glovered | 7x18 Comment-fic Meme

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7x18 Comment-fic Meme

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:

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

The first warning sign, Sam realized in retrospect, was that Dean sounded like he was talking about his dick.

"Oh, yeah, right in there. That's it. Gonna fill you the whole way up, baby."

Wary of walking in on Dean having sex, Sam promptly put a hand over his eyes and edged towards the sound of Dean's voice. "Dean? This a bad time?"

"Sammy!"

Dean sounded pleased to see him, which indicated either he wasn't having sex or he was having sex with someone who didn't mind a little incest in their threesome. It could go either way with Dean.

Deciding to risk it, Sam peeked through his fingers and then dropped his hand down to the side in confusion when the only person in sight was Dean. In the kitchen. In an apron.

In the deep, now Lucifer-free recesses of Sam's mind, he vaguely remembered Dean wearing that same apron when they were teenagers and he had developed a surprising interest in home ec classes. Like everything else they owned, it was plaid, thick criss-crossing stripes of blue and yellow, and before he could stop himself, Sam was moving forward to touch the neck of it. "You kept this?"

Dean batted his hands away and hooked his fingers proudly in the apron straps. "Of course I kept it. How'm I supposed to make pie without an apron?" He patted Sam on the chest. "A man's gotta have his tools, Sammy."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're making pie?" He looked over to the countertop where a pastry-lined pie tin was flanked by a bowl of cherry mix and a cluster of empty beer bottles. "You're making beer pie?"

Dean shook his head, wobbling a little as he did so. "Beer's for me." He jiggled the bowl of cherries. "These are for her."

Sam pursed his lips. "Dean, please tell me you aren't making a pie so you can try to have sex with it. Because if that's on the cards, I want to be somewhere that is not here."

"Nope," Dean said cheerfully, apparently unfazed by accusations of piefucking. "I'm gonna eat her and have sex with you." He held out a half-drunk glass of whiskey. "Maybe even at the same time."

Accepting the glass, Sam shrugged. He'd heard worse plans.

It was two glasses of whiskey and half a beer later that he found himself sitting on the countertop and finally asking, "So what brought on the sudden pie-making renaissance?"

Dean promptly put the whiskey bottle to Sam's lips and tipped it to make him take a shot. It burned on the way down, warm and soothing, and Sam coughed as Dean said, "You ain't had enough to drink if you're still using words like 'renaissance'."

This was accompanied by a tipsy wiggle of his hips, which was probably supposed to be mocking but which Sam found weirdly arousing. Incest and aprons were a winning combination.

"Why are you making pies?" he simplified.

"Because the gas works," Dean said, stirring the cherries with a beer bottle while he tried to drink a spoon. Realizing his mistake, he switched the two around and continued, "And because there aren't at least eight kinds of mould in this kitchen. And because I want pie."

By Winchester standards, that logic was flawless. Sam didn't bother arguing.

Shuffling further along the counter, he peered into the pie-casing and then looked at the bowl. "So you just pour that in there?"

"Yep," Dean said. "One cherry pie coming right up."

He looked up at Sam with a grin and started singing as he poured the cherry mixture into the pie base. "She's my cherry pie..."

"You have such a healthy relationship with food."

Dean flipped him off as he kept singing and Sam smirked before downing some more beer. With his boundaries of what constituted a good idea now adjusted by alcohol, he hopped off the counter to move behind Dean as he joined in the song, "Tastes so good make a grown man cry..."

It was far too easy to unfasten Dean's jeans. Sam stepped back to watch them pool around his ankles as he finished with a grin, "Sweet cherry pie."

Finished with the cherries, Dean stomped around in a stunted little circle and put his hands on his hips. "C'mon, man, I can't be the stripper and the cook." He kicked his jeans off, leaving him in socks, underwear, a tee and an apron. "I bake food, you get naked."

He looked pointedly at Sam's shirt and Sam realized that yes, he was drunk enough to feel guilty about being fully clothed.

"Fine," he said, tugging off his boots. His shirt and tee followed, tossed somewhere in the vicinity of the non-sex bed, and he held his arms out in case Dean hadn't noticed his shirtlessness. "Better?"

Dean grinned. "Much." His gaze lingered on Sam's abs. "Now come stand over here so I can stare at you while I bake."

Sam enjoyed the fact that Dean was too drunk to even come up with an excuse for ogling him. Unfortunately, he himself was too drunk to come up with a reason why he shouldn't be ogled and so he walked over to lean against the counter while Dean started cutting some dough-type stuff into strips to go on the top of the pie.

He took a moment to appreciate the bow of Dean's legs and the tight little swell of his ass as he went. He wondered if Dean would object to riding Sam's dick while he baked.

Smiling to himself at the thought, Sam reached in to steal a cherry from the pie but scowled when he got a slap on the hand from Dean.

"No," Dean said, pointing a stern, pastry-covered finger at Sam. "No taking my cherries."

Sam couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. "I think it's too late for that, dude."

"Haha, fuck you," Dean said, knocking back the rest of his beer. "Stay the hell away from my pie, assface. I mean it, I will kick your ass."

He made a karate-chop motion in Sam's general direction.

Sam patted his butt and drank some more beer. "Sure you will."

His fingertips were still red with the juices of the cherry he hadn't managed to steal and he reached over to smear it on Dean's nose as he kept slicing strips of pastry. Lost in what he was doing, it took Dean a second to notice what had happened and he looked over at Sam with wide eyes and a bright pink nose. "Jerk."

"Rudolph."

He couldn't get down from the countertop in time to avoid Dean's flailing limbs but he squirmed backwards with a yell as Dean stuck his fingers in the cherry mix and smeared his fingers over Sam's cheek. The mixture was cool and sticky and Sam shook his hair out of his face as Dean made a satisfied noise and started laying strips across the top of his pie.

"Oh, real mature," Sam said, fully aware of how slurred his voice was. Sliding down off the counter, he grabbed Dean's wrist before he could restock his pie-filling ammunition and spun him around until his ass was pressed against the counter. Dean squirmed, trying and failing to wrestle Sam away, and it didn't take them long to reach a stalemate with their arms tangled together and Dean pinned between Sam and the counter.

"I take it back," Dean said, straining to hide his smile. "You can go wait in the car when I'm cooking. You got no respect for a guy and his pie."

Sam leaned in to lick the filling off the tip of Dean's nose.

"What the-"

Dean blinked. "Well, that's unsanitary."

Sam rolled his eyes and kissed him.

(According to all the alcohol he'd consumed, the correct response to accusations of poor hygiene was making out.)

Dean's lips parted under his, soft and warm and yep, definitely tasting of cherries. The taste of beer and whiskey was there too and Sam slipped his tongue past Dean's lips to taste everything he could. It was unfair that everything tasted better when he licked it from Dean's mouth. There was probably something supernatural at work. They should investigate.

Dean kissed back, licking at Sam's lips and then breaking away to kiss a line up his cheek where the cherry mix had smudged into his skin. It was a little like being cleaned by a cat, except a really hot cat who also happened to be his brother, and Sam decided not to overanalyse how interested his dick was in these proceedings.

He let go off Dean's wrists and used his hands for better purposes, such as grabbing Dean's face and positioning his lips back against Sam's. Given the amount of empties littering the kitchen, the kiss wasn't the most coordinated one they'd ever managed but it hit the spot as Dean licked into his mouth and tugged needily on Sam's bottom lip with his teeth. Reaching down to grab Dean's thighs, Sam groped his ass for a long moment before lifting him up enough to sit on the countertop. Dean's legs parted as easily as ever as Sam grinned triumphantly against his lips as he stepped forward and kissed Dean harder.

Dean groaned, grinding forward against Sam's body as he licked at the corner of Sam's mouth. His dick was hard already, shamelessly tenting the front of the apron, and Sam had enough lingering sobriety to be slightly embarrassed by how much that turned him on.

Like a lot of things in their life, it was best left unexamined, and he slid his hands up Dean's bare thighs while Dean threaded his fingers through his hair and held him in close. Shifting his grip, Sam prepared to lift Dean off the counter and over to the bed -- he was pretty confident he could make it ten steps without any drunken stumbles -- but frowned when Dean started struggling as soon as he was airborne.

He broke away from the kiss in confusion. Dean was not the kind of guy to knowingly turn down dick. "What's up?"

Dean kicked his legs and Sam let him drop back to the ground as he said plaintively, "The pie, Sammy."

"Dean-"

"It'll take two seconds," Dean promised, dashing over to lay some more pastry strips and fix something around the edges and other stuff that Sam wasn't really concentrating on when Dean's pert little ass was right there and waiting for his dick.

Luckily for Sam, it wasn't waiting very long. Slinging the pie in the oven, he slammed the door and leaped happily into Sam's arms, wrapping his legs around his waist easily. Sam stumbled but regained his balance quickly when Dean kissed him on the lips and rocked his hips forward to let his dick bump up against Sam's stomach. "Okay, go."

Even as drunk as he was, that was an order Sam could get behind.

+++

Thirty-five to forty minutes later, Dean climbed off Sam's dick to make sure the pie didn't burn.

Sam made a mental note to talk to Dean about his priorities.

<3<3<3<3

At least Sam can be secure in the knowledge that the only competition he'll ever really have for Dean's heart is pie. And pie does not have Sam's awesome dick, so it will never win that contest.

Also cherry-flavored kisses. And Dean making the strips for the lattice work on the pie with dough, and Dean in a plaid apron. My favorite part is Dean jumping at Sam and wrapping all around him though. True story. clingwrap!Dean ftw.

Dean....apron....pie....Sam....perfect!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah! that's pretty much all I've got now..:D it's late. but this is LOVE.

I am fairly sure that Dean talking about pie and Dean talking about his dick would be scientifically impossible to distinguish.

Oh my god *___* This was so beyond wonderful. ♥ It's really sad how I forever ship Dean and his cherry pie. But so SO much love and adoration for this. :DDDD <33333333333333333 THANK YOU.

"There was probably something supernatural at work. They should investigate." *gigglesnort*

Thirty-five to forty minutes later!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This story is awesome.

Ahahahaah THE PIIIIIE *rolls around laughing* LOVE this, also thank you so much for the image of Dean in a plaid apron :D

THIRTYFIVE TO FORTY MINUTES LATER :D Also --

Like everything else they owned, it was plaid, thick criss-crossing stripes of blue and yellow

Ahahahahahahaha INDEED. This is awesome. Dean and cherry pie is an EXCELLENT combination :D

PLAID APRON!!!! <3 <3 <3

Dean is an adorable little baker isn't he?
I'll replay this in my mind tonight while I make dinner.

*laughing so hard*

You are A WONDER!!!

*dies with laughter*
This was perfect!

Awesome as always. Loved the last line!

Thanks for sharing.

xxxx

I'm sorry, but I had a hard time getting past the wonderful fact that Dean has a PLAID apron! And then the killer last 2 lines made me crack up big time LOL!! ♥

BEST PWP IN THE HISTORY OF EVER.

And this:

"Dean, please tell me you aren't making a pie so you can try to have sex with it. Because if that's on the cards, I want to be somewhere that is not here."

immediately brought my brain back to this:

(which might even be considered accurate considering what the boys do and don't even get paid for, and the only actual military person you see in SPN dies at the end of S2 so it's not like the actual military is going after demons and shit...)

Fabulous! Dean and pie *and* sex.. ::happy sigh::

SO. I am slow, slow, slow, but am posting this as a second fill! I haven't read the first yet and I'm hoping they are somehow identical, LOL. Also, I entrapped

oddishly and had her give it a read over bc she is a kind soul who does these things.

While they're sitting in the dark in this office, waiting for the alcohol to kick in, Dean expands on his dream pie. He's got the burn of tequila in his gut and his brother as a somewhat captive audience. Sam had said, "Oh my god Dean," when Dean hit his go-to subject, but now there's a curve of a smile, just there, Dean can see it. It's pretty much the best.

"Flaky crust," he tells Sam. He crosses an arm over his chest and nods, no nonsense.

Sam idly rewinds the tape to test whether they're drunk enough to see the shoujo. They're not. "Flaky crust, huh?"

"That's where it's at. Good with anything. Well, not blueberry.”

Sam mutters, “Yeah, you hate blueberry.”

Dean watches him rewind the tape again. “You just checked it a second ago. We're not drunk yet.”

“Dean, you've gone into full pie mode, I think we're pretty much there.”

Dean shrugs. What he can't say is, this is dangerous, this getting smashed around Sam. When he does drink enough that his judgment is impaired, pie is the only safe subject.

“Love me some pie,” he says instead of “I think I'm in love with you.”

“Dean, shut up.” Sam clicks a key rather forcefully, but then seems to feel bad about it and amends with with slurry distraction. "Know what? We survive this, I'll make you one."

"You?" Dean knocks a paperweight off the desk but catches it right away because, hunter reflexes. He does not let this fumble derail him from the fact that, "you really going to make good on that?"

"Sure."

Dean is beyond pleased, even if that did sound somewhat like a bribe. The image of Sam bent over an oven is pretty damn awesome and eclipses all else. He is a simple guy.

Frankly, he thinks as his head spins-- Frankly, this turn of events is surprising. Sam usually suffers Dean's rambling and says things like, "oh my god how much is there actually to say about glaze?" and "you do realize you've been rambling for an hour?" until Dean passes out or is sober enough to have a normal conversation. And when Sam gets drunk along with him, he says things like, "sure go ahead,” and so Dean does, but now it seems as though Dean's worn him down on at least this one subject.

“Alright,” he says, shaking himself out of it.“Party time.”

Sam rewinds one more time and pauses. Yeah, it's a ghost. No surprise there.

What matters is Sam looks really pretty. And he's really smart.

Dean just said the smart part aloud. He says, “Huh, I'm actually kind of drunk,” and pours himself out another glass, then downs it. He looks at the bottle. "What is this? Me likey."

Sam grunts.

Dean feels warmth all throughout, watching the side of Sam's face. He says, "I miss these talks."

After splitting with Garth, they ditch town. They drive somewhat aimlessly for two hours northwest until they hit the outskirts of civilization again, strip malls and dive bars. Sam has been hungover all day and gets downright surly when Dean thoughtfully buys him some beef jerky from the seven-eleven. He forces Dean to take them to a real grocery store, bitching about needing actual sustenance. Dean peruses the alcohol aisle.

They drive around the motel parking lot until they creak into a parking space in front of their room. Sam was grumpy about that, too. He'd demanded a certain room with a kitchenette from the old guy at the desk. Dean had mouthed an apology but that had just earned him a squint.

Sam tumbles out of the tiny passenger side and Dean grabs their bag from the back seat where it's piled on the katana and the slinky and a load of other items they've accumulated.

“Lucky thirteen,” he says, tapping the key card against the door frame and damn he's still in a good mood. Something about last night that he can't really get a handle on, and hanging out with his brother who is all put back together, and the satisfaction of a job well done.

Sam on the other hand, shoves past him with his bulging backpack.

“You pissed? Is it the case? Cuz I mean, forced drinking on a case? A-okay with me.”

Sam just says, “Go take a shower, Dean. You smell.”

Dean tries for charm. “Well, that's awfully—“

“Go.”

“All right.”

Dean takes a shower but really just stands under the hot water for a long time before he realizes he left the shampoo on the counter. So he slides the curtains open and steps out, sinking wet footprints into the rug. Before he jumps back in, shampoo in hand, he listens at the door because sometimes he just likes hearing Sam. He hears him clunking around, and then a muttered, “Fucking kidding me?”

All normal. Dean steps back into the shower. He almost immediately gets shampoo in his eyes and has to pull out his contacts and maybe cries a little because that rinses them out or something. The point is, he loses some time, can't tell when exactly he stepped in, but the water is hot and relaxing, just what he needed.

His fingers are pruned by the time he gets out. He towels off to the low crooning of...was that “Traveling Riverside Blues”...mixed with “Ramble On”?

He pulls his jeans back on, somewhat desperately, and a different shirt that smells like Sam because he wasn't paying attention apparently when he reached in the bag. He rubs the towel over his head one more time before tossing it into the corner, and when he steps out, he is about to demand to know who would make a mash-up of two of the greatest songs ever written, and secondly, why Sam is playing it, but Sam looks so entirely guilty that Dean waits. He clears his throat.

“Shit! Uh.” Sam says.

Dean loves catching Sam in the act. No matter what it is, he loves how Sam fumbles and goes dark and embarrassed. Currently, Sam has something in his mouth and is holding something behind his back.

Dean leans against the door jam. “So.”

Sam shifts on his feet and looks glum, which is not supposed to happen. Dean frowns.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I just.” Sam pauses, looks at Dean, then pulls the sword from behind his back like an admission, like it's supposed to mean something.

“Uh,” Dean hazards. “Practicing?”

Sam steps aside and a cutting board of fruit is revealed on the counter. “We didn't have a knife.”

“Peaches!” Dean says, and steps over to take a slice. He pops it in his mouth and moans around all the juice and tangy happiness that explodes like sunshine on his tongue. Sam makes a strangled noise. Dean pops another piece in his mouth and sucks juice from his thumb, feeling greedy. He says, “So, what is this?”

He notices Sam has sugar on his cheek like a fingerprint, and he wants to lick it. He's thinking about this so doesn't notice for a moment what else is on the counter.

“Is that?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You know, whatever.”

There is a tin with crust in it, and the oven beeps right then to three seventy-five.

Sam steps in so their shoulders are brushing and Dean watches him pile the peach slices into the tin in a delicious pile, and it all makes sense. Well, some sense. Sam has noticeably drawn himself up to his full height, ready for a scuffle if Dean, godforbid tries to get in between him and this mission. He pours sugar and other things on the fruit and Dean watches him, feeling an immeasurable amount of good-will which is not only due to the pie, until Sam sticks it in the oven and turns on Dean and demands, “Now spill.”

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Ma Vie En Peche(1/5)

Ma Vie En Peche(2/5)

Ma Vie En Peche(3/5)

Ma Vie En Peche(4/5)