7x18 Comment-fic Meme

[glovered]

Hello! lazy_daze and I have decided that the time for comment-fic is now. In this past episode, Sam and Dean get shwasted Dean says, "I miss these talks." However, we do not see said talk on-screen.

AND THUS, THE INCEPTION OF:

Pimp: <a href="http://glovered.livejournal.com/69377.html"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/PU5jY.jpg" border="0"></a> RULES: (you know how this works) 1. Be Nice To Each Other. 2. Prompts should in some way have to do with Sam and Dean drinking together, things covered in this scene, or things they haven't talked about in a while or something? I don't care too much, tbh. 3. Use any and all characters you want! (RPF welcome so long as it pertains to this scene) 4. Art is also welcome, of course. 5. Prompt with abandon and fill things, too!

Fills
Sam forgets how his inhibitions are lowered and really does tell Dean everything Hallucifer used to say, including the lewd comments about Dean. by runedgirl

Sam usually would never agree to let Dean fuck him in a back alley behind a bar but hey, he's drunk and so is Dean and it seems like a really good idea right now. by juice817

This kind of sloppy, wet making out is really good. And, it turns out, Sam is a mouthy, filthy little fucker when he's horny and wasted. by lazy_daze

Sam, Dean, and some drunk baking. I would imagine a lot more of the food would end up on the floor rather than in the oven, though. (first fill) by bertee

Sam, Dean, and some drunk baking. I would imagine a lot more of the food would end up on the floor rather than in the oven, though. (second fill) by glovered

There are a number of reasons they mututally agreed that getting drunk together was a bad idea. But Sam had sort of forgotten the exact kind of bad idea it was until the words 'body shots' came up. by runedgirl

The problem is, when Dean gets drunk he thinks all Sam's ideas are smart. Even when they're really, really not. by de_nugis

"My lips feel numb, Dean. Are your lips numb? Mine are really numb." by afattribble

Sam's big brother knows everything there is to know about anything. Also, he's always right. Also, all his ideas are flawless and need implementing. Immediately. by orbiting_saturn

Sam drunkenly decides it's time to confess that he dug Dean's amulet out of the trash can two years ago after Dean rashly discarded it. by verucasalt123

Sam is an affectionate, grabby, earnest drunk, all big dreams and world peace and "I just...I feel like everyone should just get along, Dean, y'know?" by tiptoe39

Dean goes on a tangent about Castiel's mouth. ...Dean slurs a bit and says something along the lines of "Christ, those fucking lips." by bertee

Filming scenes like this is a real hardship. (rpf?) by novella34

Sam gets climby when he's drunk, and Dean mostly follows him around in a grumpy stumble to make sure he doesn't hurt himself. by akadougal

Dean decides baby bro is old enough to have a beer. He didn't know it would hit him so hard. by obstinatrix

Dean decides to refill his flask with that awesome, and really expensive-looking, booze. He leaves the flask out, forcing ghost!Bobby to witness whatever shenanigans ensue. by salacious_newt

Sam gets all handsy and affectionate when he's drunk. Dean's too drunk to remember why he's not supposed to enjoy that. by lavishsqualor

Sam gets REALLY horny when drunk. It's a problem. by orbiting_saturn

Well isn't this just the prettiest mental picture that ever was! by glovered

drunk!Sam obsesses about Dean's freckles. Dean will have none of it, thank you, his freckles are not cute or pretty or precious, they are rugged and manly. (fill one!) by glovered

drunk!Sam obsesses about Dean's freckles. Dean will have none of it, thank you, his freckles are not cute or pretty or precious, they are rugged and manly. (fill two!) by oddishly

Tell me if I miss any, and have a good day!

Comments

[oddishly.livejournal.com]

Sam's big brother knows everything there is to know about anything. Also, he's always right. Also, all his ideas are flawless and need implementing. Immediately.

Christ. Dean should get Sam drunk more often.

[orbiting-saturn.livejournal.com]

Filled: When You're Right, You're Right (part 1)

Dean drinks so much and so often that he’s mostly become immune to the usual effects of alcohol. It’s made Sam’s own relationship with booze sort of bitter and resentful. He doesn’t drink much, mostly because he hates how it soothes Dean in ways he’s never been able to manage, how it’s become a crutch Dean will lean on far more heavily than he ever will Sam.

But those are all maudlin thoughts and Dean told Sam not to get melancholy. It’s been years, years, since Dean and Sam have been able to get blotto together and his older brother is determined to enjoy it. For Sam’s part, he’s determined that Dean enjoy something, anything to get him smiling and loose.

Dean’s grin is all crooked and sharp-toothed, crinkling his eyes and making them shine. He’s regaling Sam with past conquests and Sam is cross-legged on his bed across from Dean’s, face aching from the stretch of his own smile. It takes him back to times before he left and everything Dean said was fascinating and true. Dean was so much older, Sam’s hero, with so much experience. Sam’s as much drunk on nostalgia as he is from the whiskey.

“…so, this witness, shit what was his name? Shane? Shawn? Something with a “sh”. Anyway, this guy, clearly thinks I’m crazy, you know how they get sometimes.”

What’s Dean telling him again? Oh, yes, about a hunt he worked in Atlanta before picking Sam up at Stanford. Usually Sam is as reluctant to talk about those years as Dean, both of them keeping that time close to the chest jealously. But right now, Sam’s head is swimming and his tongue is heavy in his mouth, rolling all liquor-flavored against the insides of his cheeks to massage away the soreness from all of his too-wide smiling.

“…told me everything I needed to know without even realizing it. And when I had all the info I needed from him, sweet little fucker let me screw him in his grandma’s sitting room. Seriously, one of the doilie-thingies on the arm o’ the couch was stuck to his stomach with all the sweat and come.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs full-bellied and rough, but Sam has tightened up with surprise, his shoulders going all tense and his spine all straight and stiff. Sam has always known on some level that Dean gets his kicks wherever he can find ‘em, has even picked up on hints of his brother’s flexible sexuality when he comes home reeking of sex and aftershave, when he throws those wicked leers of his at other guys. But Dean has never actually talked about it with Sam.

There have been shameless stories about girls in short skirts with hungry mouths. All of Sam’s early sexual education came right out of Dean’s mouth, he was only too happy to explain just the right place to slide your tongue and get a girl quaking, demonstrated just how to crook your fingers and massage to have her thighs tensing with need. Dean was always, always right and every time Sam took his advice, the benefits were astounding.

So, here’s where things get weird and hazy, Sam’s muddled mind trying to trip around an idea, a question. If Dean was right about all of those other things, doesn’t it stand to reason he’d be right about this?

“Wassit like, then?” Sam finally interjects. “To fuck another dude, huh? S’it good?”

Dean’s laughter trails off into gasping, shallow huffs. When Sam looks back, he sees him sprawled back on the pillows, one leg crooked up on the bed, the other dangling over the edge. His mouth melts into a smirk, but the joy hasn’t dissipated entirely, just turned a little sly and curious. “Y’ve never done it? No experimentin’ back at college?”

[oddishly.livejournal.com]

The truth will out. Back when Sam was in college, Dean spent four years working as a pole-dancer.

No poles being handy, drunk!Dean decides Sam is tall enough and skinny enough to dance on instead.

[glovered.livejournal.com]

my mortality has been imperiled

[cloex-brosluvr.livejournal.com]

"Me likey."

Dean wasn't talking about the booze. He was infact talking about his drunk brother who was now unzipping his pants.

[oddishly.livejournal.com]

People just don't slide down bannisters any more and that's a Damn Shame. THEY DECIDE TO RECTIFY THE SITUATION.

[ordinaryink.livejournal.com]

oh god, I and completely behind drunk!chesters sliding down bannisters. Although I'm more than certain someone would end up in a hospital.

eta: aha, who am I kidding? I'm already drawing this.

[oddishly.livejournal.com]

Dean finds Sam's secret diary/blog/emails to himself and the whiskey decides a DRAMATIC READING is in order.

Okay, he wasn't expecting that to be in there.

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

this is the best prompt EVER

[glovered.livejournal.com]

When they get really buzzed they talk about guys. That is what happens in the office. It was a good talk, Dean has missed this.

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

omg

[lunasky3.livejournal.com]

Sam really, really shouldn't be encouraging Dean's drinking, but it's the only time he'll let them snuggle.

[maypoles.livejournal.com]

Yesss. <333

[cordelia-gray.livejournal.com]

Sam gets all handsy and affectionate when he's drunk. Dean's too drunk to remember why he's not supposed to enjoy that.

[lavishsqualor.livejournal.com]

Ummm, this may or may not fill the prompt. It might also be WAY OFF, as I've only watched the ep once. Alas:




Sam gets all handsy when he's drunk. 

Dean had forgotten. It's been like, years since the two of them have gotten drunk together. What with fighting the Lord's cavalry and the Devil's minions, and more recently the man-eating spawn of purgatory, they've been a little busy. 

Years without something will make you forget. 

Dean remembers now, though. He remembers how Sam's hands like to wander and how his face so openly displays all the affection he feels when he's been drinking, when he's uninhibited. There's this little inkling in the far recesses of Dean's mind about something else that he's supposed to remember, but the tingling deep in his gut is too distracting. 

"Dean." Sam throws an arm around Dean's shoulder. "Dean, c'mere. Wanna show you something." 

So Dean slides his bar stool closer, peers across the leftover space between them at Sam's laptop. 

"Shojos," Sam says, as he squeezes Dean's arm and points at the screen with his other. "Scary bitches. And dangerous." 

"No shit." 

When Sam leans in too close while trying to explain exactly why shojos are so dangerous and almost falls off his chair, Dean decides that's enough. "Let's get a move on, Sammy."

The walk back to the motel is relatively painless. Painless, except for how Dean's skin sparks whenever Sam touches him--a flash of electricity pinging across the back of his hand when Sam's brushes his, a jolt up his spine when Sam palms his lower back during an attempt to steady himself, a searing flare of heat across the back of his neck when Sam's arm rests upon it as they stumble through the parking lot. 

Dean slams the door of the motel room behind them, and Sam turns to face him. 

There's worry creasing Sam's features now and his dimples are gone, replaced by the unhappy kind of furrows. "What's wrong?"

Dean's at a loss. Nothing's wrong. He's just realizing that he's all of a sudden afraid--no, make that terrified--that now that they're back in their room, just the two of them, it'll be all normal. No more laughing, no more drinking, no more touching. 

So he goes with that. "Nothing's wrong." Sam tips his head to the side like he does when he's getting ready to object. "Seriously, Sam. Just, now that we're back here, got you safe from falling on your ass, I say let's keep the party going."

Sam's dimples are back. 

Dean grabs a fifth of something dark and cheap from his duffle. He sits on the nearest bed, and when Sam sits down next to him, he takes three chugs in one before handing the bottle to Sam. 

"You trying to get me drunk, Dean?" Sam takes a swig.

"Trying to get you to keep up, s'all."

When Sam passes the bottle back to Dean, their fingers meet. Sam's are warm--who's Dean kidding, Sam's always been an overheated son of a bitch--and it feels good. 

"Hey," Sam says as he wraps his fingers around Dean's. 

The whiskey falls to the floor when Sam leans in and Dean twines his fingers around Sam's.

[cordelia-gray.livejournal.com]

By 'these chats,' Dean mostly means the times Sam used to drunk-dial him from college.

[cherie-morte.livejournal.com]

OH GOD, I WANT THIS SO BAD FOR THE POTENTIAL ANGST AND PHONESEX. UNF.

[glimmerella.livejournal.com]

Sam drunkenly decides it's time to confess that he dug Dean's amulet out of the trash can two years ago after Dean rashly discarded it... and he returns it to his older brother.

[verucasalt123.livejournal.com]

Sitting cross-legged on one of the motel beds and facing each other, Dean and Sam had passed the bottle of Cuervo back and forth for an hour, at least. Long enough, anyway, for neither of them to register (or at least to care) that their knees were touching.

Dean meant it when he said he missed these chats. It had been about a hundred years since they'd gotten drunk together just for fun. For the past couple of years, they'd only gotten drunk together when they were mourning a loved one. Tonight, though, they were drinking just to be drinking. Things were tense lately, if 'tense' was a good enough word to describe constantly being on edge on account of running from ancient monsters and Sam trying to recover from having Lucifer as his constant companion.

Both of them reacted to getting hammered in different ways. Dean tended to stay quiet, enjoying the brain-oblivion that he could only achieve when he could manage to overcome his dangerously high alcohol tolerance. Sam, on the other hand, liked to talk. A lot. Most of the time Dean could tune him out, not wanting to fall into one of his brother's carefully laid chick-flick moments traps.

Handing the bottle back to Dean, Sam slurred, "Man, I gotta tell you something. But first you have to promise to...I mean, you have to promise not to...just, when I tell you this, don't get mad at me."

"I can't make any promises before I know what it is, Sammy. I mean, what if you were going to say that you, like, went on an axe-murdering spree, or that you like watching Maury to see who the baby's father really is?" Of course, Dean knew, even through the haze of the tequila, that neither of those would be whatever confession he'd have to suffer through. "So just say whatever it is and we'll, you know, uh, do that thing, that figuring it out thing."

Sam was quiet for another moment. Taking back the bottle from Dean, he gulped down another swallow, noticing the bottle was nearly empty and wishing they had another one. Without his sober-filter working, Sam finally let his guard down enough to start talking. "So you, um, you remember that day in the motel? With Cas?"

"Yeah, you're gonna have to narrow that down for me, can you do that?"

[checkthemargins.livejournal.com]

drunk!Sam obsesses about Dean's freckles. Dean will have none of it, thank you, his freckles are not cute or pretty or precious, they are rugged and manly.

Good morning, I love you (1/2)

[glovered.livejournal.com]

"Is he all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's good. Just a little—"

They watch as Sam wanders over to sit at the edge of the bed.

"He's good," Dean says again. They just wasted the ghost, and all of them are wasted...so.

It looks like Garth is actually doubting Dean's judgment on this, which is not cool. He says, "If you say so."

Sam is good. Maybe too good, seeing as when he drinks, he usually gets his hands all over Dean. That would be a fun one to explain. Dean says, "Kid just doesn't drink that much."

Sam starts pulling at his laces. "You know, I can hear you." He looks up. "Garth, nice work getting to the janitor in time."

"No problem, S-dog!"

Dean closes his eyes. "Don't call him that."

Sam tosses his boot aside and says,"You know, I'm not that drunk."

Garth squints at him. "Maybe you have a concussion. If you were thrown against a wall hard enough to get knocked out, it's a definite possibility."

"I don't have a concussion. I don't get those."

Garth stumbles against a chair. "In fact, speaking of...I was thrown against a wall hard enough to—" He faints into it.

[cloex-brosluvr.livejournal.com]

Sam doesn't like Dean drinking BUT he likes what comes out of his mouth (and what he does with his mouth ;) ) when he has had too much.

[dazedrose.livejournal.com]

Dean slides into a downer in their drinking session, and it hits him that Cas might never be the same. Sam knows that look on his face, and lets Dean know that there is still hope. Dean doesn't want any talk of Cas, and turns on Sam to make him shut up. Sam let him work out his frustration the way Dean does best.... *Basically Sam taking one for Team Free Will*

Am on a sad, even though one of my otp will become Canon next year in their own book. But just feeling the hurt over Cas locked inside his own head

[lunasky3.livejournal.com]

When he's sober, Dean likes to have all the sex, all the time. But drunk? He's just not into Sam.

And he's been drunk a lot lately.

And Sam's getting really frustrated. Sexually so.

[glenien.livejournal.com]

Last time they both get drunk, they've been shot by hunters, so... a little paranoia and melodrama perhaps? Talks about heaven and soulmates and Samulet are all sounding good.

[whit-merule.livejournal.com]

Not that I object in principle, but I feel that so far this thread is unfairly Sam/Dean oriented. And therefore: Dean's drunken ramblings about what he really feels about leaving Cas with Meg. Because, seriously? How is she that hot? What was with that hellhound-ridden making out session anyway? Come on!

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

Soooooo is this a Dean/Meg prompt?

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

(Continuing with the theme of whit_merule's post above...)

Dean goes on a tangent about Castiel's mouth. Don't really care if it ends up with Wincest or Dean/Cas by proxy or whatever, just so long as Dean slurs a bit and says something along the lines of "Christ, those fucking lips." Sam's reaction is up to author, too :)

[bertee.livejournal.com]

I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY. this is probably not what you were after. SORRYYYY. /o\


"I don't get it."

Dean's voice was slurred from his last four measures of scotch, and Sam felt the room swim around his ears as he looked over to where Dean was sitting with his feet propped up on the desk. "Don't get what?"

Dean held up a finger for a brief pause while he burped. "Cas."

Sam frowned. "What don't you get? He took the hallucinations out of my head into his."

Dean waved his hand. "No." He crinkled his nose. "Okay, I don't really get that either but I ain't looking in that gift horse's mouth."

"Am I the gift horse?" Sam asked his scotch.

"Maybe?" Dean furrowed his brow. "No, wait, Cas is the gift horse." He flailed his arm a little in triumph and repeated, "Cas is the gift horse! And he has a mouth. That I don't get."

Fighting his way through the sea of scotch currently filling his head, Sam considered Castiel's mouth. It wasn't like the big leviathan chomp-mouths, which Sam definitely didn't get; it was just a normal, person-mouth. "Why don't you get his mouth?"

"Because an angel shouldn't have a mouth like that," Dean said, sounding personally aggrieved that the universe had allowed Castiel's mouth to come into being. "Right?"

Sam had no strong feelings about Castiel's mouth one way or the other. "Uh, yes?" he guessed. "No. Maybe?" He'd had too much to drink to be fielding difficult questions like this. "I have no idea what the right answer is here, dude."

Dean ignored him as he let out a sigh. "His lips..."

Sam shuffled his chair a few inches away from Dean. "Do you want some privacy while you sigh about Cas' lips?"

"Shut up." Dean muttered. He sloshed his drink clumsily in the glass, apparently not caring how it spilled over onto his fingers. "He's got superpowers. He can time travel and pull people out of Hell and wipe people's minds like that magic light thing from Men in Black. He lives in goddamn Heaven!" he said loudly before slumping back in his chair and looking over at Sam, genuinely confused. "Is there no chapstick in Heaven?"

Sam blinked.

Dean stared at him, evidently waiting for an answer.

"You're complaining about Cas' lips?" he ventured, lost.

"He's an angel!" Dean said again, as though that explained everything. "All the rest of the angels had good lips. Were they hiding the chapstick from him?"

He sounded very sad about this. Sam was a little concerned.

"He was fighting a war, Dean. Maybe he didn't have time to look after his vessel?" he suggested hopefully.

"We fight things every day!" Dean protested. "You still have time to use that fancy nozzle thing on your hairdryer-"

"Diffuser."

"And our eyebrows always look good, and I always find time to use some blistex if I need it." He slapped Sam on the shoulder and said seriously, "We gotta look sharp, Sammy."

"Maybe Cas has different values," Sam hazarded. "I mean, compared to the rest of the angels, he's bad at human stuff. Maybe non-chapped lips are one of the things he doesn't get. Like cell phones, or the appropriate time to put your hand inside someone."

[pinkwithoutplot.livejournal.com]

Well isn't this just the prettiest mental picture that ever was! <3

My apple pie girl (1/3)

[glovered.livejournal.com]

“Well, isn't this just the prettiest picture that ever was!”

It is, which is why Dean keeps it in his wallet. Duh.

It is ten years old, and obviously well-thumbed, the size of a playing card, the jack of hearts. Dean has lost everything in life at some point, but never his wallet. It's nothing but a stack of fakes — fake IDs and all ill-earned money — so it is only just, only poetic Sam would call it, probably, that the picture Garth pulls out of Dean's wallet is of his brother wearing a shocking shade of lipstick.

“You can't just—“ Dean says. Because what guy grabs another guy's wallet off the counter and looks at everything?

But it's already too late. Dean watches, sidelong, as Garth examines the photo. He whistles and Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and says, “Yeah, well.” wondering how good Garth really is.

“Damn, she's got a pretty smile. Optimism.”

“Yep,” Dean grits out. “A real dreamer.”

He makes an attempt to grab the photo but Garth holds it casually out of reach. He leans against the center island, and meets Dean's eyes with an earnest quality that is very misplaced in this situation. Dean wants to tell him, you don't wanna know, but he doesn't say anything, and Garth gives him a supportive hand to the arm. “Hey, man. Don't gotta be ashamed. I know how it is.” Dean pulls his arm away, slowly. Garth smiles, “You know, I've got a special—“

“Yes, special lady friend, I know, Jesus.” He feels an itch under his skin and a low-grade headache building at his temples. Sam is taking a long time, and now this. “Can I have my picture back?”

“Life on the road,” Garth says in wistful tones, like they're not just living the grind, they're turning it to legend. “Yeah, I know how it is. Your girl, waiting for you back at the old homestead. Well, busy with her own thing — twins and the CIA, in my case — but you make it back there every other month and she's real happy to see you.” He sighs, clutching the picture to his chest. Dean can't tell if he's fucking with him.

[heard_the_owl]

I WAS ENTRENCHED IN CSS AND WAS NOT AWARE THERE WAS A COMMENT FIC OF THIS MAGNITUDE GOING ON. THIS MUST BE RECTIFIED IMMEDIATELY BY ALL THE PROMPTS.

First time Sam drinks and goes home to find Dean waiting up for him.

[heard_the_owl]

Dean decides baby bro is old enough to have a beer. He didn't know it would hit him so hard.

/hee hee! *HARD*

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

this is not a proper fill; excuse me i am drunk. ish.

As far as Dean remembers, he only agreed to one beer. How that translated to two beers of Sam's own and half one of Dean's, he can't recall. Probably, the fact that he'd been on his sixth before Sam even showed up has something to do with his memory loss. Probably, too, it has something to do with why he hasn't shoved Sam off yet, even though Sam's long-fingered hand is sweating through the flannel of Dean's shirt in the middle of his chest; even though Sam's soft, pink mouth is rubbing at the bolt of Dean's jaw.

"Sam," Dean says, and it's almost a whine, but Sam's wise to him, apparently, hand flexing on Dean's chest and lips parting over the jut of his jawbone, the touch zinging through him in little shivers. Shit.

"Sam," Dean repeats.

He could move him, easy. That's the thing about it: Sam's skinny and coltish and fourteen, and Dean could pick him up in the crook of one arm, set him on the floor and safely out of reach of Dean's traitorous dick, which, when drunk, didn't seem to know what was fair game and what was his kid brother. He could put Sam up like a bag of groceries if he wanted to, and Dean doesn't know what to think about the way he isn't doing exactly that -- the way he's just letting Sam muffle giggles in the crook of his neck, letting him tease along the tensed-up line of his jaw.

"Dean," Sam's mumbling, and his hands are moving, now, drifting down the front of Dean's shirt in a sloppy, earnest stumble, fingers-heel-palm. "Dean, feel awesome, man -- 's like Lord of the Flies or somethin', want --"

Whatever Sam wants is lost in the wet slide of his mouth down the tendon straining under the sweat on Dean's throat, and Jesus Christ, this is getting out of control.

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean says, and his voice is strident not with disgust, but with fear. He knows it, in that split second of want that pulses through him as Sam's tongue curls against his skin -- imagining how Sam would look on his knees, Dean's fingers in all that tumble of hair; Sam's mouth stretched wide around the girth of his dick -- but Sam -- Sam can't ever know it. Pretty imperative, this, says Dean's drunk mind, and he thinks his sober one would agree. Sam's giving him the frustrated face, all pout and eyebrows, as Dean pries him loose like a limpet, but God, another minute of Sam's hands on his skin and Dean wouldn't be responsible for his actions. Another hot minute, and Sam's, his kid brother's innocence would be dead as everything else Dean's ever hunted, ever touched.

Something like a tic in his stomach says it's inevitable, an inexorable slide, but his head overpowers it sufficiently to say: not today, at any rate. Not today. Not Sam.

Dean's hand looks huge on Sam's jaw as he cups it, chucks it, pushing Sam gently away and off. "C'mon, kiddo," he says, and stands. His cock is heavy against the zipper of his jeans, but he can ignore that, like a good soldier. Sam'd better ignore it, too, if he knows what's good for him. "You've had enough. Bed time."

He scoops Sam up under an arm like a sack of potatoes. Sam kicks his legs and protests. "Dean," he says. The outline of his stiff little prick is riding the muscle of Dean's thigh, hard and clear, and Dean swallows pointedly, thinks about dry-rot and the sea.

"Enough," he says, firm. "Not doin' this, Sammy."

Not now, anyway. Not yet.

[heard_the_owl]

I'm sensing a pattern here in what I'm looking for. Are you?

Sammy swipes a bottle from John and lures Dean into the woods (or some other place that's secluded and away from dad) to try and seduce his big bro.

[obstinatrix.livejournal.com]

I sense you are trying to lure people into writing you UNDERAGE DRINKING. LIKE A WHORE.

[heard_the_owl]

AND ALSO -

Sammy dresses up like a girl and sneaks into a high school party with the intention of getting into his drunk big bro's pants.

^_~

/self-indulgent prompting

WITH KNOTTING. LOLOLOL
But not really.
Or really? XD

[oddishly.livejournal.com]

Wait, wait. Boys? Dressing up as girls? That's a thing?

[cordelia-gray.livejournal.com]

Dean decides to refill his flask with that awesome, and really expensive-looking, booze. He leaves the flask out, forcing ghost!Bobby to witness whatever shenanigans ensue.

[salacious-newt.livejournal.com]

For you, bb! Part 1 of probably three. :)






It all started when Dean decided to splurge on a bottle of Glenlevit, aged 18 years. He filled Bobby's flask and set it on the nightstand before sitting down to get good and properly drunk. Dean hadn't really expected that Sam would join him in his latest drinking extravaganza given his hangover the morning after, but his brother had surprised him and the two of them had spent the next few hours happily treating high quality whiskey with very little of the respect that it actually deserved.

"I, I miss this," Dean confessed, four fifths of the way through the bottle. He gestured expansively from his position fetched up against the headboard, trying to indicate the room as a whole and Sam in particular.

Sam responded by slipping down from his position next to Dean so that his head was resting upon Dean's thigh.

"Everything's all spinny," Sam informed him gravely before stretching up one of his ridiculously long arms to press his hand against the side of Dean's face. Dean did his damndest to ignore the points where Sam’s fingertips met his skin, like flares of light and pressure that defied his attempts to not lean into them. "You don't need to miss anything, Dean, I'm still here."

And he was too, which was the bitch. Dean shifted forward a bit so that he could peer down at Sam's upturned face, taking in the slack relaxation in his face and the way that Sammy’s eyes were at once drunk-soft and so very, very bright.

"Yeah, but. But. You weren't, Sam. You weren't here for a long freaking time.”

"I am now." Sam said and Dean couldn't do anything except slump just a bit lower and trail the fingers of his right hand into Sam's hair and whisper Sam's name. He felt something, something that hadn't been there between them for a long, long time, since before Lucifer was whispering in Sam's ear twenty-four/seven, before Sam had had his soul back, before that long year apart. Before even then, before their year on the run from Zachariah and the year before that, with Ruby’s smirk and Alistair’s hand pressing the knife into Dean’s palm and everything else that had kept them apart.

Sam.

His other hand rose up and traced the edges of Sam's cheekbone, slid down to touch lightly against Sam's mouth, soft and yielding against the press of his thumb. It slipped inside as Sam parted his teeth, rested for a moment on Sam’s tongue, until Sam closed his lips around the digit and sucked.

Dean tore his gaze up from Sam’s mouth to meet Sam’s eyes and found them dark and sharp, the haziness from them draining away and leaving something heated in its place. Sam shifted on the bed, Dean’s hand falling to catch on the side of Sam’s face once more, wet thumb burningly cold in the still air of the room. Sam twisted upward until he was propped up on one elbow, staring intently back at Dean as his lips slid open and his hand curled hot and sweaty against the back of Dean's neck, pressing Dean closer.

Which was when the light bulb in the motel's single ceiling lamp exploded.

Dean yelped and sprung back with a curse as Sam jolted sideways amidst a shower of sparks. They stared at each other for a moment before Sam's expression cracked into an entirely too amused chortle.

"Dude," he snickered, reaching for the whiskey again. "You sounded like a girl."

"Did not," Dean snapped back and saved his whiskey with a quick lunge. That remark was clearly the remark of a little bitch brother and little bitches did not get expensive 18 year Glenlevit. Nonetheless, he smiled as he finished off the bottle.

[ordinaryink.livejournal.com]

Drunk!Dean decides that felching with a silly straw is a great idea.

[locknkey.livejournal.com]

I love how your mind works!