Holiday Fic Post
So I sent out some double (or in some cases two and a half) drabbles with my Christmas Cards. I think most of them have arrived now, so I can post them, YAY!
They didn't have titles before, so I had to quickly think of some, I apologize for their lameness! In no order of preference, except that I like the first one best ;)
For flawedamythyst, Razorblades and sunshine.
It’s bright. Too bright to see, to fucking think. The sunlight is pouring into him, jacking him up, jammed into every possible opening. He’s blind, dumb, paralyzed, dying. It’s intensely hot; it’s setting him on fire, burning the flesh from his bones.
And even worse than that, stronger somehow, above him, over him, surrounding him, is Dean.
Dean, with his lips locked tightly over his, trying to suck the light right back out of him.
Dean, with his fingers roaming over every inch of his skin, ripping him apart and putting him back together … just to do it all over again.
Dean, with his cock in his ass, splitting him in two. The pain is excruciating, like razorblades carving him up from the inside out. It’s a slow drag and pull of merciless steel cutting into his unyielding flesh, mangling and destroying him.
Sam wants to scream, but his voice is gone, burned away, replaced by mute rays of iridescence.
He has the uncontrollable need to get away, to be gone and it’s growing, building impossibly higher and higher until he’s going to explode into infinity.
Then, suddenly, it’s over and he’s left broken, empty, shaking.
“I love you, Sammy.”
For vinylroad, His Name.
Jo’s been sitting in the corner nursing a beer for over an hour. She’s watching the big man sitting at the bar.
There’s grey in his beard, unruly scruff covering his cheeks and chin, but his hair is an untouched jet black. It’s slightly greasy, a little too long in the neck. The light catches the gold of the band on his left hand when he runs his fingers through his hair for the seventh time.
He’s drinking whiskey, neat doubles that he swallows like water. He doesn’t slam the empty glass down when he’s finished. Just lowers it carefully and looks deeply at the dregs lining the thick base like an old lady reading tea leaves before pushing it back at the bartender for a refill.
His phone rings, a shrill beep. He says, “Yes”, as he flips it open and presses it against his ear. He listens in silence for a moment, his grip tightening on the phone until Jo can almost hear the plastic creak. He huffs a reply and pushes a bill over the counter.
Jo waits five seconds before swinging out of the booth and following him through the door.
His name is John Winchester.
For valiant, Special.
For weeks now Jo’s been trying to get away from Jess for just a couple of minutes.
She just needs to get to some kind of store so she can get her a gift. Jess hasn’t said anything about the holiday coming up, but she still wants to get her something.
Something nice.
Something special.
It’s their first Christmas on the road. Just the two of them … as them.
Maybe it wouldn’t be driving her as nuts if she had any idea what to get her.
Her first thought, of course, was a brand new hunting knife. But her momma once told her it was bad luck to give a knife as a gift; it cut through the ties that bind. Maybe it’s just a stupid superstition, but Jo’s not taking any chances.
Jess is in the shower and it’s perfect timing.
“I’m just gonna make a quick supply run. You need anything?”
“Wait up, I’ll come with you.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I’ll be right back.”
Jess steps from the shower, naked skin glistening and wet and cocks her head at Jo with a sly smile.
“You do know that all I want for Christmas is you, right?”
For neetha, Hope.
Jo watches him make a snowman with the neighbour’s kids and hardly recognizes him. This man … this man with the open laughter and the twinkle in his eyes can’t be Dean.
Not her Dean, the one that starts trembling when the sun sets, that can’t stay indoors after dark unless he has a quart of whiskey thundering through his veins.
The naked terror reduces him to a pile of bones under her hands until the sun’s first rays pierce through the veil and he realises he’s still alive, they didn’t come for him.
She lets him hold her down then, needing to feel in control of someone, something. He hurts her sometimes, the grip of his hands too hard, the thrusts into her body too strong, but she’ll never let it show. He’ll never be able to forgive himself or let himself near her and she can’t lose him like that again.
He ducks when a snowball gets launched at his head and dumps a handful of snow down the back of one kid’s sweater. He catches her looking at him then, keeps right on smiling and for a moment Jo believes that one day they’ll be whole again.
For merihn, Kiss.
The first one is a dry press of Dean’s lips into that soft little hollow right behind his ear. With a strangled moan Sam turns his head away, giving Dean more room. Dean’s tongue curls around the fleshy lobe, sucking it in between his teeth so he can lightly bite down onto it.
He lets it go with an obscene pop, turning Sam’s head back towards him with a firm finger under his chin. Sam opens his eyes, trying to look at Dean as he’s peppering Sam’s cheeks with tiny little pecks, ending with one big fat sloppy one on his forehead.
When he brushes against the tip of Sam’s nose, Sam reaches up and with a growl low in his throat pulls Dean’s head back until he can look at him. He lets his eyes roam over Dean’s face, suddenly desperate to touch his lips to Dean’s skin.
Dean takes his hands and pulls them down to circle around his waist. It brings their faces almost flush together, mere breaths separating them. Dean is smiling, mouth slightly open so Sam can see the tip of his tongue just behind his teeth.
Then, finally, Dean leans in and kisses him.
For kelleigh, African Sunrise.
The sun was just starting to come up, a fiery red ball burning through the broken branches of the thorn trees. The breeze that gently riffled through the hairs on his forearms was still cool, but the stifling heat of the day was already curling around the edges. It stirred amongst the tall green grasses, whipping them lightly against his legs. He could smell their sweetness, the red dust from the road and the promise of rain just beyond the horizon.
Jensen blew lightly into the steaming mug of moer koffie held loosely in his hand. Carefully he lifted the beige enamel cup, tipping the blue trimmed rim against his lips. It’s strong, bitter and tastes like crap. He could hear faint singing coming from the road and looked ahead to see a woman walking toward the house. Her hips were swaying in a gentle rhythm, lulling the baby strapped to her back with a light grey blanket to sleep.
A pair of strong arms folded around his middle and Jared pressed his body, sleep warm and heavy, against his back.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” he whispered in Jensen’s ear.
Jensen turned around, pressed their lips together.
“It is now.”
For brin-bailey, Unplanned Perfection.
Being trapped in a dusty attic with Dean Winchester was not the way Jo was planning on spending Christmas Eve. So her plan basically consisted of some insanely spiked eggnog and reruns off sappy old movies on a small black and white set at the motel, but that’s her business.
“So, Sparky, got any other bright ideas?”
“You mean except for saving your ass? How about you start pulling your weight for a change?”
“Pull my …?”
With a huff Jo turns and spots some mouldy quilts piled high in the corner.
“Tell you what. My weight’s pulling me straight to those and you only have to worry about keeping your own ass warm.”
Dean takes one look at the snow flakes sticking to the little round window and suppresses a shiver. He reaches round slowly, slipping his gun into the back of his pants and spreads his hands wide to show they’re empty.
“Come on, Jo. You know I didn’t mean it. You really gonna let me freeze to death?”
“Are you going to behave yourself?”
“I promise to be good.”
Jo cocks her head to the side, pretending to give it some serious thought and consideration.
“Mmmm …. okay, but then you have to do something for me.”
“Like …?”
“Read me a story.”
There’s a stack of leather bound books in the corner and Dean grabs the top one without even bothering to look at the title.
“Scoot over, you better share if you want your story.”
For theladyscribe, Sent from Above.
She expected … well, she didn’t really know what she expected. When you hear angels rejoice because a man has been saved, you tend to imagine him as something more than just a mere man.
Dean Winchester is, without a doubt, a man. He has freckles across his cheeks and crinkles next to his eyes. His shoulders are slightly stooped and his fingernails are dirty.
And though his mischievous twinkling hazel eyes may try to fool the average person, she sees beyond the limitations of flesh and marvels at the beauty of the soul within. It cannot be contained and refuses to be hidden.
Anna wonders if his lips are as soft as they look.
He is their saviour. A warrior; the champion that has been to hell, was chosen and saved by heaven for those on earth. He saved her and will continue to fight for her.
He calls her radio-girl.
He holds her hand and the rough catch of the calluses on his fingers against her skin both grounds her and makes her feel like floating.
The darkness is so close; it’s surrounding them and she hides her face against the smooth leather of his jacket.
They’re softer.
For bubl, You Drive Me Crazy.
Jensen was never really adventurous with sex before. He knew about the toys one could get, how exciting strange positions and locations could be. He just didn’t give it much thought.
But then again, he wasn’t having sex with Jared before.
With Jared, there was almost always a surprise waiting. He can’t help but laugh when he remembers the first time Jared pulled the can of whipped cream from behind his back.
“Dude, you can’t be hungry again! Didn’t we already have desert? I thought I was getting laid here.”
Jared just smiled that wicked smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he began shaking the can.
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll get to that. But we’re taking our sweet time about it.”
Jensen looked at his watch and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Where the hell was Jared? He’d been wearing the fucking butt plug the whole fucking day and he seriously needed to get fucked soon or he was going to fucking die.
On cue, he hears the front door open and close and then Jared’s rounding the corner and walking towards him.
Jensen feels a shiver run down his spine when he sees Jared’s holding something behind his back.
For acidquill, Flashes.
If Dean weren’t so busy dying, he’d laugh at the irony of it. That now, in his last moment, he’s flashing back to all these firsts.
The first time Sammy wrapped his chubby little fingers around one of Dean’s big ones and garbled out an unintelligible syllable that Dean still recognized immediately as his name.
The first time Dad left Dean alone to look after Sam and Sam’s startled look up at him when Dad told him to mind his big brother. So that’s what Dean was. Dean didn’t sleep a wink those whole two days that Dad was gone, too afraid to take his eyes off of Sam for even a moment.
The first time Sam kissed him and told him he loved him. He paid no attention to Dean’s fervent protests and month long freak out and in the end just pulled him close and kept on kissing him until he sagged breathless against Sam’s chest. He wouldn’t let go until Dean would say the words he needed to hear. I love you too.
The first time he came from his brothers fingers wrapped around his cock. It was fast, messy and a little painful. It was perfect.
For kickaboutheart, Merry Christmas.
Dean watches them together the whole day. First they have breakfast at a little diner on a corner that’s suddenly so familiar it makes his chest ache briefly and painfully. Sam only has coffee and she orders a double stack of blueberry pancakes. Sam licks a smudge of syrup from the corner of her mouth as they get up to leave.
They hole up in the library until well after lunchtime. She reads magazines while Sam pours through think volumes with a pencil stuck between his teeth. Every now and then she glances up, smiling at the lines of concentration furrowing Sam’s brow before going back to her glossy pages.
They have a late lunch in the park, Sam brushing the snow from a bench one handed as he holds onto a brown paper bag with sandwiches in the other.
They fuck on Sam’s narrow single bed just as the sun is setting and she comes twice from Sam’s fingers alone.
He’s not really surprised when Jess walks out of the dark apartment and straight towards him.
She asks him what he wants, so he kisses her and says, “Give that to Sam and tell him Dean says Merry Christmas.”
For with-a-kay, Good Idea.
“It’s porn.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Come here, I’ll show you beautiful.”
“Jen, would you just sit down and watch this with me?”
“Didn’t think we needed any pointers, Jay, but alright. Do we need popcorn for this?”
Jared just rolled his eyes and patted the empty space next to him on the couch.
Jensen stopped joking around, the sounds coming from the television set finally capturing his attention and pulling his eyes towards the figures on the screen.
They were kissing, sinful lips and tongues teasing, sliding and locking around each other. The one guy reached up, cupping the other’s face in his hands and tilting it up into their kiss.
Next to him, Jared sighed and Jensen tore his eyes away from the movie to look over at him. Jared’s eyes were wide, almost looked surprised at what he was seeing. His cheeks were flushed, the tips of his hair hanging in his face curling slightly and sticking to his sweaty skin.
He couldn’t help it, he lifted his hand and slid it around the back of Jared’s neck, turning his face towards him.
“Do we look like that?” Jared asked.
Jensen smiled and leaned forward.
“No, we look better.”
For quiet-rebel, New Beginning.
Jo Harvelle was never a big fan of Christmas.
She didn’t get the big fuss that was made over snow. It was white, wet and fucking cold. Playing around in it only made you miserable and sick. She hated those stupid girls in their stupid little red outfits prancing around in those stupid made for TV movies proclaiming it to be a time for family, for giving and receiving, for love, joy and happiness. A load of horse shit. If their fondest childhood memories of Christmas involved listening to the headboard beating incessantly against the wall of their mother’s room and trying not to listen to her quietly sobbing afterwards, they wouldn’t be so damn fond of it either.
But Dean Winchester, he loves Christmas.
He loves the tree and the ornaments and the mountains of presents. He loves eating until he’s fit to burst and drinking eggnog spiked beyond recognition. Opening presents on Christmas morning is his favourite. Watching the surprise and delight on his children’s faces, slapping a heavy hand down on his brother’s shoulder and stealing a kiss from his wife under the mistletoe. Spending time with his family.
Jo Winchester doesn’t think Christmas is so bad.
For blincolin, From the Heart.
“Tell Dad if he’s looking for me I’ll be out back washing the car.”
“Already washed it.”
“Then I’ll be polishing it.”
“Did that too.”
“Vacuumed the inside?”
“Jip.”
“Packed the trunk?”
“And gave Dad a list of everything that’s running low or needs to be replaced.”
With a shrug Dean turns around and pulls the elastic from around her ponytail, letting her hair fall in soft waves around her shoulders. Walking towards her room, she mumbles under her breath.
“Guess I’ll go clean the guns then.”
“All done.”
“Alright, sharpen the knives.”
“They’re sharp. Machetes too. Be careful when you check them, cause I know you’re going to. Don’t want you cutting off those pretty little fingers.”
“My fingers aren’t pretty. And I will check them. Your idea of sharp is not my idea of sharp.”
Dean turns the other way though, heads into the kitchen instead.
“I’ll rustle us up some lunch.”
“Lasagne is in the oven, it’ll be ready in five.”
“What the hell, Sam? Am I completely useless now? Incapable of doing anything?”
“Just thought it’d be nice, s’all.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah … I didn’t have any money to get you anything. And you know … it is Christmas.”
They didn't have titles before, so I had to quickly think of some, I apologize for their lameness! In no order of preference, except that I like the first one best ;)
For flawedamythyst, Razorblades and sunshine.
It’s bright. Too bright to see, to fucking think. The sunlight is pouring into him, jacking him up, jammed into every possible opening. He’s blind, dumb, paralyzed, dying. It’s intensely hot; it’s setting him on fire, burning the flesh from his bones.
And even worse than that, stronger somehow, above him, over him, surrounding him, is Dean.
Dean, with his lips locked tightly over his, trying to suck the light right back out of him.
Dean, with his fingers roaming over every inch of his skin, ripping him apart and putting him back together … just to do it all over again.
Dean, with his cock in his ass, splitting him in two. The pain is excruciating, like razorblades carving him up from the inside out. It’s a slow drag and pull of merciless steel cutting into his unyielding flesh, mangling and destroying him.
Sam wants to scream, but his voice is gone, burned away, replaced by mute rays of iridescence.
He has the uncontrollable need to get away, to be gone and it’s growing, building impossibly higher and higher until he’s going to explode into infinity.
Then, suddenly, it’s over and he’s left broken, empty, shaking.
“I love you, Sammy.”
For vinylroad, His Name.
Jo’s been sitting in the corner nursing a beer for over an hour. She’s watching the big man sitting at the bar.
There’s grey in his beard, unruly scruff covering his cheeks and chin, but his hair is an untouched jet black. It’s slightly greasy, a little too long in the neck. The light catches the gold of the band on his left hand when he runs his fingers through his hair for the seventh time.
He’s drinking whiskey, neat doubles that he swallows like water. He doesn’t slam the empty glass down when he’s finished. Just lowers it carefully and looks deeply at the dregs lining the thick base like an old lady reading tea leaves before pushing it back at the bartender for a refill.
His phone rings, a shrill beep. He says, “Yes”, as he flips it open and presses it against his ear. He listens in silence for a moment, his grip tightening on the phone until Jo can almost hear the plastic creak. He huffs a reply and pushes a bill over the counter.
Jo waits five seconds before swinging out of the booth and following him through the door.
His name is John Winchester.
For valiant, Special.
For weeks now Jo’s been trying to get away from Jess for just a couple of minutes.
She just needs to get to some kind of store so she can get her a gift. Jess hasn’t said anything about the holiday coming up, but she still wants to get her something.
Something nice.
Something special.
It’s their first Christmas on the road. Just the two of them … as them.
Maybe it wouldn’t be driving her as nuts if she had any idea what to get her.
Her first thought, of course, was a brand new hunting knife. But her momma once told her it was bad luck to give a knife as a gift; it cut through the ties that bind. Maybe it’s just a stupid superstition, but Jo’s not taking any chances.
Jess is in the shower and it’s perfect timing.
“I’m just gonna make a quick supply run. You need anything?”
“Wait up, I’ll come with you.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I’ll be right back.”
Jess steps from the shower, naked skin glistening and wet and cocks her head at Jo with a sly smile.
“You do know that all I want for Christmas is you, right?”
For neetha, Hope.
Jo watches him make a snowman with the neighbour’s kids and hardly recognizes him. This man … this man with the open laughter and the twinkle in his eyes can’t be Dean.
Not her Dean, the one that starts trembling when the sun sets, that can’t stay indoors after dark unless he has a quart of whiskey thundering through his veins.
The naked terror reduces him to a pile of bones under her hands until the sun’s first rays pierce through the veil and he realises he’s still alive, they didn’t come for him.
She lets him hold her down then, needing to feel in control of someone, something. He hurts her sometimes, the grip of his hands too hard, the thrusts into her body too strong, but she’ll never let it show. He’ll never be able to forgive himself or let himself near her and she can’t lose him like that again.
He ducks when a snowball gets launched at his head and dumps a handful of snow down the back of one kid’s sweater. He catches her looking at him then, keeps right on smiling and for a moment Jo believes that one day they’ll be whole again.
For merihn, Kiss.
The first one is a dry press of Dean’s lips into that soft little hollow right behind his ear. With a strangled moan Sam turns his head away, giving Dean more room. Dean’s tongue curls around the fleshy lobe, sucking it in between his teeth so he can lightly bite down onto it.
He lets it go with an obscene pop, turning Sam’s head back towards him with a firm finger under his chin. Sam opens his eyes, trying to look at Dean as he’s peppering Sam’s cheeks with tiny little pecks, ending with one big fat sloppy one on his forehead.
When he brushes against the tip of Sam’s nose, Sam reaches up and with a growl low in his throat pulls Dean’s head back until he can look at him. He lets his eyes roam over Dean’s face, suddenly desperate to touch his lips to Dean’s skin.
Dean takes his hands and pulls them down to circle around his waist. It brings their faces almost flush together, mere breaths separating them. Dean is smiling, mouth slightly open so Sam can see the tip of his tongue just behind his teeth.
Then, finally, Dean leans in and kisses him.
For kelleigh, African Sunrise.
The sun was just starting to come up, a fiery red ball burning through the broken branches of the thorn trees. The breeze that gently riffled through the hairs on his forearms was still cool, but the stifling heat of the day was already curling around the edges. It stirred amongst the tall green grasses, whipping them lightly against his legs. He could smell their sweetness, the red dust from the road and the promise of rain just beyond the horizon.
Jensen blew lightly into the steaming mug of moer koffie held loosely in his hand. Carefully he lifted the beige enamel cup, tipping the blue trimmed rim against his lips. It’s strong, bitter and tastes like crap. He could hear faint singing coming from the road and looked ahead to see a woman walking toward the house. Her hips were swaying in a gentle rhythm, lulling the baby strapped to her back with a light grey blanket to sleep.
A pair of strong arms folded around his middle and Jared pressed his body, sleep warm and heavy, against his back.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” he whispered in Jensen’s ear.
Jensen turned around, pressed their lips together.
“It is now.”
For brin-bailey, Unplanned Perfection.
Being trapped in a dusty attic with Dean Winchester was not the way Jo was planning on spending Christmas Eve. So her plan basically consisted of some insanely spiked eggnog and reruns off sappy old movies on a small black and white set at the motel, but that’s her business.
“So, Sparky, got any other bright ideas?”
“You mean except for saving your ass? How about you start pulling your weight for a change?”
“Pull my …?”
With a huff Jo turns and spots some mouldy quilts piled high in the corner.
“Tell you what. My weight’s pulling me straight to those and you only have to worry about keeping your own ass warm.”
Dean takes one look at the snow flakes sticking to the little round window and suppresses a shiver. He reaches round slowly, slipping his gun into the back of his pants and spreads his hands wide to show they’re empty.
“Come on, Jo. You know I didn’t mean it. You really gonna let me freeze to death?”
“Are you going to behave yourself?”
“I promise to be good.”
Jo cocks her head to the side, pretending to give it some serious thought and consideration.
“Mmmm …. okay, but then you have to do something for me.”
“Like …?”
“Read me a story.”
There’s a stack of leather bound books in the corner and Dean grabs the top one without even bothering to look at the title.
“Scoot over, you better share if you want your story.”
For theladyscribe, Sent from Above.
She expected … well, she didn’t really know what she expected. When you hear angels rejoice because a man has been saved, you tend to imagine him as something more than just a mere man.
Dean Winchester is, without a doubt, a man. He has freckles across his cheeks and crinkles next to his eyes. His shoulders are slightly stooped and his fingernails are dirty.
And though his mischievous twinkling hazel eyes may try to fool the average person, she sees beyond the limitations of flesh and marvels at the beauty of the soul within. It cannot be contained and refuses to be hidden.
Anna wonders if his lips are as soft as they look.
He is their saviour. A warrior; the champion that has been to hell, was chosen and saved by heaven for those on earth. He saved her and will continue to fight for her.
He calls her radio-girl.
He holds her hand and the rough catch of the calluses on his fingers against her skin both grounds her and makes her feel like floating.
The darkness is so close; it’s surrounding them and she hides her face against the smooth leather of his jacket.
They’re softer.
For bubl, You Drive Me Crazy.
Jensen was never really adventurous with sex before. He knew about the toys one could get, how exciting strange positions and locations could be. He just didn’t give it much thought.
But then again, he wasn’t having sex with Jared before.
With Jared, there was almost always a surprise waiting. He can’t help but laugh when he remembers the first time Jared pulled the can of whipped cream from behind his back.
“Dude, you can’t be hungry again! Didn’t we already have desert? I thought I was getting laid here.”
Jared just smiled that wicked smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he began shaking the can.
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll get to that. But we’re taking our sweet time about it.”
Jensen looked at his watch and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Where the hell was Jared? He’d been wearing the fucking butt plug the whole fucking day and he seriously needed to get fucked soon or he was going to fucking die.
On cue, he hears the front door open and close and then Jared’s rounding the corner and walking towards him.
Jensen feels a shiver run down his spine when he sees Jared’s holding something behind his back.
For acidquill, Flashes.
If Dean weren’t so busy dying, he’d laugh at the irony of it. That now, in his last moment, he’s flashing back to all these firsts.
The first time Sammy wrapped his chubby little fingers around one of Dean’s big ones and garbled out an unintelligible syllable that Dean still recognized immediately as his name.
The first time Dad left Dean alone to look after Sam and Sam’s startled look up at him when Dad told him to mind his big brother. So that’s what Dean was. Dean didn’t sleep a wink those whole two days that Dad was gone, too afraid to take his eyes off of Sam for even a moment.
The first time Sam kissed him and told him he loved him. He paid no attention to Dean’s fervent protests and month long freak out and in the end just pulled him close and kept on kissing him until he sagged breathless against Sam’s chest. He wouldn’t let go until Dean would say the words he needed to hear. I love you too.
The first time he came from his brothers fingers wrapped around his cock. It was fast, messy and a little painful. It was perfect.
For kickaboutheart, Merry Christmas.
Dean watches them together the whole day. First they have breakfast at a little diner on a corner that’s suddenly so familiar it makes his chest ache briefly and painfully. Sam only has coffee and she orders a double stack of blueberry pancakes. Sam licks a smudge of syrup from the corner of her mouth as they get up to leave.
They hole up in the library until well after lunchtime. She reads magazines while Sam pours through think volumes with a pencil stuck between his teeth. Every now and then she glances up, smiling at the lines of concentration furrowing Sam’s brow before going back to her glossy pages.
They have a late lunch in the park, Sam brushing the snow from a bench one handed as he holds onto a brown paper bag with sandwiches in the other.
They fuck on Sam’s narrow single bed just as the sun is setting and she comes twice from Sam’s fingers alone.
He’s not really surprised when Jess walks out of the dark apartment and straight towards him.
She asks him what he wants, so he kisses her and says, “Give that to Sam and tell him Dean says Merry Christmas.”
For with-a-kay, Good Idea.
“It’s porn.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Come here, I’ll show you beautiful.”
“Jen, would you just sit down and watch this with me?”
“Didn’t think we needed any pointers, Jay, but alright. Do we need popcorn for this?”
Jared just rolled his eyes and patted the empty space next to him on the couch.
Jensen stopped joking around, the sounds coming from the television set finally capturing his attention and pulling his eyes towards the figures on the screen.
They were kissing, sinful lips and tongues teasing, sliding and locking around each other. The one guy reached up, cupping the other’s face in his hands and tilting it up into their kiss.
Next to him, Jared sighed and Jensen tore his eyes away from the movie to look over at him. Jared’s eyes were wide, almost looked surprised at what he was seeing. His cheeks were flushed, the tips of his hair hanging in his face curling slightly and sticking to his sweaty skin.
He couldn’t help it, he lifted his hand and slid it around the back of Jared’s neck, turning his face towards him.
“Do we look like that?” Jared asked.
Jensen smiled and leaned forward.
“No, we look better.”
For quiet-rebel, New Beginning.
Jo Harvelle was never a big fan of Christmas.
She didn’t get the big fuss that was made over snow. It was white, wet and fucking cold. Playing around in it only made you miserable and sick. She hated those stupid girls in their stupid little red outfits prancing around in those stupid made for TV movies proclaiming it to be a time for family, for giving and receiving, for love, joy and happiness. A load of horse shit. If their fondest childhood memories of Christmas involved listening to the headboard beating incessantly against the wall of their mother’s room and trying not to listen to her quietly sobbing afterwards, they wouldn’t be so damn fond of it either.
But Dean Winchester, he loves Christmas.
He loves the tree and the ornaments and the mountains of presents. He loves eating until he’s fit to burst and drinking eggnog spiked beyond recognition. Opening presents on Christmas morning is his favourite. Watching the surprise and delight on his children’s faces, slapping a heavy hand down on his brother’s shoulder and stealing a kiss from his wife under the mistletoe. Spending time with his family.
Jo Winchester doesn’t think Christmas is so bad.
For blincolin, From the Heart.
“Tell Dad if he’s looking for me I’ll be out back washing the car.”
“Already washed it.”
“Then I’ll be polishing it.”
“Did that too.”
“Vacuumed the inside?”
“Jip.”
“Packed the trunk?”
“And gave Dad a list of everything that’s running low or needs to be replaced.”
With a shrug Dean turns around and pulls the elastic from around her ponytail, letting her hair fall in soft waves around her shoulders. Walking towards her room, she mumbles under her breath.
“Guess I’ll go clean the guns then.”
“All done.”
“Alright, sharpen the knives.”
“They’re sharp. Machetes too. Be careful when you check them, cause I know you’re going to. Don’t want you cutting off those pretty little fingers.”
“My fingers aren’t pretty. And I will check them. Your idea of sharp is not my idea of sharp.”
Dean turns the other way though, heads into the kitchen instead.
“I’ll rustle us up some lunch.”
“Lasagne is in the oven, it’ll be ready in five.”
“What the hell, Sam? Am I completely useless now? Incapable of doing anything?”
“Just thought it’d be nice, s’all.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah … I didn’t have any money to get you anything. And you know … it is Christmas.”