The Open Notebook

Dreaming Awake - One

2013-10-28T05:29:17Z

Title: Dreaming Awake-One

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Prompts: Candle, Journal

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Secrets whispered in dreams – can the Winchester Brothers keep their dreams in their minds or will their waking fantasies become a reality.

Disclaimer – I do not own any of these bad boys – I just love to write about them. No copyright infringement intended.

Authors notes: Just uploaded it after I wrote it. Feel free to make editorial feedback. I post it for your enjoyment.

I'll be your sexual freak

I'll be your educational lover

Your one fuck fantasy – George Michael

Candles covered the table top, benches and bedside tables. The warm glow exuding light and heat in the otherwise cold room of hotel. The small flickering flames danced up the wall, small shadows spiralling and swirling and casting a magical feeling around the room. Sam blew out the last long match that he had found resting onto of the gas oven and slipped it back inside the now full box of burnt tipped matches. The scent of powder and the slight hint of vanilla lingered in the air as the last of the smoke from the matches was carried away into the room and disappeared into nothing. Throwing the box into a nearby garbage bin, Sam let out a sign of achievement when the box hit the bottom, the sound resounding of the metal and reminding Sam of the emptiness of the room.

His eyes wandered around, scanning and taking everything in. The box of pie sitting closed and wrapped in ribbon on the white wooden kitchen table. The six pack of beers he had taken the cardboard of and have removed to set up in an perfect line next to the pie and of course his Journal, tucked beneath his pillow both in his site, but hidden unless Dean paid close inspection. Sam could just make out the edges of his rustic leather Journal peeking out, the brass clasps glinting in the candle light. Everything was perfect. The only thing that was missing now was Dean.

As if on cue, the bright yellow paint scratched door of their hotel room shot open carrying with it the harsh wind of winter and the familiar heady scent of men's deodorant, dirt and sweat. Dean strode in carrying a plastic bag in one hand and a six pack underneath his arm. His thick Navy jacket tugged at his muscles, straining against the fabric tightly. Sam survived Dean as his brother shut the door with his gritty boots, leaving a streaky mark on the frame. He took in the way Deans hair stuck to his slick face and the grin that lit up his delectable lips and melted instantly. His mind already reeling at the idea that both made his stomach ache and his cock harden a little.

“What's all this Sammy?” Dean asked casting his attention to the table where a large cardboard box wrapped in fancy pink ribbon and a line of beer identical to the ones he was carrying waited to be drunk. “Is that what I think it is?” he said wandering over to the table. Placing the plastic bag and the beer on the table he leaned forward, prying away the ribbon from the plastic see through window and beamed at the site of his favouritism on the road Apple crumble pie. He rotated on his heel to face his brother. “What's the special occasion Sammy?”

“Does there have to be a special occasion?” Sam queried advancing to the table. He undid the plastic bag Dean had brought in with him and peeked inside. “Greasy Chinese food and Beer?” he questioned, wiping his lips a little as he salivated when the scent of black bean and dumplings filled the space between them, the tempting aroma of a hard day hunting wafting over and combating his senses. Dean was so close. To close.

“And Pie,” Dean said, already undoing the ribbon and popping open the little tab that kept the lid down. “Now all we need is some Busty Asian porn,” he joked bending down till his nose was nearly touching the crusty sugared base. “But I'll settle for anything right now. But first I need a slice of this delicious Apple Pie. You did good Sammy,” he said his eyes meeting head on with his brothers. Sam's crooked smile warming something familiar inside of him and igniting a flame that only burned in his own imagination. A little strand of Sam's hair fell across his forehead and over his eyes, curling at the ends. “You got a knife and some plates?”

Sam nodded. His attention momentarily lapsed watching Dean's lips move as he talked. His brother lifted a finger towards them his tongue darting out to eat a tiny piece of the pie that had stuck to his finger as he continued to poke at it, pushing the apple from the inside out. The flavoursome, hot and sticky fruit staining his fingers green. “I'll go get those plates,” he breathed, his words strained. He whirled around. His back turned on Dean. The sensation of frosty tiles more alert with each step he took. His warm body burning out the winter that threatened to keep them inside all night. Not that he cared. “Don't you want to eat the take out first?” Sam asked lifting the crockery out of the overhead cupboard space provided by the hotel. He placed them down on the bench and fished around the cutlery draw finding a knife that would suit their needs.

“Sammy it's Pie,” Dean said cleaning his fingers free from the chunk he had taken away from the pie while Sam's back was turned to him. He dipped in, lifting the treat out of the box and set it on the silver cake plate from the box. Tempted to lift the entire thing up and take a huge bite, he resisted the temptation and went about freeing the take out containers from the plastic bag. His eyes partly on dinner, every now and then wandering to where Sam stood stretching and flexing. His muscles rippling beneath the thin fabric of his white workers shirt. His breath catching, causing him to keep his lips shut to quench a moan rising in his chest and daring to escape his lips. It was wrong. So wrong.

Sam headed back to the table. “Point taken,” he said handing his brother a laced patterned plate that looked like something he had seen on Antique Road show in between the quiet lulls of hunting, resting and research. Fingers left the surface, brushing against the coarse, hot skin of his brothers jolting him like a hit of electricity or a hit of Demon blood. The heat coursed through his fingertips right down to his palms and upwards towards his arms. Hitting his chest, winding him breathless. He took a step back, the plate slipping from his fingers, setting it in motion towards the floor.

“Sam,” Dean yelled, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet tension growing between them. In fast motion, the plate falling between them he dipped down and caught it just in time before the thing fell and smashed into shards on the floor. Scooping down he brought it back to the table and took the knife Sam had still in his other hand from his brother. “Did you get much sleep last night?”

“Well enough,” Sam replied dragging the chair away from the table. He took a seat, his ass sinking into the comfortable cushion that made it possible to sit at the table for hours and write, read or just fantasise about the possibilities that could never be realities. “You know how it is,” he finished, holding his plate up for Dean to serve him a piece of that delicious pie. Careful not to touch skin to skin he quickly withdrew his hand and gave Dean a small smile.

Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he said thinking back to the erotic dreams that started with beautiful, full breasted women and had changed to dreams of Sam, half naked draped only in a towel. His pert nipples beckoning him forward for a taste. “Yeah Sammy. I do.”

Againts the Zipper

2013-08-06T06:03:34Z

Title: Against the Zipper
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Crowley/Blair

Genre: Erotic – M/F

Rating: NC17

Words: 1645

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. No copyright is intended. I just love to spend my days writing about these guys.

Authors Notes: I keep having dreams about Crowley so I cannot help but write erotic fantasies about him. If you want to read feel free. I would love to hear from any Crowley lovers out there.

“There’s no escape,” the husky voice said from behind her. Blair spun around, fast on her heels with her dagger by her left hip. It’s sharp, cool steel grazing against the bare skin that peaked beneath her leather jacket. She knew that voice anywhere. It had haunted her dreams and up until a week ago had been the voice of death, destruction, devastation and the apocalypse. Now – well now it was all kinds of fucked up.

“Take a look around you Winchester. Unless you, Dean and the Moose have a secret fantasy to become roast Pork I suggest you really consider your options before to even think about nailing me with that petty knife of yours.” The man rested his hand on her shoulder. His fingers curled around the worn leather jacket, her fathers, grabbing it and bunching it in his hands. He lowered his head down. His short hair grazed and caressed against her ear. He could smell her fear and lapped it up.

She smelt the fire before it hit her flesh and started to scold her. Little pieces of fabric flaked off and started falling like leaves falling to the ground beneath them. Her fingers felt the hilt of the dagger. Its calming powers already working their way through her body, or was it the Demon’s powers working his magic, altering her mind into thinking that the sensations of pleasure washing through her were really her own. She tensed her body knotting. “What could you possibly offer me?” she said, her voice softer than she intended. She took a step forward bracing herself for the force of the Demon. Her eyes met his, but he didn’t move away from her.

“Careful now Winchester, you’re getting dangerously close. Someone might think you might have ulterior motives. Besides you’re not really hear to chat, and I’m not here to listen to your pontificating. We both know that you don’t want to kill me, maim me maybe, but you wouldn’t be able to feel this,” he said holding out his hand. Attentively his skin touched hers and his fingers dragged down the line of her neck from her ear to her exposed clavicle. He felt her shuddering beneath his fingers. He relished in the sight of her eyes growing downy. She was melting beneath his touch, burning up.

“Crowley,” Blair moaned unable to fight back the sounds that whispered from her lips and lingered in the short space between them. She opened her eyes, facing the Demon head on. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of her dagger. She unsheathed it from her tight belt, the instant feeling of fear seeping dread through her body. With a swift move, she curved her arm. The dagger flashed in the subtle light beaming overhead. The Demon was fast, and fierce as his hand reached for her throat, but not fast enough. Blair dragged the dagger across the Demon’s wrist. She felt it slice through his flesh, expecting it to feel different. But he felt human, corporal and then she remembered that while the Demon lay beneath he was still walking around in a vessel, a meat suit that was once and probably would never be again – a human. Just like her.

Blood pooled and dripped from the open gash. But the Demon’s eyes didn’t leave hers. His hand pressed harder against her throat, constricting her breathing. Crowley pushed Blair, using his knees to press her against the back of the hotel her family was staying at. The air whipped around them, carrying leaves and bits of rubbish that danced on the ground and slapped at their bodies before moving on. He forced his knee between her thighs, parting them without much effort. With Blair pinned like this he licked is lips. A growl permeated the night like a wolf howling at the moon.

“I knew you liked it dirty, but I love it that you like it rough,” Crowley said loosening his grip around her throat. He let her breathe and sucked in the sweet scent of arousal fuming from her body. That blended with her strong pheromones and the edge of fear that rested just at the surface made for one delicious cocktail of desire. He felt his vessel’s cock harden beneath the casual black pants he wore. The zipper dug in all the wrong places, but he liked a little slice of pain. Hell- he lived for making people suffer, but even more than that he loved the game.

“Don’t mistake my letting you of easy as a sign that I am easy,” Blair said shifting her thighs so that they clamped around the Demon’s knee. She felt the heavy, torturous force of his body rubbing up and down, grinding against her. The pressure was unbearable and the harder she tried to stop him by tightening the muscles in her thighs, the more he coaxed his body closer to hers. Finding that sweet spot that kneaded against the zipper of her pants and the line of her hot slit. She could smell him to, that deadening smell of ash and dirt that she had grown up with, that was so familiar to her that it almost felt like home, and yet with him – No, she couldn’t.

The Demon raised his knee higher. He was a good six inches taller than the Winchester, but she could match him in the compromising position he was relishing. He felt her hands on his shoulders, her nails gripping into the fabric of his matching Black suit Jacket. Crowley’s Mauve tie flapped against Blair’s chest, whipping at her perked breasts. The wind had picked up and was sending her shoulder length brown hair whipping around his face. The curls were tangled. He felt her move, ever so slightly against his knee. It was a subtle push, but it caused a wicked smile to curl at his lips. “What would your Brother’s say if they knew their Sister was dry humping the King of Hell?” he asked, loving the way her mouth turned and her eyes opened wide in alarm. He felt her legs widen, her thighs giving up. He inched closer so that their bodies were pressed together. His erection taking the place of his knee as it strained in his pants.

“Fuck me,” Blair moaned, her head lolling back. It hit the brick wall behind her, not hard enough to crack her skull open, but hard enough to cause her head to spin. The pain radiated in the back of her head, but her focus was on the Demon and the devastating words that had betrayed her lips.

“Did my ears just deceive me?” Crowley asked cocking his head to the side. Her lips were parted, he had her trapped. “Or did I just mistake your bitch in heat groveling for a pick up line?”

“Fuck you,” Blair snarled. Her mind was kicking into fight mode once again. She held the dagger in her hand, her fingers tight around the hilt. She could stab him in the neck right now and end it all. She was so dangerously close the blade was only inches away from his jugular. It would take a second and the fight would be over.

“You should be so lucky Winchester,” Crowley said his lips hovering above hers. His teeth grazed her bottom lip. He took it in his mouth roughly dragging her into a powerful and fast paced kiss. He felt the tip of her dagger pressing into his flesh. It was just barely grazing his skin. He moved his neck so that it sliced a little beneath the surface- daring her to do what she set out to do.

Blair pulled away as she noticed the sensation of the tip piecing his flesh. Any deeper and she would cut him, carve him and he would be dead. Not Crowley. But the vessel he was riding and thinking about that made her stomach knot. Fast, she pulled the Dagger away and held it by her side. What was wrong with her? Her brothers would kill her if they knew she was out here being erotically violated by the very Demon they were looking to Hunt. To Kill. Her whole life revolved around ending the Demon’s reign and yet as his tongue tasted hers and a wetness started to moisten her panties she knew that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Begging for her sanity to return, it took flight as she deepened the kiss. Her hands hanging by her sides moved on their own, betraying her as if possessed. She reached towards him, feeling the air much colder in the space between them. Her eyes closed, daring not to see what she was about to do. Her fingers meant to grab his hair, but when she grabbed there was nothing there. Her eyes blinked open. The pressure inside her body was a high hum, but the Demon was gone. She could still feel his lips on hers, his tongue melting inside her mouth. His teeth, nipping and biting at her supple flesh.

“Crowley,” she said at the wind. She heard a rustle of leaves behind her, and the sound of footsteps in the near distance. The familiar warm, yellow glow of her Brother’s flashlights shone in her direction and when she turned she saw her Dean and Sam advancing towards her. They looked fresh from a hunt. All slick grime and clothes painted with blood. Sam’s arm looked wounded. They were probably looking for her to play Nurse. She bit her lip and cursed his name under her breath one more time, giving her surroundings another once over. Nothing but the leaves and the rubbish surrounded her and she wondered not for the first time if the Demon would ever do what she longed for him to do. Consume her.

French Dreams

2013-04-20T11:44:57Z

Title: French Dreams

Author:writersmirth

Pairing: Sam/Den

Genre: Slash

Rating: PG

Words: 798

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. No copyright is intended. I just love to spend my days writing about these guys.

Summary: Sam is feeling lonely in his job and likes to dream big.

Paris had always been a dream for Sam. He dreamed of travelling there in the winter and the spring, the summer and the fall. It filled his mind completely and he longed for the day when Dean would turn around and decide that It was worth their time to take a holiday. Sam loved to imagine himself in the midst of the “City of Lights” walking down the streets, in each section of the town whether it be night or day, rain or shine.

Whenever he got paid he was constantly on the look out for new purchases; anything to do with French Capital City and he had to have it. It had started out with a few coffee mugs and tea pots with the Eiffel tower painted on the surface and had soon turned into a hoarding obsession of nick-nacks, posters, stationary and art Deco till his small apartment looked like a souvenir shop. He didn't mind though. Each little item he brought he treasured knowing that one day he would manifest the trip of a lifetime and would finally get to experience the beauty and thrill that was Paris.

Today, much like any other day he sat at his computer desk typing up the documents he needed to hand into work the next day. Working from home was always a challenge, with netflix available 24/7 and Deans inescapable rants about him not putting enough effort into the family business. It was sometimes a wonder he got anything done, but he managed and continued to file away writing up reports and looking over cases that his lawyer friends needed. He was there go to guy, but more than anything he was their open book; the researcher who did all the hard yard background searches, and head hunting and handed it all over for the top guns to win in court.

“Do you want a cup of coffee Sam?” Dean asked hovering over his writing desk with the ancient coffee pot in one hand and a bagel in the other. The smell of cream cheese and chocolate sauce wafted through the air while the rich aroma of coffee beans waiting to be roasted and peculated made Deans mouth water. “Cause I am gagging for a small soy frappachino right about now Sammy.”

Sam sighed and put down the document he was working on, laying it face down on his glass table top. Beneath it at his feet their squat little corgi slept soundly, only moving when Sam rubbed his belly with the tip of his toes. He brushed his hair behind his ear, the sound of the machine already humming signalling that Dean hadn't bothered to wait for an answer. He had just decided for the both of them; as usual.

Why couldn't life be simple? Why did it always have to be a choice between this and that? Coffee or no coffee? Sex or no sex and worse having a real job and working in society and travelling the world where he could be of use to more people than just a town and a lax law firm? Contemplating the answers to these questions, Sam pushed his ergonomic swivel chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. It was time for a wake up call that was for certain. It his life had come down to picking between shades of white crisp paper and different coffee blends then it was seriously time for a shake up and Sam knew just how to do it.

“Dean,” he called walking out into the candle lit hallway. The scent of incense burned strong under his nose.

“Yeah,” Dean called from the kitchen. His voice distant and far away. He was busy making them breakfast. “What is it Sammy?”

Sam stood in the hallway, looking at the photograph of them standing outside of their first home. He took it in his hands, caressing the glass casing and the wooden frame that still felt as smooth as the day he had made it. Maybe they couldn't afford to go to France, or an expensive holiday but at least they had their own house. No more motels or cheap caravan. They could do what they liked, when they liked work or no work. With this in mind an sinful idea popped into Sam's mind as he put the photo back into place and ran towards the kitchen .

”Dean. How do you feel about dressing up as a French maid?”

***
Authors notes

I am honestly feeling pretty shit right now so I needed to write something that was a little different to my usual fiction. While it is a little out of character I still enjoyed writing about it and might explore it again later. I will now conclude this post with one thought in mind.

Dean in a french maid outfit....

Pie or no Pie

2013-04-18T09:44:50Z

Title: Pie or no pie
Author: writersmirth
Words: 5,257
Pairings: Sam/ Dean
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. No copyright is intended. I just love to write about them.
Summary: Our favourite boys decide to spend a Christmas not hunting for the first time in 23 years.
Read if you like : Hot Pie, Oral smut, Wincest action and happy endings.

Thunder clapped in the sky, the booming sound reverberating in the miserable bleak blackness. Beyond the hidden sun that shed barely a sliver of light behind the murky clouds, lightening glittered the sky, lighting it up like a series of fireworks. Dean sat behind the window with his hand held to the frosted pane. Around him the comforting smell of sweet pie baking in the oven and strong scent of Spanish hot chocolate swirled around the room, dancing with his taste buds. He felt a slippery line of saliva dribble from his lips when he licked his tongue, unable to contain his excitement. All around him the depressing weather had sent the fellow hotel guests inside. But sitting here, in the warmth of the small room with Sam snoozing peacefully on the sofa, a book spread across his chest, all Dean wanted to do was step outside and breathe it in, even dance. For once in his life he was going to experience the true joy of the season. For the first time in 23 years Christmas was upon them and they wouldn’t be hunting.

Dean dragged his body away from the window. He looked at his pale hand, seeing all the veins underneath the surface as his hand returned to its natural colour in the heat surrounding him. He rubbed his palms together rapidly, like he would when lighting kindling for a fire, and felt the tension in his body seeping through his fingertips out into the air. It was so cosy in here, he knew now why it hadn’t taken his brother long to fall asleep once he cranked up the heat. There was something to satisfyingly soporific about baked goods and warm jumpers. He too was beginning to get drowsy, feeling much like the Flopsy bunnies that ate Mr McGreggor’s lettuce from his garden in one of his favourite childhood stories.

He smiled dreamily, pulling his sleeves down past his tender wrists. Dean crossed his arms over his body, holding them still at his shoulders and gave himself a tight squeeze. He did this sometimes, not only to remind himself that he was still whole in one piece and alive, but to congratulate himself for making it this far after all he had seen and been through. This was his one private moment of self- love that he would kill over if anyone saw him, but he felt safe here. This town held nothing but a hotel and a gas station and the only people around where the guests who Sam periodically checked over daily to sate Dean’s sense of panic. It was okay to take a moment of silent solace. He relished being able remember and relive the happier moments of his life inside his head.

The oven pinged; the sound was loud enough for him to hear but didn’t disturb Sam. He must be in a deep slumber, Dean thought as he padded across the room in the woollen bed socks he had picked up from Wal-Mart. He’d gotten them a few towns over when Sam had declared that they had to stop for supplies like tinsel and baking equipment; something that Dean hadn’t seen since he was four. He had loved pushing the trolley up and down the aisles and pulling things down from their shelves and racks. He was like a kid in a candy store and Sam had been the same. He counted it now as one of the most pleasurable, affirming and bonding experiences of his life. Yes- it had been a long time since he had seen baking trays and pie tins; unless you counted the porno films he delighted in in his spare moments of hunting. He had always been drawn to the more fantastical ones, where two men stood over a mixing bowl whipping up goodness and proceeding to play with the food and equipment. There was something so sinful about whipped icing covering the tip of a man’s cock. The thought made Dean’s twinge.

Dean opened the oven. A whoosh of hot air flooded over his face. The smell from the pie up close made his mouth froth. It was going to kill him to have to wait half an hour while the thing cooled and set. He put on his oven mittens, two Santa Clauses smiled up at him. The little jingle bell attached to his button jingled merrily as he dipped down and pulled the tray from the over and set it down on top of the wooden chopping board, following the instructions he had seen on an internet tutorial. When he had safely put it down, he closed the oven and switched the knob off. Satisfaction lit up his face as his mismatched fork lines seeped strawberry juices and the icing sugar in the bowl beside it beckoned him to begin decorating. Dean picked up the bowl and dipped his fingers into it, taking a few pinches of coconut and spreading it across the top of the pie. He watched, admiring the flakes that fell like snow beneath his fingers. When he was finished, he dared to lick his fingers, lapping up the coconut goodness and making his fingers slick and sticky.

From behind him, he heard the familiar mumble of Sam stirring and spun his head around to face his brothers waking body. He kept still, not sure whether to sit at the table to hide his growing erection or to hide behind something else. He chose not to worry. Sam was still a fair distance away and surely he couldn’t see his bulge from there.

“Is that pie I smell?” Sam asked, incredulous.

Dean watched as Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rose to an upright position. His brother looked like a hot mess of fluffy hair and sweat that made his naked chest glisten in the dim overhead light. Something in Dean was beginning to stir. That long dormant desire to trail his tongue down his brothers’ clavicle and to trail a line down past his pecs to those pert brown nipples that stood like a solider at attention became butterflies in his stomach as he fought to urge and the ache to taste his brother, to touch him and to fuck him on that damn sofa.
“Too right you are Sammy,” Dean said licking the last of the coconut from the tips of his fingers. He watched his brother stood up and walked away from the sofa to do his daily stretches. Dean admired Sam’s body as it arched and curved. He felt himself inhaling sharply when Sam bent down to touch hiss toes and let the breath out when Sam rose back up with visible wood straining against his slacks after his mid-morning nap. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but when Sam turned around, stopping with his side facing Dean, Dean could make out his brothers erection pressed against his slacks like a snake daring to escape its basket.

Dean couldn’t help but mimic the familiar action of dragging his tongue along the line of his finger, stopping at the tip to roll his tongue around it before he took it whole in his mouth. He stared, never taking his eyes off Sam and had to contain a groan rising in his throat when Sam turned his back to him and bent over, showcasing that supple tight ass that he longed and dreamt about tasting and penetrating with his lubricated fingers. The thought alone set him into motion again, this time he took more fingers into his mouth making them sticky and slick as he began to suck more greedily.

“You baked a pie?” Sam asked, his head down, not able to see Dean’s finger action. “Since when have you ever baked a pie?” he scoffed, a chuckle rising, carried across the distance between them. The sound hit Dean like a hard on to the face, and he nearly buckled at the vision of Sam’s muscles tensing in his back. God how I want to drag my nails down his back Dean thought to himself. His eyes wandered, taking in every inch of his brother’s body before he noticed his brother once again standing straight.

Dean stopped, embarrassed with himself that his mind had crossed forbidden territories and even more humiliated that he’d tried to suck of his own fingers off. What the fuck am I doing? He whispered to himself; turning away from Sam. His fingers were unmoving and warm. He looked down at the pie. Steam swirled around him, lingering at his nose. It was a warning that it was still too hot to eat, but something triggered a thought. An image of a popular movie Sam has suggested popped into his head clouding all other thoughts. It was a while back, he had rented it from a small DVD rental shack and they watched it together with pizza and beer to alleviate the insurmountable stress of the week. He remembered now, the scene where a man stood at the bench looking down at a hot apple pie, wondering just how it would feel to stick his dick in it. He imagined sticking his fingers into the gooey hot goodness of the pie, penetrating through the crusty sweet pastry to the inner goodness to make a hole for his own cock. Would it burn, or would it feel like he had imagined it would; soft, welcoming and warm? Would Sam’s ass feel the same?

“Dean?” Sam said his voice so much closer than it had been before. “What are you doing?”

Dean spun around, colliding with the full firmness of his brother’s chest. His hands landed on hot flesh and he pulled away as if he had been scarred.

“Jesus Sammy, what have I told you about sneaking up on me like that. Are you trying to freaking send me to an early grave?” he yelled at Sam’s chest, frustrated that Sam may have seen him in his freakish act, but even more pissed off that his brother was so dangerously close and he the temptation to take his pert nipples between his fingers was too damn strong. He took a step back, hitting the kitchen counter and braced himself against it. His eyes stuck on his brothers pecks.

“God how I need to have them between my lips,” Dean said, thinking he’d said it to himself, but when he looked up at Sam taking in his full height, his noticed his brothers expression had changed. No longer did Sam look incredulous or curious about Dean’s promising cooking skills, he looked freaked, like a deer in the headlights waiting for a truck to knock it unconscious. He knew then that he has let it spill, and already his mind whirled thinking of ways to damage control.

“You need to have what between your lips Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean cringed at his own worlds and panic rose in his chest causing his throat to swell when his brother brought his arms up over his chest in his familiar protective manner and crossed them over one another, covering up those delicious buds.

Dean looked around the room, everywhere and anywhere but at Sam. He couldn’t meet his eyes, which was a rarity because he prided himself on being as honest as he could with Sam, but he didn’t dare look. He couldn’t bare the reaction he expected, the one that was unfolding before him and growing stupider by the minute. Why did I say that? Dean said inside his head, trying to reach out to his conscience. All was silent inside his head, except for the nagging sensation tugging at his heart and the thoughts that circled around it. When he felt a big warm hand touching his shoulders he almost jumped out of his skin. His arm flew out, colliding with the side of the pie and his fingers met with hot, gooey liquid that was hot enough to burn, but nothing compared to the pain inside his chest when Sam reached out and pulled his arm towards him.

“Dean what is wrong with you?” Sam asked rolling Deans arm over to investigating the red skin.

“Nothing,” Dean growled, pulling his hand away from his brother. He turned away from him, and set the cold tap on. Placing his hand beneath the water, the pain eased up a little, but he could still feel his brother’s watchful eyes on his back, staring at him in silence. “You’ve ruined my damn pie, that’s what’s wrong,” he said keeping his back turned. The sensation of pain dissolved as his skin calmed down and the pie washed down the sink hole. He watched the strawberry filling fall of in chunks and cursed to himself for not only ruining the pie that was supposed to be a surprise, but for also ruining what could have been a magical Christmas evening.

“I don’t mean about the pie, Dean. I mean about what you said before about wanting to take them in your mouth. Come on Dean I know you. Did you mean you wanted to take my nipples in your mouth?”

“What?” Dean growled, turning the sink off. “You sick son of a bitch. What the hell makes you think that I would be that disgusting?” Dean roared. He marched over and picked up the chopping board. It was sticky and dripping strawberry juice everywhere. Using one hand he opened the counter top rubbish bin lid, and aimed the chopping board over it. He felt a hand then, stopping him and yanked it back causing the pie to flop face down on the kitchen bench.

There was no room in this hotel room for the truth or a delicious baked pie.

“I saw you looking at them Dean. Your eyes; they changed. You licked your lips like I was some kind of meat and when you touched me you pulled away like I burned you or something. You’ve never done that before, and trust me Dean, I’ve felt your hands on my chest a thousand times over the past year and you’ve never responded to it like you did just now.”

Dean brought his fingers to his temples. Beneath them a low level ripple of pain shot through them, causing him to want to scream. “Can you give it a rest Sam? You’re starting to piss me off.”

“You’re getting pissed off?” Sam said his voice rising, frustration flamed. “I asked you to tell me the truth Dean. Can you stop being a drama queen for just one second?”

“Why should I talk to you Sam?” Dean spoke like a sullen child. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Because, you ass hat; that was a perfectly good pie. It smells delicious and now? You’ve ruined it and made a hell of a mess, and for what Dean? Tell me what the hell is going on in your head? What is so bad that you would ruin a freaking pie?”

Dean looked at the mess he had made. Sam was right as always; he was acting like a two year old whose parents had told him that Santa wasn’t stopping by his house this year, and for what? He had shared some insane stories about his own past with Sam and together they had experienced some fucked up things during their year together, but this was something altogether much too different. This was more than a heart to heart about their father or the loss of their mother. In context this paled in compassion to death, but if he opened up to Sam and admitted his feelings it could very well mean the death of their friendship, their brotherhood and he wasn’t sure he was willing to risk that for a chance to know what it was like to taste and to touch and to fuck the living hell out of his brother.

“Yes or no Dean that is all I am asking you. Did you or did you not say you wanted to take my nipples in your mouth?”

Dean took to grabbing a dish cloth and began wiping up around the kitchen counter. The motion was cathartic and the words just seemed to slip from his mouth, unedited.

“Yes I said it Sam, alright? Does it make you feel better?” he asked, laying the cloth to rest so he could turn the pie over; maybe there were some bits of the pie that he could salvage. He closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness behind his lids and hoped that there was some piece of this mess that he could salvage once he spoke the truth. He longed to change the past but he was a long time realist. Only the monsters he hunted could do change that kind of reality and even then Dean pondered, would he want to? What was it that his father had always told him? What is done is done and you can’t go back and change it you have to keep moving on and living your life, otherwise you get lost in a life that’s already gone.

“Well, I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t; but why couldn’t you just tell me that in the first place instead of making a scene? You remind me of one of those bimbos from that horrid show- what’s it called…” Sam asked. “Desperate housewives, that’s it.”

“Gee thanks bitch,” Dean said throwing the dish cloth into the sink. “A man tries to open up and you take him down a notch and compare him to a soap opera babe. Think Sam; think hard because I know it will sink in. We’re brothers; we are both men and what part of that equation sounds normal to you? What part of that is okay? I want to fuck my own brother.”

“And what part of our lives is normal?” Sam asked, uncrossing his arms from his chest. “You think stranger things haven’t happened. Look around Dean, the world is not the same place as it was a hundred years ago, and even then there are cases of incest. Stories of brothers and sisters falling in love under traumatic and constrained circumstances and it’s not even about sex. Sometimes things happen, god I know that and you know it too. So why in the world would you think something like that would freak me out?”

“Ah- your reaction for one,” Dean said glad to see that Sam was relaxing. “And again, we’re brothers. Dad would gut us both if he knew what I was planning on doing to you, and mum, if mum was alive.”

“If mum was alive she would tell us to be ourselves and to follow out gut instincts. She wouldn’t want us to spend our lives lying and hiding in the shadows of ourselves. She would want us to explore every facet of ourselves not just the ones that others want to see and as for Dad sure he might get angry and try and stop it, but Dad’s not here now is he Dean?” Sam said passion rising in his voice. “And Dad can’t always control us even though I know you like to think he can. You need to stop worrying about what everyone will think of you and take a chance at a life you want. Think for yourself. Give yourself and me a break. Isn’t that what this Christmas is about?”

Dean sighed. This whole ordeal was starting to wear him down. He reached out, daring himself to touch Sam’s shoulder and pulled him towards him so that their body’s met. He enveloped him in a tight embrace. Part of him wanted to punch Sam in the face for being so damn right all the time, while the other half battled with what Sam had said. It made sense, and he knew it too. He had read those stories, had even dabbled with the idea of having sex with his brother while he tried to concentrate on the hunt weeks ago. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why Sam was being so damn supportive. And then the light bulb moment where it clicked and the words Sam had said fell into place. Dean knew then that he wasn’t the only one feeling the swell of blood rushing between his legs. He felt it when he pulled away from Sam and their eyes met. He registered Sam’s expression. It was the look of need, and want and the desire to be honest that made Dean tilt his head towards Sam. More importantly it was the sensation, the point of contact when the bounce of his erection met with Sam’s straining bulge and his world came undone.

“Sam,” Dean breathed brushing his lips against his brothers tense shoulder blades. He felt the muscles shifting underneath his wet lips and he inhaled deeply the scent that was so unique to Sam that it caused his head to fog and to spin. He breathed in again, this time moaning at the sensation’s blooming inside him. Beneath the fabric of his shirt he felt his nipples harden immediately when Sam touched the top of his head and ran his long slender fingers through it. It set his every nerve endings on fire.

“Dean, do you want to take my nipples into your mouth?” Sam panted, rubbing his body against Deans. “I want you to lick them Dean, lick my nipples.”

Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s back, groaning when his brother arched it and his hands fell to his ass. He cupped them, squeezing them hard and shivered as he felt the tip of his cock moisten inside his boxers. He didn’t even need to reply, for Sam lowered his own hands on either side of Dean’s face, stopping to caress his cheeks with the thumb of his finger before Dean felt him pushing him down, lowering him to meet his left nipple.

“Suck it Dean,” Sam said, his voice cracking with their skin to skin contact.

Dean did as he was told, following orders that came erotically natural to him. He lowered his mouth, hovering mere centimetres from the tip of Sam’s perked buds and breathed his hot breath all over the exposed skin. He felt Sam’s ass cheeks tighten beneath his hands and listened as a load, slow burning moan escaped his brother’s mouth. His tongue danced across the sensitive tip of his nipple and when Sam bucked his hips, Dean took it between his sharp teeth. His cock ached, painfully growing harder and hurting inside the constraints of his pants. He let his hand fall to his jeans, unzipping them with fervour and opened the buttons of his boxers to allow his cock the air and room it needed. Not moving from his position though he flicked his tongue and rolled Sam’s nipple around his mouth. The pleasure and the taste were beyond extraordinary. It made Dean’s eyes blur, watering with tears of exactly mixed with shame and his rising inhibition.

“I want to fuck your mouth,” Sam blurted out. He pulled Dean’s head away from his nipple and stopped to take a short breath. “I need to fuck your mouth Dean.”

Only happy to oblige Dean looked into Sam eyes for determined reassurance and was met only with a nod as his brother unzipped his pants to the tip and let his heavy erection rest against Dean’s chest. Dean inhaled, taking short breaths as he prepared himself for the girth of his brother’s cock. He lowered himself further down, taking his time licking and kissing his way down between Sam’s tight muscled six-pack. He smiled when his nose brushed past a tuff of hair running a ring around Sam’s navel and moved swiftly passed it. Dean loved the change in the smell of Sam’s body the closer he got to money. It smelt musky, a scent known only to men and it his pheromones wild. They raged inside him, awakening the animalistic man in him. He pushed the cords holding up Sam’s slacks to the side, his mouth touching the base of Sam’s cock. His skin was soft and warm and big veins pumped blood; visible underneath the surface of his skin. Dean had a sudden urge to bite though his skin, and drain Sam of his blood; but he curbed the thought quickly at the sight of the thick line of pre-cum weeping from Sam’s slit and dribbling down his shaft. Dean’s eyes grew wild and his mouth salivated. The smell grew stronger the closer he got until he swore he could almost taste it in his mouth. He looked up at his brother who had his eyes closed and who was now pinching his nipples and teasing them in the same way his own tongue had minutes ago. That was all Dean needed to take Sam’s cock in both hands, one hand rested at the base of his cock while the other gripped his long member. He lapped up the pre-cum in one big slurp, swallowing it back in his throat. Tears were already beginning to seep down his cheeks as he struggled with the size of it. He managed to rest it at the back of his throat and in one breath took it deep.

“Dean,” Sam cried, jerking his body and slamming his cock against the room of Dean’s mouth.

Dean reached under and touched Sams balls. It was always something he had wanted to try on another guy and he wasn’t sure if Sam would like it the same way he would. Fuck it Dean thought to himself. I already have his cock in my mouth. What’s the worst that could happen? He squeezed them softly doing it in the same way he liked to touch himself, caressing Sam’s skin while taking his cock back deeper. He noticed that they shifted a little and squeezed a little harder. It was all it took for jets of Sams hot, delicious cum to squirt down the back of Dean Throat. He didn’t stop though, not until he felt his brother soften in his mouth. He un-wrapped his lips from around his brothers’ cock and swallowed the rest of his Sams cum that hadn’t slid down his throat. Smiling up at Sam who still had his eyes closed, Dean wiped his mouth clean of the saliva and any sticky white deliciousness that had escaped his lips.

“Fuck that was amazing,” Sam breathed, his natural rhythm evening out.

Dean grinned. “You have no idea how long I have waited to do that Sammy,” he admitted, not caring about the consequences of his words. He rose to his feet, dusting of the dirt from the kitchen floor of his knees and beamed as his cock touched Sam’s shaft which was still hard, but not as hard and painfully straining as his. He wrapped his hand around his shaft, needing release so bad he wasn’t sure he could wait for Sam to do anything. Thankfully without any words spoken between them Sam caught on quickly and wrapped his hand around Dean’s as he began to pump himself in his fist. The feeling was insane. His head hummed, his body shook. A tormenting urge to fuck Sam ragged flooded through his body as their combined movements brought him closer to climax.

“I’m-gunna-cum-Sammy,” Dean said, closing his eyes as he rode the wave of his orgasm until he came inside his own fist. He felt the hot, wet liquid seep from his fingertips and groaned when Sam let go and brought his sticky hand to his lips to lick Dean’s spunk of his fingers. The sight alone sent his body convulsing, nearly knocking him down on his knees but as the after -shocks began to dissipate and the warm glow of sexual satisfaction filled him with contentment, he wanted nothing more now than to take his brother to bed.

“Sam- stop,” Dean whined his eyes focused on Sam who seemed to want to tease him even further by rubbing his fingers all over his semi-hard cock. “If you don’t stop I am going to want to take you again and this time I might not be able to show you any mercy.”

“Is that a threat Dean,” Sam purred, taking his cock in his own fist.

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. His eyes lingered on Sam’s cock for a few seconds while he breathed to release the tension rising once again in his core. He felt Sam other hand wrap around his body, tugging him close and when he looked up and stared into his wide open eyes Sam dipped his head to meet his mouth and their lips melted in a warm, passionate kiss. Dean loved the sensation of Sam’s tongue as it pushed past his lips and probed inside. He felt the sharp bite of Sam’s teeth nipping at the corner of his lips and when he pulled back to allow him to take in some air, heard the loud sound of his ass being slapped. The pain didn’t register at first he was too focused on delving deeper in Sam’s mouth to taste the sweet blend of their cum combined. Dean relished the second slap Sam gave him as he took control and began ravishing him further.

“Sam- stop,” Dean begged, not sure he could stand still and allow his brother to do such wicked things to him. His conscience was setting in. Dean knew if he didn’t curb the judgmental thoughts fogging his mind, it would all come to a dangerous climax and not one that ended with them both getting off again. Doing the next best thing he wrapped his hands around Sam’s ass, cupping his cheeks tightly and focused all his strength on lifting his brother up. It wasn’t hard having many years of experience in lifting things twice his weight, and he didn’t have ask for permission. He just gauged Sam’s reaction and relaxed as his brother warmed to the idea immediately, wrapping his own long arms around Dean’s neck in a romantic gesture. Dean carried him across the expanse of the lounge room towards the sofa where he stopped and put Sam down in the middle, wasting no time as he and pinned him down, each arm above his head and straddle him. Their naked flesh was still exposed. The contact of skin to skin was so gratifying, and tears began to swell in Dean’s eyes again. He had never felt like this before, not when with the countless women he had been with in the years hunting alone or with their father. It had all been so quick and fast, rough and finished. But with Sam he wanted to take his time. He wanted to stretch it out and tease and torment his brother.

“You know, this is about the best present I could have asked for,” Sam said, looking up at him with seductive eyes.

His words were honest, and Dean could sense that from a way Sam’s lips curled into a warm smile.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dean said, bending town to brush his lips against Sam’s. He teased them a little, running his tongue along the supple flesh and left little kisses along his cheek till his lips met with Sam’s ear. “Merry Christmas Sammy.”

Sam beamed. His breath was hot, his breath was heavy.

Dean knew he was ready for more.

“Merry Christmas Dean. Pie or no Pie.”

I'll Bring the Pie

2013-04-16T22:22:26Z

Title: I’ll Bring the Pie
Author: writersmirth
Word count: 992
Pairing: Sam/ Dean
Genre: Slash
Summary: The two brothers are sleepy and weary. But can a piece of pie bring them closer together?
Warning: Unedited.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. I purely enjoy writing about them and exploring my fantasy world. No copyright intended.

The blankets were warm and damp with sweat from the night before. The sheets all tangled up in the quilt that hung off the edge of the bed wrapped around Sam’s feet. An old heater chugged away on the wall, spitting out warmth that made the room boiling and feel like the pits of hell. Too lazy to get out of bed or to start the day, Sam rolled over and faced his phone. There were messages, tons of them and mostly from Dean, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where his brother was, and then it came to him as he picked up a half empty cup of cold coffee and inhaled the scent of men lingering in the air, heavy with a hint of damp in the crappy room Dean had chosen. His brother had gone in search of food, but there weren't that many options, and that had to be hours ago.

Sam struggled against the see of blankets. He tossed them back, rolling to and fro like a dog trying to get comfortable. The hard mattress pressed against his back and he felt the spring daring to poke through the surface of the bed sheets, reminding him of the restless slumber her had endured. Tonight he would take the sofa or ask Dean to switch. He knew his brother was an ass when it came to bed delegations, but he was sure if he favoured him the way he liked that he would get his way, and they would swap beds. His back met with a softer part of the bed and his body sank into the plumpness of it. He rested his head, burrowing it deeper against the pillow and drew in the familiar scent of his own body musk.

From across the room the door to the hotel room opened, startling Sam as his eyes closed, ready to drift back to sleep. It closed hard, the sound reverberating around the small confined space and Sam could make out the familiar clomp-clomp of Dean trying his best not to make a sound, but in doing so sounding like a heard of Rhinoceros. The rustling of plastic bags set in motion a series of irritating background noise that crawled up Sam’s body like a beg bug and bit into his mind, it determined that sleep was no longer an option and that breakfast was ready. He felt his brothers’ warm hand on his bare skin, the flame of his touch jolted him upright and his hand went out, whacking Dean in reflex. He heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath and the jovial laugher from behind his curled up body as he rested against the pillows, bright eyed to the sunlight that filtered in through the partly opened curtains.

“I brought you pie,” Dean said, walking back to the table where the bags were stacked covering its entire surface. He stopped, digging his hands into one of the plastic bag and retrieved a large circular package, wrapped in cellophane and decorated with ribbon. He had gone all out with this one. He put it on the table, shifting the bags to decide and pulled up two chairs for them so sit on. Without waiting for Sam to come over, he ripped of the cellophane, tossing it to the floor and took a whiff of the deliciousness that was still warm from the bakery. “Come on Sammy, you got to get a whiff of this pie. They don’t make them like this any more.”

Sam groaned. Dean said that about every pie he ate and in the past week that’s all Dean seemed to want to eat, aside from the chips and hamburgers and the occasional piece of fruit when Sam pestered him to eat it. It was all about that damn desert or savoury treat that once held a delicious appeal to Sam but quickly became to tart, or to filling or worse yet it the pastry was burned or the filling was watered down and it never tasted as good as when it was an occasional treat. But he would humour Dean, because the sex was always so much more satisfying if Dean had his daily pie.

“Are you coming Sammy?” Dean asked, already armed with a fork that was underneath the shopping bags. It was his favourite fork. The man had brought a fork especially for pies. When you lived out of duffel bags and take away containers having a special fork for your meal was like a rite of passage.

Sam stretched his body, turning to the left and the right and extended his hands towards the sky. When he had pulled all his muscles into line, he tossed back all the sheets, letting them fall to the side and got out of bed. His naked body warmed instantly against the heater and he dragged his hand down his body as a way of teasing Dean. He knew his brother was watching, Dean could never disregard him when he was naked and not even pie could get in the way of a glorious morning erection.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice lowered to a seductive purr. He dragged his hand down, stopping at the dip of his navel to watch his brother’s reaction. When he saw Dean licking a line across his lips his body stirred and his cock danced. He let his hand escape his navel and travel beyond to the bulging cock straining for attention.

“Sammy,” Dean said letting the fork fall to the pie. He stood up, shaking away the deliciously sinful thoughts that he was having and bent down to pick up the pie. An idea struck him like lightening and he knew at that moment, with Sam standing there glistening with pre-cum seeping through his slit what he had to do. “Don’t move, stay right where you are,” Dean smiled, advancing towards his brother. “I’ll bring the pie.”

With Ears Wide Open - Part 1 -Slash- S/D

2013-04-15T12:57:57Z

Title: With Ears Wide Open

Author: writersmirth

Part: One

Genre: Slash

Pairings: Sam/Dean

Rating: PG

Summary: A freak explosion leaves Dean impaired and sets into motion a new life for Dean to explore.

Disclaimer:

All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.

It started with an explosion, Dean being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was left motionless on the ground covered in rubble from the explosion. Bits of broken bricks and glass scattered around him and thick dust that got sucked into his lungs and made his chest heavy; making it near impossible to breath. He choked on his own saliva, one too many times trying to spit out the bits of plaster and grit that came with the explosion when he had meant to scream.

It ended with a ringing in his ears. The emergency crews had arrived to the scene. Firemen secured the area, putting out the smaller fires. One lumberjack of a guy had found Dean sweaty, putrid and panting as he covered his face smartly with his jacket. They had removed the boulder of debris that had kept him pinned to the ground and just in time, they said, for any longer and his leg would have gone dead and his blood would have poisoned him from lack of circulation. He was lucky it hadn’t taken Sam long to find the building. He heard Sam through the sound penetrating like a siren in his head, heard him telling the police officer how he had tracked down his brother’s whereabouts and had been pulling into the warehouse when the explosion had sounded. The men said Sam had saved his life.

But there was one thing no one could save. Not the paramedics who held up fingers and asked him stupid questions, like he was a five year old who couldn’t see. Not even the Fireman who had pulled him out of the building, gagging and choking on the smoke that had got into his lungs and worse of all not even Sam, who had he been there only an hour earlier might have warned him in advance to get out. Only it was too late for all of them to save it. The explosion had not only robbed him of a good leather jacket, but it had robbed him of his hearing completely.

It was a gradual thing of course, starting with the head pounding, vibrations in his ears. The doctor’s said it would go away in a few days, a week or two even. It often happened when victims were exposed to bombs and it was a good thing that Dean was so far away from the explosion. That had settled it, at least that’s what Dean thought, until the ringing ceased and not only did he not hear that god damn torturous sound, he heard nothing. He could feel the blood rushing around his body and heart in his chest when he pressed his fingers close to the surface of his skin. He knew what sensations arose when someone walked into a room, by the way the ground felt and things moved around him. But he could not hear Sam’s rants, even though he knew by the way his brothers face was all scrunched up and his hands were flailing that he was angry, and probably bitching about the case that they were working on or the doctors again. He knew that familiar expression had seen it many times in the past few weeks when the doctors had told them that his hearing was getting worse. It was the first of many signs that he was going deaf when he could no longer take in all the words Sam was saying, whether he spoke loudly or softly and then it happened, as if someone had switched of a light, and all the words, all the melodies and whispers in the dead of the dark disappeared, leaving everything in a deadly silence.

Dean waved to Sam, but he wasn’t listening. He was too focused on pacing up and down the room. The energy, an energy Dean had never been able to sense before grew stronger. He could taste it, feel it, and smell the tension in the air and his was suffocating. It made him want to crawl up into a ball and close his eyes. Count to ten and start again. It wasn’t enough to tell Sam to shut up. It wasn’t enough to even stand up and knock the chair to the ground. He wouldn’t have even known it had fallen if it hadn’t of scraped his leg on its descent, crashing to the floor and starling Sam mid sentence. He began to scream at Sam. He could feel his lips moving, his tongue touching his teeth. The wet spit that flew from his mouth and landed on his cheek sliding down his cheek, but he could not hear the words he screamed. It was maddening, insanity. It was like having cotton buds in your ears, blocking out all sound, only the sensation was torment and it made Dean want to pull them out of his ears and in that moment he tried, he brought his fingers to his ears and tried to pull them out, but there was nothing there but his ears and the nothingness that came from the words he knew Sam had screamed back.

The doctors wrote it down on a piece of paper in black and white for him to read. Two words, big and bold and circled in a patronizing manner; you’re Deaf.

Dean pushed the paper away. There were no words for what he felt right now and he couldn’t be bothered to say anything for fear that it was true. That he truly would never hear again, even with the use of a hearing aid and there was no way he was going around wearing an implantation. Especially where things out there that could control that kind of equipment tamper it and in use it as a weapon against him. No, it was better to take this with a grain of salt and learn to adapt, and already things had changed so much. His senses were sharper, especially his sight and smell and it didn’t take long to master touch.

He learned that one first hand when they were on a case. He held his hands up to the wall of a decrepit old house and could feel something moving in the walls. He signaled Sam, gesturing him to press his ear up against the wall and when Sam smiled he knew he was onto something. He felt it move then, from the walls to his feet and they followed it to a room with a vent where the creature had tried to escape. And then there waste taste, oh how Pie tasted so much better when you could pretend he didn’t know that Sam was teasing him. Time and time again he would purchase a pie and sit in front of Sam’s computer, resting his legs against a chair while he searched the web for busty Asian porn and scoffed down a pie. He knew by the unique sound of Sam’s footsteps when he was being approached, but it was a fun game to pretend he hadn’t noticed a thing and continue going on his luxurious business until Sam cracked it and snapped the laptops lid closed.

Everything was beginning to get easier, never better, but manageable and there was only one real problem that had Dean stumped with his fist pumped and lubed up for months on end; the lack of ladies. God he missed that action, the fun and the thrill of tailing down a pretty blond or brunette and taking her back to the hotel for some kinky sex. Now all he had was porn movies and his imagination and even that got old after a few weeks.

“Forget all the movies” Dean had told Cas when he prayed to him at night. The only person out there who could hear his true thoughts, “No one digs the deaf guy. They either think it’s really cute and treat me like some ass hat, or don’t even bother because they think I a retarded. I swear Cas if I don’t get some action soon I am going to explode.”

He had heard Cas in his head though. Like magic, like his consciousness. Castiel’s blunt voice penetrated his thoughts. “Maybe it’s for the best, the world works in mysterious ways and sometimes these things happen as a wakeup call.”

Dean cursed, silently and closed his eyes. Stupid son of a bitch, he said drifting off to sleep one night, after their private conversations. Sam slept soundly, unbeknown to the angel who had swept down from heaven and who was watching Dean through the open hotel window. Dean fell asleep restlessly that night thinking about what Cas said. It didn’t make sense, why would someone make him deaf, what use did the universe have for a deaf Hunter? And what about that message, what was it about? How some things happen for a reason or what was it a wakeup call?

Wake up call? Dean said falling deeper into slumber. Wake up call to what?

My notes:

I got the prompt Idea from a thread by

nong_pradu

It got me thinking about what would Dean experience if he was Deaf and how would it change his life? I was in the shower when I saw the scene unfolding and had to get my partner to write the first sentence down for me. And as it is a prompt I can tell you I will be going beyond this prompt, and outside Nong’s desires and probably writing something that involves a Sam/ Dean pairing so watch out for the continuation of this story.

I Need You Whole - S/D - Slash # 3. Agony

2013-04-15T07:49:10Z

Title:I need you whole
Author: writersmirth

Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean

Genre: Slash

Rating:PG

Theme Set: A world Divided

Prompt: 03. Agony

My Table: My Table

Summary: After Bobby's death Dean and Sam are still grieving. Sam has taken to spending copious amounts of time alone and Dean contemplates leaving. Trapped in his own body Sam wants to escape. Dean finally picks up the courage to talk to his brother but when he does the consequences are dire.

Now my heart is aching
Sometimes I fall asleep for days
But my bed is empty
I know I am too set in my ways
Tell 'em all I'm ok – Alter Bridge

Noise filled the usually quiet space. Rain poured down fast and heavy pattering against the glass windows in the house. The sound was relaxing, amidst the high pitched music playing in the background. Next door a group of people screamed and laughed, their singing drifting in through the open window of the study. Sam sat in his office. Papers strewn all over the place held together in piles contained by empty coffee cups and one pot of freshly brewed coffee. The smell was strong, the blend a delicious mixture of vanilla spice and ground coffee beans. The steam swirled to the surface welcoming and warm beneath his nose and in the damp that filled the small room. He reached for the pot, loving the sensation of the heat against his trembling hands. Warm liquid splashed from the spout as Sam tipped it up and poured himself a hearty cup. He put it back down, dabbing at the droplets with the sleeve of his t-shirt before he took his big mug in both hands and breathed in the only comfort he seemed to have these days.

Dean walked through the hallway. He had done this a thousand times today, going through the case in question. Should he stay or should he go? With Bobby gone it felt all kinds of wrong to be in his house. Sleeping in the empty rooms, and drinking beer out of his fridge. He had only been gone for a week, and already it felt like his own death was looming in the horizon and with Sam acting strange, locking himself up in Bobby’s study all night and day. Only coming out when he needed to make himself a new bowl of food and to top up his coffee pot, it was beginning to be a much lonelier experience, waiting around for the next hunt or for more clues to aid them in their fight to shut hell down for good.

In many ways Dean was blessed. Sam was still alive and that some small mercy in the cruel game that never seemed to end. He had lost everyone else, but he still had Sam and regardless of how many times he saw him during the day and night the comfort that he breathed in the same space and could be heard banging and crashing in Bobby’s study was the only thing that kept Dean from losing his head; literally. It was this thought that caused Dean to walk back towards his bedroom, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He would stay, another hour, another day because of Sam.

Sam drained his drink, and let the cup rest on his current project. Notes scrawled across the pages were beginning to blend together with coffee stains and ink. His head felt fuzzy, eyes blurry with lack of sleep and watery from the memories that seemed to haunt his every waking moment. He rubbed them hard, wiping wet liquid across his grimy skin. His hand lingered, then trailed down the side of his face, down the rough edges of his sullen cheeks, dry and aching from the tears that had fallen. His fingertips met his lips, cracked and sore, Sam winced pulling his hand away from his face.

There came a distant sound, one that he was familiar with but had not heard for a long time. How long had it been? Had it been a few weeks or a month? Time blended together these days especially when he locked himself in the room. The sound came from behind the glass, and as Sam looked up, eyes straining in the dim light he could make out the silhouette of his brother standing, rapping at the glass every so softly, but loud enough to catch his attention. Sam listened, his ears pricking like a dog at the rap-a-tap-tap over and over again. His body frozen in place as if trapped under a demons trap, only it was his body not responding, not his mind. He wanted to move from the chair, he wanted to pick it up and throw it across the room, to break it into pieces so he wouldn’t be confined to it any longer, but try as he might his body would not cooperate and he was trapped having to voice his needs. Only when he tried his voice sounded different, strained and raspy like someone had stuck a lighter down his throat and burned it from the inside.

“Sam I know you can hear me,” Dean shouted. “I am going to open the door now,” he continued.

The knocking ceased and Sam sat up straight, his arms gripped the chair. He felt his fingers wrap around the wood, curving underneath his fingers. It felt slick, and as he turned his palms towards him he noticed that sweat had began to coat his hands in a sticky film. There was no guarantee it was Dean, and panic began to rise first in the bit of his stomach like a worm wriggling around, swirling and moving, making him feel nauseated. Then came the thudding of his heart in his ears as blood rushed through his body and his breathing strained, each breath shorter and shorter as he wriggled in the chair.

“Alright I am coming in now,” Dean said, turning the handle.

Sam struggled. It felt like someone was holding him down. He had gained movement in his legs, that had almost gone to sleep and were numb and ached even more than the rest of his body, but a huge weight pinned him down to the chair, as if someone was straddling his hips or had wrapped rope around his waist. He tried pushing himself forward, but it didn’t work. Small beads of sweat seeped down from his hairline and travelled past his cheeks, slipping onto the corners of his lips where they stayed and stung his soft skin. His hands were starting to get sore, his arms stretched ached as he pushed away from the desk attempting to land the chair backwards.

Muscle to muscle and toe to toe
The fear has gripped me, but here I go
My heart sinks as I jump up
Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut – ALT-J

The door opened, Dean’s hand wrapped around the frame and he pushed the sliding doors apart revealing his brother falling in motion. Time stopped, his heart bounced in his chest, plummeting as he witness it all as if in slow motion. One second he was at his desk, hands gripping the hard wood, next he had propelled himself, the chair, the same chair Bobby had spent so many years sitting in studying in, crashed to floor taking Sam along with it. The sound that permuted the air was numbing. Dean didn’t know whether it was the wood snapping or Sam’s back, but suddenly his body was once gain in motion and time returned. He was still too late though.

Red liquid seeped from beneath the table, a small pool, but it was enough to make Dean scream. He ran around the desk, falling to his knees at his brother who lay unconscious. Bobby’s chair broken at the legs, the seat the only thing Sam remained connected to. Dean placed his hands on the back of Sam’s head and his fingers came back wet with blood. He grabbed his brother’s body and pulled him forward till his body was against his own. He shrugged of his jacket, his favourite leather jacket, their father’s favourite jacket and rolled it up into a ball. Gingerly, he placed it under his brother’s head, applying pressure hard to stop the blood flow. Blood sank through the thick fabric, getting heavy now as it came to the surface and began to already dry on his hands beneath the fabric from the warmth emitting from Sam’s body.

“Come on Sammy, don’t leave me now. You’re all I have got.” Dean growled, his eyes searching the top of the table, looking for Sam’s cell phone. He spotted it next to a stack of ancient yellowed page books and a photograph of their family from way back, before it had all turned to shit. His mother smiled at him from behind the picture class her eyes non-judging but warming and comforting in this trying moment. He’d dealt with worse in his time, far worse than a crack in the head, but with Sam he wasn’t about to take that chance, not with the way things were going. Not with the world ending. He needed Sam fixed, not broken. He needed him level headed and not a vegetable. He knew it only look one bad wack to the wrong side of the head and then it was lights out. The fact that he could feel Sam breathing and smile back at his mother even through the tears he was fighting was enough to know Sam was being watched over; by the angel? He couldn’t be sure, but by their mother he knew that was certain.

A warm hand reached up, trembling and shaky. It touched the side of Dean’s face caressing the stubble he had allowed to grow out while in wait. He looked down, taking his eyes away from the desk for only a second to see Sam trying to move. Sam’s lips moved but nothing came out, Dean didn’t need to hear him speak to know he had mouthed his name. He pulled him closer, letting his tears fall freely, dripping like rain drops from his cheeks to Sam’s. They cascaded down his brother’s gritty mess of a beard, hidden now beneath week’s worth of growth that brought a slight smile to his lips.

“Good God Sam when I’ve got you all cleaned up I might have to take you to a leather club. You’re starting to look more like a bear every day,” another flood of tears warmed his cheeks at the sight of Sam’s lips curling into a strained smile. “Just hang on Sammy. I am going to need to leave you for a few seconds to grab the phone okay?” Dean said, daring to let his hold of Sam go. Thankfully Sam didn’t protest. He felt his brothers hand slacken, slipping from his face as he rose to his feet, it landed against his boots and Dean looked down to see them wrapped around the toe. “Just a second Sammy, keep holding on I need to call an ambulance.”

Dean grabbed the phone. The phone that used to belong to Bobby, the one their old friend had given him during the last hunt they had worked together trying to take down Dick Roman. Dean flipped it open, ignoring the dried blood on the exterior. The screen showed up black. No familiar background clock appeared and when Dean pressed the green button to turn it on, the phone refused to go to the main screen, showing a red battery icon instead indicating a flat battery. Beneath him he felt Sam’s fingers loosening their grip on his toe. Panic hit hard and fast like an arrow to the chest and vile rose in his throat. He swallowed it back. Sucking in a deep breath and fought even harder to stop the tears from stinging his eyes. He needed to focus. He needed to see.

“Fuck my life,” Dean yelled. He turned around, letting Sam’s fingers slip completely and brought his fist to the bookshelf behind him. Books collided with his fist while some fell down next to Sam while others stayed in the shelves and only shifted. Sam’s head had lolled to the side, revealing the open wound that was still bleeding onto his jacket. There was no time. He had no idea where the fuck the charger was, and his mobile was somewhere in the kitchen or maybe it was his bedroom. It didn’t matter. He was going to have to stop the blood somehow. Crouching down, he gently lifted his brother’s head and wrapped the jacket around it.

“Sam, Sam squeeze my body if you can still hear me.”

Sam did not move.

“Sammy I swear. Pinch me god damn it. Hit me. Anything I am trying here.”

The room was silent. Sam was silent. His breathing was soft and slow.

There was no more time. He pressed his fingers together, touching Sam’s jugular to check his pulse, the rhythm was still there, but it was fading and fast, it was too fast, until Dean felt it; The slow, painful sensation of his pulse move to a stop.

All things Supernatural Fan-Fiction [update]

2013-04-14T03:25:31Z

So I am known for my crazy writing antics and scedual. I like to take a lot on when I am writing and although I don't finish everything I get damn fucking close. But I thought to post this as a reminder, a project organization list and a little heads up for those who follow me of what to expect over the next couple of months..But first here is a little Dean to brighten your day.

So I have decided to select three upcoming projects to work on pretty much throughout the year. First being something I rarely tackle and that is a Dean/ Gabriel relationship. I found this Mini Bang because I am a lunatic and need stimulation sometimes or challenges to get me going. I decided what the heck, I can do this and joined up. Then I sat there for hours wondering how the hell I was going to write a story about a character whom I usually pair up with Sam. Well- they don't call it a challenge for nothing.

debriel_mini

Then crazy me who is obsessed with writing Slash didn't even think to consider what Gen actually meant and just signed up only to remember that Gen meant no romance. So I panicked, and almost thought to opt out, but then I decided what the hell I need to challenge myself even more so I am now participating in the SPN Gen Big Bang as well.

spn_gen_bigbang

And finally I decided to join up and do another table challenge. Since I love them so much.
I like to work on them when I want something short and sweet, but still feel like I need a prompt.

Pretty much my family's reaction to be adding another challenge to my growing list

Here is my SPN 25 Table of choice.

spn_25

01.	Ask	06.	Apology	11.	Alley	16.	Midnight	21.	Music
02.	Answer	07.	Apathy	12.	Always	17.	Maybe	22.	Magic
03.	Agony	08.	Action	13.	Mystery	18.	Master	23.	Magnet
04.	After	09.	Abrasion	14.	Mourning	19.	Monster	24.	Mask
05.	Almost	10.	Above	15.	Mark	20.	Mortality	25.	Murmur

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Eight

2013-03-26T11:25:52Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Eight
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~1336
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Blair sneaks a peak into Sam’s Journal. Sam realizes that he has been betrayed by the wrong siblings.

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.

How can I love you? If you just don’t talk to me, babe – Enrique Iglesias

Blair sat underneath the dull glow of the bedside lamp. Beside her the empty beds left unmade made he even more nervous as she slipped Sam’s journal out from underneath her pillow and rested it on her lap. With knees shaking, knocking together as they would a chilly night, Blair felt the first tingles of anticipation rising. It felt nice beneath her fingers the journal was made of expensive materials she could see that when she ran her finger over the well known brand of notebooks she had seen in some of the high priced book shops. Still this was unique and as she turned it over to caress the back she noted the embossed symbol that they all wore inked into their skin. Turning it back to the front, she unwrapped the string keeping its thick pages bound and cracked it open to the first page.

“Just like Dad,” she said, her eyes running down the length of the page. On its crisp, texture pages pictures in all types and colors of inks filled the page with words that blended together, seamlessly like a melody. Borders with ancient text she recognized and others she was yet to learn, and then she found it, something that her eyes could not waver from. There in a border at the corner of the page, a message in their own language. A native language known only to them, one they had created when Dean or their father or both had left them on their own to make their own entertainment, and that they had used to keep the fear from creeping up behind them and strangling them senseless when days would go by without a word. She ran her finger over the paper, delighting in the indentation the pen had made.

Outside the shrieking of a woman in another room hit her ears and made her stop. The noise died down when Blair realized that it was probably a couple having sex, and there was nothing to be scared of, and yet as she turned the next page the urge to reach for her own notebook and to write Sam a secret message was so powerful she felt the hit of inspiration in between her legs. What will I write? She asked herself, daring to put the journal down. Could I decode this message, maybe even leave him one inside the journal and see if he replies? She flipped through the pages, glancing briefly at newspaper clippings and business cards Sam had taped in there from their many hunts and haunts around the country. There on the page forty was a space unused and blank beneath an entry he had written in his secret code. It was dated only two days ago. It made some sense to her, but it had been a long time since she had decoded anything, and judging by the familiar sound of the impala in the distance she wasn’t sure if she would have much time to decode what he had written, but as she reached for her cheap ball point pens from the stationary store in town she put pen to paper, heart to the page and wrote the words she needed him so desperately to hear, but would never have the guts to say.

Eleho Sam. Eleho – I love you.

Standing at the cue for a local grilled chicken sandwich, Sam pulled his phone out and checked it for the hundredth time that hour. Nope- still no message from Dean or Blair, and although lunch with Blair had rekindled some sibling banter and gruff, Sam was still sure that there was more that Blair had wanted to say, and less than Dean ever and if they didn’t start talking together it was only going to go further downhill, and no one liked a weak hunter.

Taking his order as the man behind him stepped up to the counter Sam shrugged his bag over his shoulder and went to find a quiet booth, luckily tonight the diner was scarce of clients, and there were many free. He chose the one further towards the back near the bathroom doors and slid into the tacky white vinyl seats that were as close to boutique furniture that he was ever going to get. Once seated, he unwrapped the baking paper around his sandwich and made himself comfortable, in it for the long haul by reaching into his back pocket for his key. The key that he carried around with him at all times, the key that was that held the only belonging on him that was as close to privacy as he was every going to have. Around Dean it was hard, Blair kept to herself, and around Cas- well the angel seemed to know what he was going to write before he wrote it so there was no sense hiding it from him. He alone was the only one who knew about his secret Journal; A journal much like his father’s but even more personal, complex and in depth. Rarely in an entry did he ever go into documenting his hunts, no this one was more of a personal exploration and if the past few weeks were anything to write about, then he was in for a slug of a night?

“Need a top up?” a platinum blond waitress with thunder thighs asked as she clapped her way through the short distance from the counter to his table. She bent over, buttons straining in her too tight blouse. When Sam nodded, she smiled a sickly mouth full of unnaturally angel white teeth and swiveled around on her squeaky shoes, walking along each table to offer them more coffee.

“Now down to business,” Sam said, humoring himself as he took a bite of his sandwich with one hand and used the other to open the padlock on his front pocket. So he had trust issues. Sue me thought Sam, pulling it away from the zipper. He put the lock on the table, followed by the key and opened the front pocket fully. Sliding his hand inside the fabric he felt around, coming into contact with a handful of pens, a few loose packets of gum and what he knew to be a petty cash bag, but what he didn’t find and what he was looking for was his journal. Startled, he momentarily forgot about his sandwich letting the salad fall into the open paper and picked his bag up, dumping it on the table.

“This can’t be happening,” he said, sweat slick on his forehead despite the cool air rushing through in waves around the diner. Opening the bag wide, he looked inside the darkness of the bag but did not see the Journal. “How can?” Sam started, sitting back in his chair. His body grew tighter, as tension bound every muscle and made his chest ache, until- like a light bulb it hit him. He had left the bag alone, in the room while he was in town, while Dean was in town- surly it wasn’t dean who had read it. The thought flashed through his mind for only a second before the truth lit up his eyes and had him scoping up the remainder of the sandwich; heading for the exit in three long strides.

Blair.

Their Blood Gets Thicker than Water – Chapter Seven

2013-03-25T10:24:42Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Seven
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~2148
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean decides to check out the local occult store for some supplies, but what he finds may bring him closer to discovering the truth more than he even anticipated.

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.

This is what it is. This is who I am. This is where I finally take my stand – Newboys

Dean turned up the volume. Each decibel; sending all thoughts of Sam out the window along with each passing song. Deep Purples, Smoke on the Water vibrated through the Impala, and Dean could feel his fingers moving through the music, faster and harder until he found himself drumming along with the beats. For the first time, in a long time he let his frustration flow through his body by belting out each line as with as much conviction as he could muster. His chest rose, his back straightened and he dared to smile a cheeky smile, admiring himself in the mirror. A moment, passing by in a flash, but a moment of peace captured in the lyrics of a classic song.

“These are the moments worth living for Sammy,” he said, taking his attention away from the road as he stopped at a red light. His eyes met with the empty seat, and through the window he saw nothing but town signs and a few houses scattered distances apart. Then it all came back to him. Sammy, Blair, their heated- what – a moment? Had it been a lapse of consciousness? No, it was anything but. The light flashed yellow and then green. A car behind him honked his horn and Dean swore through the blaring music. He reached forward, switching it off and sped quickly, entering the town.

The country gave way to a line of either side of the road packed with shops. Each one was getting brighter and new with every passing second. It was like driving through the older parts of a town, down town where all the crime and grunge of buildings gave way to a different breed of people. As Dean pulled up outside the store he had found on Google, he took in the distinguishing characteristics of the new generation of kids. Every one of them walked down the street, head down with phones in their hands while their parents did the same. Even the elderly folk who sat outside in the boutique cafes sipping on their coffees or on park benches to were all heads down, staring at their phones.

Dean stopped the engine and tightened his grip around the steering wheel. Taking a minute for himself he breathed in deeply wondering not for the first time whether it was worth the hassle trying to save the world when people were turning more into zombies than the monsters they hunted. “If I don’t who will?”He said, questioning himself and whoever else was listening. When he exhaled he pulled away from the steering wheel and opened the door, stepping out into the now bustling center street of town.

[Rounding the car, he stepped onto the pavement and passed a couple who walked hand in hand, heads up and backs straight, their smiles on each other and their eyes taking in every beauty around them. There was a brief time in his life when he had stopped to smell the roses and sniff the trees, but as he stepped inside the open door and the curtained occult shop and passed brushed his head against a dream catcher, he was reminded that even despite their being beauty to be seen, it was not his time or place to see it, and his siblings had made sure of that.]

At the front of the store behind a glass framed desk covered in posters and long stuck slickers, a young man stood hunched over a series of documents spread out over the counter top. When Dean stepped forward, he raised his head and tucked his long, curling black hair behind his ears before his deep brown eyes met with Dean’s and he spoke the words that Dean longed to hear.

“What is it that you seek,” the young man said, whipping his cape around his shoulders like a practiced magician. When he smiled, he flashed a dazzling set of pearly whites, all bar two silver capped teeth at the front. Ribbon hung from around his cape, beads dangled to and fro as he moved to the side, shuffling papers and knick-knacks across the counter. He leaned forward, taking a deep sniff that tickled his nose and his grin tugged at his cheeks, making them wider and aging him dramatically.

Dean almost wondered if this was part of his act, and whether the man who stood before him who looked to be in his mid-thirties, wasn’t really pulling some woo doo shit and was really a sixty year old man. As he pondered the man’s appearance the smell, a familiar scent of incense filtered through the air, lingering in a spiral of spoke that danced underneath his nose and brought him back to the question the man had posed, the real reason he was here and it wasn’t to flirt with Merlin the coke head. “I see the truth,” Dean said, taking a stance, the scent tickled his nose, made the hairs stand on end, but he prevailed and crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture of impatience. There was something of about this man.

“Ah yes Dean Winchester, you seek the truth. You want to know if your blessed blood siblings are shall we say engaged romantically and more so,” he said pausing to lick his lips. “Fucking as you would say nowadays, am I correct?”

The man’s words made Dean Shift uncomfortably, more so than him knowing his name. Quick to act he reached for his gun tucked in the back of his belt and stepped closer to the counter. “In not to many words, now-“ he said stopping to withdraw the gun. “You’re going to tell me how you know my name and don’t even try to lie to me because I will know if you’re loading me with bullshit.”

Merlin stepped away from the counter, a perfect display of patience and unwavering confidence. He walked towards Dean, letting his gimmick cape drag along the floor until his eyes met with the muzzle of Dean’s gun. “Boy you can kill me a thousand times and I will still come back, but you will only get one chance to slip that toy back into your sponge bob boxer shorts and listen to what I have to say. So you can either sit your ass down on that chair, and shut up or you can shoot me and see how long you have to wait to seek your truth.”

Dean, taken back by the man’s direct words moved his gun away from the man’s face and held it by his right thigh. “How do you know my name, and how do you know about-“he said, pausing to find the right words to describe what he did not want to repeat.

“About your brother and sister fucking?” the man said bluntly again, this time with no real feeling behind it, just fact. As if he too wanted to open Dean’s wounds, tear away the skin and look deeper inside for the truth. “Or how you feel like you have failed them somehow, that it’s the only real explanation you can see that would cause them to lose their way from you, from everything so normal in your lives? Am I hitting close to home yet Dean?”

Dean nodded, his body suddenly growing tense as if his muscles shifted beneath his skin, crawling at the very mention of the contact his siblings had made and the lines they had crossed. He walked over to the chair the man was pointing to and with his gun still in hand sat down and waited for his thoughts to calm before he continued the conversation. “I get the point, you know what I am here for, and you can see it ain’t pretty. But that still doesn’t explain how you know me, and my siblings.”

“I would tell you to be patient and that all things worth knowing come in good time, but with you Dean, as with your father and his father, there is no such thing as a good time; only opportunity, but it’s like wishing for stability. None of these things has ever, or will ever be apparent to you. You spend your life fighting to be different, fighting to be free while Sam fights for normalcy and your sister for the love she can never have with another man, just like you and Sam can’t with another woman. I knew your father, he came down these parts a few times in my life when I was young and he would always speak of his three kids. His biggest disappointment was that despite his need to continue the legacy he instilled in you, he wanted most for you to feel what he felt for your mother.”

“So you know about me, you don’t know me?” Dean questioned, the unsettling feeling growing heavier in his chest. It sank deeper, crawling, moving like a cancer growing in his body. Every nerve ending turned numb with the man’s next words; His next request. He felt his fingers tighten around his gun. Felt the coldness of the steel warm beneath his palms that were slowly starting to sweat. The man looked at him, straight at him with a gleam in his eyes and spoke.

“It need not matter who knows who or what or why, but for you to know the truth Dean you have to be willing to take the risks. You have to be willing to take the bullet. To have your cake and eat the damn thing and be able to live with what you discover at the end of the day, and boy not everything you see will make you a believer and not everything you see with your ‘normal eyes’,” the man said paraphrasing his words. “Will be what you want to see, and once you see it; you will never be able to turn away from it. It will always exist.”

“What are you suggesting,” Dean said, feeling for once in a long time anxiety crawling beneath the surface. It was all becoming too much. He had to draw his focus back, be strong. He let his arm fall to his side, lowering the gun to the arm of the chair, but kept it still; aimed in the man’s direction. “What have you got in your big old bag of magic tricks?”

The man stepped forward, and undid the ribbon keeping his cape around his shoulder blades. Dean watched it fall to the floor and came face to face with a man whose every available piece of flesh was marked with some kind of protecting symbol. Blank ink marred his skin, and to his left, on his clavicle a red raw mark like a branded number glowed beneath the surface of his skin like ET’S phone home signal.

Dean formed the words in his head, ready to ask the stupid questions, but before he had a chance the glowing stopped and the ink disappeared, bleeding into the man’s skin, as if it had never been there in the first place. To be replaced with his clean, ivory chest and a shirtless torso.

“There’s no such thing as tricks in this lifetime. Nor is there room for cheap gimmicks,” he said waving his hands around the room as if proving his point. More than dream catchers hung from the ceiling. More than beads swayed in the gentle breeze drifting in through the door. “There is only space and time for illusions and it is an illusion we must create to extract the truth from Blair and Sam.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Dean asked incredulous. “Sam isn’t a fool and neither is Blair. They trained with the best. They give their best.”

“And don’t we know it,” the man said winking. “My boy we need a plan and I hear from my sources, be they speak the truth that you are one hell of a strategist. So I suggest you grab one of those caps from over there and start strategizing. The shop closes in three hours, and by that time it might be too late to learn the truth and be it may; save your blessed bloods from falling even deeper into the abyss.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Six

2013-03-24T11:56:29Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Six
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~1439
Rating: NC-17
Summary: All alone again Blair decided to take matters into her own hands and search Sammy’s backpack.

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.

I knew what I wanted to do but just like gravity's pull I always did the opposite.....Newboys

Sam walked up the dusty road. Many cars had passed on their way to town, more than Sam anticipated, but he never once stuck his thumb out to hitch a ride. With both hands tucked safely in his front pockets, he kicked up rocks and dead grass like a child pondering the things he had done, while anticipating the shit storm that would surely rain down on him when he got home. He took his sweet time, despite the sweat slick on his hot skin and listened only to the sloshing of water in the bottle an old man had given him alongside the road, taking pity on Sam and the heat.

“No one should walk these streets without something to splash your face with,” The old man had said, ambling to his mail box. It had taken him a full ten minutes to go back inside and fetch the bottle and another ten to bring it back, but Sam was grateful and thanked the old man by helping him to carry his weighty packages to the porch. The old man’s words were true, and he was more than grateful when the afternoon sun peaked over the mountains and scorched the road beneath him, burning through the soles of his shoes and travelling through his body like a branch on fire.

Now, only fifteen minutes away from the hotel they were staying at, Sam saw in the distance the familiar shape of the Chevy Impala and heard the guttural engine roaring down the road, shattering rocks in its wake until it drew closer towards Sam and almost passed him. The sound of the car breaking and a mooing cow in a nearby field penetrated his dark thoughts and brought him face to face with his brothers judging eyes.

“Want a life?” Dean asked, hands gripping the steering wheel. Knuckles white. He pressed himself back into the chair, eyeing his brother up and down, but his expression never changed. His frowns hung low, demanding an answer and when Sam shook his head and looked past him towards the direction he wanted to go; Dean shrugged and revved the engine. “Your loss Sammy,” he said, loosening his grip. The sound of ACDC filled the distance between them, loud and fierce, saying everything Dean wouldn’t say and everything Sammy knew to be true. Dean still cared.

Sam watched his brother drive away, taking in the sound of his music, the soundtrack of their lives until it was nothing but a dull buzzing sound, until it was nothing and the car was but a black speck through the red dust swirling around his face. He inhaled deeply, copping a mouthful of sand and leaned forward to spit swabs of it onto the grass. It was in this moment, more than any that he really was starting to hate Dean.

Finished, dry and dressed Blair startled the kettle in the pokey kitchen and pulled the front curtains closed. In the distance she could see the man at reception eying the room and laughed to herself as she wondered what sick and depraved ideas he had floating around in his head. One room; two guys and one girl. In any day time drama this would be a perfect love triangle, but this was reality and the only triangle was the symbols and examples of the various hex’s witches used on their victims. The kettle stopped and she poured the hot water into her mug without so much as a thought to the hex bags. Her thoughts were with Sam, Sam out there in the heat. Sam was out there without Dean, without her.

Over in the corner she had dragged his soda soaked bag and had tried to sponge as much of as she could. She didn’t dare look inside, but the zip was partially done and she had promised herself a few moments to make herself a drink, to calm down and to think about her next move. She had watched her brother unpack and repack that bag so many times, with clothes and books, snacks and pens but she had always wondered what else he had hidden in that pack, in the pocket that he always kept zipped up and under lock and key; literally.

The drink settled, she felt her body slacken as the tension eased out of her and her body relaxed inside her comfortable short pajamas. She was allowed the luxury of a small sip that scolded her tongue before her phone vibrated across the bench and a message from Sam flashed in her mail box.

Five minutes away. Can you crack open a cold one and make me a sandwich. I am so hungry I could just about eat one of Dad’s homemade burgers – shivers- SAM

Blair braced herself, re-read the message and left her drink on the bench. Five minutes. She had five minutes to sate her curiosity. Should I? Could I? she asked looking towards the bag. She had been taught how to pick a lock, it wasn’t hard, but could she do it to Sam? Invade his privacy like that. Pacing back and forth did nothing to make the decision any better, but as thoughts swirled through her mind questions pinged at her, sending sparks of electricity to her brain and prompted her forward. Like a woman possessed she watched herself as she went to the bag, got onto her knees and slipped a bobby pin from her hair.

Above her, on the kitchen counter, her phone vibrated again. This time a familiar song echoed throughout the room indicative that Dean was calling her. She tried her best to ignore the annoying sound as it penetrated her focus, her hands grew shaky and the ticking off the clock nearly caused her to give up, but as she slipped the bobby pin inside the lock and jimmied it around, she focused all of her strength on getting the damn thing to open.

“Three minutes, Blair you can do it.”

The phone sounded again. The ringing vibrating, tingling her ears; Louder than before.

She felt the lock snap, click and open for her.

“Thank fuck for that,” she said unzipping the front pocket. She dug her hand in, fumbling around until her hand collided with a hardback cover and a leather strap. Dad’s journal? She thought to herself pulling it out of the bag. No it was too hard; her father’s journal was rougher than that. Was it Sammy’s journal? Blair whispered, hearing the jarring sound of keys in the lock. With haste she threw the journal across the room watching and praying as it travelled towards the bed and slid underneath hers. Quickly she zipped the bag shut, and clicked the lock before tossing the bobby pin behind her into the kitchen.

“Blair,” Sammy shouted from outside. “Can you open the door; I think something is jarring it.”

Blair looked towards the door, where a chair lay knocked over. Her thoughts ran to Dean and his semi rage before he had left. Without too much thought, she picked up the chair, righting it and pushed it into the backpack, knocking it over onto its side. “I’m coming,”

Sam opened the door, hearing the locks open and stepped inside the room. He had never been so grateful for the cool, bracing rush of air that hit him and caused his body to shiver with relief. Closing the door behind him, he threw the empty water bottle on his bed and tossed back his head, searching first for any signs of Dean and then into the kitchen where the empty bench awaited him.

“Where’s the beer and the sandwich,” Sam asked, holding his sides. His huffs and puffs doing something to Blair, causing her heart to jerk in her chest and yet a small sensation of moisture grew in her pants.

“I’m no bar wench,” she said holding out the chair. “Sit down and shut up and I’ll fix you a snack.”

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Five

2013-03-24T09:31:17Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker than Water- Chapter Five
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~ 1502
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Without the angel to guide her Blair has to make a decision. Follow her heart of follow Dean’s rules.
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.

I see you're walking like you're living in fear. Having trouble even looking at me – Born Again- Newboys

Blair flipped open the pages of The Great Gatsby. Not one for reading classics, she thumbed through the introduction, momentarily taking a moment to breathe and sip on her strong black coffee. There was no milk in the hotel and she hadn’t moved from the bed in three hours. Not to get up and pee, to tip the cold drink down the sink and especially not to follow her brothers as they drove around town gathering information for the next hunt. Page by page she read each word but took nothing in, minute by minute her eyes travelled to the closed door of their hotel room in hopes that her brothers would walk in and it would be as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t tried to make out with her Sam. As if- what- as if she wasn’t slowly falling in love with her brother.

The ticking clock distracted her for a moment. She put down her book. Small tears formed in her eyes, as the trembling high from too much caffeine rippled through her body making it impossible for her mind to settle and focus on anything but the fight that had changed everything between her siblings. Flashes of Sam’s fist clenched in tight balls of fire daring bone to skin. She remembered Dean’s venomous words as he slashed through Sam, as she watched and waited while her heart was being ripped out of her chest. Dean, and his dominating rules, and his lack of listening, not bothering to hear them out, only thinking them both sick and depraved; worthy only of pity, and aggression. She closed her eyes in vain, practicing the techniques of meditation she had learnt of some tutorial on the internet, but they too proved useless in the fight that was waging war inside.

Blair picked up the book again and flipped it open. Sixth time’s the charm. She was just settling into reading the same paragraph again for the eight times when the sound of locks travelled the distance and she reached to her bedside table for her loaded gun. Bullets or salt, it didn’t matter. No monster or man was a match for a kick ass girl with a gun. So what the hell am I doing here feigning sick when I could be out kicking ass and making myself feel better? Holding her gun towards the door, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got to her feet, side stepping the book as it fell and landed on top of Sam’s Backpack. She crouched down, using the bed the three beds as a barrier between her in the intruder and waited, her breathing growing heavier as the clumsy intruder fiddled with the locks outside.

“Damn those cheap ass lock smiths,” Dean said, kicking the door open with one foot. The door swung backwards, meeting the door stop and forward again almost slamming in his face. Dean caught it in his hand and stepped inside the room. The first thing he did was throw his keys on the nearby kitchen counter and head for the fridge. Without a single word to Blair he had popped the cap of a beer and was halfway through it before he turned to face his sister, a smile growing.

“I thought you were ill with bed ridden diseases,” He joked, turning back for a second to retrieve a can of soda from the fridge. He tossed it on Blair’s direction, watching it travel through the air and land miss, landing on the floor in front of her. The sound of a fizzle and pop filled the room as carbonated liquid squirted out of the broken lid and all over Blair and Sam’s backpack. Without thinking, Dean slammed the half empty bottle of beer on the bench and ran over to his sister, launching himself onto the can before it did any more damage to the room or to his brother’s possessions.

“If it wasn’t so fucking funny,” Blair said watching her brother grasping for the can as it slipped through his hands. “I would have punched you in the balls for ruining my favorite jeans.” She reached down, offering a hand and a small smile, unable to deny herself the moment. But the moment was gone when Dean refused her hand and rose to his feet. His smile disappeared along with hers; like nothing had happened. “So where’s Sam?” she asked, pocketing her gun in her belt. She pulled her jeans up and gesture for Dean to step aside.

“He’s in town following a lead. I think we’re getting close. Found a hex bag at the scene of the crime so we are probably looking at a witch. I just came back to grab more bullets and to take a shower. Sam should be back soon. He said he wanted to walk back.”

“And you let him walk back here from town?” Blair demanded, unable to imagine anyone walking an hour back to the hotel in this smoldering heat without a bottle of water or food. Although they had seen and been through worse in her eyes there were some things that even hunters could not deny themselves and that was the basic necessities.

“I didn’t let him; he told me he was going to. Besides Sammy’s a big boy. He doesn’t need you or me holding his hand as he crossed the road,” Dean said, walking over to the sink. He threw the can in, still spraying soda and ran his hands under some cool water. “And since you don’t seem to be running a fever would it kill you to do some research instead of wasting your time reading moldy old fiction?”

Blair ignored her brother’s snipe and headed on to the bathroom. Once inside she closed and locked the door and stripped naked. There was a small mirror to here right and a small shower behind her. Blair looked at herself in the glass, taking in every little detail from her split ended curly hair right down to her belly button which lined up with the edge of the mirror. Her nipples, usually perky were soft and flat against her firm breasts. She had always admired her curves, her soft breasts and her feminine figure but never did she feel more like another man right now, with her brother treating her like some dog and her other brother ignoring her altogether.

“Blair I’m heading back out,” Dean yelled, rapping on the bathroom door. “See if you can find anything out about the Hex bag and txt me when Sam gets back. I want to hear updates. I‘m going to follow another lead.”

The rapping disappeared and with it the room returned to silence. Blair opened the glass door and stepped inside the cubical. She turned each knob, waiting for the water to flow through the slow pipes. The sticky soda stuck to her skin, like the secrets that clung to her mind never allowing her a minute to rest. When can I wipe my hands clean of this mess? Blair asked looking up at the ceiling.

“Cas if you are listening I need your help, your guidance,” Blair said holding her hands up towards the water that splashed and escaped her skin. “Help me save me from myself before it’s too late.”

Silence, nothing but the sound of water echoing through the bathroom filtered through the room.

Tears swelled in her eyes, pooling in her lashes, carried away by the heat that burnt her skin and brought all her fears to the surface. Making her question herself, her life, and whether or not she would ever feel part of the family ever again. She held her hand towards her eyes, wanting nothing more to gouge them out, to stop the shower and take her gun and aim it at herself. She rubbed them sore, rubbed them until they were blurred and she felt pain every time she blinked. Enough, she thought. She turned off the shower, opened the door and stepped out into the warm, steamy bathroom. Looking in the mirror with red rimmed eyes, and raw pink skin she scrunched up her fist and held them tightly by her side, not waiting for the angel to respond, or for Dean to come back and apologize. She wrapped a towel around her naked frame and unlocked the door.

I’m done trying to wash myself clean of this.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Four

2013-03-24T06:14:50Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Four
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~ 1457
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean come to a stand still.
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.

Why can't we make this darkness feel like home?Tokio Hotel

Chapter Four

It had been three days since Dean had found his siblings in a compromising position. Blair had been on her back, Sam towering over him with his hand reaching outwards her wanton shuddering body while her hand groped his erection. The thought itself had made him sick to the core. Repulsed him more than any creature they had even destroyed or the fear that the apocalypse had begun to corrode inside his soul. There was something fundamentally soul destroying about losing the two things in life that meant the world to you, but Dean no longer felt the strong need to protect them and the overwhelming urge to distancehimself from the two of them and their sick desires was beginning to dominate his every waking thought.

“Dean,” Sam prodded slapping his brother in the arm with the brown paper take away diner bag. “Dean the pies are getting cold and Blair’s complaining that her burger is going to be taste like ass sponge if we don’t get back to the car.”

Dean turned to face his brother, despising the pitiful expression on Sam’s face that he wanted to carve off with a salty knife. Unable to contain himself any longer he slapped the bag out of Sam’s hand watching it fly across the space between them to land in a wet muddy puddle behind them. While there was no rain, the atmosphere became a denser and the dreary clouds up above covered what slit of sunlight that still remained of the day.

“Pies, Sam? You want to talk to me about freaking soggy burgers and drenched pies?” Dean growled stepping closer towards his brother. “What about you talk to me about why the hell Blair’s hand was on your cock, and why you were giving her a look like you were about to go all the way to brown town if she bent over the right way for you? You want to talk about food? I haven’t had an appetite at all since I saw you fucking our sister with your eyes.”

Sam looked over at the Impala. Its headlights shone in their direction, lighting the scene up like some bad theatre production. Blair sat in the backseat, both her arms draped around each seat. He could tell by the distorted look that crumpled her face that she knew he was in for a rimming, and not the kind he might enjoy given by his sister. He gave her a weak smile and turned to face his angered brother. If Dean was a kettle he’d be pissing steam out of his ears right about now, and to Sam’s unbalanced humour he almost dared to tell him so, but as he looked down and noted Dean’s fist forming into tight balls of frustration, he chose to keep his lips zipped and waited for his brother to continue.

“So you’re going to give me the damn silent treatment huh?” Dean said pushing his chest against Sam’s like a high school jock willing to pick a fight. “ You know I thought I could take just about anything from you Sam, hell I even stood by your side through hell and water come high when you went slutting around with your demon bitch. But this,” Dean said pointing to his sister. “This is a whole new low for you Sam. You make me sick, worse than sick. If I didn’t know you I would want to kill you.”

“Come on Dean,” Sam said stepping away to give his brother some space. “You don’t mean that and I already explained to you that we were just pissing around. Blair made a joke about my morning wood and you walked in at the wrong time. How many times do I have to tell you that nothing is going on? Do you think I would fuck my own sister? Do you think Blair would let me even that close to do it even if I wanted to try?”

Dean cocked his eyebrow, his lips curling into a snarl.

“Not that I want to try,” Sam rebutted. “What I am saying is that we live in the dark for so long. Don’t we deserve to piss around sometimes? How many times have we all trained together and grazed up against Blair? Or how many times has she straddled you?” Sam asked, his voice wavering as the image of Blair straddling him while they practiced their tactics filtered through his mind, like millions of photographs flapping in the wind. He was brought back to reality when a fat droplet of rain fell from the sky and landed on the tip of his nose, and the hard sift motion of Dean’s fist collided with his face, sending him stumbling backwards towards the puddle with their food in it.

“Never,” Dean shouted, reeling for more. He bent over Sam and punched him again, this time coming into contact with Sam’s elbow. Pain reered its heavy hand, but it did not stop Dean from kicking Sam in the side. He stopped at that, feeling the rage like an inferno, burning and traveling, igniting the animal in him that wanted to torture his brother for making him feel this way. And yet the thought that sickened him the most was that there was a sad truth to his point of view. They did live in the darkness, and God how they all deserved a bit of the light. A bit of love. Something other than the bleak loveless existence they had; but with his Sister?

“Never,” Dean said stomping over to the Impala. He swung open the door. Not caring that Sam was still lying on the ground trying to recover from the blow to his ribs. He shut the door behind him, and strapped himself into his seat. The seat belt was the only thing now that stopped him from turning around and doing something worse than beating his brother. He wanted to slap Blair, wake her up to the truth that this taboo and what she was feeling was a psychotic side-effect to their lives. It wasn’t normal, but neither were they, but surely she could find what she was looking for somewhere else; anywhere but in the family. He turned around in his seat, glad that the burning sensation was dissipating. The look on Blair’s face helped douse the final heat from his body and his fingers relaxed inside his fisted grip.

“Dean,” she began, watching Sam from out the front window screen. He had risen to his feet and was ambling his way towards the car. The wet food bag was in his hand.

“Save it,” Dean said cutting her short before Sam could reach the car. He looked her in the eyes, all brotherly love and determination to save his sister from herself and from Sam’s twisted set of rules. “ Sam’s love life is his to fuck with, but if I ever so much as see you touching him again in the way that you did before you will be on your ass before you can say idgit. Do you hear me?” Dean growled.

“Dean,” Blair begged.

“I said do you fucking hear me?”

Blair’s head fell as he passenger door opened and her brother got inside. She waited a breath before he got in and threw the bag on the dashboard before looking up at Dean again. Something in her brothers eyes told her that he was not fucking around and that he would without a doubt dump her ass if she did not abide by his rules. Like their fathers rules. She was always bound by these men.

“Yes Dean,” she said sliding back into her seat. She buckled herself up and sat back in silence as the guttural roar of the engine filled the air and the dust blew up fogging her view of the diner as Dean pulled out into the road. The sound of ACDC filled the car, the loud lyrics filling her mind. She closed her eyes and brought back the memory and sensation of her hand touching Sam’s erection. If there were one thing these men could not control it was her fantasy mind.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water - Chapter Three

2013-01-27T11:49:21Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Three
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~ 2568
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Blair come face to face with lust.
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.

Chapter Three

I’ll be your sexual Freak – George Micheal

Four Weeks ago

George Michael’s Freak played on Blair’s Mp3 player as she slipped outside from some fresh air. Slipping past her brothers, she shut the door behind her, careful not to draw attention to herself and let out the breath she had kept tight in her chest since Sam had walked in on her in the bathroom; screaming his name in ecstasy. She exhaled deeply filling her lungs with what she wanted; fresh air, but the air was not fresh and as she inhaled deeply her lungs filled with the putrid aroma of second hand cigarette.

he looked onwards, three doors down at a man who was puffing on his cigarette and barking into his phone like a rabid dog. She could only make out a few words; ‘wife’ being one of them and imagined a cranked up woman holding a child of her hips and a cigarette hanging from her mouth on the other line, that or a fat hooker dressed in gold latex. She shivered, taking in everything about the man from his lice bitten haircut to his pants which hung around his ankles like a man ready to jack off. Everything about the man screamed cheap hotel scum bag, but as she looked past the man and scanned the numbers along every door, each paint chipped door frame and cheap brass handle reminded her of her true existence and suddenly she didn’t feel so far from the raggedy bastard.

“Hey Love, wouldn’t be able to spare some cash would ya?” the man asked, grabbing her attention once more. She shook her head. Not in this lifetime scum city, she thought to herself and pulled her coat around her tightly. He didn’t advance any further towards her, just gave her an oily finger and muttered words like ‘tight bitch’ and ‘fucking cheap skates’ until he was done with his cigarette and headed back inside his room. Blair felt the door slam, the vibrations reverberating through the length of the path.

When would this life get easier? When would she be able to settle down with a partner of her own. A rented apartment with two noisy jack russles and a reality show obsession? When would she stop walking around this freakishly bad 80’s horror movie and wake up in a bed with a duck feathered duvet and a bookshelf crammed with classics? She looked out into the dark night as she pondered each question rolling them around inside her head like a tumble weed with loose sticks. With each twinkling star that died bringing morning much closer she imagined herself in a world without mobsters, demons, spirits and the impending apocalypse. She dreamed of a world free of murder, hunting and most of all free of this sickening sexual hunger for her older brother Sam.

The song switched over, playing repeat from the beginning again. The sound of panting filled her mind and made her ache all over with a need so strong not even the crisp early morning wind could sate. She found herself closing her eyes as the sound of George’s voice echoed through her ears and into her soul. The pent up frustration, the fantasy world inside her head was forming and growing into a wild beast inside her body. She felt her fingernails touching her bare skin, tracing a rough line from the nape of her neck to the tip of her cleavage.

n image, as sharp as a photograph filtered through her thoughts. Sam half naked, without a shirt on while below his jeans were slightly unbuckled and his belt hung by the loops beckoning her to take hold of both ends and pull him closer towards her. She could feel his erection against her; her brothers hard on just begging to slip between her lips. Her hands glided across her aching nipples that perked through her sweater and found her zipper. She wanted to feel the cold air biting them harder. She dared to expose her breasts to the cold wind, to the night sky. Too freedom that burned within her. She wanted to take of all her clothes and delve her fingers into the depths of her hot wetness. Right outside for anyone to see, but more than anything she wanted Sam behind her, tormenting her, teasing her from the tip of her head to the tips of her toes in a long and agonizing fashion. Blair pulled down her zipper and opened it to the side, revealing her bra clad breast to the open air. She was just about to pinch her nipple. Her free hand already finding the heat between her legs when she heard the sound of the door click shut behind her and her brothers voice echo out into the night.

“What are you doing outside?” He asked, touching her shoulder with a bottle of beer. He took one look at her exposed bra and her hand resting between her legs and turned sharply. Swearing something under his breath he swore he could hear the sound of panting coming from her ear phones. Was she listening to audio porn?

“Dean,” Blair hissed, immediately finding her zipper. She zipped herself up and used both hands to cross them over her chest. When she was satisfied, she noticed Dean peaking of his shoulder with one eye squinting, peaking through his fingers.

“I take it you couldn’t---sleep,” he said, a shiver in his voice. “Are you decent yet?” he asked ready to turn to face her. When he noted her nod he turned around and held out her beer towards her. She shook her head, and remained still, looking at Dean’s shoulders. “It’s a natural thing,” Dean started, trying to find the right words to say.

“SHUT UP,” Blair hissed again. “I so do not want to hear it. What are you doing out here. I thought you set your alarm to four-thirty.”

Dean nodded. “I did. It’s four-fifteen. My body clock is all messed up, not to mention I had another damn nightmare. Thought I better get an early start,” he said holding up his bottle of beer. “It’s going to be a long day out on the road with nothing to see but fuck all trees and maybe a few dead cows. Might as well drink while I can, won’t get a chance to tonight and you know what Sammy’s like with his 1 drink no drive policy,” Dean snorted, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yep, so I take it we will be leaving soon then,” Blair asked taking her headphones from her ears. She wound them up and slipped her mp4 player inside her pocket. “If that’s the case I might go and pack my shit up and make myself a coffee. Do you want me to go and wake up Sam?” she asked, already turning towards the open door of the room. The conversation or lack of it was over as far as she was concerned. Her deprived orgasm would have to wait.

“Please yourself sis,” Dean said happily chugging along. “And let’s say we pretend I never saw you-“

“Dean,” Blair growled, eyeing him angrily.

“Sexing,” Dean finished, a shudder rippling through his body. He took another swig of his beer and watched his sister enter the room. When the door was closed her looked up into the sky to see the moon disappearing beneath the clouds, meeting the sun on its way past to the other side of the country. If there was anywhere he would rather be at the moment, it would be in another country. Or better yet another world.

The coffee pot bubbled. Little brown splatters covering the inside of the glass Jar. Blair left Dean outside to his own devices and poured the contents of the last spoonfull of dried coffee into her favourite travel mug. “Fucking Shit,” she hissed checking the bag for anymore dregs. There was only enough for one more cup of coffee left and there was only one person aside from herself who could not function without his daily morning grind. Sighing she added three scoops of sugar, stirring well before she switched the machine off and padded her way to where Sam slept in the bed without her.

When she reached the bed, she noted the unrumpled sheets on her side where she had meant to sleep, but didn’t dare after the incident. She knelt down, getting onto her knees on the uncomfortable carpet and with one hand playfully held Sam’s nose till he twitched and opened his mouth gasping for air.

“Dean says it is time to get up, were heading out soon,” Blair said letting the coffee aroma liger in the air between them. She loved the smell, but knew that it was the only thing that would get Sam to even move from an early morning stupor.

“And of course if Dean says jump we all jump,” Sam said groggily, albeit grumpy. He turned his head towards his sister, opened his eyes a little and inhaled the wafting scent of a morning pick me up. “You know a way to a brother’s heart,” he muffled, opening each eye as if the light from the bedside was a radiant sunbeam. He took his time, moving his sniff muscles until he had cocked himself up on his elbow, a hand away from Blair. He reached out to take the coffee from his sister, but missed by a good arm- length and grazed her breasts as they pushed into the mattress instead.

Blair let out a soft moan that filled the otherwise quiet room and caused her to push herself away from the bed, almost knocking the boiling hot coffee all over Sam’s bare chest.

“Jesus you almost burned me Blair,” Sam said, royally pissed. He placed the cup down on the edge of the bedside table. “What the fuck?” he said pulling back the duvet to reveal his thankfully covered legs.

Blair let out a gasp, praying the angels that he was dressed and not naked like she had dreamed he would be a million times before. She took in his favourite sleeping pants with their fraying cords that where the only thing holding them up around his waist as the years passed and the fabric grew thinner with wear and let out her breath, another soft groan passing her wet lips as her eyes met with his pert nipples. Where they cold from the morning or was he as aroused as she was? Judging by the look on his face, as his hands crossed over his broad chest she knew she was alone in her desire this morning.

“Is this about what happened last night?” Sam asked advancing towards her. His expression softening as Blair backed away like one of the lesser creatures they hunted. He left his arms relax, keeping one hand crossed over his chest to keep his nipples from aching even more. With every inch he took his mind reeled back to the sensation he had felt when he had walked in on her with water cascading down her curvaceous hips and her fingers dipping into that hot bed that he dared to think about dangerously too often.

“Don’t Sam,” Blair whined, finding herself backed against the bed Dean had slept on. Her eyes met with rumpled sheets and the hard end of the bed. She felt behind her, and rested her hand on the edge. Her fingers dug into the fabric of the blankets draped over the side.

“Why? Why is it so hard to be around me all of a sudden?” Sam asked merely inches from her body. His hand reached out, met with her shoulder and sank as she shrugged him off backing harder into the wood. It must be digging into her ass,” Sam thought, not daring to step away. “Why were you calling my name last night Blair?” he whispered, not backing down one bit. His hand lingered on her arm and travelled slowly up towards her shoulder where she let him touch her this time. Her skin felt hot beneath his fingers. “Why were you touching yourself when you were calling for me?” he breathed his chest pressing against hers as her body responded to his touch and her tension grew tighter.

“Don’t,” Blair whispered, her eyes meeting Sam’s. She let her tongue caress her lips. The heat between them was fuelling thoughts and words that she did not want to express to herself let alone out loud like she dared she would if he came any closer. But it was impossible. She was trapped; the only place to escape to was an empty bed. Deans bed. A hotel bed, but Dean’s bed none the less. She felt her hand moving on its own accord, the sensation of her fingers meeting her brother’s hard flesh causing her to almost buckle beneath him.

“Why?” Sam said, drawing in a heavy breath as he pushed himself against her till he could feel her soft breasts pushing into his stomach. He felt the first jerk of his erection hardening in his pants. What was this sick desire that plagued his mind and caused him to think the unthinkable? About his sister none the less? Was this was possession felt like? “Why Blair,” he said, this time more forcefully dropping his lips to meet her ear. He felt his sister’s body shuddering against him. He could hear her breathing strained as she tried not to let an air escape between them.

Blair felt his tongue running along her ear. His hot breath almost drew her to orgasm. She could feel his nipples pressing against her flesh, his erection shifting between them. The scent of morning sweat mixed with his favourite deodorant filled her nostril’s burning a dangerous heat between her legs. She buckled then when his tongue travelled along the line of her neck and he whispered something even more wicked in her ear. Could it be that he wanted this as much as she did?

“Say my name again Blair,” Sam ached, daring to pull himself away from her before Dean had a chance to spot him, but to no avail. He felt her hands moving between them. Her fingers met the fabric covering his erection and he lost control. His hands met with her shoulders, her trembling body fell backwards till she landed beneath him. Her skin exposed beneath her sweater, a glimmer of lust flickered in her eyes. She opened her lips to say something. He watched her bite her lip and it all came undone inside his mind.

“Sam?” Dean yelled, his voice loud and booming through the room. He slammed the door behind him. The sound was louder than a gunshot.

Sam turned around to face his brother. “I can explain,” Sam said moving away from the bed. He almost cried when he felt Blair’s hand fall away from his erection.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Two

2013-01-07T22:39:30Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~1450
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A little shameless dreaming for the fun of it. Sam and his sister have always been close. Back tracking to a month ago and things start to take a turn for the weird. What is Blair hiding and how will Sam react to the revelations.
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Persona Insertion
A/N: I had so much fun writing the other I decided to keep writing it.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than water

Chapter Two

Maybe this Christmas ...

Four Weeks ago

“It’s Christmas Dean. Can’t we relax for just a few days?” Blair moaned, cracking open another bottle of soda. The cap popped off shooting the small distance across the table and landed amidst her brother’s plate of chips and pie. She cracked a grin, her lips spread wide revealing her cheeky tongue and she traced the rim of the bottle; loving the way that it made her brother Sam squirm.

“I would have thought you would be pumped to hit the road after the last job,” Dean said, squeezing the fat filled burger between his hands, letting the oozing juices from the beef and the delicious creamy mayonnaise squirt down his fingers. “You said you could go for another, so we are going for another and since when have we ever had a Christmas that hasn’t been spent ganking some son of a bitch; it’s our tradition. Mince pies and murder,” Dean laughed, then proceeded to take the biggest bite that he could. Sauce dripped down his face, covering his chin and lips and as he continued to smile a piece of burger bun fell to the table in his heap of mangled chips.

“Charming,” Blair said, nibbling on her own pile of wedges. She took a look at Sam, who had pushed his plate away and who was now typing away at his laptop, fingers dancing across the keyboard. His eyebrows bent in the way they always did when he was deep in concentration, searching for a case or when his ex- girlfriend Ruby called and demanded they meet up somewhere and talk. Still, regardless of his mood, it was always endearing and Blair felt a sense of security knowing that each brother had their own ways of keeping her safe and alive and in a permanent field of work that she loved.

“So what have you found Sammy?” She asked, wishing not for the first time that Dean would stop chewing with his mouthful and that she had a taste for beer. Maybe then their conversations would be on a different path. Maybe then she would tell the truth, and talk about how she really felt about her life and her desire for the perfect Christmas- yeah right- whatever that was.

“Well you can take your pick you’ve got a woman who was killed in a shower or a man who claims that he struck gold and found the love of his life at a local crossroad,” Sam offered.

“Well that’s a no brainer,” Dean said sucking the sauce of his fingers. He took a swig from his beer, and then wiped his lips. A satisfied burp travelled the space between them and he smiled, rubbing his stomach. “So what are we thinking? Someone desperado tried to strike a deal with a demon or stoke of a demon and the demon gave him what he wanted, for the same deal that they gave me?”

“Only one way to find out,” Blair said draining the remaining dregs of her soda. “There’s nothing I love better than a good old fashion demon slaying. When can we begin?”

The shower ran cold, the hot water long dissipating after the lengthy showers he brothers had taken. Ah, the life of living with two men, Blair thought to herself. The water cascaded down her back, ripples of comfort washing away the sweat of days on the road and the moisture that had grown between her legs at the thoughts surrounding something forbidden. She had lived in her fantasy world her whole life and yet there was no denying that monsters existed. That the reality was far beyond what those who lived in a fantasy world could ever perceive. Still she made do with small pleasures and the luxury of a family who despite all the destruction of life and their survival still loved her beyond words.

Outside the room she could hear her brothers talking about the upcoming case. They had agreed on a few hours’ sleep and would leave in the morning. Usually they managed a room with three single beds, or two singles and a fold out lounge. But with such short notice it was either sleeping in the car again or booking a room and the only one available had been a double and a single. She had taken it upon herself to be the bigger person and to stop her brothers from fighting, had agreed to bunk with Sam. It wouldn’t be the first time, but somehow this was different. Things had changed.

“Are you done using the bathroom yet?” Dean said pounding on the door. “I kind of need to take a piss.”

Blair raised her head, pulling the hair away from her breasts where it was sticking like glue and stood up straight debating whether or not to turn of the shower and make Dean suffer or to continue with her shower knowing it might be her last for a few days. She opted for the later, reaching for the cheap hotel soap and groaned. “Go outside and piss on a bush,” she said lathering it around her navel. The waters splashed washing it off and she felt the first trickle of water touching her inner thighs. “Unless you want to brace yourself for boobs and pussy?” she joked, knowing well that there were boundaries ever Dean would not cross.

“AH, women,” Dean shouted his hand leaving the door. He ran across the room, slapping Sam on the back as he stood a little way from the toilet also waiting for his sister to finish, and ran out the open hotel door; closing it with a bang behind him.

Silence filled the hotel room and Blair relaxed a little more. The tension was not completely easing, but it was dissipating enough for her to enjoy the moment and to take a much needed breather. She ran her hand down her body, lightly caressing her breasts and felt the tight buds of her nipples erect. Not sure whether that was the cold water or arousal she dipped lower, following the curves of her body until she found the soft centre of her clit and shuddered under the rarity of the sensation. It had been a while, months even, since she had even thought about touching herself. Death and survival did that to a woman, but something else lurked in the back of her mind as she rubbed it a little harder, and a small moan escaped her lips; Sam.

It had begun as nothing but a passing thought. It was natural she had read to feel closer to your siblings especially in a situation of life or death. Trauma didn’t help. The constant dependency regardless of admittance was apparent, but then again even the demons had known that. It was both their weakness and their strength at different times and lately the visions of Sam were becoming harder and harder to distinguish between fantasy and reality and love and lust, not to mention guilt and intense pleasure. The same pleasure that she was feeling now, that she had felt the last time she had touched herself, fingered herself and brought herself to an intense orgasm, after seeing Sam without his shirt on and feeling his hard, sweaty frame pressed against her.His cock erect and poking into the curve of her ass cheeks and dipping into the fold. The only thing stopping skin to skin friction was his pants and her panties.

She rubbed harder, the sensation overwhelming and fast. She dipped her fingers into the swell and let out a moan that caused her body to buckle. She panted, his name slipping out in soft whispered that in her head sounded so quiet but in reality had turned into loud cries for her brother. She heard the click, that god awful sound of the bathroom door opening and the sound of footsteps padding on the hard tiled floor. She said his name, couldn’t stop repeating it as she uncontrollably rubbed herself towards another orgasm. Her eyes flickered, met with his, damn Sam and his shirtless chest.She was lost. She saw his face, his lips, and his mouth move as he said something she could not make out. Her fingers trembled, her body shook and the bathroom door closed; Leaving her alone, cold and shivering.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water - Chapter One

2012-12-30T01:39:15Z

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~2270
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A little shameless dreaming for the fun of it. Sam and his sister have always been close, but what happens when they come face to face with a deemed Black Magician?
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Persona Insertion
A/N: I had a dream about Sam last night so I decided to explore the idea for the fun of it.

Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water

Chapter One

What happens in the family stays in the family

Now
“But he’s my brother,” Blair protested as she watched Sam’s eyes for a hint of a plan. The room was darkened by drawn shades over the wired windows and the dim light that flickered like a firefly above their heads. It had been like this for hours, the constant gradual and uncontrollable crawl towards her brother and her self control was wearing thin. The dark magician had them just where he wanted them, but she wasn’t ready to give in that easily.

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone before,” the magician said, standing tall. A hooded face that was bared an eerie clown like feature as he grinned at the two of them. His eyes penetrating the darkness, two white orbs floating between the fabric. His fingers extended, he pushed his hands forward conjuring the energy that drifted between the siblings, lingering around each of their bodies. He felt it within himself. Something that was stronger than the bond between families; something that was inexplicably beyond family boundaries and love itself. His smile grew stronger, as his tongue danced over his lips. He drew them together, coaxing the magic between them and watched with eager desire as Sam took a step towards his sister.

“Dean,” he shouted, putting his foot firmly on the ground. He felt the pull, the aching in his muscles. The sensation was intense. He could feel the muscle tearing as he fought against it and in a moment of weakness as he looked around the otherwise vacant room for their brother, his foot shifted one at a time until he was a mere few steps away from Blair.

“Dean can’t answer the phone at the moment,” the magician laughed. A high pitched, booming cackle, that reminded Blair of all the cliché horror movies and books Sam and Dean had read to her as a child. The wicked witch, only this was no witch and they had never expected to be trapped here with a sorcerer, more powerful than anticipated. “Besides, you know the old saying two’s a match and three’s a crowd, and somehow I just don’t feel that old Dean would be up to what I have planned for you two.”

“What do you want from us?” Blair asked, watching the magician move his spirit fingers once again, beckoning her closer towards her brother. She heard the rip of her shirt, before she felt the intensity inside her chest. A burning sensation filled her insides; the pain increasing from the tip of her head and travelled down in ripples, through her blood till it neared her navel.

“It’s not about what I want my sweet child,” The magician beamed, teeth grazing over his lips in hunger at the sight of the woman’s body inches away from her brothers. “You see the funny thing about Black magic, and this spell especially is that prior to popular belief you can’t cast as spell if there is no hidden intention behind it to begin with. No secret to blackmail with, shall I say, or rather if there is nothing to act upon. Otherwise it would be all a bit drab,” the magician drew his finger towards Blair. “Look at your sister Sam,” he said his eyes on the woman. “Really look at her and tell me that you don’t know what I am talking about.”

Blair’s attention averted, she tried in vain to look her brother in the eyes; too focus on the meaning behind them. He had a plan. He had to have a plan. Instead his eyes were soft, almost in defeat and something lurked behind them. An understanding of what the magician meant. The truth about why he had chosen them to play his sick games with. Sick, that’s what he was a madman, but where they really all that far behind him. Sick, that’s what they both were. She felt it then, a rippling surge from her navel towards her thighs and a powerful jolt melted between her legs as her eyes met completely with her brothers. The first sensation of wetness dripped from her.

With one almightily whoosh, the magician pulled them together till Sam and Blair met toe to toe. A breath away, heads so close together. Their arms were barely touching. Blair’s breasts perked dangerously close to Sam’s chest. “Black magic may be for heretics. It may be cast for the devil and believe me I will have your souls, but Black magic never lies, it never cheats and it never fails to bring light to the deepest desires that reside in our loins that we can never admit to ourselves,”

Sam’s muscles tightened, as he looked down to see his sister’s nipples hardening beneath her shirt. Two little tight buds he had only felt against his skin once before, days ago and two buds of arousal that he wanted to take into his mouth and bite regardless of the sickness that resided in his mind. If Dean ever knew he would kill the both of them. He closed his eyes and felt the first jerk of his hand, controlled by the force of himself and not the magician. He held back, catching his hand with his other before he did something stupid.

“There’s no point in denying yourself Sam,” The magician said, his voice serious. All the humor was gone. “I know what’s inside your mind. How you think about her when she rubs her body against yours as you move around in the kitchen, or How when you walked into the bathroom by accident and she was naked in the shower you felt the urge to bend her over while the water cascaded down her perk breasts and into the crevices of her curves.”

“Shut up,” Sam shouted, his own voice taking on power. He faced Blair, wishing to take her cheek in his hand to comfort her, his little sister, but not daring to incase he made a wrong move. In case he fucked up. In case the magician was right and he did something he could never take back. The bastard was right. He longed to bend her over. But he also longed to take his time shedding her of those faded jeans and her favorite black top with the bird buttons she had sewn by herself. He wanted to loop around necklace Dean had given her to protect her around his fingers and lick beneath it, a line from the tip of her cleavage to the nape of her neck and beyond. For so long he had fought back the desire to touch her in ways that were so wrong, and yet felt so right, like breathing air.

“In the end Sam you will learn that secrets never stay in the dark and you might be fascinated to learn that you’re not the only one that fantasizes about committing the delicious deed of incest,” the magician cocked his head, indicating that Blair was not an innocent member in the tormenting sensations that were growing stronger between them. The magician breathed it in, sucking it up through his nose and his mouth and taking it deep into his body. “You should tell him Blair, tell him about the time a few days ago when you fucked yourself thinking about Sam fucking you. Tell him about how every time he takes off his shirt and he’s all sweaty and hot that your nipples get so hard they feel like someone is carving them with a knife. Tell him about how your ass-“

“ENOUGH,” Blair screamed, tears forming in her eyes. She was a hunter for fuck sake. A damn good one at that. She could kill without emotions. She was a cold-hearted bitch, was what a demon had called her a few years back and coming from a demon that was something, but this, whatever the fuck it was, was so beyond her control. “What do you really want?” she asked, letting the lone tears fall down her dirty cheeks. Her body thrummed at the mention of Sam half naked, with his perk dark nipples and his tight pants.

“I already told you what I want. I want you to be honest with yourselves. What you really want to know is what am I going to do to you, and don’t you worry it’s nothing that you wouldn’t have already done to yourselves given time. I am just shall we say, speeding things up a little. I’m really not that different from you. I’m just a pervert, a tormented man who delights in the darkness and dirtiest parts of people’s minds. I love secrets and I love to expose them. It gets my rocks of; it gets me hard it feeds me.”

“Don’t listen to him Blair,” Sam said, trying desperately not to breath in her scent. It was the scent of hard work, dedication, passion and arousal. “He’s full of shit. Whatever happens, whatever he does it’s not real, and he’s lying. It is all part of the curse,” Sam spoke softly, his words melting between them. Smoke fading away as the magician stood silently and watched them both. He looked at her lips, still soft and supple, despite the dried blood that caked the corner of her chin. A surge of arousal hit him hard and fast like a brick to the gut, propelling him forward, towards his sister.

“She’s wet you know Sammy,” the magician said, using the name only his siblings used. “She wants you to fuck her real bad. She wants you to touch her, to feel her to make her scream. She wants you to gag her with your cock until she can’t breathe.”

Blair moaned then. The sound escaped her lips; uncontrolled. She felt no power behind it. It was not forced by the magician, but felt as natural as breathing. It rose in her chest, causing it to ache with a need as the fire in her belly returned and she felt Sam’s hard body hit hers. His arms enveloped her, catching her before he could knock her to the ground and she stopped for the briefest moment to look up into his eyes. She felt it again, the growing need to moan and as it rose in her throat she felt Sam’s hand on her breast, his fingers on her skin and he hard nipple pressing against the fabric, straining to be released.

“What are you doing? Blair asked, pushing her body closer towards his.

“I don’t know,” Sam said dragging his hand along the line of her breast, upwards towards her neck and across, slowly and painfully towards her shoulders. He could see the hair rising on her skin, reacting to the warmth of his touch. His nails dug into her flesh, he pulled her towards him with a force that was him and only him. “I want-“he said, his voice wavering. His body shuddered, as he felt the blood pool between his legs.

“I can’t stop it,” Blair said, standing high on her toes. The need to taste him was causing more tears to fall from her eyes, running down her cheeks and into her lips. She rubbed her cheeks against his, feeling the warmth and rough stubble of his unshaven face caressing her soft skin. His breath touched her lips, the power so hungry that it was almost carnal. Her tongue hit the soft tender flesh of his lips. Salt lined the tip of her tongue. His nails dug deeper into her shoulder, she felt her shirt being pulled to the side, and heard the familiar sound of fabric ripping beneath his fingers. “Sam,” she cried, her shoulder exposed to the cold air, but the heat between them kept her body hot, the burning intensified until it was unbearable.

Sam’s cock strained against his pants; a deadly weapon that was threatening to be exposed. Blair’s reaction was insane, his own sister was crying against his face, begging her with her moans to be closer to him. He could taste her on his lips. Her salty tears were seeping between his lips. Her lips were against his. It was all too much. He felt her small hands wrap around his heavy frame, slipping beneath his shirt to touch his skin. Her nails dug into his back. There was no going back from this point. Sam’s lips opened. His teeth bite down hard.
Blair took him into her, her tongue probing her brother’s mouth. Her arousal causing her to scream as his hands fell beyond her shoulders, downwards towards her ass. His wrapped them around her, cupping her with all his strength and lifted her towards him, so that she was forced to leave his back and steady herself by wrapping her arms around his neck. She couldn’t let go, wouldn’t let go until she had tasted every inch of him.

Beside them the magician grinned, rubbing his hands together and walked away from the siblings. He turned around, his black cloak shifting across the concrete floor as he strode across the expanse of the large warehouse ground floor and faced the man sitting in the chair in front of him. The man’s eyes were glued to the scene in front of him. His hands balled into fists. He wanted to move, but couldn’t. Not because of the false magic his old friend Jacob had pretended to create between his siblings, but because he could not stand to be around them any longer.

Dean stood up, rage burning with no filter.

FIC “Slept So Long” [ Sam/ Dean, Wincest, NC-17]

2012-09-05T19:48:44Z

Author writersmirth
Title:Slept So Long [1]
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 1820
Warnings (if applicable): Hints of Wincest
Characters/Pairing:Sam/Ruby - Sam/ Dean - Bobby
Summary: Dean is awake and the world has changed.

“You want a room, we got a room. A couch and a bed, yeah you like it? Fifty dollars, you pay me now and I’ll get the key for you.”

Did you think it's cool.To walk right up.To take my life. And fuck it up

Well did you? - Orgy

One - Now

“Here we are,” Bobby said pulling into the small gap in the alley. Between the monster trash cans and the barbed wire fence a mere taillight away, the place looked more like a demon hide out than a hotel fit for a Winchester. Flicking of the lights, he pocketed his keys and turned to Dean who was scoping the narrow passage through the back window.

“You sure this is the place?”Bobby asked readying himself to exit the crappy ass car they’d found parked between some bushes on the roadside. Apart from a cracked windscreen warning and the used condoms littering the floor, it had done its due and he planned on leaving the car behind once they found Sam and tore him a new one.

“As sure as I am that I love pie,” Dean said, swinging the door open. He felt his pocket, the hard steel safety of a loaded gun up against his sweaty flesh was reassuring. His jacket was loaded with extra bullets; silver, salt and some coated with blood. Pulling his jacket over the lump he scanned his surroundings one more time, noting nothing but a paper bag dancing in the wind and a feral cat eyeing the car.

“The GP has been known to talk a lot of shit,” Bobby said running his hand along the back of his neck where small goose bumps raised to the surface. He felt the slick sheen of sweat between his fingertips, the cold breeze a welcome relief from the heat radiating through his body. The air was thick, but suffocating. “And I can smell a shit storm from a mile away.”

Dean stepped beside the man and looked up at the neon flashing sign that looked more like a porn shop window than a hotel. Any minute now he expected to see a big titted woman exit through the sunflower yellow door with its peeling paint and red stains that looked a little too much like a massacre had occurred. Taking the lead he tried the doorbell that was hanging precariously on its last wire and pressed the well used nub to get the receptions attention.

A tiny old man the size of a hobbit shuffled out of the door as it swung backwards, almost knocking Dean to the ground. His rusty complexion and sandpaper skin made the man look blacker than usual in the dim light flickering around the street. It was the tattoos across his body that caught Dean’s attention. Hundreds of tiny crosses stars and symbols from old textbooks warning of demons and spirits. His arms looked like the warehouse they had spray painted when they had first summoned Cas while his cheeks were well dented in with ink in a variety of colors and patterns.

“You want a room, we got a room. A couch and a bed, yeah you like it? Fifty dollars, you pay me now and I’ll get the key for you,” the old man yelled and turned on his heel, without waiting for a reply and opened the yellow door revealing a narrow staircase.

Dean shook his head, resisting the urge to barge past the insistent man and pointed upwards towards the stairs and the faint flashing red light that Dean could make out as the number 17. “No, I am looking for a friend of mine. He would have checked in here about two days ago. He goes by the name of Andy Smith. I was wondering if you could tell me what room he’s in?”

The hobbit turned around, his wrinkled leather shoes squelching on the footpath as he averted his attention to Bobby. “If he’s your friend, why don’t you know what room he’s in?”

“Never got a chance to find out, damn technology these days. Damn idgit never picks up his phone. What’s the point of having those stupid gadgets if you never switch them on. Load of bull. But it’s real important we find out where he is. Got some bad news in regards to his folks and I don’t want to take up more of your time,” Bobby said, towering over the man.

The old man regarded Dean again, looking him up and down from boots to brow. Deciding, he moved past and pointed towards the staircase. “I know of a folk called Andy Smith, young one in his mid twenties who’s staying up in room 34. Can’t promise he’ll be there and I don’t do this for anyone. If I hear of any trouble you’ll both find out where that blood on the door came from. Be warned. I won’t tolerate any kind of funny shit in my hotel.”

“Thanks little guy,” Dean said, smirking as he took to the stairs by fours until he reached the top. Bobby, and the little guy behind him. Dean thought he heard the sound of a gun being loaded but didn’t dare to turn around. He followed the even narrow hallway that looked like a used Oscars red carpet with its white stains and dirt tracks ingrained into the worn rug. It didn’t take long for them to find the room they were looking for and Dean withdrew his gun from his belt, doing a silent countdown in his head before he brought his fist to the door and pounded hard.

The door swung open and Sam stood upwards of his navel with a stingy white towel the size of a child’s wrapped around his bulging thighs. Muscles peeked from beneath the slits while wet droplets seeped down his skin, running past every curve and falling like rain onto the tiled floor beneath him.

“Dean?” Sam questioned, folding his arms over his chest. Dean noted the knife slipped beneath the edge of the towel and scowled at the thought of his weapons being so openly exposed. What was he playing at, and what was that smell. It was rich, intoxicating like-like sex still hanging in the air. Secrets, dirty secrets covered up my cheap soap and pricy deodorant.

Dean’s throat grew tight as his eyes followed the lines of his brothers pecks until they met with two pert nipples hard and swollen from the heat surrounding the room. His eyes lingered, wondering for the sickest most brief moment what it must be like to be a woman and to take them in their mouth, but was quickly cut short by Bobby who barged past Dean, pinning Sam to the open door.

“Where the hell have you been for past week you assmokey. I’ve been calling you for days chewing up time trying to track you down when we got better things to be doing. What you never thought to pick up the phone or send one of those damn txt messages? Bobby said, looking around the room. He noted the messed up bed and steam coming from the room. His ears peaked and he could just make out the sound of a woman humming in the background. The sound of the water louder than a waterfall. “That better hell not be what I think it is?”

“What the fuck Sammy. You holding out on me?” Dean asked, unable to hide the smile that creased his cheeks. It was soon wiped away by the woman who existed the room. She turned to face the men, a towel the same as Sam’s wrapped around her breasts but barely covering anything below her navel. Dean saw the flash of her eyes, the slight change from deep pit black to brown and pulled his gun to eye level, ready to pull the trigger.

“I’m not even going to ask the question. I pray to hell that you know Sammy, but why the hell is there a freaking demon raiding your hotel supplies?”

“The names Ruby,” The Demon said turning to face the two hunters head on. No fear in her eyes. “And I’m doing a lot more than raiding your brother’s hotel supplies.”

Dean screwed up his fists, ready and raring to punch Sam for even allowing a Demon to enter his room let alone into his shower. Was his brother that really far gone? Had their time apart caused him such traumatic intimacy issues that he had to shack up with the closet bitch he could find?

“Step aside Sam,” Bobby said stepping towards Ruby. He reached for the knife, the only one that could send the bitch back to hell and with one quick, fluid motion came face to face with Sam’s heavy frame. The Knife, mere inches from the other hunter’s chest.

“I said move aside you idgit before you get hurt,” Bobby said, grabbing hold of Sam’s arms. He could feel the blood pumping in his veins, the warmth of his body against his fingertips. But something was way off and he could sense it in the way Sam tensed up, his arms folded across his chest as he shook Bobby of easily with a strength he’d never seen the hunter exude.

“Enough already Sam, step aside,” Bobby said his voice wavering as confusion overrode his senses.

“Back away Bobby, it ain’t gunna happen,” Sam said, looking past the older hunter to where his brother stood ready to make the leap any second now. “And there’s no point in trying because I will just stop you. Both of you.”

Dean took a few steps forward, grabbing hold of Bobby in one hand and Sam in another. “You’re going to move the fuck aside Sam or...”

“Or what Dean. You’ll hurt me. Try me. How long has it been since you’ve been outta the hole?”

“Enough Sam, why the hell can’t you see how messed up is it that you’re defending a demon. A bitch demon as well who tried to get you hooked on demon blood, a bitch who left you high and dry when the hell rained down on us, and when Cas tried to tear me a new ass for trying to protect you, to stop you why the hell would you want to go back to her?”

“Because Dean,” Sam said in a calm, collected voice. “I love Ruby and there's nothing you can do or say that is going to alter that.”

“You’re no better than an addict,” Dean said reaching his hands out towards Sam’s shoulders. He felt the strength of Sam then, his fingers hot and tight around his own arms. It felt like ropes wrapped tightly around his flesh, tightening with every second, cutting of his circulation. He stared into his brothers eyes, dark and murky. Water droplets like tears spilled between them and landed on Deans hand, the sensation cooling the heat between them. Sam smiled, pulling Dean closer towards him.

“Better to be an addict than to be alone Dean.”

New Disease

2012-08-31T22:22:10Z

Title: New Disease
Author writersmirth
Character(s)/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 1920
Rating: R
Disclaimer:All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Sam comes to a sickening revelation. Warning Wincest.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sam said, slowly wrapping his fingers tightly around his brother's throat.

Is this all worth what this has done to me

Watered down my senses and turned them on me - Spineshank

***

The colors darted across the room, each scene playing across the screen leaving Sam even more nauseated than the last. The women, all three of them naked and splayed out on the love bed in a hotel [not unlike the one he and Dean were renting now] did nothing for his ego or his sex drive. If anything it was making him more flaccid, his cock shriveling further between his legs. This wasn’t right.

Sam reached for the remote and flicked the channel. With 700 odd channels on the hotel cable there was bound to be something that would get him going and if nothing else help him sleep a little easier. After a few flicks he settled on a comedy station, not daring to look any further for fear he would be there all night. Not that it mattered. Dean wouldn’t be home for hours and neither one of them knew where or when they would see Castiel again. Still, men in suits and ties trying to reel in women was a damn sight more entertaining than the thoughts that continued to wreak havoc in his mind and if porn wasn’t going to ease the tension, bad american comedy sure would.

***
The alarm clock turned over, the old fashioned numbers signalling morning was soon arising. Sam rolled over, spit pooling at the sides of his lips. He lifted his head, feeling his skin sticking to the cardboard pillow slip and rolled over, dragging the sweaty sheets of the double bed along with him. Opening his eyes Sam, both cracked with dry sleep and wiped them clean with the tips of his fingers, wiping away with it the reminder of another night he would have to spend alone while Dean galavant around with any local hussy he could find. For now, when his eyes were clean he let his eyes roam towards the other side of the room where his brother lay half naked and wrapped up in his blankets. Asleep and softly snoring into his own cardboard pillows.

“Rise and shine,” Sam muttered, unable to look at Dean any longer than necessary. The sight annoying him more than usual.

Why was he always the one who spent the night alone eating left overs from the night before while he wasted away in front of the television or worse yet his laptop doing research for the two of them?

Why wasn’t he allowed to blow off steam? Sure it probably wouldn’t be with a woman and it would be a little bit harder to express his true self in this town, but it had been three days since they had arrived here and he’s seen nothing but the four walls that surrounded him and the vending machine four doors down every night when he ran low on caffeine.

When would it be his turn?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sam said to himself, slipping from beneath the sheets. His feet found the floor, cold air drifting from underneath the bed itself. It had been a brutal winter. Fighting the frost, Sam wrapped his sheet around his body and tied it in a knot wishing not for the first time in his life that he could wrap himself in a tight cocoon and wake up when Dean finally realised just how much his actions were killing him. Killing the both of them.

Sam padded to the bathroom, the sheet trailing behind him. He stepped inside the freezing room, his nipples beginning to perk while his body tried in vain to desperately adjust to the warmth of the sheet. Closing the door behind him, he flicked the lock and lent against the hard frame, loving the sensation of the knob pressing deep into his flesh. Loving the feeling of pain itself and the sense of being grounded that allowed him to believe for a few minutes that this wasn’t all a dream, that his thoughts weren’t real and that he wasn’t in love. Head over heels, and sickly in love.

“You okay in there?” Dean yells, thumping his fist on the door causing Sam to lose his footing and slip on the floor. “Hey open up I gotta take a freaking leak.”

Angry, Sam rose to his feet using the nearby towel rack to hoist himself up. Lately everything Dean did drove him insane. But this, this was just the icing on the top of the cake. With fists balled the the sheet falling down as the knot unwound and fell beneath his feet. Sam unlocked the door, swinging it outright in Dean’s face, not even waiting a moment to watch his brother stumble back before he was on him like a rabid dog.

“Get out of my fucking face Dean,” Sam said, spittle flying through the short distance between them and landing on his brother's cheek. He looked into his brother's eyes, heat rising beneath the surface of his skin. Fury crawling like wildfire ready to burst and cause an inferno to rage through him. Even Dean’s stupid frown, the one that creased his dimples in a slight grin made him sick to the stomach. Sam’s fingernails dug into his skin, piercing the surface, keeping him grounded once again, but the sight of Deans pert nipples and half naked chest tipped him over the edge.

Lunging forward, the sheet completely slipping away from his body, Sam reached for Dean’s throat and wrapped his hands around his brothers hot flesh. Immediately the pulse of Dean’s fear caused Sam’s body to respond and the sound of his brothers gasps of pain sent shivers throughout his body, turning into hot ripples of pleasure when his own nipples came into contact with Deans.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sam said, slowly wrapping his fingers tightly around his brother's throat. “You leaving me every night to sit here alone while you fuck around and then come home and brag about it like it’s some kind of conquest.”

“I- didn’t,” Dean rasped, reaching for Sam’s hands. Trying desperately to pry them from his throat. “Stop-”

Sam moved closer, loosening his grip ever so slightly. His eyes never blinking, never wavering away from Dean’s. He wanted to drink up this moment. The sight of Dean afraid, his own bad ass brother watery eyed and gasping for air. He wanted him to know he had some control, that he could do it too, just as good as any woman ever could. He wanted to make him see that no one could love him like he did. No one knew him better than he and only he could ever make him cum as hard as Dean would once he was finished with him. Sam felt Dean tense beneath him. His brothers face turning an awful shade of red. Which stirred something deeper downwards, where the blood left his brain and pooled deep, causing his cock to dance and an erection to rub against Dean’s chest.

“I need to fuck you Dean. I need to fuck you so bad its all I can think about. I can’t even-” Sam faltered, feeling his brothers pulse slow beneath his fingertips. “I can’t even cum unless I think about you. I’ve tried so hard for so long. Nothing works. I need it Dean.”

Dean dug his nails into Sam's hands, scratching away at the skin that was already bruised from a previous hunt. Was he delusional? Did Sam just say he wanted to fuck his own brother? Or was the affects of suffocation cutting of the circulation, causing his mind to crack beneath the loud thumping tribal beat of his heart pounding in his ears, complementing the sickening sound of blood rushing through his body traveling towards his stomach.

Sam lowered one hand, keeping his fingers pressed against Dean’s neck as he kept his on Dean’s, never wavering once. Not even when two small tears seeped from his brothers eyes like droplets of sweat and disappeared between two cracked lips.Lower and lower he trailed, past his nipples and the soft hair of his nail trail, over his hot navel and beneath the vline of his pelvis. He breathed in deeply, consumed with arousal that made his eyes water with the need to sink to his knees and submit to his brothers growing hard cock. Instead he resisted and let his hands touch Dean’s skin before his fingertips explored and caressed the tip of the semi-hard flesh.

“I’ll let go if you promise not to hurt me,” Sam whispered,his eyes rolling into the back of his head with Ecstasy at the sensation of Dean’s rock growing beneath his fingers, dancing closer towards his stomach. Was he aroused? Or was it exactly like Sam had read about? Asphyxiation; Was Dean losing consciousness and oxygen while his body betrayed him with confusion making him high and causing the chemicals in his body to make him horny too.

“Unless you want to,” Sam moaned, feeling the first slip of pre-cum ooze from Dean’s slit.

“You’re losing him,” a voice lingered, heavy in the air, not unlike a familiar angels. A warning that Sam had heard one too many times.

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean’s eyes rolling back in his head and his complexion had turned from red to white the further Sam's fingers had dug into his neck. Alarmed for the first time in what felt like hours that had passed, Sam let go of Dean’s throat and drew him in closer. Catching him with both hands wrapped around his arms as Dean swayed and nearly fell backwards.
***

Opening his eyes, Dean widened as he was moved onto the edge of the bed. Eyes flickering, adjusting to the light, he rubbed hard trying to rid the swirling pain that made the room spin faster and faster with every blink. He looked down, his vision blurred to find himself naked and wrapped in his sheets. Between his legs, on his knees Sam held up a glass of water to him and he took it in both hands. The cool, wet sensation made his throat hurt, but for what reason he wasn’t quite sure. It felt like someone had stuffed a wire brush down his throat. He held his fingers up to his throat, feeling for bumps and lumps but came up short with nothing but soft pain when his fingers came into contact with what must be bruises and then it all came back to him like a lightening storm, fire crackling heat through his veins while his body tried hard to pump blood through them. Sammy- Sam, had tried to kill him.

“What the fuck Sam?” Dean said, throwing the glass of water on the floor. Ripping the blankets way he discarded them on the bed and stood up, pushing Sam roughly away from his naked body. Feeling exposed and violated he searched the room for his flask of Holy water and noted the nearest gun on the table a few feet away. Without waiting for his brother to answer, Dean reached for the gun hearing Sam rise to his feet and turned around, aiming the barrel at his brother's chest.

“What the fuck Dean” Sam said, moving a few steps away from Dean’s aim.

Dean shook his head, cocking it to the side and raised his weapon prepared to shoot if necessary. “I asked you first.”

Falling In Reverse #1

2012-07-29T13:04:17Z

Title: Falling in Reverse # 1
Author writersmirth
Character(s)/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Theme: 08. Secret
Word Count: 708
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer:All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Sam sees Dean after many years apart. Warning Wincest.
Warnings/Author Notes: All mistakes are mine. No real spoilers. Written for spn_snapshots

Falling in Reverse

Sam wasn’t sure it was a wonderful sign or a sign of disaster, but soon he knew that the error was of his own doing. Strapped with enough arsonal to blow any man away, he stepped outside of the gift store and began the journey towards Dean’s house.

It had been a long time, some ten years and he recalled while passing the local pie stand next to the subway steps; when all it took to make his brother smile was a big breasted blond and a home cooked beef pie. Now with the angel dead, Bobby long gone and burned to dust and Gabriel making sick jokes about pulling Dean into an parallel universe where Cas was still alive, Sam couldn’t recall the last time he had seen his brother smile.

Dean’s depressive nature was a deterrent for usual visits and put a strain on their once somewhat healthy relationship. Still, he had made the effort to make the trip after leaving his job at a local law firm back up state and his boyfriend of only a few months who persistently complained about his and Dean’s relationship, saying that he couldn’t understand the incesteous and co-dependent needs the two had for one another. It hadn’t taken Sam long to realise the man would never understand. Who could?

None of it mattered though, not when his brother hadn’t seen the sunshine since the last century and spend his time ordering food from Meals on Wheels, just so he wouldn’t have to face the outside world. If he’d only stayed a little longer and fought the battle alongside Dean than Cas wouldn’t be dead and Dean and Cas would probably be living somewhere like Long Island or somewhere remote and cosy with two kids and a couple of hot asian housekeepers to keep things interesting. Right now chocolate and pumpkin pie seemed like a stupid idea and condoms; ‘Gabriels suggestion’ was even worse.

Nearing Dean’s house, Sam stood out front a few houses down and dumped the presents tucked under his arm in a nearby garbage bin. Candy and Pastry could numb the memories, but they would never ease the pain that they all still felt with Cas’s loss. Sam screwed up his fists, thinking about all the selfish things he had done to exclude Dean from his life and any progress he had made. Just thinking about the years his brother had wasted away in that house, alone and living the life of a hermit, trapped in his own tormented cave burned an inferno of rage tearing through Sam’s body.

When the sing song sound of Cas’s voice lingered in the air, haunting him and thick with blame it took on an all a whole new level.

“It’s not my fault Cas,” Sam yelled, fist thumping the garbage can. The lid slipped down onto the road, rolling a bit and nearly hitting a car traveling along at a snail pace. The driver scowled at Sam as they drove past. It was enough to pull him in line, he turned around and looked up at Dean’s sad eyes peeping through an open curtain. The same room Cas had died in. Suddenly, Sam’s hand stung and all thoughts were replaced with an urgency he had been denying for too long. As he neared the gate Dean’s front door swung open and his brother stepped into the afternoon light.

Feelings stirred inside him. Anger, frustration, resentment and agony.

“Nice to see you still know how to suit up,” Dean said, a worn smile tugging at his cheeks.

Sam’s eyebrows raised, he cocked his head to the side. “Huh?”

Dean shook his head. “T.V reference. I got cable. Don’t shoot me,” he said holding his hands up above his head.

Sam smiled, loving that familiar jovial sound of his brother's voice as Dean stepped closer, slowly, until his arms enveloped him in a high so tight it stirred something deeper. Instantly, despite the thoughts he tried to keep at bay; Sam felt himself harden.

“I’ve missed you Sam,” Dean said pulling away. His hand caressing his cheek.

“I know,” Sam said, pulling his coat over his crotch to cover his shame. “I’ve missed you too.”

12_ Stories Prompt Table: Miscellaneous B

2011-04-12T02:49:51Z

TABLE EIGHT - MISCELLANEOUS B

01.	Anger.	02.	Choices.	03.	Answers.	04.	Thought.
05.	Desire.	06.	Travel.	07.	Assignment.	08.	Leaving.
09.	Caring.	10.	Duty.	11.	People.	12.	Loss.

00/12

Eastern Glow

2011-04-12T02:08:35Z

Title: Eastern Glow
Author writersmirth
Beta: Thanks to mab for her help and support
Character(s)/Pairing: Dean/Cas
Theme: 14-09 Choose your own Adventure
Word Count: 995
Rating: Pg -13
Disclaimer:All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Dean wakes up in a strange place.
Warnings/Author Notes: All mistakes are mine. No real spoilers. Written for spn_30snapshots

Dean awoke on a secluded beach to the sound of seagulls swarming around the distant jetty. Overhead, the sun was setting in a blended shade of orange and purple. Small stars had begun to peek between the graying clouds, while the moon was ready to meet the sun midway through the sky, the dawning of an eclipse. Between his fingers, grainy sand flecked with broken shells stuck wetly to his skin.

Sitting up, Dean looked out at the ocean waves crashing and falling in quick succession. He didn’t recall how he’d got here. When he had last closed his eyes, he had been buried beneath the covers in a king sized bed, in the cheapest room in a California motel, freezing his balls off, even with the heavy duty jeans he was wearing and his thick sweat shirt. Sam on the other hand, had disappeared many nights ago and had only called a few times to let Dean know he was still alive.

Dean scanned the beach, looked out across the expanse of the ocean and turned around. For miles sand covered a vast majority of the land. In the distance he could make out the shapes of strange trees; Dean guessed they were palm trees, but in this whacked out place, he wasn’t going to place money on it. His first thought was that he was dreaming, but the sensation of knowing he was awake and this was not something he was conjuring up made him question the truth.

Shaking the sand from his body, he rose to his feet, stretching his buried toes and checked his back pockets for his keys. The cool metal touched his skin, a comfort to him in this strange land in which he’d found himself. Searching his front pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper that hadn’t been there before and un-scrunched it in his hands. It looked to be a brochure, faded, wet and smelling strongly of salt water and sea weed. On the front of the torn paper, images similar to his surroundings promoted a tropical vacation.

Dean looked around him, his brows knitted closely together. Everything seemed to appear the same, the only thing that was missing from the beach were the happy couples and apparent nudists who advertised a secret splice of eroticism on the other side of the beach. Old women in sun hats smiled at him from the crumpled paper, while old men dared not to cover parts of the anatomy Dean could have gone without seeing. Dean swore one of the women winked at him, but blinked it back, putting it down to dehydration.

Touching his lips, he noted the taste of dried blood forming between the cracks of his skin and wetted them, tasting salt and grit. There certainly wasn’t any chance of him cracking open a cold beer around here. Quickly, his survival instincts began to set in, as the idea of this being a dream disappeared and reality hit him harder than a rock in the face. Slipping the brochure in his back pocket, he ran a hand through his slick hair and grimaced at the sensation of sweat and sand sticking between the cracks of his fingers.

It was growing darker, the sunlight had now cast a dim shadow behind the bluish night and the moon had risen, casting its fullness across the ocean. Frustrated, Dean considered searching around, he knew it was inevitable, but with the sudden change of light, the chemicals in his body changed and he grew more tired with every step he took toward the ocean. Stepping into the shallow water, he drank in the sensation of the cold water cleaning the sand off his feet and bent down to roll his jeans up past his ankles.

“Dean,” a life-long familiar voice sounded from across the waves.

Dean stared out at the ocean, searching the horizon for the mysterious voice. Flying past the moon, he noted a long-winged animal hovering and creating dark shadows. To anyone else, it would have been a nightmare, but to him dark shadows and freaky winged creatures were part of his daily nature.

“Dean,” the voiced called again, only now it seemed to be coming from within arms reach.

Dean watched the winged creature swoop closer and fly out further over the waves. Eyes heavy, he stepped deeper into the water, letting the water crash against his knees. His waterlogged denim clung tighter to his skin. The sudden urge to sink beneath the surface consumed him. Thirst swelled inside him. His mouth became drier and as the salt lapped at his flesh, waves circled him like flames to a fire, rising higher.

“Dean,” the voice yelled, echoing in the emptiness.

Cas? Dean thought, conjuring up the image of his secret lover. If anyone could take him away from this freakish nightmare it would be him. But the voice was different, more mocking, like a child playing hide and seek.

Distracted, Dean dipped his hands into the water and splashed the freezing water on his burning skin. He turned around, unable to stabilize himself any longer and stared out at the angel that stood further out on the dunes.

Wings spread out behind the figure, casting a shadow over the sand. A smile crossed the man’s face, curving at the lips and creating dimples that seemed clearer to Dean the harder the waves thrashed at his legs. While Brown hair swirled in the lifeless air, never touching the angel’s face, it was his eyes that allowed Dean to see through to the soul of the creature. Two pupils penetrated his mind as his legs buckled, dragging him under the water.

Gabriel

Dean reached for the surface of the water, opening his mouth to scream, suffocating under the strength of the deadly sea. Closing his eyes, he fought for survival and swore on his beating heart he could hear the sound of the chuckling angel travelling over the waves.

Coffee House Shame

2011-04-11T00:45:20Z

Title: Coffee House Shame
Author: writersmirth
Rating: PG-13
Warning: MPreg
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Summary: Dean is dealing with his hormonal changes and his share of Jesus freaks
Disclaimer:All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.

Settling into the comfortable leather chairs, Dean pulled his papermate from behind his ear, flicking the pen and stared out at the line forming at the front register. Starving, he listened to the demonic grumble of his stomach and slipped his pen between the covers of his journal.
It hadn’t been his idea to start the journal, but he sure wasn’t opting for one of those hideous hallmark ones, your mother gave you as a present at your baby shower. Castiel found it ‘cute’ to begin with, but together they found it humorous. It hadn’t been until they began to shop for books on fathering that he’d come across the black leather moleskin journal and felt drawn to it. Instinct told him to pick it up while the devil on his shoulder started mocking him for even considering it. After all, only hunters and teenage girls kept journals. And he was neither one of those now.

“I brought you a bland tea,” Castiel said, juggling two saucers with hot beverages on his arm. He placed them on the table, slipping napkins underneath and took his seat across from Dean.

“I still think this is a stupid idea,” Dean said chewing on the lid. The aroma of tea lingered around him and he inhaled deeply, loving the weak smell compared to the coffee drifting over from the machines. Cupping the mug, he brought it to his lips and tuned in to the noise around him, wishing, not for the first time in the eight months of his pregnancy, that he could be sitting back in a shady bar with Sam, sourcing out the next hunt while chugging back a few beers.

A table over, a woman in her mid-thirties had scattered swatches of some kind over the table. A journal of her own was opened, scribbled with symbols and chicken scratch writing. Dean leaned back in his chair, without inhibition and scowled. The noise in the café dulled to a whisper as staff and customers cast their eyes in his general direction.

Her voice shrill, grating on Dean’s last nerve. He turned in her direction, painfully aware of the popping of gum against her lips as she spoke on her phone.

“I wanted to go with the beige suit, with the button up down the front, but I changed my mind and wanted to go in another direction. So Parlo emailed me this gorgeous design and sent it over and I tell you, I ended up dressed in a completely ghastly, inappropriate shade of pink. I looked like an inflatable …”

“What? You never read the papers before?” Dean snapped.

Disgusted, the woman turned her back to him and continued to sift through her collection of papers. Dean heard her mutter something under her breath, but could only pick up a few words, freakish hell being one of them.

“Ignore them,” Castiel interjected, trying to sate the rage travelling in energy waves throughout the café. He leaned forward, reaching into Deans thoughts and flinched at the image of Dean pushing himself down a flight of stairs in hopes of ridding himself of the burden. It was brief, but the image lasted much longer in his mind than it did in Dean’s.

Finishing his drink, Dean wiped his lips and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Feeling unwanted tears swelling in his eyes, he pulled out a twenty, slipping it under the cup out of sheer habit and held onto the table, ready to leave the discrimination behind him.

“Dean we don’t have to leave.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean snapped, throwing his journal onto the table in front of Castiel. He hated creating a scene, but lately with his hormones all bent out of shape, he felt himself willing and ready to punch Cas in the face for not understanding how he truly felt.

“Do I look like I’m ready to take this shit?”

“I’m merely suggesting you remain seated, enjoy another beverage and ignore these ignorant by-standers. Nothing good can come from these negative emotions.”

Cas reached for the empty journal, pocketing it in his trench coat and waved to the seat beside Dean.

“No, I’m ready to leave this joint,” Dean said, scanning the café and listening to the distant curses and the Jesus loving sinners who were crossing their chests and praying loudly over the sound of the coffee machine.

Making his way to the entrance, Dean turned to face Cas, fury still brewing beneath the surface. He may have been hormonal, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when to walk away from an unhealthy situation before it got out of control.

In a blink of an eye, the chair was empty and Cas stood behind Dean in the doorway entrance, hand outstretched, ready and willing to embrace his lover, the father of his child. Without normal human inhibition, he caressed Dean’s hair in a calming gesture and together they walked out into the street.

“Close your eyes,” Cas said soothingly, his hand hovering over Dean’s forehead. “We’ll be home soon.”

Looking For Fan-Fiction Writing Buddies [Supernatural]

2011-04-04T00:11:42Z

Hey There,
I am looking for anyone addicted to the series who would be interested in becoming a writing buddy. I am wanting to get back into writing about it and I find having a buddy helps. A soundboard, a friend, a lover of the series.

Let me know if you are interested.
Much thanks, Blair.

xx

Feel Good Inc.

2010-11-07T05:58:15Z

Title: Feel Good Inc.
Author: writersmirth
Recipient: notragicmercury
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers:

er... through season five

Disclaimer:All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: rimming, AU
Word Count: ~3150
Summary: Dr. Castiel, masseuse, helps work out Dean’s kinks at Lisa’s request.
Author's Notes: written for challenge one at ficexchange_mix

Feel Good Inc.

“I'm here to see doctor Castiel,” Dean said, handing the folded referral over the counter. He smiled sheepishly as the cute brunette took his papers and cards and checked them through the system, handing them back to him with a forced grin.

“Take a seat in the waiting area. He shouldn't be too far away.”

Frowning, Dean took a seat close to the hallway and picked up a trashy women's magazine from the pile that had spilled across the table. Flicking through, he stopped at the pictures of celebrities in bikinis and imagined what Lisa would look like in a low-cut two-piece or a dazzling one piece with that would show of her beautiful pert breasts and curvaceous ass.

“Dean Winchester,” a voice called.

“That's me,” Dean said looking up. He threw the magazine back onto the table.

The man was dressed in a pair of black tailored pants and a button up shirt with the centre's logo embroidered on the breast. Dean pictured him to be the kind of man who would bat for the same team, and found something unsettling in the man's generous smile. He decided to book his own appointments here on in.

“Follow me, right this way,” Castiel said, walking down the hallway.

Dean followed, looking at the pictures and posters that hung on the walls. So many of them were depressing, and he wondered whether he would come out of his appointment feeling any less tense. It had been Lisa's idea. Dean had been too tense in her opinion, and it was starting to affect their relationship and sex life. She would never understand the burning need he had to be something different, to do something different with his life.

“Come take a seat,” Dr. Castiel said, patting the massage bed. He flipped open a folder, taking a seat in his own comfortable chair at his computer, and began typing away, waiting for Dean to take the position.

Cautiously, Dean climbed the step and lowered himself onto the bed. Uncomfortable, he turned his face to the side, feeling it sink slightly into the head rest, and let his hands fall to the sides. For a moment, he watched the doctor typing, growing frustrated with every second that passed in the compromising position he was in.

“Are we gonna get this show on the road then?” Dean asked, bringing himself into a sitting position when the clock passed seven minutes and Castiel hadn't said a word.

Castiel turned around, closing the document and smiled, stepping over to a long trolley equipped with oils and needles of all kinds. Noting Dean's panicked expression, he pushed the trolley towards the window and pumped one of his hands with the liquid, heating it.

“Acupuncture. No need to worry. Your wife was specific when speaking with me. Just relax; you are in good hands and I can stop at any time.”

“What exactly did my wife order?”

Castiel pulled a towel from the bottom of the trolley and placed it at Dean’s waist.

“There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Winchester. I'm going to massage all those kinks out and then see what I have to work with. I guarantee you no funny business. The secret is relaxation—if you tense up it's going to take me longer to work it out of your system.”

Dean frowned, rolling onto his side.

“My patients usually feel more comfortable with their clothing off. If you like, I can give you a moment of privacy to change.”

“I'd prefer to keep my clothes on,” Dean said firmly.

“That's fine, Dean, but I'm going to need to have your permission to move your clothes and they will get wet. I can cover you with a towel and the only area that will be exposed is your back.”

“Fine, give me a minute,” he said defeated. He waited until the doctor was out of sight before he stripped his singlet and flannel off and folded them in half, resting them between his feet at the end of the bed.

“You can come back in now,” Dean yelled, poking his face through the hole in the bed, relaxing his cheeks against the leather. He listened to the door open and then Castiel's footsteps moving closer. Looking down, he noted the man's shiny shoes and tensed at the thought of money he earned from greasing up men.

Castiel lay a towel over Dean’s back and shifted it down a few inches away from his shoulders. Castiel rubbed his hands together heating the oil once more, before he relaxed them and touched Dean’s hot flesh.

“Remember the key to a good massage is to relax,” Castiel said working his knuckles into Dean’s shoulders.

“Goo-oo-d,” Dean moaned, arching his back as the pain travelled around his nerves. He felt the Doctor’s knuckles dig into his skin, poking at his muscles. The sensation was the same as if someone had stabbed him with a knife and was rotating it back and forth beneath his flesh.

“It will hurt for a few minutes, but take a deep breath. Inhale...that's right, now exhale...yes...and you will feel it easing slowly. No...don't tense your muscles, Mr. Winchester, relax. If it helps, imagine a beautiful woman is giving you a massage.”

Dean closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the table as Castiel's palm followed the arch of his back and spine. In his mind, he imagined Lisa wrapped in a towel, naked and hot, fresh out of the shower, rubbing his body down with her scented oils—the way she had when they were in college and foreplay existed between the sheets.

Conjuring up his memories, thoughts drifted to the sound of classical music playing next door. The boy everyone used to bully, Vince, was practicing for an upcoming concert. The sound was pleasant, melodic, and as Lisa caressed his every desire, Dean began to grow hard. He smiled, laughing as she lowered her hands to his erection and began to rub his aching crown.

“That's it, Mr. Winchester, I'm almost done. Keep that thought in your head for a little longer,” Castiel said softly, lowering his hands to the small of Dean’s back.

Dean opened his eyes and felt the towel being shifted. Cold air filled the room, titillating his nipples. His jeans strained, hard and tight against the table. The towel moved further downwards, touching the tip of his belt. Thoughts of Lisa disappeared.

“What are you doing?” Dean questioned, lifting his head from the hole.

“Your wife asked for me to give you the full treatment. You have nothing to be concerned about. You are in safe hands, I ask you to trust me, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean.”

“Forgive me, Dean. I won't do anything unless I have permission.”

“What exactly is the full treatment?” Dean asked, sensing the Doctor’s hands hovering over his ass. His cock twitched, the sensation rocking him and causing him to involuntarily groan. He held his hand over his mouth, feigning a cough in his throat and waited for the Doctor to answer his question.

“Your wife asked me to release all your tension in whatever ways that I could. It is natural for a man or a woman to feel aroused when receiving a massage. Certain nerves send reactions to all different points of the body. I can offer you that release, at no extra cost to you if you wish, Dean.”

Dean sat up, letting the towel fall to the floor and reached for his clothes. He looked at the Doctor, noting how his smile never wavered and the way he rubbed his hands together with oil. The warm scent of cinnamon wafted between them and stirred something in his nose, causing him to feel dizzy and his eyes to water. He had to get out of there.

“I don't know what crap my wife told you, but I do know that I sure as hell am not letting a dude 'release' me from anything. No offence of course if you like to take it up the ass, but I'm straight.”

Castiel nodded, wiping his hands on a nearby towel.

“I understand completely. I won't push you. If you lay down I will continue to work through your back and shoulder muscles. I am also a good listener, some of my customers find it helpful to talk to me throughout the massage. Nothing you say or do leaves this room.”

“I'd prefer to leave now,” Dean said, unfolding his clothes.

“Are you happy with your marriage?” Castiel asked, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Dean cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrow.

“Every relationship has its ups and downs.”

“Yes, but are you happy in your relationship?”

Dean nodded, for the most part he was, but there was something inside of him that beckoned to be released and he wasn't about the share it with someone who would understand it only too well.

“Mr. Winchester-Dean, your wife and I go a long way back. She has been coming to me every week since before you were engaged. I understand she has concerns, concerns that from what she has shared I can understand. If you need to get it out of your system I am offering you the chance. I am 100% healthy and won't do anything you don't want me to do.”

“So much for confidence,” Dean muttered, under his breath.

“Lisa also tells me you haven't been able to get an erection in the past few months. That you are distant and she has caught you looking at other people when in passing. I understand that stress and tension are a natural deterrent for sexual intimacy. Would you prefer I have someone prescribe something for you?”

Dean shook his head. This was getting out of control. He'd come here to make Lisa happy, not to have some queen convince him of the benefits of an erection. His cock throbbed beneath his zip, daring to be released. He cupped his cock in his hands to hide the evidence.

Castiel’s eyes fell to the erection dancing in his direction.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Cas asked, stepping closer between Dean’s legs.

Dean shuffled back, nearly falling of the edge of the bed and manoeuvred himself away from the doctor.

“I'm gonna give you three seconds to get out of my personal space or I swear you'll be wearing your ass between your teeth.”

“There's no need to be hostile, Dean. I am a doctor. I am trained to read people. Close your eyes.”

“Two,” Dean counted.

“Does it turn you on that I'm standing between your legs, Dean?” Doctor Castiel asked, running his hand up the length of Dean’s thigh.

Dean fisted the pillow, gripping it with his nails as the Doctor's own erection strained in his slacks and rubbed against him, making Dean's cock ache to be released from them. His skin grew hot as he inhaled deeply. Covering his mouth with one hand, he held back a moan travelling from his chest and bit hard into his flesh, his eyes watering at the agony resting between his thighs.

Castiel lowered himself to his knees, reaching for the zip of Dean’s jeans. Without permission, he unzipped Dean, and slid his hand inside the warmth of Dean’s constriction.

“What are you doing,” Dean said, looking down at the man who had taken his cock from his jeans and was holding it with two hands. He watched, biting his lip, as the doctor hovered his lips over the crown and began to lap at the beads of pre-come dribbling from his slit.

“You need to stop,” Dean said, wriggling away from the man’s hot tongue.

“Because it feels good? Dean, you are denying yourself the truth and divine pleasure that God is offering you.”

Dean shook his head, taking his erection in his hand and pressed it against his navel, revealing his heavy balls.

“No, because I'm a dead man if my wife finds out. I don't want to ruin what's left of our marriage so you can get your jollies off and charge me ten times the amount on my bill.”

“I told you it is at no extra charge. Dean, Lisa wants this for you,” Castiel said, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve. Inching forward, his tongue rested on Dean’s balls and he inhaled the richness of his pink rim

“What did you say?” Dean said, attempting to move. He gripped the table tightly, attempting to move his thighs away, but Castiel’s hands rested firmly on each leg, stopping him from moving.

“Lisa asked me specifically to release your tensions sexually. To do whatever was necessary to rid you of your suppressed desires.”

Dean shook his head. It was a lie. A con. There was no way Lisa would invest money in him cheating.

“Wives are knowledgeable of a lot more than then they let on,” Doctor Castiel said, lowering his lips past Dean’s balls to the puckered tightness of Dean’s desires.

“No—she wouldn't.”

“It is true, Dean. She knows what you are and she wants to give you this opportunity to get it out of your system.”

“Get it out of my system,” Dean groaned, feeling the hot breath of the doctor against his skin.

“I will show you,” Castiel said. Not waiting for another word, he dragged his tongue along the heat of Dean’s rim, tasting the sweetness of his urgency.

Dean closed his eyes and bit his tongue, releasing a gluttural groan as the doctor pressed the tip of his tongue inside his cavity and began to lick circles around his soft rim. Pre-come continued to seep from his crown as he reached for his cock and began pumping it in one hand. He reached for a handful of Castiel's hair and scrunched it, forcing the doctor to probe his glory hole deeper.

“Show me what? ” Dean panted, growling as he tugged back on the doctors hair and searched his face for the truth.

“Who you really are,” Castiel said, defying Dean’s hand. He licked a line around his inner thigh, stirring the muscles in his ass, and dared to slip a finger slowly into Dean’s hole.

“F—ucking son—of,” Dean cried, with eyes wide open. The pain was sharp, but pleasant and disappeared quickly as Castiel rotated between his tongue and finger, inching his finger further inside as Dean relaxed.

“Do you like it?” Castiel asked, stopping between each motion in search of a positive reaction. So far he knew he was succeeding.

Dean flexed his fingers, stretching the ache in his joints from gripping the table hard enough to turn his olive skin white. He felt his eyes rolling, the room disappearing behind the darkness of his lids. He was on the most intoxicating high, a sensation not even the finest beer could provide. A warmth hotter and tighter than Lisa's wetness.

“I can't tell y—you how good it feels,” Dean panted, inching towards Castiel’s face as his tongue slid deeper. He tasted the tip, groaning heavily as the doctor twirled it around in circles once more, digging towards an orgasm.

Dean took his cock in both hands, rubbing the thick milk leaking from his eye, down his throbbing veins to the base of his balls, lubricating them with a combination of his arousal and Castiel's wanting. He was close, so very close, but he didn't want to come yet. Not yet. He wanted this moment to last.

“Slow down,” he begged, reaching for the doctor’s face.

Castiel denied Dean of his wishes, devouring the bitter-sweet taste of his oral craving. Beneath his lips, Dean’s balls had become heavier and the twitch of his own erection had began to grow stronger, more impatient for release with every mouthful of desire. Suppressing his urges, Castiel looked up at Dean, watching as his eyelashes flickered in ecstasy. Dean was close, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue as Dean’s muscles clenched.

“I said slow down,” Dean demanded, squirming away from the doctor’s lips.

Castiel was silent, his tongue probing the end of Dean’s dirty cave. He reached underneath Dean’s thighs, trapping his head between the man’s legs and ran his nails softly along the line of soft flesh hidden underneath a trail of hair.

Dean’s hands defied him, his fingers gripping tighter, harder, pumping him without any control. His cock strained as he inhaled the potent scent of his own orgasm and milked himself until his eyes watered and small beads of sweat seeped between his lips.

Castiel wiped his lips on the back of his white sleeve. He licked the side of his cheek, tasting the saltiness of Dean’s milk dripping from his slit, down to the corner of his lips and down his chin. His body tingled, sparked and ignited with a flame far brighter than hell could ever produce.

Dean sat back, letting his erection grow flaccid with relief. He wiped his hands on the towel hanging loosely from the end of the table, daring to fall to the ground between them, until his hands were clean of most of his mess. Then he stepped onto the floor and pulled his jeans up.

Castiel frowned, wanting to clean Dean of his richness. The doctor rose to his feet, his hands reaching out to help Dean with his belt, but the man pulled away, slapping his hand away and turned his back to him to find his clothes.

Silently, Dean dressed. Each button became harder to do and slipped between his sticky fingers, causing him to grow frustrated with his clumsiness. He decided to keep his shirt open, allowing for the fresh air outside to circulate his body and clear his mind from the mess he had just made of himself and his marriage.

“Have I offended you?”Castiel asked, offering Dean a helping hand in slipping his jacket over his shoulders.

Dean kept his back turned to the doctor, stepping away from him and his kindness. Small tears had began budding in his eyelashes, daring to escape his eyes with every blink. He kept his eyes closed, trapping them for a moment and breathed deeply, blocking the doctor from coming any closer.

“I have to go right now,” Dean said walking fast towards the door.

Castiel reached out an arm. His fingers slipping as Dean moved further away. He watched in silence as the man opened the door and stood silent, shrugging the last hour of honesty from his body.

“Lisa will be waiting for me.”

SPN_30Snapshots Table

2010-10-08T07:59:48Z

writer’s choice table from the community spn_30snapshots

01.	~~Angels~~	06.	Breath Play	11.	Lie	16.	Sharing Clothes	21.	Future	26.	Jobs
02.	Linger	07.	Tears	12.	Capitulate	17.	Autumn	22.	Dance	27.	Baby
03.	Seek	08.	Secret	13.	Slake	18.	Winter	23.	Dream	28.	Candles
04.	Energy	09.	Dirty Talk	14.	Trickster	19.	Spring	24.	Scrub	29.	Journal
05.	Prayer	10.	Voyerism	15.	Psychic	20.	Summer	25.	Baking	30.	~~Coffee~~