On the bright side, ZOMBIES.
May. 16th, 2007 11:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosI'm in the Panera on the mountain right across from the movie theater. And in a matter of minutes I am actually going to go to a movie. Criminy, I can't even remember the last time I went to the movies. Just thinking about that makes me sad, yo. Used to be I went to the movies every other damn weekend and I'm missing so much stuff.
I can see the movie theater from where I'm sitting and it gives me a happy. Also giving me a happy -- it's raining and some idiot left their back car window open. I'm really far too easily amused sometimes.
And now fic bits, because I've been looking through the files that have accumulated in my documents file and found stuff I didn't even know I had. God only knows if I'll ever finish any of them at this rate, but still.
***
Dean hasn’t shown up in weeks when Sam spots him outside the apartment building, watching him and Jess as they come home from the bar.
Jess clings to his arm a little too tightly, swaying a little too much in her red clunky heels, but she’s gotten used to Dean’s sudden appearances in Sam’s life a long time ago. It comes with the territory of dating him, of living with him. You might walk into the kitchen and find Dean raiding the fridge and looking for beer. A smart girl has to be prepared not to scream.
“Go on,” she says. She lets go of Sam’s arm and takes an unsteady step towards the entrance, pushing his hands away when he reaches for her. “Tell him I said long time, no see.”
As she walks cautiously towards the front door, she yanks the nurse’s hat from her hair and calls out, “And no cracks about the costume!”
Dean laughs from the shadows, deep and dark. He’s always liked Jess, in his own way. Sam had taken that as a good sign from the beginning.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he says, stepping out of the darkness. “How did you get that girl into that dress? Any chance I could watch when you charm her out of it?”
Sam sighs. “Why are you here?”
“Aw, can’t I just show up to visit my favorite little brother in the whole damn world?”
Sam just stares, hands stuffed in his pockets.
The smirk on Dean’s face slips at that, but not by much. “Yeah, guess not,” he says, and clears his throat as if it needs it. “Something’s coming, Sam.”
“You’re always saying that.”
“That’s because that’s always when I come to you,” Dean says. “You know that.”
Sam frowns but doesn’t respond to that. Dean, or whatever small part of Dean this is, is the only part of his family he’s got left. He’s the part that trailed him through the foster care system, the part that pulled him from the pathway of a careening pickup when he was seven, the part that knocked out a mugger trying to steal his wallet when he was in high school.
The part that died carrying his baby brother out of a burning home when he was four, and only grew up to protect him.
“All right,” Sam says. “You can stay, but whatever this thing is that you’re here to protect me from … it leaves, you leaves, got it?”
He stalks towards the entrance to the apartment building, not sparing Dean a second glance.
“If I can,” Dean says quietly, and vanishes into the shadows a moment later like a wisp of smoke on the breeze.
****
An hour earlier, all Betty can think about is the damn koala bear.
Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. She thinks about the press of Henry’s lips to that patch of skin right below her navel, the soft rasp of Charlie’s tongue at the curve of her jaw, over and over again like a hungry cat. She thinks this is starting to feel less weird and more like being wrapped up in a warm blanket while downing a huge cup of hot chocolate.
Charlie tells this joke about a priest and a cowboy that she heard on the subway, whispers it against Betty’s jaw line, and Betty thinks she won’t be able to stop giggling for ages.
Henry says, “Not exactly the kind of thing a guy wants to hear when he’s down here.”
Betty thinks he looks handsome when he blushes like this, and that if he were really all that bothered by the laughter he wouldn’t be nuzzling at the inside of her thigh like that.
Charlie’s lips drift over hers, the faint taste of wine stronger than the fading hint of strawberry lip gloss, and Betty thinks she definitely should have gotten out more in high school.
But with Henry’s hair sticking up all over and his ears making a valiant attempt to follow suit, Betty’s mostly thinking about the koala bear.
*
A half hour earlier, Charlie says, “You know, I’ve never done this before,” and kisses Betty full on the lips.
Betty wants to say something completely unlike her, like, What? Don’t they have lesbians in Tucson? But Charlie’s hands like to move, want to test the weight of Betty’s breasts in her palms and the sweet full curves of her hips in her grasp.
When she can finally breathe again, when they both kind of have to, Betty stammers, “W-well, that’s what tonight’s about, right?”
“Right,” Henry says, and pulls away Betty’s long brown hair to brush his lips across her neck.
“Right,” Charlie says, and lowers her mouth to the spot between Betty’s breasts.
*
Twenty minutes earlier Charlie shifts the wrong way, yelps and falls off the bed, and Henry has to pause in his thrusts to bury his face against Betty’s shoulder and laugh.
*
A few minutes before that Betty crumples up her list and tosses it over her head.
“You’re lucky you didn’t hit me in the head with that,” Charlie says with a lazy grin, taking another sip of the wine and making a face. Betty tries to pretend that wasn’t Charlie’s second sip of the night. Somehow it makes this whole thing a lot less strange if they’re all wasted.
Betty shrugs as Henry tugs off his pants.
“No harm done,” she says, and the next thing she knows Henry’s welcome weight presses her down.
At the moment she can’t even spell the word ‘Walter’, much less remember ever knowing someone named that.
****
The rumor is that Dean Winchester gives the best blowjobs on the planet.
Just the right pressure, the right slide of his tongue and absence of teeth, that perfect vibration in his throat that makes most guys scramble for purchase like they've lost their grip on reality. He draws it out, he teases the veins with lips and tongue, he slides his fingers out of sight. He finds that one thing that every guy likes best, his too-thick lashes, long fingers with a deft touch, lips made for cocksucking, and just goes with it.
The rumors follow them from California to Nebraska to Alabama to Connecticut to ...
Well, they follow them for a while.
They start when Dean is fourteen. They don't come true for a year.
****
"Yeah, that's it," Manny says.
Manny's got a broken arm and it's all Dean's fault, but he's alive to suffer for it and that's all that matters. He props himself up on the boardwalk anyway and juggles one-handed. He makes his usual daily take by eleven in the morning and the wrinkles in his face deepen as he flashes Dean a wily grin.
"I knew this pity thing would work so well, I would have had you break both my arms and learned to juggle with my feet."
Dean winces at that as he drops one of the beanbags. Adding the third one's harder than it looks.
"What can I say, man? My aim was off."
"It was good enough."
Dean shrugs and goes back to his juggling lesson. Someone absently drops a quarter into the cup at his feet without looking and lukewarm coffee splashes over his boot.
Later on, Dean tosses the beanbags into the trunk of the Impala somewhere between the silver bullets and the machete.
Just one more thing to teach Sammy when he comes back.
I can see the movie theater from where I'm sitting and it gives me a happy. Also giving me a happy -- it's raining and some idiot left their back car window open. I'm really far too easily amused sometimes.
And now fic bits, because I've been looking through the files that have accumulated in my documents file and found stuff I didn't even know I had. God only knows if I'll ever finish any of them at this rate, but still.
***
Dean hasn’t shown up in weeks when Sam spots him outside the apartment building, watching him and Jess as they come home from the bar.
Jess clings to his arm a little too tightly, swaying a little too much in her red clunky heels, but she’s gotten used to Dean’s sudden appearances in Sam’s life a long time ago. It comes with the territory of dating him, of living with him. You might walk into the kitchen and find Dean raiding the fridge and looking for beer. A smart girl has to be prepared not to scream.
“Go on,” she says. She lets go of Sam’s arm and takes an unsteady step towards the entrance, pushing his hands away when he reaches for her. “Tell him I said long time, no see.”
As she walks cautiously towards the front door, she yanks the nurse’s hat from her hair and calls out, “And no cracks about the costume!”
Dean laughs from the shadows, deep and dark. He’s always liked Jess, in his own way. Sam had taken that as a good sign from the beginning.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he says, stepping out of the darkness. “How did you get that girl into that dress? Any chance I could watch when you charm her out of it?”
Sam sighs. “Why are you here?”
“Aw, can’t I just show up to visit my favorite little brother in the whole damn world?”
Sam just stares, hands stuffed in his pockets.
The smirk on Dean’s face slips at that, but not by much. “Yeah, guess not,” he says, and clears his throat as if it needs it. “Something’s coming, Sam.”
“You’re always saying that.”
“That’s because that’s always when I come to you,” Dean says. “You know that.”
Sam frowns but doesn’t respond to that. Dean, or whatever small part of Dean this is, is the only part of his family he’s got left. He’s the part that trailed him through the foster care system, the part that pulled him from the pathway of a careening pickup when he was seven, the part that knocked out a mugger trying to steal his wallet when he was in high school.
The part that died carrying his baby brother out of a burning home when he was four, and only grew up to protect him.
“All right,” Sam says. “You can stay, but whatever this thing is that you’re here to protect me from … it leaves, you leaves, got it?”
He stalks towards the entrance to the apartment building, not sparing Dean a second glance.
“If I can,” Dean says quietly, and vanishes into the shadows a moment later like a wisp of smoke on the breeze.
****
An hour earlier, all Betty can think about is the damn koala bear.
Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. She thinks about the press of Henry’s lips to that patch of skin right below her navel, the soft rasp of Charlie’s tongue at the curve of her jaw, over and over again like a hungry cat. She thinks this is starting to feel less weird and more like being wrapped up in a warm blanket while downing a huge cup of hot chocolate.
Charlie tells this joke about a priest and a cowboy that she heard on the subway, whispers it against Betty’s jaw line, and Betty thinks she won’t be able to stop giggling for ages.
Henry says, “Not exactly the kind of thing a guy wants to hear when he’s down here.”
Betty thinks he looks handsome when he blushes like this, and that if he were really all that bothered by the laughter he wouldn’t be nuzzling at the inside of her thigh like that.
Charlie’s lips drift over hers, the faint taste of wine stronger than the fading hint of strawberry lip gloss, and Betty thinks she definitely should have gotten out more in high school.
But with Henry’s hair sticking up all over and his ears making a valiant attempt to follow suit, Betty’s mostly thinking about the koala bear.
A half hour earlier, Charlie says, “You know, I’ve never done this before,” and kisses Betty full on the lips.
Betty wants to say something completely unlike her, like, What? Don’t they have lesbians in Tucson? But Charlie’s hands like to move, want to test the weight of Betty’s breasts in her palms and the sweet full curves of her hips in her grasp.
When she can finally breathe again, when they both kind of have to, Betty stammers, “W-well, that’s what tonight’s about, right?”
“Right,” Henry says, and pulls away Betty’s long brown hair to brush his lips across her neck.
“Right,” Charlie says, and lowers her mouth to the spot between Betty’s breasts.
Twenty minutes earlier Charlie shifts the wrong way, yelps and falls off the bed, and Henry has to pause in his thrusts to bury his face against Betty’s shoulder and laugh.
A few minutes before that Betty crumples up her list and tosses it over her head.
“You’re lucky you didn’t hit me in the head with that,” Charlie says with a lazy grin, taking another sip of the wine and making a face. Betty tries to pretend that wasn’t Charlie’s second sip of the night. Somehow it makes this whole thing a lot less strange if they’re all wasted.
Betty shrugs as Henry tugs off his pants.
“No harm done,” she says, and the next thing she knows Henry’s welcome weight presses her down.
At the moment she can’t even spell the word ‘Walter’, much less remember ever knowing someone named that.
****
The rumor is that Dean Winchester gives the best blowjobs on the planet.
Just the right pressure, the right slide of his tongue and absence of teeth, that perfect vibration in his throat that makes most guys scramble for purchase like they've lost their grip on reality. He draws it out, he teases the veins with lips and tongue, he slides his fingers out of sight. He finds that one thing that every guy likes best, his too-thick lashes, long fingers with a deft touch, lips made for cocksucking, and just goes with it.
The rumors follow them from California to Nebraska to Alabama to Connecticut to ...
Well, they follow them for a while.
They start when Dean is fourteen. They don't come true for a year.
****
"Yeah, that's it," Manny says.
Manny's got a broken arm and it's all Dean's fault, but he's alive to suffer for it and that's all that matters. He props himself up on the boardwalk anyway and juggles one-handed. He makes his usual daily take by eleven in the morning and the wrinkles in his face deepen as he flashes Dean a wily grin.
"I knew this pity thing would work so well, I would have had you break both my arms and learned to juggle with my feet."
Dean winces at that as he drops one of the beanbags. Adding the third one's harder than it looks.
"What can I say, man? My aim was off."
"It was good enough."
Dean shrugs and goes back to his juggling lesson. Someone absently drops a quarter into the cup at his feet without looking and lukewarm coffee splashes over his boot.
Later on, Dean tosses the beanbags into the trunk of the Impala somewhere between the silver bullets and the machete.
Just one more thing to teach Sammy when he comes back.
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Date: 2007-05-16 05:06 pm (UTC)(okay, the others are good too, but. uh. more of the first pretty please? at some point, at least? *puppy-dog eyes*)
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Date: 2007-05-16 05:15 pm (UTC)*grabby hands*
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