’s it. ‘Til you get it through your thick head that I ain’t sleepin’ with you, I ain’t playin’ no more,” Cindy said, snapping her fingers in front of Dean’s face.
“But, baby, who said anything about sleeping together?”
Sam finally had enough. He set his glass down sharply on the bar and crossed the room. Dean looked up. “Hey Sammy, I want you to meet-”
And before Dean could finish, Sam grabbed his face in his hands and mashed his lips fiercely against Dean’s, forcing his tongue inside Dean’s mouth. When Sam pulled away, both of them were breathless, and Cindy smirked. “Men. Such liars. You could’ve just said you liked the fellas to begin with. It would’ve been a lot less trouble.”
- - - - -
End