Hello! lazy-daze and I have decided that the time for comment-fic is now. In this past episode, Sam and Dean get shwasted Dean says, "I miss these talks." However, we do not see said talk on-screen.
Sam's big brother knows everything there is to know about anything. Also, he's always right. Also, all his ideas are flawless and need implementing. Immediately.
Dean drinks so much and so often that he’s mostly become immune to the usual effects of alcohol. It’s made Sam’s own relationship with booze sort of bitter and resentful. He doesn’t drink much, mostly because he hates how it soothes Dean in ways he’s never been able to manage, how it’s become a crutch Dean will lean on far more heavily than he ever will Sam.
But those are all maudlin thoughts and Dean told Sam not to get melancholy. It’s been years, years, since Dean and Sam have been able to get blotto together and his older brother is determined to enjoy it. For Sam’s part, he’s determined that Dean enjoy something, anything to get him smiling and loose
( ... )
There was this one time, but thoughts of Brady are a total buzz-kill, so Sam shoves them back. It never got far anyway, not as far as where Sam is asking. “Uh-uh,” Sam answers and lets his shoulders slump, feels his head all heavy on the neck and decides to take another drink just because. “Is it as good as it is with a woman
( ... )
“And if we got even closer, all the way closer, if you got your cock up in my tight, little hole, you think you wouldn’t feel my balls pressed up against yours? Smell my sweat and my come and hear me groaning all deep and low from how good you were givin’ it to me?”
“Jesus,” Sam gasps, eyes screwed shut while he tries to spread his thighs a little wider. His dick is filling out in his jeans, trapped against the muscle of Dean’s thigh rocking into him. And he can, can smell Dean, booze sweating out of his pores so close to Sam’s face, his cheap cologne that is woodsy and sharp. A little gun-oil and a little blood, all of those smells that have always made Sam think ‘brother, home, Dean’. But now he’s thinking, ‘harder, rougher, more
( ... )
Part Four:“Huh-uh,” Sam denies, shakes his head, hair catching and tangling against the bedspread. And he gets in the game late, but gets in it anyway. Sam grabs at Dean, gets one huge hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the other grabbing a handful of Dean’s ass. It’s a nice ass, firm and Sam can feel the muscles in it shifting with each grinding thrust
( ... )
fffffffff you are EXCELLENT this is EXCELLENT you win ALL THE PRIZES and fail at nothing. a;ksdjg;kdsajg THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS EXIST.
Dean is dripping precome, way wetter than Sam, but it slicks the way nicely. “Just pretend, Sammy,” Dean gasps out and grinds hard, hand working, hips thrusting. “Just pretend it’s some sweet little girl getting you off, huh.”
I'm not sure how much this actually filled your request, it got a little bit away from me. But you seem to like it, so it can't have missed the mark too bad. :)
Christ. Dean should get Sam drunk more often.
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Dean drinks so much and so often that he’s mostly become immune to the usual effects of alcohol. It’s made Sam’s own relationship with booze sort of bitter and resentful. He doesn’t drink much, mostly because he hates how it soothes Dean in ways he’s never been able to manage, how it’s become a crutch Dean will lean on far more heavily than he ever will Sam.
But those are all maudlin thoughts and Dean told Sam not to get melancholy. It’s been years, years, since Dean and Sam have been able to get blotto together and his older brother is determined to enjoy it. For Sam’s part, he’s determined that Dean enjoy something, anything to get him smiling and loose ( ... )
Reply
There was this one time, but thoughts of Brady are a total buzz-kill, so Sam shoves them back. It never got far anyway, not as far as where Sam is asking. “Uh-uh,” Sam answers and lets his shoulders slump, feels his head all heavy on the neck and decides to take another drink just because. “Is it as good as it is with a woman ( ... )
Reply
“And if we got even closer, all the way closer, if you got your cock up in my tight, little hole, you think you wouldn’t feel my balls pressed up against yours? Smell my sweat and my come and hear me groaning all deep and low from how good you were givin’ it to me?”
“Jesus,” Sam gasps, eyes screwed shut while he tries to spread his thighs a little wider. His dick is filling out in his jeans, trapped against the muscle of Dean’s thigh rocking into him. And he can, can smell Dean, booze sweating out of his pores so close to Sam’s face, his cheap cologne that is woodsy and sharp. A little gun-oil and a little blood, all of those smells that have always made Sam think ‘brother, home, Dean’. But now he’s thinking, ‘harder, rougher, more ( ... )
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;)
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Dean is dripping precome, way wetter than Sam, but it slicks the way nicely. “Just pretend, Sammy,” Dean gasps out and grinds hard, hand working, hips thrusting. “Just pretend it’s some sweet little girl getting you off, huh.”
HOLY --
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as always your filthy dialogue has left me a puddled mess.
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Your flawless writing is forever flawless and RIDICULOUSLY HOT OKAY
*thud*
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