![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
'By Songs Entombed' - SPN - Sam/Dean
Hi, all you folks who have Blackberry phones or another smartphone, here are questions from someone who is considering getting one. Do you like your Blackberry? IS IT WORTH THE $75 A MONTH D:?? If you have some other Verizon smartphone, which do you have and what do you like/hate about it?
Still homeless and looking (ARGH). Still seeking out health insurance (DOUBLE ARGH). Thank you to everyone for their help and hugs and <333, I'll get back to y'all soon. In the meantime, check it, I recced Novaks at SOR.
Another thing that has been soothing my woes is how sarcasticindiefucks is totally all about SPN. Cas after he drank the liquor store, Uriel at Sodom and Gomorrah, fallen!Cas, Jimmy, AND MORE. Why does tumblr have to exist when I'm trying to get shit done?
Keep calm and repost Wincest commentfic.
By Songs Entombed
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. R.
4x14 coda. They haven't done this in a while. ~600 words
"So, the siren," Sam says in the car. "I mean, it was... You still--" And he can't bring himself to finish the thought. They haven't said anything since they left town, and Sam's heart is wild with a terrible hope.
"The siren," Dean sighs, eyes on the road.
Sam pretends to read the notes on their next case. Dean pretends to listen to Black Sabbath on the radio. It's the middle of the day, and if they keep driving they can get to Lincoln by nightfall, but Sam doesn't say anything when Dean takes the next exit and parks at a motel. He mutters some bullshit about how he's tired. Yeah, okay. Sam just nods, throat dry.
In the room, Dean says, "Sam--" and Sam cups his face and kisses him, nothing gentle about it. Nothing soft about his touch, or his mouth, everything about it an offering that claims.
Dean makes a desperate sound in his throat, and then one hand is in Sam's hair, the other clutching the back of his shirt. It's been too long. This is all Sam wanted to do ever since Dean knocked on the door in Pontiac; his brother back from the dead, dragged through Hell and crumpled for it. This, Dean's mouth, Dean's hands on him, all Sam has of the word ‘home’.
Dean yanks at Sam's shirt and Sam pulls it off. His brother does likewise, and he doesn't even have time to drop it before Sam tugs him to the bed and pushes. Dean falls on his back, Sam on top of him, and he mouths Dean's neck, tasting him, Dean's stubble rough on his cheek. He tugs at Sam's belt, because Dean never did like wasting time. He lets Dean roll them over, lets his brother push him up against the headboard, and kiss him again.
There are all these things he's been wanting to say, or do, or make Dean understand by writing them somewhere deep inside where Dean can't deny them. Things like "I'm still for you" and "I'm still here", but there's no space for real words in their hunger for each other. Their relief that some refuges don't have to change. Sometimes it takes a monster to see that all you want is your brother, now and always, and what you need is little else. It is the easiest difficult thing in the world.
The most difficult thing about loving Dean has always been that he loves you back. Give him your last drink of water, and he will give you back a hurricane. He will be shocked and hurt when you drown.
It's painful when Dean pushes in. They don't have any lube, they are both impatient, and they haven't done this in a while. Even with all the prep from Dean's mouth and his fingers, Sam still lets out a stuttered gasp.
"You okay?" Dean asks.
"Yeah," Sam slurs. "Yeah, fuck, god."
And Dean begins to move. Slow at first, attentive to the rhythm of Sam's breathing and the soft sounds he makes.
"Is it too much?" Dean asks. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Fuck you, no."
It hurts, but Sam doesn't care. It'll be good eventually, and if it won't, that's okay because it's Dean. Dean eases in, all the way in, and the look of shocked pleasure on Dean's face makes Sam's heart ache. He's missed that, that look like Dean never expects any of it even though they've done this countless times before.
"Sam..." Dean rasps, and Sam closes his eyes and thinks yes, yes, yes.
Still homeless and looking (ARGH). Still seeking out health insurance (DOUBLE ARGH). Thank you to everyone for their help and hugs and <333, I'll get back to y'all soon. In the meantime, check it, I recced Novaks at SOR.
Another thing that has been soothing my woes is how sarcasticindiefucks is totally all about SPN. Cas after he drank the liquor store, Uriel at Sodom and Gomorrah, fallen!Cas, Jimmy, AND MORE. Why does tumblr have to exist when I'm trying to get shit done?
Keep calm and repost Wincest commentfic.
By Songs Entombed
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. R.
4x14 coda. They haven't done this in a while. ~600 words
"So, the siren," Sam says in the car. "I mean, it was... You still--" And he can't bring himself to finish the thought. They haven't said anything since they left town, and Sam's heart is wild with a terrible hope.
"The siren," Dean sighs, eyes on the road.
Sam pretends to read the notes on their next case. Dean pretends to listen to Black Sabbath on the radio. It's the middle of the day, and if they keep driving they can get to Lincoln by nightfall, but Sam doesn't say anything when Dean takes the next exit and parks at a motel. He mutters some bullshit about how he's tired. Yeah, okay. Sam just nods, throat dry.
In the room, Dean says, "Sam--" and Sam cups his face and kisses him, nothing gentle about it. Nothing soft about his touch, or his mouth, everything about it an offering that claims.
Dean makes a desperate sound in his throat, and then one hand is in Sam's hair, the other clutching the back of his shirt. It's been too long. This is all Sam wanted to do ever since Dean knocked on the door in Pontiac; his brother back from the dead, dragged through Hell and crumpled for it. This, Dean's mouth, Dean's hands on him, all Sam has of the word ‘home’.
Dean yanks at Sam's shirt and Sam pulls it off. His brother does likewise, and he doesn't even have time to drop it before Sam tugs him to the bed and pushes. Dean falls on his back, Sam on top of him, and he mouths Dean's neck, tasting him, Dean's stubble rough on his cheek. He tugs at Sam's belt, because Dean never did like wasting time. He lets Dean roll them over, lets his brother push him up against the headboard, and kiss him again.
There are all these things he's been wanting to say, or do, or make Dean understand by writing them somewhere deep inside where Dean can't deny them. Things like "I'm still for you" and "I'm still here", but there's no space for real words in their hunger for each other. Their relief that some refuges don't have to change. Sometimes it takes a monster to see that all you want is your brother, now and always, and what you need is little else. It is the easiest difficult thing in the world.
The most difficult thing about loving Dean has always been that he loves you back. Give him your last drink of water, and he will give you back a hurricane. He will be shocked and hurt when you drown.
It's painful when Dean pushes in. They don't have any lube, they are both impatient, and they haven't done this in a while. Even with all the prep from Dean's mouth and his fingers, Sam still lets out a stuttered gasp.
"You okay?" Dean asks.
"Yeah," Sam slurs. "Yeah, fuck, god."
And Dean begins to move. Slow at first, attentive to the rhythm of Sam's breathing and the soft sounds he makes.
"Is it too much?" Dean asks. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Fuck you, no."
It hurts, but Sam doesn't care. It'll be good eventually, and if it won't, that's okay because it's Dean. Dean eases in, all the way in, and the look of shocked pleasure on Dean's face makes Sam's heart ache. He's missed that, that look like Dean never expects any of it even though they've done this countless times before.
"Sam..." Dean rasps, and Sam closes his eyes and thinks yes, yes, yes.