with threesome you get eggroll

I just had to share

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 07:10:41 GMT

I want to write nasty, disgusting non-con, the type that's filled with screaming and begging, just bleeds and vomits all over, the kind of stuff that calls for a warning two pages long and then needs a warning for the warning--but instead, I'm writing lil Baby!Dean has a peppermint stick. Because I *suck*. *sigh*

I'm watching Highlander reruns on SYFY(stupid fucking name) and wondering why I'm not in bed.

my word count for today--500! Woooo, I am a writing steamroller!

Whathefuck, I'm going to bed! Nitey-nite, littul bunnies!

SpN: Non Timebo Mala, 2/?

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 01:21:16 GMT

Title:Non Timebo Mala
Author:roxy
Pairings/Characters:Dean/Sam Dean/omc, Sam/omc
Rating: this post G, various by chapter
Word Count: 1198
Spoilers:might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.

Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings. Warnings for sex, brief het and M/M, incest. Sections will have individual warnings.

Tobe glanced over the dead woman, gave brief thought to burying her, but shook his head. Someone else would have to take that job. He was loathe to be stuck in unfamiliar lands, snowed in, and anxious to get the boy away from a dangerous area. They'd singled him—his family—out for a reason. He picked the boy up, sat him in front of him. Reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a charm made of red thread and nails, and hung it around his small neck. Tobe pulled the duster shut around them both, and took him away from the grave of his family. "My name is Tobias Kane; you can call me Tobe, okay?"

Samuel
Light leaked in on the edges awareness…brighter and brighter, until he had to blink, and breathe, even though it hurt, it hurt and hurt and…Mary. Where were Dean, Mary, Sammy…Sam had been in his arms. He remembered that--"Sammy…Sammy?"

John barely recognized his own voice; the thin croak seemed to come from somewhere far off place. He lifted himself slowly, bit by bit, from his crouch over young Sam, who lay silent on the dirt floor John's knees were driven into. His head rang; his body shuddered through waves of vertigo, sharp jolts of pain across his shoulders, his back. The moon shone though gaps in the ceiling above him and horrified, he realized he was in the cellar. The floor must have collapsed and dropped them through…where was Mary? Where was Dean?

The only way out, the storm doors leading into the cellar, was blocked by collapsed upper floor. Desperation and fear made him beat and tear at the charred, still hot timbers until some semblance of sanity awoke in him. He ripped his shirt into strips and wrapped his hands to protect them, attacked the beams again. It took him a while to break through the remnants of the floor and roof before he could scoop a screaming Sammy up, and push his way out of the storm doors.

He took in deep draughts of cold fresh air. The sharp air made him wobble, light headed and exhausted. By the light of the moon he saw the total extent of the destruction; black beams and burnt walls, dusted by the silent flakes of snow whirling around him. The dead quiet all about him warped the silver flooding the black landscape into a corpse's glow…

He circled the bones of the cabin, called his wife's name, called his son's name, pressing his youngest's delicate head against his shoulder, and there, near the bottom porch step, he found her.

She'd been torn at and gnawed on, pulled from the house into the yard. She must have been too heavy a weight to drag far, but Dean…Dean….

Tracks wandered, away from and around, the foundations the house. Tracks ran back and forth over each other, tore up the yard—horse, human, and coyote. Blood dripped and ran in a trail, nearly covering tracks of a coyote in a straight line back to the underbrush beyond the yard. The devils had massacred his family and the animals had taken what was left.

~xX0Xx~

Dean
Tobias Kane had been a week or two back at the forge before the snow got serious and packed them in tight. He couldn't make it to the forge a few yards away let alone into town to hand that little white baby over to the sheriff and wash his hands of it all. He tried to avoid any dealing with those people that didn't involve business. He might be the Blacksmith, but he didn't get to be a man full grown by being a complete fool. He didn't invite trouble to him, and most times, trouble overlooked him. Until now.

He sat close to the hearth, work table pulled up to the wide fireplace taking up most one side of a wall, mantle and chimney made of stone he'd collected himself from around the river's bank. A lamp sat on the table as well, adding light to work by. One by one, he worked oil into the tools he spread out on the table, scraped rust off them and smoothed rough edges, watched by a solemn pair of green eyes….

Speaking of trouble….

Dean was wrapped in the trade blanket Tobe usually kept on the bed in the spare room. Dean had appropriated it, took to walking around with it mostly cocooning him, dragging the tail of it across the floors. Tobe shook his head. His floors were swept all the time at least. Dean silently took in the array of tools with his big green eyes. He looked puzzled.

"You wonder what I'm doing hunh?" Tobe asked the little bit of boy peeking out of the blanket, and as usual, Dean's face held little expression. Tobe swallowed a sigh. "Well." He looked down at his tools. "No business coming in, but we still have work to do. Always got work. I'm cleaning the tools, making sure they work proper when the time comes they're needed…see this here oil? Wiping it on 'em keeps the rust off." Dean stared at the tool Tobe held in his hand, and his fingertips slowly inched over the edge of the table.

"Do you want to help?" Tobe asked him.

Dean's fingers whipped away, and his face went impossibly blanker—eyes fixed on some distant point. Tobe sighed aloud then, but went on. "Now this here is a hold down, keeps iron on the anvil where I want it to be, and not where it wants to go," he said and wiped at the hooked instrument, made sure there were no spots of rust, went on to the next tool and all the while, described what he was doing in a low soothing drone. Dean didn't meet his eyes, but Tobe could tell, he was drinking in every word he spoke. He knew no matter what the boy had suffered in body, there was nothing wrong with his mind, nothing at all. He spoke until his voice went a little rough and the only sound was the crackle of wood in the fireplace, the hum of water simmering in the kettle. And a little breathy noise he was getting used to—the sound of Dean's small, soft, snores.

He picked up the blanket wrapped bundle, barely a weight in his arms, but warm and comfortable against his shoulder. A long damped feeling flickered in his chest. Remembered holding his sister's babies, long, long ago, and how it'd felt, even if it wasn't true--like safe, and good, being close to family. Holding Dean felt like that, and that made him mad. He shouldn't feel like that about a little one who didn't belong—couldn't belong—to him. He sighed, and laid Dean down on the spare room bed. Tobe pulled another blanket over the one the boy wore and went back to his work.

Soon as the snow settled, that boy would have to go.

~xX0Xx~

~~part 3~~

oh, my!

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 07:58:01 GMT

Oh, Daneel, how oddly and totally fascinated I am by your boobies--I mean--congratulations!

Don't hate, but there's a celebrity sex tape I might actually want to watch. What? I'm writing! These things pop in my head when I'm writing.

Actually, I tell a lie. I just spent two hours arranging my icons and pics. Some folks changed their names, or I had icons incorrectly tagged. *sniff* Deleted a bunch I snagged somehow without crediting and I don't like to use uncredited art. I also cleaned the bathroom, the guest room (or BG's former room), ran a load of laundry, dumped some stuff that magically turned from treasured articles to junk with the passage of the years--Yo, does anybody know what the fuck this thing is? No? Than why've we got it, fercrisake--it was a busy day. Ran up to my beloved little toldthestars's with Uncle Daddy and he fixed her bike tire and we talked about our stories (and oh my god the one she's working on now--fabulous!) And this, this is what I do to get out of writing.

What a whack-a-loon!!

spn fic: Non Timebo Mala, 1/?

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 07:48:17 GMT

Title:Non Timebo Mala
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/omc, Sam/omc, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17 overall, various by chapter
Word Count: 1280
Spoilers: might be considered a wee bit spoilery for Dead Man's Blood
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.

Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings. Warnings for sex, brief het and M/M, incest. Sections will have individual warnings.

His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….

~xX0Xx~

Inside the cabin, the mother grabbed the child closet to her, and ran for her other baby. "John--John," she screamed, over and over, as if all other words had ceased to exist.

"No, no—*run*, get out, Mary!" shouted the father. "I've got Sammy. You and Dean get outside!" He swept the baby out of the crib, ready to run, when the door blew open.

"Well, well, and where are you off to? We've got a nice fire here, and I expect you've got some lovely chestnuts to throw on the fire." the mustached man winked at John. "We'll roast them up nicely, believe me."

The crew at his back laughed raucously, jostling each other—it was awfully like boys at a bonfire, John thought, and tightened his grip on the baby. Wished that his rifle was handy.

The mustached one stepped forward, ignoring chunks of burning pine dropping on him. John stepped back, fear racing through him, gagging on the smell of burning flesh. Blinded by the flames, he heard Mary screaming in fear….

"Shut that bitch up," the leader of the intruders hissed, and his face…his face turned into something inhuman.

"Devil," John gasped.

"Well, right enough, though that's a lower case D," it sniggered. "Get it?" It made an expression that suggested its eyes were rolling but it was impossible to tell, all black as they were. John stiffened slightly, and by sheer force of will made himself to relax—Mary was slipping behind them towards the door, to freedom….

His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….

The world exploded and went dark. It was over in less than the blink of an eye.

~xX0Xx~

Dean
Snowflakes swirled lightly around his head—just enough to be annoying, as they clung to his eyelashes and settled in his beard. It was getting colder, bound to snow a little harder…he'd been on the road for days and he was looking for a little rest. That is, if up ahead, there were folks were willing to let a colored man sit at their fire. Hard to tell in the territories…some folks were aggressively open-minded and others would as soon put you in feed trough for the pigs as look at you. He was more than willing—or rather, his ass was more than willing—to take a chance on whoever was fool enough to try and start a homestead out in the ass back of nowhere.

Around the bend of the trail he could make out the scent of wood smoke, and he smiled. Good—warmth, maybe a meal--at worst, maybe a lay-down in a barn or shed. He clucked to his horse. "Come on, Gabe; let's see what we've got there…"

He stopped, craned over the saddle. Something was wrong. "Lord—have mercy—"

Too much smoke, and now, he could hear flames eating timber, and now see the flames leaping up the walls of a small cabin. He heard a high pitched scream, maybe a rabbit being killed, or a cat…he didn't want to imagine what else made a cry like that….

He was galloping now, Gabe seeming to understand no matter how frightening, it was important to get closer to those flames. They thundered up in what must have once been a neat little yard…now the fence that had defined it was torn down, pumpkins shattered all about the yard, late season corn tossed here and there—sheer spite, meanness had done that—a shriek whipped his head to the right, towards the cabin, where two coyotes fought over a bloody bundle. He whipped his gun from under his duster and drilled one; the other ran, bleeding, for its life—without its prize.

He dropped on the ground next to it and as he feared, it was a young boy, three, maybe four—no older than four, for sure. The boy shook and shook, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. He ripped the boy's clothing open, searching for the terrible wounds he knew were there under all the blood. Miraculously, he had a bite or two, but nothing else…so the blood….

A woman lay on what was left of the porch, at the end of a thick trail of blood--dead hands hooked over the step, her middle torn away. Coyote tracks zigged and zagged around the body, bloody tracks that told a sad, terrible story.

The little cabin smoked and crackled…there was nothing left. No one left but one little frightened boy. A little white boy, covered with his mother's blood, his home's ashes. All alone in the world. Only a beast could walk off and leave him to die in those woods.

Big green eyes looked up at him, glazed…dry. "Little boy, I'm a friend, promise. Your family…you know they're gone, right?" The little boy nodded. Nothing in his eyes. No fear, no sorrow, nothing but knowledge. "I'm going to take you to someone who can help, understand? We'll find someone who'll look after you. What's your name, son?"

"Dean." The name dropped out of his mouth like a rock.

"Okay, Dean, what's your father's name?"

"Daddy."

Right…too young to know a last name or imagine that his mother or father had personal names. Suddenly the little boy went rigid under his hand. He scrambled back towards the cabin, ignoring his injuries. His calm shattered, in that moment, he was desperate for his family. "Mommy—Daddy—Sammy!" His lips went white, almost blue. Those huge green eyes took in the black, smoking bones of his home.

"Sammy..." This little Dean fellow knew, Tobe thought, and didn't scream, just knew and accepted this horror in a way that put ice in his spine. How could the boy just…give up like that? So unlike a child of his years….

"Devils took 'em," a quiet voice stated, firm as it could get.

His heart stopped. Devils. Demons, no doubt the boy meant demons… why? Or rather, why hadn't they taken the family to play with? He looked down into Dean's eyes, gone flat and cloudy again. He shook his head. Well, if he hadn't already been decided, this would have sealed it. This was his job, his due in life—to protect against the unnatural. "Dean, let's not ever talk about that to anyone. Okay? Don’t say a word," he warned the boy, flinging out the command unaware, not imaging the lengths Dean would take it. Dean nodded, and fell silent.

Tobe glanced over the dead woman, gave brief thought to burying her, but shook his head. Someone else would have to take that job. He was loathe to be stuck in unfamiliar lands, snowed in, and anxious to get the boy away from a dangerous area. They'd singled him—his family—out for a reason. He picked the boy up, sat him in front of him. Reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a charm made of red thread and nails, and hung it around his small neck. Tobe pulled the duster shut around them both, and took him away from the grave of his family. "My name is Tobias Kane; you can call me Tobe, okay?"

Dean nodded and repeated it silently to himself. Tobe.

part 2

Hi friends!!

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:00:29 GMT

Today's the start of my vacation. Well, not so much vacation as unpaid leave. I needed some serious time to myself, or as much of that as is possible. My brother's coming at the end of the week, and I wanted to get my truly disgusting house in order. I also hope to get some guilt free writing in. So far, the story that's coming the easiest, no matter how hard I try to work on something else, is the KindaCowboy AU, which I'm calling(pretty sure on this)Non Timebo Mala. I have a serious thing for latin titles. Sound all thinky and stuff. ;)

I mention that, because I think I'm going to post bits as I write them. I usually try to wait until I *know* where I'm going so that it doesn't die in the water (arg, HATE doing that!) or take a bazillion years while I try and figure out just what the fuck I'm doing (heeellooo, Dis Pater, both you fuckers, and you,Brothers and Heroes....) so what I'm saying here is, it will be a voyage of discovery for *all* of us, whoo-hoo!

And not to get cranky on me, I am working on the J2 thingy (need a title!!) and also everything else I mentioned because I'm crazeeee.

Annnnnnnd--to be catching up on all the fic my beloveds are writing and I haven't been reading. *hangs head*

Friends...

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:12:19 GMT

...and now I'm thinking about Houdini. Shush, don't judge, Yer Mother's old....

I've been friended by a lot of people lately, hi folks! These friending things seem to come in waves--I know I'll chug along quietly and then all of a sudden friend folks like I'm in the grip of a friending frenzy(not as messy as a feeding frenzy but close)! You do that when a new fandom entices you. *G* And I have this magic ability to friend folks just as they give the boot to the fandom that drew me to them in the first place, hah!

Anyhoo, there are quite a few folks hopping on board and I want to say hi. It's pretty loose around here--friend me at your own risk as I tend to spam a lot, babble frequently and share inappropriately. *koff*

I'm no longer friending back journals with no content, or that only have one or two memes unless you really want me too, in which case, holler at me.

Right now, I'm mostly into Supernatural with a side of Smallville. If you came for the SV, it might be slim pickings for a while, sorry!

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 03:27:01 GMT

I've listened to a a shit ton of versions of Wayfaring Stranger, or at least it feels like it. The best version by far is Johnny Cash's. Here's the super creepy thing...I think I like Johnny Cash. SHUT UP SHUT UP. It's probably temporary insanity. Research sometimes leads you into scary places. I've been enjoying poking around a bit, looking for flavor for my million and one SpN fics, hah! I'm not doing heavy research, just enough that it kind of sounds good, y'know? That doesn't mean that I've spent my precious time writing, no...I've been reading lyrics of all kinds of folk songs. Hunh. Weird lyrics, but interesting. and now, I'm off to read some folk tales!

Also, swear to god, shoot me if I ever eat another Reese's Cup. Oy, the pain, the misery, the lactose intolerance making the eating of chocolate a somewhat masochistic activity bordering on self-abuse and in no way the fun kind. :(.

SpN: Non Timebo Mala, prologue

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 05:25:24 GMT

Here's the opening bit of the Semi-Cowboy fic.

"This the place?"

"Yes, Stuuu--pid." The man speaking rolled his eyes, and ran his fingers through his thick mustache; his fingers seemed fascinated by the feel. The six men wore long, mud-spattered, black canvas dusters, hats pulled low over their eyes. The horses they rode dripped foam, biting hard on their bits, their skin quaking. They stood stock still though everything about them telegraphed a desire to run. Their eyes rolled and blinked, steam rose from their flared nostrils. One of the men leaned forward and caught his mount's eyes, patted its shoulder.

"Yer a good boy, aren't ya?" he smirked, and a few of the other men laughed as the horse shied and made a noise that it shouldn't have been capable of.

The leader of the group, the man with the heavy moustache, snarled at his men. "Shut up you complete idiots. Come along. The boss says the whole thing has to burn."

"We getting' some fun or not? Could use some. It's boring as fuck out here. Big shot bastard…thinks he knows it all…."

"Why don't I share with the boss what you think? How long before he'd tire of playing with you and let you out that corpse? We're not here for fun. Torch the place, fry the meat monkeys and get the fuck out, that's the deal."

The men grumbled and growled at each other, and whipped the horses forward. The leader and the one who'd complained of boredom held back and watched the others ride towards the house.

"What's the point, here? Why can't we play with them if the boss wants them gone anyway?" The bored one asked.

"Beliel wants these…" black eyes opened wider—"Winchesters dead. Apparently he thinks they may become a problem somewhere down the line—doesn't matter. Mostly he wants them dead because Azazel doesn't. Beliel desire's are not our business. We just follow our orders."

"Yeah, guess you're right. I'd just as soon keep my head down and not be noticed. Safer that way."

The leader smiled. "Words to keep your head by."

~xX0Xx~

In a clearing stood a cabin—neat, new, and looking well cared for. At the edge of the yard, tangled in a newly-erected post and rail fence, pumpkins lolled on the end of their vines. The bright orange and dusty green of the fruit and vine, the fresh tan of the fence stood out against the golden fields and made a pretty picture, framed by the streaks of salmon and pink and orange the setting sun threw across the snowy peaks of the distant mountains. It was a lovely picture of prosperity, of peace. Black eyes took it in, and a low, satisfied voice said, "Burn it all."

The two small cabin windows flanking the door gleamed like gold. The sun dropped lower, flamed in the sky, and competed with the flames they unleashed on the cabin. They watched for a moment or two as the walls caught, the roof rose and flapped before showering the sky with burning shingles….

~xX0Xx~

Inside the cabin, the mother grabbed the child closet to her, and ran for her other baby.

"No, no—*run*, get out, Mary!" shouted the father. "I've got Sammy. You and Dean get outside!" He swept the baby out of the crib, ready to run, when the door blew open.

"Well, well, and where are you off to? We've got a nice fire here, and I expect you've got some lovely chestnuts to throw on the fire." the mustached man winked at John. "We'll roast them up nicely, believe me."

The crew at his back laughed raucously, jostling each other—it was awfully like boys at a bonfire, John thought, and tightened his grip on the baby. Wished that his rifle was handy.

The mustached one stepped forward, ignoring chunks of burning pine dropping on him. John stepped back, fear racing through him, gagging on the smell of burning flesh. Blinded by the flames, he heard Mary screaming in fear….

"Shut that bitch up," the leader of the intruders hissed, and his face…his face turned into something inhuman.

"Devil," John gasped.

"Well, right enough, though that's a lower case D," it sniggered. "Get it?" It made an expression that suggested its eyes were rolling but it was impossible to tell, all black as they were. John stiffened slightly, and by sheer force of will made himself to relax—Mary was slipping behind them towards the door, to freedom….

His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….

The world exploded and went dark. It was over in less than the blink of an eye.

~xX0Xx~

And then, hopefully a lot more….

eta:part 1

hello, friends!

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 01:14:18 GMT

hello, friends, hello!

Remember when I asked for help deciding what fic I should work on first, and ya'll were very helpful and gave me good advice, thank you? Okay, what happened is this--I'm going to work on all of them at once and let the chips fall where they will!

J2 fic insists on coming out inside out and backwards. Also, Thomas(Tommy in the fic) is being a real douchenizzle. I kind of like it.

I will post snipplets if you want to see them?

Working on this stuff is like carving glaciers with a plastic spoon but I like what I've got so far. :)

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 02:24:35 GMT

So, let me see if I can explain my absence--and yeah, for me, it's been pretty much an absence because I post nearly every day, even if it's just to chat about the horrible pimple I've developed on my wattle, which, true, but not the reason I'm posting tonight.

We've been on a rollercoaster ride with my dad. The ups and downs have been trying, to say the least. I'm trying to decide what to do--plan his future, I guess. We spoke tonight about what he wants. He's a little scattered, but not that much. He understood what I asked, and made suggestions. He worries too much. He's not a hundred per cent sure I can handle this but...who else has he got? What I should have done is given all the info to Mr. R and sent him in to talk to Dad. *g*

Dad's been in and out of the hospital twice since the last time I mentioned him here. I've had a meeting with the folks at the assisted living facility where he's been the last 8 years. They want him back, but I'm not sure they can handle his needs. He can't get up on his own, so he can't make it to the bathroom, even with assistance. Which means he needs to be cleaned and changed in bed and he has diarrhea frequently. He's got a feeding tube, no food at all by mouth. That means he needs to be monitored, and the feeding tube cleaned and really, he needs 24 hour assistance. They're not normally set up for that but they assure me, it would work. Except on holidays, or if someone calls out, or...stuff. So. I'm still thinking. At any rate, it's not easy.

The lady who runs the assisted living facility seems to think that I'm not letting myself really look at the situation as it really is. Maybe. I'm just waffling back and forth and no one can really tell you what to do, least of all Dad. I have no idea how to have this conversation with him. I can't. I really, really, don't know what to do. My brother comes up in two weeks. Maybe by then, I'll know, if not, maybe he can help me decide what to do. Oy.

Maybe later on, I'll post a little snippet of what I've been working on, kinda sorta. A sentence here, a word there--eh.

ETA: thanks you guys--you make me feel so much better. I really appreciate it! *hugs you all*

hi friends!

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 17:04:19 GMT

No body went to see BDS2? No buzz, no review? How will I know if I should go?

*sad*

I loved those Brother stories back in the day...*sigh*

Oh geez...I just realized how close the Public Enemies AU is to BDS fic, oy.

recs in effect

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 00:44:36 GMT

I've got an interesting rec here--this is a fascinating story. You know how Yer Mother adores a good OC? Well, this story contains a doozy! It features another Winchester brother, something I *love*. I know, you're clutching your chest and hissing, "It can not be!" and I say, "Why not?" How much more interesting is their story seen from another pov, an intimate pov? The giant bonus here is that the character of Ross, the youngest Winchester will win you over. He's so well-written, such a complete character, that I dare you not to fall in love with him. I wish Ross were a character on the show...*siiiiigh* But failing that, we have sonofabiscuit77's wonderfully-drawn character. Read it! Love it! Comment!

World's Forgotten Boys

yakky time!

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 03:32:27 GMT

Help me oh three or four friends who read SpN fic and in particular, my SpN fic, and narrowing that down even more, comment on the damn things--tell me what I should work on?

1) a J2 AU set in the mid-fifties. Say, how much research do I have to do on city life back then? And can I fuzzy the city? Like, pretendlike it's New York or whatever and "just go along with me on this, guys". Can I do that? I long for black turtle necks and too tight striped polo shirts. Also, there would be a lot of na-na in this story.

2)The Public Enemy one--kind of a cross of Boondock Saints, only no divine mission and a whole lot of psychotic killers and general misbehaving with Warner Bros gangster movies and psycho killers--did I mention that? A little na-na in this one.

3)1) the vaguely western-cowboy-backstory on the Colt fic I've talked about for what, two years? In this story the guys aren't raised together and don't know they're brothers (yeah, cause that makes teh naughty stuff better. Almost totally na-na free, this one.

4) a weird kind of folktale, Manly Wade Wellman x-over but I want danceswithgary to steer me in the right direction with that one. Wincest with no sex. I know, I know, but not everything needs sticky bits. Ha! I know right???

I've got actual info for Not!Cowboy, vague memories and feelings and a couple of pretty pictures for Beat!J2, and nothing but a lot of love and some of the same info I used for East of The Sun for CrazyInLoveBoys.

I need to be poked and prodded into doing something. I have all these sorta done stories floating around, and I do have a bit more I'd like to do on that Dean/Cas story only trying to write het sex is screwing me up. (Odd, how hard it is to write, considering how much I love it.) RL is sucking the juice out of my brain but I miss being in a nice long story with lots of research and having fun with it.

Help a nice old lady out?

Glee

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 22:56:31 GMT

I know that some of my friends enjoy the show, so last time I was at my hair place, I stole a handful of give-away magnets featuring some of the cast members. Anyone want them? Bear in mind, I really suck at sending stuff out--just ask rosy5000, whose stuff is still sitting in a chair near the front door waiting to be mailed--oy.

First commenter gets them! Second commenter...heh-heh. *applies lipbalm* guess who's getting a big ole ~~wet~~ shmoochy kiss?

Handwriting Meme!

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:31:42 GMT

Under the cut is a meme that Tabaqui tagged me for a bazillion years ago.

1. Write your username.
2. Write your 2 favourite bands/groups of the moment.
3. Write something you ♥, aka lemme see your heart.
4. Write the name of your favourite person of all time.
5. Write the name of your recent favoured person.
6. Tag 6 people to do this meme

It's short, fast, and fun, so I've tagged six folks to do it too. *G*

Hope you can read my writing!

SV: The Lonely part 10/10

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 07:48:33 GMT

Title: The Lonely
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Kal/Lex
Rating: over all--R
Word Count: 2948
Spoilers: none

Summary: Lex Luthor destroyed one world and crippled another for the sake of humanity. Of course humanity was incapable of understanding the gift he'd given them. Now he was sentenced to pay the price, a lifetime on his very own planet, without the company of other human beings….
Based on the Twilight Zone episode of the same name.

Notes/Warnings: language, tantrums, sexual situations …I don’t even have to warn you about M/M sex, right?

In this part, Lex thinks hard about his life. Questions are not answered, loose threads are not tied up neatly, but this is the end….

The air over what was left of the platform shimmered with colors only Kal could see. Bits of debris fell back to the ground, hot metal and glass bounced off Kal's skin, burning him. Kal took no notice—his eyes were fixed on the spot he'd watched Lex disappear. It took long, long seconds before he could process what had happened. Lex was gone. Logic told him Lex was gone and never coming back but…he couldn't move. A crazy, hopeless but still hoping, part of him thought that if he waited long enough Lex would come back….

There were options open to him, Kal thought. He could wait. He could wait nearly forever, as long as the sun shone, until he slowly wore out. He could power down into a kind of endless sleep to wait, past even the loss of the sun until…he wore out. Or, he could find some way to shut himself off completely. It was supposed to be impossible, but no one had had the kind of teacher he'd had….

The sun fell and rose again before Kal finally walked back to Camp Luthor, having made his choice.

Without Lex—what was he?

Without their companion, what was any construct? Kal dropped his head, watched his feet scuff through the sand. He could find a place away from the sun and sleep…but Lex would frown, tell him he was being unnecessarily self-pitying. That giving up wasn't an option. Kal nodded thoughtfully. Lex was right. He had a duty, a purpose. He was going to wait for Lex to come back, and when he did, he'd hand Camp Luthor over to him, as perfect as when he'd been pulled away. Better. Because Kal had not one iota of doubt that Lex would return—Lex would do anything he could to come back to him.

~~oOo~~

The mountains would have to remain a mystery until Lex returned; Kal made a decision not to explore them until Lex returned. He climb the little ridge behind the camp, and looked towards them often—sometimes he'd spend hours, gazing at the mountains and reliving vivid memories.

Every day, he worked at keeping Camp Luthor functioning, it was his mission now. His entire purpose. He kept the gardens growing, kept the hedges they'd planted neat and healthy and now, they towered over Kal's head. The pool remained clean and the water flowed in and out of it, crystal clear, just the way Lex had wanted. At night, Kal read the books Lex had read aloud to him, and remembered, and loved.

Rain washed out of the heavens, turning everything the shade of grey Lex's eyes truly were. Kal stood under the porch he'd built to replace the weather-worn tarp that had been Flintstone House's original porch, and watched the storm rage across the sand. It whipped across the yard, throwing up splatters of water from the overwhelmed earth. Kal watched, fascinated. He knew in the morning the water would be absorbed and soon, flowers would dot the yard and hills around him—brief as flames….

There was a shift in the grey skies overhead that drew his attention from the storm, a change in color—a bright burning streak burst out of a rent in the heavy clouds and arrowed to the ground in the plain between the mountains and the area Camp Luthor sat in. It split into two—one part continuing to drop to the plains, flame dying, trailing a long plume of smoke behind it and one part rising up again and heading towards him.

It dropped straight to the ground, dropping to land not far from Kal.

It was him. After all these years, he'd come. Kal had wondered sometimes, thought that maybe he'd been forgotten—he should have known better. "Hello, Kal-El."

Kal-El came to sit next to Kal, his eyes on Kal's, his thigh pressed up against Kal's. Kal was surprised at how warm Kal-El was…at how achingly good it felt to touch another being even if it wasn't Lex. Kal-El dropped long warm fingers against the back of Kal's hand. "Hello…Kal, right?" Kal-El laughed softly and shook his head. He smiled at Kal. "Lex," he said, as if that explained all. He shook his head again, affectionate, amused, before his features settled into a sweet, slightly worried smile. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I've needed to juggle looking for you and doing my part. We took Lex back because the planets are at war."

Kal startled. "What--*you* took Lex? War? Kal-El…explain. From the beginning, please."

Kal-El took a deep breath and said, "All right…."

The sky was darker by the time Kal-El had explained to Kal's satisfaction. He was nodding as Kal-el finished, "Even though the tide is turning, it's going slowly. With Lex's help, we're winning. It's just, he never stops working. He cares too much…" Kal-El looked sad.

"But that's good," Kal interrupted. "It's what Lex needed—what you hoped would happen when you sent me here, am I right? You wanted Lex to rediscover his humanity…it worked out well then. Not quite as you planned…."

Kal-El's cheeks burned red—Kal marveled that he still had the ability to blush, considering what Kal-El had been through in his lifetime. "I just didn’t want him to be lonely. Lex doesn't do lonely well."

"Now what?" Kal asked, not wanting to think about Lex surrounded by people and still, being alone.

"I can take you back home--to the fortress. We can erase what happened here. You can remain at the fortress, or you could go on to be a companion to another with some adjustments—"

Kal made a small distressed sound, and Kal-El apologized. "I'm sorry. You're very different than most of our constructs—your experiences have been unusual, compared to that of the others at the fortress. I think…Lex is a very…strong influence."

Kal smiled. "Can you tell me if he's happy?"

Kal-El shrugged. "I don’t see Lex. He lives…elsewhere. Not on Earth."

Kal stared at Kal-El, and repeated slowly, "So…is he happy?"

Kal-El rolled his eyes, but still, he blushed. "He's—surviving. He's not sad. He keeps busy. He's very different man now, Kal. He's a man with many, many responsibilities. So many owe him their lives…he works so hard to be…" Kal-El waved his hand, trying hard to explain. "To be worthy, in a way. To…to give selflessly. It's hard to explain exactly what I mean," Kal-el huffed in exasperation. "Lex is…still Lex, just…" he shrugged.

Of course, Kal understood. He gazed about him. He knew now that Lex was never going to return to Camp Luthor, and so Camp Luthor no longer served a purpose. It was done. But Lex had come away with something wonderful, Kal hoped. Something that would keep him forever…Kal looked towards the sunrise. "Can you turn me off? When we get back to the fortress?"

"I can do that…" Kal-El looked thoughtful. "Are you ready?"

Kal nodded. "Yes. It's been a most interesting life, but I've had enough of being without Lex."

"All right. There's a transport capsule out there," Kal-el said and gestured towards the plain. "I guess…is there anything you want to take with you?" he asked.

Kal shook his head. "Nothing." he hesitated. "Well, there is a book…was book." He shook his head and spoke firmly, "Nothing I need."

"Then let's go." Kal-El swept him up. "Hold on, Kal."

~~oOo~~

The balcony that ran the length of his apartment was wide—from it he was able to see a good part of the city—the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It was a favorite place for him to take dinner, or to relax. He likes looking out across the city; he likes the reminder of why they fight—for this. For life, for the living. Selene had rebuilt rapidly when the chance came, covered over its scars of war, welcomed not only its own refuges back home but welcomed other orphans of the storm as well, like himself, Lex thought.

He lay back against the recliner and wiped his thumb over condensation on his glass, heard nothing but the tinkling sound of the tiny cubes swirling around, tapping each other. There's never anything but cold tea or fruit juice in the glasses now, Lex wanted a clear head at all times—just in case. Besides, he'd worked hard to rebuild himself, to sand away his broken edges--he was not going to fall back into the traps of his old life. At any rate, he found a lot of comfort in his new life. It was lonely, at times deeply lonely, but not in the soul-destroying way it used to be....

Lex sighed. He left the balcony and strode back into his apartment. He wasn't bitter, wasn't angry—he'd just resigned himself to being alone, grateful that this time he wasn't shouldering a towering weight of guilt and bitterness along with the loneliness. Lex wasn't fool enough to think that what he was doing to help in the war effort counted towards erasing the crimes he'd committed in his life. That would be…magical thinking. What he'd done in the past can never really be forgiven. His only choice now was to go forward, to help as much as possible.

That was how his days were spent.

His nights, the time that belonged to him alone, he spent trying to find Kal. Fantasized that some day, he'd see him again. Find the planet he'd been stranded on…Lex ignored the tiny voice that crowed in disbelief find that one uncharted planet out of millions? foolish man --

Millions didn't matter. He knew without a doubt, he'd find that place one day. He would unlock the mystery, and reproduce platform technology and fly until he found Kal again, he would search until he found him or die trying ….

He had another favorite fantasy—he dreamed that one day, there'd come a knock at his door, he'd go to see who it was—since it was his fantasy, there weren't the layers of security between himself and the world that his life required—it was just him, and whoever was behind the door. The door opens and it's Kal, beautiful Kal, who throws himself on Lex and cries out in relief, I've found you—found you again. Most nights, the fantasy stops there, and Lex goes smiling into sleep. It's enough to ease his heart and sooth him into dreams.

"Mr. Luthor," his secretary knocked politely on the door jamb, even though Lex always left the door open as an invitation for his subordinates, a symbol of availability they steadfastly ignored.

"Come in please, Mr. Maxwell, come in."

Maxwell paused, cleared his throat and said, "There's a visitor, sir." A rarity. Most didn't communicate with Lex in person. It was something Lex had ceased to care about. "He's been stopped in the lobby, sir…."

"Ah? Well. Who is it?"

"He won't say, but…well, here."

Maxwell handed Lex a small screen and Lex barely made out the image of a tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders on the grainy screen. His large hands skimmed his chest, drew over his hair in an apparent effort to tame the wild curls. He seemed nervous, tugged at the lapels of his outrageously ugly suit repeatedly…"Clark," Lex breathed. What was Clark doing here, he wondered. In the time since his return he hadn't heard from or seen Clark in person. Lex had only been in occasional polite communication with Superman, which lately edged towards a tentative friendliness that Lex was wary of exploring.

Clark…that was different. Clark was…not Superman.

What could possibly bring the man to Lex's place? "Mr. Maxwell, tell security to escort him to the elevator and then…I'll handle it from there."

Maxwell eyed him, obviously troubled, unsure of Lex's safety. "You're certain, Mr. Luthor?"

"Oh, this particular person would never harm me," Lex smiled. "And you know my office has sufficient protection, Mr. Maxwell. Don’t worry so much."

"If you're sure then…."

Minutes later, Lex heard the musical chime of his private elevator coming to a stop in the foyer, heard a sharp rap at the door.

"I'm coming," he called—force of habit, Clark hardly needed a shout. He opened the door. "Clark, what brings you…oh…."

Kal stood there. Kal smiled at him, Kal….

Lex's knees went weak, he felt so heavy, too heavy—and then strong hands were holding him up, lifting him--his heart flipped, raced in his chest. "How did you make it here—how long—how is it possible?" Lex shook his head hard and forced himself to breathe. "No, wait--I'm doing this all wrong," he said. He stepped forward and yanked Kal into his arms. He pressed his cheek to the pulse in Kal's throat and let everything he'd held in for so long out…screw worrying about tears, he'd been so controlled for so long he deserved this break, he deserved it. "Oh god…I missed you so much I thought I'd die. I wished sometimes I had—"

"Lex. Lex." Kal punctuated each gasp of Lex's name with a kiss. "I wanted to stop, I wanted not to miss you…but Kal-el came, took me home…brought me back to you." His hands danced over Lex's shoulders, his waist, his chest, and Lex pushed himself into the frantic touches, laughing, cursing, crying. This was… "This better be real," he gasped, "because I've had dreams like this…."

Kal laughed too, his voice broke, trying to tell Lex that yes, it was real and Lex's skin burned with the heat of his kisses, his touch.

"It was Clark all along, wasn't it? He made this happen, all of it. Good. I'm grateful to him." His fierce grip on Kal eased. "Are you…are we still…is this still important to you, or are you. Are you different now…?" Lex dropped his eyes, terrified to look at Kal's face, to hear his answer. He felt a soft gust of air on his neck, and a gentle voice said, "Lex. Don't be a total fool."

Relief flooded every part of Lex, like taking a long drink of cold water on a miserably hot, dry, day. He opened to Kal, drank up his affection, his love. Lex whispered, "I'm afraid it's just my nature to be one Kal, especially when it comes to you."

Kal tipped Lex's chin up that tiny bit it needed to be, so that he could kiss him. Lex moaned into the touch, the liquid smooth feel of Kal's lips, his tongue stroking along his, darting in and out of his mouth. He shuddered, swallowed the warm burst of air Kal gasped into his mouth. Heat bloomed, spread and flowed from his mouth to his belly, lower…

"You are not allowed to call yourself a fool." Kal nibbled soft kisses down Lex's neck, across his shoulder. He was hard, getting harder at Kal's touch. "Lex…so smooth, like silk." Kal's soft hands skimmed Lex's body, until both hands came to rest over his dick, tightening slightly when it twitched at the touch. "Should I? Touch you? Hand, or mouth? Tell me what you want…."

"Everything," Lex laughed, "I want everything but right now, I just want to touch you, convince myself that you're real." He curled his fingers around Kal, hard and so wet , just like he remembered. He smiled into Kal's shoulder, let the waves of pleasure sweep him without conscious thought—all he let himself feel was Kal's heat, the smell of him, the feel of his dick sliding across his palm—the feel of Kal's huge hand tugging his orgasm from him—Lex came with a shout, jerking up into Kal's grip, and Kal shuddered mutely against him, his mouth pressed open on Lex's neck in a silent scream….

They were both quiet, panting breath the only sound and then Kal said quietly, "So…how have you been?"

Lex burst out laughing--his head was still swimming, and he felt wild and giddy. He pressed a hand to Kal's cheek, rushed the words out before he lost the wild bravery rattling in his chest, "I love you--I told you that before but I want you to know, what I felt then hasn't changed. I love you. More than anything, more than—anyone. "

Kal covered Lex's hand; his face went still, but…soft. "I belong to you. I was made for you to love."

Lex drew his hand back, looked at Kal as if seeing him for the first time. "Kal," he laughed, and shook his head. "You don’t belong to me—you never did. *I* belong to you. I'm yours. You made me yours the first time you told me I was an idiot."

"Lex." Kal laughed softly. "You're not—you're just…a little stubborn."

"Did I tell you I have an excellent shower?" Lex asked as he led Kal deeper into the apartment

"A shower? You finally have your proper shower? That’s wonderful…but I'll miss the pond. You looked so beautiful in that clear green water…"

Lex stopped, surprised at first and then warmth flooded him, and he felt as if he couldn't love Kal more without it breaking him completely. "When this—" Lex made a gesture that Kal understood to mean the war, the pain and confusion it brought—"is over, we'll look for our own home again."

"It doesn't matter to me, Lex. Where ever you are is home. Where ever you are I'm happy to be there."

And Lex knew that it was true for both of them.

The End

10-17-2009

okay!

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 07:07:20 GMT

*closes eyes and crosses fingers*

I think The Lonely is done...I'll post soon but right now my fingers are slippery with MY BLOOD AND TEARS.

As you can see, Lex is not impressed.

because I don't have an icon full of tears....

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 04:40:48 GMT

IBS is the devil. I can never go back to work again. Oy. I had to embarrass the heck out of myself today and run out the building because I don't know about anyone else, but home is the only place I can be when things are, shall we say, blowing up. Fortunately I don't live too far from work. Hey! Isn't it great we can share like this? Yeah, it is.

soooo...I guess maybe I should go back to my doctor and get some paperwork on this. I've had to bust out of the job almost every Friday the last two months. I know it looks suspicious. If I was a young thing, they'd probably have booted me already. Lord, I'm so tired of looking like an ass. So to speak.

*sigh* I just needed to vent a bit and share my pain about my disobedient bowels.

Still friends?

Hello, friends!

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 04:15:36 GMT

Miss you guys, gosh. RL be kind of kicking my ass. :(

I've been here--dropping a comment here and there, but mostly I'm just so behind that I've given up trying to catch up.

Expect in this place a meme 'cause TQ tagged me and it's a fun one, and also if I can get get through this *one* little handful of sentences I'll be finished and posting the end of The Lonely. Seriously--there's an end. I keep talking about it but it exists! I swear!

About Show...I love it so much, it gets better and better and better! But since I'm a SAMNDEAN girl--there can't be one without the other--there's hardly any way that it can't be fabulous for me! Thank you SpN for making sure I slog through the week.

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 07:53:28 GMT

I'll be answering comments soon--I'm so sorry. I'll also be posting the end of The Lonely soon. Yes, I promise, there is an end, and slowly, like the formation of the earth's crust, this thing is coming together. I swear, as Bob is my witless, that this is not a forever unfinished WIP. I feel like I've been fairly much an asshole lately, and I don't mean to be--sorry, you guys.

oh my.

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 16:26:55 GMT

So the other day this guy comes through my register with a big ass box of trojans and a big bottle of lube, the kind that warms, and it's about two in the afternoon. I ring up his stuff and say all chipper-like, "There ya go! Have a nice evening."

Awkward.

SpN: A Trickle of Strangers

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 05:12:01 GMT

Title: A Trickle of Strangers
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Castiel/Dean
Rating: nc-17
Word Count: 2142
Spoilers: spoilers for 5.04
Summary: abi wanted screwed up Dean/Cas so I thought, 'what could be more screwed up than the story of how Cas got all human?' ala The End
Notes/Warnings: Well, this bit starts off kind of sweet but the fic in total should end full of angst and owies, but I wouldn't rule out the whole thing dissolving into a pile of shmoop—that happens to me a lot lately. Cross your fingers and hope for perversion!

The first time it happens, Dean is crouched under the blankets and sheet of yet another anonymous motel--no jackalope on these walls, no scintillating disco-ball overheard light, or avocado and tangerine wallpaper. The room's just beige and brown, all fairly new, because it's not fun anymore, the oddball hotels and motels, not since Sam left and…Dean's trying to breathe but it's not working all that well.

Or rather, it's working a little *too* well, 'cause his lungs keep sucking in air and shooting it out but not using it. And he'd been breathing kind of hard, but now he's…well, barking…and it hurts. Makes him dizzy. It's all Sam's fault.

All of this is Sam's fault.

Sam's fault.

Sam.

"Dean…" cool hands turn him over on the bed, stroke over his face and dry the wet. Tears and gluey snot glaze his face and the hands don't even hesitate, they slip and slide over the mucus slope his chin has become. "Dean. Please. Don’t—"

Dean shoves the cool hands away and god, it's hard to do but he does it because he's a fucking Winchester. He throws his arm over his eyes. "If—if—if you tell me—not—not to cry, I will kill you, 'cause I'm not crying."

"I know you're not. I can tell. If you were crying, there would be much less snot."

Dean startles himself by launching a soggy laugh into the crook of his arm. He wipes over the slime and snorts—carefully. "Yeah."

"You can talk to me. You can tell me anything. I'm here for you."

Dean jerks his arm down, but looking into angelic blue eyes and a solemn, solemn face, he gets the feeling that 'I'm here for you' means something different to Cas than it does to him. He thinks maybe Cas means it literally. Like he hasn't got a whole lot of choice. "Yeah…I'm thinking," he says. "I'm thinking this time, it's the end. Sam's gone again and I'm afraid."

Cas makes an encouraging noise so Dean goes on, "I'm afraid that this time, I won’t get him back. Stupid fuck—always trying to save me—us—the world. Bleeding heart kinda mentality, y'know? Sam was always after us to collect our fuckin' empties. Recycle, blah-fuckin' blah."

As if what Dean's blabbering about makes sense, Cas nods. There is no one alive who knows as well as Castiel that Dean's sold his ass in a million ways to protect Sam. There's nothing he's not done for his brother. Not a damn thing. "Yes," he says quietly. "There's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Dean."

"Hey, Cas…want a beer?" It's all Dean says.

Castiel nods. "Why not?"

xxxxo0oxxxx

The next time they share a moment, Dean's not crying—he's too damn dry. His head's pressed against the flank of the only thing that's never failed him, and he's wishing like hell he could cry, but he's seen Sam. Sam's…Sam's not home anymore. Can't be. Because no matter what Sam would never do what this thing's done. Sam never killed an innocent person, ever.

Not even when he was drinking demon blood had he stooped so low…Dean's telling his baby this, knees on the cold blacktop and gravel, mouth smeared up against her icy side. "He never, never, never…."

There's the low sound of leaves skittering across pavement, of the wind sweeping through dead trees and those cool, dry, silky-smooth hands are on him. Pulling him up, until Dean's head is resting against a surprisingly warm belly covered by smooth, clean cotton. He slumps until bumpy-soft wool is under his cheek. "Dean. Don't mourn your brother, he's not gone."

Yet Dean can hear the word hidden under Cas' awkward caress. Dean rubs his cheek against Cas' warmth, rubs and his mouth opens and he exhales everything in his lungs and Castiel grunts, surprise flavoring it. The noise reminds Dean of…what he's not had in a long, long time…he bites down, wanting to hear that sound again.

A quick, soft inhale and Cas slowly leans against the car, spreading as he settles Dean between his legs. "I'm here for you, Dean." Wriggles against the cold metal when Dean bites down over the length sliding down his leg, mouths and sucks against it. Cas' belly jumps and jumps, he makes surprised little grunts over and over and Dean exhales hot moist breath as he asks. "Ever feel that before?" and Cas shakes his head.

"What? I can't hear you." Teasing Cas makes Dean's pulse jump a little, especially since he knows Cas doesn't really get that it's teasing.

"No—no—" words burst out like yelps pf pain and Dean likes it, forces another hot wash of air over the fabric and Cas groans like it's on naked flesh. Dean grabs him, squeezes. "That's your dick. Like that? Like me touching it?"

Cas nods frantically, yells out yes when Dean starts to squeeze his handful of wool and dick. Dean chuckles. He's funny, Cas. "Owe you, hunh, since we fucked up the whorehouse, right?" He eases Cas' zipper down, reaches inside and touches hot straining flesh, rubs the tips of his fingers through dripping lube and grins. "Ready, hunh? Okay." he pulls Cas free, barely gets the tip into his mouth and Cas howls, jerks his hips hard a few times and he's gone. Dean chokes, but swallows it all, cheeks bulging briefly as he tries to coordinate swallowing and breathing. He drops back on his heels and pats Castiel's thigh distractedly. "Yeah…."

Watches Cas watch him as he jerks off, rough and fast.

After, he hands Cas his flask. "Don’t hog it," he says.

Cas tilts the flask and listens to the fluid slosh. Unscrews the stopper and sniffs—jerks back. Dean laughs at his expression and Cas smiles shyly.

"Why not?" he says.

xxxxo0oxxxx

There's a time it happens after everything changes.

They're near Detroit.

He gets a text.

PANIC IN DETROIT By the time they get there, the Motor City is well on its way to becoming a smoking hole in the ground.

Detroit lights up the sky for miles—flames turn the underside of the black clouds bloody red. It's bad, but not as bad as the sound of Sam's screaming. It goes on and on and on and after a while Dean's pretty sure the noise is just in his own head because no one's doing anything about it.

The endless shriek hangs over what's left of the city for days, hangs there like the thick blanket of smoke does…when it finally stops, the moment it does, Cas leans over and throws up. It gets so quiet then that all Dean hears is Cas retching and something in Dean breaks. He eyes the bare back of Castiel's neck for a long minute before fisting the ash-streaked collar of his Colombo drag and dragging him back towards the car. "Suck it up, bitch—we don't have time for this now—"

Dean has no idea what it was he'd really heard that day.

But he's pretty sure now it was his brother leaving him for good. Sam's left him unprotected. He just hopes whatever Sam felt for him died too.

Less complicated. He doesn't like to think of Sam sharing.

Dean figures from there, they should head to Bobby's. They drive until Dean's ready to drop because he won’t let Castiel behind the wheel and refuses to teach him. They stop where they want because everyone's headed the fucking other way, leaving all their shit behind, their houses open…people aren’t stupid. Or at least not stupid enough to sit tight over a powder keg. Dean watches them run. These are the people he's pledged to save, or do the best he can to. These are the people he'd chosen over Sam.

He thinks he should feel something more about that, feel something for the panicked masses…maybe it'll come to him.

They end up crashing for the night in a house on a road lined with other houses just like it, the only differences are color, flower beds, lawn ornaments—unimportant shit.

In the ruins of a pink and blue bedroom, smoke rises towards the ceiling, Dean watches it rise and fade out. The bed's creaking a slow cadence as Dean takes his time, one unhurried thrust after the other. He can see outside the window, a slice of scenery between lank curtains. On a still perfectly manicured front lawn, someone'd lined up a single file of pink flamingos, the cheap plastic kind you can find in 'everything for a dollar' stores, and set them on fire. The lawn was now host to a line of warped and twisted blackened lumps, some with their flamingo faces still recognizable…he has to admit, it's kind of funny.

The smell of burnt plastic wafts in on a breeze, almost overpowering the smell of burning weed. He inhales and the joint flares like burning flamingo's and little burning bits of paper drift down, pepper the back under him. Brings a hiss of pain that Dean barely hears. He pushes in deeper and Cas moans, slow, hurt--Dean moves to a low, steady murmur of sound. Dean's so fucked up he feels like he's been in him for hours, an agonizingly slow fuck against pale blue sheets, under the brainless smiles of some strangers nailed on the wall, palm trees in the background and mouse ears on their head. He squints and wonders what the fuck kind of grown person hangs a picture like that over their bed. He fucks in harder, and relaxes a bit when Cas groans….

It was another life. Another *world*. Dean wonders where they are now. Civilians. Losers.

"Dean, Dean…I need—I need—"

"You wanna come for me? Need me—"

"Yes, yes…I'm here for you, Dean," and Dean thinks…it sounds a little like Castiel's being punished. Yanks Cas up and fists his dick, until he's screaming and spurting over the stupid sheets.

Dena pulls out and rolls away. Peels the rubber and he's jerking his own dick, grunting with the effort. Cas looks at him, eyes half mast and cloudy as beach glass. He watches Dean work, licks his perpetually dry lips and slowly, almost fearfully reaches out. Dean snorts even as he groans…Cas looks like he's about to pet a savage kitten. Cas watches him, mouth open a little and then—touches.

He lays his hand right over that mark, that brand he gave him—Dean jerks up hard. His back arches, arches, arches until it hurts. He's grinding his head into the pillow and screaming—his heart pounds harder and harder and faster until Dean swears he can feel it slamming against his ribcage, splitting itself open against the bones. a feeling rips through him, frying nerves, popping little explosions in his blood—a little like when he'd gotten electrocuted but it feels…good doesn't begin to tell the story. His dick feels like he's got a live wire shoved in it and it threads right back to his asshole and he can feel himself clamp down on nothing as he comes harder than he's ever come in his life, so hard he's really, really, certain, he's *positive* that he's dying—about to tell Cas but what the fuck—he probably knows. Probably hopes for it….

When he opens his eyes again, he looks like he's been hosed down. Sweat and come run down his chest, drip between his legs…he looks like Japanese porn.

Cas is staring at him with big electric blue eyes--wipes his hand on the bed, then curls a piece of the sheet around his wet, now soft dick. His lips and cheeks burn red--he drops his eyes.

"You—you came on me, didn't you? Fuckin' freak…" but Dean's sort of amused, sort of turned on by it. Castiel goes and proves it by looking furtively guilty, and when Dean's eyes flutter shut from exhaustion, he barely catches a glimpse of Cas flicking his tongue over his fingers like a cat.

It's almost full dark when Dean wakes up again. Street lights are burning, a small beside lamp is lit…still got electricity, at least for a while. There's salt in a thin precise line on the windowsill, in a perfect circle around the bed.

He stretches and sighs. Sits up and kneels over the nightstand, rolls another joint. He thumbs his Zippo to life, and breathes in until his lungs burn. His throat's pounding trying to hold in the smoke…Dean can't help grinning at Cas watching, his mouth a little O of amazement. Dean chokes through a laugh, smoke leaks out his nose and the corners of his mouth. Eyebrow raised, he holds it out to Castiel.

Cas licks his lips thoughtfully. He never takes his eyes off Dean's mouth and says, "Why not?"

xxxxo0oxxxx

What do you think? More?

Ummm...hmm....

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 23:29:39 GMT

justabi reached out to me as a friend the other night, asking for a little kindness, a little love...a little freaky Cas/Dean. I thought, oh gosh no, I can't do that.

Turns out I think I can.

Only now, there's this whole big thing going on, and it's just borderline dub-con. really borderline.

I'm going to try and fix that.

Expect more soon. :)

Brimstone

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 18:47:11 GMT

brimstone--started playing at eight this morning and only *now* at two did it occur to me that hey--there's a thing called a DVR in the living room. Dummy! Right now, I'm watching Robinette--I mean Richard Brooks be all sexy-crazy. *mmmmmmmm*!

And slashy--hokey smokes, what the hell was I watching when this was on? It's a lot nices to watch this way than in chunks on The Youtube

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 05:31:11 GMT

Aaaaaaaand we're back! Hi, friends!! I missed you!