Pretty sure this is how me and C slept last night, though it was the other way around. He clung to me. sighs
Hey there everyone, I’m back from Kumoricon, and it was a blast. I had the best time, and I started watching Tiger and Bunny. Oh my lord, I love that anime. Kotetsu and Barnaby are married in my mind.
So, I had finished this before I had left, but it still needed to be edited. I hope it’s…
Can you just take a moment to picture Magnus Bane, eighty years from now …
Standing by the grave of his beloved husband. Shaking, hunched over, face free of makeup and hair un-styled. Arms wrapped around his midsection as though the air has been punched from his gut. Eyes squeezed shut, holding…
A: I nominate Niko, my cousin and sandkopf! ;D
Don’t put the razor to your inner thighs, let me put hickeys there instead
Sam tugs the leash behind him. Clipped to a collar, leather is wrapped tight around his fingers. Dean can’t growl. The tug at his throat, spikes nipped against bare skin, keeps his crawl straight.
"Be a good dog," Sam says, "and you’ll be rewarded. If you’re not, I’m not gonna lie, it’s not gonna be fun, Dean."
Demons line the corridor. They stare after their king, bow and smirk at the pet by his side.
"I swear to fuck—"
"Funny, ‘cos dogs don’t swear."
Dean snaps his mouth shut. At the throne, Sam spins and sits. He pulls the leash tighter to yank Dean between spread legs. The leash is wound up, extra circles around Sam’s wrist. The inches disappear until Sam’s fingers brush at Dean’s collar. They curl underneath. He forces Dean against denim, lets the material scratch his face.
"You’re either a good pet or a good bitch. So what’s it gonna be?"
Sam’s smirk meets Dean’s frown. Hand outstretched, Sam clicks his fingers. There’s a low growl. It echoes the chamber, drips hot as nails clatter across the floor. Breath skirts over Dean’s thigh, both of them. He tenses.
"You gonna be good?"
"Yeah," Dean says, "not. Not that. I swear, c’mon, Sam. Please."
He’s rough with the collar and Dean scrambles into Sam’s lap, away from the hellhounds.
"I want it, Dean."
Eyes closed, Dean tips his head to the side. Sam’s smirk widens. He winds fingers into Dean’s hair, pulls him into position. The kiss is rough, bitten, and iron falls from Dean’s mouth. He hisses. Sam’s teeth catch his tongue, cut inside. Sam sucks it, swallows. He lets go of the collar to palm Dean’s ass.
"So good when you wanna be. Fuck, Dean."
"Yeah," Dean mutters. "I know."