fic: You're mah brother, and I love u
Below lies a fic I wrote for wincon's Badfic Idol. I got pretty into the idea of Sam and Dean about to make out in a coffin and the fic falls somewhere short between Badfic (adverbs and cliches and things) and My Normal Fic (also adverbs and cliches and things, sadly). I remain, nonetheless, pleased.
You're mah brother, and I love u, 1k, Sam/Dean
“The back of the hearse is where they have the body,” Sam said sagely in the parking lot. “Don’t you think it would be easiest to, you know, get rid of the remains while they’re still above ground?”
Dean smirks. “Yeah,” he says. “You are my brother, it makes sense to me that you’d be smart.”
Sam was so lovestruck at the backhanded comment, and so transfixed by the certain, proud, emerald green of Dean’s eyes, that it takes him a second to realize the hearse was speeding away!
“Dean!” he hollered.
They watched the hearse screech from the parking lot and out onto the Vegas strip.
Dean turned to his brother, yelling, “Where’s Baby?! We got a stiff to catch!”
They tailed the hearse with the license plate that reads U R NEXT, and they snuck into the back of the death cab. Up front, the driver was listening to music or maybe drunk (it was Vegas, after all) and they successfully got in, unnoticed, and closed the back quietly behind them.
And not a moment too soon. Traffic recommenced and with the jerk of the car, a coffin slid abruptly and slammed Sam against the inner wall of the truck.
“Ouf,” he said, then proceeded to flip Dean off while wincing and waiting for the hearse to roll over another bump.
He wedged himself out from behind it and they looked at each other and Sam, ducking so his head stopped hitting the roof, pulled out an industrial sized bag of salt from his pocket, and Dean opened one of the coffins, on the count of three.
There was an empregnant pause. The dead guy was not the right person, that much was clear.
Sam winced because...the dead guy was kind of...hot. Like his dad, with that full salt and pepper beard. He felt himself growing in his jeans at the illicit thought and shifted so that Dean wouldn’t notice. Although, he thought to himself darkly, somehow Dean always noticed.
“Dammit, it’s the other one,” Dean swore, furtively glancing at Sam’s tightning jeans.
So, they looked at the dead body in the other one.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Sam said, feeling awash with relief. He could tell by the face tattoo they’d seen in his picture from Search the Web.
Sam salted the body like a prime steak, feeling pleasure of a hunt well done and finished, and he watched his brother’s fingers flip the bic and throw it on the body.
Flames licked up as the coffin and body caught fire.
“The fine city of Vegas, now safe and sound,” said Dean.
Unfortunately, their victory was short lived. They stared at one another with fraternal looks of horror painting Dean’s perfect face and Sam’s other one as they felt the car slowing.
“Sam,” Dean whispered harshly. The hearse stopped completely and all of the sudden the door was clattering, the sound of the drunk driver searching out his keyring.
“Whadda we do?” Sam whispered on a held breath.
When Dean jerked his head to the first coffin, and made his intentions for him and Sam clear re: the coffin, Sam bitchfaced epically.
“No,” he said. “Oh no no no no no, Never in a million years.”
Dean stripped his jacket and threw it over the body. “After you.”
“No.”
Dean gritted out with his teeth clenched. “Get. The freak. In.”
Sam sighs and jumps into the coffin.
It is difficult to fit two people in the coffin, and harder when Dean clambered in beside him, and even harder because Sam has wings. Sam’s had wings since he was a young child in his family crib, and normally it is not a problem. He folds them over the back seat of the impala when they drive the long highways of the continental United States, and hides them under flannel and fugly button-downs because designs make your back look skinnier.
But now they shimmer up around Dean because there is no where else to go.
“You know, this is weirdly comfortable,” Dean says and shifts.
The invisible wings flutter and brush Dean’s skin like Sam’s never let himself while Dean’s awake. He knows the feathers are smooth like the finest silk, like the skin of Dean’s cheek, in fact, because, after all, they are related.
Dean bats at his cheek and sneezes. It turns Sam on, to be quite honest. “Shut up,” he says. Everything, he reflects, turns him on.
“Maybe I’m allergic,” Dean considers.
“To what, dead people?” Sam shifts angrily, adjusting himself to pull his crotch away from Dean’s and failing epically.
Dean stills against him, undoubtedly feeling the wood against his sexy thigh. “Sam?” he says, uncertainly. It is hot against Sam’s face.
“What?” he said, trying to shrug and knocking Dean’s chin in the process.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you--” Dean starts. “Uh, you’re my brother, and you know I love you--” The coffin is very sweaty and dark. Sam can read Dean’s intentions like writing on the wall.
He reaches out and takes Dean’s wrist in his own. “Dean,” he says.
“Sam.”
“Dean! Your wrist is very cold,” he says, worriedly.
“You’re not touching me,” says Dean quizzically. “I’m right here.” And with that, Dean slips his hand over Sam’s chest and down to cup his through his levi’s.
Sam let’s go of the dead guy wrist, moaning, but bites his tongue guiltily as he hears the the car opens.
“Good god!” the man yells.
Dean takes his mouth in a blissful kiss and Sam dives in, not caring about a thing in the world. The spray sound of a hose hitting wood to put out the fire only fans the flames of Sam’s lust. He makes out with his sibling hungrily and allows Dean to touch his ass.
“Wanna fuck you,” Dean mumbles against his sideburn.
“Later,” Sam says, pulling back. “Come on.”
The driver gapes at the sight of two men jumping from his coffin. There are cops on the scene and a fire engine, so Sam thinks to himself, it’s now or never, and grabbing the shorter man by the belt, he takes off, into the sky, to land half an hour later in their hotel, where Dean takes him against the edge of the bed. It is awesome.
fin
Ta da! Also, I think I'm getting a cold. Not sleeping all weekend/drinking a lot/crazy work stress. Send me flowers and condolences please, kthnx.
You're mah brother, and I love u, 1k, Sam/Dean
“The back of the hearse is where they have the body,” Sam said sagely in the parking lot. “Don’t you think it would be easiest to, you know, get rid of the remains while they’re still above ground?”
Dean smirks. “Yeah,” he says. “You are my brother, it makes sense to me that you’d be smart.”
Sam was so lovestruck at the backhanded comment, and so transfixed by the certain, proud, emerald green of Dean’s eyes, that it takes him a second to realize the hearse was speeding away!
“Dean!” he hollered.
They watched the hearse screech from the parking lot and out onto the Vegas strip.
Dean turned to his brother, yelling, “Where’s Baby?! We got a stiff to catch!”
They tailed the hearse with the license plate that reads U R NEXT, and they snuck into the back of the death cab. Up front, the driver was listening to music or maybe drunk (it was Vegas, after all) and they successfully got in, unnoticed, and closed the back quietly behind them.
And not a moment too soon. Traffic recommenced and with the jerk of the car, a coffin slid abruptly and slammed Sam against the inner wall of the truck.
“Ouf,” he said, then proceeded to flip Dean off while wincing and waiting for the hearse to roll over another bump.
He wedged himself out from behind it and they looked at each other and Sam, ducking so his head stopped hitting the roof, pulled out an industrial sized bag of salt from his pocket, and Dean opened one of the coffins, on the count of three.
There was an empregnant pause. The dead guy was not the right person, that much was clear.
Sam winced because...the dead guy was kind of...hot. Like his dad, with that full salt and pepper beard. He felt himself growing in his jeans at the illicit thought and shifted so that Dean wouldn’t notice. Although, he thought to himself darkly, somehow Dean always noticed.
“Dammit, it’s the other one,” Dean swore, furtively glancing at Sam’s tightning jeans.
So, they looked at the dead body in the other one.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Sam said, feeling awash with relief. He could tell by the face tattoo they’d seen in his picture from Search the Web.
Sam salted the body like a prime steak, feeling pleasure of a hunt well done and finished, and he watched his brother’s fingers flip the bic and throw it on the body.
Flames licked up as the coffin and body caught fire.
“The fine city of Vegas, now safe and sound,” said Dean.
Unfortunately, their victory was short lived. They stared at one another with fraternal looks of horror painting Dean’s perfect face and Sam’s other one as they felt the car slowing.
“Sam,” Dean whispered harshly. The hearse stopped completely and all of the sudden the door was clattering, the sound of the drunk driver searching out his keyring.
“Whadda we do?” Sam whispered on a held breath.
When Dean jerked his head to the first coffin, and made his intentions for him and Sam clear re: the coffin, Sam bitchfaced epically.
“No,” he said. “Oh no no no no no, Never in a million years.”
Dean stripped his jacket and threw it over the body. “After you.”
“No.”
Dean gritted out with his teeth clenched. “Get. The freak. In.”
Sam sighs and jumps into the coffin.
It is difficult to fit two people in the coffin, and harder when Dean clambered in beside him, and even harder because Sam has wings. Sam’s had wings since he was a young child in his family crib, and normally it is not a problem. He folds them over the back seat of the impala when they drive the long highways of the continental United States, and hides them under flannel and fugly button-downs because designs make your back look skinnier.
But now they shimmer up around Dean because there is no where else to go.
“You know, this is weirdly comfortable,” Dean says and shifts.
The invisible wings flutter and brush Dean’s skin like Sam’s never let himself while Dean’s awake. He knows the feathers are smooth like the finest silk, like the skin of Dean’s cheek, in fact, because, after all, they are related.
Dean bats at his cheek and sneezes. It turns Sam on, to be quite honest. “Shut up,” he says. Everything, he reflects, turns him on.
“Maybe I’m allergic,” Dean considers.
“To what, dead people?” Sam shifts angrily, adjusting himself to pull his crotch away from Dean’s and failing epically.
Dean stills against him, undoubtedly feeling the wood against his sexy thigh. “Sam?” he says, uncertainly. It is hot against Sam’s face.
“What?” he said, trying to shrug and knocking Dean’s chin in the process.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you--” Dean starts. “Uh, you’re my brother, and you know I love you--” The coffin is very sweaty and dark. Sam can read Dean’s intentions like writing on the wall.
He reaches out and takes Dean’s wrist in his own. “Dean,” he says.
“Sam.”
“Dean! Your wrist is very cold,” he says, worriedly.
“You’re not touching me,” says Dean quizzically. “I’m right here.” And with that, Dean slips his hand over Sam’s chest and down to cup his through his levi’s.
Sam let’s go of the dead guy wrist, moaning, but bites his tongue guiltily as he hears the the car opens.
“Good god!” the man yells.
Dean takes his mouth in a blissful kiss and Sam dives in, not caring about a thing in the world. The spray sound of a hose hitting wood to put out the fire only fans the flames of Sam’s lust. He makes out with his sibling hungrily and allows Dean to touch his ass.
“Wanna fuck you,” Dean mumbles against his sideburn.
“Later,” Sam says, pulling back. “Come on.”
The driver gapes at the sight of two men jumping from his coffin. There are cops on the scene and a fire engine, so Sam thinks to himself, it’s now or never, and grabbing the shorter man by the belt, he takes off, into the sky, to land half an hour later in their hotel, where Dean takes him against the edge of the bed. It is awesome.
fin
Ta da! Also, I think I'm getting a cold. Not sleeping all weekend/drinking a lot/crazy work stress. Send me flowers and condolences please, kthnx.