for I am sheep, hear me baaa
Mar. 6th, 2009 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymThat one sentence meme that's going around: Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!
1. Sweet, bitter, salty, spicy, metallic: blood mixed with sweat and mingling with the sharp flavor of whiskey.
2. The voice is achingly familiar, and the face that peers around the pile is even moreso; familiar and loved, and Jared can't stop the tears this time.
3. Dude's commando underneath, which is just hot as sin, and he tastes so good when Jensen finally gets him into his mouth; an explosion of salt and bitter, slick droplets pearling up from the small slit.
4. Sam raises a hand to touch Dean -- pat his shoulder, stroke his hair, something to offer comfort -- then lowers it, because how many times has the comfort been rejected?
5. Sam knows, sure as he knows his name, that coming home at the normal time he wouldn't have seen Dean like this: stretched out on the bed in his room, cloth ties looped around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the iron posts on the bed, a curvy, gorgeous redhead riding him and moaning like a porn star.
6. You think Sammy was about three, maybe; you were only seven and already you felt old -- the memories feel old, wearisome -- but you cuddled with Sam every night until his little body went soft and lax in sleep.
7. Dean scrubs at his face in jerky, sharp motions, and Sam's never wanted to do anything as badly as he wants to just gather Dean up in his arms and hold him (and he's very deliberately trying not to wonder if it's because he wants to comfort Dean, or because Dean's a girl, or something else).
8. His gaze lands on Dad's bottle of whiskey (nasty smelling stuff, Dean doesn't understand why Dad likes to drink it) and he thinks about how Dad always seems more relaxed and not in pain, even when he's scratched or clawed really bad, after he's had some.
9. He remembers nothing between watching Sam's eyes darken and just now when he opened his.
10. Sam comes awake yelling "NO!", and the front windshield blows out in an explosion of crunching glass and prisms of rainbows, where the light catches on jagged shards.
11. Sam is the living embodiment of 'lapsed Catholic': he doesn't go to church, doesn't believe (mostly) in God, is in a homosexual relationship…and committing incest every time.
12. He takes his bear -- raggedy old thing with one ear sewn up funny and one arm shorter than the other where Dean had to do an emergency patch when it ripped open after pulling on it too hard, teasing Sam about something or other -- and dashes for the door.
13. The words are whispered along Jared's throat, and Jensen can smell him, warm and salty; just a hint of musk over the shampoo and aftershave still lingering.
14. It shivered all through him, hot and electric until his blood felt like lava boiling through his veins and his dick hung heavy and full between his legs, throbbing in time with his pulse.
15. The air was icy-clear in his lungs when he took a deep breath, and in spite of impending lateness-to-school, he stood for a moment in front of the Kirkpatrick's porch and breathed in and out, tasting fall, letting it roll over him and through him.
1. Sweet, bitter, salty, spicy, metallic: blood mixed with sweat and mingling with the sharp flavor of whiskey.
2. The voice is achingly familiar, and the face that peers around the pile is even moreso; familiar and loved, and Jared can't stop the tears this time.
3. Dude's commando underneath, which is just hot as sin, and he tastes so good when Jensen finally gets him into his mouth; an explosion of salt and bitter, slick droplets pearling up from the small slit.
4. Sam raises a hand to touch Dean -- pat his shoulder, stroke his hair, something to offer comfort -- then lowers it, because how many times has the comfort been rejected?
5. Sam knows, sure as he knows his name, that coming home at the normal time he wouldn't have seen Dean like this: stretched out on the bed in his room, cloth ties looped around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the iron posts on the bed, a curvy, gorgeous redhead riding him and moaning like a porn star.
6. You think Sammy was about three, maybe; you were only seven and already you felt old -- the memories feel old, wearisome -- but you cuddled with Sam every night until his little body went soft and lax in sleep.
7. Dean scrubs at his face in jerky, sharp motions, and Sam's never wanted to do anything as badly as he wants to just gather Dean up in his arms and hold him (and he's very deliberately trying not to wonder if it's because he wants to comfort Dean, or because Dean's a girl, or something else).
8. His gaze lands on Dad's bottle of whiskey (nasty smelling stuff, Dean doesn't understand why Dad likes to drink it) and he thinks about how Dad always seems more relaxed and not in pain, even when he's scratched or clawed really bad, after he's had some.
9. He remembers nothing between watching Sam's eyes darken and just now when he opened his.
10. Sam comes awake yelling "NO!", and the front windshield blows out in an explosion of crunching glass and prisms of rainbows, where the light catches on jagged shards.
11. Sam is the living embodiment of 'lapsed Catholic': he doesn't go to church, doesn't believe (mostly) in God, is in a homosexual relationship…and committing incest every time.
12. He takes his bear -- raggedy old thing with one ear sewn up funny and one arm shorter than the other where Dean had to do an emergency patch when it ripped open after pulling on it too hard, teasing Sam about something or other -- and dashes for the door.
13. The words are whispered along Jared's throat, and Jensen can smell him, warm and salty; just a hint of musk over the shampoo and aftershave still lingering.
14. It shivered all through him, hot and electric until his blood felt like lava boiling through his veins and his dick hung heavy and full between his legs, throbbing in time with his pulse.
15. The air was icy-clear in his lungs when he took a deep breath, and in spite of impending lateness-to-school, he stood for a moment in front of the Kirkpatrick's porch and breathed in and out, tasting fall, letting it roll over him and through him.
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Date: 2009-03-07 04:40 am (UTC)