whitereflection (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whitereflection) wrote2010-02-17 04:28 am
whitereflection) wrote2010-02-17 04:28 am
Entry tags:
son of the return of comment fic
Son of a *biscuit*, I should have been in bed two hours ago. Or like three hours ago. :( 6am is going to suck *hard*. (Can't slack and nap either, have to get the husband to work, head up to the hospital to visit the aunt early, then head to the dentist in the afternoon, argh argh.)
Title: Long As God Can Grow It
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~590
Note: Title and cut text shamelessly stolen from the lyrics to the song "Hair." (A cliche is me.) Also for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
littleone87's Sam/Dean, J2 Drabble A Thon at http://littleone87.livejournal.com/98265.html. Prompt was from strgazr04, Sam/Dean, hair. Comment posted at http://littleone87.livejournal.com/98265.html?thread=2023129#t2023129, but reposted here. Minor but vague spoilers for earlier seasons.
Summary: There's a few reasons why Sam likes to keep his hair so long.
When Sam was a kid, one of his favorite things was when Dean would ruffle his hair. Oh, sure, he'd play-flinch away with a put-upon "Deeeeeeean!", but it would always leave him smiling secretly to himself, a flipping, tumbling, happy feeling in his stomach.
When Sam grew older, one of his favorite things was still Dean running his hand through his hair--even if it left him sometimes confused, flushed, with a hum and buzz under his skin that made him so restless some nights he couldn't sleep. Because just as much as Dean's hands in his hair were the object of his in-the-shower fantasies (tangling his hands in it, clasping Sam's head still so as to better kiss him deep, deep), they were also comfort--holding it back when Sam threw up, smoothing it back from his forehead when he was feverish, carefully keeping it out of the way when stitching up a cut.
That hasn't changed now; Dean's hands in his hair are still a comfort. The feel of strong, blunt fingers carefully massaging his scalp through god-awful vision migraines or finger-combing gently through sweat-soaked tangles and snarls as Sam trembles through the last stages of detox--even just the feel of Dean's hand tickling under the curling ends as his palm curves warm around the nape of Sam's neck, arm resting along the seat as he drives (arm strong around Sam's back as Dean catches him, cradles him close, hand tangling in those curls as Dean swears everything will be okay until Sam can't hear him anymore).
And god, if he doesn't love that those old teenage fantasies became reality. Every time Dean leans over as he's fucking Sam from behind, runs the fingers of one hand through the long strands so he can grab hold, pull Sam's head back until his neck is arched, and bite down where it curves smooth into the muscles of his shoulder, sucking vivid red marks along the skin there, Sam thanks any and all deities and pantheons that he stood and still stands firm against any demands or teasing to get it cut short. It feels so damned good, almost too damned good, that even just a tug on his hair, a quick, not-too-hard jerk accompanied by a heated, pointed look from Dean can get Sam from zero to hard in seconds. Sometimes he all but bites his tongue to keep from begging for it, but other times he gives in and does, because goddamn.
But even more than that, there's those times afterward, when they're lying together, legs tangled, their sweat-damp skin cooling until they have to pull rough motel-bed sheets up over the two of them. Sometimes Dean faces him, other times, he spoons up against Sam from behind; and either way, as he falls asleep, he practically nuzzles into Sam's hair, as if breathing in the scent of it. Dean's breath teases it lightly with each exhale, like a soft tickle of breeze, and the feeling shivers down from Sam's scalp all the way to his feet. He loves this most of all, because in these moments he feels all the words Dean doesn't often say, feels closer to his brother than he can imagine being to anyone else. Whenever they're tearing down the highway in the Impala, and the wind's gusting in through the open windows and tangling in his hair, Sam smiles to himself, thinks about nighttime, thinks about Dean.
So what if he likes to keep his hair shaggy and long. Honestly, Sam thinks, how could anybody blame him?
Title: Long As God Can Grow It
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~590
Note: Title and cut text shamelessly stolen from the lyrics to the song "Hair." (A cliche is me.) Also for
littleone87's Sam/Dean, J2 Drabble A Thon at http://littleone87.livejournal.com/98265.html. Prompt was from strgazr04, Sam/Dean, hair. Comment posted at http://littleone87.livejournal.com/98265.html?thread=2023129#t2023129, but reposted here. Minor but vague spoilers for earlier seasons.Summary: There's a few reasons why Sam likes to keep his hair so long.
When Sam was a kid, one of his favorite things was when Dean would ruffle his hair. Oh, sure, he'd play-flinch away with a put-upon "Deeeeeeean!", but it would always leave him smiling secretly to himself, a flipping, tumbling, happy feeling in his stomach.
When Sam grew older, one of his favorite things was still Dean running his hand through his hair--even if it left him sometimes confused, flushed, with a hum and buzz under his skin that made him so restless some nights he couldn't sleep. Because just as much as Dean's hands in his hair were the object of his in-the-shower fantasies (tangling his hands in it, clasping Sam's head still so as to better kiss him deep, deep), they were also comfort--holding it back when Sam threw up, smoothing it back from his forehead when he was feverish, carefully keeping it out of the way when stitching up a cut.
That hasn't changed now; Dean's hands in his hair are still a comfort. The feel of strong, blunt fingers carefully massaging his scalp through god-awful vision migraines or finger-combing gently through sweat-soaked tangles and snarls as Sam trembles through the last stages of detox--even just the feel of Dean's hand tickling under the curling ends as his palm curves warm around the nape of Sam's neck, arm resting along the seat as he drives (arm strong around Sam's back as Dean catches him, cradles him close, hand tangling in those curls as Dean swears everything will be okay until Sam can't hear him anymore).
And god, if he doesn't love that those old teenage fantasies became reality. Every time Dean leans over as he's fucking Sam from behind, runs the fingers of one hand through the long strands so he can grab hold, pull Sam's head back until his neck is arched, and bite down where it curves smooth into the muscles of his shoulder, sucking vivid red marks along the skin there, Sam thanks any and all deities and pantheons that he stood and still stands firm against any demands or teasing to get it cut short. It feels so damned good, almost too damned good, that even just a tug on his hair, a quick, not-too-hard jerk accompanied by a heated, pointed look from Dean can get Sam from zero to hard in seconds. Sometimes he all but bites his tongue to keep from begging for it, but other times he gives in and does, because goddamn.
But even more than that, there's those times afterward, when they're lying together, legs tangled, their sweat-damp skin cooling until they have to pull rough motel-bed sheets up over the two of them. Sometimes Dean faces him, other times, he spoons up against Sam from behind; and either way, as he falls asleep, he practically nuzzles into Sam's hair, as if breathing in the scent of it. Dean's breath teases it lightly with each exhale, like a soft tickle of breeze, and the feeling shivers down from Sam's scalp all the way to his feet. He loves this most of all, because in these moments he feels all the words Dean doesn't often say, feels closer to his brother than he can imagine being to anyone else. Whenever they're tearing down the highway in the Impala, and the wind's gusting in through the open windows and tangling in his hair, Sam smiles to himself, thinks about nighttime, thinks about Dean.
So what if he likes to keep his hair shaggy and long. Honestly, Sam thinks, how could anybody blame him?
no subject
really well done! I loved it! :D
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)