citrusjava: (Default)
I just wanted to share this, because it was meaningful for me.



Some personal and sad things (may be squee harshing) )

Wish You Were Here

ETA: so, I posted this and it disappeared. If it was not eaten by LJ but accidentally posted to a community or something, please tell me so I can delete it from there....
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Wish You Were Here
Gifter: [livejournal.com profile] citrusjava
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam
Word count: 3000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, angst, angst. Pining. Dub-con. Ableist notions. Background mentions of spoilers up to 12x07, rape, torture, self harm, self sacrifice. Mentions of canon character death, mourning.
Fic-spoiling warning: hurt no comfort. Be warned.
A/N: Beta by the awesome [livejournal.com profile] tipsykitty, who was so wonderful, kind and encouraging, who made things much better. Any remaining mistakes are just mine!
A/N: side note about my writing experience

A/N2: This is for [livejournal.com profile] amypond45, who asked for Winchester angst, as part of [livejournal.com profile] spn_j2_xmas. I really hope you enjoy it, and have a wonderful winter!

Summary: Dean hasn’t died, not permanently. Still right there at the Bunker.



Wish You Were Here






For Sam, it was always Dean. )
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Sam and Dean's Ghostly Adventures
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13?
Words: 705
Warnings and tags: Show level violence/hurt, casefic sort of, crack, unbetaed, poor research on my part

Summary: Sam fights ghosts to save Dean

"Dean!" Sam screamed as the ghost slammed his brother against the wall.

"Behind you!" Dean called, a flash of bloody teeth. Sam ducked and rolled out of the way, just missing the killing touch of another ghost. Fuck, fuck. There were now two on him, three. A pac.

Sam dashed through the dark house's angled corridors, frantically searching. They stepped right into it, no investigation, no EMF reader - the second they were inside the house, they wre running for their lives.

The entire house was thrumming with sirens, Sam couldn't say whether they were intended to warn them or against them. All he could see was Dean's face, Dean being erased from existence, done.

Nothing worked against these ghosts. As Sam ran - a flicker of memory, maybe something Dad said when they were kids, said to Dean - - the ghosts are tied to orbs. Nothing would work, no salt, no iron - nothing unless he managed to find the orb.

Behind him he could hea r furniture crashing, the thud of a body - hitting the floor, flesh, reverberating through Sam's legs. Knee against the floor, then the body. Sam wished, not for the first time he'd never gotten clean. Not if the price was losing Dean again. Not again. Couldn't live through that again, not again. Wouldn't get a dog next time, wouldn't ever stop.

He put the bitterness into running, the desperation. He was a tiny bit faster than the ghosts, and that margin was the only hope he and Dean had. Sam took a sharp turn at a run - to find himself in a small passage - and from its other side, was approaching a ghost. There was nowhere to run, nothing left.

Then Sam realized, between him and the other side of the passage, there it was - a glowing round orb. If only he could reach it before the ghosts touched him, he could buy them some time. Could buy Dean some time to run outside - but Dean wouldn't, not unless Sam was there to make him.


Sam flung himself at the orb and crashed into the approaching ghost midair. The orb was gone. In a moment suspended in time, world took a breath, and the ghost exploded and shriveled into nothing but its burning eyes. Sam rounded on the ghosts behind him, perusing them down the corridors, back to Dean. The ghosts fled before Sam, frozen to Sam's touch and melting under it. Sam would have been terrified at his power had it not been for the ache in his chest, Dean -

The power of the orb was pulsing through him, he could hear his own steps remaking the house on his way to Dean.

Something in this new knowledge made Sam stop in his track. Something - in the house. He would need something.

Wouldn't be able to help Dean without it.


A space opened up before him, the way they walked in, but different. And casually set there, waiting - the gift of life. Small red fruit in the dark light.

Maybe ghost fruit. It could be a mistake. But could also be the only thing that could help.


Sam grabbed it and sprinted to Dean, back to Dean.

Vanquished the last ghost, pulling it off of Dean without thought. "Dean! Dean" Sam grabbed for a pulse, a gleam of recognition in Dean's eyes.

Dean's body was pliable, warm in Sam's arms, but here was no reaction, no echo of Sam's erratic breaths.

"Dean, please, Dean" Sam was whispering, "please".


Nothing.




Sam pushed the fruit between Dean's lips, its skin breaking against Dean's teeth, red. A breeze rose around them, sun-ripened tart and sweet, sticky hands at the back seat, Dean's lips at night in summer. The tips of Sam's fingers at the dip of Dean's neck as Dean's eyes blinked back, wide, and Dean's heart was beating again.

"Sammy", Dean looked up at him, bare to the quick, then Dean was smiling, "Sammy", he was removing the cherry pit from his lips, "You know I can tie a knot in one of these babies with only my tongue?"

"Dean", Sam was on him, damp faces soft under stubble, under rifts and years, fruit lingering on their tongues, between their grins.

"Thanks for giving me your cherry, Sammy" Dean was mumbling into Sam's hair.

Why couldn't it have been a watermelon.




Notes: I don't know why Pacman. I'm sad, wanted to write something silly. Also it turns out that while (probably?) the version I played for research gave me an extra life for that cherry, it changes from version to version and that is not even an official possibility? so - yeah, sorry to purists.
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Longer than the Road
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13?
Words: ~900
Warnings: drinking, passing mention of hentai, very much unbeta'ed
Notes: For [personal profile] kalliel, who wanted Winshesters and wind slice of life

Summary: It's been some time since Sam came drinking with Dean

Sam walks next to Dean, jacket and mouth and eyes tight in the wind, rigid and withheld, only his hair raging unleashed. It makes Dean's stomach drop - or it would be funny. Sam isn't angry anymore, hasn't been in ages.

It's one of the good nights . Sam comes with him to the bar. Drinks with Dean, more than a beer or three, and Dean is pretty sure it isn't even to push down something, not more than usual. Dean buys him hunter drinks - Silver Bullet, Rusty Nail, and doesn't tell Sam their names. Sam sticks to his tequila, but he drinks with Dean, and they talk. Sam 's forgetting about his research for longer and longer breaks, Dean's eye absentmindedly following the Windows logo across the screen, calculating pool angles. Dean is not sure what they talk about what anymore, probably some horrible mush he'd rather not remember, but Sam's eyes go softer and Dean's limbs go warm and happy with scotch and company. Sam's cheeks redden, like earlier in the wind, and his eyes go starry like a girl about to enjoy some artistic triple tentacle penetration.

Dean orders sandwiches for tomorrow morning, they'll be soggy but food. Jalepinio guacamole makes a good breakfast. The waitress hands Sam the bill and Dean grabs it, ruffled. He leaves her a good tip, though, it's a slow night.

They walk out again, Dean has to put some weight against the door to get it to open, to step out. "Com'on, Sammy" Dean challenges with a smirk. Smething soft that meant to be a smirk.

The street is black gray and Dean loses their napkins in a fluttery flurry. They crash land into a black puddle, and for a moment Sam looks like he'll try to get them out. He lets them go.

Breathing makes the back of Dean's throat itch with dry particles, like the time with Rhonda - sex on the beach should only ever be a drink, sand in bad places, Sammy. But this air is frozen, thunderstorm on the way. The sort of cold that comes with bat outta hell motorbikes an' electric guitar lightning .

Dean feels like he could be lifted by the wind, is tempted to jump, just a little bit, just to find out. his muscles and weapons and heavy jacket, floating, complete with beer and tacos warming his belly. His insides thrill to it, small pulsing excitement like magic, like he hasn't been picked up or tossed around by demons, angels, forces unknown

For a moment it's so cold Dean has trouble breathing, but that doesn't make sense. A torn windsock man vindictive, store signs bangoverhead, and Dean wants to pull Sam to him, under the wing of his jacket, suddenly wary of flapping electricity lines, windborne debris .


Sam's hair is in his eyes again, but they are still shining under there, as he hurries past Dean, wind catching in the open arms of his jacket. Sam's smiling silly and wide, old enough to be boyish like once. Smiling at Dean - shy, but not backing off. Sam doesn't back off from a challenge.


And in a moment Dean runs after him, half lifted by the wind, almost laughing. It's ok, they're just a little drunk. Sam was always faster than him, but they are banging together, Sam's hair lashing, how is Sam always so warm. Sam's belly is soft despite his training, under Dean's frozen hand, and Sam's yelp is almost as pleasant as the sensation of Sam.

Baby's solid and chilly even through Dean's jacket, through the gap under Dean's shirts. Sam's leaning against him long limbed, looking up at Dean - bending to open the door. Sam's eyes reflect the lines of light reflecting off her, even through the layer of dust, through everything . Sam's hair gets in Dean's mouth, and Sam straightens, warmth undulating, belt to collarbone, and Dean's thoughts scatter, flutter, why are they always the idiots with their overshirts open in the storm. Dean wants to close their shirts, close their shirts together, to share heat, buttons and holes and mouths -

They're finally inside, The windshield is covered with dust, leaves caught in the wipers and flapping around outside, looks as if it is so noisy outside. A few sharp raindrops, thin and brilliant across the filthy glass, a mistake to try and clean the windows now anyway, it'd just make a mess and clog his Baby's washer spray jet.

Street lights are hazy in the muddy air, traffic lights brilliant out of focus like fair candy, sweet and bright, strawberry, orange, lime. Sam's breath warms Dean's cheek, like blowing on Sam's fingers long ago, through gloves, without gloves.


He puts the guacamole in the back seat. Digs in the glove compartment for Metallica, something soft to put Sam to sleep. The rain waited for them to be in, bangs on the roof rhythmically, wave after wave with the wind, and Baby's almost shaking too, or maybe dancing .


Dean has the urge to stick his head out in the rain, his naked torso out, to run outside and yell, and maybe howl, like a werewolf or a frat boy douchebag, to crash into streetwater and have Sam collect him.

Doesn't know whether he's brave, scared, or just so tired.


And he's kissing Sam long and sweet, heart pounding up to his throat, as if they've never done it before, as if they've never stopped doing it.
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Longer than the Road
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: drinking, very much unbeta'ed
Notes: For Kalliel, who wanted Winshesters and wind slice of life

Summary: It's been some time since Sam came drinking with Dean

Sam walks next to Dean, jacket and mouth and eyes tight in the wind, rigid and withheld, only his hair raging unleashed. It makes Dean's stomach drop - or it would be funny. Sam isn't angry anymore, hasn't been in ages.

It's one of the good nights . Sam comes with him to the bar. Drinks with Dean, more than a beer or three, and Dean is pretty sure it isn't even to push down something, not more than usual. Dean buys him hunter drinks - Silver Bullet, Rusty Nail, and doesn't tell Sam their names. Sam sticks to his tequila, but he drinks with Dean, and they talk. Sam 's forgetting about his research for longer and longer breaks, Dean's eye absentmindedly following the Windows logo across the screen, calculating pool angles. Dean is not sure what they talk about what anymore, probably some horrible mush he'd rather not remember, but Sam's eyes go softer and Dean's limbs go warm and happy with scotch and company. Sam's cheeks redden, like earlier in the wind, and his eyes go starry like a girl about to enjoy some artistic triple tentacle penetration.

Dean orders sandwiches for tomorrow morning, they'll be soggy but food. Jalepinio guacamole makes a good breakfast. The waitress hands Sam the bill and Dean grabs it, ruffled. He leaves her a good tip, though, it's a slow night.

They walk out again, Dean has to put some weight against the door to get it to open, to step out. "Com'on, Sammy" Dean challenges with a smirk. Smething soft that meant to be a smirk.

The street is black gray and Dean loses their napkins in a fluttery flurry. They crash land into a black puddle, and for a moment Sam looks like he'll try to get them out. He lets them go.

Breathing makes the back of Dean's throat itch with dry particles, like the time with Rhonda - sex on the beach should only ever be a drink, sand in bad places, Sammy. But this air is frozen, thunderstorm on the way. The sort of cold that comes with bat outta hell motorbikes an' electric guitar lightning .

Dean feels like he could be lifted by the wind, is tempted to jump, just a little bit, just to find out. his muscles and weapons and heavy jacket, floating, complete with beer and tacos warming his belly. His insides thrill to it, small pulsing excitement like magic, like he hasn't been picked up or tossed around by demons, angels, forces unknown

For a moment it's so cold Dean has trouble breathing, but that doesn't make sense. A torn windsock man vindictive, store signs bangoverhead, and Dean wants to pull Sam to him, under the wing of his jacket, suddenly wary of flapping electricity lines, windborne debris .


Sam's hair is in his eyes again, but they are still shining under there, as he hurries past Dean, wind catching in the open arms of his jacket. Sam's smiling silly and wide, old enough to be boyish like once. Smiling at Dean - shy, but not backing off. Sam doesn't back off from a challenge.


And in a moment Dean runs after him, half lifted by the wind, almost laughing. It's ok, they're just a little drunk. Sam was always faster than him, but they are banging together, Sam's hair lashing, how is Sam always so warm. Sam's belly is soft despite his training, under Dean's frozen hand, and Sam's yelp is almost as pleasant as the sensation of Sam.

Baby's solid and chilly even through Dean's jacket, through the gap under Dean's shirts. Sam's leaning against him long limbed, looking up at Dean - bending to open the door. Sam's eyes reflect the lines of light reflecting off her, even through the layer of dust, through everything . Sam's hair gets in Dean's mouth, and Sam straightens, warmth undulating, belt to collarbone, and Dean's thoughts scatter, flutter, why are they always the idiots with their overshirts open in the storm. Dean wants to close their shirts, close their shirts together, to share heat, buttons and holes and mouths -

They're finally inside, The windshield is covered with dust, leaves caught in the wipers and flapping around outside, looks as if it is so noisy outside. A few sharp raindrops, thin and brilliant across the filthy glass, a mistake to try and clean the windows now anyway, it'd just make a mess and clog his Baby's washer spray jet.

Street lights are hazy in the muddy air, traffic lights brilliant out of focus like fair candy, sweet and bright, strawberry, orange, lime. Sam's breath warms Dean's cheek, like blowing on Sam's fingers long ago, through gloves, without gloves.


He puts the guacamole in the back seat. Digs in the glove compartment for Metallica, something soft to put Sam to sleep. The rain waited for them to be in, bangs on the roof rhythmically, wave after wave with the wind, and Baby's almost shaking too, or maybe dancing .


Dean has the urge to stick his head out in the rain, his naked torso out, to run outside and yell, and maybe howl, like a werewolf or a fratboy douchbag, to crash into streetwater and have Sam collect him.

Doesn't know whether he's brave, scared, or just so tired.


And he's kissing Sam long and sweet, heart pounding up to his throat, as if they've never done it before, as if they've never stopped doing it.

Day 2

Jan. 2nd, 2016 10:59 am
citrusjava: (Default)
[hey people! I'm gonna try to do this 15 day challenge - tagging it 'snowflake' so you can unfollow the tag if you'd rather, ok?]


Fandom Snowflake Challenge banner





In your own space, create a list of at least three fannish things you'd love to receive, something you've wanted but were afraid to ask for - a fannish wish-list of sorts. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your wish-list if you feel comfortable doing so. Maybe someone will grant a wish. Check out other people's posts. Maybe you will grant a wish. If any wishes are granted, we'd love it if you link them to this post




Oh, wow :)

1)
OK, this one is easy - I adore fanwork inspired by my stories - podfic, art - it's an amazing honor and amazing to get!


2)
There is this illusion that there are plenty of fics like this, but for me, feels like there are so few, and I miss new ones so much. I've been known to tear up with how much I miss them.... It's Dean and Sam fic (gen or ship), in which they like, want and crave each other's company, enjoy it. Better still, if it includes trope like "outside of society and alone in the world, but we've got each other", "love conquers all", "doing it with you makes it good ". Better still if it includes the little or weird details of being on the road (habbits no one thinks about anymore, places you're out of place in new ways, new places, old places, music, food, games, sleeping....) - also I have a thing for the seventies fetishization and John's ghost about it, of the ways John influenced both of them, when it's done new ways....

(sidenote: this isn't what I'm talking about, but I ramble, so - how great would be a story about John's ghost or something coming to hunt with current canon Dean & Sam, an everything's different and nothing's different.... )

3)
SPN writer fic - Eric Kripke writing the show and pining for his own brother, whether he is aware of it or not. Considering his complicated relationship with his own brother (whatever it is).
citrusjava: (Default)
Pairing/rating: Sam/Dean or Sam&Dean
Words: ~1190
Warnings: spoilers for aired episodes, quick, unbeta'ed, blood and patching up, self harm themes
Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] kalliel, who prompted for Sam and Dean interacting in that way that isn't clearly yes or not romantic or sexual, without being aware of it.

Summary: It's been a long while since Dean stitched up Sam after a hunt.




The memory is copper in Dean's mouth )
citrusjava: (Default)
You guys, Waterbird13 wrote me such a sweet Wincesty fill, old school fic - a little pining, loving brother Dean, some hope after bad things them putting each other and their relationship first - set some time after s10, I'm a sucker for Wichesters falling in love later....

For the prompt: After hell, demi!Sam is sex repulsed. Which is not a big deal for some time, it gets comfortable - that is, till he starts to fall in love
citrusjava: (Default)
Someone made a gifset of Dean claiming he is going to throw up over things he doesn't like (including one tiny spoiler for 11x05).




For

me this has some extra meaning.

Being, you know, a fan, naturally I went and read some stuff about incest. One paper I kept finding was not about incest at all, supposedly. It was about the possibility of having a physical reaction like gagging, or feeling nauseated, as a result of moral issues.

The paper explored this through the clearly nauseating concept of consensual sibling incest. Because nothing says 'gross' like consent. Worse maybe - because they didn't even consider real people whose life this might be, who might not be so happy to be reduced to a philosophical concept -
or, at that, one so vile it inspires physical reactions.

In short, this inspired in me a desire for a physical reaction between my knee and the author's balls. Even though they maybe wre n the side of this that says this is a cultural taboo and not 'wrong'.
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Who Knows What We Might Become
Relationship: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Words: 795
Warnings: very mild mentions of gore, the sex is never official
Notes: Thank you KnottedString for the beta, and for being such a wonderful person too.
Inspired by this lovely prompt - thank you, prompter!
(as always, I'd be glad to dedicate the fic to you if you wanted)
And thank you mods!
Notes 2: I intentionally left the time this takes place unclear, but I enjoy imagining it is current day Sam and Dean <3



Summary:
It's not weird, it's just this thing they do


Sam moves his hand up Dean’s cock, and Dean holds back a groan. He is almost dripping excitement, eagerness, terror. His body is confused. That is why it works. It is just stimulations. Dean is a healthy young man and Sammy’s stupid hair is soft like a girl’s.

Dean stopped believing those some time back, but he still repeats them every time. Still goes back and forth cause it can’t be, cause he can’t like – it. Can’t like it like that.

“Eyeballs scum,” Sam says, and Dean lets out a breath as he reigns his cock back to mostly soft .

Dean doesn’t really care about the eyeballs.

But whoever’s hard is an eye scum perv.

Victorious, Dean holds tighter onto Sam’s wet cock. “Maggot burger,” he offers offhand. Sam’s lips are parted, eyes stuck to Dean’s neck. He's not listening. Dean allows himself just another pull, two, the way he knows Sam likes it. Shit. Doing this thing means Dean knows how Sammy likes his dick touched. The realization sends a sick shiver whirling through Dean’s stomach, making his cheeks flush high and thrilling down between his legs.

Sam swallows, eyes closed, hand still wrapped around Dean’s twitching cock. Sam’s voice is a little weird when he says - “you sick fuck.” Dean’s mouth goes dry, hand frozen on Sam’s cock. The tension sends tingles to Dean’s dick, and he can’t even tell if they’re making him harder or softer

“Dean humps maggot burgers in bed.”

The thrill of relief is almost as good as Sam’s hand, that moment. “Yeah, Sammy.” Dean concedes easily. Would have agreed to anything Sam said about him right that moment. “I do." He smiles, wide and loose, almost can’t control it.
Sam smiles back, looking dazed. Dean wants every bit of that dopy grin, wants to rub himself against it, burrow in. live in it. He moves his hand lower, presses that sweet spot behind Sam’s balls. Breathes “Ghost mucus,” in Sam’s ear. Sam’s breath hitches, and Dean’s entire body tunes to it, nerves alight. He clamps down on the feeling, Sam’s cock completely hard in Dean’s hand. It’s socking, makes him want to pull his hand away on instinct, avoid a burn, but he doesn’t seem to have that sort of drive for self-preservation. His brother’s dick in Dean’s hand, it’s disgusting. It is, it must be. Dean clamps down on these thoughts, along with Sam’s cock. It’s against the rules to help each other out, get each other soft, but Dean is older and his rules are higher. Can’t lose Sammy. Can’t let them crash.

Sam’s eyes widen at the pressure on his cock, almost pained. His hard on fades, thank fuck, but his eyes blaze dark, like he finds satisfaction in it. Like he finds satisfaction in denying himself pleasure. Man, they are fucked up, Dean thinks, almost impressed, but without real drive. His mind is already wandering to more interesting things. It is Sam’s turn.

“Rotting zombie corpses,” he breathes, thumbing the head of Dean’s cock. It jumps.

“Cheat,” Dean says. “You know how I feel about zombies.”

Sam ignores him. Moves lower, face tender, holds Dean’s balls as if they were something precious – and Dean wants to squirm away or jerk off hard and dry or maybe tear up. Sam says Dean’s name and his voice is too soft, other hand on Dean’s dick, measured and persistent just like Sam when he’s making his point. The way Sam likes it, Dean realizes, and how did they come to have the same taste in dick fondling. Dean lets out a torn sound, shivers of nausea and warmth thundering through his body, too- too- “Sam,” he warns, but his voice doesn’t sound like his own.

Sam looks up, defiant, eyes hot and sweet, like he’s found the final, crucial clue to nail a vengeful ghost, like it’s the one Dean said wont pan out. This has to stop, gotta put an end to it now. Never play this thing again.

Sam meets Dean’s gaze. Stumbles. His hand tenses, then slows, and he lowers his eyes, swallows, hand just resting on Dean’s cock. His eyes are shining with something. Not anything good.

“Sammy,” Dean raises a damp palm to Sam’s face, hesitates, fingertips barely brushing it.

Sam chews his lip for a second, harsh. Pushes something down. Dean’s bad. Dean’s fault.
Gives Dean a soft half smile, a little sad but still glowing, because he’s Sam.

Dean cups Sam’s cheek, wants to touch his bruised lip, wants to touch, ruin everything.

“Dad having sex in your car,” Sam says, hand squeezing Dean’s cock, sparkles reaching his eyes again.

“What the fuck?!” Dean beats Sam’s hands away and they are both laughing.

They are both ok.


~
citrusjava: (Default)
ETA: I got a comment about this coming across as if I'm angry, so I should clarify - I'm not angry at all, this is just a thing that bothers me, and I was hoping people would find it an interesting topic to discuss. If not, go ahead and ignore.

OK.
(background first)
So, I agree that, for instance, including one gay character on a show, to be "the gay character" kinda sucks. I was so excited when I first found a book about two male police detectives working on a case. A story about something besides them coming out or going to pride or hating themselves, that sort of thing.

But even for detectives in a story about detective work, being gay would paint the way they interact with the world and perceive themselves in it, would paint the things that draw their attention or annoy them, something. I hate the whole "we are exactly like straight people" narrative. Life experiences paint who you are. Identity paints who you are.

So I very much doubt that even if the Winchesters were in an established relationship, the "incest thing" would just fade into the background completely. It IS part of their lives, their history, it matters that they're brothers because it's an important part of their history and relationship, and it matters that they are brothers because even if they are completely over it, they have to live in a world that is not, and that MATTERS! I really need more stories that don't disregard or erase that. There is room for fluffy comforty stories, and I get that not all writers want to focus on that, but it really bothers me that it's become a norm to disregarded it completely.

ETA: Even if it's established relationship, as a reader, I still need to be convinced it's awesome. )
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: It Ain't Me
Pairing: Dean/Soulless!Sam
Words: 555
Warnings/kinks: D/s, dub con, sub drop, aftercare
Summary: kansaskissedlips wanted Soulless Sam experiencing sub drop

This Sam slips into subbing for Dean almost naturally. Dean shakes his head to himself, bitter with self loathing. Nothing natural about this Sam.

He takes Dean’s orders willingly, though Dean is constantly on edge, waiting for the one - the crucial one - this Sam won’t take. Knows Sammy better than to expect him to just remain Dean’s obedient pet. This Sam brings Dean moral dilemmas that make Dean’s blood run cold. But he does bring them to Dean now. Wants to learn. Wants Dean to be pleased. Asks for Dean’s guidance - I’m not supposed to laugh, right? - and Dean hates that this thrills him with warmth. A disgusting part of him likes that. Sammy looking up to him again.

It doesn’t take much then, to get Dean to want it too. To agree to do it. Tilt Sam’s face up to look at Dean, much too collected until Dean punches it out of him, and Sam’s expression softens between pulses of pleasure. Sam on his knees, head thrown back and moaning when Dean tells him to be good for Dean, to swallow Dean down. Sam is good, throat working, little moans vibrating up Dean’s cock, each one almost making Dean lose his footing. He looks down at this boy he loves, that Dean is using, this monster looking up him needily, that Dean should never want, should never want, and Dean comes, like crashing his car, and he can’t tell for whom.

Dean pulls out unceremoniously, slumps on his bed, rubs a hand over his face.

Sam, this Sam, is right up and off to take a shower, efficient. Dean’s Sam would have made im talk about it.

Dean leans back on the dubious comforter, allows himself to get lost in gloom.

It takes a while for him to notice the shower had stopped running, but Sam is not coming out.

“Sam?”

Nothing. Dean grabs his gun without a thought, moves silently aginst the wall, towards the bathroom door. Always safety procedures.

“Sammy?” he pushes the door open. Nothing. Looks in, and Sam is crouched against the shower’s wall, smaller than should be possible for a wall of merciless muscle.

“What’s going on?”

Sam lifts his face towards Dean, looking heartbreakingly confused.

“ Dean, I feel like I’m empty”. Sam’s face twitches in what looks like pain, eyes lost and round. Dean clamps down on the urge to tell this Sam he should feel empty, that he is empty.

Places a hand on Sam’s shoulder, just means to get him out of the shower. “Come on”. But Sam’s truly shivering, Dean knows it’s real.

At the touch, Sam grabs Dean hand, breath hitching, holds it to his shoulder with both his hands. He is shaking stronger.

“Sam?” Dean places a hand on Sam’s head, and Sam melts into it. “Dean, what’s happening?”.

Dean doesn’t know, but he knows his brother. He runs his fingers through Sam’s damp air, and Sam lets out a long soft sigh, almost nonexistent breath, and rests against it. Dean guides Sam’s head to his shoulder, hand sliding down to rest soothingly on Sam’s back, trailing comforting circles. Sam hides his face in Dean’s chest, breath slowly evening out. “Shh, shh. It’s all right, Sammy”.

And for that moment, just then, it really is.
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Can You Take
Ship: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13ish
Words: around 700
Warnings: click for them )

Summary: Sam is scrolling through articles about a string of disappearances in Normal, when he gets the news notification



Sam is scrolling through articles about a string of disappearances in Normal, when he gets the news notification. Gay marriage in all states.

Sam’s breath hitches, swell of unexpected emotion in his chest, and he swallows, eyes suddenly wet.

~

He’d never would have believed this sort of thing could happen. As a kid, desperately and utterly in love with his brother, he knew he was the only one messed up like him. The only one like him in the whole world.

It turned out he was not the only one, not the only person like that entirely. He’d dragged Dean down with him.

And Dean said that it was good.

~

Dean never understood, really, how come Sam cared that much about what others might say about them. Dean loved Sam bluntly and completely. Everything that ever mattered for Dean was that Sam wanted it too, that Sam was at Dean’s side.

But Sam didn’t have Dad, or hunting, didn’t have anyone in his life. Town after town, whenever Sam made a new friend, he had to lie. Now just Dad’s lies, that Sam could resent, that Sam knew he’d get out of. Every new friend, Sam knew would find Sam disgusting, would never have liked Sam had he knew what Sam was, what he did.

What he wanted.

~

At 15, Sam broke down and cried about it. Dean gave him a deeply worried look, called him Francis for crying and ruffled Sam’s hair.

Told him it didn’t matter. ‘You got me, Sammy, and I got you, you’re my brother, that isn’t going away’.

When Sam just looked up at him, tears dripping backwards as he changed the angle of his face, Dean secured Sam under his big brother arm, and told him how, one day, when they’re maybe 35, and old, the world will have changed so much that anybody would be able to marry whomever they liked.

“And that day, Sammy” Dean said, “that’s gonna be the day I make an honest woman of Baby”.

Sam smiled, more or less, and bumped his knee against Dean’s. “Jerk”.

“Bitch”.

~

So Sam could take that, he told himself he would cope with that. He told himself it’d get easier. But town after town, stretching on for his entire life, for his always, no refuge at big cities, it would always be the same, everywhere, it had worn him thin. He just couldn’t. Pushed through another town and another, loved Dean so much. But he couldn’t keep going through that, isolated, bone deep. Not after years. Not for years.



He left, and Dean couldn’t speak with him for two years.

~

Sam told himself he’d become a lawyer. Would fight for them, would change things for them.

Would come back, and Dean would be with him again like before.

He just wanted thing like before.

Dean loved him again, had never really stopped. But for years Dean would give him hurt, bewildered little glances when Sam was doing something else. For years Dean got twitchy every single time Sam mentioned Stanford, or lawyers, or just the beach. Eight years back together Dean was still reliving Standford.



~

Dean gives Sam an amiable glance, at the sound, hands stilling over their French toast. “Hmm?”

Sam flips his laptop closed. “Nothing” he says. “Nothing”. And he gives Dean one of those attempted smiles that they both know Dean doesn’t buy. “Nothing”.

Dean gives Sam a weird look, but returns to their toast, humming, and it isn’t Metallica, it is Cherry Pie.

Sam isn’t a lawyer. He would not be the one to fight for them - and honestly, he is so tired of fighting.

These days he doesn’t make new friends very often anymore. But Jody knows. And he is pretty certain Bobby knows too, ‘good man’ declarations and all.

They will never get married. Will never be real people. Not as themselves. He knows it is no less hopeless than when he was a kid. No one will come for them, they are alone.

But Dean is humming over Sam’s French toast, and he’s putting in some extra blueberries for Sam, and Sam can take it.

If Dean is in it, it’s enough of a future for Sam.



Maybe he did learn to deal with it better over the years.
citrusjava: (Default)
Sweet little fic, later season first time Wincest -
http://thedropoutandthejunkie.tumblr.com/post/122136153951/hey-your-prompts-are-open-could-i-trouble-you#notes
(just in case, I should warn for very mild dubcon, by current standards for that)

Excerpt:
It’s over coffee that it happens, Dean leaning around Sam to put the carafe back onto the warmer, and Sam closes the narrow distance between his mouth and Dean’s. Soft, sweet, and all too brief, the kiss breaks as the carafe thunks a little too hard back into it’s place and Dean steps back with wide eyes. He doesn’t run like Sam expects, nor does he lash out like Sam fears he will. Instead, he lifts a trembling hand to his lips, touching them lightly.

citrusjava: (Default)
When Sam’s soulless, he has no praise kink. It is nice to know Dean is pleased, things are going well - but it’s never a NEED.

Dean tells Sam he’s doing so good - used to saying that when he sees Sam is trying so hard - and Sam just gives him a long, almost uncertain look, like he’s wavering on the verge of recognizing something, but is not really sure what to do with this.

And Sam just moves on,

and Dean hasn’t felt this lonely in years.

After Sam’s soul is in place,

Dean says - you’ve done so good, Sammy - hand reaching for Sam’s hair, and stops himself, automatically braces himself for the bitterness and loneliness after all those months -

and Sam shivers and swallows, catches Dean’s hand between Sam’s cheek and shoulder and smiles just a little, just a bit, and his cheek is warm against Dean’s fingers.
citrusjava: (Default)
[warning of D/s practices used unsafely]

Sam found this out with Dean, when he was 23: the big fantasy of D/s is that after it's done, you can return to normal,
rather than to the fucked up state you came from.
This is why he does it with Ruby,
the pain of it not working.
citrusjava: (Default)
Title: Validation
Ship: Sam/Dean or Sam&Dean
Summary: the important part


"Dean" Sam says, gently pushing Dean away.

Dean's eyes are so round. "Shit, shit". His movements are jerky. "Shit. Sam" he moves to go, he's at the motel door.

"Dean! Shit. Wait" Sam grabs his shoulder. "Stop, wait!"

Dean shakes him off, his face thin bitter hatred that makes Sam's stomach churn.

Sam gets in his way, hand against Dean's chest. "Dean, listen. Shit, listen. It's ok. There's nothing wrong with-"

"Dammit, Sam" Dean sounds almost tired. Sits down, He rubs a hand over his face. "Shit, shit. Go back to Stanford, Sam".

"No, listen", Sam hesitates, then allows himself to kneel next to Dean. To grab his shoulders. Deans jerks at the touch, but doesn't pull away. There is always this thing between them. "Listen, Dean. That's the thing. I'm not leaving. I don't give a fuck about the sex, have it not have it, I don't care, Dean. But maybe - Dean, we don't have to do this. you don't have to offer this. it isn't important. I am not going anywhere, I am not leaving, I'm not leaving, ok?"


Then there is relief and cuddling , cause even though this is early season fic, it is now season ten, and the world has changed and fandom too.
citrusjava: (Default)
I'm pretty sure that most siblings who are attracted to each other or in love with each other NEVER act on it ever, never confess it, never find out whether it's mutusal, never get rejected, never talk about doing it or not, NEVER. What  do you mean  "it's so weird this never came up before"?! What do you mean, it's hard to sus[pend disbelief to write this?!

ok :)
citrusjava: (Default)
Winchesters and beer, for my current canon first time fondnesses, intricate and pretty, small:
http://dandelionwhiskey.tumblr.com/post/119717928149/hey-im-new-to-doing-this-so-i-hope-its-ok

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