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roxyTitle: Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC
Rating: various by chapter, NC-17 overall
Word Count:1518
Summary: I wondered what happened to those Lodi boys, too
Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
Patrick drags himself out of the fucking piece of crap that's supposed to be a car—he really needed to stop hating on that car, Mark did try to help, wasn't his fault they weren't millionaires. This job didn’t exactly come with a paycheck. It required a strong back, good aim, and the willingness to do anything to survive. And not think too deeply about what that took. But get rich—or even break even? Was never going to happen.
"God…." He needs a break, he thinks, it's time for a little vacation. Dead things were piling up in his wake and fuck, he deserved some time off.
He takes a heart-pounding moment to concentrate on manhandling the piece of shit into a parking space as close to the hotel entrance as he can get. He terrorizes it into hunkering down in a space before releasing the breath he hadn't known he was holding. Good thing he's not a fuckin' spy, what with the damn engine alerting the whole joint he's coming…though the smoke screen he's throwing up is probably hiding him from view….
Maybe he'd head back to the Post House tonight, catch up on the group he thinks of as his. See if Alex had a job lined up for him, hand the intel he's managed to collect on the last couple of jobs over to Mark and—oh, hell no. No.
"Mother fu--?" Patrick stops, mouth open and a big wedge of horror cracking open his chest. Seriously? "Really, God?"
Crouching under the sun, gleaming like a polished skull, sits a big ass black Impala. Right there in the parking lot big as day and Patrick could swear it was staring right at him, the chrome of its grill a long gleaming sneer. The cars parked next to it were cringing away. Really.
God sure does have a funny sense of humor, Patrick muses, if by funny you mean fucked up. He sighs, and drags his work bag out from under the passenger seat of the last running Gremlin in the known universe, and accidentally knocks the small bag of take-out onto the floor. The lid on his coke pops, and the cup empties into the threadbare carpet.
Wonderful.
His life has just taken a turn for the worse, he's thinking. His shake at least is untouched. Grateful for small favors….
Besides, it was worth it to see Sam. Sam had looked happy. Girlfriend. He shakes his head and wonders if Dean saw her, what he thinks about the girl.
~~~o0o~~~
He's sitting cross-legged on the bed, his hamburger and the shake he'd promised himself sitting on a notebook doing duty as a tray. It was a decent burger, and a pretty good shake that he's not enjoying at all because he's thinking about Sam, the way that he hardly ever does anymore. Of course he's lying to himself. Every time he goes out on a job, he says a prayer, with the rosary he carries on him all the time wrapped around his knuckles and kisses a picture—one he carries all the time—of Sam. One quick kiss. Not even a kiss, just a peck--barely that even. Really. It's habit. A goofy, pointless superstition, the way some of the guys carry a rabbit's foot, or some other weird junk, like a shiny rock, or old coin, or whatever nutty thing in addition to the *real* stuff, that makes them feel safe.
Patrick's perfectly aware of the irony, that the thing he thinks keeps him safe, is a picture of the guy who catapulted him into this job that promised short-term employment and a probably sudden and violent retirement. He sucks shake up through the straw and idly gazes at girls showing their tits in a PG way on the TV….
Benefits sucked, too. Maybe…he should take Alex up on his offer. And thinking about maybe a place to…to stop in, to be safe for a bit in, brought up memories of a home he'd thought he'd had, a brief stop on the way to whatever the fuck his life was headed to now.
"Shit…" He sets the wrapper and empty cup aside, and closes his eyes, watching a much, much better movie on the inside of his eyelids….
"Sam…"
Sam smiling, hair dripping, his hands sweeping dark wet hair back from his forehead…arching and pressing the curve of his cock against translucent boxers. The rain is pouring down, pressing overlong beige grass to the ground and swirling pools of chocolate brown mud out of the dry earth. He's holding out his arms and Patrick feels his eyes fill, he's so happy right now, this is—this is a miracle. Sam wants him back, hell; that Sam wants him at all is amazing. He's so hard himself right now, just taking in the incredible sight in front of him is making him hard, so much he can barely breathe, barely take in air….
Sam's on his knees, hands on Patrick's thighs. His chin rakes the sensitive length jerking against him, his mouth works over the throbbing tip of Patrick's erection, caught up in the wet folds of his boxers. Sam latches on to the tip, and sucks hard, drawing pre-come through the soaking material.
"Oh, holy fuck, Sam, yeah—" Patrick looks down, widens his eyes to see everything, remember everything and Sam looks up and says, "I love you so much."
"Oh, *god damn it*, no," Patrick curses, "No no. I do *not* want to be dreaming now."
Sam smiles gently. Confused, he asks, "What?"
And Pat wakes up with a raging hard-on and wet eyes. It's a fucked up combination, being that hard and that ready to cry. It sucks. He hates his brain.
~~~o0o~~~
"Oh, fuck, oh shit—" Sam throws his head back, and drives in, slow and steady, feeling every bit of the hot, velvet, not quite wet enough but so perfect grip his dick's in. Feels like…magic, like something miraculous is growing around them.
"More, Sammy, more." He looks down at Dean, whose expression is beyond pleasure. He radiates pure bliss, his eyes are emerald green and lit from inside and his skin is pink and glows like diamonds and his mouth is red, wet and juicy red. Sam sinks lower, goes in deeper and licks at Dean's mouth, makes Dean open and let him in. He feels orgasm crawling hot and heavy up his spine, gripping him, climbing one bone after the other. It's growing wider and wider, filling every empty corner of him until he's full, over-full, and leaves him in a blistering fury, burning him on its way, boiling out of him in ecstasy. Dean matches him cry for cry and silky, thick heat splashes between them, joining them again….
Sheets pulled taut again, pillows rescued from the floor and propping up his head, Sam watches Dean leaning against the headboard, Dean watches silver grey smoke wander towards the ceiling as he exhales. By the time he stubs the butt out, he's blank-faced and distant and says, "You know we can never do this again."
Ice explodes, all sharp-edged and cold inside him. "No, no, it's okay, it really is," he stutters frantically. "Dad's nowhere around and no one else knows, we can, you know…"
Sam blushes. Dean looks at him like he wants to vomit.
"Jesus," he mutters, climbing out of bed and pulling on jeans he fishes off the carpet. "You're sick, Sam. Sick. Admit it to yourself. Don’t you see? This is why I have got to leave. Tonight." He grabs a bag from somewhere and starts to pack. "God, I can't wait to get away from you. You're absolutely disgusting."
He's at the door, wearing Dad's leather jacket and a sneer. "So long, asshole." And he walks out the door.
"No! Don’t, Dean, don't, don’t do this to me—"
"Sam, sweetheart, wake up! Sammy, wake up, please—"
Sam wakes up and meets blue eyes instead of green and jerks away. Hurt washes through the blue, and he feels like…an asshole. "Jess…Jess." He closes his eyes, reaches up to cradle Jess' head, runs his fingers through soft blonde curls, not short brown spikes, and tries not to wince. It…takes a minute or two to regroup whenever he has a dream like this.
"Honey…you were yelling for 'Dean' to leave you alone? Who's Dean—"
"I—there's no Dean. It was just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you…come back to bed?"
I don't know, tall dark and handsome…can you make it worth my while?" Jess grins and bounces onto the bed. "Hah! Are you kidding? You don’t have to ask me twice—" and says in a loud, goofy stage whisper, "just don't tell my boyfriend."
Sam smiles and pulls Jess up into his arms. He wants to be completely, stupidly in love, and he is, he really is--or close enough to it. Close enough that it doesn't matter.
~~~o0o~~~
It's dark, and then it's not. Dean rolls to his side, snorts and wakes. Gets up to pee.
part 5
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC
Rating: various by chapter, NC-17 overall
Word Count:1518
Summary: I wondered what happened to those Lodi boys, too
Under The California Sun (impalas and big trucks)
Patrick drags himself out of the fucking piece of crap that's supposed to be a car—he really needed to stop hating on that car, Mark did try to help, wasn't his fault they weren't millionaires. This job didn’t exactly come with a paycheck. It required a strong back, good aim, and the willingness to do anything to survive. And not think too deeply about what that took. But get rich—or even break even? Was never going to happen.
"God…." He needs a break, he thinks, it's time for a little vacation. Dead things were piling up in his wake and fuck, he deserved some time off.
He takes a heart-pounding moment to concentrate on manhandling the piece of shit into a parking space as close to the hotel entrance as he can get. He terrorizes it into hunkering down in a space before releasing the breath he hadn't known he was holding. Good thing he's not a fuckin' spy, what with the damn engine alerting the whole joint he's coming…though the smoke screen he's throwing up is probably hiding him from view….
Maybe he'd head back to the Post House tonight, catch up on the group he thinks of as his. See if Alex had a job lined up for him, hand the intel he's managed to collect on the last couple of jobs over to Mark and—oh, hell no. No.
"Mother fu--?" Patrick stops, mouth open and a big wedge of horror cracking open his chest. Seriously? "Really, God?"
Crouching under the sun, gleaming like a polished skull, sits a big ass black Impala. Right there in the parking lot big as day and Patrick could swear it was staring right at him, the chrome of its grill a long gleaming sneer. The cars parked next to it were cringing away. Really.
God sure does have a funny sense of humor, Patrick muses, if by funny you mean fucked up. He sighs, and drags his work bag out from under the passenger seat of the last running Gremlin in the known universe, and accidentally knocks the small bag of take-out onto the floor. The lid on his coke pops, and the cup empties into the threadbare carpet.
Wonderful.
His life has just taken a turn for the worse, he's thinking. His shake at least is untouched. Grateful for small favors….
Besides, it was worth it to see Sam. Sam had looked happy. Girlfriend. He shakes his head and wonders if Dean saw her, what he thinks about the girl.
He's sitting cross-legged on the bed, his hamburger and the shake he'd promised himself sitting on a notebook doing duty as a tray. It was a decent burger, and a pretty good shake that he's not enjoying at all because he's thinking about Sam, the way that he hardly ever does anymore. Of course he's lying to himself. Every time he goes out on a job, he says a prayer, with the rosary he carries on him all the time wrapped around his knuckles and kisses a picture—one he carries all the time—of Sam. One quick kiss. Not even a kiss, just a peck--barely that even. Really. It's habit. A goofy, pointless superstition, the way some of the guys carry a rabbit's foot, or some other weird junk, like a shiny rock, or old coin, or whatever nutty thing in addition to the *real* stuff, that makes them feel safe.
Patrick's perfectly aware of the irony, that the thing he thinks keeps him safe, is a picture of the guy who catapulted him into this job that promised short-term employment and a probably sudden and violent retirement. He sucks shake up through the straw and idly gazes at girls showing their tits in a PG way on the TV….
Benefits sucked, too. Maybe…he should take Alex up on his offer. And thinking about maybe a place to…to stop in, to be safe for a bit in, brought up memories of a home he'd thought he'd had, a brief stop on the way to whatever the fuck his life was headed to now.
"Shit…" He sets the wrapper and empty cup aside, and closes his eyes, watching a much, much better movie on the inside of his eyelids….
"Sam…"
Sam smiling, hair dripping, his hands sweeping dark wet hair back from his forehead…arching and pressing the curve of his cock against translucent boxers. The rain is pouring down, pressing overlong beige grass to the ground and swirling pools of chocolate brown mud out of the dry earth. He's holding out his arms and Patrick feels his eyes fill, he's so happy right now, this is—this is a miracle. Sam wants him back, hell; that Sam wants him at all is amazing. He's so hard himself right now, just taking in the incredible sight in front of him is making him hard, so much he can barely breathe, barely take in air….
Sam's on his knees, hands on Patrick's thighs. His chin rakes the sensitive length jerking against him, his mouth works over the throbbing tip of Patrick's erection, caught up in the wet folds of his boxers. Sam latches on to the tip, and sucks hard, drawing pre-come through the soaking material.
"Oh, holy fuck, Sam, yeah—" Patrick looks down, widens his eyes to see everything, remember everything and Sam looks up and says, "I love you so much."
"Oh, *god damn it*, no," Patrick curses, "No no. I do *not* want to be dreaming now."
Sam smiles gently. Confused, he asks, "What?"
And Pat wakes up with a raging hard-on and wet eyes. It's a fucked up combination, being that hard and that ready to cry. It sucks. He hates his brain.
"Oh, fuck, oh shit—" Sam throws his head back, and drives in, slow and steady, feeling every bit of the hot, velvet, not quite wet enough but so perfect grip his dick's in. Feels like…magic, like something miraculous is growing around them.
"More, Sammy, more." He looks down at Dean, whose expression is beyond pleasure. He radiates pure bliss, his eyes are emerald green and lit from inside and his skin is pink and glows like diamonds and his mouth is red, wet and juicy red. Sam sinks lower, goes in deeper and licks at Dean's mouth, makes Dean open and let him in. He feels orgasm crawling hot and heavy up his spine, gripping him, climbing one bone after the other. It's growing wider and wider, filling every empty corner of him until he's full, over-full, and leaves him in a blistering fury, burning him on its way, boiling out of him in ecstasy. Dean matches him cry for cry and silky, thick heat splashes between them, joining them again….
Sheets pulled taut again, pillows rescued from the floor and propping up his head, Sam watches Dean leaning against the headboard, Dean watches silver grey smoke wander towards the ceiling as he exhales. By the time he stubs the butt out, he's blank-faced and distant and says, "You know we can never do this again."
Ice explodes, all sharp-edged and cold inside him. "No, no, it's okay, it really is," he stutters frantically. "Dad's nowhere around and no one else knows, we can, you know…"
Sam blushes. Dean looks at him like he wants to vomit.
"Jesus," he mutters, climbing out of bed and pulling on jeans he fishes off the carpet. "You're sick, Sam. Sick. Admit it to yourself. Don’t you see? This is why I have got to leave. Tonight." He grabs a bag from somewhere and starts to pack. "God, I can't wait to get away from you. You're absolutely disgusting."
He's at the door, wearing Dad's leather jacket and a sneer. "So long, asshole." And he walks out the door.
"No! Don’t, Dean, don't, don’t do this to me—"
"Sam, sweetheart, wake up! Sammy, wake up, please—"
Sam wakes up and meets blue eyes instead of green and jerks away. Hurt washes through the blue, and he feels like…an asshole. "Jess…Jess." He closes his eyes, reaches up to cradle Jess' head, runs his fingers through soft blonde curls, not short brown spikes, and tries not to wince. It…takes a minute or two to regroup whenever he has a dream like this.
"Honey…you were yelling for 'Dean' to leave you alone? Who's Dean—"
"I—there's no Dean. It was just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you…come back to bed?"
I don't know, tall dark and handsome…can you make it worth my while?" Jess grins and bounces onto the bed. "Hah! Are you kidding? You don’t have to ask me twice—" and says in a loud, goofy stage whisper, "just don't tell my boyfriend."
Sam smiles and pulls Jess up into his arms. He wants to be completely, stupidly in love, and he is, he really is--or close enough to it. Close enough that it doesn't matter.
It's dark, and then it's not. Dean rolls to his side, snorts and wakes. Gets up to pee.
part 5
TBC
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
7/4/09 06:56 am (UTC)*hums Twilight Zone theme (but that might also be because of the marathon in the background XD)*
PAT!!!! I don't think that'll ever get old. I love that crazy kid!
(no subject)
7/6/09 06:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/6/09 11:28 pm (UTC)Is this a Pat/Dean story? I didn't think it was, but *shrug* Pretty please? *tugs on your shirtfront*
(no subject)
7/6/09 11:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/4/09 04:11 pm (UTC)Almost hesitate to leave fb, because you make so damn unhappy with how you make the boys hurt and i don't want to be all negative and boo-hiss all over your fic....
I mean, i love Patrick hunting, i love the rosary and the picture, the kiss...
I despise the guilt and the self-hate and the deliberate separation and the way they lie to themselves and it just makes me *so bummed*.
*sigh*
*pets you*
You roxor. I luff you. Stop making me cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
(no subject)
7/6/09 06:42 pm (UTC)Also me with the luff and the sorry for making you hurt--buck up, little buckeroo!*HUGS*
(no subject)
7/4/09 06:03 pm (UTC)and I love you
(no subject)
7/6/09 06:42 pm (UTC)I suspect that you like the sad....
(no subject)
7/6/09 06:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/4/09 06:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/6/09 03:24 am (UTC)We will cheer for each other!! *loves*
(no subject)
7/4/09 06:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/6/09 06:43 pm (UTC)Well, I try....
(no subject)
7/5/09 07:07 am (UTC)God, best description of the Impala ever! Loved this addition - sad, but funny too!
(no subject)
7/6/09 06:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/5/09 09:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/6/09 06:50 pm (UTC)*koff*
(no subject)
7/7/09 03:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/10 01:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/10 01:32 am (UTC)