Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in liveinadream87's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, January 6th, 2009
11:13 am	Story: The Great Doodie Incident Title: The Great Doodie Incident Author: liveinadream87 Rating: PG Pairing: Jensen/Jared… if you squint your eyes and put your head on the side Disclaimer: This is not intended to be a true indication of the actor’s lives or their habits… I don’t own them but oh I wish I did J Summary: In which the boys are walking the dogs and there is an Incident. See title. Humour… Word count: 1,307 Authors notes: Right, so I started to read this story by someone the other day that started off with the boys walking their dogs. And this jumped into my head. And wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t even finish the damn story before I had to type this! So, un-beta-ed, written in about 45 minutes and… well, hopefully you like it. Also? Jensen is just a lil bit crazy in my mind. Be warned.     ‘How did this happen?’ I wonder as Harley again attempts to yank my arm out of its socket by lunging forward, pulling hard on the lead. It was a strange type of tug-of-war I was playing with the dog… first Harley attempted to pull me over by bounding ahead at speeds never before accomplished by a human, but next I had to tug Harley away from lamp posts/bushes/bugs that obviously held some fascination for the mutt. And then the process starts again.   “Are you sure he’s trained, Jared?”   “Yeah, of course he is!” Jared says, stopping to watch Harley attempt to knock me flying. Yet. Again… while Sadie sits primly and calmly by his side. Arrgghh!   “All right, fine then… Harley! Heel! Heel, boy! Sit! Stay!” Harley cocks his head on the side, does not sit down, licks my shoe, and runs off again. “Yeah, trained my ass he is. I’ll give you fucking trained.”   Sadie walks over to my side, sniffs my hand and sits on her haunches, offering her paw. I shake it, and turn on Jared. “Hey, how come I got the naughty dog and you got the good one?”   “He’s not naughty! He’s just… boisterous. Like me.”   “Still didn’t answer my friggin’ question though,” I mumble, turning to look at Harley again, just in time to see him squat and start straining.   “Jared! Look at your dog!”   Jared turns his head, says “Oh!” and starts rummaging in his bag.   “Make him stop! He has a perfectly good backyard at home, why does he have to do it here?” I complain, looking around discretely for a photographer who will try to get a picture of the dog doing it’s business, and of one of us picking it up. Hey, what can I say, there are some weird people out there that might get a kick out of a picture like that. Shudder.   “What do you suggest I do, plug it up?” Jared grins, and I wrinkle my nose at the thought.   “No. Just… what about those dog diapers? There are such things, you know. And then we wouldn’t have to stop every two metres while Sir Pee-A-Lot whizzes on every pole from here to Timbuktu!”   “Sure, sounds great Jen, but one problem… who’s going to take the diaper off of him again when we get home?”   “It’s your dog,” I mumble, turning to stare into the distance, pasting on my face one of my trademark broody looks. Well, okay, not trademark, but… anyway.   “Ok, I think he’s done now, here you go,” Jared says, pushing… something… into my hands.   “Ummm… what’s this?” I ask, and peer at the items in my hand. One looks mysteriously like a dustpan on a stick, the other a green little bag with some words on it. P… Po something. Smoothing it out, I recoil suddenly. “Poop bag! Poop bag. Jared, are you aware you handed me a POOP BAG?”   “Yes.”   “Oh.”   “Well, go on Jensen. Can’t leave it there, or we’ll get fined.”   “What’s wrong with getting fined?”   “It’s polite to pick it up.”   “I feel rude today.”   “Jensen.”   “Jared.”   Jared sighs, starts walking away with Sadie trotting angelically by his side. “All right, bye then,” he calls over his shoulder.   And now I’m torn between glaring at Harley, wincing at the… mess… and shooting kicked puppy looks at Jared’s back.   Aaarrrgh!! “Jared!”   “Yes?” Jared says, turns around, a look on his face that suggests he was counting backwards from 5, waiting for me to call out to him. I hate that look.   “Can you do it?”   “Jensen, we agreed before we started walking that we were each responsible for our own dog’s messes and behaviour. I’ve already cleaned up one of Sadie’s, now it’s your turn.”   “I never agreed to that! And besides, I’m pretty sure that if I knew that that was the arrangement, I would have asked to walk Sadie, so at least she’d behave!”   “I may have asked you when you were half-asleep.”   “You…! Ohh….! I don’t…” and I trail off into muttering, staring at the… mess.   “Come on, Jen, just do it so we can go home. I’m starving,” says Jared, and I look at him with wide eyes and my lower lip pouting just a little bit, hoping for him to… well, be nice I guess.   But no: “All right, I’ll see you at home then,” he says, and starts turning away.   Aww fuck it. “All right, all right, just wait a tic, okay? I’ll do it,” and I sigh dramatically, brandishing the dustpan thingy and the bag. I approach the enemy from one side, and then the other, attempting to determine the best possible angle to pick it up.   “Oh for God’s sake, Jensen, are we ever gonna get home?”   “Yes! Just let me… I just gotta…” I start, still staring at The Enemy. It had now achieved capital letter status in my head.   “Aaarrrgh…” mumbles Jared, leans over and… picks up The Enemy! Picks it up! In his hand! He picks It up!   And… he’s wearing gloves. Right.   But of course, before I realize that he is, in fact, wearing said gloves, I shriek out in a decidedly un-manly way… “Jared, oh my God, that’s doodie!”   Jared pops The Enemy into the bag, gingerly peels off the gloves and pops them in there too, and pulls out some hand gel. And then he looks at me.   “What did you say, Jen?”   And okay, I should have been able to save myself. I should have been able to say, ‘I said that it’s okay, that’s my duty,’ or some crap like that. I’m an actor for God’s sake. But no. I just have to go and repeat what I just said. Loud. And. Clear.   “I said that… it’s doodie.”   “Doodie,” Jared repeats, and the corner of his lip twitches ever so slightly.   “Yes,” and then, maybe just because I didn’t know what to say, maybe because I actually crave being embarrassed beyond belief for some reason, but I said it again, digging the last few feet of my grave, “doodie.”   And then both corners are twitching. And now his eye is kinda doing it’s little blinking thing. And his adams apple is jumping. And… he’s falling backwards. What the fuck?   “Jared, are you okay?” I say, leaping over Harley, but Harley is on one of those super duper long leads that extends like 5 million feet, and he has of course walked around me a couple of times while I was distracted with the whole Doodie Incident, and instead of taking this big manly step towards my fallen comrade, I fall. Rather spectacularly. With arms wind-milling and everything. I don’t land on top of Jared, thank goodness, because then I would never live it down, but I land right next to him in an ungraceful heap, while Harley and Sadie come over and helpfully start drooling on my ears.   “Oh my God,” I moan, and peek over at Jared, who is suspiciously making no noise, but he is holding his ribs, so maybe I accidentally hurt him during my Tremendous Fall of Doom. “You okay, dude?” I say, and poke him on the shoulder. And then he heaves in this enormous breath, and starts laughing hard. Like, really hard. And I kinda want him to just piss his pants so I can have something to laugh at too, but life just isn’t fair that way.   So I sit up and hug my knees until he finally pulls himself together enough to sit up.   “Jensen,” he says after a few minutes of gulping in air like it was going out of fashion.   “Yes,” I mumble, my cheeks flaming while I wait for whatever comment he decides to deal me.   “You are the best friend ever.”   Huh. Good dog, Harley.   xXx end xXx   Please let me know what you think! I’m not 100% sure about it… constructive criticism welcomed!! Current Mood: happy Current Music: The Nanny in the background (9 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, May 28th, 2007
7:45 pm	Fic:Dean's Birthday Title: Dean's Birthday   Author: liveinadream87   Rating: PG. G even. Word count: 388   Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they are solely the property of Eric Kripke and all those other dudes. I am not making any money off of this. I wish they were mine though, cuz *drool*   Summary: Wee!chesters. Dean's thirteenth birthday. Drabble!   Author's notes: Written super quickly, not paragraphed or beta read, but hopefully you don't hate it too much. :-) **** Sammy remembers Dean’s 13th birthday. The week before, Dad had heard about a violent poltergeist over in California, and left Dean and Sam with Pastor Jim so he could go ‘sort it out’. He finally got back the morning of Dean’s birthday, and Sam remembers Dean’s hopeful, expectant look, remembers how he scans Dad up and down for something he might be concealing, a present, but all Dad is concealing is cuts and bruises. Sammy remembers that whole day, Dean keeps glancing over at Dad, that hopeful look never quite distinguished. After all, 13 is a big number. It symbolises the transition from child to teenager, and everyone knows that teenagers are almost adults. At least that was what Dean had been saying for a month now to anyone who would listen, much to the amusement of Dad. And now the big day has arrived, and Dad is showing every sign of not having even remembered. Finally that night, Dean mutters that he’s going to bed and slouches off, disappointment showing in every heavy footfall. Sam looks up from the book he’s reading (since it’s not even his bedtime yet) and watches him go, then suddenly an idea pops into his head, and he throws the book down to run to his room. He searches under his mattress for a minute, finds what he is looking for and runs to Dean’s room.  Slows down outside and knocks on Dean’s door. There’s a minute or two of waiting, and Sam’s shifting on his feet excitedly by the time Dean finally opens the door, eyes suspiciously tinged red. “What?” Dean asks gruffly, and Sam bites his lip, because he hadn’t rehearsed this part, and what if Dean hated it? Finally, he holds out his hand, looking at the floor, and lets Dean take it. “It’s… I got it from a market one time… apparently it’s a good luck charm, and I figured… well, it’s not too girly or anything, and with what we do… I mean, I thought you might… I…” Dean interrupts, still staring at the silver charm hanging from a black cord, “Thanks, Sammy.” He slips it on over his head and stares down at it. “I’ll never take it off.” Sam smiles up at his brother, hugs him lightly and whispers “Happy birthday,” before scampering off again.  **Please review** Current Mood: happy (19 Comments |Comment on this)
1:21 pm	Story: Christmas Day Title: Christmas Day   Author: liveinadream87   Rating: PG. G even. Word count: 370   Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they are solely the property of Eric Kripke and all those other dudes. I am not making any money off of this. I wish they were mine though, cuz *drool*   Summary: Wee!chesters. The first Christmas where Sam is old enough to get really excited. Drabble!   Author's notes: Written super quickly, not paragraphed or beta read, but hopefully you don't hate it too much. :-) **** Sammy remembers the very first Christmas where he actually got excited about it… he was about 3 months shy of turning 4. Daddy has been telling him all about the big man in the red coat coming down the chimney and leaving presents for good little boys and girls, and Sammy goes to Dean to ask questions. “Dean, is Santa going to visit me? Dean, how does Santa get in? Dean, do salt lines matter to Santa? Dean, what if Daddy thinks Santa is the yellow eyed man and shoots him?” Dean’s very patient at first. “Yes, Sammy, of course he’ll visit you. Santa comes down the chimney, Sammy. No, salt lines don’t matter to Santa, Sammy. Of course Dad won’t think Santa is the yellow eyed man. Anyway, Santa can’t die.” But slowly Dean loses his patience, and, on Christmas Eve, finally stops Sam by telling him that Santa is actually a big mean man who takes away annoying little brothers on Christmas night and puts them to work in his factories forever. Sammy stares up at him with big watery brown eyes and walks away slowly to lie in his bed, shivering and fretful, all night long. He finally drifts off at about 2am, and wakes with a start at 6am, looking around frantically. Dean’s by his side, gently shaking him, and holds out a hand. “C’mon, Sammy,” he whispers, and half carries his sleepy baby brother out into the lounge room. Sammy’s very young, but he already knows that Daddy doesn’t have much money, so Christmas isn’t going to be huge. But Dean’s been working, because there’s wonky paper streamers strung up lopsidedly on the doors and over the couch, and glitter all over the floor. All of Sammy’s presents are in a neat little pile, and Sammy stares, because there’s more than there were last night. Dean whispers that Santa visited, and Sam sets to opening his presents with gusto. Five minutes later, their father wanders out, and eyes widen at the sight of the glitter and decorations. He spends the rest of the day mumbling about the ‘mess’ he’d have to clean up, but all Sammy remembers is that it was the best Christmas ever. **Please review!!** Current Mood: happy (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 27th, 2007
7:01 pm	Fic: Mother's Day Title: Mother's Day   Author: liveinadream87   Rating: PG. G even. Word count: 236   Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they are solely the property of Eric Kripke and all those other dudes. I am not making any money off of this. I wish they were mine though, cuz *drool*   Summary: Wee!chesters. The first Mother's Day that Sam can remember. Drabble!   Author's notes: Written super quickly, not paragraphed or beta read, but hopefully you don't hate it too much. :-) **** The first Mother’s Day Sam remembers, is when he had only just turned 3 years old. Dean was a manly 7 years of age, and Sam remembers going up to him and asking him what he should get Mummy for Mother’s Day, and how do you send your presents to Heaven? Dean got cranky at Sam at that point, said Mummy’s dead and there’s no point getting her anything because she can’t get it anyway.  Sam creeps away from his brother with tears streaming down his face and, curled up on his father’s lap, tells Daddy all about it. Daddy gets mad at Dean for that, makes Dean say sorry, and makes him help Sammy draw a picture for Mummy in Heaven. The picture gets stuck up on the fridge and Sammy looks on it with pride every time he walks into the kitchen. And that night, when everything was still and quiet, Dean creeps into Sammy’s big boy bed, and cuddles him. “Sorry, Sammy,” he whispers and tells him again all about Heaven and the angels and how Mummy looks down on them every day to make sure they’re ok. And when Sam 10, he’s looking in Dean’s drawers for something to blackmail him with when he finds 9 or 10 little neatly wrapped packages, each with a Mother’s Day card attached haphazardly with sticky tape, all written on: “To Mum, love Dean (and Sammy).” *offers cookies again to all who review* *is shamelessly bribing people to review* Current Mood: happy (8 Comments |Comment on this)
5:06 pm	Story: Father's Day Title: Father's Day   Author: liveinadream87   Rating: PG. G even. Word count: 205   Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they are solely the property of Eric Kripke and all those other dudes. I am not making any money off of this. I wish they were mine though, cuz *drool*   Summary: Wee!chesters. Sam's first Father's Day in school. Drabble!   Author's notes: Written super quickly, not paragraphed or beta read, but hopefully you don't hate it too much. :-) *** Sam remembers the first Father’s Day he was in school. He saved up every penny (and maybe borrowed a dollar or two from Dean) and bought a little plastic screwdriver set from the little shop they had set up in school. Never mind that his father barely knew one end of a screwdriver from the other… and that, even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have an opportunity to use them. But he got them, and when his father opened them, he smiled a huge smile down at his tiny 5 year old son, and said “Thank you Sammy. It’s just what I wanted.” And Sam positively beamed with the pride that only the very young possess. And for the next five years, he continued to buy that one tiny little box of screwdrivers for his father. Then, one day, when he’s about 11, he is intent on proving that’s he’s actually adopted and is rummaging through his father’s things, when he finds, in the very back of the bottom drawer, 6 little screwdriver sets, neatly stacked and still in their plastic wrappings. He stares for a while, then carefully replaces the drawer and goes back to his room, all thoughts of adoption now forgotten. *Offers cookies to all those who review* Current Mood: happy Current Music: None (14 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 25th, 2007
6:38 pm	Fic: Just One Night Title: Just One Night   Author: liveinadream87   Rating: R or NC-17.   Pairing/s: Dean/Sam   Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they are solely the property of Eric Kripke and all those other dudes. I am not making any money off of this. I wish they were mine though, cuz *drool*   Summary: Demons lie all the time. But sometimes… sometimes they tell the truth. Dean/Sam. Kind of a comfort fic.   Author's notes: Ok, so this is the ONLY story EVER that I have written and posted all in one day. It’s not beta-ed, because… well, none of my stuff ever gets beta-ed and no one complains. If you think it needs beta-ing, please say so and suggest someone if possible! I kind of just got the idea and typed it up straight away, so it's kind of raw... normally I go over my fics like 12 times with a fine tooth comb and change things but... well, anyway, read on, and enjoy. Or else. :-P   D&S   ”Truth is, Sammy boy… I know your brother far better than you do. Perhaps more than you ever will.”   “No, you don’t.”   The demon chuckled. “Oh, don’t I? I know that he waits until you fall asleep every night… and cries.”   “He doesn’t.”   “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Open your eyes. I know that whenever he cleans the guns, he thinks how easy it would be, just to end it all. Right then, and right there.”   “Dean wouldn’t kill himself.”   “I know what his father told him, before he died.”   “So do I.”   “I know the part he told you… and the part he didn’t.”   Silence.   “You see, Sammy, Daddy dearest told Dean that he might have to kill you. But see, he also told Dean that he was sacrificing his soul to save Dean. And you know what Dean has always wondered? Do you?”   “No.” Quietly.   “He wonders, my dear Sammy, if Daddy dearest died to save him… or so you would have an executioner.”   “DON’T LIE!”   “I’m not, Sammy. I do, most of the time… but sometimes… I tell the truth. Oh Sammy, are you crying? Are you? ‘Cause that hurts Dean too, you know. You cry so easy… you’re allowed to. Him… he has to be brave, keep his game face on, for Sammy. For you.   ‘The thing is, Dean knows that even when you and Daddy dearest were at each others throats, when you were arguing and even when he told you to leave and not come back… he knows that even then, he paid you far more attention and love than Dean has EVER known. He just wants to be loved, Sammy. He wants a normal life far more than he’ll ever admit, wants to tour the country for pleasure instead of work. Wants to see the Grand Canyon. Wants to travel to Australia and see a kangaroo. Travel to England and play in the snow and maybe visit the Queen’s Palace. Wants a dog, wants a home, wants someone to curl up with at night, but you know what, Sammy?”   “What?” Sam asks, scared of the answer.   “He won’t ever get it. He’ll die to save you… he’ll die rather than shoot you. It’s his destiny, and he knows it. Dean’s life is ruined, broken, Sammy… and guess what?” Leaning closer. “It’s all because of you.”   D&S   The door slammed open with a loud bang. Sam jumped and stared with wide, tear-filled eyes at his brother where he stood, imposing, in the doorway.   “Son of a bitch,” Dean cursed and strode towards the demon.   “Gotta run. Remember what I told you, Sammy.” The demon knocked Dean to the ground with one punch and was gone. Dean leapt to his feet and ran to the door, but the demon had disappeared   “Damnit!” he cursed, and turned around to Sam, to untie the ropes holding him to the chair.   A tear fell from Sam’s eye, rolling down his cheek and dripping onto Dean’s hand where he untied the last knot. Dean looked up quickly. “Sammy? Sammy, Jesus, what’s wrong? Sam?”   Sam stood up so quickly he got head spins and leant against his brother. Before he knew what was happening, he had wrapped his arms around the older man and was sobbing into his shoulder.   “Uh… umm, Sam? It’s ok, Sam, Sammy, it’s ok. What’s wrong?”   It took a while for Sam to calm down, but when he did, he kept his face buried in his brother’s shoulder, while Dean lightly stroked his back, seemingly unaware that he was doing it. It just seemed easier for Sam than looking into Dean’s eyes, now that he knew just how much those dark green orbs hid.   “Sam, please,” Dean whispered.   “He… the demon, he told me… something. About you.”   Dean pulled Sam away from him so he could look into his eyes. It took a while for him to gain eye contact, since Sam seemed intent on studying his shoes, but when they finally locked gazes, Sam’s eyes were brimming with more tears.   “Sammy… God, Sammy, demons lie. You know that, they lie. All the time.”   “I know,” he whispered quietly, not sure what to do with his arms now they weren’t clinched tightly around Dean’s waist. “I know, Dean, but sometimes,” and he locked gazes with Dean again, unsure when they’d lost contact, “sometimes they tell the truth.”   D&S   Sam stays awake that night. Goes to bed around ten, like always (“Glad to see you’re still such a night owl, Sam”), reads for a while, then switches off the lamp, and gets under the covers. Tosses and turns for a while before lying still, breathing deep and regulated, with a tiny snore thrown in every now and again for realism. It’s hard not to fall asleep, he’s so exhausted from the day’s happenings, so tired all the time, really, now, but he keeps going over what the demon said, and stays awake. Around 11:45, Dean finally shuts off the laptop and heaves a big sigh. Goes over to Sam’s bed. “Sammy?” he whispers quietly. Sam stays still and quiet, and listens as Dean moves away from the bed again. Sits on the edge of his bed and pulls off his jeans, folds them up and puts them next to the bed. Sighs again, pulls back the covers and climbs into bed.   It’s quiet. Quiet for a long time, and Sam begins to wonder if the demon was lying. Dean wouldn’t cry, surely? Sam has seen him get teary-eyed before, but he’s let a total of 2, maybe 3 tears fall. Dean was… well, he was Dean, wasn’t he? Sam tries to convince himself of this, and lets his eyes close.   15 minutes later, and Sam’s in that peaceful place between sleep and wakefulness when he hears a noise. Wasn’t anything, really, nothing that would make him think twice under ordinary circumstances, but it’s today, and that demon told him that Dean cries, and Sam doesn’t know what to believe. But then he hears it again, it’s just a breath being drawn in and let out, but it’s slightly shaky, and the breath was drawn in deeper than necessary and fuck it all. Dean cries when he thinks Sam’s asleep.   Sam’s up and out of bed before he knows what’s happening, kneeling down by Dean and reaching out a hand… slowly, tentatively stroking one wet cheek. Dean’s looking at him in the darkness, seems ashamed of his tears almost, and yet more tears fall, and Sam tells him to shove over. Sam crawls in beside his brother, grabs Dean’s head and holds it to his shoulder. “Let go, Dean. Just let go.”   “I can’t,” comes the whispered reply and Sam kisses the top of his head.   “You can,” Sam tells him, and then, even quieter, “I’ll catch you.”   Dean arms slowly come around his brother, inch their way across his back, and suddenly they’re clenched in the t-shirt he’s wearing, and Dean’s crying into Sam’s shoulder, almost-but-not-quite sobbing and Sam rubs his back soothingly in circles, and sings a lullaby that Dean taught him one time, the one that Mum used to sing.   Finally, finally Dean pulls away. His eyes are red and blood shot, and the shoulder of Sam’s t-shirt is drenched and is making him cold, and Dean looks more vulnerable than he’s ever seen him, but this is one of the best moments of his life.   “Sammy…” Dean whispers, and suddenly Sam doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear Dean apologizing for being human, for needing comfort or for crying. He’s sick of it, sick of the job and this life and he knows Dean’s sick of it too.   So he does the only thing he can. “Shut up,” he growls, and leans forward. Doesn’t know what’s come over him, but it seems right, somehow, as their lips connect. Dean kisses back for a second, lips soft and melting perfecting against Sam’s own, but suddenly he freezes, brain jumping back into action.   “Sammy, I…” he starts, and Sam puts a finger against his lips.   “I know, Dean. I know.”   “But…”   “Dean, if tonight is all we have…let’s make the most of it.”   “Just one night,” Dean breathes against Sam’s lips, and neither is sure whether it’s a question or not.   “Just one night,” Sam whispers, and their lips are pressed together again, melding perfectly, sweetly. Dean’s lips taste like tears, and Sam realizes that Dean’s crying again. He reaches up and cups Dean’s head in his hands, reaching out with thumbs to wipe the tears away, and kisses him again. Mouths slowly opened against each other and tongues tangled sweetly, beautifully. Sam rolls over so that he’s on top of Dean, and they’re lying chest to chest, separated by only a few layers of clothes. Dean looks up at him.   “Sammy,” he whispers, an unspoken request in his eyes. Sam answers it as he leans down to kiss Dean, and slowly reaches down. Pulls Dean’s shirt up a little, and slides big hands underneath, running them over heated skin, rippling muscles. Pushes the t-shirt up further to reach Dean’s nipples, finds them and gently touches the flushed little pebbles. Dean sighs into his mouth, and Sam sits up on Dean, pulls Dean up gently like he was a baby, and slowly pulls the t-shirt over his head. Dean ducks his head, seeming almost ashamed, but Sam lifts his chin and stares into his eyes. No words spoken, but a message delivered and received as Dean lay down again, and Sam returned to mapping his older brother with his hands. Slowly his kisses moved so he was first kissing the side of Dean’s mouth, then down the jaw. Onto the neck and Dean was moaning softly, twisting his head to give Sam better access.   “Please,” he whispers, running his hands over Sam’s broad back, finding the edge of his shirt and tugging experimentally. Sam shifts back a bit, lets Dean pull the shirt off, and lies down again, letting heated flesh settle against heated flesh. Dean throws his arm out to the side, lets the shirt fall.   Sam whispers against Dean’s skin as he moves slowly downwards. Dean strains to catch the words, but Sam’s mumbling too quietly. Dean’s head falls back against the pillow as Sam gently kisses his nipples, one kiss each and moves on. Kisses his way down Dean’s body, against sweaty skin and muscles, and his hands are everywhere his mouth is not. Dean unable to do anything more than rub Sam’s back and sigh, but it seems that Sam doesn’t really mind.   Suddenly Sam’s hands are on Dean’s shorts, and Dean freezes up suddenly, not sure. Sam immediately moves back up to his mouth and kisses the rosy lips gently, his overly-large hands cupping Dean’s face. Dean’s crying again, and Sam asks if this is ok.   Dean looks up, stares into his brother’s eyes, replies that nothing has ever felt more right. Sam’s hands are back on Dean’s shorts, but instead of watching what he’s doing, he stares at Dean, kisses him and loves him more than Dean’s ever known. Dean lifts his hips as Sam pulls down the shorts, releasing Dean’s hard member. Dean puts his hands on Sam’s boxers, not sure if he wants to do it, but sure he has to. Sam’s hands are on his, suddenly, and their eyes lock. “You don’t have to,” he whispers, but Dean’s determined and pulls down Sam’s boxers. The shorts are thrown somewhere and Dean moans as their cocks rub together.   “Sammy,” he says quietly, and starts as he feels Sam’s hands on him, rubbing his ball sac gently and stroking his cock. “Do you want me to…?” Dean starts to ask, but Sam kisses him. His hands are everywhere, touching Dean, kissing Dean, loving Dean. Dean’s covered by his brother’s body, and instead of feeling suffocated, he feels safe. Before he knows it, he’s coming, hard, all over Sam’s stomach and his own chest, hot liquid seeming never to stop, and in his haze, he feels Sammy stiffen and moan, coming all over Dean and the blankets without a single touch to himself.   Sam and Dean lie in the bed, both panting, and they’re kissing softly again. After a moment, Sam gets up. Dean’s not sure where he’d gone, but when he comes back, he’s got a wet washcloth and cleans Dean, pressing a kiss to his navel when he’s finished. Puts the cloth away and comes back, holds his hand out to Dean. Deans takes it and stands up. Both look back at the mussed up bed, and Dean’s smiling, a true smile, the first one in a long time. Sam pulls Deans hand gently, and they roll into Sam’s bed. They shift around a bit before they find a comfortable position, with Sam cuddling Dean from the back.   The room’s quiet, and Dean feels himself drifting off, but a thought wakes him suddenly.   “Hey, Sam?”   “Yeah?” Sammy answers quietly, his arm tightening slightly around Dean’s middle.   Dean lifts his head but doesn’t try to peer back at his brother. “What did the demon tell you about me?”   There was a moment’s silence before Sam answers. “Lies, Dean. Nothing but lies.”   *Fin*   I will give you hugs if you review. Pretty pretty please??? Constructive criticism welcome!! Current Mood: sick Current Music: None (31 Comments |Comment on this)