LET THEM EAT COCK (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} girlmostlikely) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} spn_gleeweek,@ 2008-04-18 14:03:00 |
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guess the author - fic 03
Annnd here's the third fic for Gleeweek '08... and the last one for today! *g* (Please make note of the guidelines/rules posted [here] before participating.)
Title: My Lovin' Spoonful
Author: ???
Genre/Pairing/Rating: Schmoop – Dean/Henricksen - R
Word Count: 947
Victor wakes up when the shower goes on. The dog’s still asleep at the foot of the bed and there’s only the weakest sort of sunlight filtering in through his window. Victor shifts his head on the pillow, listens closely. Yeah. AC/DC.
He stumbles naked to the shower. There’s a pair of boots lying abandoned in the hallway. A leather jacket thrown carelessly on the floor. Victor nudges it out of the way with his foot. The singing stops when he opens the door, and no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how long this - this weird thing been going on, he still instinctively reaches for a gun when he sees Dean Winchester in his house.
He sees Dean look over his shoulder through the frosted shower door. Victor pisses, peers doubtfully into the mirror, and joins him. Dean’s on his way to looking human but Victor’s tub is accumulating a thick layer of crap around the drain. Looks like dirt. It’s probably ash and torched corpses or some fucking thing like that.
“What the fuck is this?” Dean says, pointing to Victor’s bandaged shoulder.
“Hostage negotiation,” Victor says, and jabs Dean in the ribs. “What the fuck is this?”
Dean spreads a hand over the bruises, trying to look wounded. “Werewolf?” Victor raises an eyebrow, and Dean grins. “Okay, okay. Bar fight.”
They fuck in the shower, careful of various injuries. Hard, like always. Dean never really sticks around long enough for slow. Victor still hasn’t figured out whether or not that’s a good thing. He kisses Victor for a long time afterwards, until the water gets cold and Victor can hear the alarm going off in his bedroom. “Go get dressed,” Dean says. “I’m makin’ breakfast.”
Switters shoots off the bed as soon as she hears pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. It’s Monday, but Victor’s been off since Tuesday because of the bullet hole in his shoulder. Got another week to sit on his ass and do nothing, and he’s going crazy already. Dean’ll tell him he’s lucky, though, if Victor bitches. Last year it was a knife in Victor’s belly and the year before that Dean died and went to Hell. These days he’s a fucking pain in the ass when it comes to counting your blessings.
Switters is at Dean’s feet, her whole body quivering. The bacon’s already swaddled in paper towels on the counter, and there’s flour all over the burners. There’s not a lot of Kansas in the way Dean cooks; the Winchesters spent three years bouncing around the South when Dean was a teenager, and he tends towards the warm, stick-to-your-ribs kind of food. Biscuits and gravy are a point of pride with Dean Winchester, and they’re good enough that Victor doesn’t usually think twice about the heart attack they’re gonna give him, five or ten years down the line, assuming that either of them live that long, assuming they haven’t killed each other in the meantime.
Victor fixes the coffee. Cream and sugar for himself, a dollop of 2% for Dean. He’s been threatening Dean with an espresso machine for close to a year now, threatening to do away with the coffee pot altogether. Switters gets two pieces of bacon. Dean grabs her by all the loose skin at her neck, gets nose to nose. “I saw your daddy last week, yes I did, he peed all over my back tires, what an asshole.” Switters grins up at him, stupidly adoring.
The bacon floats on top of the gravy like a lightly charred fleet of ships, adrift on a sea of grease and milk and pepper. Dean’s got three papers – Victor’s local, the Philly Inquirer and the Weekly World News. He grudgingly releases the sports pages. His hair stands up in short, wet little spikes and he doesn’t even bat an eye when he catches Victor staring.
Victor swallows the Percocet dry, washes the powdery taste away with his coffee. He’s on his third biscuit when he asks, “Where’s Sam?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “New York. Tracking down the world’s most awesome demonologist or some fuckin’ thing, I don’t know. New York gives me hives. Gave him the car, said have fun. I’m sure he’s up to his eyeballs in books, just the way he likes it.” Another eyeroll. He doesn’t glance up from the papers as he talks but his shoulders are tense. Sam might be in New York; Dean’ll swear up and down that he is if pressed, but it doesn’t really matter. That’s not what’s on the table, here.
“Well,” Victor says. He takes a long sip of coffee. Dean smirks down at the paper in his hands, still pointedly not looking up. Switters huffs a long, doggy sigh and lays her head down on Victor’s foot, waiting patiently for someone to feed her more bacon. “I’ve got a couple projects in mind, around the house. Gardening and shit.”
“Gardening,” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Victor says, “Gardening. I think there’s some cacti or something back out there. Ugly motherfuckers in big planters. They might be rose bushes.”
“Cacti or rosebushes,” Dean says. “Huh.”
“Yep,” Victor says.
“I mow a mean lawn,” Dean offers. He sets down the papers, folds his hands on top of them. Victor puts his coffee cup down. He can feel Switters shifting on his foot, her ears probably perked high.
“Will you quit breaking into my goddamn house, if I give you a key?”
“Probably not,” Dean says. “But if you ask real nice, I promise to think about it.”
“You just like scaring the neighbors.”
“Just wait ‘til I start doing housework in the nude.”
-END-
Guess who wrote this awesome fic?!
luzdeestrellas
merihn
fleshflutter
kashmir1
balefully
causeways (formerly katjad)
delphinapterus
shay_renoylds
frayen
cathybites
rejeneration
hansbekhart
oxoniensis
1ightning
regala_electra
memphis86
lazy_daze
Please comment to this post with your guess!! Your guess the author comments are screened. If you would like to leave feedback for the author, please post that in a separate comment, and it will be unscreened for our lovely anonymous author to read. Thanks!!
Annnd here's the third fic for Gleeweek '08... and the last one for today! *g* (Please make note of the guidelines/rules posted [here] before participating.)
Title: My Lovin' Spoonful
Author: ???
Genre/Pairing/Rating: Schmoop – Dean/Henricksen - R
Word Count: 947
Victor wakes up when the shower goes on. The dog’s still asleep at the foot of the bed and there’s only the weakest sort of sunlight filtering in through his window. Victor shifts his head on the pillow, listens closely. Yeah. AC/DC.
He stumbles naked to the shower. There’s a pair of boots lying abandoned in the hallway. A leather jacket thrown carelessly on the floor. Victor nudges it out of the way with his foot. The singing stops when he opens the door, and no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how long this - this weird thing been going on, he still instinctively reaches for a gun when he sees Dean Winchester in his house.
He sees Dean look over his shoulder through the frosted shower door. Victor pisses, peers doubtfully into the mirror, and joins him. Dean’s on his way to looking human but Victor’s tub is accumulating a thick layer of crap around the drain. Looks like dirt. It’s probably ash and torched corpses or some fucking thing like that.
“What the fuck is this?” Dean says, pointing to Victor’s bandaged shoulder.
“Hostage negotiation,” Victor says, and jabs Dean in the ribs. “What the fuck is this?”
Dean spreads a hand over the bruises, trying to look wounded. “Werewolf?” Victor raises an eyebrow, and Dean grins. “Okay, okay. Bar fight.”
They fuck in the shower, careful of various injuries. Hard, like always. Dean never really sticks around long enough for slow. Victor still hasn’t figured out whether or not that’s a good thing. He kisses Victor for a long time afterwards, until the water gets cold and Victor can hear the alarm going off in his bedroom. “Go get dressed,” Dean says. “I’m makin’ breakfast.”
Switters shoots off the bed as soon as she hears pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. It’s Monday, but Victor’s been off since Tuesday because of the bullet hole in his shoulder. Got another week to sit on his ass and do nothing, and he’s going crazy already. Dean’ll tell him he’s lucky, though, if Victor bitches. Last year it was a knife in Victor’s belly and the year before that Dean died and went to Hell. These days he’s a fucking pain in the ass when it comes to counting your blessings.
Switters is at Dean’s feet, her whole body quivering. The bacon’s already swaddled in paper towels on the counter, and there’s flour all over the burners. There’s not a lot of Kansas in the way Dean cooks; the Winchesters spent three years bouncing around the South when Dean was a teenager, and he tends towards the warm, stick-to-your-ribs kind of food. Biscuits and gravy are a point of pride with Dean Winchester, and they’re good enough that Victor doesn’t usually think twice about the heart attack they’re gonna give him, five or ten years down the line, assuming that either of them live that long, assuming they haven’t killed each other in the meantime.
Victor fixes the coffee. Cream and sugar for himself, a dollop of 2% for Dean. He’s been threatening Dean with an espresso machine for close to a year now, threatening to do away with the coffee pot altogether. Switters gets two pieces of bacon. Dean grabs her by all the loose skin at her neck, gets nose to nose. “I saw your daddy last week, yes I did, he peed all over my back tires, what an asshole.” Switters grins up at him, stupidly adoring.
The bacon floats on top of the gravy like a lightly charred fleet of ships, adrift on a sea of grease and milk and pepper. Dean’s got three papers – Victor’s local, the Philly Inquirer and the Weekly World News. He grudgingly releases the sports pages. His hair stands up in short, wet little spikes and he doesn’t even bat an eye when he catches Victor staring.
Victor swallows the Percocet dry, washes the powdery taste away with his coffee. He’s on his third biscuit when he asks, “Where’s Sam?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “New York. Tracking down the world’s most awesome demonologist or some fuckin’ thing, I don’t know. New York gives me hives. Gave him the car, said have fun. I’m sure he’s up to his eyeballs in books, just the way he likes it.” Another eyeroll. He doesn’t glance up from the papers as he talks but his shoulders are tense. Sam might be in New York; Dean’ll swear up and down that he is if pressed, but it doesn’t really matter. That’s not what’s on the table, here.
“Well,” Victor says. He takes a long sip of coffee. Dean smirks down at the paper in his hands, still pointedly not looking up. Switters huffs a long, doggy sigh and lays her head down on Victor’s foot, waiting patiently for someone to feed her more bacon. “I’ve got a couple projects in mind, around the house. Gardening and shit.”
“Gardening,” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Victor says, “Gardening. I think there’s some cacti or something back out there. Ugly motherfuckers in big planters. They might be rose bushes.”
“Cacti or rosebushes,” Dean says. “Huh.”
“Yep,” Victor says.
“I mow a mean lawn,” Dean offers. He sets down the papers, folds his hands on top of them. Victor puts his coffee cup down. He can feel Switters shifting on his foot, her ears probably perked high.
“Will you quit breaking into my goddamn house, if I give you a key?”
“Probably not,” Dean says. “But if you ask real nice, I promise to think about it.”
“You just like scaring the neighbors.”
“Just wait ‘til I start doing housework in the nude.”
-END-
Guess who wrote this awesome fic?!
luzdeestrellasmerihnfleshflutterkashmir1balefullycauseways (formerly katjad)delphinapterusshay_renoyldsfrayencathybitesrejenerationhansbekhartoxoniensis1ightningregala_electramemphis86lazy_dazePlease comment to this post with your guess!! Your guess the author comments are screened. If you would like to leave feedback for the author, please post that in a separate comment, and it will be unscreened for our lovely anonymous author to read. Thanks!!
