SpN: Lodi part 14/B
4/16/09 11:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Lodi part 14 part B
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2609
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
continued from part A
"What'd you bring Patrick for lunch?"
They're going at a pretty good clip down a side road that'll bring them out to the main highway--and Dean and Patrick's giant place of employment. There's not much to see on the road, the scenery basically consists of pines and skeletal trees, occasionally a house falling down into waist high weeds. Before the base cut backs, it had been a busy, well maintained road. It's not used as much now, but it was a good drive in the summer, isolated enough that it was fairly safe to fly down and that was fun to do, with the tape deck banging and the windows wide open, screaming along to the music—
The air whipping through the car windows smells like hot sand and pine, a kind of clean scent. Sam likes having the windows open much better than the AC, likes how it dries the sweat curling his hair, dries his skin without making it feel all tight and itchy. Dean repeats his question and rolling his eyes, Sam reaches over and turns the radio down—yeah, not shouting over Paranoid. Ignores Dean's automatic bleat of protest. He looks down into the bag on his lap.
"I didn't make him lunch, it was just in there—" He'd grabbed the bag from the fridge before they left. The neatly creased bag with Patrick carefully printed across the top made him laugh, it was so fucking *him*--if they'd had stickers, he'd probably pop a few on. Such a fuckin' girl. Only Pat could get away with shit like this, he thinks, and peels open the bag. "Looks like tuna fish. Ew. I hate tuna fish."
"Dude, you're not eating it, he is. I'm going to pick up my check too, as long as we're there. Get the grill from Pat while I do that—he's working the patio shop this week. I fucking hate patio." He frowns a little and Sam reaches over and lets his fingers drift over Dean's leg, just short of tickling. Loves it when Dean's frown melts into a smirk.
Sam pretends to watch the scenery flash by and spells his name many times on the inside of Dean's thigh. Because it makes Dean snicker. Because it's a fact, that thigh is his. And so's the other one, and every fucking thing between them. Sam smirks too and lets his hand wander higher, slowly spelling Samuel Winchester until his fingers are pushing up the edge of Dean's shorts. He watches Dean's face change the higher his fingers move. Soft hairs bend, give way under his finger tips—he can just feel the edge of where hair begins to thicken—scratches there. Dean's breaths come quicker, harder. He helpfully shifts his leg outward a bit, making it easier for Sam to trace the outline of his dick. It starts to fill. He cups Dean and squeezes, carefully, firmly.
"Fuck!" Dean jerks all over and Sam, Sam smiles. This is good, this is…fuck, this is better than good…Dean's sweating, even with the wind whipping through the windows, sweat's on his lip, beading up on his neck. His grip on the steering wheel shifts, knuckles white… "Sam, careful, shit. I don’t want to pile us into a tree."
Sam pushes down, grinding his palm into Dean's thigh. He's hard now too, watching Dean flinch and gasp. There's something lurking, building in him, and it feels hot and thick and really, really, good. "So pull over. Come on, there's a couple of spots we can pull over, no one's going to be out in the day time." He feels like. Fuck, like he's so high. He closes his eyes and revels in it—this feeling. This knowing that Dean wants it as much as he does, and that he wants it from *Sam*.
They're flying even faster now, the wind is stripping the air from his mouth and he knows it's crazy what he's doing, but he does it anyway, leans into Dean and runs long, hot licks up his arm, right into his armpit, tasting salt and the bitter tang of deodorant, and clean skin and pushes his fingers afar enough under the shorts leg that he can feel Dean's dick lift to meet his touch—Dean
"Stop!" Dean snorts, tries to jerk away--laughs and groans and then curses as the car screeches across the road. "Motherfuck—you're going to kill us--all right. I'm—pulling over—"
His brother's breathless, still laughing, but it flies apart when Sam bites him, a hot spot over his ribs, sucks sweaty cotton into his mouth, sucks until he knows Dean's skin is going to bruise and fuck yeah, he likes doing it.
Dean jerks the wheel hard and they fishtail through gravel, and slide to a stop on the roadside. Sam's stomach slams up into his heart, fucking scared and so turned on. He's giggling, high and tight because it's hard to breathe, Dean snickers, and then he swats him in the back of the head. "Yow, you jerk!"
"You little *fucker*," Dean snaps. "We could have hit a tree or something."
Sam grins. "Yeah, but we didn't."
"Who *are* you? What have you done with the Sam who actually uses his brains?" Dean growls and then they're bouncing down a dirt road apparently made of ruts and lined with boulders, which leads to nowhere—nowhere being a slight clearing in between trees. Dean jams the car into park, and jerks his seat belt off. He reaches out and grabs Sam's. "Get it off, come here," and pulls him into his lap, thumbs digging hard into the muscle of his thighs. The way he's kissing Sam is different than any way he's kissed him yet. It's almost kind of scary and for a second, doubt scritches at the back of his mind…and then he's going fucking crazy. Dean's got his fingers digging into his ass, practically dragging him over his dick. The way Dean's moaning and throwing his hips up, Sam's sure—Sam *knows* he'd be better than any girl Dean's ever had—he could prove it to him, if Dean would only *let* him. Dean yanks and pulls at Sam's shorts down and they end up somewhere on the floor…he spreads Sam's legs as wide as possible and all the while sinking down until he's lying on the seat and Sam's just about sitting on his chest, then….
Sam's head smacks hard into the roof, and then he's banging a fist against it—fuck fuck fuck--he watches his dick disappear into Dean's mouth. Sam feels like he's not getting air—he can't even remember how to breathe. All he can feel is the wet tight heat of Dean's mouth, the slick wet inside, the sudden tight squeeze as he pulls off and sucks hard—Sam jabs Dean once or twice in the back of his throat and gags him before they figure out a nice, firm grip on his hips will keep Sam from choking Dean on his dick. It goes a lot smoother after that.
Sam's caught, can't look away--Dean's lips are so red and so wet, slippery with spit and precome. He keeps making these little grunting sounds. When he pulls off to gulp air, Sam's dick slaps his belly—Dean laughs low and dirty and sucks him right back down. Sam's pretty sure it's the laugh that does it—it just says Dean knows he owns him and it's so hot he can't hold back. He doesn't know if he should pull out or not, but Dean decides for him, lunges forward and takes Sam as deep as he can and that's just—too much. He let's go with a horrible cracking yell…thank God he's too fucked up to care. He's dripping wet--they're both fucking dripping, it’s so damn hot in the car--so Sam's sure he can play off the tears as sweat, and lets them go. It was incredible, amazing and…shit. Never, ever thought this dream would come true….
Dean pulls off finally when Sam shoves him away. His voice is hoarse but he looks pleased with himself. "Didn't even taste it." He's grinning at Sam like he's done something clever and Sam gets it…Dean has no idea this is a first for Sam. He probably thinks Pat…yeah. No.
Sam sits right on his dick and hopes it hurts. He wipes his dripping face with both hands--the whole inside of the car stinks like sex and stale smoke, like Dean.
"Didn't even taste it." What the fuck--Sam doesn't get it. If he was Dean, he'd want to know, he'd want it right on his tongue and on his lips and in the back of his throat so he could walk around and taste and breathe Dean all day…"I wanted you to taste me," he says and Dean's eyes flicker away…Sam's not sure he likes that but he's still feeling electric sparks, still feeling hot all over and most of all, wanting more. He wants Dean to feel this way. He reaches out for Dean's dick but gets pushed away.
"Nah, I got it," Dean says, and starts to jerk off. His eyes are dancing all over Sam, he's moaning under his breath, real quiet like he's trying to keep it to himself. It's not long before he's speeding up, Sam figures probably because he's been staring at Dean so damn hard—impossible not to look away because he's just so pretty when he's about to come. He tightens all over and makes a sound Sam loves—Sam slaps his hands away and before Dean can stop him, Sam's got him in his mouth and he sucks—hard. He feels an explosion of warmth and pulls back so Dean comes in his mouth, on his tongue. Sam won’t let him get away, he sucks him dry, ignoring his weak pushes, ignoring everything but this—the way Dean feels, his taste, his smell, everything. Belongs to him—Dean's *supposed* to belong to him.
He's licking his lips and feeling pretty damn good. He smiles at Dean who's most certainly not returning the smile. He looks…Sam's not sure how to read it. He's not smiling back, not at first, and when he does, it's one of those smiles. All teeth, and nothing else. When Dean thinks he's not looking Sam sees him glance around the car, like he's not really sure how they got there.
~~~~~~
At least Patrick is happy to see him, he grabs the bag and smiles at Sam like the sun's just come out. Dean mumbles something and takes off to do what he has to, and Sam gets the grill, and then he sits and watches Patrick work. Pat's got a smile for everyone, kind and helpful and—it's kind of sickening, Sam thinks. Maybe he should check Patrick, fling a little holy water on him just to be sure….
Dean comes back and bypasses Sam, there's a small group of guys out on the street, wearing the vests and smoking and looking kind of self-consciously bored and Dean jerks his chin towards them with a grunt. Sam interprets this to mean, "I'm going off to do some macho posturing, don't fucking embarrass me by acting like you know me." Sam catches his eye and deliberately runs his tongue around inside his mouth. Yeah, you dick, I can taste you.It pisses him off that Dean doesn’t blush, not the fucking least bit. He does drop his eyes though, before walking away. Sam watches him and gets that easy, drowsy, cottony feeling he's had for the last couple of days, only it sharpens a little, loses some of its unformed edges....
The customers taper off and Patrick finally gets his break. He comes over to where Sam's sitting, clutching that silly lunch bag and all pink faced from the heat and no doubt from the effort of smiling non-stop. He sits next to Sam. "Hey, you." He checks to make sure they can't be overheard by a stray passer-by. "We're still doing this thing tonight?" he whispers, and Sam wonders if Patrick realizes how it looks, him leaning toward Sam with pink cheeks, whispering, his hand on the bench between them. Sam smiles…Patrick. He's just…clueless.
"Oh yeah. We're ready." Sam nods. "You scared?"
"No, not really, not anymore. I hope it works…" He stops, and looks—really looks at Sam. He says, "Sam--what happened? Where's Dean? What did you do?"
"Dean? What--nothing! What are you talking about? And why is it always my fault? Jesus, I don’t know." He squirms a little and feels Patrick's eyes on him like twin lasers. It takes him a moment or two before he's pretty sure his voice isn't going to break. "Patrick, I think I screwed up. But I'm not sure how. He's always…. Fuck." Sam slams his hand down on the bench and manages to bite back the hiss of pain that bubbles up. It's just so fucking frustrating, all of it. "I won’t *break*. You know? I won’t break."
It's like Patrick's inside his mind or something. He shakes his head, and when he gazes up at Sam again, he looks annoyed—and sad. Or pitying, something…"Sam. You're just—so impatient. You fucking Winchesters. You think you're the only real things in the world. So fucked up and I'm just trying to hang on. God, you make me tired, the both of you." He looks tired, sad. Sam just wants to go home, get this shit over and then, just…breathe again.
"Here comes your brother—I'll see you later, okay?" Patrick tosses a wave at Dean and walks away before Dean can catch up with him.
And Dean glares at him—seriously? Sam's had about enough of the both of them.
~~~~~~
Patrick's lying on the bottom bunk, and Sam is leaning over him, using a Bic to carefully ink a six pointed star over his heart. He's squirming a little because Sam's finger brushes over his stiff nipple repeatedly. "Don’t move, damn it," Sam mutters. He pushes a hand against Patrick's shoulder to hold him still and leans closer, darkening the lines but really, he's just messing with Patrick, teasing him, smelling him—Patrick always smells so good. Patrick's lip quirks up, he knows damn well what Sam's doing. At least, it lightens the mood between them. Now if Sam could just get Dean to lighten up….
When they're done and helping a silent Dean load the car, Patrick takes Sam by the shoulder, tells him he needs to speak to him…in a steady voice pitched only to Sam's ears, he says, "The beginning of the summer, I told you I had a thing for your brother and I'm feeling like it kind of launched all of this, somehow, or maybe it was when you told me that…I don't know. Anyway, that's how I felt then but now I want to tell you this just in case…"
"Don't tell me anything, it's all going to go just as we planned."
Patrick just keeps talking right over Sam. "I want you to know that I don’t have that thing anymore, and haven’t for awhile. And I'm really sorry. Okay, let's hurry, up, Dean's waiting."
the *fuck*? Sam's left looking at Patrick's back as he hurries to catch up with Dean. Now, what the fucking hell was that supposed to mean? He jogs to catch up. Patrick has his own way of being an enormous pain in the ass. In fact, Patrick was pretty damn Winchestery himself when he wanted to be….
15A
TBC
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2609
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
continued from part A
"What'd you bring Patrick for lunch?"
They're going at a pretty good clip down a side road that'll bring them out to the main highway--and Dean and Patrick's giant place of employment. There's not much to see on the road, the scenery basically consists of pines and skeletal trees, occasionally a house falling down into waist high weeds. Before the base cut backs, it had been a busy, well maintained road. It's not used as much now, but it was a good drive in the summer, isolated enough that it was fairly safe to fly down and that was fun to do, with the tape deck banging and the windows wide open, screaming along to the music—
The air whipping through the car windows smells like hot sand and pine, a kind of clean scent. Sam likes having the windows open much better than the AC, likes how it dries the sweat curling his hair, dries his skin without making it feel all tight and itchy. Dean repeats his question and rolling his eyes, Sam reaches over and turns the radio down—yeah, not shouting over Paranoid. Ignores Dean's automatic bleat of protest. He looks down into the bag on his lap.
"I didn't make him lunch, it was just in there—" He'd grabbed the bag from the fridge before they left. The neatly creased bag with Patrick carefully printed across the top made him laugh, it was so fucking *him*--if they'd had stickers, he'd probably pop a few on. Such a fuckin' girl. Only Pat could get away with shit like this, he thinks, and peels open the bag. "Looks like tuna fish. Ew. I hate tuna fish."
"Dude, you're not eating it, he is. I'm going to pick up my check too, as long as we're there. Get the grill from Pat while I do that—he's working the patio shop this week. I fucking hate patio." He frowns a little and Sam reaches over and lets his fingers drift over Dean's leg, just short of tickling. Loves it when Dean's frown melts into a smirk.
Sam pretends to watch the scenery flash by and spells his name many times on the inside of Dean's thigh. Because it makes Dean snicker. Because it's a fact, that thigh is his. And so's the other one, and every fucking thing between them. Sam smirks too and lets his hand wander higher, slowly spelling Samuel Winchester until his fingers are pushing up the edge of Dean's shorts. He watches Dean's face change the higher his fingers move. Soft hairs bend, give way under his finger tips—he can just feel the edge of where hair begins to thicken—scratches there. Dean's breaths come quicker, harder. He helpfully shifts his leg outward a bit, making it easier for Sam to trace the outline of his dick. It starts to fill. He cups Dean and squeezes, carefully, firmly.
"Fuck!" Dean jerks all over and Sam, Sam smiles. This is good, this is…fuck, this is better than good…Dean's sweating, even with the wind whipping through the windows, sweat's on his lip, beading up on his neck. His grip on the steering wheel shifts, knuckles white… "Sam, careful, shit. I don’t want to pile us into a tree."
Sam pushes down, grinding his palm into Dean's thigh. He's hard now too, watching Dean flinch and gasp. There's something lurking, building in him, and it feels hot and thick and really, really, good. "So pull over. Come on, there's a couple of spots we can pull over, no one's going to be out in the day time." He feels like. Fuck, like he's so high. He closes his eyes and revels in it—this feeling. This knowing that Dean wants it as much as he does, and that he wants it from *Sam*.
They're flying even faster now, the wind is stripping the air from his mouth and he knows it's crazy what he's doing, but he does it anyway, leans into Dean and runs long, hot licks up his arm, right into his armpit, tasting salt and the bitter tang of deodorant, and clean skin and pushes his fingers afar enough under the shorts leg that he can feel Dean's dick lift to meet his touch—Dean
"Stop!" Dean snorts, tries to jerk away--laughs and groans and then curses as the car screeches across the road. "Motherfuck—you're going to kill us--all right. I'm—pulling over—"
His brother's breathless, still laughing, but it flies apart when Sam bites him, a hot spot over his ribs, sucks sweaty cotton into his mouth, sucks until he knows Dean's skin is going to bruise and fuck yeah, he likes doing it.
Dean jerks the wheel hard and they fishtail through gravel, and slide to a stop on the roadside. Sam's stomach slams up into his heart, fucking scared and so turned on. He's giggling, high and tight because it's hard to breathe, Dean snickers, and then he swats him in the back of the head. "Yow, you jerk!"
"You little *fucker*," Dean snaps. "We could have hit a tree or something."
Sam grins. "Yeah, but we didn't."
"Who *are* you? What have you done with the Sam who actually uses his brains?" Dean growls and then they're bouncing down a dirt road apparently made of ruts and lined with boulders, which leads to nowhere—nowhere being a slight clearing in between trees. Dean jams the car into park, and jerks his seat belt off. He reaches out and grabs Sam's. "Get it off, come here," and pulls him into his lap, thumbs digging hard into the muscle of his thighs. The way he's kissing Sam is different than any way he's kissed him yet. It's almost kind of scary and for a second, doubt scritches at the back of his mind…and then he's going fucking crazy. Dean's got his fingers digging into his ass, practically dragging him over his dick. The way Dean's moaning and throwing his hips up, Sam's sure—Sam *knows* he'd be better than any girl Dean's ever had—he could prove it to him, if Dean would only *let* him. Dean yanks and pulls at Sam's shorts down and they end up somewhere on the floor…he spreads Sam's legs as wide as possible and all the while sinking down until he's lying on the seat and Sam's just about sitting on his chest, then….
Sam's head smacks hard into the roof, and then he's banging a fist against it—fuck fuck fuck--he watches his dick disappear into Dean's mouth. Sam feels like he's not getting air—he can't even remember how to breathe. All he can feel is the wet tight heat of Dean's mouth, the slick wet inside, the sudden tight squeeze as he pulls off and sucks hard—Sam jabs Dean once or twice in the back of his throat and gags him before they figure out a nice, firm grip on his hips will keep Sam from choking Dean on his dick. It goes a lot smoother after that.
Sam's caught, can't look away--Dean's lips are so red and so wet, slippery with spit and precome. He keeps making these little grunting sounds. When he pulls off to gulp air, Sam's dick slaps his belly—Dean laughs low and dirty and sucks him right back down. Sam's pretty sure it's the laugh that does it—it just says Dean knows he owns him and it's so hot he can't hold back. He doesn't know if he should pull out or not, but Dean decides for him, lunges forward and takes Sam as deep as he can and that's just—too much. He let's go with a horrible cracking yell…thank God he's too fucked up to care. He's dripping wet--they're both fucking dripping, it’s so damn hot in the car--so Sam's sure he can play off the tears as sweat, and lets them go. It was incredible, amazing and…shit. Never, ever thought this dream would come true….
Dean pulls off finally when Sam shoves him away. His voice is hoarse but he looks pleased with himself. "Didn't even taste it." He's grinning at Sam like he's done something clever and Sam gets it…Dean has no idea this is a first for Sam. He probably thinks Pat…yeah. No.
Sam sits right on his dick and hopes it hurts. He wipes his dripping face with both hands--the whole inside of the car stinks like sex and stale smoke, like Dean.
"Didn't even taste it." What the fuck--Sam doesn't get it. If he was Dean, he'd want to know, he'd want it right on his tongue and on his lips and in the back of his throat so he could walk around and taste and breathe Dean all day…"I wanted you to taste me," he says and Dean's eyes flicker away…Sam's not sure he likes that but he's still feeling electric sparks, still feeling hot all over and most of all, wanting more. He wants Dean to feel this way. He reaches out for Dean's dick but gets pushed away.
"Nah, I got it," Dean says, and starts to jerk off. His eyes are dancing all over Sam, he's moaning under his breath, real quiet like he's trying to keep it to himself. It's not long before he's speeding up, Sam figures probably because he's been staring at Dean so damn hard—impossible not to look away because he's just so pretty when he's about to come. He tightens all over and makes a sound Sam loves—Sam slaps his hands away and before Dean can stop him, Sam's got him in his mouth and he sucks—hard. He feels an explosion of warmth and pulls back so Dean comes in his mouth, on his tongue. Sam won’t let him get away, he sucks him dry, ignoring his weak pushes, ignoring everything but this—the way Dean feels, his taste, his smell, everything. Belongs to him—Dean's *supposed* to belong to him.
He's licking his lips and feeling pretty damn good. He smiles at Dean who's most certainly not returning the smile. He looks…Sam's not sure how to read it. He's not smiling back, not at first, and when he does, it's one of those smiles. All teeth, and nothing else. When Dean thinks he's not looking Sam sees him glance around the car, like he's not really sure how they got there.
At least Patrick is happy to see him, he grabs the bag and smiles at Sam like the sun's just come out. Dean mumbles something and takes off to do what he has to, and Sam gets the grill, and then he sits and watches Patrick work. Pat's got a smile for everyone, kind and helpful and—it's kind of sickening, Sam thinks. Maybe he should check Patrick, fling a little holy water on him just to be sure….
Dean comes back and bypasses Sam, there's a small group of guys out on the street, wearing the vests and smoking and looking kind of self-consciously bored and Dean jerks his chin towards them with a grunt. Sam interprets this to mean, "I'm going off to do some macho posturing, don't fucking embarrass me by acting like you know me." Sam catches his eye and deliberately runs his tongue around inside his mouth. Yeah, you dick, I can taste you.It pisses him off that Dean doesn’t blush, not the fucking least bit. He does drop his eyes though, before walking away. Sam watches him and gets that easy, drowsy, cottony feeling he's had for the last couple of days, only it sharpens a little, loses some of its unformed edges....
The customers taper off and Patrick finally gets his break. He comes over to where Sam's sitting, clutching that silly lunch bag and all pink faced from the heat and no doubt from the effort of smiling non-stop. He sits next to Sam. "Hey, you." He checks to make sure they can't be overheard by a stray passer-by. "We're still doing this thing tonight?" he whispers, and Sam wonders if Patrick realizes how it looks, him leaning toward Sam with pink cheeks, whispering, his hand on the bench between them. Sam smiles…Patrick. He's just…clueless.
"Oh yeah. We're ready." Sam nods. "You scared?"
"No, not really, not anymore. I hope it works…" He stops, and looks—really looks at Sam. He says, "Sam--what happened? Where's Dean? What did you do?"
"Dean? What--nothing! What are you talking about? And why is it always my fault? Jesus, I don’t know." He squirms a little and feels Patrick's eyes on him like twin lasers. It takes him a moment or two before he's pretty sure his voice isn't going to break. "Patrick, I think I screwed up. But I'm not sure how. He's always…. Fuck." Sam slams his hand down on the bench and manages to bite back the hiss of pain that bubbles up. It's just so fucking frustrating, all of it. "I won’t *break*. You know? I won’t break."
It's like Patrick's inside his mind or something. He shakes his head, and when he gazes up at Sam again, he looks annoyed—and sad. Or pitying, something…"Sam. You're just—so impatient. You fucking Winchesters. You think you're the only real things in the world. So fucked up and I'm just trying to hang on. God, you make me tired, the both of you." He looks tired, sad. Sam just wants to go home, get this shit over and then, just…breathe again.
"Here comes your brother—I'll see you later, okay?" Patrick tosses a wave at Dean and walks away before Dean can catch up with him.
And Dean glares at him—seriously? Sam's had about enough of the both of them.
Patrick's lying on the bottom bunk, and Sam is leaning over him, using a Bic to carefully ink a six pointed star over his heart. He's squirming a little because Sam's finger brushes over his stiff nipple repeatedly. "Don’t move, damn it," Sam mutters. He pushes a hand against Patrick's shoulder to hold him still and leans closer, darkening the lines but really, he's just messing with Patrick, teasing him, smelling him—Patrick always smells so good. Patrick's lip quirks up, he knows damn well what Sam's doing. At least, it lightens the mood between them. Now if Sam could just get Dean to lighten up….
When they're done and helping a silent Dean load the car, Patrick takes Sam by the shoulder, tells him he needs to speak to him…in a steady voice pitched only to Sam's ears, he says, "The beginning of the summer, I told you I had a thing for your brother and I'm feeling like it kind of launched all of this, somehow, or maybe it was when you told me that…I don't know. Anyway, that's how I felt then but now I want to tell you this just in case…"
"Don't tell me anything, it's all going to go just as we planned."
Patrick just keeps talking right over Sam. "I want you to know that I don’t have that thing anymore, and haven’t for awhile. And I'm really sorry. Okay, let's hurry, up, Dean's waiting."
the *fuck*? Sam's left looking at Patrick's back as he hurries to catch up with Dean. Now, what the fucking hell was that supposed to mean? He jogs to catch up. Patrick has his own way of being an enormous pain in the ass. In fact, Patrick was pretty damn Winchestery himself when he wanted to be….
15A
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
4/17/09 04:05 am (UTC)I just love Sam - he's just growing and becoming someone really cool and yet totally familiar to me throughout your story.
(no subject)
4/20/09 10:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/17/09 04:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/20/09 10:38 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked him getting a gift of Patrick, sort of! ;)
(no subject)
4/17/09 04:28 am (UTC)*wails a little*
You're breaking them already! You're just...you are...omg!!
*flails*
*sniffles*
Why do i let you do this to me? I love how Sam is just so damn *happy* and then in a minute he's not and Dean is....and Patrick...just....
*flails more*
GODS.
(no subject)
4/20/09 10:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/17/09 04:43 am (UTC)Man, I just really like your characters. I can see them, they're so complete. And I feel bad for all of them, and even John, too, cos you know he's gonna be walking into a pile of it when he gets back and Sam and Dean are. . . doing whatever they do when they're equal parts pissed off and obsessed with each other.
*happysigh*
(no subject)
4/20/09 10:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/17/09 01:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/20/09 10:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/17/09 03:58 pm (UTC)I like it :)
(no subject)
4/20/09 10:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/17/09 05:02 pm (UTC)And you realize I have to WORK, don't you? Do you realize how hard it is to multitask press paste-ups and porn? Do you? DO YOU?!
Reading the next chapter now...
(no subject)
4/19/09 02:32 pm (UTC)The voices are excellent, because they're exactly what they're supposed to be: a younger version of Dean and Sam. It's like we can see where everything had its roots.
Anyway, really enjoying the story and looking forward to the next chapter!
(no subject)
4/20/09 10:52 pm (UTC)Thank you--what a wonderful compliment! That's exactly what I was going for here--a look back to the roots. Well, that and a little porn...thanks so much for reading this and letting me know you liked it! I'm glad you weren't disappointed!
(no subject)
4/24/09 06:10 am (UTC)Best fucking line ever!
Baby!Sammy has stolen my heart. And I can just see John busting a rib laughing about it, too. Well, not Sam thinking he'd done something to make Dean not love him, but the card? Yeah.
This chapter was just full of foreboding hints of what is to come. Dean's disquiet, Pat's confession, and the end of Summer itself... Oh, man. I have no idea what is going to happen. Awesome!
ETA: forgot to say, this was my other favorite line:
"Sam. You're just—so impatient. You fucking Winchesters. You think you're the only real things in the world. So fucked up and I'm just trying to hang on. God, you make me tired, the both of you." He looks tired, sad.
It rings so damn true.
(no subject)
4/24/09 07:20 am (UTC)Ack-it's like you were in my *brain*! I had this whole side story going on, with the card, and John trying not to laugh, and Dean all embarrassed but liking it, and not wanting to show how much.