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24 December 2016 @ 09:56 pm
Title: Answer the Call
Artist: kelios
Author: maryjo24
Other Pairing(if applicable): none
Rating: NC17
Warnings/Spoilers: murder, gore, mental illness

Summary: Jared Padalecki's at the top of his game, everyone's darling, and fresh off a break-up (albeit, unlamented), he meets and immediately hits it off with photographer Jensen Ackles. But there are dark influences that threaten the emerging relationship, a darkness that rises with the new moon and leads to death.

Fic: http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/13773.html
31 January 2016 @ 12:25 am

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Blowjobs, face fucking, semi-public sex, slight d/s overtones
Summary: Why did Jensen have to change pants at Jaxcon?

Jensen yanked the stupid beanie off Jared’s head, desperate to get his hands into his hair, muttering in between kisses. “God--Jay--such a--fucking--tease” Jared let him, kissing back just as hard, eyes sparkling as Jensen pushed him against the wall of the green room.

“Not a tease if I follow through,” Jared said slyly.

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Title: Devil's in the Details, But You're My Big Picture
Author: kelios
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Episode tag for Devil in the Details. Sam and Dean's trip to Hell has left them both a little unsettled.

Sam settles into the car with a groan as Dean drops into the driver’s seat with an answering sigh. They’re both a little stiff, more than a little sore, but they’ll live. They’ll live and neither of them is an angel condom and Sam can feel the leftover rage and adrenaline still pulsing through him, shot through with dark satisfaction. They won. They beat the devil again, on his own turf, and as sore as he is Sam can’t help leaning across the seat, reaching for his brother.

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11 January 2016 @ 12:56 am

Author: kelios
Title: Your Kink Is Not My Kink (Or Maybe It Is)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Written for this prompt on the spn-kinkmeme:
Dean loves food. Dean loves to cook for Sam. Dean loves the bunker kitchen. Sam just loves Dean in his apron and likes to fuck his older brother on every available surface in said bunker kitchen.
Warnings: Wincest, misuse of pie filling, rimming

Dean likes to cook. He knows it’s maybe a little odd for someone with his background, but he figures that’s actually part of it--he’s spent so much time eating salt with a side of grease in shitty diners that it’s only natural he’d want something good when he got the chance. He’s spent years thinking about all the things he’d make if he ever got access to a really nice kitchen--and the one in the bunker definitely qualifies.

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13 December 2015 @ 11:30 pm

Author: kelios
Rating NC-17
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Summary: Jared and Jensen really need some time to themselves, with no one else around. The weekend before Christmas break is their last chance for awhile, and they take it.

Inspired by Jensen and Jared's trip to Whistler to go skiing this weekend :)

“Jen?” Jensen looks up to see Jared leaning against the bedroom doorway. He’s not dressed yet, even though Clif will be there in a maybe half an hour, and the dark circles under his eyes hurt Jensen's heart. “Can we talk for a minute?” Jensen stops digging through the drawer for a clean tshirt and frowns, slightly worried.

“Sure, Jay. What’s going on, is everything all right?”

Jared smiles quickly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, of course. It’s just…I was thinking….What do you think about staying here this weekend? We could go up to the cabin in Whistler. We haven’t been there in ages.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “What about the kids?”

Jared stares down at his coffee cup. “We’ll see them next weekend,” he says quietly, and Jensen knows how hard it is for him to say those words, knows how hard it is for him to ask anything for himself. “But I…I need it. We’ve barely seen each other except for work and I just…”

Jensen’s across the room before Jared even gets the words out. “I think it’s a great idea,” he says quietly, pressing his forehead to Jared’s so they’re breathing the same air. “Some alone time will do us both some good.” He tries to lighten the mood a little. "Maybe we'll even go skiing."

If there’s anything Jensen loves more than seeing Jared’s face light up….Well. There isn’t, that’s all there is to it.

“You think we’ll have time to ski?” It comes across as teasing, but there’s enough heat in Jared’s voice to melt what little snow they’ve gotten this year in Vancouver.

“I think if you want me to be able to work next week we better make some time,” Jensen returns, grinning up at him. He knows Jared is right about being busy--they’ve spent hardly any time alone together the last few weeks that didn’t involve one or both of them being asleep. It hits Jensen, suddenly, just how much he’s missed Jared.

Jared smirks at him. “Is that a challenge?”

“Ha. Go put some clothes on, Sasquatch. Clif will be here in 10 minutes.” Jensen watches Jared walk away, noticeably happier, and finishes his own early morning rituals in a much better mood himself.

Whether it’s anticipation or just luck, Friday’s filming goes smoothly. Jared calls their travel agent and tells him to cancel their flight, Jensen calls the housekeeping service they use in Whistler and has them send someone over to air out the cabin, everyone hits their marks. They even keep the joking to a minimum—no one wants to go over tonight. The light all but shining out of Jared makes Jensen’s heart ache with how much he wants to see it every day, and he decides then and there that something has to give. He’s not sure what or how, but the new year is going to bring some changes for them.

Despite getting done with work at a reasonable hour, by the time they finish packing and Clif drives them to Whistler it’s nearly midnight. They wave their driver off to the hotel and stumble inside, glad to be able to just stop for a little while. There’s a fire laid in the fireplace, and Jensen is contemplating lighting it when Jared comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on Jensen’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I know—“

“—That I need time with you as much as you need time with me?” Jensen interrupts, turning in the circle of Jared’s arms to face him, hands settling on the curve of Jared’s hips where they belong. “That’s good, because I don’t ever want you to forget.” He looks at Jared mock-sternly. “And now, young man, I think it’s time for you to go to bed and get some sleep.”

“Oh?” Jared grins, dimple peeking out. “Is that what they’re calling it these days….”

Jensen drags Jared a little closer, letting him feel how much Jensen likes being where he is. “That’s what I call it,” he says, leaning up and kissing Jared slowly and thoroughly. Jared melts into him, one hand sliding down grip Jensen’s ass while the other cups the back of Jensen’s head.

“If we’re doing anything anywhere other than right here we’d better get moving,” Jared whispers against Jensen’s mouth. “Not sure if I can restrain myself otherwise…”

Jensen steps back with a laugh, shaking his head as he licks Jared’s taste from his lips. Jared lets him go, tracking the motion with eyes gone dark with need. “Jen….”

Jensen doesn’t step back into Jared's arms. “Uh-uh, no way. I am not letting you fuck me on the floor again.” He points to a now invisible mark on his forehead. “Remember this? Never. Again.”

Jared laughs, head thrown back and dimples in full force, and Jensen has never been able to resist that laugh. He was gone from the first time he heard it. Jared steps forward, hands out, but Jensen evades him neatly, grabbing a pilot’s case from the floor and heading to the bedroom. “You just gonna stand there all night?” he asks, throwing a come hither look over his shoulder. “Or you gonna come fuck me through the mattress like you promised earlier?”

Jared doesn’t need to be asked twice.

They don’t make it to the slopes til after noon the next day. Even Jared sleeps in, wrapped around Jensen as though he can’t bear an inch of space between them even in sleep. Jensen isn’t complaining—he feels that same need. He hadn’t realized how thin the thread he’d been holding onto had gotten, how much he needed to recharge, to just be with Jared in the peace and quiet with no one demanding their attention but each other. And, Jared puts out body heat like a small furnace, and it’s particularly welcome in the chilly cabin.

Still, all good things must come to an end. Eventually Jared’s stomach and Jensen’s bladder complain enough that they let go—reluctantly, with several one last kisses—long enough to get up and take care of the basics. The smell of coffee drifts over them as soon as they open the bedroom door—after nearly a decade of service, the housekeeping staff always sets a timer for them now. Jensen inhales gratefully and stretches, wincing at the pull of muscles that might be a little overtaxed from last night. Jared watches him, something hot and possessive in his eyes as he fills two mugs and passes one over to Jensen.

“You gonna make it on the slopes, old man?” Jared teases. “Or did I break you last night?”

“Fuck you,” Jensen says cheerfully, feeling better now that he’s fortified with coffee.

Jared goes still, cheeks and the tip of his nose turning pink. Heat washes over Jensen and he steps in close, sitting his coffee on the counter. “Yeah?” he says, leaning up to breath the words into Jared’s ear. “That what you want, Jay?” He pushes forward, caging Jared with his hands on the counter as he rolls his hips. “Want me to take you back to bed and work you open with my fingers so you can take me?” Jared sucks in a shaky breath, and Jensen smiles, closing his teeth on the hinge on Jared’s jaw, right in that spot that drives Jared crazy. “Or maybe I’ll use my tongue first, get you sloppy wet so I can just slide right in. You’re so tight when I do it that way, Jay. You’d feel it for days.”

Jared groans against Jensen’s temple, hips rolling in desperate little circles against him. “Yes,” he gasps, “God yes, Jensen, just do it—“ He tries to catch Jensen’s lips with his, but Jensen pulls back.

“No can do, babe,” he says wickedly. “Clif will be here in an hour, we’ve barely got time to get cleaned up as it is—“

Jared growls, grabbing Jensen by the hips and flipping him so their positions are reversed. “Fucking tease,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. “Show you what happens when you tease—“ In one quick move he lifts Jensen up and onto the counter top, kissing him hard and fast. This time Jensen doesn’t pull back. Instead he throws his arms around Jared’s neck, locks his legs around Jensen’s waist and kisses him like they haven’t touched in weeks. Jared growls again, nipping Jensen’s lip as he drags his boxers down, balancing Jensen on the edge of the counter.

“Do it,” Jensen gasps into Jared’s mouth. “Come on, come on—“

Jared gets them both naked, or close enough to work with. “Hold the counter,” he orders, panting, and slides Jensen right to the edge. His grip on Jensen’s hips tightens, muscles flexing to take the weight as he holds him steady. Jensen shifts, getting one hand on Jared’s cock, spreading the wetness leaking from the head as much as he can. Jared hisses, biting his lip as he struggles to stay still, the slick channel of Jensen’s hand sending sparks up his spine.

“Kiss me,” Jensen tells him breathlessly, and Jared does, breathing messily into Jensen’s mouth as he pushes in, tight heat gripping him mercilessly.

“Fuck…”Jensen groans through gritted teeth. He’s still loose from the night before but there’s not enough slick to make the push smooth yet. He breathes through it, forcing himself to relax. “Move, Jay, go on.”

Jared waits brief moment, then starts to move with short, quick strokes. Jensen throws his head back, moaning as Jared abuses the hell out of his prostate, shoving him perilously close to the edge. “Jared—Jay—fuck, fuck--“

“Feel so good, Jen.” Jared’s fingers tighten on Jensen’s hips, probably leaving another set of bruises but Jensen doesn’t care. Jared is fucking him hard and fast, leaning in to kiss him and trapping Jensen’s cock between them. The friction is just this side of enough, and Jensen is about ready to beg for Jared’s hand to push him over when Jared shifts and bites down on his neck right under his jaw and sucks. The flare of pleasure-pain that rockets through him along with the idea the that Jared is marking him throws him almost violently over the edge. His whole body locks down as he comes, muscles clenched tight around Jared, white streaking over both their chests almost to Jensen’s chin. Jared keeps fucking him through it, keeps sucking that spot on his neck, tiny, desperate sounds leaking out around his sealed lips as he finally loses it inside Jensen, filling him with warmth.

Afterwards they hold each other, kissing and shivering through the occasional aftershocks. Finally, Jared pulls out as gently as he can, wincing at Jensen’s discomfort. He gives Jensen one final kiss and licks over the really spectacular bruise on Jensen’s neck one last time before sighing happily.

“I guess we better go shower,” he says reluctantly. “Clif will be here pretty soon.”

Jensen smirks. “Guess we don’t want him getting an eyeful,” he agrees. “C’mon, I’ll race you to the shower.”

Jared manages not to laugh. “Yeah, okay. Um.” Jensen glares at him half heartedly.

“Not a word,” he orders, walking carefully toward the bathroom. “Come on.”

As always, Jared doesn’t need to be told twice.

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to Me (Not Even You)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: simulated non-con, simulated somnophilia, wincest

Dean drives Sam crazy with his mother henning, there’s no doubt about that. But days like today? When Sam is ready to find a crossroad and beg whatever demon shows up to make the pain to go away? He’s grateful that he doesn’t have to say a word for Dean to know just what he needs. He crawls into the backseat and pulls off his flannel overshirt, balling it up into a pillow with just enough left to cover his eyes. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helps enough he can pretend he’s not going to gouge his own eyes out with a spork the first chance he gets.

The motel Dean chooses is a little nicer than their usual fare. Hiding in the back seat means Sam doesn’t know if Dean chose it on purpose or if it was the only game in town. Then again, Sam doesn’t actually care about anything right now except Dean pulling the blackout curtains and dropping the room into blessed darkness. Sam collapses on the bed farthest from the door, not even bothering to take off his shoes, but Dean’s having none of that.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean says with that gentleness he reserves for true fuckedupedness. “If you get mud on the bed you’ll bitch all night, and I’m not switching with you.” He pulls off Sam’s boots and socks, then tugs on the hem of his jeans. Sam groans, but Dean just tugs again. “Go on,” Dean orders. “You know you’ll be more comfortable.” He turns away as Sam mutters bossy under his breath but pops the button on his jeans and shoves them off and onto the floor before sprawling across the bed.

Dean’s right. He is more comfortable. When Sam’s like this, he hates it more than usual when Dean’s right, but that doesn’t stop him from accepting the pills Dean offers on his way out the door.

“Gonna hit that bar a few miles back, see if I can scare up some reserve cash,” Dean says, speaking as quietly as he can. “Maybe we’ll celebrate when I get back, yeah?”

Sam does his best to smile, but judging by Dean’s wince he probably doesn’t succeed. He waits for the door to close before he swallows the pills dry, pointedly ignoring the bottle of whiskey Dean had set on the nightstand. He’d rather not asphyxiate on his own vomit, thanks. He closes his eyes, buries is face in the pillow, and does his best to relax.


Sam comes awake gradually. Fingers slip across his cheek, stroking his hair, his ear. He knows it’s Dean, he’d know Dean’s hands anywhere, but this…Dean has never touched him like this before, so much gentleness, so much tenderness. Sam knows he should stir, give Dean a chance to move away, but he can’t. He can’t. Not yet. He just wants a few more moments for himself, no matter how selfish he feels.

Dean pulls in a shaky breath, and Sam hears the cap from the bottle of whiskey hit the nightstand as Dean takes a long drink. Then his hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, heavy and warm. “Sam?” he says. “Hey, Sammy, wake up, man.”

Sam doesn’t stir. He just wants one more moment of Dean’s attention to savor, that’s it, then he’ll sit up and they’ll go out to dinner and everything will be fine. He hears Dean take another drink, hand still gentle and firm on his shoulder. “Never understood why you wear so many layers, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. Sam can hear the slur in his words, but it’s still a shock when Dean trails his hand down Sam’s back in a warm caress. He can’t help the twinge of disappointment he feels when Dean stops right before his fingers stroke the bare skin between his t-shirt and his boxers. Then he feels it, the rough callouses of Dean’s fingers on his skin as Dean lets himself touch.

Sam bites back a moan, fights not to arch into Dean’s touch. “Fuck,” he hears Dean whisper. Then, “Sammy” almost reverently, almost like a prayer as he flattens his hand on the bare skin of Sam’s back, stroking the smooth skin. This time Sam can’t stop the shiver that rolls through him, can’t help the whimper that escapes as he realizes with instant clarity that he has no intention of stopping this, that he’s going to take whatever Dean will give him regardless of the consequences.

Dean falls to his knees next to the bed, and the press of his lips against Sam’s hip nearly undoes him. It’s all Sam can do to keep quiet as Dean moans against his skin, and all his good intentions disappear completely as Dean’s restless hands grip and knead Sam’s ass. Sam’s body takes over, bucking up against the fingers pushing against his sensitive opening, wanting more.

“Dean,” Sam moans helplessly, grinding down against the mattress. He’s already almost painfully hard, years of pent up desire filling his cock and fogging his brain far more than the painkillers he’d taken earlier. Dean jerks his hand back as if burned, and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to beg Dean to touch him again. Sam forces himself to lay still, ears straining. He can hear Dean breathing, panting almost, then the sound of Dean’s zipper easing down almost breaks his resolve again. Dean groans a little, but doesn’t touch Sam, and Sam’s mind spins crazily at the thought of Dean jerking off on his back, on his face oh God, branding him, changing him forever.

But it doesn’t happen, even though Sam hears the rattle of Dean’s belt as it hits the floor. Sam doesn’t let himself move, hoping against hope that Dean will finish what he started.

Sam’s concentrating so hard on staying still that he almost misses what Dean’s saying. “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters roughly, and Sam feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “Maybe it’s my turn to just take what I want.”

And fuck if that doesn’t turn Sam on even more, the idea that Dean—fiercely protective, loving Dean, the brother who has never done anything but care for Sam their whole lives—the idea that Dean could so lose himself to this thing between them, could let himself go far enough to simply take what he wants for once in his life.  It’s messed up, Sam gets that—he should be pissed as hell by what Dean is doing. But all he can feel is relief twisted up with desire and want so strong he isn’t sure he can control himself long enough not to screw it all up.

Dean’s voice tapers off, muttering under his breath as something thumps onto the bed next to Sam and the mattress dips under Dean’s weight. Sam tries to breathe normally, but that goes out the window when Dean pushes Sam’s shirt up, baring more skin to the cool motel room air. Sam gasps when Dean hooks his fingers in Sam’s boxers, tugging them down so slowly it’s torture. He can’t help himself, whimpering into the pillow and rutting into the mattress as Dean runs his hands up Sam’s legs, groaning under his breath at the feel of Sam’s skin under his hands. His cock, wet and hard, brushes Sam’s leg, dotting the skin with precome as Sam tries desperately to remain still enough not to give himself away. He feels like he could come just from this, just from Dean’s hands cupping, kneading the smooth, firm muscle of his ass as he gently spreads Sam open.

Fuck fuck fuck Sam thinks wildly. There’s no way he can stay quiet for this, no way he won’t give himself away. His hips have a mind of their own, grinding into the coarse hotel comforter in a way that’s almost as much pain as pleasure. He can hear Dean whispering over him, but he can’t make out the words except his name Sammy Sammy Sammy which seems appropriate since Sam can’t seem to say anything but Dean.

Sam moans, almost a sob, as Dean leans forward to blow warm air over his hole then lick the tender skin. Dean hasn’t shaved since morning, and his stubble burns deliciously against Sam’s skin, the contrast driving him wild. Dean seems to realize what he’s doing to Sam, rubbing his face all over, nipping and outright biting in between licking over Sam’s hole and balls, driving Sam insane. Finally, finally he stops teasing and pushes his tongue inside the tight ring of muscle. Sam can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but writhe helplessly underneath Dean, moaning Dean’s name like a prayer, begging for more as quietly as he can. Tomorrow, he thinks wildly, tomorrow he’s going push Dean onto the bed and ride his face until they both come, until Sam can scream his pleasure as loudly as he wants.

Dean pulls back after a few minutes, sweet relief that only makes Sam more desperate when Dean replaces his mouth with his fingers. Dean twists them, stretching and pulling, and God, Sam is going to lose it any second. Dean finds his prostate and strokes him mercilessly, relentlessly. Sam bites his lip so hard he’s surprised he can’t taste blood, doesn’t think he can take much more even though he never wants it to end. He nearly sobs with relief when Dean finally tugs his fingers free even as he can’t help rocking back against Dean’s hand in protest at the same time.

Dean doesn’t make him wait long. Sam hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper, Dean’s hiss of pleasure as he slides it on, and then he’s back. He rubs the head of is dick over Sam’s swollen, sensitive hole, teasing again, and Sam tenses in anticipation. Dean pushes forward, finally, then stops when he feels how tight Sam still is. Sam does his best to hold still, but it hurts when Dean shoves, soft apology soothing Sam along with his hands as Dean strokes his back and hair gently. Dean works his way in slowly, murmuring praise and love so good for me Sammy, so beautiful look so pretty on my cock and it’s so good, each slow, steady stroke wracking Sam’s body with pleasure like he’s never felt.

Dean stops when he’s finally all the way in, Sam gasping underneath him, shuddering at how amazing it feels to be so full of Dean. His brother only gives him a moment to adjust before he’s pulling out again, thrusting back in harder this time, setting up a rhythm that Sam tries to match. Dean’s hands are locked onto Sam’s hips, hauling Sam up and back to meet him with every thrust, and Sam can’t wait to see the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow, to press them and savor this moment again. He groans when Dean slows, suddenly, then rearranges himself against Sam’s back so that he can force his hand underneath Sam. Dean gets a hand on Sam’s cock, warm and rough and calloused and Sam loses it, two strokes and he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life, twisting and writhing under his brother like he’s possessed, biting his lip so hard tears spring to his eyes as he tries not to cry out.

Dean fucks him through the aftershocks, hard and fast and if he could Sam thinks he’d be getting hard again because there’s something about being used, about being fucked for nothing but Dean’s pleasure that lights something inside of him on fire. He feels Dean tighten, feels him pulse against the condom and shudders again, wishing he could feel Dean bare inside him. Dean collapses on top of him, heavy and warm, for a brief moment before pulling out and away. Sam wishes Dean would stay, adds the idea of wrapping himself happy and spent around his brother to his list of things he’s going to do tomorrow and hopefully every day for as the foreseeable future.

Dean rolls off the bed and staggers into the bathroom. Sam smiles and stretches, enjoying the ache in his ass and hips, imagining the bruises he’s going to have in the morning. He’s tired, blissed out from possibly the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced on top of the residual painkillers still in his system. He’s trying to keep his eyes from drifting closed as his mind tries to turn itself off, needing to stay awake until Dean comes back, but it’s a losing battle.

Sam’s still asleep when Dean comes back out of the bathroom, still sprawled facedown on the bed. The sight hits Dean like a punch to the gut. Sam looks debauched, fucked out and used, and all he can think is how gorgeous Sam looks like this, how much he wants to fall into bed next to his brother and do all of this again the next morning.

That doesn’t last long.

Sam looks debauched, used. He’s bruised, swollen, covered in lube and come. Dean did that, Dean raped his brother, and the shocked realization knocks the breath out of him. He collapses on the empty bed, sick with guilt and horror.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “God, I’m so sorry.”

After a moment Dean forces himself to stand, goes into the bathroom again and comes out with a warm wet cloth. He cleans Sam as gently and carefully as he can, wiping up drying lube and come. Dean, Sam sighs, shifting, arching into Dean’s touch as if he craves it. It hurts Dean’s heart—he doesn’t deserve even this much acknowledgement from Sam, doesn’t deserve to touch him again, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t hide what happened here, but he hopes this might make Sam feel less violated when he wakes, and—selfishly--Dean knows this is probably the last time he’ll ever touch Sam, take care of him, and he wants to savor it. To remember. If he can take any memory to hell, let it be this.

Dean shifts Sam gently onto his side, away from the cooling wetness underneath him. He wipes Sam down carefully, then pulls Sam’s discarded boxers up over his hips before grabbing the coverlet from the other bed and tucking it in around his brother. Sam shifts onto his side almost immediately, hair falling over his eyes, and Dean has to resist the sickening urge to push it away, knowing he can never trust himself to do that again.

After a few moments of watching Sam sleep, Dean turns away, more determined than ever to do the right thing. He grabs a clean pair of boxers from his duffle and dresses quickly, grateful that he hadn’t had a chance to unpack anything yet. In a matter of minutes he’s ready to go, three quick steps to the door before he stops with his hand on the knob, caught by the pen and paper next to the phone.

I’m sorry, Sam is all he manages to scrawl before his vision blurs, but it will have to be enough. He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can, sits in the Impala with his head resting against the steering wheel as he finally lets the tears drip down his face. It hurts, having his heart ripped out of his chest with his own hands, but he knows he has no one to blame but himself. It's better this way, he tells himself bleakly, and puts the car into drive and pulls away into the darkness.

07 May 2015 @ 03:44 am
Title: Water under the Bridge
Rating: G
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: non
Summary: Sam hopes Dean doesn't make him wait too long.
A/N: Drabble written for twitter based on the linked picture.


Neither of them sleep all that well these days, but Dean still drinks enough to pass out sometimes, runs himself into exhaustion so deep his body can't help but give in. Even that doesn't bring a restful, peaceful sleep though; Dean tosses and turns and moans in his sleep, far more vocal than Sam ever remembers him being before.

He doesn't like to admit it, even to himself, but those nights are his favorites.

He carefully--very carefully, they are both big guys after all, and Sam's not entirely convinced the motel room beds are even really queensized--lays down next to Dean in his bed, under or over the covers depending on what Dean chose. The effect is nearly instantaneous--Dean always calms, turning his face toward Sam with a soft sigh as the tension leaves his body and he sinks into deeper, more restful sleep. Some nights he turns all the way toward Sam, throws an arm over Sam's chest or wedges a leg between Sam's, pushing his face into Sam's neck and all but collapsing into himself.

Sam's always careful not to move on those nights, barely breathing, not daring to let himself nod off for fear of what he might do. He loves it, though, loves it with a fierce, jealous satisfaction that he can't quite rid himself of, because no one else gets this, no one else has EVER gotten this. No one else has ever done this for Dean, soothed him simply by being present, with just a touch. This side of Dean, soft, vulnerable, open-it's just for Sam. Sam knows that--it's ground into his bones the way Sammy is ground into Dean's.

Sam lets himself hope, sometimes, that these stolen nights might mean something, that they might be a way back to what they used to have, but he's afraid to think of it too often, afraid it might bleed over into their waking moments. For all that Sam pursued Dean when they were younger, he knows there is too much anger, too much resentment, too much that can't be easily taken back for that to happen again. But Sam can't give up. He just hopes Dean won't make him wait too long.
Title: Whatever Our Souls are Made Of, His and Mine are the Same
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Warnings: Wincest, voyeurism
Summary: Now that the war in heaven is over, Castiel finds himself at loose ends. Watching the Winchesters is one way to pass the time. (Prompt from the first round of Masquerade.)

Watching the Winchesters has become one of Castiel's favorite pastimes. Not their physical bodies, necessarily--although Castiel has found that his vessel does enjoy that occasionally too. No, mostly he watches their souls

Soulmates are rare. Castiel has never seen two of them come together before, and it's endlessly fascinating. He watches them for days, sometimes, as they cycle through love, anger, fondness, exasperation--each emotion taking a different hue and shape, drawing them closer, pushing them farther apart, but never truly separate.

Even when they are miles apart, their souls reach for each other, and sometimes, if he tries very hard, he can feel a distant echo of the ache such distance causes.

Today they are not far apart. Sam has pulled Dean onto his lap, pushed his cock deep inside his brother as he holds him close. Dean's head is thrown back with the pleasure of it, gasping Sam's name, saying things that Castiel once would have considered quite blasphemous. Now, he simply leans closer, straining for a better view, to hear what Sam is saying in return.

Dean Dean god love you, fuck--so fucking much

There is energy building between their souls, borders breaking down as they melt into one another, spilling the pleasure of joining into their bodies. It's stunning, breathtaking, and Castiel isn't surprised to find his vessel hard and aching to be touched. He ignores it to watch, enraptured, as Sam and Dean reach their climax, souls finally becoming the one they were intended to be for a few short moments.

He watches a little longer, faint jealousy tainting his pleasure as he watches them separate and return to their own bodies. He has no soul, will never truly know the pleasure of joining with another the way they do. He may rut with a female vessel, but it will never be like this, it will never be even the poor imitation that most humans achieve when their souls briefly touch. For all of their might and power, he and his brothers will, in this regard, always be lesser. Always alone.

Sam stands, still holding his brother, still joined to him body to body, and they both laugh, sated and content. Sam spills them both onto the bed carefully, gently leaving Dean's body and collapsing next to him. Castiel watches until they fall asleep, and after, longing for things he'll never have.