Justine Delarge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justinedelarge) wrote2013-07-24 06:43 pm
justinedelarge) wrote2013-07-24 06:43 pm
Entry tags:
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 64: You Spin Me Round
Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 64: You Spin Me Round
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 4855
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.
Summary: Sam learns a bit more about why Azazel's taken such an interest in him. Danny confesses something to Juliane. Sam and Dean do laundry.
Master post of all chapters here
Bobby rattled down the freeway in his ’71 Chevelle. It wasn’t much to look at, but it ran perfectly. It damn well should, since he worked on it himself. He set the radio to a country station and tapped on the steering wheel as he drove, singing along in a surprisingly resonant baritone.
Bobby wasn’t a regular viewer of cop procedurals, so he did not check his six, and did not notice that he was being followed.
He stopped at a gas station, topped off, parked alongside the mini mart and went inside to buy a fistful of Slim Jims, a soda, and some peanut butter crackers. When he came out, he turned the ignition, but the car wouldn’t start. “Balls.” He heaved himself out of the driver’s seat and lifted the hood.
The distributor cap was gone.
Bobby swore. A lot. Then he called Big Lou. He hadn’t gotten far, so it wasn’t long before Big Lou showed up with a replacement part from the salvage yard, and Bobby was up and running again.
He went 220 miles before he had to get gas again. He locked his door this time, and ran in to use the men’s room. When he came back out, all four of his tires were slashed.
Bobby slumped against the side of the car, took his baseball cap off and rubbed the top of his head. He looked around. A woman with a child asleep in the back seat pumped gas into her Suburban. A purple PT Cruiser pulled out onto the highway. The minimart attendant rubbed his nose. No one stood out as immediately suspicious.
“Someone doesn’t want me going anywhere, huh?” He firmly tugged his cap back down on his head, eyes gone grey and resolute. “Good luck with that.”
~
Reggie dealt with the memory of Nathan’s death the way he usually did—with whiskey and a long hot shower. When he’d cleared his head enough to function, he stepped out of the shower, scattering water all over the bathroom floor. (“You’re like a water buffalo, Reg. Can’t you at least shake off before you get out? You’re getting the bath mat all wet.” “Ain’t that what a bath mat is for?”
He dressed and went to the common room. “Hey. Mind if I come in?”
Juliane waved him in. Danny came out of the kitchen and shook Reggie’s hand.
Reggie turned to Juliane. “We didn’t get a chance to properly introduce ourselves yesterday. I’m Reggie Beaumont.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re Reggie Beaumont. THE Reggie Beaumont.”
Reggie’s smile curled his mustache. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s an honor to meet you.” Juliane flipped her hair back over her shoulder, and extended her hand. “Juliane Moss.”
Reggie’s fingers, clasped firmly over hers, twitched. “Moss.” He frowned, thinking. “Donovan Moss?”
Juliane’s jaw tensed. “My husband.”
“I knew him.” Reggie ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “We worked together in Plano.”
“He told me.”
“Hell of a hunter. And he drank me under the table, too. That doesn’t happen often.”
Juliane’s smile was genuine, but her eyes glistened.
Reggie’s gaze dropped to Juliane’s hands. The tail end of a scar peeked out on her wrist. She quickly tugged her sweater down to cover it.
“I heard. About the attack.” Reggie looked at her with something that bordered on reverence. “I’m real sorry.” He paused, choosing his words. “Way I heard it, no one could have survived what they done, but you did.”
“I was the one that found her.” Danny spoke up, mouth tightening at the memory, eyes softening as he looked at Juliane. “You heard right.”
Reggie shook her hand again. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
“Coffee would hit the spot.” Reggie caught sight of the wall lined with books, and his eyes lit up. “Hey, mind if I…” He gestured toward the library.
“Please. That’s what they’re there for.” She smiled with pleasure, and went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She reached for the glass carafe, stuck it under the tap, and tugged her sleeve back down over her wrist.
Danny saw her do it. He walked up next to her, putting his hand on her wrist in a reassuring gesture. “’Scuse me.” He leaned in and set his empty coffee cup in the sink. His fingers brushed over her wrist as he stepped back, gently stroking the tail end of the scar.
She drew a quick breath, and watched him walk back to Reggie.
~
Like most males, Sam and Dean Winchester fell asleep after sex almost immediately. Sam woke fairly soon after, though. He lay next to Dean, head resting on his chest, for a long time, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound was infinitely reassuring to Sam. As long as it keeps beating, it’s ok. Dean’s here. It’s ok. Finally he stirred, the demands of his bladder louder than the demands of his heart.
Dean stirred when Sam sat up. “Stay in bed. I’m going to get us some movies.” Dean made a small grunt, squeezing Sam’s hand, and fell back asleep before Sam had pulled his clothes back on. Sam quietly pulled some cash out of the bag stashed under the bed. He watched Dean sleep for a moment, a soft smile on his face, then went into the bathroom.
Sam urinated into the toilet bowl and sighed with pleasure, that most basic of pleasures that comes from emptying a full bladder, then washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. In the kitchen, he grabbed a large bag of gummi bears and called ahead to Juliane that he was coming down.
“Sure. Come in anytime. No need to let me know first. It’s just us now. Oh, and your friend is here checking out the books.”
“Great.”
The first thing Sam did is pull Danny to the side. “Hey, can you go into town and get some things for us?”
“Sure. What do you need?” His eyes widened as Sam told him in detail what he wanted, his face breaking into a huge grin by the end. Sam pressed cash into his hand, and Danny slipped it into his pocket.
Sam offered everyone some gummi bears. Juliane and Danny politely declined, but Reggie took a handful. Sam sat down at the table across from him.
“How’s Dean doing?”
“Sleeping.”
Reggie nodded knowingly. “And how are you?”
Sam chewed on a clear gummi bear. “I’m fine.”
All Reggie had to do was give Sam a look. Sam blew out a breath, and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then he sat up, brushing his hair out of his face. “It was my fault.”
Reggie’s face changed, as though beneath the mask he wore all the time of a capable, rugged hunter was his true face, the face of a man who had carried the heavy weight of loss and guilt with him for years.
Sam continued. “At the club. I, uh, talked Dean into…I mean, we’ve never been able to…We don’t…”
“You aren’t affectionate in public.”
Sam looked up, grateful for Reggie saving him.
“Yeah. But it was that kind of club, and…”
“I understand.”
“And those guys. They were there.”
“Sam. What happened to Dean wasn’t because you let yourself have some public displays of affection.” Reggie put his hand over Sam’s. “You want to blame yourself for it, but it’s not your fault. Trust me on this. I know.” The older man looked into the face of the younger man, twin currents of guilt and pain moving between them.
Sam broke the connection by looking up at the ceiling, blinking fast so the tears didn’t start. “It’s not just that. When it happened, I got this sense, like it was deliberate.”
Reggie took a deep drink of coffee. “Now that’s a whole other thing.” He set the mug down. “Like I said yesterday, I don’t think what happened to Dean was an accident.” He fixed Sam with a serious look. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Sam slumped, relief that he wasn’t alone in his suspicions tempered by the surge of fear that rose in him at Reggie’s words.
“Tell me what you felt.”
Sam filled Reggie in on the feeling he’d had. That someone was watching, delighting in what Sam was doing to the man for hurting Dean.
Reggie wiped his hand over his mouth. “I felt that too.”
Sam stared at Reggie, surprise spilling over his features. “You… sense things?”
Juliane set a cup of coffee in front of Sam. “Of course he does. He’s psychic, just like you are.”
Sam turned his gaze to her, his expression of surprise intensifying.
“He’s not as strong as you are. And you’re just getting started.” She motioned to the table. “Can I sit?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah.”
“Danny too?”
“Of course.”
She gestured to Danny, and he joined them at the table.
“Do you remember the first time? You sensed something other people couldn’t?”
Sam watched the steam rising from his coffee cup, and thought. He thought for a long time. They all gave him as much time as he needed.
He’d always been able to do things. When he played backgammon or dice, he would imagine the roll he needed, visualize the dice spilling out of the cup and landing in the combination he wanted, and it was astonishing how often it actually played out like that. He had always known when Dad was about to pull up. Dean chalked it up to Sam having dog hearing, but Sam, he now understood, had always known it was something more. And his dreams. Hyper-vivid. And sometimes the things he dreamed came true.
He thought carefully, moving back in time. He had so many memories to choose from, because Sam remembered everything in his life with uncommon detail and retention. Past the memories of him as a young boy, looking up at Dean calmly, saying “Dad broke his finger,” like he was asking him to pass the milk, and then two hours later, John coming home with his ring finger in a field splint; past memories of him as a very little boy, dreaming that John returned from Texas with two string puppets, a mariachi player in a sombrero for Dean and a wooden duck with fluffy yellow balls on its head, tail and feet for Sam, and John showing up the next morning with exactly that. Further back. Simpler flashes. Knowing that Dean was going to drop a jar on the floor accidentally and spatter sticky strawberry jam all over the kitchen, before he actually did it. And further back, before he could walk or talk. Waking from a dream of a wriggly black puppy, and then later that afternoon, being licked in his stroller by a fat little black puppy on a leash.
Back further.
“Fire.”
All eyes were on Sam.
“I used to have nightmares of fire. When I was just a little baby. Those are the first dreams I remember having.” Warm and safe in his crib, then too warm. Hot. Opening his eyes and seeing a sea of fire, crawling and seething. “I’d wake up and my mom would be holding me.” The scent of her, like flowers and cookies, her long blonde hair spilling into Sam’s face, the feeling of absolute love and safety. These were the only things he remembered of his mother.
“And then…” Sam glanced at Juliane and Danny. He had to be careful not to give too much away. “Then the house burned down.”
“How old were you when that happened?” Juliane asked.
“Six months.”
“Prescient dreams before you were six months old?” Juliane gave Danny a knowing look. “Powerful stuff. That happens, but it’s not common. And demons are drawn to humans with these abilities. That might be a factor in whatever’s going on with you.” She looked at Reggie questioningly. “Don’t you think?”
Reggie gave it a moment of consideration and nodded. “Could well be.” He said nothing about boy kings or Azazel to Juliane. He’d promised Bobby to keep a tight lid on that information until they’d learned more, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to bring these two new people that far into family business.
Reggie and Sam exchanged a look. Juliane registered it. “Hey, could you give me a hand with something in my room?” She looked at Danny.
He understood immediately. “Of course.” He stood and followed her into her private room, shutting the door behind them.
“So, is that why Azazel is doing all this?” Sam looked pale. “That’s why he said I was special? Not to be touched?”
Reggie chewed his lip, weighing his words. “I think so.”
“Why? What does he want?” Sam’s veneer of calm cracked. “And why would demons want to make me get angry and hurt people?”
Reggie shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll find out. Ok, Sam? Trust us. You’ve got the best hunters and the best supernatural scholars in the country working on this for you. And you’re in the safest place on Earth. So nothing’s going to happen to you. Alright? Just relax.”
Sam shook. “You try having a major demon taking a personal interest in you and see if you can calm down.”
Reggie got up and walked around the table. He bend down, silver hair spilling into Sam’s face, and put his arms around him. Sam held on, tremors wracking his body. “I know.” Reggie let his voice sink into his lowest register, soothing him. “I know. But you’re safe now.” He stroked Sam’s hair. “Dean’s safe.”
Sam’s tremors intensified. “My fault.” His voice was muffled.
“Not your fault.”
“They hurt Dean because of me.”
“Yes. They did.”
Sam gasped, and stared up at Reggie in shock.
“But that’s not your fault, Sam.” Reggie pulled over a chair and sat down next to Sam, holding both his hands. “It didn’t happen because of a mistake you made, or some flaw in you.” Sam swallowed, his brain immediately engaged by the linguistic form of Reggie’s argument, understanding he was signaling Sam to the actual meaning of the word fault. “There’s no mistake that you’re responsible for. It’s not your fault.”
Sam sat with that, letting it sink in. Finally, he sighed, most of the guilt bleeding away. “Ok.” He shook his head. “But they still did it because of me.
“If you’re given a really nice car and someone steals it, did you cause that person to become a thief?”
Sam sighed. “No.”
“If you’re really attractive and someone tries to rape you, are you responsible for that?”
“Hell no.”
“So if there’s something about you that you can’t do anything about, and someone else does something bad because they want it, you are not responsible for their actions. Are you.”
“No sir.”
“Just protect Dean now, now that you know, and it’ll be fine.”
“Ok.” Sam’s hand dropped unconsciously to the handle of his knife.
Reggie smiled. “Now pick out some nice movies and get back to him.” Reggie could almost see the cord between Sam and Dean stretched out from their temporary physical separation, and the pull it had on Sam. Sam took a drink of his coffee, now gone cold, and began picking out movies.
~
Juliane fidgeted, staring at the closed bedroom door. Danny shifted his weight from one foot to the other, focusing on the stash of books on her night stand. Neither of them looked at the bed.
“Just a couple of minutes.” She fiddled with her sleeve.
“Ok.”
“Sometimes people just need to talk in private.”
“I know.”
Juliane put on a bright smile. “So, about that idea you had for a salt fragmentation mine? I was thinking if we put—“
“You don’t have to hide them.”
She stopped, confused.
“Your scars. They aren’t ugly.”
Her expression immediately turned wary. She shook her head. “No. Don’t even.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, hard and angry.
“Just—listen.” Danny rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Do you know what I see, when I see your scars?”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Strength.”
She blinked in surprise.
“When I found you, lying on the floor, just… all blood, all over, I thought you were dead. You had to be dead. But you heard me, and you opened your eyes and you looked right at me. And you didn’t say help me, or please. Do you know what you said?”
She shook her head no.
“You said, ‘Fuckers didn’t kill me.’”
She laughed. “Really? I said that?”
He nodded, admiration clear and bright on his face. “They should have killed you. But you survived. Everything they did to you. You survived.” He took a few steps closer to her, took her hand. So gently. So carefully. Allowing her the option to pull her hand away.
She did not.
He looked her in the eye and put the other hand on the sleeve of her sweater. Waiting.
She blinked once, slowly.
He pushed the sleeve up her arm.
“These scars. Every one of them is beautiful. I wish I could make you see.”
She swallowed hard.
He traced his finger along the scar whose tail end peeked out from the bottom of her sleeve all the time. “They show how strong you are. You endured… the strongest men I know couldn’t have endured what you did. And you lived.” He blinked rapidly, not daring to look her in the eye. “Somehow, you lived.” He stroked the scar, his strong fingers so gentle. “And every scar says, ‘I went through something unimaginable, and this is the mark of my strength.’” He soothed his fingers along the curve of another scar, tracing it. “You shouldn’t hide them. You should show them. Be proud of them. So much strength.” Fingers, barely grazing the surface of her skin, gently tracing the lines of the silvery cords. “You aren’t your scars. I--- I’m not saying that. You’re so much more than what happened to you. But the scars don’t make you less beautiful.” He dared to look up and meet her gaze. “They make you more beautiful.”
His fingers brushed her wrist. Her pulse, strong and fast, leaped beneath his fingertips. He let go of her hand and stepped back. “I know, I’ve always known, I wasn’t trying to, I mean, I never fooled myself. I know I could never—” He gestured to himself. “—I mean, I get it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand. “It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything. Ever. I wasn’t trying to—it’s just I thought you needed to know. At least when it’s just us. You don’t have to hide them.” He took another few steps backward. “Ok, I need to go run an errand. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. You want Mexican tonight? I’ll pick up some Mexican. We should invite everyone. Since it’s New Year’s Eve and all. I completely forgot until Sam reminded me. Unless—is Mexican weird for New Year’s Eve?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, aware he was babbling. “I’ll figure something out. Ok. Back in a bit.” He retreated to the door, and fled.
Juliane stared at her arm, bare to the elbow. Her eyes followed Danny as he walked hastily through the common room on his way out to his car, movements stiff and tense, then ghosted her fingertips over the scars on her forearm, tracing the path his fingers had made.
~
Sam returned to their apartment with an armful of movies and an empty bag of gummi bears. Dean awoke at the sound of the door opening and stumbled out, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up. “Missed you.”
Sam smoothed his hair back into place. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dean frowned. “And I’m hungry.”
Sam re-heated the chicken soup and Dean washed his hands and smoothed ointment over his sutures gingerly. Sam brought Dean a pain pill, but Dean didn’t take it. “Maybe just some Advil?”
Sam brightened up. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” He opened his jaw, and didn’t wince much. He rolled his head in a semi-circle and made a face.
“Neck still stiff?”
Dean nodded.
“Eat your soup and I’ll rub your neck after.”
Dean ate his soup, and took four Advil, and Sam ate four string cheeses and half a bag of Goldfish crackers. Dean eyed the Goldfish sadly.
“Someday soon, you’ll be able to chew again.”
Dean gave Sam a look full of hunger, but not for food.
“Deviant.” Sam grinned.
“Perv.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
Sam took the empty soup bowl to the kitchen. “Ok, we have got to do some laundry. It’s like an emergency.”
They gathered up all their clothes into one of the military duffels, and stripped the bed of the sheets and pillowcases. Sam grabbed a deck of playing cards, as was their habit on laundry day, and they made their way down to the laundry room at the end of the hall. They filled both washing machines nearly to the top. Dean stripped off his t-shirt and threw it into the machine.
Sam looked at him. He tugged off his own shirt and put it in.
Dean smirked. He peeled off his sweats, and tossed them in, standing in just his boxers and green-striped tube socks.
Sam’s tongue swiped across his lower lip. He patted his pockets, pulling out a tube of lip balm, a small bag of sour snakes, and the travel-sized lube he always had on him. Dean grinned.
Sam put his jeans in the machine. He too was just wearing boxers and tube socks, his with red stripes.
Dean added soap to both machines and started them. He eyed Sam up and down, appraisingly. “So…wanna play cards?”
Sam took one of the chairs pushed up against the long table and shoved it against the door, the back of the chair wedged under the door knob. He ran his hand down his chest, watching Dean watch him.
Dean gulped.
Sam’s smile was positively wicked. He leaned against one of the washing machines, directly across from Dean, and slid his hand slowly underneath the waistband of his boxers. “Sit down.”
Dean obeyed.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, fingers tightening over his cock, hand moving underneath the fabric. Dean spread his legs wider, leaning back in the plastic chair, watching Sam.
Sam felt Dean’s gaze on him like warm rain. He brought his other hand up and pinched his right nipple.
Dean exhaled audibly.
Sam tugged down his boxers, snugging the waistband underneath his balls. He was completely erect by now. “You like watching me, Dean?”
Dean nodded, eyes locked on Sam.
Sam stroked himself, paying the most attention to the top third of his cock, bringing his other hand down to tug on his balls. He let go and braced his palms on the washing machine, thrusting his hips forward, showing himself to Dean.
Dean started to stand up, but Sam shook his head no. “Stay there,” he whispered. “Just…look.” He turned around and bent over the washing machine, pulling his boxers down to right below his ass, keeping them there, the fabric framing the tight curve of his ass.
Dean groaned.
Sam looked back over his shoulder, giving Dean a look full of promise. “Bet you wish you were taking pictures, huh.”
Dean’s eyes went dark. “Would you let me?”
Sam breathed, “Yes.”
Dean mouthed, “Fuck.”
“Dean.”
Dean stared.
“There’s some photos left on that disposable camera.”
Dean was on his feet, hand tangled in Sam’s hair, pulling his head back, mouth so close to Sam’s he could feel the heat.
“Go get it,” Sam whispered.
Dean snuck back down the hallway quickly, and came back with the camera. He shoved the chair under the door knob again.
“How many are left?”
Dean checked the top of the camera. They’d only used three at Wall Drugstore. “24.”
Sam grinned. “Ok, but don’t get my face.” Dean nodded. There were several good reasons to avoid that, not the least of which was that while Sam’s body looked more mature than his biological age, due to his muscular conditioning, height, and massive cock, his face did look rather young, and a full head-to-toe photo could get Dean arrested.
Sam peeled off his boxers, tossing them into the machine, sloshing around on the wash cycle. He turned to face Dean. “Ready.”
Dean nodded.
Sam leaned back, jutting his hips forward, holding his cock in his hand.
Dean snapped a picture.
Sam turned around and bent forward, belly flat on the top of the washing machine lid, bare ass exposed.
Dean snapped a picture.
Sam spread his thighs wider apart, placed his hands on his ass cheeks, and opened himself, his pink hole revealed.
“Jesus Christ.”
Sam peeked over his shoulder. “Is that good?”
Dean nodded furiously, his erect cock tenting his boxers.
“Then do it.”
Dean came closer, kneeling down, and took a photo of his sweet Sammy, opening himself to him with no shame.
Sam stood up, and walked to the long table where people were meant to fold their laundry. He picked up the tube of lubricant.
“Guh,” Dean murmured.
Sam lay on his back on the table and slicked up the fingers of his right hand. He pulled his legs back, thighs touching, and stroked his hole, slipping a finger inside.
Dean snapped a picture.
Sam moaned, legs falling open, and pulled his right leg back alongside his chest, stroking the underside with his right hand and massaging his cock with the other.
Snap.
He brought his hand down and inserted his finger again, working it inside himself, then a second one.
Snap.
Sam watched Dean watch him, seeing the pleasure Dean was getting from watching him, that pleasure fueling him, making him bolder, less inhibited.
Sam pulled his legs back, thighs spread apart, and again, gripped his ass cheeks and pulled himself open. Dean swore, and pressed his hand against his cock like he was trying not to come. Then he took the picture.
“You do it.” Sam reached for Dean’s left hand, slicked his fingers up, and brought them to his wet little hole.
Dean fucked Sam on his fingers, and Sam threw his head back, both hands on his cock.
Snap.
Sam writhed and gasped, trying to stay quiet. Then he stood and turned around, put his right knee on the table, and bent forward, stretching himself open, the muscles of his thighs standing out strong.
“Sammy…so beautiful….”
Snap.
Sam dropped to his knees, pulling Dean’s boxers down, and took him into his mouth. He let his hair tumble into his face, obscuring it.
Snap.
He stood, rubbing his cock against the hard curve of Dean’s.
Snap.
He bent over the washing machine again. “Dean,” he breathed. “Fuck me.”
Dean got his cock nice and wet, and poised it at Sam’s entrance.
“Take a picture. I wanna see. Wanna see it.” Sam was shivering, not from the cold, but from the pleasure.
Dean obliged. He took a series of shots of his cock breaching Sam’s pink little hole, making it open right up for him. Sam looked over his shoulder, watching Dean’s face, red with pleasure, as he snapped shot after shot.
“You like it?”
“Sam. Fuck. I love it.” Dean fucked into Sam slowly, pulling out, taking another photo.
“Buy us a camcorder,” Sam gasped. “I want to watch us. On video.”
Dean had to put the camera down and pull out, gripping the base of his cock hard.
Sam turned around and nipped and sucked at Dean’s neck. “You like that? You want to tape us having sex? Play it back while you fuck me again?”
“Fucking hell, Sammy,” Dean growled. He picked Sam up and set him down on the washing machine, maneuvering him into the perfect position, and sliding inside him in one slow, smooth stroke.
Sam moaned and gently dug his teeth into Dean’s chest. Dean rocked into him.
The machine kicked into spin cycle.
Sam and Dean gasped at the same time.
The vibrations raced through Sam’s body, tingling and buzzing around Dean’s cock, under his fingertips, everywhere his body touched Sam. The vibrations rose through Dean’s thighs, pressed against the front of the machine, shook and shivered in his belly, pressing against Sam’s cock, rattled through his cock, buried deep inside Sam.
Sam cried out, loud enough for people to hear, but both of them were past caring. They just held onto each other for dear life, Dean grabbing hold of Sam’s hair and tugging, fucking Sam rough and slick, ramming himself home, Sam moaning, “Dean, Jesus, Dean, oh god, Dean” and Dean chanting, “Sammy, Sam, Sam,” both of them losing it, shuddering and vibrating and coming, coming hard and wet and messy, falling apart for each other.
Author:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 4855
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.
Summary: Sam learns a bit more about why Azazel's taken such an interest in him. Danny confesses something to Juliane. Sam and Dean do laundry.
Master post of all chapters here
Bobby rattled down the freeway in his ’71 Chevelle. It wasn’t much to look at, but it ran perfectly. It damn well should, since he worked on it himself. He set the radio to a country station and tapped on the steering wheel as he drove, singing along in a surprisingly resonant baritone.
Bobby wasn’t a regular viewer of cop procedurals, so he did not check his six, and did not notice that he was being followed.
He stopped at a gas station, topped off, parked alongside the mini mart and went inside to buy a fistful of Slim Jims, a soda, and some peanut butter crackers. When he came out, he turned the ignition, but the car wouldn’t start. “Balls.” He heaved himself out of the driver’s seat and lifted the hood.
The distributor cap was gone.
Bobby swore. A lot. Then he called Big Lou. He hadn’t gotten far, so it wasn’t long before Big Lou showed up with a replacement part from the salvage yard, and Bobby was up and running again.
He went 220 miles before he had to get gas again. He locked his door this time, and ran in to use the men’s room. When he came back out, all four of his tires were slashed.
Bobby slumped against the side of the car, took his baseball cap off and rubbed the top of his head. He looked around. A woman with a child asleep in the back seat pumped gas into her Suburban. A purple PT Cruiser pulled out onto the highway. The minimart attendant rubbed his nose. No one stood out as immediately suspicious.
“Someone doesn’t want me going anywhere, huh?” He firmly tugged his cap back down on his head, eyes gone grey and resolute. “Good luck with that.”
~
Reggie dealt with the memory of Nathan’s death the way he usually did—with whiskey and a long hot shower. When he’d cleared his head enough to function, he stepped out of the shower, scattering water all over the bathroom floor. (“You’re like a water buffalo, Reg. Can’t you at least shake off before you get out? You’re getting the bath mat all wet.” “Ain’t that what a bath mat is for?”
He dressed and went to the common room. “Hey. Mind if I come in?”
Juliane waved him in. Danny came out of the kitchen and shook Reggie’s hand.
Reggie turned to Juliane. “We didn’t get a chance to properly introduce ourselves yesterday. I’m Reggie Beaumont.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re Reggie Beaumont. THE Reggie Beaumont.”
Reggie’s smile curled his mustache. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s an honor to meet you.” Juliane flipped her hair back over her shoulder, and extended her hand. “Juliane Moss.”
Reggie’s fingers, clasped firmly over hers, twitched. “Moss.” He frowned, thinking. “Donovan Moss?”
Juliane’s jaw tensed. “My husband.”
“I knew him.” Reggie ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “We worked together in Plano.”
“He told me.”
“Hell of a hunter. And he drank me under the table, too. That doesn’t happen often.”
Juliane’s smile was genuine, but her eyes glistened.
Reggie’s gaze dropped to Juliane’s hands. The tail end of a scar peeked out on her wrist. She quickly tugged her sweater down to cover it.
“I heard. About the attack.” Reggie looked at her with something that bordered on reverence. “I’m real sorry.” He paused, choosing his words. “Way I heard it, no one could have survived what they done, but you did.”
“I was the one that found her.” Danny spoke up, mouth tightening at the memory, eyes softening as he looked at Juliane. “You heard right.”
Reggie shook her hand again. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
“Coffee would hit the spot.” Reggie caught sight of the wall lined with books, and his eyes lit up. “Hey, mind if I…” He gestured toward the library.
“Please. That’s what they’re there for.” She smiled with pleasure, and went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She reached for the glass carafe, stuck it under the tap, and tugged her sleeve back down over her wrist.
Danny saw her do it. He walked up next to her, putting his hand on her wrist in a reassuring gesture. “’Scuse me.” He leaned in and set his empty coffee cup in the sink. His fingers brushed over her wrist as he stepped back, gently stroking the tail end of the scar.
She drew a quick breath, and watched him walk back to Reggie.
~
Like most males, Sam and Dean Winchester fell asleep after sex almost immediately. Sam woke fairly soon after, though. He lay next to Dean, head resting on his chest, for a long time, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound was infinitely reassuring to Sam. As long as it keeps beating, it’s ok. Dean’s here. It’s ok. Finally he stirred, the demands of his bladder louder than the demands of his heart.
Dean stirred when Sam sat up. “Stay in bed. I’m going to get us some movies.” Dean made a small grunt, squeezing Sam’s hand, and fell back asleep before Sam had pulled his clothes back on. Sam quietly pulled some cash out of the bag stashed under the bed. He watched Dean sleep for a moment, a soft smile on his face, then went into the bathroom.
Sam urinated into the toilet bowl and sighed with pleasure, that most basic of pleasures that comes from emptying a full bladder, then washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. In the kitchen, he grabbed a large bag of gummi bears and called ahead to Juliane that he was coming down.
“Sure. Come in anytime. No need to let me know first. It’s just us now. Oh, and your friend is here checking out the books.”
“Great.”
The first thing Sam did is pull Danny to the side. “Hey, can you go into town and get some things for us?”
“Sure. What do you need?” His eyes widened as Sam told him in detail what he wanted, his face breaking into a huge grin by the end. Sam pressed cash into his hand, and Danny slipped it into his pocket.
Sam offered everyone some gummi bears. Juliane and Danny politely declined, but Reggie took a handful. Sam sat down at the table across from him.
“How’s Dean doing?”
“Sleeping.”
Reggie nodded knowingly. “And how are you?”
Sam chewed on a clear gummi bear. “I’m fine.”
All Reggie had to do was give Sam a look. Sam blew out a breath, and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then he sat up, brushing his hair out of his face. “It was my fault.”
Reggie’s face changed, as though beneath the mask he wore all the time of a capable, rugged hunter was his true face, the face of a man who had carried the heavy weight of loss and guilt with him for years.
Sam continued. “At the club. I, uh, talked Dean into…I mean, we’ve never been able to…We don’t…”
“You aren’t affectionate in public.”
Sam looked up, grateful for Reggie saving him.
“Yeah. But it was that kind of club, and…”
“I understand.”
“And those guys. They were there.”
“Sam. What happened to Dean wasn’t because you let yourself have some public displays of affection.” Reggie put his hand over Sam’s. “You want to blame yourself for it, but it’s not your fault. Trust me on this. I know.” The older man looked into the face of the younger man, twin currents of guilt and pain moving between them.
Sam broke the connection by looking up at the ceiling, blinking fast so the tears didn’t start. “It’s not just that. When it happened, I got this sense, like it was deliberate.”
Reggie took a deep drink of coffee. “Now that’s a whole other thing.” He set the mug down. “Like I said yesterday, I don’t think what happened to Dean was an accident.” He fixed Sam with a serious look. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Sam slumped, relief that he wasn’t alone in his suspicions tempered by the surge of fear that rose in him at Reggie’s words.
“Tell me what you felt.”
Sam filled Reggie in on the feeling he’d had. That someone was watching, delighting in what Sam was doing to the man for hurting Dean.
Reggie wiped his hand over his mouth. “I felt that too.”
Sam stared at Reggie, surprise spilling over his features. “You… sense things?”
Juliane set a cup of coffee in front of Sam. “Of course he does. He’s psychic, just like you are.”
Sam turned his gaze to her, his expression of surprise intensifying.
“He’s not as strong as you are. And you’re just getting started.” She motioned to the table. “Can I sit?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah.”
“Danny too?”
“Of course.”
She gestured to Danny, and he joined them at the table.
“Do you remember the first time? You sensed something other people couldn’t?”
Sam watched the steam rising from his coffee cup, and thought. He thought for a long time. They all gave him as much time as he needed.
He’d always been able to do things. When he played backgammon or dice, he would imagine the roll he needed, visualize the dice spilling out of the cup and landing in the combination he wanted, and it was astonishing how often it actually played out like that. He had always known when Dad was about to pull up. Dean chalked it up to Sam having dog hearing, but Sam, he now understood, had always known it was something more. And his dreams. Hyper-vivid. And sometimes the things he dreamed came true.
He thought carefully, moving back in time. He had so many memories to choose from, because Sam remembered everything in his life with uncommon detail and retention. Past the memories of him as a young boy, looking up at Dean calmly, saying “Dad broke his finger,” like he was asking him to pass the milk, and then two hours later, John coming home with his ring finger in a field splint; past memories of him as a very little boy, dreaming that John returned from Texas with two string puppets, a mariachi player in a sombrero for Dean and a wooden duck with fluffy yellow balls on its head, tail and feet for Sam, and John showing up the next morning with exactly that. Further back. Simpler flashes. Knowing that Dean was going to drop a jar on the floor accidentally and spatter sticky strawberry jam all over the kitchen, before he actually did it. And further back, before he could walk or talk. Waking from a dream of a wriggly black puppy, and then later that afternoon, being licked in his stroller by a fat little black puppy on a leash.
Back further.
“Fire.”
All eyes were on Sam.
“I used to have nightmares of fire. When I was just a little baby. Those are the first dreams I remember having.” Warm and safe in his crib, then too warm. Hot. Opening his eyes and seeing a sea of fire, crawling and seething. “I’d wake up and my mom would be holding me.” The scent of her, like flowers and cookies, her long blonde hair spilling into Sam’s face, the feeling of absolute love and safety. These were the only things he remembered of his mother.
“And then…” Sam glanced at Juliane and Danny. He had to be careful not to give too much away. “Then the house burned down.”
“How old were you when that happened?” Juliane asked.
“Six months.”
“Prescient dreams before you were six months old?” Juliane gave Danny a knowing look. “Powerful stuff. That happens, but it’s not common. And demons are drawn to humans with these abilities. That might be a factor in whatever’s going on with you.” She looked at Reggie questioningly. “Don’t you think?”
Reggie gave it a moment of consideration and nodded. “Could well be.” He said nothing about boy kings or Azazel to Juliane. He’d promised Bobby to keep a tight lid on that information until they’d learned more, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to bring these two new people that far into family business.
Reggie and Sam exchanged a look. Juliane registered it. “Hey, could you give me a hand with something in my room?” She looked at Danny.
He understood immediately. “Of course.” He stood and followed her into her private room, shutting the door behind them.
“So, is that why Azazel is doing all this?” Sam looked pale. “That’s why he said I was special? Not to be touched?”
Reggie chewed his lip, weighing his words. “I think so.”
“Why? What does he want?” Sam’s veneer of calm cracked. “And why would demons want to make me get angry and hurt people?”
Reggie shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll find out. Ok, Sam? Trust us. You’ve got the best hunters and the best supernatural scholars in the country working on this for you. And you’re in the safest place on Earth. So nothing’s going to happen to you. Alright? Just relax.”
Sam shook. “You try having a major demon taking a personal interest in you and see if you can calm down.”
Reggie got up and walked around the table. He bend down, silver hair spilling into Sam’s face, and put his arms around him. Sam held on, tremors wracking his body. “I know.” Reggie let his voice sink into his lowest register, soothing him. “I know. But you’re safe now.” He stroked Sam’s hair. “Dean’s safe.”
Sam’s tremors intensified. “My fault.” His voice was muffled.
“Not your fault.”
“They hurt Dean because of me.”
“Yes. They did.”
Sam gasped, and stared up at Reggie in shock.
“But that’s not your fault, Sam.” Reggie pulled over a chair and sat down next to Sam, holding both his hands. “It didn’t happen because of a mistake you made, or some flaw in you.” Sam swallowed, his brain immediately engaged by the linguistic form of Reggie’s argument, understanding he was signaling Sam to the actual meaning of the word fault. “There’s no mistake that you’re responsible for. It’s not your fault.”
Sam sat with that, letting it sink in. Finally, he sighed, most of the guilt bleeding away. “Ok.” He shook his head. “But they still did it because of me.
“If you’re given a really nice car and someone steals it, did you cause that person to become a thief?”
Sam sighed. “No.”
“If you’re really attractive and someone tries to rape you, are you responsible for that?”
“Hell no.”
“So if there’s something about you that you can’t do anything about, and someone else does something bad because they want it, you are not responsible for their actions. Are you.”
“No sir.”
“Just protect Dean now, now that you know, and it’ll be fine.”
“Ok.” Sam’s hand dropped unconsciously to the handle of his knife.
Reggie smiled. “Now pick out some nice movies and get back to him.” Reggie could almost see the cord between Sam and Dean stretched out from their temporary physical separation, and the pull it had on Sam. Sam took a drink of his coffee, now gone cold, and began picking out movies.
~
Juliane fidgeted, staring at the closed bedroom door. Danny shifted his weight from one foot to the other, focusing on the stash of books on her night stand. Neither of them looked at the bed.
“Just a couple of minutes.” She fiddled with her sleeve.
“Ok.”
“Sometimes people just need to talk in private.”
“I know.”
Juliane put on a bright smile. “So, about that idea you had for a salt fragmentation mine? I was thinking if we put—“
“You don’t have to hide them.”
She stopped, confused.
“Your scars. They aren’t ugly.”
Her expression immediately turned wary. She shook her head. “No. Don’t even.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, hard and angry.
“Just—listen.” Danny rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Do you know what I see, when I see your scars?”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Strength.”
She blinked in surprise.
“When I found you, lying on the floor, just… all blood, all over, I thought you were dead. You had to be dead. But you heard me, and you opened your eyes and you looked right at me. And you didn’t say help me, or please. Do you know what you said?”
She shook her head no.
“You said, ‘Fuckers didn’t kill me.’”
She laughed. “Really? I said that?”
He nodded, admiration clear and bright on his face. “They should have killed you. But you survived. Everything they did to you. You survived.” He took a few steps closer to her, took her hand. So gently. So carefully. Allowing her the option to pull her hand away.
She did not.
He looked her in the eye and put the other hand on the sleeve of her sweater. Waiting.
She blinked once, slowly.
He pushed the sleeve up her arm.
“These scars. Every one of them is beautiful. I wish I could make you see.”
She swallowed hard.
He traced his finger along the scar whose tail end peeked out from the bottom of her sleeve all the time. “They show how strong you are. You endured… the strongest men I know couldn’t have endured what you did. And you lived.” He blinked rapidly, not daring to look her in the eye. “Somehow, you lived.” He stroked the scar, his strong fingers so gentle. “And every scar says, ‘I went through something unimaginable, and this is the mark of my strength.’” He soothed his fingers along the curve of another scar, tracing it. “You shouldn’t hide them. You should show them. Be proud of them. So much strength.” Fingers, barely grazing the surface of her skin, gently tracing the lines of the silvery cords. “You aren’t your scars. I--- I’m not saying that. You’re so much more than what happened to you. But the scars don’t make you less beautiful.” He dared to look up and meet her gaze. “They make you more beautiful.”
His fingers brushed her wrist. Her pulse, strong and fast, leaped beneath his fingertips. He let go of her hand and stepped back. “I know, I’ve always known, I wasn’t trying to, I mean, I never fooled myself. I know I could never—” He gestured to himself. “—I mean, I get it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand. “It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything. Ever. I wasn’t trying to—it’s just I thought you needed to know. At least when it’s just us. You don’t have to hide them.” He took another few steps backward. “Ok, I need to go run an errand. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. You want Mexican tonight? I’ll pick up some Mexican. We should invite everyone. Since it’s New Year’s Eve and all. I completely forgot until Sam reminded me. Unless—is Mexican weird for New Year’s Eve?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, aware he was babbling. “I’ll figure something out. Ok. Back in a bit.” He retreated to the door, and fled.
Juliane stared at her arm, bare to the elbow. Her eyes followed Danny as he walked hastily through the common room on his way out to his car, movements stiff and tense, then ghosted her fingertips over the scars on her forearm, tracing the path his fingers had made.
~
Sam returned to their apartment with an armful of movies and an empty bag of gummi bears. Dean awoke at the sound of the door opening and stumbled out, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up. “Missed you.”
Sam smoothed his hair back into place. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dean frowned. “And I’m hungry.”
Sam re-heated the chicken soup and Dean washed his hands and smoothed ointment over his sutures gingerly. Sam brought Dean a pain pill, but Dean didn’t take it. “Maybe just some Advil?”
Sam brightened up. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” He opened his jaw, and didn’t wince much. He rolled his head in a semi-circle and made a face.
“Neck still stiff?”
Dean nodded.
“Eat your soup and I’ll rub your neck after.”
Dean ate his soup, and took four Advil, and Sam ate four string cheeses and half a bag of Goldfish crackers. Dean eyed the Goldfish sadly.
“Someday soon, you’ll be able to chew again.”
Dean gave Sam a look full of hunger, but not for food.
“Deviant.” Sam grinned.
“Perv.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
Sam took the empty soup bowl to the kitchen. “Ok, we have got to do some laundry. It’s like an emergency.”
They gathered up all their clothes into one of the military duffels, and stripped the bed of the sheets and pillowcases. Sam grabbed a deck of playing cards, as was their habit on laundry day, and they made their way down to the laundry room at the end of the hall. They filled both washing machines nearly to the top. Dean stripped off his t-shirt and threw it into the machine.
Sam looked at him. He tugged off his own shirt and put it in.
Dean smirked. He peeled off his sweats, and tossed them in, standing in just his boxers and green-striped tube socks.
Sam’s tongue swiped across his lower lip. He patted his pockets, pulling out a tube of lip balm, a small bag of sour snakes, and the travel-sized lube he always had on him. Dean grinned.
Sam put his jeans in the machine. He too was just wearing boxers and tube socks, his with red stripes.
Dean added soap to both machines and started them. He eyed Sam up and down, appraisingly. “So…wanna play cards?”
Sam took one of the chairs pushed up against the long table and shoved it against the door, the back of the chair wedged under the door knob. He ran his hand down his chest, watching Dean watch him.
Dean gulped.
Sam’s smile was positively wicked. He leaned against one of the washing machines, directly across from Dean, and slid his hand slowly underneath the waistband of his boxers. “Sit down.”
Dean obeyed.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, fingers tightening over his cock, hand moving underneath the fabric. Dean spread his legs wider, leaning back in the plastic chair, watching Sam.
Sam felt Dean’s gaze on him like warm rain. He brought his other hand up and pinched his right nipple.
Dean exhaled audibly.
Sam tugged down his boxers, snugging the waistband underneath his balls. He was completely erect by now. “You like watching me, Dean?”
Dean nodded, eyes locked on Sam.
Sam stroked himself, paying the most attention to the top third of his cock, bringing his other hand down to tug on his balls. He let go and braced his palms on the washing machine, thrusting his hips forward, showing himself to Dean.
Dean started to stand up, but Sam shook his head no. “Stay there,” he whispered. “Just…look.” He turned around and bent over the washing machine, pulling his boxers down to right below his ass, keeping them there, the fabric framing the tight curve of his ass.
Dean groaned.
Sam looked back over his shoulder, giving Dean a look full of promise. “Bet you wish you were taking pictures, huh.”
Dean’s eyes went dark. “Would you let me?”
Sam breathed, “Yes.”
Dean mouthed, “Fuck.”
“Dean.”
Dean stared.
“There’s some photos left on that disposable camera.”
Dean was on his feet, hand tangled in Sam’s hair, pulling his head back, mouth so close to Sam’s he could feel the heat.
“Go get it,” Sam whispered.
Dean snuck back down the hallway quickly, and came back with the camera. He shoved the chair under the door knob again.
“How many are left?”
Dean checked the top of the camera. They’d only used three at Wall Drugstore. “24.”
Sam grinned. “Ok, but don’t get my face.” Dean nodded. There were several good reasons to avoid that, not the least of which was that while Sam’s body looked more mature than his biological age, due to his muscular conditioning, height, and massive cock, his face did look rather young, and a full head-to-toe photo could get Dean arrested.
Sam peeled off his boxers, tossing them into the machine, sloshing around on the wash cycle. He turned to face Dean. “Ready.”
Dean nodded.
Sam leaned back, jutting his hips forward, holding his cock in his hand.
Dean snapped a picture.
Sam turned around and bent forward, belly flat on the top of the washing machine lid, bare ass exposed.
Dean snapped a picture.
Sam spread his thighs wider apart, placed his hands on his ass cheeks, and opened himself, his pink hole revealed.
“Jesus Christ.”
Sam peeked over his shoulder. “Is that good?”
Dean nodded furiously, his erect cock tenting his boxers.
“Then do it.”
Dean came closer, kneeling down, and took a photo of his sweet Sammy, opening himself to him with no shame.
Sam stood up, and walked to the long table where people were meant to fold their laundry. He picked up the tube of lubricant.
“Guh,” Dean murmured.
Sam lay on his back on the table and slicked up the fingers of his right hand. He pulled his legs back, thighs touching, and stroked his hole, slipping a finger inside.
Dean snapped a picture.
Sam moaned, legs falling open, and pulled his right leg back alongside his chest, stroking the underside with his right hand and massaging his cock with the other.
Snap.
He brought his hand down and inserted his finger again, working it inside himself, then a second one.
Snap.
Sam watched Dean watch him, seeing the pleasure Dean was getting from watching him, that pleasure fueling him, making him bolder, less inhibited.
Sam pulled his legs back, thighs spread apart, and again, gripped his ass cheeks and pulled himself open. Dean swore, and pressed his hand against his cock like he was trying not to come. Then he took the picture.
“You do it.” Sam reached for Dean’s left hand, slicked his fingers up, and brought them to his wet little hole.
Dean fucked Sam on his fingers, and Sam threw his head back, both hands on his cock.
Snap.
Sam writhed and gasped, trying to stay quiet. Then he stood and turned around, put his right knee on the table, and bent forward, stretching himself open, the muscles of his thighs standing out strong.
“Sammy…so beautiful….”
Snap.
Sam dropped to his knees, pulling Dean’s boxers down, and took him into his mouth. He let his hair tumble into his face, obscuring it.
Snap.
He stood, rubbing his cock against the hard curve of Dean’s.
Snap.
He bent over the washing machine again. “Dean,” he breathed. “Fuck me.”
Dean got his cock nice and wet, and poised it at Sam’s entrance.
“Take a picture. I wanna see. Wanna see it.” Sam was shivering, not from the cold, but from the pleasure.
Dean obliged. He took a series of shots of his cock breaching Sam’s pink little hole, making it open right up for him. Sam looked over his shoulder, watching Dean’s face, red with pleasure, as he snapped shot after shot.
“You like it?”
“Sam. Fuck. I love it.” Dean fucked into Sam slowly, pulling out, taking another photo.
“Buy us a camcorder,” Sam gasped. “I want to watch us. On video.”
Dean had to put the camera down and pull out, gripping the base of his cock hard.
Sam turned around and nipped and sucked at Dean’s neck. “You like that? You want to tape us having sex? Play it back while you fuck me again?”
“Fucking hell, Sammy,” Dean growled. He picked Sam up and set him down on the washing machine, maneuvering him into the perfect position, and sliding inside him in one slow, smooth stroke.
Sam moaned and gently dug his teeth into Dean’s chest. Dean rocked into him.
The machine kicked into spin cycle.
Sam and Dean gasped at the same time.
The vibrations raced through Sam’s body, tingling and buzzing around Dean’s cock, under his fingertips, everywhere his body touched Sam. The vibrations rose through Dean’s thighs, pressed against the front of the machine, shook and shivered in his belly, pressing against Sam’s cock, rattled through his cock, buried deep inside Sam.
Sam cried out, loud enough for people to hear, but both of them were past caring. They just held onto each other for dear life, Dean grabbing hold of Sam’s hair and tugging, fucking Sam rough and slick, ramming himself home, Sam moaning, “Dean, Jesus, Dean, oh god, Dean” and Dean chanting, “Sammy, Sam, Sam,” both of them losing it, shuddering and vibrating and coming, coming hard and wet and messy, falling apart for each other.
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<3
Edit: Just read it again while putting together the document for the pdf. Sam had psychic abilities even before the demon blood!! (As
I think he still got when he was 6 months old, right?)
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So much awesome in one chapter!!!!!! This is just amazing, honestly. By far, my two favourite parts were the descriptions of Sam posing for Dean (I could picture it myself, which was ...fucking amazing.) and the descriptions of Sam's dreams and precognitions. The fact that his memories became plainer as he got younger, I could imagine them too, being brighter when he's younger... It's just, beautiful. Your imagery and word-use is stunning.
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And thank you for your kind words. I try really hard to treat my fanfic with every bit as much care and attention to detail as "real writing." Because it is.
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I admire fic writers as much as actual writers- even with all the imagination it takes to create a new setting and such; there's just as much effort put into shaping premade characters into our own.
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Yay!
And honestly, you can send Jensen Ackles a letter of thanks for that Wincest laundry room scene. That scene was written 100% because of what he said during Nerd HQ.
Re: Yay!
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Anyway, hopefully Sam's powers will come in handy against Azazel. Good to know that they're figuring these things out as well, and as always I loved apparently-also-psychic!Reggie, he's just so awesome. And I also love poor Bobby trying to make his way to them, hopefully nothing really bad will happen to him?
Danny's little speech was beautiful, I like the idea of him and Julianne becoming ever closer. They're great OCs.
And finally: the laundry room scene - was really hot and visceral, as all your porn scenes are. And damn, I'd love to get my hands on those pictures...! ;)
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