Meme Answers After Drinking Most Of A Bottle Of Wine (oh boy...)
The meme! I am so willing to do more of these, so hit me up if you missed it.
For pushingyouaway, about Buckle Up Tight. She also asked, "How do you do that?" The answer is: *blushes, flappy hands* Um. IDK? A deeply creepy fetishizing of Sam's hands? An active fantasy life wherein other people have sex for my gratification? *laughs and ducks away*
~~~
[This fic was just....pure porn. I wanted some Sam-related het, poisontaster wrote some, and then made me write the sequel. Uh, the end. *snort* But I have a special place in my heart for it. It's supposed to take place close to the start of their relationship, when all you want to do is constantly fuck each other, and should hint at Sam's INSANE TOPPINESS, which, I might add, is now canon, thank you. Also, My Sam is an enormous tease.]
Jess's orgasm is longer, harder this time and she twists and cries out brokenly, inner muscles [This is a cheat to not say "cunt" or "pussy" over and fucking over again.] clamping around his fingers over and over. So beautiful. She's so beautiful when she comes.
[I thought a lot about the "she's so beautiful when she comes" bit. It's a little schmoopier and, IDK...something? than I usually go for. But then I decided that Sam would totally be like that and totally think that and he was SO INTO Jess in every way.]
Sam brings her through it, still moving both hands, slower and slower until she's taking regular breaths again. [Because SAM IS GOOD AT SEX. Dean is also good at sex, but SO IS SAM. You can take the fact that they are both good at sex however you like. *koff*] Then he slides out and away [Aaaaand that's another cheat.] and stands, wraps an arm under her waist and one up high around her shoulders, pulling her up in a boneless arc against him. [This fic is all about The Pretty and the image of Sam hoisting her up onto his lap is fucking PRETTY.] She wraps arms and legs around him and whimpers into his chest, "That was fucking amazing, Sam. Jesus."
[BECAUSE HELLO IT WOULD BE TOTALLY FUCKING AMAZING COME ON YOU'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT DON'T EVEN LIE.]
For gracecourage, who asked about When You Dig My Grave, Make It Shallow (So I Can Feel The Rain)
[Dude, I love this fic. This is my "post-S2 wincest" fic, which everyone wrote but omg, I don't even care. Love.]
But Sammy, with that goddamned big brain of his, had to go and figure it out right away. [Interestingly.... Okay. So sometimes I write random lines down that I think of and like, and save them for insertion into some complete piece of writing later on. This was one of those lines. I didn't know when I wrote it -- all cold and alone by itself in my Random file -- what it was that Sam had figured out.] Dean stupidly hoped he'd get a little more time. He'd thought...he hadn't really thought a whole lot beyond (can't, need you, what for if not for you?) getting Sam back.
[Ah, the parentheses thing. Oh how I agonized over the parentheses thing I have going on here. Was it too much? Too contrived? Would it come off as lame and weird instead of communicating what's burbling just under the surface of Dean's mind? The idea was, for good or ill, to be able to insert the undercurrents of Dean's thoughts, the associations and memories behind his conscious, "out loud to himself", inner monologue. I hope it worked.]
And Sam with his "did I die?" and "tell me the truth" and "don't you think I'd do the same for you?" stripped away anything Dean might have had left after knowing what it felt like to arrange Sam's heavy body (dead weight) out across the back seat of the Impala.
[MAN, this sentence was hard to construct. I knew all the things I wanted to say: 1) Sam's canonical quotes, all of which I love, 2) that stripped away the remains of Dean's defenses after 3) the utter horror of Sam being dead, exemplified by moving Sam's dead body into the Impala (the back seat, not shotgun where he belongs). Anyway, looking back, it comes off well but I remember it taking me forever to figure out the cleanest, clearest way to say all that.]
Dean's got nothing left between him and this need to have what he's wanted for a damn long time. What Sam wants too, judging by the way he licks off the bead of whiskey lingering on Dean's bottom lip [That's just hot and I make no apologies for it.] when Dean stands there for too long, fists clenched in Sam's shirt. Dean knows, as Sam opens his mouth with teeth set gently into Dean's bottom lip, that he isn't afraid of doing this anymore. But he's terrified of how even the darkest hell could never match up to the prospect of living the rest of a lifetime without Sam.
[THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE. Whole point of the fic. It went like this in my head: "I want to write a fic about long-standing, unrequited wincest that is finally requited after the events of AHBL1&2 because Dean isn't afraid anymore. Sam died in his arms and it threw Dean's world into a tailspin and now Dean is going to hell ANYWAY so he's going for it, goddamn it, except for how SAM actually makes the first move." That's it. That was the idea. And I was like, "Man, Dean's darkest hell could never match up to a lifetime without Sam," and then I wrote the line.]
(what am I supposed to do?)
[UGH, every one of Jensen's deliveries of this line just FUCKING DESTROY ME. And it killed me even deader when Sam ALSO says it just before the hellhounds come in No Rest For the Wicked. It's one of the things, as the language-obsessed person I am, that I love about SPN as a show. They do throw-backs to important lines all the time. I mean, think about how many times someone has said some version of, "We've got work to do."]
When Dean whispers, "I'm sorry," against Sam's sweet, open lips, he says it for his cowardice, not his sacrifice.
[Mmmm, yes. This is also the point of the fic. It was very important to me to put this line in because Dean is sorry, hell yes, he's sorry. But not for selling his soul.]
"Don't." Sam's voice sounds all wrong, too deep and wavering, and his hands are pulling on the front of Dean's shirt too as they breathe into each other's mouths. "Do not fucking apologize to me, you complete shit."
[AH HA HA, one of my favorite lines of the whole thing. It came to me fully formed, directly from the Sam-muse talking in my head. It's just. *hands* Very THEM.]
"Sam." That's it - simple - just Sam.
[As I recall, poisontaster had something to do with how I said this. I think at first I just had something like "That's it, just Sam." and she added the "simple" or.....hm. Something like that. She's amazing and you all wish she was your beta, srsly. But yeah, it really comes down to just that for Dean. Just Sam, whole and entire and only Sam, at the exclusion of everything else.]
~~~~~
YAY THAT WAS FUN. *clapclap* Okay now I have to...head bed-ward or something. Get off the computer anyway. Stupid work tomorrow. Stupid Tuesday.
For pushingyouaway, about Buckle Up Tight. She also asked, "How do you do that?" The answer is: *blushes, flappy hands* Um. IDK? A deeply creepy fetishizing of Sam's hands? An active fantasy life wherein other people have sex for my gratification? *laughs and ducks away*
~~~
[This fic was just....pure porn. I wanted some Sam-related het, poisontaster wrote some, and then made me write the sequel. Uh, the end. *snort* But I have a special place in my heart for it. It's supposed to take place close to the start of their relationship, when all you want to do is constantly fuck each other, and should hint at Sam's INSANE TOPPINESS, which, I might add, is now canon, thank you. Also, My Sam is an enormous tease.]
Jess's orgasm is longer, harder this time and she twists and cries out brokenly, inner muscles [This is a cheat to not say "cunt" or "pussy" over and fucking over again.] clamping around his fingers over and over. So beautiful. She's so beautiful when she comes.
[I thought a lot about the "she's so beautiful when she comes" bit. It's a little schmoopier and, IDK...something? than I usually go for. But then I decided that Sam would totally be like that and totally think that and he was SO INTO Jess in every way.]
Sam brings her through it, still moving both hands, slower and slower until she's taking regular breaths again. [Because SAM IS GOOD AT SEX. Dean is also good at sex, but SO IS SAM. You can take the fact that they are both good at sex however you like. *koff*] Then he slides out and away [Aaaaand that's another cheat.] and stands, wraps an arm under her waist and one up high around her shoulders, pulling her up in a boneless arc against him. [This fic is all about The Pretty and the image of Sam hoisting her up onto his lap is fucking PRETTY.] She wraps arms and legs around him and whimpers into his chest, "That was fucking amazing, Sam. Jesus."
[BECAUSE HELLO IT WOULD BE TOTALLY FUCKING AMAZING COME ON YOU'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT DON'T EVEN LIE.]
For gracecourage, who asked about When You Dig My Grave, Make It Shallow (So I Can Feel The Rain)
[Dude, I love this fic. This is my "post-S2 wincest" fic, which everyone wrote but omg, I don't even care. Love.]
But Sammy, with that goddamned big brain of his, had to go and figure it out right away. [Interestingly.... Okay. So sometimes I write random lines down that I think of and like, and save them for insertion into some complete piece of writing later on. This was one of those lines. I didn't know when I wrote it -- all cold and alone by itself in my Random file -- what it was that Sam had figured out.] Dean stupidly hoped he'd get a little more time. He'd thought...he hadn't really thought a whole lot beyond (can't, need you, what for if not for you?) getting Sam back.
[Ah, the parentheses thing. Oh how I agonized over the parentheses thing I have going on here. Was it too much? Too contrived? Would it come off as lame and weird instead of communicating what's burbling just under the surface of Dean's mind? The idea was, for good or ill, to be able to insert the undercurrents of Dean's thoughts, the associations and memories behind his conscious, "out loud to himself", inner monologue. I hope it worked.]
And Sam with his "did I die?" and "tell me the truth" and "don't you think I'd do the same for you?" stripped away anything Dean might have had left after knowing what it felt like to arrange Sam's heavy body (dead weight) out across the back seat of the Impala.
[MAN, this sentence was hard to construct. I knew all the things I wanted to say: 1) Sam's canonical quotes, all of which I love, 2) that stripped away the remains of Dean's defenses after 3) the utter horror of Sam being dead, exemplified by moving Sam's dead body into the Impala (the back seat, not shotgun where he belongs). Anyway, looking back, it comes off well but I remember it taking me forever to figure out the cleanest, clearest way to say all that.]
Dean's got nothing left between him and this need to have what he's wanted for a damn long time. What Sam wants too, judging by the way he licks off the bead of whiskey lingering on Dean's bottom lip [That's just hot and I make no apologies for it.] when Dean stands there for too long, fists clenched in Sam's shirt. Dean knows, as Sam opens his mouth with teeth set gently into Dean's bottom lip, that he isn't afraid of doing this anymore. But he's terrified of how even the darkest hell could never match up to the prospect of living the rest of a lifetime without Sam.
[THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE. Whole point of the fic. It went like this in my head: "I want to write a fic about long-standing, unrequited wincest that is finally requited after the events of AHBL1&2 because Dean isn't afraid anymore. Sam died in his arms and it threw Dean's world into a tailspin and now Dean is going to hell ANYWAY so he's going for it, goddamn it, except for how SAM actually makes the first move." That's it. That was the idea. And I was like, "Man, Dean's darkest hell could never match up to a lifetime without Sam," and then I wrote the line.]
(what am I supposed to do?)
[UGH, every one of Jensen's deliveries of this line just FUCKING DESTROY ME. And it killed me even deader when Sam ALSO says it just before the hellhounds come in No Rest For the Wicked. It's one of the things, as the language-obsessed person I am, that I love about SPN as a show. They do throw-backs to important lines all the time. I mean, think about how many times someone has said some version of, "We've got work to do."]
When Dean whispers, "I'm sorry," against Sam's sweet, open lips, he says it for his cowardice, not his sacrifice.
[Mmmm, yes. This is also the point of the fic. It was very important to me to put this line in because Dean is sorry, hell yes, he's sorry. But not for selling his soul.]
"Don't." Sam's voice sounds all wrong, too deep and wavering, and his hands are pulling on the front of Dean's shirt too as they breathe into each other's mouths. "Do not fucking apologize to me, you complete shit."
[AH HA HA, one of my favorite lines of the whole thing. It came to me fully formed, directly from the Sam-muse talking in my head. It's just. *hands* Very THEM.]
"Sam." That's it - simple - just Sam.
[As I recall, poisontaster had something to do with how I said this. I think at first I just had something like "That's it, just Sam." and she added the "simple" or.....hm. Something like that. She's amazing and you all wish she was your beta, srsly. But yeah, it really comes down to just that for Dean. Just Sam, whole and entire and only Sam, at the exclusion of everything else.]
~~~~~
YAY THAT WAS FUN. *clapclap* Okay now I have to...head bed-ward or something. Get off the computer anyway. Stupid work tomorrow. Stupid Tuesday.