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Entry tags:
fic post:SpN untitled
Title: none
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:none--wishful thinking sort of. :)
Rating:3
Summary: It just came to me.
Sam told this story one night when he was still at Stanford. It was a “top this story” night—a “My dad’s king dick “ kind of night, and he won.
He told a story of this one time he’d wandered off in the Wal-Mart, attracted to the little food place there--a pizza oven had broken down, was immolating the pizzas instead of making them border line edible…Dean had found him standing in a thick cloud of greasy black smoke, and Dad swept him up, and then whipped his ass so hard that he couldn’t sit down that night or the next. It had been so mean, so unfair, and so totally unexpected that for years the smell of burning grease would make him angry, and a little sad.…
The weird thing was later that night, when he was embracing the bowl of a toilet that in sober moments he wouldn’t want to touch with his ass let alone his face and hurling up his toes, he remembered something about that story he had totally forgotten. That night, Dad had come into the room, and held his foot, stroked the arch and said, “I’m sorry Sammy, I’m so sorry—but you cant leave my side...you just can’t…”
Dean’d woke up when Dad came in and Dad asked him if he’d understood. “Yes sir,” he’d said. “It’s dangerous taking off on your own.”
He’d peeked from under his lids and seen Dad wipe his eyes. He’d forgotten all about that part.
Sam told this story when they were getting bombed and swapping “my brothers a bigger asshole than yours” stories. He told the story about the time Dean had knocked him down a flight of stairs. He won that round. Dean had knocked him down the stairs; he’d showed them the scars. So what if he’d left out the part about how Dean was actually aiming at some little vicious—thing--that had ridden in on his dad’s jacket after a hunt, and attached itself to him, drilling into his skin, looking for his heart—fucking pixies. Nasty disgusting things…Dean had squashed it good, too bad he’d been standing at the top of the second floor landing of the motel at the time. Really a damn shame, because he'd made contact with each and every god damn one of those stairs on the way down, while Dean stood at the top horrified—yeah, and laughing too.
The up side to the story was he still had his heart--and a perfectly identifiable set of pixie teeth marks under his shoulder blade…if you knew what you were looking at.
So yeah, great story, ‘my brother knocked me down a flight of stairs, gave me this scar, chipped a tooth…what a jerk.’
He told this story trying to get laid. He told it like he imagined Dean would, pictured Dean’s lazy smile, channeled his ability to get tail no matter where they were, no matter what was going on…he knew because Dean would tell him all about it late at night, in excruciating detail...he told his Dean story, and made it his and she gave in to the power of Winchester—Dean--but it didn’t matter, and he told it to her all the way through the hottest sex he ever had, and pictured Dean doing the same thing to some other girl, and imagined that somewhere, Dean was coming just when he was.
He came so hard that for days after, he’d think of it and get the ghost of the most incredible orgasm he’d ever had in his life—he never told the story like that again....
Not quite like that.
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:none--wishful thinking sort of. :)
Rating:3
Summary: It just came to me.
Sam told this story one night when he was still at Stanford. It was a “top this story” night—a “My dad’s king dick “ kind of night, and he won.
He told a story of this one time he’d wandered off in the Wal-Mart, attracted to the little food place there--a pizza oven had broken down, was immolating the pizzas instead of making them border line edible…Dean had found him standing in a thick cloud of greasy black smoke, and Dad swept him up, and then whipped his ass so hard that he couldn’t sit down that night or the next. It had been so mean, so unfair, and so totally unexpected that for years the smell of burning grease would make him angry, and a little sad.…
The weird thing was later that night, when he was embracing the bowl of a toilet that in sober moments he wouldn’t want to touch with his ass let alone his face and hurling up his toes, he remembered something about that story he had totally forgotten. That night, Dad had come into the room, and held his foot, stroked the arch and said, “I’m sorry Sammy, I’m so sorry—but you cant leave my side...you just can’t…”
Dean’d woke up when Dad came in and Dad asked him if he’d understood. “Yes sir,” he’d said. “It’s dangerous taking off on your own.”
He’d peeked from under his lids and seen Dad wipe his eyes. He’d forgotten all about that part.
Sam told this story when they were getting bombed and swapping “my brothers a bigger asshole than yours” stories. He told the story about the time Dean had knocked him down a flight of stairs. He won that round. Dean had knocked him down the stairs; he’d showed them the scars. So what if he’d left out the part about how Dean was actually aiming at some little vicious—thing--that had ridden in on his dad’s jacket after a hunt, and attached itself to him, drilling into his skin, looking for his heart—fucking pixies. Nasty disgusting things…Dean had squashed it good, too bad he’d been standing at the top of the second floor landing of the motel at the time. Really a damn shame, because he'd made contact with each and every god damn one of those stairs on the way down, while Dean stood at the top horrified—yeah, and laughing too.
The up side to the story was he still had his heart--and a perfectly identifiable set of pixie teeth marks under his shoulder blade…if you knew what you were looking at.
So yeah, great story, ‘my brother knocked me down a flight of stairs, gave me this scar, chipped a tooth…what a jerk.’
He told this story trying to get laid. He told it like he imagined Dean would, pictured Dean’s lazy smile, channeled his ability to get tail no matter where they were, no matter what was going on…he knew because Dean would tell him all about it late at night, in excruciating detail...he told his Dean story, and made it his and she gave in to the power of Winchester—Dean--but it didn’t matter, and he told it to her all the way through the hottest sex he ever had, and pictured Dean doing the same thing to some other girl, and imagined that somewhere, Dean was coming just when he was.
He came so hard that for days after, he’d think of it and get the ghost of the most incredible orgasm he’d ever had in his life—he never told the story like that again....
Not quite like that.
no subject
That? Is one of the hottest sentences I've ever read in my life.
:)
**smooches you**
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Very cool, with that whiff of Wincest at the end. 'Cause every guy thinks about his brother while he's getting laid. *g*
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For the win, you.
:)
*bounce*
...he told his Dean story, and made it his and she gave in to the power of Winchester—Dean--but it didn’t matter, and he told it to her all the way through the hottest sex he ever had, and pictured Dean doing the same thing to some other girl, and imagined that somewhere, Dean was coming just when he was.
Dude. Guh.
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This was wonderful, sweetie. Thank you for sharing it with us.
*hugs*
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Thank you beloved! You're the best! :)
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Guhhhh. SO GOOD.
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Thank you so much! ♥
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Thank you, love!