Big Bang Art: The incestuous courtship of the antichrist's bride
Once again, I‘ve had the immense pleasure of doing my Big Bang artwork for fleshflutter! Last year I’d done very little in the way of serious fanart, and this year I’d done very little in the way of serious digital art, so it has been a LEARNING CURVE.
(Despite the week of frantic essay writing, and the long weekend of con-going, and that hilarious time my laptop crashed, and my net GOING DOWN for an hour two hours before our planned posting time, it has been a very fun learning curve.)
SO NEVER MIND ME, GO AND READ HER AWESOME FIC. BECAUSE IT’S AWESOME:
The incestuous courtship of the antichrist's bride (Sam/Dean, NC-17.)
Sam is trying to become the Antichrist in order to save the world. He has a small army of angels and demons, he has an adoring cult, he has a work of prophecy by Jack Kerouac, and he has Dean. Things are going pretty well until he accidentally signs Dean up as his Beloved Consort, a role that requires sex with the Antichrist on an altar. And that's when things stop going pretty well. Also, the soundtrack to the Apocalypse sucks.
***
"Hey, do you think this is infected?" Dean says and opens his towel.
Sam stares fixedly at the ugly red gash of claws on Dean's thigh, a souvenir from a battle a few days ago, and does not allow his gaze to wander.
"Uh… could be," he says in a strangled voice.
Dean frowns and fingers the flesh. "Hurts like a bitch."
"I'm interrupting," Castiel says.
Castiel is standing in the middle of the room where he wasn't just a second ago. Sam is not sure whether Castiel is more horrified to see Sam on the bed with Dean apparently displaying his junk at him, or Sam is to be seen.
***
Turning his palm to face the earth, Sam lowers his hand. Slowly, growls fading into susurrations, the behemoth crawls back into the chasm, hooves pawing at the ground as it goes and sending up smoke. There's a lot of behemoth to get back into Hell so the process takes a while but Sam is calm, unhurried. A breeze touches his hair as the sun appears between the descending creature's horns. Its shadow falls away.
Eventually, there is nothing but the sulfurous glow of the split down the street and the distant, fading sound of the behemoth's breathing.
Sam lets his hand drop.
***
"How much of the universe are you throwing around up there?" Dean says.
Sam cocks his head and pretends to think. "A lot," he says.
Dean stares at him. He's flushed, mouth swollen and slippery. "Goddamn," he says. "Why is that so hot?"
He tugs Sam down for another kiss.
***
(Despite the week of frantic essay writing, and the long weekend of con-going, and that hilarious time my laptop crashed, and my net GOING DOWN for an hour two hours before our planned posting time, it has been a very fun learning curve.)
SO NEVER MIND ME, GO AND READ HER AWESOME FIC. BECAUSE IT’S AWESOME:
The incestuous courtship of the antichrist's bride (Sam/Dean, NC-17.)
Sam is trying to become the Antichrist in order to save the world. He has a small army of angels and demons, he has an adoring cult, he has a work of prophecy by Jack Kerouac, and he has Dean. Things are going pretty well until he accidentally signs Dean up as his Beloved Consort, a role that requires sex with the Antichrist on an altar. And that's when things stop going pretty well. Also, the soundtrack to the Apocalypse sucks.
***
"Hey, do you think this is infected?" Dean says and opens his towel.
Sam stares fixedly at the ugly red gash of claws on Dean's thigh, a souvenir from a battle a few days ago, and does not allow his gaze to wander.
"Uh… could be," he says in a strangled voice.
Dean frowns and fingers the flesh. "Hurts like a bitch."
"I'm interrupting," Castiel says.
Castiel is standing in the middle of the room where he wasn't just a second ago. Sam is not sure whether Castiel is more horrified to see Sam on the bed with Dean apparently displaying his junk at him, or Sam is to be seen.
***
Turning his palm to face the earth, Sam lowers his hand. Slowly, growls fading into susurrations, the behemoth crawls back into the chasm, hooves pawing at the ground as it goes and sending up smoke. There's a lot of behemoth to get back into Hell so the process takes a while but Sam is calm, unhurried. A breeze touches his hair as the sun appears between the descending creature's horns. Its shadow falls away.
Eventually, there is nothing but the sulfurous glow of the split down the street and the distant, fading sound of the behemoth's breathing.
Sam lets his hand drop.
***
"How much of the universe are you throwing around up there?" Dean says.
Sam cocks his head and pretends to think. "A lot," he says.
Dean stares at him. He's flushed, mouth swollen and slippery. "Goddamn," he says. "Why is that so hot?"
He tugs Sam down for another kiss.
***