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five ficlets
Here are the ficlets from the ficlet meme I posted earlier! Also, apparently I couldn't write anything rated higher than PG-13 tonight unless it was Dean/Kristin Kreuk plus Zombie!Sam. IDK, either.
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deirdre_c: J2, skinny dipping. PG-13. 256 words.
So, Jared? Not exactly known for having the most brilliant ideas in the world. Jensen's been friends with the guy for five years, dating him for three -- you'd think he would have figured that this out by now, but no, apparently dating Jared has actually destroyed large numbers of Jensen's brain cells, like he's one of those drugs that leaves dime-sized holes in your brain every time you take it. Drugs would be the most likely explanation for what Jensen's currently doing: standing naked in the Pacific Ocean in the middle of the night in February, with his balls so shriveled up he's pretty sure they've actually receded back into his body.
"Skinny dipping is great, Jensen, come on!" was apparently all it took for Jensen to take off all his clothes and run after Jared, who thought it was hilarious when Jensen screamed like a girl at the first touch of the water, which is goddamned freezing, by the way, and then thought it was even more hilarious to grab Jensen around the waist and throw him into a wave.
"First one out of the water's a pussy!" Jared says.
"When I recover from hypothermia and mental trauma," Jensen tells him, shivering so hard that his teeth are actually chattering, "I'm going to cut off your balls and feed them to your dogs."
Jared grins. "What, you mean to tell me you're not having fun?"
"To your dogs," Jensen insists.
"Skinny dipping is awesome," Jared says happily.
"Also, you're never getting any ever again."
*
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notthequiettype: Dean/Kristin Kreuk with BONUS ZOMBIE!SAM. NC-17. 575 words.
"Look, I don't really have time to explain this," the guy says, grabbing her, "but I've got to sleep with you or a zombie's going to eat your brains."
Kristin's heard some weird pick-up lines in her time, but this one beats every other weird pick-up line she's ever heard, hands-down. "You realize Halloween was last week, right?"
The guy heaves this long suffering sigh and presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids. "I'll give you the 'the truth is out there' speech after this is all over, if you want. Right now, will you please just take my word for it?"
Kristin takes a long look at him. He's a really pretty guy, way prettier than Rosenbaum and Welling, freckle-nosed and the exact right amount of stubble, but there are the edges of bruises peeking out from under his collar that don't look like love bites and there's something about the way he's carrying himself -- simultaneously weary and fully alert -- that's making her really wonder about this guy. One thing's for sure: he totally doesn't need to rely on lines like "I've got to screw you to save the world" to get laid.
"What did you say your name was again?" she asks, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Dean," he says. "Come on, let's go." He grabs her hand and pulls her towards the back of the bar as if she'd actually said yes, which she didn't, except then he's pushing the door to the men's bathroom open and tearing at her jeans and huh, maybe "What's your name?" really did mean yes, because then he's shoving his own pants down, backing her against the wall and rolling a condom onto his cock.
"Sorry, we really don't have time," he says, and that's all the warning she gets before he's pushing up into her. She shudders a little, gasping, with the initial pain of it, but then she gets used to it and damn, Dean is good, fucking up into her hard and fast and slipping a hand down to work her clit.
That's when the bathroom door flies open -- literally, flies off its hinges -- and another guy walks in. He's even almost better looking than the one who's currently giving her the best quickie of her life, except for the odd pallor of his face and the reddish tint to his eyes.
"Nungh," says the new guy, walking right up to Kristin and Dean and sniffing Dean's neck.
"Back off, Sammy, you know can't have her now," Dean says, thrusting up into her harder.
"Gruht!" Sammy says insistently.
"Is that, like, your retarded brother or something?" Kristin asks.
"Something like that," Dean says, thumbing her clit until she comes, shuddering. Sammy is still breathing down Dean's neck, but apparently Dean can ignore him, and Kristin's too boneless to protest, even after Dean comes and pulls out.
"Right, well, anyway, we're out of here," Dean tells her, tossing the condom in the trashcan and zipping up his fly. "Uh, have a nice life! Come on, Sammy."
"Mlugk," Sammy replies, trailing after Dean.
"Huh," Kristin says to no one after they're gone. "That was weird." She pulls up her jeans and heads out of the bathroom. She's totally never going to West Hollywood bars on a Tuesday night again, although she has to admit: creepy as his retarded brother was, Dean was a fantastic lay.
*
Forlostt1: Sam/Dean, sleep medication. PG, and kind of more pre-slashy than slashy. 287 words.
There are a lot of things Dean's willing to put up with for his brother's sake, but being drooled all over and cuddled with is so far outside of the line of duty.
Sam's been having these nightmares ever since he got Dean out of the deal, see, really nasty ones about demons rising out of Hell and roasting Sam on a spit -- at least, that's what Dean's imagining, since Sam won't tell him a damned thing about them -- and he hasn't been sleeping hardly at all for the past month, trying to keep from having the nightmares. Which, y'know, Dean doesn't blame him for, but he needs Sam to stay sharp, so Sam doesn't fall asleep on guard duty and accidentally get Dean killed right after he went to all the trouble to get Dean out of the deal in the first place.
So Dean forges a prescription for sleeping pills while Sam's in the Laundromat and hands him the bottle after dinner. "You're taking these whether I have to hold you down or not," Dean tells him.
Sam snorts. "Good luck with that." He dry-swallows three of the pills, though, and promptly lies down and goes to sleep. On top of Dean.
"Yugh, get off me," Dean says, trying to shove him away, but Sam's fast asleep. They weren't even sitting all that close on the bed before, but somehow Sam has managed to sprawl all over Dean's side, snuggle in close and cling to Dean's t-shirt like he's never planning on letting go. And well, Dean? It's a good thing Sam's already asleep, because otherwise he might figure out that Dean doesn't want him to let go, drooling in Dean's face and all.
*
Fortvm: Sam/Dean, spice. PG. 430 words.
For his twenty-sixth birthday, Sam makes Dean take him out for Indian. "Birthday boy picks the restaurant," Sam says.
"'Birthday boy' just got about eight times gayer for calling himself that," Dean says.
"Says the guy who had my dick up his ass three hours ago," Sam replies serenely.
The Indian place Sam picks is in a strip mall with a discount mattress store on one side and the utterly baffling combination of a dentist/gynecologist office on the other. The restaurant is nice inside, though: white tablecloths on the tables and clean carpeting. Other than an elderly couple, he and Dean are the only ones in the place. They get a booth by the buffet, hot complicated smells on the air.
It's been a while since Sam's had Indian. He and Jess used to go to a cheap place near their apartment that had a five-dollar lunch deal. Jess knew all the names of the dishes, which ones were mild and which ones were so spicy you'd want a glass of milk to soothe the heat. Sam's forgotten the names by now, and Dean never learned them in the first place, so Sam just orders them both the buffet plate and tells Dean, "Just get some of everything, it's all gonna be good."
Sam's right about that: everything is good, thick yogurt sauces and potatoes and a meat he thinks is lamb, saffron-yellow cauliflower and soft hot bread. The spiciness builds slowly, along with the lethargy of too much good food, and the light in the restaurant is golden, touching on the stubble on Dean's jaw.
Dean's still eating even after Sam quits, and makes the mistake of biting down hard on a pepper hiding in some sauce. "Ahh, Jesus," Dean swears, grabbing for his water.
Sam stops his hand. "That'll only make it worse," he says. "You want milk. Or bread."
"Milk? What am I, three?" Dean's face is reddened with the heat.
"It'll help," Sam insists, but seeing as there isn't any of it around, he does the next best thing: he leans across the table, cups Dean's face in his hand and kisses him, sharing the heat of the pepper on his tongue. Beneath the pepper, Dean's mouth tastes of curry and sweet cheese, and he makes a soft sound in his throat when Sam pulls away.
"That feel any better?" Sam asks.
"You're so the girl in this relationship," Dean says. He curls the corner of his mouth down. "But yeah, a little."
"I'll take what I can get," Sam says, smiling back.
*
Fordeadboywalking: Sam/Dean, the frog/toad from Bedtime Stories. PG. 547 words.
When Dean opens the door of the Impala and finds that freaking enormous toad that was following them around all weekend sitting in the driver's seat, he's more than a little weirded out.
"Get out of my car!" he yells at it.
It just sits there and stares at Dean, impassive, its throat muscles working.
"Seriously, stop sliming up my car!" Dean tells it.
"What are you yelling about?" Sam says, walking up to the door and following Dean's line of sight. "Wait, is that the same toad we kept seeing in--"
"Yeah," Dean says. "It must've hitchhiked or something. Dude, what the hell? I thought we were done with this fairytales shit. Callie's gone."
Sam frowns. "Yeah, me too. Unless . . ."
It's never good when Sam gets his thinking-face on, but Dean asks anyway. "Unless what?"
"Well, 'The Frog Prince' wasn't really like the other fairytales we ran into, you know?"
"No, princess, I don't know, so why don't you explain?"
Sam sighs heavily. "Nobody gets hurt in 'The Frog Prince,' Dean. Not even in the Brothers Grimm version."
"Great, so it's not our problem. Let's kick the toad out of here."
"I don't know," Sam says slowly. "Maybe there's still something supernatural going on here."
"And how do you think we're going to find out if there is or not?"
"Well," Sam says thoughtfully, "there is one way." He looks pointedly at the toad.
It takes Dean a second to get it. "Gross. I'm not kissing that!"
"I'll rock-paper-scissors you for it," Sam says.
Generally Dean's pretty convinced that he's a genius, but seriously, after twenty-eight years he'd have thought he'd have figured out to never agree to rock-paper-scissors when he didn't actually want Sam to win.
"This is disgusting," Dean says to both Sam and the toad.
"Pucker up, dude," Sam says gleefully.
Dean scowls and picks up the toad. It's way heavier and more wriggly than it has any right to be. "I can't fucking believe I'm doing this," Dean says, then presses his lips to the toad's mouth.
Exactly nothing at all happens, and Sam bursts into six-year-old girl giggles. "Never mind. Guess it's just a toad after all!" he snorts.
"You're not getting a blowjob again for a month," Dean tells him, leaning over and dumping the toad on the ground. It croaks and hops away into the grass behind the Impala. "Or, in fact, ever."
"That's okay, I don't want your mouth anywhere near my dick after that," Sam says.
Just for that, Dean grabs him and lays a big one on Sam's mouth, making sure to get his lips on as much of Sam's face as possible. "Can't fucking believe you made me do that."
"Hey, no one forced you to do it, toad lips."
"Toad lips? That's pretty weak, even for you."
"You're the one who kissed a toad, dude."
"Yeah, and you're the one who's gonna find himself sleeping in the Impala tonight, so have fun with that," Dean says, slipping the key card out of Sam's pocket and making a break for the hotel room.
And okay, so Sam shoves his foot in the door before Dean can get the safety chain slotted, but whatever. Dean will find a way to get his revenge.
*
Whee, that was fun! *passes out*
For
deirdre_c: J2, skinny dipping. PG-13. 256 words.So, Jared? Not exactly known for having the most brilliant ideas in the world. Jensen's been friends with the guy for five years, dating him for three -- you'd think he would have figured that this out by now, but no, apparently dating Jared has actually destroyed large numbers of Jensen's brain cells, like he's one of those drugs that leaves dime-sized holes in your brain every time you take it. Drugs would be the most likely explanation for what Jensen's currently doing: standing naked in the Pacific Ocean in the middle of the night in February, with his balls so shriveled up he's pretty sure they've actually receded back into his body.
"Skinny dipping is great, Jensen, come on!" was apparently all it took for Jensen to take off all his clothes and run after Jared, who thought it was hilarious when Jensen screamed like a girl at the first touch of the water, which is goddamned freezing, by the way, and then thought it was even more hilarious to grab Jensen around the waist and throw him into a wave.
"First one out of the water's a pussy!" Jared says.
"When I recover from hypothermia and mental trauma," Jensen tells him, shivering so hard that his teeth are actually chattering, "I'm going to cut off your balls and feed them to your dogs."
Jared grins. "What, you mean to tell me you're not having fun?"
"To your dogs," Jensen insists.
"Skinny dipping is awesome," Jared says happily.
"Also, you're never getting any ever again."
*
For
notthequiettype: Dean/Kristin Kreuk with BONUS ZOMBIE!SAM. NC-17. 575 words."Look, I don't really have time to explain this," the guy says, grabbing her, "but I've got to sleep with you or a zombie's going to eat your brains."
Kristin's heard some weird pick-up lines in her time, but this one beats every other weird pick-up line she's ever heard, hands-down. "You realize Halloween was last week, right?"
The guy heaves this long suffering sigh and presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids. "I'll give you the 'the truth is out there' speech after this is all over, if you want. Right now, will you please just take my word for it?"
Kristin takes a long look at him. He's a really pretty guy, way prettier than Rosenbaum and Welling, freckle-nosed and the exact right amount of stubble, but there are the edges of bruises peeking out from under his collar that don't look like love bites and there's something about the way he's carrying himself -- simultaneously weary and fully alert -- that's making her really wonder about this guy. One thing's for sure: he totally doesn't need to rely on lines like "I've got to screw you to save the world" to get laid.
"What did you say your name was again?" she asks, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Dean," he says. "Come on, let's go." He grabs her hand and pulls her towards the back of the bar as if she'd actually said yes, which she didn't, except then he's pushing the door to the men's bathroom open and tearing at her jeans and huh, maybe "What's your name?" really did mean yes, because then he's shoving his own pants down, backing her against the wall and rolling a condom onto his cock.
"Sorry, we really don't have time," he says, and that's all the warning she gets before he's pushing up into her. She shudders a little, gasping, with the initial pain of it, but then she gets used to it and damn, Dean is good, fucking up into her hard and fast and slipping a hand down to work her clit.
That's when the bathroom door flies open -- literally, flies off its hinges -- and another guy walks in. He's even almost better looking than the one who's currently giving her the best quickie of her life, except for the odd pallor of his face and the reddish tint to his eyes.
"Nungh," says the new guy, walking right up to Kristin and Dean and sniffing Dean's neck.
"Back off, Sammy, you know can't have her now," Dean says, thrusting up into her harder.
"Gruht!" Sammy says insistently.
"Is that, like, your retarded brother or something?" Kristin asks.
"Something like that," Dean says, thumbing her clit until she comes, shuddering. Sammy is still breathing down Dean's neck, but apparently Dean can ignore him, and Kristin's too boneless to protest, even after Dean comes and pulls out.
"Right, well, anyway, we're out of here," Dean tells her, tossing the condom in the trashcan and zipping up his fly. "Uh, have a nice life! Come on, Sammy."
"Mlugk," Sammy replies, trailing after Dean.
"Huh," Kristin says to no one after they're gone. "That was weird." She pulls up her jeans and heads out of the bathroom. She's totally never going to West Hollywood bars on a Tuesday night again, although she has to admit: creepy as his retarded brother was, Dean was a fantastic lay.
*
For
lostt1: Sam/Dean, sleep medication. PG, and kind of more pre-slashy than slashy. 287 words.There are a lot of things Dean's willing to put up with for his brother's sake, but being drooled all over and cuddled with is so far outside of the line of duty.
Sam's been having these nightmares ever since he got Dean out of the deal, see, really nasty ones about demons rising out of Hell and roasting Sam on a spit -- at least, that's what Dean's imagining, since Sam won't tell him a damned thing about them -- and he hasn't been sleeping hardly at all for the past month, trying to keep from having the nightmares. Which, y'know, Dean doesn't blame him for, but he needs Sam to stay sharp, so Sam doesn't fall asleep on guard duty and accidentally get Dean killed right after he went to all the trouble to get Dean out of the deal in the first place.
So Dean forges a prescription for sleeping pills while Sam's in the Laundromat and hands him the bottle after dinner. "You're taking these whether I have to hold you down or not," Dean tells him.
Sam snorts. "Good luck with that." He dry-swallows three of the pills, though, and promptly lies down and goes to sleep. On top of Dean.
"Yugh, get off me," Dean says, trying to shove him away, but Sam's fast asleep. They weren't even sitting all that close on the bed before, but somehow Sam has managed to sprawl all over Dean's side, snuggle in close and cling to Dean's t-shirt like he's never planning on letting go. And well, Dean? It's a good thing Sam's already asleep, because otherwise he might figure out that Dean doesn't want him to let go, drooling in Dean's face and all.
*
For
tvm: Sam/Dean, spice. PG. 430 words.For his twenty-sixth birthday, Sam makes Dean take him out for Indian. "Birthday boy picks the restaurant," Sam says.
"'Birthday boy' just got about eight times gayer for calling himself that," Dean says.
"Says the guy who had my dick up his ass three hours ago," Sam replies serenely.
The Indian place Sam picks is in a strip mall with a discount mattress store on one side and the utterly baffling combination of a dentist/gynecologist office on the other. The restaurant is nice inside, though: white tablecloths on the tables and clean carpeting. Other than an elderly couple, he and Dean are the only ones in the place. They get a booth by the buffet, hot complicated smells on the air.
It's been a while since Sam's had Indian. He and Jess used to go to a cheap place near their apartment that had a five-dollar lunch deal. Jess knew all the names of the dishes, which ones were mild and which ones were so spicy you'd want a glass of milk to soothe the heat. Sam's forgotten the names by now, and Dean never learned them in the first place, so Sam just orders them both the buffet plate and tells Dean, "Just get some of everything, it's all gonna be good."
Sam's right about that: everything is good, thick yogurt sauces and potatoes and a meat he thinks is lamb, saffron-yellow cauliflower and soft hot bread. The spiciness builds slowly, along with the lethargy of too much good food, and the light in the restaurant is golden, touching on the stubble on Dean's jaw.
Dean's still eating even after Sam quits, and makes the mistake of biting down hard on a pepper hiding in some sauce. "Ahh, Jesus," Dean swears, grabbing for his water.
Sam stops his hand. "That'll only make it worse," he says. "You want milk. Or bread."
"Milk? What am I, three?" Dean's face is reddened with the heat.
"It'll help," Sam insists, but seeing as there isn't any of it around, he does the next best thing: he leans across the table, cups Dean's face in his hand and kisses him, sharing the heat of the pepper on his tongue. Beneath the pepper, Dean's mouth tastes of curry and sweet cheese, and he makes a soft sound in his throat when Sam pulls away.
"That feel any better?" Sam asks.
"You're so the girl in this relationship," Dean says. He curls the corner of his mouth down. "But yeah, a little."
"I'll take what I can get," Sam says, smiling back.
*
For
deadboywalking: Sam/Dean, the frog/toad from Bedtime Stories. PG. 547 words.When Dean opens the door of the Impala and finds that freaking enormous toad that was following them around all weekend sitting in the driver's seat, he's more than a little weirded out.
"Get out of my car!" he yells at it.
It just sits there and stares at Dean, impassive, its throat muscles working.
"Seriously, stop sliming up my car!" Dean tells it.
"What are you yelling about?" Sam says, walking up to the door and following Dean's line of sight. "Wait, is that the same toad we kept seeing in--"
"Yeah," Dean says. "It must've hitchhiked or something. Dude, what the hell? I thought we were done with this fairytales shit. Callie's gone."
Sam frowns. "Yeah, me too. Unless . . ."
It's never good when Sam gets his thinking-face on, but Dean asks anyway. "Unless what?"
"Well, 'The Frog Prince' wasn't really like the other fairytales we ran into, you know?"
"No, princess, I don't know, so why don't you explain?"
Sam sighs heavily. "Nobody gets hurt in 'The Frog Prince,' Dean. Not even in the Brothers Grimm version."
"Great, so it's not our problem. Let's kick the toad out of here."
"I don't know," Sam says slowly. "Maybe there's still something supernatural going on here."
"And how do you think we're going to find out if there is or not?"
"Well," Sam says thoughtfully, "there is one way." He looks pointedly at the toad.
It takes Dean a second to get it. "Gross. I'm not kissing that!"
"I'll rock-paper-scissors you for it," Sam says.
Generally Dean's pretty convinced that he's a genius, but seriously, after twenty-eight years he'd have thought he'd have figured out to never agree to rock-paper-scissors when he didn't actually want Sam to win.
"This is disgusting," Dean says to both Sam and the toad.
"Pucker up, dude," Sam says gleefully.
Dean scowls and picks up the toad. It's way heavier and more wriggly than it has any right to be. "I can't fucking believe I'm doing this," Dean says, then presses his lips to the toad's mouth.
Exactly nothing at all happens, and Sam bursts into six-year-old girl giggles. "Never mind. Guess it's just a toad after all!" he snorts.
"You're not getting a blowjob again for a month," Dean tells him, leaning over and dumping the toad on the ground. It croaks and hops away into the grass behind the Impala. "Or, in fact, ever."
"That's okay, I don't want your mouth anywhere near my dick after that," Sam says.
Just for that, Dean grabs him and lays a big one on Sam's mouth, making sure to get his lips on as much of Sam's face as possible. "Can't fucking believe you made me do that."
"Hey, no one forced you to do it, toad lips."
"Toad lips? That's pretty weak, even for you."
"You're the one who kissed a toad, dude."
"Yeah, and you're the one who's gonna find himself sleeping in the Impala tonight, so have fun with that," Dean says, slipping the key card out of Sam's pocket and making a break for the hotel room.
And okay, so Sam shoves his foot in the door before Dean can get the safety chain slotted, but whatever. Dean will find a way to get his revenge.
*
Whee, that was fun! *passes out*
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It can in my head. *eyes glaze over*
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*loves you like Dean loves cake*
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Um, OBVIOUSLY YES. \o/
*loves you right back*
Also, omg, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! ♥♥♥
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*HUG* Thank you!!
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Also, "Is that, like, your retarded brother or something?" Kristin asks.
*snerks forever*
They are all tremendous, darlin'!
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I'm so glad you liked them!
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And now I want vindaloo, and I don't even like Indian food.
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Ahaha, Sam and Dean will do that to you. :D
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