... as the great man Freddie Mercury once sung;
Woo woo - my 'cut' worked! I can't tell you how pathetically excited I am about that :)
And as my story is safe and sound on my journal and hasn't ended up on Ebay or Busty Asian Beauties or somewhere else, I feel inspired to post again.
I give you a little story of mine called 'Weakness'
Words approx 1,100
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own (extremely) soppy mind …
Dean's got a secret weak spot … Sam uses it to his advantage - not wincest
*WARNING* extreme gooey soppiness alert!
Grey tendrils of dawn crept over the mouldy windowsill as a solitary voice sounded.
"DEAN!" Sam shouted, grouchy and irritable through enduring yet another disturbed night.
"DEAN. Quit snoring!"
The untidy heap, sprawled inelegantly across the other bed, stirred with a congested snort, "whaaadthe …?"
"You're keepin' me an' probably the whole motel awake, dude"
"I don' snore," Dean propped himself up on his elbows and coughed raggedly, "you're imaginin' it."
"You do when you're sick". Snapped Sam irritably.
"I'm not …"
"YES YOU ARE!" yelled Sam.
Dean blew his nose. "Calm down, Cinderella," he wheezed, "it's just a cold."
"It's been 'just a cold' for nearly a month Dean," Sam snapped, "It's not going away". He scraped his hand through his hair, "Dean, why can't you accept that you need to see a Doctor?"
"Aw, Jeez; don't start Auntie," Dean coughed wetly into the crook of his arm, "I'm feelin' better Sammy", he took a deep breath, "Jus' a bit run down, that's all."
Sam shook his head and swore quietly under his breath.
"An' while we're on the subject, you look like shit Sammy." Dean sat upright, rubbing his chest. He looked across at Sam, "you ain't lookin' after yourself; you should think about that before you start frettin' over me."
Sam stared at Dean incredulously. "I look like shit because I'm worrying about you, you moron!" Sam yelled, "an' I've been lying awake night after night listening to you snorin' and hackin' your lungs up." Sam stomped across the room to pour a glass of water. "I've got sleep deprivation - that's outlawed; it says so in the Geneva Convention!"
"Yeah, well, I don't need nothin' except a bit of peace and quiet, and I certainly ain't getting' that right now!" Dean rolled over onto his side, facing away from Sam.
"If this doesn't improve, you are goin' to see a Doctor even if I have to carry you there myself!" yelled Sam angrily.
"It'd be the last thing you ever do!" grunted Dean ingraciously.
Sam sat on the edge of his bed glaring at his brother's back. He made a silent gesture of slow, manual strangulation, and sighed at the thought of another long, drawn-out journey down this well-trodden road of sickness, fever and unco-operative big brothers …
The following morning, Sam stepped out of the bathroom to find Dean packing his duffel.
"What ya doin' dude?"
"What's it look like? I'm packin', we've been stuck in this dead hole for nearly two weeks – where's that job with the poltergeist activity you were lookin' at yesterday?"
"Nothin' definite yet, still got to do a bit more research" said Sam, towelling his wet hair, "an' anyway, we're not goin' anywhere until you've had a few more days rest to try an' shake this thing off."
Dean scowled. He was about to launch into a vociferous disagreement when he suddenly doubled over with a violent coughing fit.
Sam dropped his towel and was at Dean's side in an instant; he placed a large hand flat on Dean's heaving back, and was appalled to feel that the clean T shirt Dean had put on less than an hour before was soaked through with sweat.
"Jesus, Dean, you're burnin' up!"
He guided Dean over to the bed, and sat him down, rubbing his back until the coughing subsided.
"C'mon bro', bed". It was a command, not a request. He figured Dean must have been feeling bad because he complied meekly and without comment, still panting hard after his coughing exertions.
Sam wrestled Dean out of his sodden T shirt and jeans, and laid him back on the bed, propping him up on every pillow he could find in the room, including his own.
"Why, Dean?" he implored, "why do we have to go through this freakin' charade every time?" Dean looked back at him, "th-thought I was g-gettin' better" he murmured, and let loose another coughing fit. He brought a tissue up to his mouth, and coughed into it.
"Hey man, let's cool you down." Sam placed a bowl of water and a facecloth on the bedside table, and perched on the side of the bed next to his brother, helping Dean to sit up and lean against him
Dean took a breath as long and deep as his congested chest would allow. There was no getting away from the fact; little brother might be a friggin' old woman, but, oh boy, he had the magic healing touch, and no mistake! Dean relished the touch of the cool cloth as, guided by Sam's confident hand, it freshened his face and neck.
Soothing his brother's warm, clammy body, he worked it slowly and gently across Dean's chest and shoulders, then he put the cloth to one side and moved in for the kill …
Dean gasped as Sam's cool hand found the back of his neck and began to gently massage the pressure points behind his ears and at his nape. Dean's eyes fluttered closed with a sigh and he sank bonelessly into the sensation. Sam grinned wickedly; that spot was like flicking a 'soppy' switch; it could instantly turn a smart mouthed, pain in the ass big brother to a docile, droopy-eyed puddle of goo. Heaven help them if any of their enemies ever found out about it!
Sam continued his ministrations without mercy; long, skilful fingers kneading and probing the stiff ridges of his brother's neck, carding their way through the short, spiky hair at his nape, and exploring the muscular junction of his neck and shoulders. Dean's head lolled back against his brother's chest, as quiet breathy whimpers escaped his slightly parted lips and his limbs turned to lead.
Sam leaned over his helpless brother, "Dean; Doctor, tomorrow!"
"Mmmmm, ok s'mmy, don' stop …"