b-day fic & dubious images
Happy birthday to britomart-is!
in which there is pairing: dean's lipgloss/sam's spray-tan
The first time they admit they're gay for one another (in so many words) they're in that alternate reality in Canada. The crew teems around set, adjusting cameras and flipping on hot lights which bring sweat to bead on the back of necks, and meanwhile Sam manhandles Dean up against a prop coffin.
"Damn, I want to-But I wouldn't want to smudge any of...." Dean rubs a finger down Sam's neck.
Sam lets out a short laugh against his mouth, a hand up his shirt, and says, "Man, I feel like a giant douche."
"No argument here."
Dean's alter-ego wears lip gloss, after all, and Sam's skin got spray-tanned just seconds ago.
"You're right, though," Sam says. "The makeup lady might kill us."
A grip squints their way. "Are they about to-?"
Bob Singer shushes her. "At least they're talking."
They are fifteen feet away, so they can hear when Sam declares:
"Dean, when we get back-This isn't the sort of thing-I won't just forget-"
"Sam."
"If it's wrong, I don't wanna be-mphh!"
Dean kisses him like he's giving Sam permission to drag him over some edge. His palms will be orange tomorrow and Sam can taste Burt's Bees Lifeguard chapstick and topcoat of vaseline. The makeup dept has already started yelling at them. Sam is too filled with joy to give a fuck about potential consequences.
Dean looks especially pretty under the glaring brights, lips shiny when he pulls back to breathe, "Jesus, Padalicki."
"Cut!" someone yells. "You boys are one episode ahead!"
They make out anyway, and in so doing, parse great life truths and the application thereof.
fin
and a bonus picture montage of Sam n Dean talking about feelings by the water
Happy birthday.
in which there is pairing: dean's lipgloss/sam's spray-tan
The first time they admit they're gay for one another (in so many words) they're in that alternate reality in Canada. The crew teems around set, adjusting cameras and flipping on hot lights which bring sweat to bead on the back of necks, and meanwhile Sam manhandles Dean up against a prop coffin.
"Damn, I want to-But I wouldn't want to smudge any of...." Dean rubs a finger down Sam's neck.
Sam lets out a short laugh against his mouth, a hand up his shirt, and says, "Man, I feel like a giant douche."
"No argument here."
Dean's alter-ego wears lip gloss, after all, and Sam's skin got spray-tanned just seconds ago.
"You're right, though," Sam says. "The makeup lady might kill us."
A grip squints their way. "Are they about to-?"
Bob Singer shushes her. "At least they're talking."
They are fifteen feet away, so they can hear when Sam declares:
"Dean, when we get back-This isn't the sort of thing-I won't just forget-"
"Sam."
"If it's wrong, I don't wanna be-mphh!"
Dean kisses him like he's giving Sam permission to drag him over some edge. His palms will be orange tomorrow and Sam can taste Burt's Bees Lifeguard chapstick and topcoat of vaseline. The makeup dept has already started yelling at them. Sam is too filled with joy to give a fuck about potential consequences.
Dean looks especially pretty under the glaring brights, lips shiny when he pulls back to breathe, "Jesus, Padalicki."
"Cut!" someone yells. "You boys are one episode ahead!"
They make out anyway, and in so doing, parse great life truths and the application thereof.
fin
and a bonus picture montage of Sam n Dean talking about feelings by the water
Happy birthday.