Kamukha mo si Paraluman

(SPN Fic) "And It Was So"

2014-12-30T06:38:01Z

And It Was So
Sam/Dean
3,100~ words, R
For cassiopeia7 for 2014's spn_j2_xmas.
Also found in AO3.

Sam and Dean take a drive at their last night in this world.

They take the three-hour drive to Lawrence, not stopping and not talking. When Blue Oyster Cult declares "Oh no more horses, horses," for Vera Gemini, Dean changes the tape to belt out, "Hey, mama said the way you move...". An hour into the drive, Sam realizes all the tapes Dean plays are side ones.

They visit their old house. A middle-aged couple lives there now--Jenny and her two kids likely already moved out years ago. The decorations are garish with fairy lights hanging on the roof and a plastic Santa sits on the lawn. Sam notices that the roof was changed, the windows refurbished. Now, the house of their childhood is festive and bright.

They only stay for a few minutes.

They stop at a truck diner to grab food. Sam stretches across the table, wraps his fingers around his brother's wrist as soon as the waitress's head is turned. "

Dean replies with a smirk, hooks his foot around Sam's ankle and strokes upward. "Think you can drive the next few hours?" he asks.

Magic words, but Sam has to play this cool. He grins and ducks his head, lets his hair fall over his eyes like the young boy he isn't. "Only if you let me."

"S'cool, what's mine is yours," Dean promises.

Eyes from different corners of the diner catch their small touches, and Sam regrets that he has to pull away. This is a time for celebration, not confrontation. And time is limited for them. The food arrives and they concentrate on eating, only Dean draws his chair closer, practically puts his legs on Sam's lap. It can't be a comfortable way to eat--not while he's inhaling the burger like it's his last meal.

"Fuck, it's our last meal," Sam breathes.

Dean raises his eyes although he doesn't pause from chewing. His boot on Sam's lap teases lightly at the insides of Sam's thighs, head half raised. Sam's breathing hitches when he recognizes the view: Dean looking up at him while swallowing Sam's cock. Dean must know the effect because he looks like he's laughing.

"Last meal," Dean agrees. His mouth is full of half-chewed burger. It is with some relief that Sam still finds that disgusting.

Still, they take their time. They have three hours' worth of driving left, a quarter of it is on dirt road, but Sam likes his salad and he's gonna eat it even if his older brother pouts right across the table.

Trouble shows up when a bunch of muscled folks cast their shadows over Sam and Dean's table.

"Didn't recall this town becomin' some kinda faggotville," the asshole says.

Dean leers. "Didn't recall we asked you to join us," he says, "didn't we, Sammy?"

"No," Sam replies shortly. He doesn't want to be a part of this. "I just wanted a nice dinner. Don't encourage them."

"Listen to your pansy-ass boyfriend," another asshole simpers.

Dean stands. "That's my little brother you're talkin' about."

"Your brother--"

And that's when Dean throws the first punch--keeps right on punching. Everyone clears right out, and anyone who has a death wish joins in. Not Sam, though, oh no because Dean brought this upon himself and Sam wants to finish his salad on his last day here. Dean wants to get this out of his system, that's his problem.

Until he sees Dean straddling one body by the corner, arm raised to deliver the final blow. Something in his face makes Sam cross the room lighting-like to grab his fist before delivering the final blow.

"Don't kill him," Sam says sternly.

Dean raises his head, blood smears his nose his mouth. He's pouting. "Aww, c'mon Sammy."

"Dean."

Dean's teasing, Sam knows this, but he still gives Dean a firm look. There is no point at sparing a glance towards the man whimpering under Dean's form. His older brother heaves, drops the pounded meat without sparing it another glance.

"I didn't try to stop you when you crushed that poltergeist in Missouri," Dean accuses.

"That was different, that was a poltergeist," Sam says quickly, rolling his eyes. "They're human and last I checked, I thought we were looking to eat. Fucking last meal, my ass." He snorts. "Gimme the keys."

"They were asking for it!" Dean screeches.

"You didn't have to hand it to them. It's our last night. I wanted it to be special." The doors slam a little too hard, but Sam navigates the Impala away from the gravel and parked trucks, into the blackened highway.

His sentiment is not lost to Dean who, unfortunately, immediately bursts out laughing. "You're such a fucking girl!"

"You're the one who was flirting in plain sight," Sam retorts.

Dean leans forward, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder. "It turned you on, though."

"Fucking did not." Sam wrinkled his nose, makes a show out of it even though he knows Dean can see through his shit. "You still got blood all over you. Doesn't turn me on at all."

Dean nuzzles his ear--yeah, there's still blood on his face and fingers, fingers that are now finding their way to the V of Sam's pants. Palm grinds Sam's jeans and of course Sam's cock just has to respond to that, doesn't it, the fucking traitor. Sam bites back the moan climbing out of his throat but Dean knows, he has to know.

"Yeah, that's it," Dean mutters to his ear. "Pull over, I wanna ride you."

"Figures you'd do that when I'm the one finally driving," Sam complains. "You know how orgasms affect me." Sam gets lethargic and schmoopy. Their three-hour driving plan will become a five-hour driving plan unless Dean takes over the wheel again.

Dean pulls away, oncoming headlights catching his sulking expression. "Our last night on the outside and you'd rather drive than fuck me under the stars."

Sam is quick to protest, "I didn't say that!"

"That was pretty much what I was hearing," Dean growls, pulls back to rip his jeans open, pulls out his cock. "Fuck that, I'll take care of this--"

He doesn't finish the sentence.

Sam manages to pull up at a nearby shoulder, prays (demands, cajoles, commands) that no car will pass by within the next half hour or else delays will be made.

Dean only grins and climbs over to the backseat. "S'gonna be fun, Sammy," he promises.

Outside, there is nothing but endless highways, a wasteland of darkened fields, lonely streetlights. Sam takes his time getting out of the driver's seat to the back, relishing the vision of his brother spread on the car seat.

"Gotta be fun," Sam says quietly.

Dean's eyes are dark, green at the edges of demon-black pupils. Sam wants to find it disturbing, thinks it is appropriate. He slides into the seat, one hand snaking over his brother's stomach and the other at the back of Dean's neck to pull him closer for a kiss.

Last night under the stars, he thinks.

--

Sam wakes up with Dean's hand on his shoulder. True enough, he'd felt sluggish, cuddled on Dean's leg as his brother continues to drive. When he sits up, he finds they're in front of Jody Mills's house--or the Christmas-decorated version of it anyway. It's simpler than the Kansas house they visited: blinking lights and a garland on the doorway.

Dean watches as Sam rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Guess who's havin' a white Christmas?"

Sam watches the shadows behind the curtains of the house. "Guess having Alex around makes Jody a little festive," he comments. He catches the melancholic look on Dean's face, nudges his shoulder. "That's one thing we did right, anyway."

"Jody did that all by herself," Dean says gruffly.

"Would've been great to get my hands on those vamps," Sam says, a little dreamily. He looks down at his hands: hands now capable of destroying monsters and ghosts. "There wouldn't be chances of that now."

Dean clears his throat, says quietly, "There's still time to drive away."

Sam shakes his head, more to clear his clouded thoughts. There will be no more monsters or freaks ripped apart by Sam Winchester's hands. The family business is now to protect the people they love. He smiles up at Dean. "We've got one more stop," he says.

The next part is the hardest.

Dean rolls the Impala through the gravel land as if it's second nature. Sam sits up as soon as the junkyard is in sight. Bobby's house is a parody of their memories. Graffiti spreads over what's left of the walls, and there are more beer cans on what used to be the porch. Sam reaches out to squeeze Dean's hand.

This house was as home as the Impala, more home than the bunker they now have.

They step on the rotten porch, half-heartedly investigating if there's anything else they can salvage--despite knowing that they've gotten everything they can over the years. Sam wonders if people in town think this place is haunted. They wouldn't be wrong--the metal scraps and car skeletons keep the monsters and humans' graves companion.

It doesn't stop from Sam wistfully mentioning, "Let's renegotiate for this. Make this a sacred space."

Dean indulges one gulp of beer before intoning, "And so Sammy declared it, and it was so."

"We get some perks, right? I mean, this deal comes with perks." Sam says, voice low. He knows how he sounds: like the kid who wants his big brother to tell him everything is alright.

It's a complete 180 from Sam's demeanor in the diner. Sam can feel Dean watch him, taking his time, measuring. "Yeah, Sam," Dean finally replies. The tone of his voice suggests he's smiling. "Yeah, we get some perks." He sits one step higher than Sam's seat, straddles his brother's back between his legs to embrace him.

Sam clutches his brother's hand and leans closer. They take a look at the stars, one last look at an open field.

--

They check into a motel one last time on the way back. It's one of the ugliest motels Sam has seen, with its hideous pink and green decorations that he thinks are parodies of Christmas colors. He remembers the last time he had an aversion to motels, remembers a long time ago: sobbing into a scratchy pillow, wishing he was home and holding Jess in his arms. It feels like someone else's life.

Here, they take some time. Sam undresses his brother, makes Dean sit on the bed while Sam blows him. Dean threads his fingers through his brother's hair, mutters encouragements and litanies--all turning to expletives when Sam pulls away.

And then Sam lies on the bed, wraps his long legs around his brother's waist. Sam begs, moans when Dean fucks him hard. Sam comes first, helps Dean to the edge by bearing down until Dean's orgasm rips a cry from his throat.

When Sam wakes up, Dean is still snoring beside him. Sam kisses his cheek, the corner of Dean's mouth, nips his lip until Dean half-heartedly opens his eyes.

"Couldn't y'take care of important things?" he groans, nudging his half-hard cock into Sam's hip when he turns to meet Sam's embrace.

Sam smiles. He whispers, "Merry Christmas," to his brother's ear.

Dean's eyes fly open. The change is quick: his face shuts down immediately. "We better get goin'," he says roughly, pulling away to turn to the window. "Snow got worse?"

"Melted already," Sam informs him, already regretting saying the words. "It'll be gone by the time we hit south."

Dean nods and begins to gather their haphazardly thrown clothes. Sam watches him for a while before broaching the subject, "You still sure about this?"

"It's the best idea we've had yet," Dean reminds him.

Sam nods. It's not an answer, but it'll do.

The girl manning the desk sneers at them when they arrive. "Couldn't ya keep your voices down?" she grumbles. "People were complainin'."

"That's 'cause they're not getting' fucked up their ass," Dean tells her sweetly.

The girl sniffs and hands the card back to them.

She's better than most, Sam has to remind himself. Humans can be shit, but they're better than what Sam and Dean are turning to--something they don't even know. These are only some of the people Sam and Dean have been trying to protect.

--

At the entrance of the bunker stand an angel and a demon.

Crowley and Castiel look apprehensive, likely armed to the teeth with hidden weapons. They give the Impala a wide berth, only coming closer then Sam and Dean step out of the car to meet them.

Crowley opens his arms wide although he makes no move to embrace them. "Gentlemen, I take there were no more rooms in the inn," he greets.

Dean's stance changes but Sam holds up an arm to block his path. "We came back as per our agreement," he says coolly, addressing both Crowley and Castiel. "You don't need any weapons."

Castiel appears startled, especially when Dean sneers, "I can smell them on both of you."

"We all knew the traditional protective Winchesters won't back out of the deal," Crowley agrees. "You've always had your head in you, Moose, but we needed to be prepared. So tell your dog to stand down," he addresses the scowling Dean.

Sam fights off the sneer on his face. I was his master first, he thinks smugly. Treating Dean as one of Crowley's hellhounds is not lost on him. The changes have affected their reasoning, enhanced their senses.

Making him move quickly—a hand preparing to land on his shoulder makes him twist, grab Dean to his side to snatch the angel blade from his brother's belt looks, raising it blink-fast to rest against Castiel's neck. "If you're making a move—"

Castiel quickly holds up his arms, his eyes alarmed and sad. "That's the change we've talked about, Sam."

"I've always been willing to protect Dean," Sam snarls.

"Enough that you eviscerated a poltergeist, ripped a werewolf with your bare hands--"

"It threw Dean to the wall!"

"--pulled a skinwalker's flesh apart until it cannot regenerate. Sam, you and Dean...you've changed things. You've changed the rules."

Abomination, the word whispers to Sam's head again, only now it's not just for him. It's describing Dean, too. Crowley and Castiel have used it to describe them.

And by the look on Dean's face, he's as troubled as Sam is.

"We'll keep our end of the deal," Crowley says firmly. "Ceasefire between Heaven and Hell--we've drawn up the contract, signed the dotted lines. And you Winchesters have to keep your end."

"And the people we want to keep safe--" Dean starts.

"Heaven and Hell will keep them under protection," Crowley assures. He adds with a smirk, "Hell, I'll even take care of Sherriff Mills for you."

"And Bobby's place to become a sacred space," Sam says.

Crowley and Castiel turn to each other as if holding a silent meeting. At Crowley's nod, Castiel turns to the brothers. "It will be done," he intones.

"Sacred for all," Crowley argues. "I won't tolerate being kept out of Bobby Singer's place."

"Sacred for all and Crowley," Castiel amends with enough irritation in his voice.

"And how long will you keep the bunker sealed?" Dean puts in.

"Just a couple of years."

Dean laugh is like a bark. "No sweat, I've got ten years in Hell to Sam's hundred years in the Cage. We'll be out in no time if age doesn't get us first."

"Age won't be your problem," Crowley tells them. "You've been changing the rules for the last couple of years. Aging is the last of it."

"They gotta get something out of the ceasefire, right?" Sam says. He can feel the weariness in his bones already, the slow changing in his blood. It's almost the same as when he was fired up on demon blood, or the time his body housed an angel.

The "ceasefire" between angels and demons, an agreement where both parties pull out of the human dimension--to leave it to the monsters and humans as it was always meant to be. And in return, the Winchesters will be locked inside their own bunker: Dean with Cain's Mark and the angel's handprint on his arm, Sam with his demon imaginary friend and the Grace in his soul.

No humans or freaks have faced these changes, and now it's changing them into something no one can understand. There are no records for this, "no rulebook on how to deal with Winchesters," as Crowley said.

The bunker is going to house the new freaks for centuries.

"Let's get this show on the road then," Dean says roughly. He reaches out for Sam and Sam accepts it instinctively.

It only takes a few minutes to put the spells and ritual in place--almost a year's worth of trials and researches borne of Castiel and Sam's persistence. No humans, monsters, or alphas can open the door. The only ones with the keys are Castiel and Crowley. And to turn the locks will signal the end of the ceasefire. There's no way for Sam or Dean to know when they'll be let out.

Castiel's form is grave, his hands squeezing Sam and Dean's arms like he's unable to let go. "You know there was no other way?" His voice is sorrowful and full of regret.

Sam looks in his eyes and smiles. "We know. We appreciate your help, Cas." He glances at the demon hovering behind their friend and can't help calling out, "Even you, Crowley."

"I'm gonna miss you, Moose, Squirrel," Crowley acknowledges, then shakes his head. "What do you know?"

Castiel embraces Dean, then Sam. "Merry Christmas, Cas," Sam tells him.

"Aptly messianic," Crowley interrupts, "that two saviors are hereon born on Christmas Day."

"Go fuck yourself, Crowley," Dean says nicely, then addresses Castiel, "You better take care of our baby, Cas. She's gotta be in top shape when we get out."

Our baby, Sam thinks proudly. He turns to Dean, half-expecting his older brother to spout more sentiments about leaving the Impala outside where it stands more chance of being serviced and finding updated parts. But he's surprised to find Dean only has his eyes on Sam. When their gazes meet, there is no stars aligning or universes colliding--there is only understanding.

So maybe Sam is anticipating spending the rest of forever with Dean. It's funny how he's now only realizing that it's Dean's eyes he's been taking his cues from all along. They've been doing this together for years. They won't need Castiel or Crowley now.

Sam says, "Let's close the gates."

"And so Sammy declared it, and it was so," Dean teases. Sam laughs.

The bunker doors slam shut.

-end-

(SPN Fic) "If You're Lucky"

2013-12-26T05:59:40Z

If You're Lucky
Sam/Dean
3800~ words, NC-17, blowjobs
It's a bunker!fic with curtain!fic, a dash of established relationships, oblivious!boys, first time, clothes sharing.
For broompeople in spn_j2_xmas.

Summary: Being friends-with-benefits with your brother is one thing. Falling in love with your brother? That's a whole Jerry Springer episode.

The loud stomping and banging that wakes Sam doesn't surprise him—he's been expecting it since last night—but it still makes him grumpy.

"SAM!" Stomping on the floor turns into clomps on Sam's bedroom. "Rise and shine!"

Sam sighs, "Jesus," into the pillow and muffles his groan. He yells, "I'm coming, wait!" when Dean kicks his door again. He pushes aside the books scattered all over his mattress, gives up finding a clean shirt before he stumbles over to the door to throw it open. "What?!"

"It's six!" Dean is scowling as he holds up his arms: the right wrapped in a cast from wrist to his fingers while his entire left arm is covered with bandages. "I can't put on a new shirt. I have no socks. I can't make breakfast."

Sam substitutes rolling his eyes for a huge yawn. "Can't it wait til later?"

"I can't even take a leak!"

"Fuck." Now, Sam is awake and pissed—no pun intended. "You want me to hold your dick and make breakfast for you?"

"Not like you haven't before," Dean leers.

And Sam should've expected this. Dean hardly talks about their mutual handjobs and blowjobs except when he's stressed or horny, which often interchanges within days. It's a secret articulated only through moments of double entendre.

Sam has spent the last two days wavering between guilt and exasperation over his injured brother. It's clear that Dean is trying to take advantage for the third day.

So he closes the door on Dean's face.

Dean's response is to elbow the door loudly. Sam makes him wait another thirty seconds—entirely on principle—before he pulls it open again. "Goddammit, Dean, you're not five years old!"

"I'm not that helpless," Dean tells him petulantly, but adds in an embarrassed tone, "And dude, I can go to the bathroom alone but I'm...I'm really hungry. And I still have an entire day to go through."

"You're lucky if you make it through a week," Sam sighs, resists rolling his eyes. Still, he can't help indulging his brother especially when that warm feeling spreads in his chest. It's a rare day when Dean asks for his help, but that feeling has crept more often the past few months than the last decade combined. He looks back to his room, seeing the mess of papers and books, his eyes catching at the corner where a pile of laundry is growing. He sighs again.

"Don't complain when I burn the eggs," Sam warns when he turns back to Dean.

His brother only snorts. Sam already knows what it means. Dean doesn't really trust him in the kitchen—surprisingly Dean's domain in the bunker—but he's not in a position to complain with his two arms out of commission. Sam makes his way to the kitchen, trusting Dean to trail after him, but he doesn't take a few steps without taking a cursory glance into Dean's room.

The bed is half-made, as usual, with the blanket draped on the bed and mostly strewn on the floor, twisted with bandages, cotton, and other first-aid utilities. Pants, boxers, and shirts are pulled out of the drawers, and there's a pair of mismatched socks on the dresser.

Dean shoots Sam a rueful grin. "Had a tough time this morning," he mutters, curling his toes.

The sleepiness that clouds Sam's brain clears momentarily. Yet it's enough for him to realize that, besides the bandages and cast, his brother is only clad in an unbuttoned plaid shirt, boxers, and a scowl. Sam takes the sight in—it's not usual for his brother to look so defenseless even in the privacy of their home.

"You didn't even put on socks," Sam tells him.

"I was really hungry!"

And, Sam is beginning to remember, Dean would need two functioning hands to do it without pain. He smiles, coaxing Dean back into his room. "Socks first, then breakfast," he admonishes. He rummages through Dean's dresser for a pair of socks.

He pauses, then grabs one of Dean's larger shirt. It barely fits him, but it at least dispels the morning chill.

"I can eat naked if I wanted to," Dean complains.

"God forbid our guests walk in our kitchen with you cooking," Sam says, and makes Dean sit on the bed before he can say another word. Dean grumbles all the way, but he keeps quiet when Sam kneels before him, a sock poised over his toes.

Sam runs a hand over Dean's left knee, cataloging the numerous scars and the scabbing slice from last week's hunt—down, fingers tracing the back of Dean's knee, down to his hairy leg, resting briefly on Dean's ankle before caressing his brother's calf. Sam feels like he's back in bed, ready to drown in lethargy, but he's aware of every hitch of Dean's breath, the way he tenses his legs and straightens his back at Sam's touch.

They don't touch each other this way very often. The first time—well, Sam was eighteen and horny, whining that the stupid sex spell the witch cast on him is Dean's fault so Dean owes him one. But thereon, sex between them had always been purely physical. It's something that they never had time to fully explore despite the numerous chances, but Sam has recently begun to think that it's mostly because they never let themselves.

Dean clears his throat, pulling Sam from his thoughts. "Taking your time on your knees?" he murmurs, but Sam notices how breathless Dean's voice is.

Sam feels the corners of his mouth shape into a smile. He decides to test the waters. "Just admiring the view from here," he replies, patting Dean's now-socked feet.

Of course, Dean has to dispel the tension by kicking Sam's shoulder.

It doesn't make the smile on Sam's face disappear.

--

Sam burns the eggs.

He can't help it if the burner was turned on too high and that the toaster—which Dean takes pains to watch every morning because of its tendency to burn—was decent enough to churn out proper brown toast for once. Dean sits on the counter, browsing through the laptop for new cases while making snide commentaries on his cooking.

"You could help," Sam grumbles as he dumps the charred remains into the trash. "At least the coffee's okay."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, although Sam knows it's not as bitter as Dean is used to. He's trying to cut down his brothers caffeine. "And it's more amusing watching you try to make a decent meal." He makes exaggerated sounds as he chews the decent toast. "Mmm, but not bad for your first try, Sam. How did you even eat when you were with..." He stops.

But Sam continues, "...with Jess? Like this: she cooks, I eat."

"Some things stay the same," Dean sings, before he finally hops out of the seat. "Stand back and watch me do magic."

"You can't cook with two immobile hands," Sam complains, even as he lets Dean shoulder-check his way to the stove. The kitchen can easily fit ten people, but he loves how touchy Dean has been lately. He doesn't pull away. "How're you gonna cook?"

"You're doing it, duh, it's about time you learn," Dean says. "No excuses for you to know how to make decent scrambled eggs, Sammy, now that you have a kitchen. How can you make breakfast for your chicks?" Sam resists pointing out that he has no plans of having a long-term relationship with anyone else. Dean plants himself firmly in front of Sam before he can articulate this thought.

"Should I be worried?" Sam asks, leaning to glance over the charred pan over Dean's shoulder.

But Dean is staring back at him with a frown. "Is that my shirt?"

Sam shrugs, feels the material tighten over his shoulders. "Borrowed one of yours 'cause I didn't want to go back to my room." He catches the strange look on Dean's face, a cross between interest and apprehension. "Aw, c'mon, I'm doing the laundry today anyway. The next few weeks anyway, if you're lucky."

"You stretch it, you're dead," Dean says, looking away quickly. "Now take out another batch of eggs, and grab some bacon while you're at it."

"Maybe we should start with coffee," Sam suggests.

Dean leans his back onto Sam's chest, rubbing him gently. "Already got my fix. Start working, wench."

--

It's not easy trying to cook with Dean plastering himself to Sam's side. He scrutinizes everything, which Sam thinks is ridiculous—it's just breakfast, not some gourmet—but he doesn't tell Dean this. Instead, he breaks the eggs when Dean says he can, keeps tabs on the bacon sizzling with the eggs. He makes more coffee—this time with more caffeine.

Finally, Dean is satisfied enough to hops back to his seat while Sam puts a large plate before him. Sam smiles and moves to sit beside him.

"What?" Dean asks, confused.

"You can't eat with injured hands," Sam replies cheerfully, already taking a toast from the plate. "Open up."

"Fuck you," Dean starts to say—only for Sam to shove a toast into his mouth. He bites down involuntarily, chews and swallows before he spits out, "I managed to eat fine two days ago when my hands were still non-functioning!"

"We were in a hunt then, but we're taking some time off now." Sam doesn't think he's actually radiating smugness, but it doesn't matter since Dean opens his mouth to accept the piece of bacon Sam feeds him.

He, however, balks as soon as Sam tries to feed him a forkful of eggs. "I'm not an invalid!"

"Just indulge me," Sam protests, but no matter how much he tries, Dean keeps his mouth firmly shut. He sighs and hands the fork over.

Dean's triumphant grin makes Sam pause.

Although they've had their down times, Sam suddenly realizes that this mundane thing is something exceptional. It's not the first time it's entered his mind. The melancholic atmosphere of sitting on top of the Impala, drinking beer and gazing silently at the stars, the hours of silence inside a motel room, when one of them gets up after sex and just breathes—and now, here in this kitchen, Sam trying to feed Dean while Dean tries to resist. Sam should have seen this coming.

People have told them all along, that their co-dependency goes beyond the extremes, Dean easily stepped into Sam's Heaven to share his life, hunters have side-eyed them over the years even before their father died. So yeah, Sam should have seen this coming.

Being friends-with-benefits with your brother is one thing. Falling in love with your brother? That's a whole Jerry Springer episode.

Without commercials.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean's voice penetrates through his thoughts.

Sam shakes himself, only to find Dean sitting beside him with a worried expression, his bandaged left arm reaching out to touch Sam's shoulder. Only Sam reaches out to grab his wrist, loosening his hold at Dean's wince. "Sorry," he mutters, then clears his throat. "What did you say?"

"I said, the recent disappearances in Arizona coincide with the ones we've been eyeing a few years back—"

"Let someone else take it," Sam interrupts.

Dean pauses, carefully says, "Sam—"

It makes sense in a way. The way Sam treated hunting and their father as a rival for his brother's attention, Sam's need to define himself away from his family, the greater need to return to it, and Jessica's death that was only the beginning. So here they are, and Sam knows it now. He can't wait to see how Dean would respond when he begins to realize that they can have this and it's forever.

Sam pulls Dean's bandaged hand, presses kisses on the exposed fingertips. He knows that the knives that sliced through his brother's left arm are still healing, so he takes care to hold it gently. "I'm not saying we should ignore it," Sam says, mouth moving over Dean's scabbing palm. "All I'm saying is you're not one-hundred percent right now and I'm..."

"You're...?" Dean prompts.

Sam meets his brother's eyes. He's serious when he declares quietly, "I don't want to do it without you anymore."

It's a serious declaration, borne not out of distress like most of their serious conversations.

So typically, Dean doesn't react with a confession of his own.

Instead, he rolls his eyes and kicks Sam's chair. "I know that, bitch. Next time, can you tell me without regressing to a fifteen-year-old girl?"

--

Sam makes several phone calls before he finally finds two hunters they can trust and still like them. He promises to send them their research, including the ones they've tracked a few years ago. He finishes the call to find Dean sitting on one of the library tables, scowling at the laptop. They haven't bought any of the touchscreens yet and he's still using his left hand to type and manipulate the mouse.

"How's your right arm?" Sam asks, walking over to his brother.

Dean shrugs awkwardly. "Still broken, I guess. Itchy."

Sam peers over his shoulder. The files Dean is sending to the hunters are still attaching. Considering it's a few years' worth of research, it will take a while. "Come and rest for a moment," he urges Dean. It strikes him how Dean is the one who usually coaxes him out of sleepless nights of research.

Dean frowns. "We have to send this now."

"You're getting irritable over a hunt that isn't ours," Sam reminds him. His hands find their way to his brother's tense shoulders, reminding him that Dean's hands have been out of commission for at least three days. A naughty idea leaps to his head. He leans down. "When was the last time you jerked off?" Sam murmurs to Dean's ear.

Dean nearly leaps out of his chair, only Sam pulls him back down. Dean glares up at him. "That's not—"

"I think that's the issue," Sam decides.

"My hands—"

"I can do it for you."

Dean gestures to the laptop. "But this—"

"—can wait. Do you want a blowjob or not?"

"Dammit, let me fin—"

"No," Sam interrupts cheerfully. He finally tires of waiting for Dean to respond, so he hauls him up and presses a kiss on his brother's lips. Dean's mouth automatically opens, gasping as Sam deepens the kiss. He leans closer, mindful of his brother's broken arm. Dean's left arm loosely winds around Sam's neck, pulling him down.

And because Sam is still a nerd, he pulls back to check if the attachment is still on-going.

"I thought I'm getting a blowjob here!" Dean rages.

Sam smiles. There's still around an hour to go, and then they have an entire day all to themselves. Maybe a week if they're lucky. "You are. Get on the table."

"In the library, Sam? Kinky!" Dean smirks.

Sam slaps his ass. "You don't know the half of it," he agrees. He decides he'll tell Dean about his library fantasies later. He suspects Dean won't be surprised. "And don't touch anything."

"Not even my dick?"

Sam drops a kiss on his lips. "Not even that. But especially not the books."

Dean scrambles to the other side of the table, far from the laptop and stack of books. Sam follows him, pulling off first his shirt, then his sweats. Dean hauls himself over the table, legs dangling as he watches Sam appreciatively. He doesn't resist when Sam steps between his legs, instead surges up to kiss Sam again. Sam pushes him back to rest on the table before making his way down Dean's neck, to his chest, peppering his brother's skin with tiny kisses.

Dean's breathing gets more erratic, especially now Sam begins to slowly unbutton his shirt. "Y-you don't have to," he starts.

"I want to," Sam whispers back, kissing Dean.

This is different as well. Their previous sex has always—without fail—always been frantic. This is languid, dreamy, no adrenaline rush or fuck-or-die curses involved. Sam lavishes Dean's nipple with his tongue, loving how his brother tries to bite off a groan when Sam pinches the other. They harden at the attention, and it's clear Dean loves it when his good arm snakes its way back to find a hold on Sam's head.

But Sam has other ideas. He pulls back, gently removing Dean's arm and placing them right next to his head. "Keep this here," Sam says tenderly, then kisses Dean's right arm through the cast. "And keep this comfortable. Tell me if it hurts."

"Just get on with it," Dean grits out.

And Sam has to comply. His dick is heavy between his legs but his focus is on his brother's body: worshiping in a way he never had the chance to before. He traces his lips over Dean's ribs, cataloging the scars, past the flat of his stomach that quivers under his tongue especially as Sam laps at his bellybutton. They've been intimate for almost half their lives, but Sam knows this is the first time he's going to completely take everything, the first time he's giving everything back.

Dean moans, "Sam, fuck," when Sam's deft fingers slowly pulls down Dean's boxers, left to hang on his knee, down to Dean's socked feet. Sam pulls back again—this time to admire the view of his debauched brother on the table, legs spread wide, shirt pulled open and his boxers on one foot.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam echoes. His mouth waters at the sight of Dean's cock, and he spares himself a second to wonder how this has changed as well, before running his hands over the insides of Dean's thigh and licking a stripe at the underside of Dean's cock.

His brother practically arches off the table, except Sam pushes him back. "Mind your arm."

"Mind my dick," Dean snarls, practically sobbing as he squirms on the table. "Please, just—Sam, I want—"

Sam shushes him, plays with his sac before he starts sucking his brother's dick. His legs strain at the awkward height, so he pushes Dean's body further into the table to give Sam some room to suck his dick. The ordinary action makes it thrilling for him, and Sam starts sucking in earnest, trying to take Dean deeper. He alternately bobs up and down Dean's dick and pulls back to suck Dean's balls.

Dean startles when Sam moves his hand from Dean's thighs to part cup his ass, practically lifting him off the table. It pushes Dean deeper into Sam's throat, which distracts his older brother enough from the dry finger prodding against his ass. Sam watches the arch of Dean's throat, thinks, I did that, making him moan at the thought—of Dean wanton with lust at Sam's every touch.

"S-sam," Dean pants, his left arm pressed against the table. "Sam, I c-can't..."

Sam pulls away slowly, easing Dean gently back into the table. Dean's cock juts angrily between his legs and the sight of his brother's shamelessly spread on the table makes his own cock throb. "Just a few more," Sam says hoarsely, and he squeezes the base of his cock to keep from coming.

"Please, Sam," Dean begs, then shouts when Sam bends down again to take his cock back into his throat. Dean thrusts up and down, panting, calling Sam's name until Sam pulls back for the last time, mouth sucking Dean's cock firmly until his brother is coming into his mouth.

Sam swallows, but he ends up missing most of it so it spatters on Dean's stomach and thighs. Dean doesn't seem to mind, though, as he collapses back on the table with a dazed expression.

Sam thinks of going out to grab a washcloth, but instead he leans forward to kiss Dean's chest, up his neck and finally his mouth. Dean kisses back, but he squirms away with a frown.

"You didn't..." Dean trails off, meeting Sam's gaze.

Sam shrugs. "It's for you," he says, a bit awkwardly.

Dean gives him an incredulous look. "You didn't think that getting you off is also my goal, Sammy?" he demands. And before Sam can explain, Dean lifts and hooks his legs on Sam's shoulder.

Sam's eyebrows raise. He can see the redness spreading from his brother's face down to his neck and chest, but he can't resist holding on to one of Dean's knees. "Dean...?"

"Not..." Dean starts, stops, before trying again quietly, "Not now, maybe? Just...you can...just outside because I can't...my hands..."

A rush of helpless wonder fills Sam and goddammit, he's not supposed to feel this way ever—but it's Dean, his brother, and they've always broken all the rules without question. What's one more? "Yeah, yeah, of course, Dean," he says gratefully. "If you're sure..."

"Dammit, Sammy, if you don't want—ahh—" Dean ends with moan as Sam slides his cock into his brother's crack. The angle is awkward, and Sam goes slowly to make sure he won't accidentally push his brother hard and break another arm, but it's perfect. Most of all, Sam's hands can trace Dean's legs, his knees, and the fuzzy texture of his brother's socks, which takes him over the edge. Sam leans forward to kiss his brother as he thrusts into the wet heat.

Sam cries Dean's name when he comes. Dean answers with a kiss, swallows his name, claims it as his once more. There are harsh panting, stuttered words, all nonsensical and means everything.

--

They lie side by side on the large table, hands entwined. Sam is fully naked while Dean only has his socks on.

"You know we have to eventually use this table for research, right?" Sam wonders.

"You're the one who clearly thought this through," Dean argues. He makes his voice high in an effort to sound like Sam, "You need to rest, Dean! On the table, Dean! Fuck my mouth, Dean, blah blah blah!"

"I don't sound like that!" Sam cries indignantly.

"Sounded that way to me," Dean retorts.

"Jerk." Sam nudges him—gently, still wary of his brother's injuries. He pulls Dean's hand to his lips, kisses Dean's knuckles. "You know we have to talk about it, right?"

"No," Dean refuses cheerfully. "We don't have to talk about it at all."

Sam doesn't think so, but he knows they're going to have to, eventually. It's inevitable, and Winchesters can't keep secrets buried for too long.

But Sam knows it's been a long time coming, and he knows Dean knows it too. Sex between them was just another bridge to cross among other hurdles they encountered across along the way—and things turned out fantastically. Co-dependency, soulmates, whatever they call it, Sam knows this secret is worth waiting for.

So he rolls over and gently nips Dean's shoulder, letting one of his hands rest on Dean's stomach. "Yeah, not now," he agrees.

They have an entire day all to themselves. Maybe a week if they're lucky.

-end-

a political post

2013-08-07T09:33:51Z

I just want to say that a Philippine Supreme Court Associate Justice just made a Godwin's Law by saying that women having the choice of using contraceptives is like Hitler.

Justice Abad compares pro-RH petitioners to Hitler

I can't...just...what...

I CAN'T EVEN. GOD.

White Collar

2013-05-27T15:49:59Z

Watching the season finale of White Collar with a bottle of vodka and a bag of Doritos makes everything beautiful, dramatic, and all about kink memes and daddy kinks. Oh Neal Caffrey.

In other news, hi everyone! I've been so busy in RL recently, coming back from a dig, looking at earthenware, presenting papers, etc. that even going out and socializing has become a devious way of maneuvering through politics and drama. I find myself thinking fondly of times when I would go home early every Friday nights to watch Honey and Clover or to read Harry Potter/Supernatural fanfics. So I've been doing a bit of reenaction and reading fanfics, bookmarking arts, in the hope I can amass enough to volunteer for rec comms again.

How has everyone been? :)

ETA: Holy crap, LJ android, wtf is with your lack of HTML formatting?

(SPN Fic) "Give a Bad Boy Enough Rope (He'll Soon Make a Jackass of Himself)"

2013-01-01T08:45:34Z

Give a Bad Boy Enough Rope (He'll Soon Make a Jackass of Himself)
Sam Smith/Dean Wesson AU-ish
5000~ words, NC-17, hand-jobs, camping
AU after SPN 4.17 "It's a Terrible Life" and some misplaced spoilers for 5.06 "Clap Your Hands if You Believe")
for queenklu in spn_j2_xmas

Summary: Sam Wesson convinces Dean Smith to go camping so they can hunt either aliens or fairies. Dean Smith is just concerned they're going camping at all.

Dean Smith doesn't like going camping. It's...well, he can make a list of reasons Why Dean Smith Doesn't Like Camping, but it would be a futile exercise.

He doesn't know how Sam manages to convince him, but it may have involved a new episode of Ghostfacers, some sherry (which Dean purged immediately the next day) and Sam Wesson's distractingly large arms over the back of his couch.

Sam was saying something about a kid who disappeared while camping, and who came back a few years later, unaged and claiming that he was gone for only a few hours. Dean may or may not have absently replied he's been hearing about those kids for years, what do you know? The next thing he knows, Sam is proposing that they should go check it out over the weekend.

"Hold on, how are we going to ask the victims about their experience?" Dean asks right before they go to their first interview. The Ghostfacers never included this.

But Sam dismissively replies, "We can say we're working for a very distant local newspaper."

"That's lying and illegal!" Dean says in shock.

"Relax, I have a blog, so it totally won't be lying."

In the end, they manage to extract information from four victims, one of whom disappeared only a few hours. They determine two common denominators: one, that they were all firstborns (or only children); and two, they were all camping or hiking deep into the woods at the edge of town.

They have lunch together twice in the middle of week, where Sam shows him a newspaper article that he must have grabbed before they came back to Sandover. "Look here," he says to Dean, pointing. "It says there's a lot alien kidnappings in the area!"

"I draw the line at aliens," Dean says, shuddering. "They don't exist anyway."

"We thought ghosts don't exist two months before, and now here we are!" Sam says excitedly. "So obviously we have to go camping."

Okay, so maybe Dean was convinced by Sam's enthusiasm.

Whichever the case is, Dean finds himself meticulously listing down things they may need. He lists down tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, camping stove (?), Swiss army knife, and others on his Blackberry app. He finds the closest store to his apartment and buys all the things they might need. He lingers long and hard before he figures, what the hell, and buys two Nalgenes for the trip. They can always use more glow-in-the-dark bottles.

He thinks he's got everything they're going to need when he walks past a novelty store and finds himself tantalized by a Zippo lighter. "It's ridiculous, I don't even smoke," he mutters to himself even as he walks away with the lighter in his pocket.

They drive out as soon as they clock out on Friday. Sam meets him three corners away from the office, grinning when he gets into the passenger seat of Dean's Prius. "I feel like a kept woman," he says cheerfully.

"You seem to be enjoying it, that's for sure," Dean retorts.

The drive takes them four hours, and by the time they get to the hotel they booked. When they get there, the receptionist gives them a bland eye. "Reservations?"

"Under Sam Wesson," Sam tells him.

The receptionist looks down at his computer. "Two beds?" he asks snootily that Dean interprets as, Really? Two beds?

He starts to open his mouth to argue, but Sam puts in quickly, "That's right, sir," and gives the receptionist his most winning smile.

As soon as they get to their room, Dean starts to make his Master Cleanse while Sam brings out their notes and books. "I was thinking we can start hiking early, stop for lunch, and investigate," Sam announces. "Dude, are you still drinking that crap?"

"I'm trying to lose weight for the charity ball," Dean tells him.

Sam slowly stares at him, eyes half-hooded as if telling Dean he likes what he's seeing. "You're lookin' good to me."

Dean feels himself flush. The guys at the health club gave him the same looks, but he's never reacted before. He clears his throat and gestures to the notes. "So, what are we going to do tomorrow?"

Sam seems happy enough to let it lie.

--

They come across a clearing by lunchtime. It's perfect, being near a stream and only a few hours' hike away from civilization. Dean isn't surprised to find that Sam knows how to set up a tent.

"I used to go camping with my dad when I was young," he tells Dean earnestly. "I used to hate it."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Really? You hated camping?"

"Oh, my dad was the big outdoorsy type of person," Sam replies. "I didn't like going out very much when I was younger, but I learned to appreciate it. When he died, I missed going camping."

"I'm sorry," Dean starts to say, but Sam waves it away.

"It was a long time ago."

When they finish putting the fly on the tent, Dean flushes again as Sam surveys the size. "Well," Dean says, clearing his throat, "the tag said it would fit two people."

Sam grins. "That usually means it's only for one, and you can see how we're two big guys." His voice is gentle, but never losing its cheerfulness.

Dean wishes he can sink into the ground. "I didn't know that."

"That's okay, at least we can fit the air mattress and sleeping bags inside." Sam hefts the heavy pack he brought with them. "And we can always get the essentials without bringing the rest inside."

Dean's eyes bug out of their sockets when Sam reveals what he brought. "You brought guns?" he hisses.

"I said I'd bring protection," Sam tells him, looking as if Dean was a virgin in a whorehouse. "And I didn't just bring guns, I also brought knives and salt. And books."

"It's a good thing we weren't searched at the hotel."

Sam looks wounded. "Come on, who'd believe we'd have them? We're just two guys who like going camping."

Like that isn't so Brokeback, Dean thinks, remembering the skeptic look the receptionist gave them the night before.

They cook their lunch over the gas stove that Dean brought. Sam brings out his laptop ("I have a solar panel just in case," he told Dean the night before.) to discuss what they finished talking about last night.

"So we're down to aliens and fairies," Dean says, chewing his vegetarian beef jerky. ("Like real beef!" the tag says, but like the tent, Dean really shouldn't have believed it.) "I'm totally going with fairies."

"Fifty says it's aliens," Sam says.

"There was no probing involved," Dean points out. "And we have the woods, which makes it prime fairy area."

"Abductions and strange lights," Sam counters.

"Firstborns."

"Damn, I forgot about that," Sam muses. Then he gets a thoughtful look on his face, regarding Dean for a few beats. "I didn't ask, are you the firstborn?"

"Yeah," Dean says, then pauses. "Are you?"

"No, I had a brother but he died before I was born." Sam pauses again. "Dean, you're not safe."

"C'mon," Dean argues, "you can't believe that all the firstborns are gonna be taken. What about Trudy Bersand? She's a firstborn."

"You don't know if she had an older sibling who died or was given up," Sam argues.

Dean is equally perturbed by the idea, but it would do no good if he panics alongside Sam. He says, "Hey, if anything, we're more prepared than any of those folks. We have guns with iron and salt rocks, iron rods, the works. It'll be fine."

--

They explore the woods while there's still light. There are different trails all over the woods, some less used than others. These are the ones they explore.

They come across some fairy rings, which Sam notes in a map while Dean puts it in a GPS. By the time the light is fading, they've plotted more or less thirty fairy rings within the area. "I still don't think it's fairies," Sam tells him. "But the most important thing here is that we should stick together."

"Dude," Dean says, aghast, "I gotta go pee sometime!"

"Well, okay, but make sure you bring the GPS with you," Sam indulges. "Especially since you're the one they might target!"

They talk about work and the people they know, and Dean tells Sam about his pain-in-the-ass baby sister Jo. Sam tells him about his painful breakup with his ex-fiancée, Madison, who only said she was changing too fast for Sam and Sam can't keep up. Dean only snorts when Sam sighs at the end. "Women."

"Yeah, I mean they're great, and there's a lot of things they can do we certainly can't," Sam allows.

"And sometimes do even better," Dean says morosely, remembering how Jo always used to beat him in wrestling.

"And do better," Sam concedes, "but sometimes you just want something else, you know?"

Dean turns to him, caught by the way the camp light catches Sam's profile. "Something...else?" he replies slowly.

Sam turns to him, lazy grin on his face. "Something stronger, more...similar."

"Oh." Dean swallows convulsively, watching the way Sam leans back on his elbows. He's gazing at Dean as if he's hungry and Dean's the appetizer, main course, and dessert all rolled into one. Dean swallows again, can't help the faint reply, "Yeah, I've thought about that, too."

"And?" Sam's hand drops over his stomach, creeping towards the bulge in front of his pants.

"I've wondered about it," Dean admits, crawling over Sam before he can help it. He's not ready to say that he's done more than wonder at some points of his life. Like during high school. And college. And three months ago.

Sam reaches out, hand brushing against Dean's face to pull him closer. Dean is pleased to notice Sam's breathing is becoming ragged. "Thought you wanted me to save it for the health club," Sam says gruffly.

"Health clubs got boring after hunting," Dean mutters, and leans over to meet Sam's mouth.

Sam kisses like a man, lips and tongue and the beginnings of a beard that he didn't shave this morning. It burns Dean's jaw, but it turns him on especially when Sam scoots lower and starts licking his jaw, his neck, and his collar bones. Dean straddles Sam's body, one leg pressed between Sam's, closer to make Sam groan against him, pulls him back to press his mouth against Dean's again.

Making out with Sam is a fantasy Dean never let himself imagine before—it's a sexual harassment case waiting to happen—but in the middle of the woods, everything seems plausible.

Sam is practically humping Dean's leg, moaning against Dean's tongue when Dean pulls back. "What—what's wrong?" Sam asks dazedly.

Dean swallows, blinking. Sam looks debauched, his pupils wide and almost black, his hair disheveled. It's almost enough for Dean to discard his thought, but he manages to get out, "Uh—maybe we should take this inside?"

"Who's gonna notice?" Sam argues.

"I don't know...aliens? Fairies?"

Sam pauses. "Right. You're right, I'll just..." His eagerness to get into the tent would make Dean laugh if it doesn't make him fall onto the ground with a slight oof! Sam turns to him with an embarrassed expression. "Geez, sorry, I was just—god, you looked so hot—"

"Get in the tent!" Dean barks, pleased when Sam quickly obeys.

Sam is down to just his boxers by the time Dean comes in. "You're fast," he observes, appreciatively sweeping his eyes over Sam's fine form.

It's Sam's turn to blush. "You're kind of hot, you know," he defends. "And I'm taking this opportunity the best that I can. And anyway, why aren't you undressed?"

"Maybe I want you to do it for me," Dean challenges, his heart beating loudly that it's a wonder Sam can't hear it. He can't believe this brave version of him. It feels right, being so cocky when he's with Sam. Making the guy blush is a right chance, especially with the number of times the guy flirted with him and made Dean blush as well.

Sam welcomes the reply with a grin. "Then come here," he says. The air mattress makes a squeaking sound as Dean straddles him again.

Sam helps Dean take his shirt off, kissing him again on the mouth, then trailing it down to his neck and chest. Sam's hands are large, his fingers dry and callused over Dean's belly, brushing against the top of his jeans. Dean smirks, then moans when Sam bites his neck, rocking his hips against the press of Sam's knee. He can feel the bulge of Sam's cock comfortably pressing against his own leg.

Dean wriggles lower, tries to align himself to Sam's, and groaning appreciatively when their cocks rub against each other. Sam captures his mouth again, moaning when Dean brushes his fingers against his nipples to pinch and play. Dean can feel how Sam's muscles contract under his touch, can feel the hard line of his abs.

"Jesus, you're ripped," Dean mutters in disgust and admiration. Part of it comes from jealousy, but more of it is pure lust. He starts going down, kissing Sam's jaw, his neck, down to lave his tongue on Sam's nipples. Sam groans, then gasps when Dean's hand brushes against his cock.

"Fuck, can you just—" Sam gasps when Dean cups his dick. "Please, Dean—"

"Hand or mouth?" Dean whispers, breath puffing warmth on Sam's hardened nipple.

"Either," Sam grits out, then, "Fuck, your hand is fine."

Dean pushes Sam's briefs lower, eagerly helps when Sam unbuttons Dean's jeans and pushes the material away. When they're fully undressed, Dean puts his hand back on Sam's huge cock. He's pleased to find that his hand fits Sam's cock perfectly, enough to close around the based and still have his thumb swipe on the slit.

Sam's hands trail through his shoulders, tracing his spine to clench his ass. He thrusts up slowly, languidly to meet Dean's movements, his breathing ragged with, "Fuck, yeah, right there—fuck, yes—"

Dean aligns their cocks together, grabs one of Sam's huge hands to close around them both. This makes them both hiss, amplifies the feeling. Slickness makes their movements easier, oozing down to their cocks and hands. Sam's eyelids flutter close as he mutters filthy words to Dean's ears—words that would make him stammer if they were spoken anywhere else except here, in this warm tent in the middle of nowhere.

They rock together, going faster until Dean can feel his balls clenching, and it's only then that he groans, "Sam, I'm—I—"

"Do it," Sam demands, hands going faster, face red. "God, you should see yourself—fuck, so hot—" His orgasm takes Dean by surprise, who thought he would get there faster. Still, it's all forgotten when he comes right after.

Dean collapses on the air mattress right next to Sam, but the tent is small enough that they need to reposition their limbs just to lie comfortably. In the end, Dean has to lie partially in Sam's arms, which makes it easier for Sam to kiss him.

"That was awesome," Sam says dreamily. "And just so you know, I was really coming on to you that time in the elevator."

Dean nuzzles his neck. "I know," he murmurs. "I was just playing hard to get."

"You're a fucking tease," Sam mutters, stroking his back and making Dean arch into his body. "Was I really that creepy?"

"Yup."

"Come on!"

"Just because you're hot doesn't entitle you to tell someone that you're having dreams about them the first time you meet, Sam," Dean tells him matter-of-factly.

Sam laughs. "Well, it all turned out fine in the end. After all we—"

The noise stops their conversation.

They turn to each other with alarmed expressions that quickly turn serious. In a speed that surprises even Dean, they put their jeans and shirts back on. They ignore the wetness over their stomach and legs before they crawl out of the tent.

The forest has taken an eerie turn with the darkness that surrounds them. A weak ray of moonlight penetrates through the canopy of trees, directed right over their tent. They hurriedly put on their boots and grab a weapon each.

"There's no sound," Sam whispers.

Dean strains to listen, but their breathing is the only thing that breaks through the silent rustling of leaves. Other than that, there are no usual crickets, no night birds' cries. A haze has settled into their camp, giving each shrub a ghostly shadow. Dean and Sam stand back to back, trying to peer through the fog.

They both startle at a sudden crunching sound a meters away from the clearing. Dean raises a finger to his lips, then slowly moves to untuck their weapons from their waistline as Sam does the same thing. Then comes a steady thrum, more like a combination of hooves and helicopters at the same time, coming nearer—

And that's when Sam shouts, "Dean, it's not a fog—"

There are faces peering through the fog, Dean realizes. Sam is shouting something, tugging at his arm, but Dean is curious about the way the people are smiling, beckoning him. Their faces are grotesque and beautiful at the same time...

"DEAN!" Sam screams into his ear. "We have to get out of here!"

It's like someone pours cold water all over Dean, and he has no choice but to follow Sam through the wounds. They stumble through the thick vegetable, stopping only to look around if the lights—the people—are following them. Shrubs and thorns tear through their jacket, and there is at least one time Sam gracelessly tumbles over Dean. Dean hardly shoves him off, laughing for some strange reason.

Dean struggles as soon as they crouch behind the shrub. "Did you see the naked lady?" he blurts out as soon as he can breathe.

Sam turns to him with a horrified expression. "Are you seriously perving on something while we're on a hunt?!" he hisses.

"No," Dean says, hurt. But he continues, "I saw her nipples!"

"I didn't see anything!"

Dean doesn't understand how beautiful, wonderful, serious Sam can't see anything that's right by his nose. Dean helpfully gestures to the hovering naked lady next to Sam's face, which promptly sends the lady flying off with a hiss and Sam stumbling back with a loud, "Oof!"

"She's right there—" Dean's wide grin turns comical when the fairy lady whacks his nose. "OW! She—she hit me!"

Sam can't help it. He bursts out laughing and buries his face into the crook of Dean's shoulder. "Jesus, okay, fine, you win. I'm not disappointed they're not aliens."

"Oh, haha!" Dean says petulantly. "And I can think of a few ways you can pay off that fifty—"

It's then that the light descends, and—ironically—when they lose consciousness to the sudden darkness.

--

Dean wakes up to an older man grinning down at him. "Good eve," he greets.

Dean sits up quickly, then wishes he didn't. The man is wearing a green coat that seems more like moss and brown trousers the color of a tree bark. He looks around cautiously. "Where am I?"

They're still within the forest, or at least a forest that looks like the one they were in. Except this one has brighter leaves, and the moonlight flows through the branches to show each and every flower and shrub. There are faces that peer at them, but they are more curious than menacing.

"You've been invited to partake in a feast," the man whispers conspiratorially. He holds a cane in his left hand, which he holds out to Dean. "Come with me."

"Don't do it, Dean!" someone shouts.

Dean whips around quickly. "S-sam?" he utters, catching the ugly look that overcomes the man's face.

Sam is straining from the tree branches holding him, but he looks fiercely into Dean's direction. "Don't do it, don't take whatever they offer you."

"It is the right of all firstborns to be appreciated," the man snarls. "I am a man of my word!"

"You're not even a man, you're a leprechaun," Sam accuses.

The leprechaun grins, his razor-sharp teeth making Dean wince. "You've caught my folly," he agrees, then his voice turns thunderous. "What magic have you turned to, for you to enter my realm, Sam Winchester?"

Winchester? Dean's head hurt. He thought Sam's name is Sam Wesson?

But Sum only looks furious. "Don't you touch him, he's not yours," he snarls. "He's mine."

"Gee thanks," Dean mutters.

Even the leprechaun looks amused, but he puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, tracing his face. Dean feels his touch as cold as winter, and it wakes him enough to try to look for the weapon that should be tucked into his pants—even as he leans into the leprechaun's touch. "Look, how he responds to me. Out of all the firstborns I chose, he is the one who responds most beautifully."

"What—" Dean says dazedly as long nails scrape his jaw, down to his neck.

Sam struggles against his branches. "I will kill you," he promises, "even if I'm in your realm. I've waited a long time for this, for this chance to avenge him. I'll take you on all by myself—"

"Sam?" Dean murmurs. The quest for his gun is forgotten. "What are you...?"

The leprechaun looks at him curiously, touches his forehead with his lips that makes Sam snarl wordlessly. "Oh...OH! Oh, how beautiful, how delightfully wicked! What have they done to you?"

"Listen to me, Dean," Sam says desperately. "Listen, whatever happens, you should remember that this isn't your fault, that we were coerced..."

Dean doesn't know what they're talking about, but he does know that the leprechaun is making him feel safe, and that having Sam here with him is making it all better. Maybe he can ask for the leprechaun to let Sam go, to let him have him...

"You haven't done anything," he tells Sam earnestly. His hand finally finds the hilt of the gun tucked into his waist. "Maybe we should."

"And maybe you should listen to him, Sam," the leprechaun says mockingly. "Is that how you followed him here without my invitation? You used your abomination? Your new-found strength borne of your demon friend?"

Dean freezes, looking at Sam's devastated face. "What is he talking about?"

"Dean, I...I don't know what happened," Sam tells him miserably. The strain from his limbs is gone; instead he hangs limply from the branches. "I followed you here because it was the only thing to do..."

"Sam?"

The leprechaun hisses, pulls Dean closer to press his face into Dean's hair. Dean snarls and flails, trying to get away, only to stumble back when the leprechaun pushes him. "Goddammit, you nasty old lecher!" Dean yells.

"You've soulbonded!" the leprechaun hisses, then he laughs in disgust. "This is how you entered my realm without my permission? This is how you think you'll defeat Heaven and Hell's armies?"

"This is how I think you'll let us go," Sam says evenly. Dean watches in wonder as Sam's voice becomes menacing, his struggles becoming earnest. The tree branches begin to lose their grip, snapping at times. "And you'll take your filthy hands away from my brother or else—"

"Or what?" the leprechaun taunts, voice now trembling.

"Or I'll blast your head off," Dean says flatly, pulling out his gun and aiming it to the leprechaun. He doesn't wait for him to respond before he pulls the trigger.

The cries of the leprechaun echo throughout the forest and the forest immediately turns darker. The faces snarl, crying out, and Dean pulls the trigger again.

This time, the leprechaun jumps out of the way, his grin turning into an appalling grimace. "Iron. Cute, but not a dealbreaker." He strikes his cane to Dean, who tries to roll away.

Only Sam is quick to defend Dean by lunging towards the cane and kicking the leprechaun's side. "Dean, go!" he shouts.

"How did you—"

"Never mind, just go!" Sam gives him a quick smile and elbows the leprechaun's face. "I'll be right behind you."

Dean stands, a little wobbly and more than still a little enchanted, but Sam's presence makes it better. He doesn't know what they were talking about, and what was Sam talking about his brother? But Dean knows he doesn't want to be anywhere else than with Sam Wesson's side.

"Not leaving without you."

"How touchingly sweet," the leprechaun sneers through bloodied nose.

Dean slams the butt of his gun to the leprechaun's side just as Sam whirls with superhuman speed and lifts him, throwing him to the air. The leprechaun gives out an unearthly shriek just as the rest of fairyland starts to scream.

Dean grabs Sam's hand. "Let's get outta here," he suggests, tugging him to a run.

Sam grins, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "C'mon, firstborn, we have to get to the camp. The portal should be there."

The place must give them inhuman speed and strength because they end up finding the clearing in no time. Dean can see the same hazy fog layer their camp, and he thinks it might be how fairies look at their realm—different and bright, when to humans, it's a little bit darker.

They're almost there when Dean turns to Sam curiously. "Hey, what was that you said about your broth—"

--

Dean lands on his stomach and tries not to heave. "Oh god," he pants. "Oh my god."

"Dean?" Sam's worried voice hovers over him.

Sam. It makes bile rise into Dean's throat again, makes him gag. "Oh god," he moans. "What have I done?"

Sam kneels next to him, and Dean knows, just knows Sam is worrying like the worry-wart nerd that he is. "Are you...do you need something?"

"Dude," Dean grits his teeth, "I fucking drank Master Cleanse for months. My stomach is craving burgers."

Sam sighs in relief. "Oh, is that all?"

"NO, SAM, THAT IS NOT ALL. I just...I..." And Dean ends up lying on the grass next to their tent. Jesus, the tent where there might be their wet spots and fucking condoms in Dean's pack that they never got around doing. And it might be good they didn't get to use it because Dean just had sex with his brother.

"Sammy, I'm dying," he moans.

This time, Sam kicks his legs. "Jesus, you're a drama queen. Get up, we have to get out of here." Sam's voice sounds shaky, but he also sounds more determined. He crawls into their tent—Better him than me, Dean thinks forlornly—and deflating the air mattress.

Dean manages to quell his uneasy feeling enough to help Sam pack. Hours must have passed compared to the minutes they were in fairyland, because the sun is beginning to rise. They have another few hours of hiking before they can reach the road.

They're silent while they take to the trail. Sam tries to help him up, but Dean only slaps his hand away irritably. "I'm not a damsel," he mutters.

Sam's lips thin. "No, but you're acting like a bitch."

"Jerk." Dean clips the gas stove to his bag. He resists the urge to check his phone, knowing all the messages there are meaningless. "Fuck."

The entire hike is spent in silence.

--

Dean has almost forgotten about the Prius until they get to the edge of the woods. He wordlessly hands the keys over to Sam in a pout. "You drive," he starts, then gasps when Sam grabs him hand to pulls him closer.

"Listen," Sam says conversationally, "we're going to talk about this when we get back to the hotel. Not the motel we're used to, but to the hotel that Sam Wesson booked for both of us."

"We still have to get our car," Dean says.

"We'll do that," Sam tells him, his eyes hard. "But you're going to listen to me now. Didn't you hear what the leprechaun said?"

"What about it?" Dean asks guardedly.

"We've soulbonded." Sam's grip on Dean's wrist tightens, and he pulls Dean closer to him. It's only normal for Dean—normal even before—to lean closer, to grab his brother's shoulders before he stumbles. Only this time, Sam's arms wrap around his waist to hold him there. "Soulbonded," he breathes into Dean's ear. "We might be able to defeat Heaven and Hell this way."

"So you're saying gay incest can save the day?" Dean asks doubtfully. "Really, Sam?"

"Why not?" Sam argues. "It's the only card we have. The best purity that might stop Lucifer."

"And the ultimate sin that might stop angels?" Dean asks skeptically, but his fingers are already threading through Sam's hair, his neck, pulling him closer. "Doesn't it absolve us if we didn't know about it?"

"I know, and I still want," Sam tells him, leaning against Dean's forehead. "I've wanted for years. Before this, before I left, it was you."

Dean lets out a sigh, knowing that this is it. A confession, more or less the same Dean's would be. He closes his eyes. "Then let's make it consensual," he replies gruffly, and tips his head to kiss Sam.

The kiss is different from before, less hurried but more knowing. Sam kisses like a Winchester now, and Dean knows exactly who he's kissing: the one who always had his back, the one who defied his words to bring him back, the one who choose to become a demon in order to protect him, the one Dean has to protect back.

And he's all Dean's now.

On the highway behind them, a car passes by with a screeching honk. "Get a room!" someone yells.

Dean breaks off the kiss and wonders at the glint in Sam's eyes. He wonders if it's the same in his.

Dean asks mischievously, "Hey, what did you say about that hotel you booked?"

-end-

RH Bill

2012-12-17T23:05:31Z

Last night, I spent part of the night following the news through Twitter and Inquirer. At 9pm, the Senate and the Congressmen finally approved the Reproductive Health Bill into a law after it languished for 13 years. This Bill legally gives women the right to choose how many children they want to have, to have hospitalized care after abortion (whether natural or induced), the right for people to have other birth control methods instead of mere abstaining, and for children to learn what sex is from school.

I've been following this Bill for a long time, and last night made me so happy I burst into tears.

There are so many things going wrong with this world, but I believe this is the right path.

Deliberations on the final version of the law will go on today. Let's see.

(J2 CWRPS AU fic) "All Things Bright and Beautiful"

2011-12-28T10:00:13Z

All Things Bright and Beautiful
Jared/Jensen CWRPS AU
4500~ words, rimming, barebacking, lapsex, schmoop, NC-17
for tebtosca in spn_j2_xmas
(Names are in no way associated with the real people/animals/animal owners.)

When Jared covers for the Saturday emergency shift, Chad grouses, "This place is deader than my 90 year old grandma."

"Nana Murray is alive, doofus."

"I was talking about my other grandma, ass."

"Douche, she's also alive!"

"She wishes she was, she might as well be," Chad retorts easily.

There's a thud from the staff room, and Katie opens the door quietly, wincing at the light. "Can you keep it down?" she whispers hoarsely. Jared thinks she looks like a drugged rabbit. "Dying over here. Please?"

"That's why you shouldn't drink ten shots in a row, short-stuff," Chad yells back gleefully.

Katie half-heartedly flips him before softly shutting the door again.

"So it looks like it's going to be just you and me," Chad starts to say.

It's either Murphy's Law or a godsend—Jared will decide later—when a jeep parks haphazardly right in front of their steps and the door flings open. A guy rushes past the waiting counter, with a fluffy white animal in his arms.

"Um, please," the guy says frantically, shoving the thing—and now Jared can see it is indeed a dog—before Chad's face. "I need a doctor—"

"What's the problem?" Jared asks briskly, all business. The guy looks so close to breaking down, and he doesn't protest when Jared peers down to see any immediate concerns, but the dog only manages to give a steady stream of yips and growls at him.

The guy doesn't seem to care, following Jared gamely into the examination room. "Icarus—I was baking brownies, and I let it cool off for only a couple of minugtes, I swear. And then he ate all of it—the whole pan, and some dark chocolates that I—"

"How big was the pan?" Jared interrupts, checking Icarus' vital stats, noting how the dog still looks happy and perky.

"Um...nine by thirteen." The guy keeps hovering next to Jared, whispering, "It's gonna be okay, Ick, just hang in there."

Jared smiles. "Okay, I'm gonna get Icarus' stats okay, check his heart rate and stuff," he tells the guy. When he nods, Jared gives Icarus a firm but friendly scratch on his scruff. Icarus barks and starts sniffing his hand. "You're gonna have to fill up some forms, but we'll take care of that later."

"Okay," the guy says quietly.

Jared explains that he will induce vomiting, since Icarus is a small dog and with his weight, chocolate has the potential for being dangerous. The guy nods throughout, his hand never far away from Icarus' scruff. Icarus obviously adores his master, obeying him even though it is clear he would love to explore the entire room.

However, when they finally get Icarus to heave, his expression is so woeful and put-off that Jared can't resist giving him a final scratch on the head.

"You're gonna have to monitor him for a few hours," Jared advises. "He's starting to feel the effects of caffeine and sugar. Icarus is gonna be wired, man, so I suggest you get coffee and someone to take over for you."

"Right," the guy nods, then squeezes Icarus into his large arms. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, Doctor...?"

"Jared," Jared tells him. Now that he finally stops focusing on the dog, Jared is startled to realize that the guy is gorgeous. He's practically skipping as he follows them out to the waiting space where Chad is waiting. "Icarus is gonna be fine. I have to admit," he continues with a laugh, "I wasn't expecting a guy like you to have such a small dog."

As soon as it comes out of his mouth, Jared just barely resits clapping a hand over his mouth. Jesus, just because he doesn't get laid regularly doesn't mean he should start flirting with a client. Even though his actual client is Icarus. Okay, this is really getting weird.

Regardless of Jared's internal freak out, the guy only smiles. "Don't let that fool you, I'm a real man," he jokes, then much to Jared's delight, he blushes. "Right. Um. Thanks, doc. I'll probably have to bring Icarus back, huh? So you can check him—"

"Doctor Padalecki," Chad has the gall to cut in, "Michelle's waiting for you."

A red-faced little girl—tears and mud streaking her cheeks—holds up a scraggly kitten. "I ran over him with my bike," she sobs.

Jared immediately kneels down next to her, already focusing on shushing the little girl while examining the thin kitten. Behind him, he can hear Chad cheerfully leading the guy away with his usual, "Thanks for visiting us, Mr. Ackles, we'll mail you the—"

When Jared eagerly stumbles out of the examination room, Mr. Ackles is long gone.

The last hope that Jared might have for meeting Mr. Ackles again is for Icarus to visit the animal clinic, but Chad tells Jared that the guy revealed Icarus has a regular vet at the other side of town and no, Jared, you're not allowed to look at his number or my job is screwed.

Jared doesn't bother pointing out that Chad is always bordering getting fired, but whatever.

At least he got Mr. Ackles' first name, although Jared can't be sure if Chad is shitting with him when he tells Jared that Mr. Ackles' name is Jensen.

Still, Jared doesn't spare Jensen Ackles any more thoughts for the entire week. Come Monday for his regular shift, he meets more people and animals that he cares to remember. Young men and women flirt with him, and Jared laughs and flirts back, but not seriously.

He's not on-duty the next weekend, and he decides to take his two large dogs to the dog park nearby for some serious quality time. As soon as he grabs their leashes, Harley and Sadie practically gallop to the front door, eagerly waiting for him to get there.

Jared laughs, scratches their ears while he puts on the leashes. "I more time with other people's pets and hardly enough time with you, huh?"

Sadie only noses him forgivingly, but Harley pointedly looks out the door.

Once they get to the dog park, Jared lets them run around and fetch the toys he throws around. While Sadie is more refine, Harley tries to get in trouble by chasing other people's dogs until Jared claps his hands and calls him.

It doesn't worry Jared until Sadie decides to take a break while Harley bounces off to catch Jared's Frisbee. Harley is a big dog, but Jared never had to worry about his size before—until he hears a shout, some yipping, and Harley's unmistakable WOOF. Jared grabs Sadie's leash and jogs towards the commotion.

The sight that greets him makes him gasp: Harley's snout clamped on a furry white thing's neck—Jared is sure it's a dog—growling and shaking, while the white dog continues to bark, regardless of the teeth around its neck. Jared claps his hand and whistles, commanding Harley's attention. "Harley!" he calls out.

Harley's eyes turn to him briefly, but he only shakes his head with a soft grumble. Jared tries not to cry because he can see someone nearing them, and it's likely the owner.

"Icarus, what the hell—"

Shit fucking damn, it's Jensen Ackles.

Jared knows he shouldn't, but he grabs Harley's leash immediately. It sends some sort of signal to Harley, who immediately removes his jaws of death from Icarus' neck and starts howling. No amount of shushing can stop the howling, and by the time Sadie joins in, Icarus is practically spazzing with jumping around trying to nip Harley's knees.

Jensen stops right next to them, voice booming, "Icarus, come here!"

Icarus gives one final yip before he trots over to Jensen's leg.

Jared quickly kneels next to Harley, not meeting Jensen's eyes. "I'm sorry, man—I swear, Harley's not like this—I don't know what came over him—" he babbles. He clips the leash back on Harley's collar, and Harley only gives a disapproving snort.

"Is that...Dr. Padalecki?" Jensen's voice penetrates through Jared's mental suicide.

Jared looks up with a weak smile. "Oh, um. Hi, Jensen. And oh, hey, it's Icarus." He gives the dog a half-hearted wave.

Icarus only growls and tries to gnaw Jensen's shoelaces.

Jared runs a hand through his hair. "Listen, I'm really sorry. I'm...I can get you a free check-up in our clinic? I don't know what came over him. Icarus doesn't even look delicious. Not that I think your dog isn't cute or anything. He's cute! In a sort of manly dog way." Icarus transfers his growls to Harley, who quickly scampers behind Jared's legs with a whimper. "My dog wasn't seriously trying to eat your dog," he finally says miserably.

Jensen bursts out laughing. "Did you...oh, man, if I have a dollar for every time Icarus annoys other dogs, we'll be building our own dog park inside our mansion."

Jared's heart soars in relief although there's a strange lurch in his stomach as the word "we". "Um...so you're not...?"

"No, Jared, I'm not gonna sue you," Jensen says warmly. He kneels down and somehow does this very manly thing that shows off his biceps while he cradles Icarus in his arms. "Although I have to ask how you managed to get my name."

Jared grins. This he can handle. "Um, your file, actually. Chad—the secretary?—he let me peek into your file. Not because I was stalking you or anything, I was concerned about Icarus. And who your other doctor was. Is." Sadie nudges Jared's hand comfortingly, as if she knows how painfully bad this is going for her master. He sighs. "She's a good vet," he manages to spit out.

It's a lie. He knows Dr. Sherman from across town and she's an old coot who only cares about cats.

But Jensen only nods, although Jared does notice he looks a bit disappointed. "Right, um. Actually, I'm thinking of changing Icarus' vet...transferring him to your clinic? It's closer and more convenient."

"Well, I'm not totally unbiased," Jared tries.

"And there's this really adorable vet there who seems to like Icky even when he puked half-digested brownies all over him," Jensen teases.

And that right then almost makes Jared's heart stop. He stares into Jensen's eyes, a goofy grin spreading on his face. He might stand there longer without saying another word until Icarus starts wriggling and yipping, which distracts Jensen from staring expectantly at Jared's face.

"Yes!" Jared blurts out. Sadie sniffs and Harley barks, and Jared realizes that there was no question asked. He wants to bury himself into the ground. "I mean—"

"Great, see you on Friday!" Jensen tells him cheerfully, and slips a piece of paper into Jared's hand.

Jensen shushes Icarus again as he turns away. Harley strains from his leash in an effort to follow them, but Jared manages to hold on before he gets into another accident.

Beside them, Sadie simply sighs.

Their first date is amazing, even though Jared trips on their way to their table, and Jensen steps into his toes when they get chased out of the restaurant for overstaying. In the process, Jared learns that Jensen is working as a masseuse while taking his master's in Physical Therapy. The brownies he was baking was for a charity their spa organized, but he bought a large batch to replace the ones Icarus ate. Jensen loves to bake and, because God doesn't stop handing out miracles to hot men, he equally loves to cook. Icarus also used to be Jensen's roommate's dog, but she moved to DC and couldn't take Icky with her, so Jensen offered to take care of him instead.

Jared tries not to talk about his pets—a lot of his previous dates told him it's like talking about his kids—but he can't not talk about some of the craziest pets he has to look into: from a pet lizard to a goldfish, to an actual alpaca (that one belonged to a local zoo, though). Eventually, he ends up talking about Harley and Sadie, and he has to end it with a laugh. Jensen only grins, telling him he looks adorable.

When Jared brings Jensen to his apartment, Jensen gives him a kiss that makes his toes curl. He crowds Jensen against the front door while Jensen's arms wrap around his neck, and they end up making out in the hallway until Icarus' wild barking interrupts them. Jared stays long enough to pat Icarus, who jumps wildly around Jared's legs until he leaves.

They end up texting each other the entire week until they can establish their next dates. Jensen takes him ice-skating, where they end up with more bruises and even more laughter. They watch an action movie and find out that while Jared likes the occasional pretentious artsy-fartsy films, he won't say no to a solid action movie that Jensen seems to like better.

Jensen also takes him to a bar, where it turns out his friends in a band are regular performers. Jared sweats through the deliberations for an hour, until Chris and Steve concede that Pearl Jam is cool.

With a few beers in him, they stumble back to Jared's house, holding each other up. Jared's laughing at something Jensen said—he can't remember, and he doesn't expect it to return anytime soon when Jensen growls, "M'sure your dick fits right into m'hand."

Jared can't get the keys into the lock fast enough.

Which is, of course, the exact time Harley and Sadie immediately tumble into his legs, demanding for food/affection/walks. Jared's heart tightens—it's this exact time that his dates laugh and tell him to forget about the dogs and just show them the bedroom—and he turns to apologize to Jensen.

Only Jensen is smiling and scratching Sadie's head. "You give them what you want and I'll be waiting for you in the bedroom. If you can give me directions...?"

"Second door to your right," Jared croaks out.

He is going to keep this man if it kills him.

Jared takes them out for a quick run around the block to let them do their thing, before they zing back to the house. His hands are practically shaking as he pours the sack of doggy food into their bowl, just imagining Jensen waiting on his bed and...

Jared gives his babies a quick pat on the head, washes his hands, and practically skids towards his bedroom.

He doesn't really know what he's expecting when he gets there, but he thinks he should get a prize for not coming in his pants right then and there. Jensen is naked—glorious freckled skin and gorgeous dick half-hard and resting on his stomach—while he stretches on Jared's bed. He blinks sleepily when Jared comes in.

Jensen pulled off the covers. Jared doesn't know how he deserves him.

"Sorry, I was—I just," Jared stammers.

But Jensen gives him a lazy smile, already returning to the land of awareness. "S'no problem," he says, voice hoarse from whisky and beer, and Jared would want it to be a lot more. Jensen holds out his hands with a grin. "Sorry, I was trying to be seductive but I fell asleep."

"You pulled back the sheets," Jared says happily.

Jensen laughs. "C'mere, you. Get naked."

In a flash, Jared is practically ripping off the buttons of his shirt in his haste to remove them. Jensen even ends up laughing when Jared trips over his pants. "I'm reconsidering my decision to transfer Icarus to your clinic. If you're half as incompetent in getting naked, I'm afraid what'll happen to you when Icarus decides to puke on you."

"He's already puked on me, ass," Jared says, and lands on Jensen with a whumpf just as Jensen gives an un-manly squeak. They lie there for a while before Jared pushes back on his elbows to grin down at him. "Hi."

"Wow, you're a real lady killer," Jensen dead-pans.

"Lucky for me there's no lady in this room," Jared whispers back, sliding his fingers down Jensen's skin, pinching his nipples, slowly building a determined trail reaching downwards.

Jensen jerks into his touch with a slight moan. "Y-yeah, good for me too oh fuck—" he grits out just as Jared's fingers wrap around his dick and gives it a hearty jerk. Jensen buries his face into the crook of Jared's neck, nipping at his collar and growling out nonsense like, "God your hands are," and "Yeah, like that, yeah—".

Jared rolls to his side so he can jerk Jensen off, and with his other hand he smeared precome from the slit to use it as lube over Jensen's balls. Jensen bites his lip, manages to gasp, "You're a dirty guy, Doctor."

"You have no idea," Jared growls, and twists his wrist just so, enough that it sends Jensen arching into the bedspread and thrusting into the warmth of Jared's fingers as he comes.

They lie in bed for a long time, catching their breath. Then Jensen snuggles closer to Jared, frowning when he looks up. "Hey, uh. You didn't...?"

"You're tired," Jared assures him, kissing his mouth. "And really, I'm just excited to have you here so there's no rush."

"Or you can fuck my mouth," Jensen's voice wafts into Jared's head.

It might just be a figment of Jared's imagination; after all, his boyfriend is lying in his arms in post-orgasmic haze while Jared sprawls beside him with a boner that hasn't been touched by someone else for a while. He dismisses the notion and prepares to cuddle Jensen.

"So, you up for it?" Jensen asks.

"Hmmh?"

Jensen's replies uncertainly, "Uh...you fucking my mouth?"

Jared jumps up so quickly that Jensen almost face-plants into the mattress. "Are you—is that—"

Jensen quickly holds up his hands. "Hey, it was just a thought, if you don't want it—"

"You have lips that I would love to fuck," Jared tells him dumbly.

"Guess that's a yes," Jensen says brightly.

Jared growls and tackles him again, thoroughly glad when Jensen's moans indicate his arousal instead of pain. "That's an 'oh hell YEAH'," he leers. But because he's still a considerate guy, he orders, "You have to tell me how you want it, babe."

Jensen's eyes flash at being called "babe", but he only swallows it and presses his stubbled jaw grazing Jared's neck when he presses his lips against his ear. "I want it hard and fast," he breathes. "Can you do that, Jared? Hold me down while you fuck my mouth?"

Jared responds by flipping Jensen to his back and holding his hands over his head. "Like that?" he pants, scooting his legs to straddle Jensen's chest. His dick bobs closer to Jensen's mouth, smearing precome over Jensen's lips. "You like that, Jensen? Y'gotta tell me, man, or I'll—"

"C'mon," Jensen moans, squirming in his firm hold. "God, you're so big, can't wait to feel your cock down my throat, Jared, please!"

"Yeah." Jared's heart is pounding against his ears. He seriously can't believe that he has this hot guy—who doesn't even mind that Jared has to run out of their dates to feed his dog—asking him to basically hold him down and have his way with him. "Yeah, Jensen—"

He starts off slow, mindful of Jensen's every reaction: the hitch in his breath, the slight flaring of his nose, how his eyes roll back as soon as the length of Jared's cock hits the back of his throat. When a moan gurgles and vibrates through Jared, it shoots prickles of lightning into his skin that shatters his resolve and snaps his hips forward. It's only when Jensen chokes and tries to break out of Jared's hold that Jared jumps back, rubbing Jensen's chest.

"Jensen...Jensen, Christ, you okay?" he asks worriedly.

Jensen coughs, wiping stray tears from his eyes. "Fuck that was hot," he gasps, before giving Jared his most blinding grin.

Jared gapes at him. "How are you even real?"

"Think you can do it again?" Jensen asks. "If you hold on to my hair, maybe? And I can—Jesus!" he yelps.

Because Jared is shooting up straight and practically manhandling Jensen into kneeling, right in front of his still-rock hard dick. Jensen looks like he's going to protest, but Jared only feeds him what he asks for. Jensen—god, the way he moves—simply takes it, only takes hold of Jared's thighs before Jared's fingers curl around the back of Jensen's head.

He keeps going because there's no sign of protest. Jensen gives appreciative sobs, eventually surrendering his movement to Jared's pounding. His tongue stops trying to taste Jared's come, and he lets his lips shape the pounding motion sliding down his throat. Jared tries to close his eyes, tries to focus on the sensation—the slide through Jensen's tongue and down his throat, the thrill of escaping Jensen's teeth, and the electrifying sight of Jensen kneeling before him: compliant, obedient, and fucking happy to be there.

"Jen...Jensen—" Jared manages to grit out, gasping when Jensen tries to open his mouth wider and failing. "Jensen, if I don't stop now—"

Jensen makes a gesture that Jared interprets as stop, which Jared manages to do—surprisingly without inflicting any damages on himself. He stumbles back to his bed, vision white and ready to jerk himself off.

Except Jensen manages to produce lube from somewhere and now has two fingers buried in his ass. "You trying to kill me?" Jared groans, scrambling to squeeze the base of his cock.

"hope not," Jensen moans, the slick sounds of fingers slipping through his hole making Jared shudder. "Still want you to fuck me."

"Then ride me," Jared demands. "Jen, if you—"

"Yeah," Jensen breathes, practically crawling towards him. Jared blinks, not surprised to find that Jensen is practically hard again. "Yeah, I can..."

He straddles Jared's lap, legs wrapped around his pelvis with Jensen's cock trapped between them. Jared reaches into Jensen's ass, marvelling at how they fit perfectly into his palms. Although he managed to manhandle Jensen into kneeling earlier, it still surprises him that he can easily cup Jensen's buttocks and lift him.

"You like having big things in you, huh?" Jared whispers roughly.

"You can use your fingers if your other limb needs a rest," Jensen whispers. His voice his wrecked, shattered by the face-fucking he received.

Jared groans and jams two fingers into the slippery hole, moaning at the tightness engulfing him. He can already imagine it wrapped around his dick. "Y'know, this kind of explains why you have such a girly dog," he tries to say.

"FUCK!" Jensen howls when Jared curls his finger, arching before him. "Fuck, Jared, please, please fuck me!"

"I gotcha, babe," Jared murmurs against his skin, pressing his fingers one more time against Jensen's prostate. Jensen wriggles his hips, alternately trying to force more fingers in and seeking friction for his dick against Jared's stomach, but Jared studiously avoids touching him the next time. "Okay. Okay, Jensen, you're gonna ride me, okay? Fuck, I have to come soon and I don't—"

"Want it," Jensen gasps. "God, you ridiculously hot—fuck me, please—"

This time, Jared doesn't take his time. He simply guides Jensen as he lowers himself to his dick—closer and more intimate, and Jared is sure the guy is splitting on his cock. It's good, amazing even. They pause briefly, Jensen resting his forehead against Jared's. "Fuck, you're big," he breathes, warm air puffing against Jared's nose.

"You didn't notice when you were blowing me?"

"I was trying not to hope for too much." Jensen wriggles slightly, wicked grin spreading on his face at the way Jared tightens his hold on his hips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Jared pants.

And then it's fucking perfect. Jensen lifts himself up and slams down again, prompting them to groan together. He sets a brutal pace, with Jared helping by digging his fingers into his hips and buttocks, then pulling him down again. Jared keeps the snap of his hips into a minimum, content to let Jensen drive this time around. Jensen is beautiful: sweat glistening his forehead and body while he concentrates.

When Jared wraps a hand around Jensen's cock again, they only falter for a second before they settle into a harsher beat of rising and sinking, fingers spreading pre-come over his hard length.

Jared tries to wait for Jensen, but he's been hard for what feels like hours. His gasped, "Jen—Jensen, gonna—" are only met with Jensen's hips firmly pressing down and his hole tightening against Jared's cock that Jared ends up screaming into Jensen's mouth to lessen the volume of his voice while he comes.

It's only when Jared comes back from his temporary blackout that realizes that Jensen has fallen next to him on the bed, still stripping his dick. Jared grunts, reaches out to wrap his large hand around Jensen's to help him, and together they jerk Jensen off until he comes again, biting and grunting into Jared's collarbone.

"You're fucking hot," Jared decides approximately five minutes later when they manage to catch their breaths.

"I wouldn't know, with the way you were pounding my ass," Jensen tells him wearily.

And when they've cleaned up the best they can despite their weariness, Jensen yawns and says petulantly, "And my dog is not girly."

"Wha—?" Jared mumbles, groggy.

"M'dog. Icarus." Jensen flails into the darkness. "Just 'cause I like...y'know, being manhandled...and because you're seriously built like a brick...it doesn't mean...my dog is not girly."

It's adorable how much heat Jensen can still inject in his statement even in the middle of his grogginess. Jared smiles and snuggles closer. "'Course not," he agrees. "Icarus. Not girly. Ergo, you're not girly."

"Damn right," Jensen leers sleepily, fingers skimming over Jared's heart.

Jared smiles and doesn't say anything about Jensen defending his manhood with a Cockapoo.

The best part?

Is when Jensen kisses Jared awake roughly three hours later to tell him apologetically that he has to go home and check on Icarus.

Jared happily decides he's going to marry this guy.

Three days later, Jared is finding it a good thing that he never reiterates to Jensen how girly his dog is.

Because Icarus? Is vicious. He pretends to be a scared, adorable dog when he gets to Jared's house, but as soon as Harley bounces nearer to investigate him, Icarus starts making high-pitched yipping that Harley immediately skids to a stop and tries to escape to the nearest exit.

He takes most of Jared's bookshelf with him.

Jared would be annoyed, except it makes Jensen laugh so hard he's practically hiccupping, and Sadie looks like she's pleased someone manages to put Harley in his place. So Jared forgives the little monster and ends up kissing Jensen silly, before bribing him in helping put his bookshelf back together.

They find Harley trying to eat Icarus again, but Jared later finds out that Icarus can actually pull away if he wants to, except he seems to find being nipped by a gigantic dog enjoyable. He also tries to bother Sadie, but she's a wiser dog and simply ignores him or gently steps on Icarus until he calms down. It doesn't stop Icarus from trying to rile her up, but he eventually tires himself and ends up sleeping with his nose buried in Sadie's ear.

Jensen points out that Icarus is a brave dog for taking them on. Jared tells him Icarus just loves the attention.

Between pulling shifts in the clinic, keeping their dogs healthy and happy, and doing the same with his boyfriend (albeit with worded communication lines and a bonus of extra hot sex), Jared thinks his life can't get any better.

And then, one day, Jensen brings a Goldendoodle home.

end.

(art, Supernatural) "How Castiel Could Have Single-Handedly Saved Sam/Dean in Season 4"

2011-09-19T16:29:02Z

A Supernatural art that I did intermittently while doing snupin_santa. This is something I found in my sketchbook about a month ago, and I ended up practicing my coloring here. I drew this around Season 5, when I wanted so much for Sam and Dean to PLEASE HUG AND NEVER LET GO.

It's silly, but it was fun working on it. :3 (I am in no way bashing S4, I love a lot of episodes there.)

ART! How Castiel Could Have Single-Handedly Saved Sam/Dean in Season 4
Sam/Dean, Castiel; Supernatural
PG, size: 800x790

The red string of fate~ Castiel meticulously ties the severed bond. Dean is thinking of giving him pie as thanks. Sam is indulging them both.

Snupin Santa advert 2011

2011-08-20T08:19:40Z

Snupin Santa is now open for prompts until August 22!

Sign up rules! Note that there are some changes from the previous sign-ups.

And more importantly...Sign up here!

I've been over-thinking this, obviously, but I'll likely recycle some of the prompts I didn't get before, and add some. I AM OVERLY-INVESTED ON TEDDY LUPIN AS PART OF SNUPIN. And I'm kind of worried because dungeons_master's gift last year, Lost and Found/Hardships of a Teenage Metamorphagus is so AMAZING that I don't want to make a similar prompt.

So join, join, join!

this year, I...

2011-08-06T11:56:46Z

Last year, I went to 5 different field excursions within a few span of months which stressed me out, stressed my family out, and affected my publication abilities. BUT this year, I managed my field excursions better, which resulted me having to bow out from a paying job, but getting a better one with less stress after a month.

So this is what I've been up to this entire year.

Catanauan
I wasn't supposed to join this project, but there were some political issues that I won't elaborate on here. I will just say I managed to join 1 week, but I was part of this excavation the year before.

When I arrived after a 10-hour trip, I was told we were supposed to give an exhibit for the locals, and only had 24 hours to do it. 24 hours, of course, providing we don't sleep. There are no malls or any art supplies within the next 5 hours of the area. The place we were mounting the exhibit in was the same place where we sleep. Our materials are: a computer, an inkjet printer, some photos, artifacts, ropes, and bamboos.

Miraculously, we finally finished 6 hours before deadline.

This is a replica of a burial jar of a child. The face, the beer, and the hat are the results of 5 of us wasting 30 minutes arguing over how to showcase the photos and this replica. We needed a stress-reliever.

More badass! We took some pictures and called it a night. The exhibit was a success. :)

This is the surprise in our trench, "Context 368"--a female juvenile. We weren't expecting her in our trench because ours is too far from the concentrated area. Plus, we weren't expecting an extended burial in a site which only yielded burial jars for the past 3 seasons.

And then, here she is. Isn't she gorgeous? My companion in the trench would sometimes stop working just to stare at her, big silly grins on our faces.

Batangas

I've been a part of this project since 2008, so this place is close to my heart. No burials here so far, only structures. We're comfortable enough in the area that our leader brings her dog. The project always starts on April and ends on May, which is the summer months in the Philippines.

This is the breakfast on our first day. Everyone was saying they weren't hungry, they were too tired (we started travelling at 4am), but when we saw the food, we finished EVERYTHING. This is bopis (pork lungs and chili) and bulalo (boiled flesh and bone marrow).

My friend running through the rice fields with our project leader's dog. The dog LOVES is there, he gets to chase carabaos, goats, and munch rice stalks. There's actually another dog with them, but she went on ahead, trotting like a lady.

Zamboanga

When I was invited to do a short survey in the southern Mindanao, I jumped at the chance. I have never been to that area--only at the northern part by my hometown (Agusan)--so I was excited to do some survey. Unfortunately, it was only for 5 days and within a limited area so I couldn't go around as much as I wanted to. The camp was a potential mining area, and we were brought in to do some archaeological studies.

The area we stayed in was 680 metres above sea level. Not very high, but still high enough. See this:

with this:

FOG. FOG EVERYWHERE. And I should admit, I wasn't prepared for the heavy rain and cold. Sweat, rain and mud I can go with. The cold? Not so much. Every night, I would wear 3 shirts, 2 pants, and have 2 blankets over me.

I hate the cold.

My rocking boots~

Unfortunately, I forgot to bring socks, since I always wear hiking sandals or flip-flops while walking. It's lighter, and I have more control over my toes when I have to climb over rocks, have to cross rivers, and can pull off my feet from sinking mud without worrying if I have to leave my sandals behind.

The sandals at the upper-right is mine. Notice the mud everywhere! XD

But because I left my socks and wore the boots without them, I ended up with blisters. Every step had me cringing from OMG THE PAIN.

My feet wrapped with BANDAGES OF DOOM. Also, those are my rubber slippers. They look so white~

The creek that we walked to and followed temporarily. Oh, the military is there just for companions; the area isn't really infested with NPA or anything within the immediate area. I had fun talking to them, even if they had some ghost stories that had me whining in the middle. XD

And when we were coming down, we saw...more rice fields!

I'm actually stunned I managed to take this picture, as I was inside a moving truck.

And that's what I've been doing for the past year. *lol* It's not boring, I swear, but it was fun. I'm lucky my job allows me to go to different places I otherwise wouldn't go to, and I get to talk to a lot of people who have different views from me.

But I can actually do without the blisters. *lol*

DH2

2011-07-14T15:59:52Z

Saw DH Part 2 today with blue_cage and there are SO MANY THINGS I want to say, but they can be summarized to:

1. Narcissa wears the pants in the relationship. Oh, you Blacks.

2. And the entire scene with Lily and Snape and a couple with Petunia, all I could think was: dammit, I want that icon'ed.

3. SNAPE. D:

4. WEE!HARRY from POA!

5. Oh Pensieve scene! ALAN RICKMAN, YOU PULL MY HEART SO.

I will troll Snupin Santa 2011 fics for feel-goods now so I can feel better. I need a MASSIVE HUG OF EPIC PROPORTION, GUYS.

Also, blue_cage did something SO AWESOME, and I asked her permission to post it, but I can't wait. :P

OUR WANDS FOR WHEN WE WATCHED. The brownish one with the chain is Lupin's, and the black one is Snape's. <3 Also, that's her sketchpad and celphone. I don't own anything there. *lol*

the start of summer

2011-04-13T16:38:54Z

Summer has officially started here in the Philippines, which means I will be off to field for the next month or so. This is also means no internet for the next few weeks, HORRORS. I know I haven't been posting a lot so my presence won't be missed. *lol*

But I'll be back for a day or two at the end of April for my mother's birthday. Hopefully I can catch up with all your works by then.

See you then! *waves*

Sugarfree, the last

2011-03-01T14:36:12Z

At Jam 88.3, they're streaming Sugarfree's last gig in Eastwood. *fights back tears* NU107 closed their doors last year, and now this.

They're one of the best bands I've ever heard with simple words to songs that resonate. I hope they still end up writing more songs.

Who wants to bet their closing song will be Burnout?

Eta: Okay, it might be Kuwarto.

oftentimes, it's not Sai that Hikaru hears anymore (sadly, there is only silence)

2011-02-27T16:41:50Z

I had this long post about dreams and cemeteries and why I got so scared a couple of weeks ago because of my dreams BUT.

I didn't join blind_go this round, again, but blue_cage sure did and YAY!

And even though I know I'm probably the only one who cares about this, I finally found that Hikaru no Go fic I've been looking for in ages. It is Ogata/Hikaru. It has unrequired!Akira/Hikaru.

It is glorious. And it is finished.

The Relative Value of Things, by glitterati. It is NC17, and has jealous!Akira and jealous!Ogata and Hikaru being so shiny and sad but OMG so bright HE BURNS ME.

While you're there, though, you might want to check out Renegotiation, a Gravitation fic in Maiko's eyes as she talks about her observations on the superstar world, her changing and adult views on Shuichi and Yuki, on love, and how Yuki writes.

Okay, you know what? Just read everything there. Seriously.

Go.

holiday post in February

2011-02-02T08:42:55Z

Happy New Year! This has got to be the latest new year's post. 2010 was an emotional roller coaster for me. During the last days of 2010, a very close family member died--my grandmother's brother, but whom we call "grandfather" as well (musing about it, others may call him my great-uncle?). What followed was a jumble of preparation for his burial, helping out with the family, while still fulfilling our other familial obligations during the holiday break. Then a storm broke out which delayed our flight back to Manila. Coming home was an equally tiring prospect as going on vacation.

Then I went to join an excavation which I also went to last year. This is a partnership that our department had with the Australian National University. This time, I didn't get to excavate a burial jar, but our trench had a surprise--with an extended burial when we weren't expecting any more. It was really fun, although I kept expecting I'm going to die of the cold. Seriously 20 C is NOT a good temperature for me. Contrary to popular opinions of my friends, though, I did not get drunk every night during the field. In fact, I spent many nights going through my records. I'm boring. *lol*

I know this is a piss-poor excuse for not writing more, not even to rec the WONDERS that is my Snupin Santa gift: Lost And Found and Hardships of a Teenage Metamorphagus by dungeons_master. Which...omg. I was literally blown away by this one. It has depth that I never thought anyone will even try to explore, and how the first story led to the epilogue one-shot about Teddy just makes sense. I was particularly amazed and delighted to learn that DM wrote this because I have read DM's works over the years, and reading this was like uncovering something, a masterpiece, you know? And the writing is just EXQUISITE, I could not get enough. It's so satisfying, so LOVELY that I felt so satisfied, like I've just taken a bite of something I've been craving but never new how much.

AH.

So if you're craving mature Severus and Remus being adults, growing as adults, and becoming responsible people while falling in love and taking care of baby!Teddy, this fic is for you. Give it a shot. It's lovely and romantic without being over the top. It's my canon future for them.

Also, I managed to squeeze in my spn_j2_xmas fic before the deadline, and totally forgot to say how much a loved the cute art that was given to me for the exchange: Christmas in Tahiti: an AU where Jared is Jensen's boss who forces his uptight secretary to go to a vacation, then totally tags along with him. ♥

--

I hate to dampen things again, but I will likely be off to field or working on a couple of articles ready for publication soon. So yes, to preempt things, here I sign off again!

ETA: I should also note here that I haven't managed to post again for the A Decade of Snupin project, which makes me sad. UGH, I am fail.

(J2/CW RPS AU fic) "Never Looked the Same" 2/2

2010-12-30T19:13:53Z

Never Looked the Same 2/2
Jared/Jensen, CWRPS AU
NC-17, 12,900~ words (in two parts)
(Names are in no way associated with the real people.)

In which Jensen is a writer. He had a crush on Jared Padalecki when he was Jared's TA. Jared Padalecki is a Hollywood actor. He doesn't remember Jensen. That's okay, Jensen doesn't have a crush on him anymore and he can lie like a pro. He writes fiction, for god's sakes! This is gonna be easy.

When Jensen peers out into the driveway to look for Jared, he bursts out laughing.

Jared puts his hands on his hips and glares at him as soon as Jensen hits the lower ground, still laughing. But his eyes are twinkling, and he leans on the limousine, crossing his arms as he waits for Jensen to come down or die laughing, whichever comes first.

"My prom date actually splurged on the ride," Jensen teases as he draws closer. "Shouldn't I be getting a corsage right about now?"

"It's network-sponsored," Jared admits sheepishly, but he laughs. "Good thing they did because I wondered what kind of hotshot actor picks his date up without a limousine. You should be impressed!"

Jensen presses a kiss, lands at the side of his mouth. He runs a hand over Jared's chest, stroking Jared's arm as he pulls away. "I'm impressed," he whispers, making it clear it's not the only thing he's impressed with.

Jared swallows. "Good. Let's...yeah." He waves at the driver–a large, buff man who is decidedly looking elsewhere–and they get in.

As soon as the door closes, Jared tugs him closer until Jensen is practically sitting on his lap, and gives him a proper kiss–hand cupping Jensen's face, an arm around his waist to draw him closer. They make out for a while, soft and unhurried until Jensen slowly pulls away, eyes closed and a small smile tugging at his lips. "That was nice," he says faintly.

"I know you might think this is too soon," Jared confesses. "I usually wait a few days before I ask someone out again, but last night was..." He trails off, clears his throat. "Last night was good. Even if it didn't end the way I actually wanted." His eyes are dark as he says it.

"We can change that." Jensen shifts closer. His mind is short-circuiting at the way Jared strokes his back, and he keeps thinking, I'm not that nerdy guy Jared knew in college. Who the fuck am I? Because it's all good, and Jensen can see that Jared is seriously into this.

Jared's eyes lower to gaze at his mouth, but he seemingly shakes his head and draws away. "Got to get through this night first," he groans. "So, listen, the network party doesn't only have the cast from my show. All of my friends in the network know I'm dating someone non-business–someone who's not in the show business–so, you know, they can be kind of crazy, too."

"Ah." Jensen starts getting nervous. "Do I have to remember something? Anything?"

"Just be yourself." Jared kisses him, then frowns. "Well, okay, my manager is kind of crazy and stuff, and he has no brain-mouth filter. And his brain is a very scary place to be, so...I try not to go there."

"He's not some sleazy guy threatening to blackmail you, right?"

"Nah. He's also my best friend, so I lucked out–he's a cool guy. He's also scarily good at his job–he handles other people, not only me, but he's kind of honest about what he thinks? It's helped him a lot doing his job in LA. He flew in today, and we're going to meet with some of the producers later." Jared grins. "But don't worry, I won't leave you alone. Got to protect you from the sleazy underworld of Hollywood."

"My hero." Jensen laughs.

--

The limousine drops them off at a ritzy hotel, which makes Jensen nervous. He recognizes some of the actors and directors, some of them from Jared's show, but mostly Jensen only know in passing by reading the newspaper every day.

Jared introduces him to some of the members of the cast, around three of them already gathered by a table. "Hey, guys," he greets once they're within earshot. "This is Dean. Dean, these are my friends: Malik, Genevieve, Katie. Vin Diesel's around here somewhere..."

"Saw some pretty boy dressed in a pretty dress, and you know how Diesel gets," the brunette mentions. "Hi, I'm Genevieve."

"Hi," Jensen says, shaking her hand. He doesn't recognize Genevieve from the show, but he supposes she might be one of the characters he missed.

Genevieve must have read his mind; she smirks and says, "I'm one of the writers. Apparently, writers can go to one of these parties. Lucky me, huh?"

"That's because you're dating one of the producers," the other girl–who must be Katie–puts in. "Jared, he doesn't watch the show?"

"Not a lot," Jensen admits. "I'm one of those people who can't keep up with TV unless it's the History channel or the news."

"I like him already," Malik approves. "Grab some drinks, Dean. Jared can't stop talking about you. Every break from filming, he keeps telling us about this guy he met in the neighborhood he moved into."

"I do not!" Jared protests, blushing. "At least, not every break. Do I?"

Jensen grins at his embarrassed look. "I don't mind, but I think your friends do," he tells him.

"So, Dean," Genevieve says, leaning forward, "you say you write?"

"Poetry, songs, some short stories," Jensen says. Her piercing eyes make him want to squirm, but he forces himself to relax in Jared's arms. "I've published some books, but I make more profit from song-writing."

"Wait, Dean, as in Dean Smith?" Genevieve's eyes lighten and she leans forward excitedly. "Are you Dean Smith?"

Alarmed, Jensen turns to Jared, who's frowning, and Jensen shrugs.

Genevieve squeals. "I love your work! I read Lamentations of Hay Garden last year when it came out, I thought it was brilliant. Genuinely horrifying shit. Fucking awesome writing. Can I have your autograph?"

"Uh..." Jensen looks at Jared helplessly. "M-maybe–"

"Genevieve," Jared warns.

"Girl, remember what we talked about?" Katie teases, laying a hand on Genevieve's arm. "No fangirling in parties."

"I thought that only applies to fangirling actors and directors?" Malik wonders.

Genevieve pouts, but she points at Jensen. "Later, man, maybe I can talk to you? I want to pick that brains of yours apart. Blood, gore, everything."

"Thank you for that fairly graphic description that I will carry in my head," Jared groans. "Quick, Katie, change the topic!"

"Did anyone get the name of the boy Diesel was chasing after?" Katie asks obediently.

Despite the surprise fangirl, Jensen manages to relax. He and Genevieve hit it off, and before long everyone starts discussing horror films. Genevieve has apparently worked for some science fiction scripts a few years back, but found herself getting drawn to cop shows. "It has real-life horror," she tells Jensen, who nods.

Later, Jared excuses both of them, and the group breaks up so they can mingle.

"I thought you use a pseudonym when you publish your works," Jared asks Jensen in a low tone.

Jensen nods. "Yeah, I do."

"But you publish under Dean Smith?" Jared asks. "Do you mean that's your pseudonym?"

Jensen's heart starts to pound. He starts to reply, but he's interrupted by one of the directors from Jared's show, who quickly strikes up a conversation about the upcoming Christmas hiatus. Apparently, Jensen learns, Jared is in her Christmas cards list–not an easy list to get into.

More and more people come up to them, and Jensen learns that, despite the reputation of the industry, everyone genuinely likes Jared. They heap praise for Jared's enthusiasm, and how he always takes the time to get to know even the lowliest writer, down to the PA who organizes his meetings. Jared only blushes, but he grins to show how proud he is of the people he worked with. So far, it's shaping up to be a great night.

Of course, it probably isn't going to last.

Jared catches the eye of someone by the bar, and he whispers to Jensen, "C'mon, I'm going to introduce you to my manager."

"Your best friend who has no brain-mouth filter?"

"That's the one!" Jared says cheerfully, and they near a blond guy, who squints as they approach. Jensen feels his heart starting to pound, and he tries to pull away. "Jared, Jared, I don't think–"

But it's too late. Jared puts his arm around Jensen, and makes him face the guy. "Hey, Dean, this is my manager, Chad Murray. Chad, this is–"

"Jensen! Jensen Ackles!" Chad interrupts, shooting Jared a questioning glance. "What a cool coincidence!" The tone in his voice is anything but, and there is confusion in his eyes.

Jensen is frozen in his spot, and he can see how Jared starts to connect the dots. "But your name is Dean Smith," he says slowly.

"No, he's Jensen Ackles," Chad puts in, bewildered. "I'd recognize those cock-sucking lips everywhere!"

Jesus Christ, the man is clearly insane, and Jensen should have known that when Jared said he went to LA with his best friend and that his manager is his best friend, they would be one and the same. He never counted on ever seeing Chad again.

"Nice to meet you, Chad," Jensen manages to say faintly.

"Hey, Jen, did you ever manage to get the beer stain out of the ceiling? Also, I still say it was all Mike's fault. I was even using a cup like you demanded!"

"Chad, can you excuse us for a minute? Jensen and I need to talk," Jared says tightly.

Chad blinks. "But Sravejo is asking about you, man. I got the itinerary for that summer project you wanted–"

"Chad," Jared barks, and Jensen jerks in his grip. "Just a minute. Please."

Chad holds up his hands. "Okay, but Sravejo waits for no actor, you know that! Nice meeting you again, Jensen. Do you still talk to Chris and Steve?"

"Chad!"

"Later, dudes!" Chad walks away with a jaunty wave.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, not looking at each other. But Jensen can feel Jared's hold on his wrist tighten, more and more until Jensen can't help wincing. At the sound of his voice, Jared immediately drops his hold. His voice shakes with anger, saying, "What the fuck. Seriously, Dean. What the fuck?!"

"I was going to tell you," Jensen says quietly, then he realizes they're still in the middle of a party, with some people including journalists and photographers looking at them curiously. "Jared, please, let's do this privately."

Jared looks around, and some of the anger in his eyes fades. He nods, and he leads them through a series of rooms until they find themselves in an empty function hall.

As soon as Jensen closes the door, Jared starts pacing, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, was this some kind of joke to you? A trick? Jesus, I fucking believed–" He stops.

"Jared," Jensen begs, trying to grab his hand, but Jared only draws away. "There's no–I wasn't trying to do anything. And I wanted to tell you so many times–"

"Then why didn't you?!" Jared explodes.

"Everything was going so well, and I didn't even plan for this charade to go on for so long." At Jared's stormy glare, Jensen spreads his arms. "Did you think it was actually fun for me?!"

"I don't know, Jensen, you tell me!"

"You didn't even remember who I am!" Jensen shouts. "You waltzed in that goddamn coffee shop and looked at me like I'm some new person you just met on the street–"

"You were just some person I met on the street!"

"I fucking blew you in a college party!" Jensen yells. "I spent half a year pining after you and then after I finally get to be with you, you run off to fucking LA!"

"So you came here to humiliate me?" Jared asks incredulously. "Is this why you're here?!"

"Grow up, Jared, it's not all about you," Jensen snaps, then sighs. "Look, obviously you didn't want me then...and that's cool, it's fine. I got over it eventually. Even helped me gain perspective and shit. And now I'm doing great–I was doing great."

"Yeah, until I came along and made you in a serial liar," Jared says bitterly.

Jensen shakes his head, turning away. Jared looks angry, but mostly he just look sad, and that's how Jensen is feeling at the moment.

"Jared–" Jensen tries to reach out, then tries not to feel hurt at the way Jared twitches away from him. "Okay. Look, I've had three years, and now I just want to apologize if I made you feel violated in any way years ago. I'm sorry I lied to you this time. It's my fault, and I obviously didn't think this through enough. I know it's not...it's not enough, and no amount of apologies are going to make it alright."

Then he takes a deep breath and looks down at his shoes. "I just thought...you know how you make up stories and you wish with everything that you have that you're everywhere but here? Man, that time three years ago, that's what I wanted, the kind of stories I made. And you know what? You ended up liking that guy Dean Smith–the one who wrote those stories, the one who ended up being happy with the dregs of Jensen Ackles' mistakes. So yeah, I didn't want you to know about my name and who I am during your past. But that's all there is. Everything else–this is me now, Jared. I'm sorry–I'm really fucking sorry for what I did. And that it's enough reason why you can't even like me now."

"Jensen," Jared says.

Jensen nods and looks away. "I'll take a cab," he announces. Jared calls him again, but Jensen is already slipping out of the room, through the throng of people, and down the elevator.

--

Jensen doesn't write for three days.

It's like that time three years ago–worrying if he overstepped some boundary with Jared, wondering if Jared will return the calls Jensen made to his dorm room. He sleeps a lot, gets up, diligently refuses to turn on the TV, and spends hours staring at his computer's blank screen.

After the third day, he starts writing: words flow into song lyrics, into poetry, into some kind of drama in his journal. His editor calls to tell him that he doesn't have to send anything in, since he has no overdue from that time he was overflowing with inspiration on–

Well, anyway, two songs are written in the span of two days, and just as Jensen has finished jotting down the lines of another poem, the doorbell rings.

Jensen takes his time opening it. The first few days, he was hoping Jared might call him, or even visit him, but there hadn't been anything. After some time, he realized that Jared probably thought this through and probably realized Jensen's not worth the trouble anyway.

So maybe he isn't expecting it's Jared when he opens, the door, but his heart still breaks a little when he sees it's Steve and Danneel.

"Hey," he says dully, throwing the door open to let them in.

Once inside, Danneel gives him a hug, then presses a warm mug into his hands. "Coffee, made by yours truly." She stares at his eyes. "Shit, he really did a number on you, didn't he?"

"You should see how he looks like," Jensen jokes, but it only falls flat.

"So," Steve says, "Danneel says the best thing to do is to eat ice-cream and watch extremely violent movies, but Chris and I vetoed it, considering that a) I don't secretly have a vagina, and b) I want–"

"–the chance to say 'I told you so', I know," Jensen finishes.

Steve's eyes soften, and he shoulder checks Jensen as they shuffle into the living room where Jensen has been camping out. "Not that," he admonishes. "Although, yeah, you knew it was gonna happen, but the guy was also a prick. I never liked him."

"Yes, you did!" Danneel exclaims. "You said he was alright. You said he was funny!"

"I also said he was a cool kid three years ago, and he still broke Jensen's heart then," Steve points out. He turns to Jensen, his voice turning gentle. "So he hasn't called."

Jensen shakes his head, laughing deprecatingly. "I guess I was the only one emotionally invested in all of this."

Steve and Danneel wince.

"Still, I understand," Jensen goes on. "I mean–LA, man! What're the odds of meeting the guy rejected there, much less have him play you–"

"You didn't play him–"

"Yeah, I did," Jensen interrupts, slouching on the couch. "I mean, he never really liked Jensen Ackles, even before. Why would he even want Dean Smith? Especially when he learns he's actually Jensen Ackles."

Danneel grabs his hand and squeezes it tight. "Sweetie, if he never wanted you, it's his loss. You're cool and amazing, whoever you are. And I can honestly say that even if I didn't know you three years ago, I would date you. If you had a vagina."

"Thanks," Jensen says, and is surprised to find that he means it.

They sit silently for a while, until Steve leans forward and announces brightly, "So, you have any ice-cream in your freezer?"

Jensen laughs, feels like he's about to cry. "Yeah. Yeah, there's still one left."

--

Steve leaves at around early evening, saying he has a gig that night. Jensen and Danneel cook dinner, talking about Jensen's new songs, the old woman customer in the coffee shop who tells Danneel she needs an extra shot every morning ever since her daughter came by to visit, and Misha's latest book acquisitions. Danneel doesn't mention Jared again, although she does let drop that Jared has visited the shop once to buy coffee and Danneel had made someone else serve him.

When Danneel finally leaves, Jensen heaves a sigh and goes back to his computer, determined to at least make a blog entry when the doorbell rings again. He looks at the corner of the room, realizes that Danneel has left her jacket, and sighs as he opens the door.

"I swear, you're going to freeze the next time–" And he stops because there's Jared, standing in his hall, looking sheepish.

They stare at each other silently until Jared clears his throat. "Hey."

"Hey." Jensen stares at him.

Jared nods, peering over his shoulder. "Can I...?" He indicates to the door, and Jensen throws it open so he can follow.

Once they enter the living room, Jensen notices how Jared regards the photographs on the walls and on his desk. He crosses his arms and lets Jared–of course, he would want to know what he missed. But it still feels a bit like being cross-sectioned, and Jensen is quick to slip into a defensive mode.

Finally, Jared shakes his head, laughing softly. "I don't know how I missed it."

Jensen has been expecting this. "Got rid of the glasses, cut my hair and let it bleach with the sun, and got more freckles. I worked out, enough that I filled out. I got a little taller, although I won't ever be as big as a Sasquatch like you. Also, I started wearing shirts instead of those goddamn button-downs."

Jared stares at him, then at the photos again. "You talk differently, too," he mentions.

"I lost my accent, but not all of it," Jensen says dismissively. "It's not a big deal."

"If you talked the way you did before, I think I might have known," Jared tells him. "Or at least figured out that something was up."

Jensen gives him a weak smile. "I'll make sure to remember that," he intones.

Jared visibly hesitates, then says, "I got a call from Chris. Actually, Chris called Mike, who called Chad, who told me that I'm a dick."

"So everyone knows about this?" Jensen gawks.

"Just Mike, and I'm trying to apologize here, so hush." Jared starts pacing, the same way he did just a few nights before. "So yeah, they think I'm a dick, and even Chad thinks I'm a dick, so I guess it's kind of a consensus."

"Chad also thinks Istanbul is just another name for Indonesia," Jensen reminds him awkwardly.

It feels weird saying that because it's something Chad told Jensen when Mike first introduced Chad to them. Jensen had been charmed–that is, he quickly escaped to his room with a blatant lie and started avoiding Chad like a plague. Saying it now, though, makes it feel like those two worlds are colliding too fast for them to keep up.

Jared looks like he's having the same epiphany, and there's another awkward moment between them before Jared goes on, "So it got me thinking, how did I even miss you're Jensen Ackles, when you're the reason I moved to LA in the first place?"

"Oh." What else is there to say about that? Jensen had entertained the thought, but he's managed to convince himself not to be that narcissistic. But now, that Jared is actually admitting it... "You moved because you wanted to, Jared, don't pin that on me."

"What? Wait, no, you don't understand. I told you..." Jared sighs. "I told you I was having personal problems that year, right?" At Jensen's nod, Jared goes on, "I had a girlfriend."

"FUck," Jensen spits out and spins around, ready to grab a drink.

But Jared grabs his hand, pulls him back. "No listen, I had a girlfriend that time. She was smart, sweet, and pretty much everything to me. And then I met Jensen Ackles–you–and you were amazing and shy and so goddamn hot, and you liked hanging out with me even when I asked the stupidest questions just so I can go to your office every week. Sandy and I were already having problems before I met you, and then I just...I realized..." He stops, looks away.

Jensen starts stroking Jared's wrist, willing him to continue. "You realized," he prompts.

"I was so fucking into you," Jared says softly. "When Sandy and I broke up, she told me she hopes that everything goes well for me, because many places in Texas still don't accept gay men as well. And I am. Gay. I maybe freaked out a little bit."

"Shit," Jensen swears. "Did she..."

Jared shakes his head. "She meant it in a good way, and I guess she was afraid for me because she could see how I was always...you were all I talked about, and even my parents were asking me if I was going to invite you during break because...and Chad. Chad was so fucking insufferable that he made me go to all the parties Tom and Mike were in because he said sometimes you went with them." He pauses. "And one night, you did. Go out with them. That was..."

"Yeah," Jensen utters, nodding.

He's told himself otherwise, but he clearly remembers how Jared had flirted, had leaned closer to make sure he can tell Jensen everything to his ear, and how Jensen had been so drunk with happiness that when Jared pulled him into the bathroom, the latch to the door had barely settled before he pushed Jared against the door, fell on his knees, and started nuzzling Jared's crotch like a whore.

Jared looks away, and Jensen immediately pulls his hand away. Finally, he clears his throat, and goes on hoarsely, "So yeah, I'm a dick. And maybe you didn't help any when you lied about being who you are, but I think I may have had some hand into it. So...you know, I'm sorry."

Jared falls silent, making Jensen fidget on his seat. Finally, he looks up to find Jared's eyeing him with some trepidation, which makes him break into a smile. "It's fine, Jared. The truth is, I got over it after a while. Can't say it wasn't easy, but time helped. Moving away also helped. I didn't go to LA because of you–I got a contract for writing songs shortly after you left so, you know, it was an opportunity.

"But when I saw you again when you again in the coffee shop, I thought I might as well–you know, get to know you more." Jensen takes a deep breath and takes the plunge. After all, if Jared doesn't want to be with Jensen the same way Jensen wants to be with him, then at least Jensen manages to clear the air. Make sure there's no more misunderstanding. "And the person you are now makes me realize that I am way more interested than I previously thought."

"So you're saying...you still like me," Jared puts in slowly.

"I got over you years ago, Jared. It's just..." Jensen shrugs and explains shyly, "I fell in love all over again."

Jared stares at him, then drops his head with a shy grin. "Y'know," he drawls in an audible Texan accent, tracing a pattern on the couch, "if this were a movie, we'd be kissing right about now."

"Yeah?" Jensen tries not to let his hopes up, but the pounding of his heart threatens to drown out silly logic. "Um...yeah, come to think of it, if it were a book, or even a short story, there would be some inane lines about the magic of conversation and getting over a conflict, so I guess–"

"Jensen," Jared says amusedly, and for a moment Jensen sees that young college boy he fell in love with lurking behind Jared's eyes, "I'm saying we can kiss."

Jensen stops, feels himself turning red. "Oh, well then, I'll just–" He leans forward.

This time, Jared meets him halfway.

--

Jensen hates mornings, but when he rolls over the next day and realizes Jared is still on his bed, he finds himself stretching lazily, observing the man next to him. Removing his contacts in the middle of the night certainly made the view blurry, but Jensen solves the problem by shifting closer.

Jared has certainly grown up beautifully with his long muscled legs and tight ass that fits right into Jensen's palms. Jensen eyes Jared's dick: thick and long, entirely proportional to the large frame, especially during the morning when. Jensen's mouth waters just thinking about it as he scoots over, remembering how it felt in his hands just last night. How Jared had moaned while Jensen jacked him off slowly, watching Jared's face. How Jensen had come just after Jared did.

He gives Jared's cock a tentative lick, smiling when Jared twitches in his sleep. Slowly, sleepily, he slinks lower, presses his face into the V of Jared's legs. Above him, Jared gives another moan, shifting over Jensen's sheets. Jensen puts a hand at the inside of Jared's thigh; it has an instantaneous effect. Jared stops, sinks back into the mattress and tangle of blankets.

Smiling, Jensen laps at Jared's dick, root to tip in one instant–earning an other moan. It makes Jensen's heart beat faster, makes him wanton with need. He sucks the tip into his mouth, sliding down–unhurriedly, leisurely–the velvet skin tickling his tongue. The blurt of precum slides paints the insides of his cheeks, over his lips. Jared moans again, but Jensen can hear the tone of awareness, the way Jared rouses as he thrusts deeper into Jensen's throat.

It makes Jensen suck harder before returning to his usual languid pace.

"Jesus," Jared moans. "Oh my g–god, Jensen."

Jensen feels Jared's eyes on him, and it makes him shyer. But he's not that guy anymore, and he's not about to let this opportunity pass, so he slides down again, brings up his hand to wrap around the base of Jared's cock where his mouth can't reach.

"Oh god," Jared pants. "Jen, Jenny–" Jared massages Jensen's head. "Yes, god, your fucking lips, should've known–oh god, should've known it was–it was you. Wanna see your eyes, can I...?"

Jensen obeys quickly, meeting Jared's eyes as he continues. The vision is blurry, but what he can make out–Jared's face as he pants and tries not to thrust too much into Jensen's mouth, the way his biceps bulge, straining to massage Jensen's head before fisting the sheets–makes him hard that he ends up humping the mattress. And when Jared gasps, "Jensen, I'm–gonna–" Jensen ignores him, sucks harder as his hand continues to jack off the base of Jared's cock until Jared cums with a shout, practically arching his back.

Jensen pulls back quickly, but not fast enough that some liquid lands in his mouth and on his jaw, spilling into his hands.

He's still licking up the stray ones that land on Jared's thighs when Jared finally comes down from his high and basks in the attention before groaning. "Get up here," he demands.

Jensen quickly complies, groaning when Jared wraps his hand over his raging hard-on. Jensen buries his face into Jared's neck, now unaccountably shy. "Like that," he pants, thrusting into the heat of Jared's fingers. "Yeah–Jared–"

"Look so beautiful," Jared whispers into his ear. "Shy, too–even now, you try to hide it but I fucking love it. Fucking love that you're so confident–fucking sexy, but still shy–when it comes to–I remember–"

"Jesus," Jensen groans into Jared's neck, spilling into his hand.

They bask in the afterglow for a few moments, and Jared starts stroking Jensen's back, the part that makes him squirmy.

"So," Jared says conversationally, his voice still hoarse from sex and sleepiness, "I know we're trying to move forward, not let our past get in the way, but. I gotta tell you. I always thought those glasses made you look hot, man. If you'd blown me after our first date, I might have figured out things sooner."

"Mmm," Jensen says, then quickly pulls back incredulously. "What...really? I got contacts because of you!"

Jared frowns. "What do you mean? I never said anything about your glasses...did I?" he goes on uncertainly.

Jensen gives him a mock punch on the arm. "I thought I looked kind of nerdy," he muttered in chagrin.

"In case you didn't know," Jared says sleepily, "I'm kind of into that thing, so lucky you."

"Hmm." Jensen thinks of that day when Jared Padalecki walks into the shop, seeing him after all those years and finally being here, in his arms. Three years ago, Jensen would never have thought of that. "Yeah," he agrees softly as Jared's arm wraps around him to pull him closer. "Lucky me."

end

--

Part 1

Snupin Santa rec!

2010-12-03T17:53:20Z

A Snupin Santa rec:

Taste.
PG. Severus Snape is ordered to go on holidays so he seeks out a cooking class overseas. But it appears the cooking classes are more popular than he thought.

I cried over this. I always love stories that intertwine with the love of food, nevermind if I don't even know how to cook. I love to eat, though, and this fic wrote Severus and Remus through the years, even wrote a prankish!Remus. There are so many clever lines that made me laugh out loud, some of them even made my cry. I am not kidding you. The feeling of this fic left me with something so big, it encompassed my heart.

Go. Read. NOW.

Uh, I'm from this country?

2010-11-11T15:46:22Z

I fave'd an old video by Brownman Revival for the song "Sorry Na, Pwede Ba? (Dino Version)" a few years back. Just a few minutes earlier, I clicked it again and got the notice: "This video contains content from Sony Music Entertainment. It is not available in your country."

This poses a strange conundrum. How can this song not be available in my country, when it's in fact a Filipino song? Hmm. Anyone have any ideas?

there goes one of my shows (Magkaribal)

2010-11-05T14:53:15Z

Ah, that was kind of satisfying. I kind of wish Vera pushed Victoria and Gelai away from the falling chandelier but I guess they didn't have time to shoot that scene. Poor Louie didn't get a mention except in the flashback but I don't really care about him since this is a story about the sisters.

But omg I love that speech Gelai and Victoria gave. It's so cliche, but I love that they accepted Vera when the sisters read the letters. And I love that they called the line "The Stella Collection". Good way to commemorate their mother, while also good that they can start forgiving each other and Vera.

What I DIDN'T like was the final scene. WTF was Victoria doing , picking up random kids and promisong to bring them to the mall? Bad choice, writers! What a stupid message to bring to your viewers. Go ahead and trust nicely-dressed women in the streets of QUIAPO who promises you dresses and bags. Even if the viewers knew who she was, the little girls didn't. And they got into her car! Nevermind that she might make them into druggists! WTF Magkaribal writers.

Still, I like the end, and it was an overall good run. Thanks, show. You gave me a lot. <3

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

another Magkaribal post

2010-11-03T13:50:45Z

OMG YES, LOUIE IS DEAD.

I'm sorry, but I knew he had to die if there was any hope for Gelai and Victoria's relationship to be salvaged.

Or maybe Vera has to die. I can hope. :)

Magkaribal FTW

2010-10-24T08:09:04Z

It is utterly, utterly ridiculous and kind of embarrassing at how obsessed I am with the local telenovela Magkaribal (Rivals). I mean, the whole reason why I stopped watching Glee is because I realized I couldn't care less about teenagers' problems when they're not also simultaneously dealing with:

a. being a superhero
b. being bff's/romantically linked with a superhero
c. outerspace and aliens
d. blood, gore, and brain eating that don't involve exams, or
e. all of the above.

And yet, HERE I AM, watching this...this...convoluted show with unbelievably over-the-top storyline, ridiculous events, emo and drama that I don't usually care about...

IT'S SO AMAZING.

Okay, just to clarify, I don't actually watch the clock and wait for it to start on TV, but I do watch it whenever I manage to catch it. And earlier, there was something that happened that actually made me jump from my seat and gasp.

First of all: the opening sequence:

That was two week ago's episode, and OMG it is the best opening yet. I saw the previous openings and they're amazing, but I think this week's opening was the best they've ever done.

The story is simple. Two sisters were separated because of a tragic accident, and they meet when they're adults, only they don't know they're sisters. They begin to compete as fashion designers, then they also compete for the love of one guy.

(Oh, and various other things happen to other people, but I don't actually care about those.)

rant:

I love the two sisters! I see in forums that viewers are more inclined towards Gelai (Alonzo), but I am more sympathetic of Victoria (Barretto). She's a vindictive bitch, but she knows what she wants, and she actually WORKS to get what she wants instead of simply standing by and being a martyr.

Yet when the writers wrote about her being pregnant, I got a glimpse of her fragility, especially when Louie (Ramsay) initially refused to have anything to do with the baby.

on actors:

I don't like Gelai's character much, but goddamn, I love Bea Alonzo. There was this moment when she and Louie talk by bay right after Gelai learned Louie got Vera pregnant. Alonzo (Gelai) moved to walk out of the conversation, but Ramsay (Louie) stopped her, and Alonzo waited with her back to Ramsay. When Ramsay couldn't say anything else, Alonzo brushed tears from her face, then pushed back her bangs, so to Ramsay's perspective, it would seem like she's only tucking her bangs behind her ears when she's really crying.

Then Alonzo did a small nod, squared her shoulders, and walked away. Obviously, she's given Louie the chance the talk, and when Louie didn't have any other explanation, she resolved herself and walked away.

It's those little things that make me think: AH, perfect.

+1 to strong women!

Too bad it's going to end by next week, but it was a good run. And I can't wait to see how it ends. :D

my dad's pants, and on holiday fests

2010-10-02T08:57:11Z

Finally got around to removing that horrid LJ Times thing hovering at the bottom of my posts.

My dad just declared that he's going out to have the car cleaned. I raised my eyebrow and asked pointedly, "In those pants?"

He protested that his blue-and-white sweatpants, which I'm sure that my mother won't let him wear outside the house, is a nice, comfortable pants to wear for something mundane such as having the car washed. I didn't bother to correct him.

And he left before I can add anything else.

--

I opted to stay at home to work, but I'm taking a break to write my Snupin Santa. I'm jealous of r_grayjoy's writing productivity. Where has mine gone?! Apparently, I just have to get started. Also, I got my spn_j2_xmas assignment. I was thinking if I should sign up for daily_deviant's Kinky Krismas, but I realized I don't have time on November and December to finish something that will do justice to the other people involved in the fest.

Also, the requests were grabbed in record time! Now, what will I do for the January prompts? *lol*

I can't wait for the winter holidays!

LJ?!

2010-09-28T08:58:03Z

WTF IS THAT UNDER MY LJ? Why is it hovering? WHY?!

facebook/twitter

2010-09-03T05:32:01Z

Hi, people. So everyone's concerned about the Twitter/Facebook; I am too. My privacy is very, very important to me, and I've taken pains not to connect any of my fannish accounts to RL accounts. Yes, I'm on FB, but seeing as I'm not active there, I'm thinking of taking it down. Yes, I'm on Plurk, but only for my friends. Yes, I'm on Twitter but I think I almost only read CNN breaking news. (I try to follow other people, but I always forget! I apologize!)

So please, please do not repost anything you post here to your FB or Twitter. I think I've told some of you before when I had a bad experience where someone actually went through all my private accounts just to get my real name. (That creep was an asshole and I banned the shit out of her in my PM's.)

I know we all respect each other. The only cross-posting I ever do here is in IJ so far. I don't say it often, but I LOVE YOU ALL! *HUGS*

And if any of you want Dreamwidth accounts, I have 7 of them to give away. <3

***

And just to make this a happy note, I got my Snupin Santa and LZDGHSDLGHLGHBFGH;AGH. blue_cage and I emailed each other back and forth for almost half the night to talk about ideas. I CAN'T WAIT!!!

at last, INTERNET and Snupin Santa!!!

2010-08-27T14:10:23Z

AT LAST, INTERNET!

And sliding in at the last moment, you can check out the Snupin Santa signups, which will end midnight of Friday.

Snupin Santa Sign-ups on LJ || Snupin Santa Sign-ups on IJ

blue_cage and I have been giggling over our requests and musing how they've changed over the years. I can't wait to get my assignment!