kelios: (Default)
2016-01-24 02:18 am

Devil's in the Details, But You're My Big Picture

Title: Devil's in the Details, But You're My Big Picture
Author: kelios
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Episode tag for Devil in the Details. Sam and Dean's trip to Hell has left them both a little unsettled.

Sam settles into the car with a groan as Dean drops into the driver’s seat with an answering sigh. They’re both a little stiff, more than a little sore, but they’ll live. They’ll live and neither of them is an angel condom and Sam can feel the leftover rage and adrenaline still pulsing through him, shot through with dark satisfaction. They won. They beat the devil again, on his own turf, and as sore as he is Sam can’t help leaning across the seat, reaching for his brother.

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kelios: (Default)
2016-01-11 12:56 am

Your Kink Is Not My Kink (Or Maybe It Is)

Author: kelios
Title: Your Kink Is Not My Kink (Or Maybe It Is)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Written for this prompt on the spn-kinkmeme:
Dean loves food. Dean loves to cook for Sam. Dean loves the bunker kitchen. Sam just loves Dean in his apron and likes to fuck his older brother on every available surface in said bunker kitchen.
Warnings: Wincest, misuse of pie filling, rimming

Dean likes to cook. He knows it’s maybe a little odd for someone with his background, but he figures that’s actually part of it--he’s spent so much time eating salt with a side of grease in shitty diners that it’s only natural he’d want something good when he got the chance. He’s spent years thinking about all the things he’d make if he ever got access to a really nice kitchen--and the one in the bunker definitely qualifies.

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kelios: (Default)
2015-05-12 02:01 am

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to Me (Especially Not You)

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to Me (Not Even You)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: simulated non-con, simulated somnophilia, wincest

Dean drives Sam crazy with his mother henning, there’s no doubt about that. But days like today? When Sam is ready to find a crossroad and beg whatever demon shows up to make the pain to go away? He’s grateful that he doesn’t have to say a word for Dean to know just what he needs. He crawls into the backseat and pulls off his flannel overshirt, balling it up into a pillow with just enough left to cover his eyes. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helps enough he can pretend he’s not going to gouge his own eyes out with a spork the first chance he gets.

The motel Dean chooses is a little nicer than their usual fare. Hiding in the back seat means Sam doesn’t know if Dean chose it on purpose or if it was the only game in town. Then again, Sam doesn’t actually care about anything right now except Dean pulling the blackout curtains and dropping the room into blessed darkness. Sam collapses on the bed farthest from the door, not even bothering to take off his shoes, but Dean’s having none of that.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean says with that gentleness he reserves for true fuckedupedness. “If you get mud on the bed you’ll bitch all night, and I’m not switching with you.” He pulls off Sam’s boots and socks, then tugs on the hem of his jeans. Sam groans, but Dean just tugs again. “Go on,” Dean orders. “You know you’ll be more comfortable.” He turns away as Sam mutters bossy under his breath but pops the button on his jeans and shoves them off and onto the floor before sprawling across the bed.

Dean’s right. He is more comfortable. When Sam’s like this, he hates it more than usual when Dean’s right, but that doesn’t stop him from accepting the pills Dean offers on his way out the door.

“Gonna hit that bar a few miles back, see if I can scare up some reserve cash,” Dean says, speaking as quietly as he can. “Maybe we’ll celebrate when I get back, yeah?”

Sam does his best to smile, but judging by Dean’s wince he probably doesn’t succeed. He waits for the door to close before he swallows the pills dry, pointedly ignoring the bottle of whiskey Dean had set on the nightstand. He’d rather not asphyxiate on his own vomit, thanks. He closes his eyes, buries is face in the pillow, and does his best to relax.


Sam comes awake gradually. Fingers slip across his cheek, stroking his hair, his ear. He knows it’s Dean, he’d know Dean’s hands anywhere, but this…Dean has never touched him like this before, so much gentleness, so much tenderness. Sam knows he should stir, give Dean a chance to move away, but he can’t. He can’t. Not yet. He just wants a few more moments for himself, no matter how selfish he feels.

Dean pulls in a shaky breath, and Sam hears the cap from the bottle of whiskey hit the nightstand as Dean takes a long drink. Then his hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, heavy and warm. “Sam?” he says. “Hey, Sammy, wake up, man.”

Sam doesn’t stir. He just wants one more moment of Dean’s attention to savor, that’s it, then he’ll sit up and they’ll go out to dinner and everything will be fine. He hears Dean take another drink, hand still gentle and firm on his shoulder. “Never understood why you wear so many layers, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. Sam can hear the slur in his words, but it’s still a shock when Dean trails his hand down Sam’s back in a warm caress. He can’t help the twinge of disappointment he feels when Dean stops right before his fingers stroke the bare skin between his t-shirt and his boxers. Then he feels it, the rough callouses of Dean’s fingers on his skin as Dean lets himself touch.

Sam bites back a moan, fights not to arch into Dean’s touch. “Fuck,” he hears Dean whisper. Then, “Sammy” almost reverently, almost like a prayer as he flattens his hand on the bare skin of Sam’s back, stroking the smooth skin. This time Sam can’t stop the shiver that rolls through him, can’t help the whimper that escapes as he realizes with instant clarity that he has no intention of stopping this, that he’s going to take whatever Dean will give him regardless of the consequences.

Dean falls to his knees next to the bed, and the press of his lips against Sam’s hip nearly undoes him. It’s all Sam can do to keep quiet as Dean moans against his skin, and all his good intentions disappear completely as Dean’s restless hands grip and knead Sam’s ass. Sam’s body takes over, bucking up against the fingers pushing against his sensitive opening, wanting more.

“Dean,” Sam moans helplessly, grinding down against the mattress. He’s already almost painfully hard, years of pent up desire filling his cock and fogging his brain far more than the painkillers he’d taken earlier. Dean jerks his hand back as if burned, and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to beg Dean to touch him again. Sam forces himself to lay still, ears straining. He can hear Dean breathing, panting almost, then the sound of Dean’s zipper easing down almost breaks his resolve again. Dean groans a little, but doesn’t touch Sam, and Sam’s mind spins crazily at the thought of Dean jerking off on his back, on his face oh God, branding him, changing him forever.

But it doesn’t happen, even though Sam hears the rattle of Dean’s belt as it hits the floor. Sam doesn’t let himself move, hoping against hope that Dean will finish what he started.

Sam’s concentrating so hard on staying still that he almost misses what Dean’s saying. “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters roughly, and Sam feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “Maybe it’s my turn to just take what I want.”

And fuck if that doesn’t turn Sam on even more, the idea that Dean—fiercely protective, loving Dean, the brother who has never done anything but care for Sam their whole lives—the idea that Dean could so lose himself to this thing between them, could let himself go far enough to simply take what he wants for once in his life.  It’s messed up, Sam gets that—he should be pissed as hell by what Dean is doing. But all he can feel is relief twisted up with desire and want so strong he isn’t sure he can control himself long enough not to screw it all up.

Dean’s voice tapers off, muttering under his breath as something thumps onto the bed next to Sam and the mattress dips under Dean’s weight. Sam tries to breathe normally, but that goes out the window when Dean pushes Sam’s shirt up, baring more skin to the cool motel room air. Sam gasps when Dean hooks his fingers in Sam’s boxers, tugging them down so slowly it’s torture. He can’t help himself, whimpering into the pillow and rutting into the mattress as Dean runs his hands up Sam’s legs, groaning under his breath at the feel of Sam’s skin under his hands. His cock, wet and hard, brushes Sam’s leg, dotting the skin with precome as Sam tries desperately to remain still enough not to give himself away. He feels like he could come just from this, just from Dean’s hands cupping, kneading the smooth, firm muscle of his ass as he gently spreads Sam open.

Fuck fuck fuck Sam thinks wildly. There’s no way he can stay quiet for this, no way he won’t give himself away. His hips have a mind of their own, grinding into the coarse hotel comforter in a way that’s almost as much pain as pleasure. He can hear Dean whispering over him, but he can’t make out the words except his name Sammy Sammy Sammy which seems appropriate since Sam can’t seem to say anything but Dean.

Sam moans, almost a sob, as Dean leans forward to blow warm air over his hole then lick the tender skin. Dean hasn’t shaved since morning, and his stubble burns deliciously against Sam’s skin, the contrast driving him wild. Dean seems to realize what he’s doing to Sam, rubbing his face all over, nipping and outright biting in between licking over Sam’s hole and balls, driving Sam insane. Finally, finally he stops teasing and pushes his tongue inside the tight ring of muscle. Sam can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but writhe helplessly underneath Dean, moaning Dean’s name like a prayer, begging for more as quietly as he can. Tomorrow, he thinks wildly, tomorrow he’s going push Dean onto the bed and ride his face until they both come, until Sam can scream his pleasure as loudly as he wants.

Dean pulls back after a few minutes, sweet relief that only makes Sam more desperate when Dean replaces his mouth with his fingers. Dean twists them, stretching and pulling, and God, Sam is going to lose it any second. Dean finds his prostate and strokes him mercilessly, relentlessly. Sam bites his lip so hard he’s surprised he can’t taste blood, doesn’t think he can take much more even though he never wants it to end. He nearly sobs with relief when Dean finally tugs his fingers free even as he can’t help rocking back against Dean’s hand in protest at the same time.

Dean doesn’t make him wait long. Sam hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper, Dean’s hiss of pleasure as he slides it on, and then he’s back. He rubs the head of is dick over Sam’s swollen, sensitive hole, teasing again, and Sam tenses in anticipation. Dean pushes forward, finally, then stops when he feels how tight Sam still is. Sam does his best to hold still, but it hurts when Dean shoves, soft apology soothing Sam along with his hands as Dean strokes his back and hair gently. Dean works his way in slowly, murmuring praise and love so good for me Sammy, so beautiful look so pretty on my cock and it’s so good, each slow, steady stroke wracking Sam’s body with pleasure like he’s never felt.

Dean stops when he’s finally all the way in, Sam gasping underneath him, shuddering at how amazing it feels to be so full of Dean. His brother only gives him a moment to adjust before he’s pulling out again, thrusting back in harder this time, setting up a rhythm that Sam tries to match. Dean’s hands are locked onto Sam’s hips, hauling Sam up and back to meet him with every thrust, and Sam can’t wait to see the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow, to press them and savor this moment again. He groans when Dean slows, suddenly, then rearranges himself against Sam’s back so that he can force his hand underneath Sam. Dean gets a hand on Sam’s cock, warm and rough and calloused and Sam loses it, two strokes and he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life, twisting and writhing under his brother like he’s possessed, biting his lip so hard tears spring to his eyes as he tries not to cry out.

Dean fucks him through the aftershocks, hard and fast and if he could Sam thinks he’d be getting hard again because there’s something about being used, about being fucked for nothing but Dean’s pleasure that lights something inside of him on fire. He feels Dean tighten, feels him pulse against the condom and shudders again, wishing he could feel Dean bare inside him. Dean collapses on top of him, heavy and warm, for a brief moment before pulling out and away. Sam wishes Dean would stay, adds the idea of wrapping himself happy and spent around his brother to his list of things he’s going to do tomorrow and hopefully every day for as the foreseeable future.

Dean rolls off the bed and staggers into the bathroom. Sam smiles and stretches, enjoying the ache in his ass and hips, imagining the bruises he’s going to have in the morning. He’s tired, blissed out from possibly the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced on top of the residual painkillers still in his system. He’s trying to keep his eyes from drifting closed as his mind tries to turn itself off, needing to stay awake until Dean comes back, but it’s a losing battle.

Sam’s still asleep when Dean comes back out of the bathroom, still sprawled facedown on the bed. The sight hits Dean like a punch to the gut. Sam looks debauched, fucked out and used, and all he can think is how gorgeous Sam looks like this, how much he wants to fall into bed next to his brother and do all of this again the next morning.

That doesn’t last long.

Sam looks debauched, used. He’s bruised, swollen, covered in lube and come. Dean did that, Dean raped his brother, and the shocked realization knocks the breath out of him. He collapses on the empty bed, sick with guilt and horror.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “God, I’m so sorry.”

After a moment Dean forces himself to stand, goes into the bathroom again and comes out with a warm wet cloth. He cleans Sam as gently and carefully as he can, wiping up drying lube and come. Dean, Sam sighs, shifting, arching into Dean’s touch as if he craves it. It hurts Dean’s heart—he doesn’t deserve even this much acknowledgement from Sam, doesn’t deserve to touch him again, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t hide what happened here, but he hopes this might make Sam feel less violated when he wakes, and—selfishly--Dean knows this is probably the last time he’ll ever touch Sam, take care of him, and he wants to savor it. To remember. If he can take any memory to hell, let it be this.

Dean shifts Sam gently onto his side, away from the cooling wetness underneath him. He wipes Sam down carefully, then pulls Sam’s discarded boxers up over his hips before grabbing the coverlet from the other bed and tucking it in around his brother. Sam shifts onto his side almost immediately, hair falling over his eyes, and Dean has to resist the sickening urge to push it away, knowing he can never trust himself to do that again.

After a few moments of watching Sam sleep, Dean turns away, more determined than ever to do the right thing. He grabs a clean pair of boxers from his duffle and dresses quickly, grateful that he hadn’t had a chance to unpack anything yet. In a matter of minutes he’s ready to go, three quick steps to the door before he stops with his hand on the knob, caught by the pen and paper next to the phone.

I’m sorry, Sam is all he manages to scrawl before his vision blurs, but it will have to be enough. He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can, sits in the Impala with his head resting against the steering wheel as he finally lets the tears drip down his face. It hurts, having his heart ripped out of his chest with his own hands, but he knows he has no one to blame but himself. It's better this way, he tells himself bleakly, and puts the car into drive and pulls away into the darkness.

kelios: (Default)
2015-05-07 03:44 am

Water Under the Bridge

Title: Water under the Bridge
Rating: G
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: non
Summary: Sam hopes Dean doesn't make him wait too long.
A/N: Drabble written for twitter based on the linked picture.

Neither of them sleep all that well these days, but Dean still drinks enough to pass out sometimes, runs himself into exhaustion so deep his body can't help but give in. Even that doesn't bring a restful, peaceful sleep though; Dean tosses and turns and moans in his sleep, far more vocal than Sam ever remembers him being before.

He doesn't like to admit it, even to himself, but those nights are his favorites.

He carefully--very carefully, they are both big guys after all, and Sam's not entirely convinced the motel room beds are even really queensized--lays down next to Dean in his bed, under or over the covers depending on what Dean chose. The effect is nearly instantaneous--Dean always calms, turning his face toward Sam with a soft sigh as the tension leaves his body and he sinks into deeper, more restful sleep. Some nights he turns all the way toward Sam, throws an arm over Sam's chest or wedges a leg between Sam's, pushing his face into Sam's neck and all but collapsing into himself.

Sam's always careful not to move on those nights, barely breathing, not daring to let himself nod off for fear of what he might do. He loves it, though, loves it with a fierce, jealous satisfaction that he can't quite rid himself of, because no one else gets this, no one else has EVER gotten this. No one else has ever done this for Dean, soothed him simply by being present, with just a touch. This side of Dean, soft, vulnerable, open-it's just for Sam. Sam knows that--it's ground into his bones the way Sammy is ground into Dean's.

Sam lets himself hope, sometimes, that these stolen nights might mean something, that they might be a way back to what they used to have, but he's afraid to think of it too often, afraid it might bleed over into their waking moments. For all that Sam pursued Dean when they were younger, he knows there is too much anger, too much resentment, too much that can't be easily taken back for that to happen again. But Sam can't give up. He just hopes Dean won't make him wait too long.
kelios: (Default)
2015-05-07 03:24 am

Whatever Our Souls are Made Of, His and Mine are the Same

Title: Whatever Our Souls are Made Of, His and Mine are the Same
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Warnings: Wincest, voyeurism
Summary: Now that the war in heaven is over, Castiel finds himself at loose ends. Watching the Winchesters is one way to pass the time. (Prompt from the first round of Masquerade.)

Watching the Winchesters has become one of Castiel's favorite pastimes. Not their physical bodies, necessarily--although Castiel has found that his vessel does enjoy that occasionally too. No, mostly he watches their souls

Soulmates are rare. Castiel has never seen two of them come together before, and it's endlessly fascinating. He watches them for days, sometimes, as they cycle through love, anger, fondness, exasperation--each emotion taking a different hue and shape, drawing them closer, pushing them farther apart, but never truly separate.

Even when they are miles apart, their souls reach for each other, and sometimes, if he tries very hard, he can feel a distant echo of the ache such distance causes.

Today they are not far apart. Sam has pulled Dean onto his lap, pushed his cock deep inside his brother as he holds him close. Dean's head is thrown back with the pleasure of it, gasping Sam's name, saying things that Castiel once would have considered quite blasphemous. Now, he simply leans closer, straining for a better view, to hear what Sam is saying in return.

Dean Dean god love you, fuck--so fucking much

There is energy building between their souls, borders breaking down as they melt into one another, spilling the pleasure of joining into their bodies. It's stunning, breathtaking, and Castiel isn't surprised to find his vessel hard and aching to be touched. He ignores it to watch, enraptured, as Sam and Dean reach their climax, souls finally becoming the one they were intended to be for a few short moments.

He watches a little longer, faint jealousy tainting his pleasure as he watches them separate and return to their own bodies. He has no soul, will never truly know the pleasure of joining with another the way they do. He may rut with a female vessel, but it will never be like this, it will never be even the poor imitation that most humans achieve when their souls briefly touch. For all of their might and power, he and his brothers will, in this regard, always be lesser. Always alone.

Sam stands, still holding his brother, still joined to him body to body, and they both laugh, sated and content. Sam spills them both onto the bed carefully, gently leaving Dean's body and collapsing next to him. Castiel watches until they fall asleep, and after, longing for things he'll never have. 
kelios: (Default)
2015-05-05 10:55 pm


Title: Flashpoint
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, piercing, mild pain kink

Summary: Dean's nipples are extra sensitive. Sam can work with that.
Written for a Masquerade prompt requesting nipple play, but I didn't keep the whole thing.

A/N: do not try this at home. Like many things in fic, this is probably a very bad idea to test out on yourself or a loved one.

"Sam, come on, come on," Dean whines, even as he's fucking back onto Sam's fingers. He arches his back as Sam smacks his ass hard, shudder running through him. Sam leans forward over his back, lips just brushing Dean's ear.

"Gotta get you nice and open, big brother," he breathes, nipping the tender skin. "Need to be able to slip right in when I'm ready, because you're going to love your birthday present."

"Such a fucking tease," Dean mutters, but the only heat in his voice is from Sam's hands on his body. He loves what Sam is doing to him, can't get enough, but Sam knows what he needs more than anything else.

"Don't worry, baby, I've got what you need," Sam coos, and Dean tries for a scowl but misses by a mile, mouth dropping open on a moan as the hand not buried to the third knuckle in Dean's ass snakes around to tease his nipple. Sam torments the tender nub, pinches and pulls and rolls it while Dean moans and gasps and begs for more when he can pull enough air into his lungs to form words.

"Please, Sam, Sammy, please, oh fuck, please," Dean begs, and Sam can't wait any longer. He pulls his hand out of Dean's body and flips him over onto his back, latching onto his right nipple and sucking hard. Dean’s entire body bows upward, wordless shout of pleasure ripped out of him as he buries his hands in Sam’s hair. Sam works the nub between his lips, then his teeth, mounding the flesh with both hands until he can leave teeth marks in a perfect circle around the abused flesh. Tears are running down Dean’s face but he doesn’t pull Sam away, just writhes against the thigh Sam has pushed between Dean’s legs, seeking whatever friction he can get on his hard and leaking cock.

Finally Sam lifts his head. His lips are swollen and nearly as red as Dean’s chest, pupils blown until his eyes are more black than hazel. He sets his fingers to Dean’s nipple tugging and pulling as he attacks Dean’s mouth, tongue fucking in and out until they’re both dizzy and panting.

“More,” Dean orders, gasping. “More”. Sam complies eagerly, digging his teeth into Dean’s neglected left nipple, sucking on the tip like a straw. Dean can’t hold back a strangled cry, body all but seizing underneath his brother as Sam rocks against him, sucking and pulling on both sides of Dean’s chest in rhythm.

“Sam. Sam. Sammy,” Dean pants. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna, I need to—“

Sam raises his head long enough to growl “Do it, Dean, come for me,” and Dean explodes underneath him, jets of pearly warmth coating both their bellies as Sam works Dean through his orgasm.

“Fuuuuck,” Dean groans when he can speak again. Sam is lying next to him, still hard, licking over the purpling bruises on his chest.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Sam says, eyes gleaming wickedly. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” He sits up and throws a leg over Dean’s thighs, holding him down. Dean hisses in a breath at the contact on his sensitive cock.

“Don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet,” he says, tilting his hips away. Sam shifts away from the contact, then leans forward to open the drawer of the nightstand and pull out a black leather bag.

“Happy birthday, big brother,” he says, tugging on the zipper. He opens the bag to lay flat on the bed and Dean cranes his neck to see the gleam of silver in neat rows shining against the black felt interior.

“Sam…” he says doubtfully. “We kinda talked about this? And how it wouldn’t work?”

“Do you trust me?” Sam asks seriously. Dean licks his lips and nods, because it’s Sam, what else can he do?

Sam smiles and leans forward, kissing Dean gently. “Arms up,” he says, moving Dean’s hands to grasp the headboard. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and Dean twitches in surprise when Sam pulls Dean’s legs apart and pushes in with a groan.

He keeps going, eyes locked on Dean’s, until he’s fully seated, balls pressed firmly against Dean’s ass. His eyes flutter closed briefly when Dean clenches around him, half teasing, half begging, but Sam doesn’t move after that except to lean forward and kiss Dean again, softer this time.

When Sam sits up, the first thing he reaches for is a wrapped alcohol wipe. “Gotta be clean,” he says with a ghost of a smile. His hands are shaking just a bit as he tears it open, and Dean hisses in surprise when the cold pad swipes over his left nipple. He’s already half-way to hard again, just from the feel of Sam inside him, and he shudders, anticipation rolling through him.

Sam chooses an odd shaped needle, sharply pointed on one end and with some kind of attachment on the other. Dean’s breath speeds up as Sam gives it a quick swipe then gently grips his nipple and tugs.

“Ready?” Sam asks. He sounds as breathless as Dean feels, and his cock twitches inside Dean’s body as he sets the needle against Dean’s skin. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just begins the slow push through the tender flesh.

Dean’s breath leaves him in a rush as he tries desperately not to arch into Sam’s hand. Sam’s hips move, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside Dean just as the tip of the needle breaks through the other side. “Fuck,” Dean gasps. “Sammy, God, fuck, fuck--“

Dean can’t hold back the full body shiver that wracks his body as Sam begins to fuck his nipple with the needle in the same rhythm that his cock is fucking Dean’s ass. Sam’s panting above him, lip caught in his teeth as his eyes flick back and forth between Dean’s chest and his face as he works both the needle and his cock faster and faster. Dean’s hips buck uncontrollably as he grips the headboard, struggling not to let go, pleasure surging through him faster, harder than he can process. It rips through him, rolling his eyes back in his head and dragging a shout from his throat as his body locks down, spasming and clenching tight as he comes harder than he can ever remember. He feels Sam grind against him, locked tight into his body as he’s flooded with warmth, and the sensation drags him under again, pain and pleasure merging into one exquisite, overwhelming point.

When Dean opens his eyes again, Sam’s cleaning him up. The black bag is out of sight and Sam is tugging a pair of boxers over Dean’s hips.

“Hey,” Sam says, smiling tentatively. “You alright?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been better, Sammy,” Dean tells him. He wants to say more, to tell him what a fucking amazing little brother he is, but his eyes are already slipping closed again on Sam’s now blinding smile. Dean’s whole body aches in the best possible way, and once he’s finished sleeping for a week he plans to show Sam exactly how grateful he is for his birthday present.

For now, though, he’s content to relax into Sam’s warmth and love.

AO3 link for those who prefer:
kelios: (Default)
2015-05-05 01:07 am

First Time for Everything

Title: First Time for Everything
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, marijuana use, shotgunning
Written for this Masquerade prompt: For all his rebellious attitude at school, Dean never tried smoking weed. It was Sam smoking with his friends, Sam who know what he's doing. He takes Dean through it for the first time. Dean unravels happily in his brother's arms.

extra awesome for banter, kissing at a motel room alone or in the Impala. It'd be lovely if it only happened around the last few years, cause there's a sweetness to doing something like this for the first time after all they've been through, something light in all the hard seriousness, but it'd be beautiful also if it happens when they were teens.

Please, no non con or manipulation. Perhaps Sam suggests it because Dean has been so worried lately - it's not an evil plot.

“Wait. You mean never, never? Not even once?”

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kelios: (Default)
2015-05-03 02:13 am

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen To You (Except Me)

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wincest
Warnings: somniphilia, non-con
Summary: “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters to the sleeping figure on the bed. “Maybe it’s my turn to take what I want.”

A/N: Written for this Masquerade prompt: Dean screws Sam when he's knocked out from a hunt (or whatever other scenario). Bonus if it's their first time and Dean feels tons of guilt, but does it anyway.
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kelios: (Default)
2014-01-26 07:39 am

Supernatural thougts inspired by TVBinge

Every time we start from the beginning, I ask myself: which is more painful, watching the first time with no idea what was coming, or re-watching with full knowledge of just how bad it's going to get? I can never decide.

There is so much hope in the early seasons. Supernatural has always been dark and relatively bleak, but the hope in Sam's voice when he says "I gotta find Dad" is heartbreaking. And Dean...he believes he'll be able to keep Sam safe even tho part of him also believes he'll fail because that's the way he's built. Sam believes they'll save Dean from Hell, they believe they can protect the seals, they believe they can stop Lucifer. every season, every episode just feels like despair. They are going through the motions. They can't settle down, because TGDAs and demons won't let them. They can't save people and hunt things, because TGDAs and demons won't let them. They can't even DIE because if they do, TGDAS (heaven) and demons (hell) will be waiting with malicious glee to tear them apart when they arrive.

(BTW, this is another reason I don't like 9.01. Sam KNOWS that they are on heaven's shitlist, yet he wants to die and make sure Dean can't bring him back? I mean, what? Does he miss the Cage or something? Such bad writing and plotting.)

I can't imagine how they get up and keep moving every day, except fear of what will happen if they don't--and each other. They must be so bonecrushingly tired, mentally and physically. My heart aches for them, every episode. And now the show wants to take the one good thing they have (each other) away from them. It breaks my heart, and not in the good way.
kelios: (Default)
2014-01-01 11:56 am

Comment fic

I found this drabble when I was sorting through some old files--I wrote it for a comment fic meme ages ago. It's set in S7, after Dean shows Sam that pain makes the hallucinations go away, at least briefly. The prompt was bathing in holy water.

Characters: Sam Winchester
Warnings: self harm, insanity
Prompt: Any, bathing in holy water
Length 415 words

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kelios: (Default)
2012-02-13 06:18 pm

Writer's Block: Love is in the Air

Sam. Dean. Video camera. [Error: unknown template qotd]
kelios: (Default)
2011-11-27 02:53 pm

Writer's Block: Background players

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kelios: (Default)
2011-11-07 10:39 pm

Writer's Block: The missing piece

[Error: unknown template qotd]Sam and Dean Winchester.
kelios: (Default)
2011-08-13 11:18 pm

Writer's Block: True love waits

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It depends. If I'm dating Dean Winchester then the answer is HELL YES, as long as it takes.

(This applies to Sam as well, that should go without saying.)
kelios: (Default)
2011-03-02 09:27 am

Writer's Block: Into the night

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I stayed at home with SamnDean.  What? It's one word, honest.
kelios: (Default)
2010-08-02 11:43 pm

Writer's Block: Please don't call it a comeback

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Dean Winchester.

Fortunately, Castiel took care of it for me :)

Some people may argue that he doesn't count, but he faked his own death twice to get away from the FBI and had hordes of angels and demons looking for him for YEARS.  I'd say that makes him pretty infamous.
And he has an entire series of gospels written about him and his brother Sam, which makes him an eventually historical person (according to Castiel, who's an angel and ought to know).

He had to come back 'cause it's a freaking crime for someone that hot to die so young.