I wrote two (!) for Smidgy, because I forgot the prompt on the first try, and was half-way through a second one before I realized I could force that prompt in. And Clex, I really struggled with yours. I hope it isn't just garbage. :(
Drabbles under the cuts. :)
Revelation (for maygra. Slash Sam/Dean, Prompt: “Sacred”)
The hunt defines his purpose, but Sam’s touch defines his soul.
Dean knows killing, knows waiting ‘til the time is right. He keeps his game face on, struts his confidence and ‘casual’ for the world. It’s real, this façade, when his soldier-half’s in charge.
But when Sam finds him underneath that surface, Dean is transmuted by a love he’s never known. Sam’s lips offer benediction for Dean’s driven-down desires. Sam’s hands form a sacrament of trust.
Dean never knew his love would be returned once released from darkness. So profane—so unworthy—but Sam takes it and renders it pure
Built On ‘Now’ (for poisontaster. Sam/Dean smut)
Sam’s voice is hoarse, a push of unfocused desire. He is a taut expanse of skin underneath Dean’s belly, pulling him inside and against and closer with each shove of his hand on Dean’s hip.
Surely he must want this, the way he urges Dean to just take him. Dean’s never sure but when Sam asks, how can he say No? Dean’s heart is hope, his body promise…
He wants it now, Dean thinks. That’s all he can count on. Sam’s kiss makes the skin prickle along Dean’s back, and Dean thinks Yes and just thrusts on home.
Defiance (for wenchpixie. Post-Shadows Dean/Sam smut with aggressive broken!Dean)
Sam climbs in before the lights are off, pressing close as Dean turns away.
“Don’t do this to me, Sam.”
“You’re still thinking about what I said before.”
“Everything I have—- every fucking thing I am-— is yours, and you have never even cared.”
“You’re my brother, Dean. My life.”
“I’m the one you’ll always leave.”
“But I’m still yours.” Sam’s hand flows knowingly across Dean’s chest. “Make me feel it,” Sam murmurs into a kiss.
So Dean pushes—forces-- his mark inside Sam. Anger and anxiety spur him harder/faster/deeper, and he finishes in an explosion of heartache and revenge.
Soaring (for particlesofgale. Sam/Dean, first time sweetness, Prompt: “nape”)
Sam is seventeen the first time he kisses Dean-- tall enough to take without asking.
His mouth is sweetly soft against Dean’s shaking lips, so sure and telling that Dean wonders if it’s real. The arms around him are strong, one hand brushing so lovingly across the nape of his neck. Dean unfolds along every hinge, pulling Sam down to lie beside him.
In the grass Sam leans above him, fingers gently slipping through Dean’s hair. He coaxes and caresses as his kisses explain themselves. Then Dean opens inside and out, with his brother soaring down unexpectedly to meet him.
Finding Stillness (for deirdre_c. Sam/Dean, Prompt: “skinny-dipping”)
“Why are we out here in the middle of the night when we’re not chasing anything?”
“I like the moonlight. Outdoors isn’t always about work.”
“There’s a lake,” Dean says thoughtfully.
“And no-one else,” Sam finishes up.
They leave their clothes on the shore, the water glistening through the heavy, humid air. Diving, pushing, rough-housing together they swim and float and watch the distant stars. Sam sits awhile half-submerged, until Dean rises up before him sleek and gleaming under the moon.
Sam reaches, pulls him down, and they love each other to completion with no wind to steal their sounds.
Urgency (for jetpants. Jared/Jensen, Slash, Prompt: “Chair”)
In the press of the galley kitchen, Jared’s heat across his back makes Jensen forget why he came to the sink. Hands enfold him, moving nipple-sweep hip-crotch fast as Jared’s mouth claims his earlobe and Jensen’s knees waver tellingly beneath him.
“I—have to sit,” he gasps out, tempted to sink down and just let Jared ravage him. He is steered toward a chair, guided in, but the view before him brings his strength right back. He pulls Jared’s hips closer, bites over the detail under the denim. Unzipping and taking Jared wantonly, his own name is a litany overhead.
Waiting (for thelana. Prison Break, character Maricruz, Prompt: “Peanut” (baby))
The sickness has passed, and now the waiting begins. Who will come to her five months from now?
Girl or boy? Long fingers like her brother Ramone, or the chubby cheeks from the pictures on Mrs. Sucre’s living room shelf? Will it be good-hearted like her Fernando, or serious the way Hector has been since the cradle? Will it be smart enough for college like people on TV? Or make mistakes like hers and settle for what’s left?
A secret swims inside her, and she can hardly wait to meet it.
Its love is hers. Of that, she is sure.
Factual Explosion (for certainthings. John Doe/Millenium Crossover #1, hint of slash, Prompt: “glass”)
Frank Black has noticed beauty, but beauty rarely notices him.
This man before him—dark hair, black lashes over vulnerable eyes, lips worthy of a sculpture—is an archetype of beauty.
His name is a cipher, a lie from an honest man. “John Doe” is too ordinary for someone so wounded, so incredibly lost.
“Find out what he knows,” Watts had said, but it turns out John knows everything. They are scattershot factoids—light made prism by glass--offering no clues about John or why he knows this.
But he is human, not other-worldly. Frank moves on, as always... alone.
Touched (for certainthings as above. John Doe/Millenium Crossover #2)
Frank Black has sensed the touch of the Underworld and has seen the evils of man. He knows one, but not the other. He fears them both.
Their dark love of destruction seeps and swarms through his mind, his nightmares, his being.
His soul is glass, transparent and waiting to be shattered. It is visible to everyone, to every Thing, and he drags across each day half-expecting the greet the Abyss.
It could be a demon with a lust for abandoned hearts.
Or this man with the amazing mind and perfect face, whose beauty has already broken through Frank’s shell.
Cthulhu (for clex_monkie89. John Doe, Prompt: “Cthulhu”)
“Lovecraft’s mythical god,” John offers in response to a symbol from a warehouse.
He surveys the slide-show evidence, matching it with last night’s random thoughts. The visions/memories/fugue-states that plague him have brought him to the police before. This coincidence seems significant; facts are waiting inside his mind.
“Why would this symbol be here?” Hayes wonders.
“Could be a cult trying to raise him up. If they succeed, he’ll destroy everything in his path.”
“It’s a character from a fictional book!” Avery protests.
“Belief doesn’t require realism.”
His own words haunt him: John believes in a past he may not find.
Standoff (for tyrical: House/24 Crossover, Gen)
“I’ve got a man who needs immediate attention,” a voice calls out. Heads turn and the room goes still.
“Yeah, well—guns tend to dampen my cooperation,” House responds. “Use the E.R. like everyone else.”
“This is a national emergency!” the man says earnestly. His eyes are bloodshot, his body sagging with fatigue. He has pre-symptomatic hair, if such a thing exists.
“Psych ward’s next door.” House checks the last patient off the list.
“Now!” the man yells, dragging his burden right on up.
“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely.”
House opens an office …but makes the gunman wait outside.