Mmm I need to go macerate some strawberries for dessert soon.
People continue to produce AWESOME fic over at ohnokripkedidnt's fic meme's Make Kripke Kry and y'all have NO IDEA how happy that makes me even though I usually fail at coding I think I've gotten everyone linked in the master post so far. There are still open prompts! Go write or read or whatever! It's all awesome.
I responded to three prompts (so far) because UM they were all fucking awesome prompts. (I think I said to Stef I just need to do a gen one to get a full hat trick.) And now to post them here to record how I think I maaaay have finally broken past my writer's block issue.
That One Night
Word Count: 358
Author's Notes: for vinylroad. Prompt: Dean or Sam paired with any female, canon or OFC - going down on her after sex.
And one night, they run out of condoms. It progresses slowly, empty Chinese food containers spread out on the coffee table, the last of the three movies picked out for movie night winding down. Winter finals are over and nothing needs to be rushed.
"Shit," Jess moans in Sam's mouth when his fingers were buried deep inside her, twisting for the best angle. "God Sam, I think we're out of, um, we don't have anything--"
Sam offers, "We don't have to. I can just... I'll be okay."
"No, no," Jess shook her head, brought his mouth down to hers, tongue slipping in and he tastes the faint touch of the red wine they'd had with dinner. "I'm on birth control. We can do this. Please."
There's little interest in talking in arguing, most of Sam's brain is begging for a vacation and he wants her so badly, her leg shifting against him, thigh brushing against his erection. He brings her close with fingers, watches her cupping her breasts, rubbing at her hardened nipples and Sam tells her how much he loves her, has told her this before but he has to as he slips inside her and it's too much, the heat of her. He's never experienced it before, the honest-to-god sensation of it.
They rock against each other as the credits roll, the dvd reverting back to the main screen before he empties inside of her.
"Oh god, Sam, Sam," Jess says, trying to bring him down for another kiss but he bypasses her embrace, pulls out and moves down and she only gets out, "what are you--" before he shows her, quite explicitly.
Sam's always loved going down on Jess, learning all the tricks to getting her wet and make her tell him exactly what she wants him to do to her. This is different, as she tilts her hips and he can taste himself mixing in the musky wet of her, a slight tinge of bitter and he pushes his tongue in deeper, presses his thumb on her clit.
Jess comes again, shuddering, her fingers twisted in Sam's hair.
"God," she groans. "Yes."
Acting is Serious Business
Word Count: 419
Author's Notes: For ignited. Prompt: J2, future!fic, older boys goofing around on a movie set.
The problem Jensen has with working with Jared Padalecki is that it's impossible for him to be taken as a Serious Actor(tm). Not when he walks out to the set to find not-subtle pictures of Jensen's former inglorious modeling career, it was nearly thirty years ago but that doesn't seem to matter, no matter how much grey collects in his hair (dyed away depending on the role although he shaved off his hair in-between films) or how many laugh lines settle in, he's immortalized to the cast and crew as that guy who did "Gay Cowboy" before anyone heard of Brokeback Mountain.
Then you throw in Jared and the fact that they've been together since Supernatural wrapped, and well, people don't seem to take Jensen too seriously. For some reason it's hard to get respect when you walk around set in face paint.
And no, Jensen didn't realize he was walking around looking like a cheetah, blame that on Jared being a sick, sick freak who doesn't need to sleep after a hard fuck that left him speechless but still completely devious.
Jensen may need to start fucking handcuffing Jared when they have sex on set to prevent these hijinks. Dammit. He has an image to uphold.
Then he sees that Jared's gotten some graphic designer to blow up that stupid photoshoot he did where he'd been carrying a giant candy cane. Motherfucker.
"Candy cane, Mr. Ackles?"
The poor, poor P.A. is trembling as she offers a dazzling array of candy, too many variations of colored stripes that it nearly gives Jensen a headache.
"Um. I'm good. Coffee would be great. Not peppermint-flavored. Just black, sugar. Thanks."
He's fully prepared to throttle Jared or like, deny him sex for a couple of days (Jensen's pretty sure he could hold out for that long) but then he sees that Jared's gotten his own gift, one that took a lot of consideration and evil plotting.
"You are so dead," Jared says, dripping, and shaking his head, hair still long and ridiculous, though he'd still avoided the grey in hair (again, Jared? Is a bastard). But he's laughing as he says it, fitting considering how he should be jolly now that he's green and all.
"What? I don't think the script said you were going to be doused in a bucket of red blood."
He might be older now but as long as he's got a head start he can avoid Jared tackling him...for about a whole minute. Yeah. Serious Goddamn Actor.
Word Count: 251
Author's Notes: For memphis86. Prompt: Sam likes to get drunk and sing karaoke, Dean pretends he doesn't like being serenaded with off-key renditions of "What About Love" by Heart.
Look, Dean never had a fucking thing for Ann and Nancy Wilson, okay? Never whacked off thinking about Ann Wilson welding away, smear of grease across her face, saying, "Dean Winchester, you've been a bad, bad boy."
Sam's told Dean that he's bad but um, that's totally different too. He's never said it when they've been naked, rubbing against each other. So there's like no goddamn reason why Dean's fucking hard as nails, pressure a goddamn shame, straining against his jeans. Especially since Sam's a fucking dreadful singer.
Worse when he's drunk as a skunk.
Worst when he's singing karaoke. In public. To an adoring crowd of fuckin' teenyboppers.
Dean never gets jealous either.
Fortunately it's someone's turn to sing Hannah Montana (who the fuck is that?) and Sam gets off the stage, stumbling to sit next to Dean.
"Heyyyyy, Dean," Sam says, actually licking the edge of Dean's jaw, public sex kink always in full blast when Sam's hit the sauce. "I'm gonna dedicate my next song to you."
"Oh God," Dean manages when Sam's hand is stroking Dean's zipper, like he's just going to go down on him right here and now. "What the fuck is next? Pat Benatar?"
Sam chuckles, low. "The Divinyls. Because I do think about you. When I touch myself."
Dragging Sam to the bathroom is an awesome fucking idea, even though they both totally stumble along the way.
And the blowjob is fucking amazing even with that goddamn Divinyls song running through his head.