I write a lot. And post a lot flocked, and every once in a while I like to dust off some ficlets and smush them all together for your enjoyment. :))title.
between G - R.pairing.
Sam/Dean (one slash, one pre-slash and two gen.)notes.
Each one is titled and rated individually, although the total wordcount is 475. Enjoy!
They were down, pressed back to back. It was dark and it was impossible to see anything further than three feet in any direction. They could hear though, and what they listened to was silence and the shuffling of feet; things unnatural, things nobody was supposed to know about.
Dean knew Sam was grinning even though he couldn’t see it. Passed back shotgun shells, felt Sam load up the chambers of every weapon he could, pass them back. He could feel the motion of Sam breathing, marrow deep ease and this was it.
They stood up together.
morning sam/dean schmoop
Sunday morning. Sam rolls over, sticks a leg over Dean’s hip and shoves his head against Dean’s shoulder. Dean sighs audibly, moves back to settle against Sam, twists enough to lick up Sam’s throat, to stick his palm against the bones on Sam’s hip, thumbs at the indent there. Sam makes a noise, presses his mouth at the side of Dean’s jaw, just behind his ear. Throws an arm over Dean’s chest and Dean stares up at the ceiling in supplication, goes back to sleep.
Nothing to kill. The motel coffee pot is perking, they’ll be out before it’s done but Dean grabs some anyways, lets it spill down into the base where it’ll burn. He puts it on the nightstand, pokes Sam awake. Sam opens an eye, stretches, sits up and blinks. He pulls some clothes on; Dean shoves his hand down Sam’s pants and Sam swats him away, laughs. Dean grins, lines at the corners of his mouth crinkling. He tosses Sam the keys, and nods at the door.
They leave the do not disturb sign on the handle; one bed untouched and the other a mess of rucked-up sheets still warm from their bodies.
vague sam/dean post-ep.2.15 coda.
Dean fought under him, struggled to get away and it wasn’t working; Sam wasn’t letting him go and Dean could spit nails, every vein was indignation. Sam pushed him down, height and weight an advantage, down into the bed and planted his knees on either side of Dean’s hips.
“Say you give.” Sam’s voice was too soft and too close behind Dean’s ear, like he was bending down, chest three inches above Dean’s back.
Dean’s voice was hard; his hands were twisted up behind him and he wouldn’t have met Sam’s eyes even if he could. “Fuck. Yeah, I give.”
for mcee's default icon challenge.
|It's reassuring how the car and everything it contains - rifles and pistols, shotgun shells loaded up, silver knives, holy water, sandwich wrappers, blankets, first aid kits, backseat wadded up into a nest of blankets, straps under the bench seat for ammunition, barely salvaged Zeppelin mix tapes, even his brother halfasleep with the side of his face pressed up against the glass of the shotgun side - everything it contains is exactly what he needs.|
Dean gets out of the car, leans up against the side of his home.