britomart_is (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
britomart_is) wrote2011-05-05 11:10 am
britomart_is) wrote2011-05-05 11:10 am
The time, it is stamped.
Give me one of my own stories, and a timestamp sometime in the future after the end of the story, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred however many words of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.
For reference, stuff I've written.
Don't feel obligated to request something just to feed my ego, it doesn't need the help (the analogy that just popped into my head is that my ego is like one of those squirrels in parks who are used to handouts of human food so they get really aggressive and beat you up and steal your lunch money/your lunch). But I'm working on multiple larger projects and would love to have some prompts I can whip out when I need a (productive) break, so if you want to take advantage of my procrastination, fire away!
For reference, stuff I've written.
Don't feel obligated to request something just to feed my ego, it doesn't need the help (the analogy that just popped into my head is that my ego is like one of those squirrels in parks who are used to handouts of human food so they get really aggressive and beat you up and steal your lunch money/your lunch). But I'm working on multiple larger projects and would love to have some prompts I can whip out when I need a (productive) break, so if you want to take advantage of my procrastination, fire away!
2/2
The next morning Dean turns the shower on, waits twenty seconds, then steps out of the bathroom.
"Wha--Dean!"
"Holy SHIT."
It takes Dean multiple tries to pull his shit together, because he keeps calming himself down, quieting the guffaws to intermittent chuckles, and then he'll take a look at Sam's motherfucking death glare and that sets him off into peals of laughter again.
He calms down and straightens up, wheezing a little. Sam's sitting ramrod straight on the bed, covers bunched on his lap. Dean suspects that the ruler that was in Sam's hand a minute ago is now hidden under the blanket.
Dean, braced in the bathroom doorway, stares at Sam.
Sam stares at Dean. The bright red flush in his cheeks continues in a V down his bare chest, all that skin pinked up and that's, that's new information that Dean now has in his head and can't get rid of.
That's not where Dean's mind needs to be. He returns to the subject at hand, and the tickle in his brain that he now recognizes as suspicion. "Sam, you don't by any chance ... do this every morning when you wake up?"
The violent blush is fading and now Sam just looks miserable and stressed out. "I think something's wrong," he says, and he looks at Dean with those big wet eyes that mean big brother fix it please. Dean is so utterly, utterly fucked.
"What's wrong?" he asks with dread.
Sam bites his lip. "It's," he whispers. He casts a fearful look down at his lap. "I think it's getting bigger."
After that a series of events occur which are completely and totally out of Dean's control and end in him choking on Sam's dick while Sam rubs his thumbs behind Dean's ears and thunks his own head against the wall every time he groans.
For the rest of the evening Dean's pretty preoccupied, first with Sam's hand down his pants and then with so many hours of lying side by side and making out that it's kind of embarrassing, shameful, just kisses and gropes and soft noises and Dean's pretty sure Sam was petting him at some point. So of course, Dean doesn't remember that there's more to come.
Dean has these ideas about being chivalrous and not fucking Sam until like, the third date, but then they wake up the next morning in a nest of sheets and Sam blinks his eyes open sleepily and smiles slowly at Dean like seeing Dean first thing in the morning is all he's ever wanted and --
Dean's feeling the pressure building low and hot and he's starting to lose his rhythm. Sam started off riding him like a pony, that gorgeous long torso stretched up above Dean, but Dean slowly fucked the posture out of him till Sam's slumped forward, limp as a noodle and groaning into Dean's neck, pressing occasional kisses into the skin, little huh-huh-huhs fucked out of him with every thrust. So it takes Dean a moment to process the new set of sounds he's hearing. It sounds like --
He gets his hand around Sam's chin, forces his face up. Sam's not only sniffling heavily, his eyes are fully welled up. Dean's heart drops down to somewhere on the first floor of the motel. "Fuck, Sammy--"
Sam's saying, "No, no, I don't even know why I'm doing this," with a look of genuine confusion, even while he's still grinding his lower body down against Dean's like he just wants to make sure he has every possible bit of Dean inside him that he can.
"Aw, fuck," Dean says, and it's half realization and half because Sam, determined not to be derailed by his sudden fit of tears, has a hand between his legs, feeling where Dean enters him with a look of curiosity and awe, even as a tear breaks loose and runs down his cheek.
Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and every morning when he wakes up --"
The next time Dean sees the Trickster and the Trickster shoots him a sly wink, Dean doesn't know whether to stab him in the heart or buy him a beer.
THE END.
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THANK YOU. I give you permission to ask me for things, provided you use the astronaut icon. ♥
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no subject
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The End.
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Thank you for this humungous smile! ♥
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I LOVE THIS
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That's hilarious and I love the kind of embarrassing lengthy making out!
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