getalife11x

FIC: What They Know
Author: getalife11x
Rating: PG, maybe. I'm pretty bad at this rating thing lol
Pairing: Clark/Richard
Warnings: Superman Returns spoilers, that's about it.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and it saddens me greatly.
Summary: Sequel to Breaking Point. What Richard and Clark know about their relationship. Very introspective, not really any action. But there will be a third, very action-filled (*wink*) part to conclude the story.

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Clark feels like a teenager again.

Well, he feels like he imagines he would have felt as a teenager, had he actually had a girlfriend to sneak around with. He hadn’t, and it’s a bad comparison anyway, he thinks, because such an analogy sort of implies that Richard is his girlfriend. And he’s not. Because Richard has his own girlfriend. Or fiancé. Or whatever Lois is at this point. And he forces himself to remember this, even as half of him wants to laugh at the idea of Richard being anyone’s girlfriend.

There’s definitely something wrong with me, he thinks tiredly.

This thing (Clark doesn’t have the energy, let alone the certainty, to properly define it) has been going on for weeks. Clark never pictured himself as the stolen-moments-in-the-office type, but the bizarreness of the situation doesn’t stop him from taking advantage of every moment he can get with Richard. It doesn’t stop him from responding when Richard drags him into dark corners, supply closets, and deserted offices. He’s not even sure he knows how to say no to Richard, and he knows he’s not even trying to.

Clark also knows that every time Richard kisses him, they are both dragged further down into whatever they’ve created. They haven’t talked about it, about the significance of what they’re doing, but they both know that this isn’t a lighthearted entanglement. And the weight of their encounters is beginning to take its toll on Clark. Caught between his secret life as Superman and his secret affair with Richard, Clark feels like he has no chance of ever coming up for air. He’s more tired than he can ever remember being, and he reflects on how ironic it is that the two things that have made him feel more free than anything else ever has are also the two that make him ache.

He needs to talk to Richard. He knows that too. But he’s never been good at navigating fragile personal situations. He can lie almost flawlessly, but he’s never been particularly good at telling the truth. The success of his life has been based on his ability to manipulate, to mislead. Being honest was never even an option, let alone an issue. He knows he wants more, and he knows Richard does too, but he leaves it alone because he’s spent so much of his life lying that he doesn’t remember how to tell the truth.

They keep their encounters confined to the office. Or rather, to the building, as well as the roof. It’s actually a miracle that they haven’t been discovered, by various people in the office and by Lois herself, when she comes up to the roof to “not smoke.” It’s only Clark’s enhanced hearing that saves them; if he wasn’t Superman, they would surely both be dead by now, killed by Lois and one of her excessively pointed heels.

Of course, if Clark wasn’t Superman, they probably wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. Clark stops that train of thought before he gets too caught up in what he can’t ever change.

Clark knows that by taking it out of the office, they would be putting what they have in a context that makes it far more real, far more relevant to the real world. It’s much easier to believe what they’re doing is meaningless if they let it happen by chance. Seeking each other outside of the office would cement their connection, and neither is willing to do this.

Clark doesn’t know, but believes, that the decision is primarily Richard’s to make. He’s not trying to lessen the significance of his own very willing participation in their relationship (they hold, without a doubt, equal levels of responsibility in this situation), but Richard is the one who would be risking a family. And Clark isn’t sure he’d be able to give up what Richard has if their roles were reversed. Irrationally, he wants Richard to, and he hates that he’s unsure if he would let Richard leave Jason.

Clark believes that Richard doesn’t know that Jason isn’t his. He knows that he won’t tell Richard this. He’s not oblivious enough to not see the problems between Richard and Lois, but he doesn’t believe it’s his place to interfere, regardless of what he and Richard could be to each other if Lois wasn’t in the picture. He knows that Richard has his doubts, but he refuses to influence the other man’s decision.

The ties that Superman has to Lois are exactly that – Superman’s. He doesn’t want to be her hero. Of course he will care for their son, as much as she lets him, but she has never seen him. She has seen what she has wanted to see. They have a child, but that is the extent of their bond. Clark doesn’t know if Lois realizes this, and he knows it will hurt her when she does, but he will not lead her on when there are better things out there for them both.

And the thoughts go on and on until Clark’s head is spinning until he’s actually wanting there to be some natural disaster or major crime so that he could go save people and stop this pointless introspection. This whole thing is seriously killing the serenity he’s usually able to achieve when he’s on his own, away from the life that is his but isn’t.

He needs to see Richard. But he can’t go see Richard because it’s 2:30 in the morning and that’s against their unwritten rules. He bangs his head against his table repeatedly instead.

Screw it.

He’s up and out the window before he can have a second thought.

------------------------------------------

Richard feels guilty.

Richard feels complete.

Richard feels more conflicting emotions than he cares to acknowledge. Unfortunately, his brain isn’t listening to him and insists upon dissecting every aspect of his current predicament. He wishes, vehemently and repeatedly, that he could just let things happen, that he didn’t feel the need to have an answer to everything. He supposes this is kind of selfish, considering there’s a woman and child involved, but he’s actually kind of afraid that this over-thinking is going to give him an aneurysm.

Lois is asleep in their bed, for once not awake working too hard on a story that Perry is going to criticize her dedication to. Richard can’t remember the last time they slept in that bed together, and he finds that this thought hurts less than it did a week ago. Jason is asleep in his bed, and the pain at the thought of the boy who isn’t his son is the same as it’s been since he figured out the truth.

Richard wants Clark. He knows this. And he wishes that was all that mattered, that it could be that simple. But Clark is Superman, and Richard is engaged, and Jason is their son (because Jason will always be partially his, and he refuses to let that go), and Lois is Lois, and on and on the complications go. There are so many factors influencing this that Richard doesn’t even really know what to figure out first, but he does know that it’s worth figuring out.

There are moments, when they’re together, that he almost slips and tells Clark what he wants. He almost lets himself ruin what they have for the slight chance that they could have something more. He knows that Clark almost does the same thing just as much as he does. Sometimes, he almost lets him. They’re very near the point, he knows, where one of them won’t have the control to let the enormity of their affair remain unmentioned. They’re on the edge of something, and Richard has no idea where they’ll land when they inevitably fall.

Lois has almost caught them on the roof on numerous occasions, and Richard knows that part of him is being careless so the decision will be made for him. If she catches them, and lets them live, he won’t have to tell her. She won’t respect him enough to stay, and maybe Clark will take advantage of the opportunity. Part of him knows that Clark is too much of a gentleman for that (and that the chances of Lois letting them survive are slim), but he can’t help but wish for an easier solution. As it stands, she thinks they’ve become very close friends, and while she has openly questioned Richard’s taste, she seems to have accepted it as an explanation for the many times she has found them together.

Richard knows that if she bothered to look closer, she would sense that there was something else. He knows that she won’t look. And he thinks she knows that he knows that.

He really does love her. She’s beautiful, smart, and talented. She’s never been afraid to stand up to him or keep up with him, or even to pass him. But the spark they had is gone, and neither of them is trying to get it back anymore.

He knows that Clark sees this.

Sometimes, he wishes Clark would stop being such a nice guy, and go after what he wants. He needs to know that Clark truly wants him, needs to feel that Clark needs him, in order to believe it’s worth giving up on his comfortable, normal life. It’s not really fair to want Clark to decide for him, but nothing about this is fair.

They’ve both been holding back, he can feel that. Every time they touch, what they have gets bigger, more electrifying and perfect, and he can’t bring himself to care that it’s potentially as destructive as it is amazing. He wants more, and he knows Clark wants more, but he leaves it alone because he knows how quickly something built up this high can collapse. And even this tension, this confusion, is better than going back to feeling like a part of him was missing.

He has spent his whole life doing the right thing, being smart and responsible and charming and respectable. Usually, those things had fallen right in line with getting him what he wanted, what he needed. This is the first time he has two truly separate paths in front of him and he doesn’t know what to choose.

Richard also knows that Superman loved Lois at one point. He and Clark haven’t talked about this, and he is unsure about what the other man currently feels for the mother of his child. He knows that they will always be connected, but he is almost 100% certain that Jason is the extent of the connection Clark/Superman has to Lois. But he’s not absolutely sure. And he wishes that didn’t kill him. He wishes that Clark’s hands on him and the knowledge that Superman has only visited Lois once since their affair began (and that was to see Jason) was enough to convince him that he could give himself completely to Clark and not worry, but it’s not.

Richard sighs and runs a hand through his hair, taking a sip of the wine that’s doing nothing to relax him. What he needs is to talk to Clark. What he wants is to be near Clark. He wants the freedom to touch him just because he’s there. And it always seems to come back to that, to wanting Clark. No matter how many cons there are on his mental list about forwarding his relationship with Clark, it always comes back to the pure desire he feels to be with him.

Does it matter more than anything else?

If Richard’s being completely honest with himself, there is a piece of his life that seems to slide into place when he’s with Clark. There is a comfort, a rightness that Richard’s not even sure he wants to try to keep denying. He may love Lois, but it’s not the same, and he knows it. Every instinct he has is screaming not to let Clark go, and maybe that’s all he should base this on.

Richard knows he’s never going to be sure.

Richard knows he needs to stop thinking.

He downs the rest of his wine and heads outside, hoping his instincts are right.

FIC: What Thinking Can Lead To
Author: getalife11x 
Rating: PG-13 at the absolute highest, probably not even.
Pairing: Chuck/Casey
Spoilers: Slight Chuck vs. the Fat Lady.
Summary: Chuck thinks about his unfortunate romantic history and what he can do to change the pattern.
Cross posted to chasey_laying and chuck_casey

Note: This is my first Chuck fic, I hope you enjoy! Reviews are greatly appreciated =]

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Maybe, Chuck muses, the problem is women.

He’s lounging on the couch, hands behind his head, relaxing. Ellie and Devon are out for the day, he has the place to himself and he just wants to unwind a bit. Is that too much for a regular guy with government secrets locked inside his head to ask for?

Maybe it’s not the CIA or secret spy-life he’s still not entirely convinced is his. Maybe it’s not the Intersect or Bryce Larkin or the danger of the knowledge in his head. Maybe it really is just the fact that the women he chooses are wrong. Or maybe choosing women is wrong.

Chuck doesn’t know. What he does know is that his luck in the heterosexual dating world really hasn’t been good (or existent) recently, and just when he thought that maybe the gods of love weren’t completely against him, they went and screwed him over worse than before.

He knows that he’s tired of putting himself on the line and getting run over because he hasn’t convinced himself that his feelings don’t matter.

He thinks that he’s probably still half in love with Sarah and always a little bit with Jill, but he’s tired of relationships that get him nowhere.

So, Chuck thinks, what will get him somewhere?

And he remembers. Remembers that he, surprisingly, was an experimenter in college, before Jill (and once during Jill, but nobody else needs to know about that). He remembers why he was so betrayed when Bryce did what he did, why it had hurt him so much to think that Bryce could do something so unkind to him, why the pain in Bryce’s eyes upon seeing him again (both times) elicited nothing but sympathy, where it should have created a sense of justice. All it did was make Chuck trust Bryce all over again (never really a smart move, he’s learning).

He had only slept with Bryce once. Really. But it was an unforgettable once, a sober once, not a drunken-pretend-it-never-happened once. An entirely intended and mutual once (although, Chuck now sees that mutual really doesn’t mean much because he’s beginning to realize that Bryce is a bit of a whore). It was a once that Chuck definitely wouldn’t mind repeating.

So. Maybe no more women, Chuck thinks. Maybe something else.

Casey bursts through the door to Ellie and Devon’s place and Chuck desperately tries not to see it as some sort of insane sign.

“Bartowski!” Casey barks. “Why the hell weren’t you at work?”

“I know you’re used to breaking doors down, but seeing as this actually isn’t an emergency situation, knocking might be polite,” Chuck says brightly.

Casey glowers. “Am I not polite enough for you, Bartowski?”

Chuck wisely refrains from answering, and even manages not to smile.

Casey sighs and sits down on the couch, next to Chuck’s feet. “You’re supposed to be at work, where Walker and I can watch you. Why do you think I have the damn job? It’s not like it’s good for my health.”

Chuck grins. “Can’t handle the nerds without me?”

“They are not just nerds. They’re…I don’t know what they are, but I’m pretty sure they’re a threat to this country. Maybe I should call them in, for your safety-”

Laughing, Chuck reaches over to grab the cell phone that Casey has just taken from his pocket out of his grasp. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he says, fingers closing around Casey’s on the phone.

They both freeze. Chuck’s gaze snaps to Casey’s before he even thinks, and they stare at each other. Chuck sees a million things he’s certain he’s never associated with Casey – confusion, surprise, and a touch of lust – and it’s all gone in an instant as Casey snatches his hand out from under Chuck’s, lets the phone fall to the ground, and stares resolutely ahead.

And Chuck laughs. He laughs until Casey breaks his staring contest with the wall to give him a ‘you’re clearly strange’ look, and Chuck gasps for air.

“You-,” he says in wonder. “You missed me today.”

Casey sits very still. “No, I didn’t.”

“You so missed me.”

“I so didn’t, Bartowski.”

“You like it better when I’m there to-”

Chuck doesn’t get to finish because Casey growls and before he can blink, he’s being pulled forward into Casey’s lap and kissed more deeply and possessively than he’s ever been kissed.

And for once, Chuck decides not to think.

He wraps his arms around Casey’s neck and pulls them back until they’re horizontal, Casey on top and pressed against all of him. The agent’s kisses are hungry and a bit desperate and Chuck wonders how long it’s been since Casey let himself have anything he wanted.

Well, he’d make that happen today.

The moan he’s rewarded with as he nips Casey’s bottom lip almost makes him regret pulling out of the kiss. But he does, to say breathlessly and purposefully, “What, no ‘this is a bad idea?’ No ‘you’re the asset and I’m your handler’?”

Casey pulls back and regards him with unreadable eyes. “Do you want me to say that?”

“What? No! I just…want to know why you’re doing this. I want something real, for once.”

The look that Casey gives him is so un-Casey and sympathetic and (dare he say it?) gentle that Chuck would have fallen off the couch if Casey’s thighs on either side of him weren’t oh-so-pleasantly holding him in place.

“I’m real, Chuck. You’re real. We’re both here and this is real. Just let it happen.”

Chuck’s not really sure that it’s enough reassurance and it’s certainly non-committal as hell, but Casey’s kissing him again and then all he can seem to remember is his need to be important to this man whose job it is to save his life.

As Casey picks him up and carries him (and Chuck refuses to be embarrassed by this) to Chuck’s bedroom, Chuck decides that as long as Casey keeps him alive, he’s going to make it worth both of their whiles.

And also that it would appear as though the problem was definitely women.


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FIC: Coming Home
Author: getalife11x
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 if I'm being extra-extra careful.
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Jack/Doctor, possible Ianto/Doctor, Owen, Tosh, Gwen
Summary: Pretty fluffy. Jack's reasons for returning to Torchwood after the Last of the Time Lords.
Spoilers: slight End of Days and slight Last of the Time Lords.
Cross-posted to jackxianto and jantolution

This is my first Torchwood/Doctor Who fic. Reviews are greatly appreciated =]. I hope you enjoy!


Note: This fic assumes that Martha chose to go home (after Last of the Time Lords) before Jack makes his decision. Also, I know the Jack/Ianto kiss in End of Days may make it hard for anyone to think Jack isn't gay, but in this story, I chose for the Torchwood characters to see the kiss as more of a reassurance to Ianto and not a blatant sign of Jack and Ianto's attraction; for the purposes of this story, the characters don't think the kiss means much at all.



Coming Home


"Well, I've got a man who can't die."

Ianto throws the Doctor a sidelong glance. "You've got?" he asks mildly.

The Doctor looks faintly surprised before he lets a flash of that grin light his face. "He said you were clever. Didn't mention anything about possessive, though."

Ianto raises his mug to his lips and lets his eyes linger on the Doctor, saying nothing in return. Jack's eyes flicker between the two, a slight smile threatening to break through his serious expression.

Oh, how he'd missed this.

With the horror of the Master's year finally behind them (or erased, really - Jack still hadn't quite decided the right way to classify his time spent in a struggle that was and wasn't), Jack had taken the Doctor home.

The Doctor, of course, had initially misunderstood. At Jack's request, he'd first offered to take him to Gallifrey. Next, to the 51st century and to Jack's past, even proposing an adventure to somehow unlock Jack's years lost to the Time Agency. Third, he'd offered to bring them to a place they both felt at home - to Rose. Jack had to gently remind the Doctor how impossible that was.

He knew the offers he'd been given had been created as much for the Doctor as they had for him.

Jack didn't blame the Doctor. Not for his selfishness (who was he to talk?), not for his oblivious nature (Jack personally liked to refer to this trait in himself as 'selective vision', blaming his somewhat frequent lack of emotional perception on his inclination toward the dramatic), and not for not realizing that Jack could have found his own home after finding one with the Doctor himself (Jack had been equally surprised to find it was possible).

With Martha gone, Jack had considered staying. Of course he'd considered staying, would have considered it even if Martha hadn't left. He even decided a couple of times that he wouldn't, couldn't, leave the Doctor alone. Loving the Doctor had never been a choice for Jack; he'd never once tried to convince himself that the Doctor was less than he was. How could he deliberately lessen the meaning of a man who had changed his life forever? Or, more accurately, the man who had changed his life into forever?

No, the Doctor was what he was, and Jack knew that nothing in the whole universe, in the whole of time and space, would ever change that. And he sometimes supposed that he loved the Doctor for that too.

But he couldn't stay.

Not when even the Doctor's kisses couldn't erase the feel of Ianto's mouth pressed to his, the delicious rightness of Ianto's skin against his. Not when even the Doctor couldn't dull Jack's memories of Ianto's lips against his neck, or darken the vision of Ianto leaning above his desk for a stolen kiss at nine in the morning with the rest of the team just beyond the door.

If even the Doctor couldn't dim the ever present whisper of Ianto's words in his mind, Jack knew no one that nothing could.

And so he did all that he could to explain to the Doctor just why he wanted nothing more than to be taken back to Cardiff, back to 2007, back to Torchwood, back to the place he had so willingly left. He couldn't explain it how he really wanted to, how he knew the Doctor would understand; he hadn't wanted to remind the Doctor of other times, needing their last bit of time together untarnished by other's ghosts.

Jack knew what Rose had been to the Doctor, had seen what it was like for him to lose her. He also knew that the Doctor would find another Rose; it was simply his way. He was bad at being alone. It would take time, but Jack knew somehow that the Doctor always found someone new. He had lost countless Roses, and would always somehow find more. After all, he had all of time and space to sift through to find those suited to him.

Jack wasn't like him. He supposed he could survive not being with Ianto (he'd left him easily enough for the Doctor), but he'd learned that he didn't want to live leaving Ianto behind. He didn't want to learn how to lose.

The Doctor had taken him home without much of an argument when Jack pleaded responsibility to the life he had created. Jack had told the Doctor about Ianto, of course, but spoke only of wondrous coffee and playful smiles and suits and the pleasure of divesting one of them (both literally and figuratively). The Doctor had laughed and looked at him with that sparkle in his eye and Jack had hoped that the Doctor understood more than he said.

They arrived in Cardiff a week after Jack's initial departure after Abaddon. Jack invited the Doctor to Torchwood just in time for an almost exponential increase in Cardiff's Weevil population that had sent Torchwood Three into a panic.

Not even a full twenty-four hours back and his team was already in serious need of his planning skills. He'd almost laughed.

Jack had leaned against Owen's desk and tried to maintain an expression appropriate to the seriousness of the situation as the Doctor launched headfirst into some ridiculous scheme that seemed to involve Jack being bait and the Weevils ending up in one spot after all being attracted to Jack's location for one reason or another (here, Owen had coughed not-so-subtly, setting the girls off into giggles, the Doctor into a grin that told he wasn't surprised of the team's knowledge of Jack's lifestyle, and even breaking Ianto's suited demeanor into a small smirk).

"...Jack?"

Jack snaps out of his reverie and back to the present at Owen's voice, quickly recounting the last he heard of the conversation in his mind. He thinks it was something about his not-dying thing and possibly that Ianto and the Doctor are fighting over him and he can't stop the smile this time. "Owen, sorry. What did you ask?"

"I asked you to settle the silent battle between Ianto and your Doctor here. They seem to be confused as to who you belong to more. I maintain that you, being quite the willing partner,"- Jack opens his mouth to protest and, finding he has no real defense, closes it, setting Gwen and Tosh off again - "belong to neither. Tosh has opted not to comment and Gwen still maintains that you're not really gay, to which I pointed out that you haven't slept with her" - Gwen throws her pen at Owen and he hits it away, laughing - "and now that I'm officially out of thoughts about your sex life, thankfully, the question is yours to answer."

Owen finishes his recap of the discussion Jack had faded away from and leans against the side of his desk opposite Jack, smirking at him, pleased with his analysis. Jack smirks right back and Owen's expression falters a bit as Jack turns to Ianto. "I don't know, Ianto. Who do you think I belong to?"

Ianto smiles. For once not into his mug, not secretly as he gazes at Jack, but right out in the open. Owen's mug nearly slips from his hand in shock and Jack swears he hears Gwen gasp and Tosh let out a little surprised laugh.

Ianto looks from Jack to the Doctor, a new glint appearing in his eyes.

"I think, sir," Ianto responds slowly, "that you could belong to both of us."

And Jack smiles as well. Because Ianto has given him free reign. It doesn't matter that he's not even sure he wants the freedom to be away from Ianto. It only matters that now Ianto knows that Jack loves him more. And Jack knows he has given Ianto more than he ever has before, and more importantly, that Ianto loves him back.

For now, he decides, they'll deal with the Weevils (Doctor included, the plan where Jack is bait for every single Weevil in Cardiff not included). But as he looks at the gaze now shared by Ianto and the Doctor, the glint in Ianto's eyes growing as the Doctor's mouth begins to curve upward once more, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, one day he'll get to show his Rose the universe.

Title: Breaking Point
Author: getalife11x
Pairing: Richard/Clark
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1,853
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, unfortunately, as I’m sure is a common sentiment here.
Summary: Clark tries to fight his attraction to Richard. Pure fluff and happiness lol.


Breaking Point


It’s attraction. That is all this is. I love Lois. Love beats attraction…to Richard…

Yep, that’s right. Clark Kent was not as innocent and sexless as everyone believed. He wanted what most guys wanted, and right now, he was beginning to realize that the lack thereof was driving him up the wall. He was frustrated, and by golly, if he didn’t visit Lois as Superman and convince her to have passionate I-love-you-we-have-a-son-it’s-destined sex soon, Clark was pretty sure that Richard’s office was going to be used for something a whole lot more gratifying than work.

Which was a bad thought. Because Lois was engaged…to Richard…

Who’s to say that Richard wouldn’t be more satisfying than Lois? His bothersome inner voice asked him. He mentally told it to shut up while it laughed at him.

“Whoa, Clark, what’s with the angry face?” Richard’s arms reached out to stop Clark before he crashed into him.

Of course it’s you. Clark sucked in a needed breath. Richard’s hands were warm on him and he glanced longingly at the open door of Richard’s secluded office directly behind them. So inviting, so close…no, wait, that was Richard. The other man had taken a step closer in an attempt to snap Clark out of his trance. Clark was suddenly very aware of Richard’s intense gaze on him and he returned it without thinking. He whispered Richard’s name. Yep, he was definitely losing this battle.

They were in Richard’s office a moment later, where Richard let go of him to lock the door and to shut the blinds on the windows that allowed the editor to watch over the office. He then proceeded to lean against his desk.

Oh no. Not the leaning. The man is trying to kill me. He is. He’s found out that I’m Superman and decided to see if slow torture by physical frustration will kill me.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Clark’s mind began to clear enough for him to realize that Richard was staring at him in that way again. He crashed back to reality.

“Richard, what the hell is going on here?”

Richard laughed and shook his head, looking down. “What makes you think I know?” He unfolded his arms and braced himself against the desk with his arms, tightening his body and making his arms all the more visible through the button-down shirt he wore.

“Please stop leaning against the desk.”

Looking up, Richard raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’s…not doing wonders for my concentration,” Clark admitted, blushing.

Richard’s eyes blazed and he pushed himself away from the desk to move closer to Clark, who swallowed and backed up until he was against the door.

Oops, he thought idly, half of his brain processing the thought that being backed against something with no means of escape was probably not the brightest idea in this particular situation.

Of course, as Superman, he could easily escape Richard. The thought never even occurred to him.

“Uh – won’t people be w-wondering where you’ve disappeared t-to?”

“What about you?” Richard shot back distractedly, too concerned with his increasing proximity to Clark to put any real heat behind the words. By the time he stopped, he was a mere foot away from Clark, and his pulse rate had increased fractionally.

Which, fortunately, was far more than enough for Clark’s overactive senses to pick up on, and this bit of knowledge, the fact that he wasn’t alone in this sudden madness, made him feel as though he could regain some slight grasp of control.

Clark laughed and moved around Richard, voice dry as he replied, “I highly doubt anyone wonders where I’ve gone when I’m not around.”

Richard’s eyes closed and he fought the urge to bang his head against the now Clark-free door in frustration, settling for letting his head fall against it instead. To follow the slightly serious turn in conversation or let it drift by, seemingly unnoticed, and continue their game of who-can-gain-the-upper-hand-the-fastest? Richard sighed. He seriously hated his inner therapist at times.

Turning around so that his back was against the door, Richard regarded Clark – who was now a safe distance away, arms braced against the desk in Richard’s former position and oh, maybe Clark did have a point about the leaning, Richard’s body registered with a rush of heat – with more serious eyes, the previous heat diminished but not gone. Clark’s stomach turned at the sight of it, gleaming devilishly behind the caring man he had come to know Richard as.

“You choose how people see you, Clark, and something tells me you know that very well,” Richard said quietly. Clark’s eyes snapped to his, wide with real surprise, and looking closely, Richard liked to think, a touch of relief. Clark opened his mouth but no sound came out, and he stood speechless for a minute before finally managing a choked “Richard-”.

Richard got the feeling that the odds had just tipped in his favor.

Stepping forward, he kept his eyes locked with Clark’s, seeing a drop of desperation he didn’t expect shine through the other man’s brilliant gaze. This time, Clark remained glued to his spot.

Another small victory.

Clark detected Richard’s growing sense of success through the increase in the other’s pulse and body temperature, but he didn’t think he could have moved even if he had consciously wanted to, even if his entire body wasn’t vibrating with each beat of Richard’s heart and still wanting to somehow feel closer to the other man. Richard’s statement had stunned him, erased everything he had created in his time at the Planet. This man, this charming, easygoing, passionate man, this man he should have hated, had sized him up in a few short weeks, somehow invisibly slipping past Clark’s carefully constructed façade, bringing every bit of his core to light, only for Richard.

Not many things amazed Superman, and he’d be damned if Richard White wasn’t on a fast route to becoming one of them.

Richard’s hand reached up to run through Clark’s hair, resting behind his head, and Clark shivered, glancing down at the man now standing in front of him once more. Richard’s gaze was resolute, and Clark’s eyes closed as one more burst of confusion slipped through his haze of need.

Lois’s faced flashed through his mind as he felt Richard’s breath on his face.

It’s just…what was the point of being a superhero if you didn’t do the whole falling-in-love/ending-up-with-the-damsel thing?

Richard was most certainly not a damsel. However, Clark’s subconscious reminded him, he’s also not a bitch.

And that, apparently, was that, as Clark’s mind blacked out with the first tentative touch of Richard’s mouth to his.

Richard was sure he had never experienced anything quite like the warm press of Clark’s lips, and each movement of Clark’s mouth against his made him feel like more of an idiot for waiting so long to test this.

Clark felt like he was coming home. He felt as though ever since he had returned to Metropolis, he had been restless, not knowing what exactly was missing from his homecoming. He had thought it was Lois’s open affection for Superman, Lois’s availability, the possibility for something resembling normal. He would never have guessed that the mouth of the fiancé of his supposed beloved would make him feel as though he was finally through waiting for his own life to catch fire.

The kisses were light, lips separating and reconnecting, leisurely learning the way they fit together. They breathed into one another, air exchanged between kisses, leaning further into each other with each connection. Minutes passed while they discovered how to make each other’s breath hitch lightly.

Until it wasn’t enough.

Clark couldn’t explain the force of the desire that surged through him; all he knew was that he needed to be closer. He turned them so that Richard was pressed against the desk; the other man retaliated by opening his mouth to Clark’s, sufficiently deepening the kiss, pressing himself firmly against Clark and oh God, Clark’s mind was suddenly swarmed by images of ties and desks and desk chairs and half open, sleeves-pushed-to-the-elbow versions of those damn shirts Richard wore. At the moment, Clark honestly didn’t think he’d mind if they never made it out of that office.

Which of course led to thoughts of Richard out of the office, perhaps stretched out on a bed, waiting for Clark to –

Too much! Clark’s brain screamed. It was way too much to process in a two minute time span and he broke out of their kiss, gasping, needing air to help clear his sensory overloaded mind.

Richard started kissing a path down his jaw to his neck and bit down lightly on that spot where Clark’s neck met his shoulder.

“- Not – helping –” Clark managed to pant through his struggling attempts to breathe correctly, his control over Superman slipping as he gripped Richard’s arms a bit too hard to be considered normal.

Richard didn’t notice. Which really, Clark registered vaguely in some part of his mind that miraculously wasn’t gasping Richard’s name, could say a lot about their future relationship.

Unfortunately, if he crushed the man, there would definitely be no future relationship.

“Richard,” Clark breathed. “Hmmm?” The older man hummed against his skin, making Clark want to whimper in frustration. “We have to-” – Richard scraped his teeth against the pulse in Clark’s neck – “Jesus” – Richard smiled into his skin – “You have to stop.” Clark finally ground out, managing to push the other man away a few inches.

Richard looked at him, alarmed and uncertain. “What?”

Clark sighed. “Give me a minute to catch my breath. I really…” - here he hesitated, and only continued at the look of confusion on Richard’s face – “I really needed to get some control back.” He finished lamely, looking at the floor.

“Did it ever occur to you that I may have been trying to make you forget about control?” Richard asked in an amused tone.

“Well, I don’t want to crush you!” Clark said sharply, then closed his mouth with a look of horror.

“Why would you do that?” Richard asked the same amused tone. “Because you’re Superman and you’re afraid you’re that careless and I’m that fragile?”

Clark gaped once more. And Richard smirked inwardly at just how many times in a fifteen minute time span he could make Clark’s mouth fall open helplessly like that.

“How – how did you –” Clark spluttered.

Richard placed a finger over Clark’s mouth. “Don’t bother trying to figure it out. Don’t start overanalyzing how in the world I could possibly know. We’ve already established that I know you better than anyone else in this office, and we’ve only got a limited amount of time in here with the blinds closed and the door locked before my uncle picks up on it. I suggest you let your gaping shock go, shut up, and let me kiss you.”

And, really, who was Clark to argue with such flawless logic?

Alright, here's what happened. I don't really know how this prompt thing works, and I know the first prompt is for Sunday or whatever, but I saw it and these two plots just popped up and I really wanted to write them, so if I'm doing something wrong in the way I posted them or in writing 2 stories for one prompt, then please let me know. I'm new =]


Title: Impulse
Author: getalife11x
Pairing: Richard/Clark
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, unfortunately, as I’m sure is a common sentiment here lol

Prompt: Richard + Glasses

Alright, here's what happened. I don't really know how this prompt thing works, and I know the first prompt is for Sunday or whatever, but I saw it and these two plots just popped up and I really wanted to write them, so if I'm doing something wrong in the way I posted them or in writing 2 stories for one prompt, then please let me know. I'm new =]


Title: Hiding
Author: getalife11x
Pairing: Richard/Clark
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, unfortunately, as I’m sure is a common sentiment here lol

Prompt: Richard + Glasses

Clark watched Richard lying on his bed - a few buttons undone, sleeves pushed up to elbows, silk tie askew; these were all reminders of a feeling of comfort between the two that he owed entirely to the other man.

The book held up by one tanned, long-fingered hand gave the impression of reading, but Clark wasn’t fooled. The hand holding the book had white knuckles, and Richard’s other hand was gripping the sheet so hard that had he been felt any inclination to lift it, it might rip. Clark knew the man well enough to know that look of intensity on his face didn’t result from considering the depth of his current novel. All these observations pointed towards Richard being out of sorts, but Clark needed his confirmation – Richard’s eyes. One look could have easily told him what needed discussing.
 

Unfortunately, they were covered by slim, square glasses.
 

And that made Clark take a nervous breath. Because every time Richard had worn glasses over the course of time he’d been acquainted with him, there had been something bothering him that had something to do with Lois. And she still wasn’t the safest of topics between them, not to mention that she still didn’t know just what they were to one another.
 

So, rather than bring it up, Richard would put on his glasses and hide, and pretend that she wasn’t floating in the air of what should have been their apartment alone.
 

It was interesting, Clark thought, that Richard had criticized him for hiding too much behind the thick frames that had become his lifeline over the years of his duplicity.
 

 

“Why do you hide from people?”
 

Clark jumped in his desk chair and his head snapped around to find Richard leaning against the edge of his desk as if it belonged to him. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open comically. “E – Excuse me?”
 

Richard waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t do that. You’re far more articulate than a dropped jaw, and we both know it. You put on your glasses, these oversized glasses that could easily be changed to contacts, and then you slip your way through each day.”
 

Clark’s mouth closed, a sigh escaping him before it fully shut. Over the past few weeks, when he was around Richard for one reason or another, he had found himself unable to be the faltering, bumbling, clumsy hulk of a reporter he forced himself to be, and had somehow convinced himself that it was alright. But letting Richard get close was fast becoming a –
 

“And don’t you dare start thinking that letting me see the real you is a mistake, Kent.” Clark’s eyes widened again, for real this time, and Richard grinned widely, knowing that his point had been proven, before speaking again.
 

“We’re in this far too deep for you to stumble your way out of it now.”
 

Clark looked down and slowly nodded, his eyes not catching the light and interest that sparked the other man’s face at his acquiescence.
 

“Don’t you care that people don’t see you, Clark?” Richard asked.
 

Clark shrugged, looking up again. “Not really.”
 

“Yes you do. You care that Lois doesn’t see you.” This was said factually, if somewhat softer than Richard’s other confident statements.
 

 “Lois sees what she wants to see.” He paused. “I used to care more than I do.”
 

They stared for a moment before Richard’s hand suddenly reached out and removed Clark’s glasses. “Richard-”
 

Too late.
 

“Richard.” This was the deep, Superman voice, Clark’s everyday manner gone. “Give me the glasses. No need for the whole office to see, is there?”
 

Richard handed them over. “You – you’re – ”
 

“Devastatingly handsome without large, awkward glasses?” Clark smoothly filled in. He had to admit, being Superman with another person had its perks. He sometimes missed the sharing of clever humor in his role. He slipped the glasses back on.
 

Richard shook himself out of his daze. “Yes, you are.” And even though Clark’s attractiveness hadn’t been his current realization, sincerity still rang in his tone. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. “Clark. We’re going to dinner tonight. Is that alright?”
 

Amusement shone in Clark’s bright eyes. “Yes, Richard.” The reporter smiled in return and began walking away, but turned around again when Clark called his name.
 

“You see me.” Clark allowed himself to give Richard a true smile. “And I’m starting to think that’s enough.”
 

Clark received a small, intensely sincere smile.
 

“You don’t wear them when we’re alone.” Richard said firmly, before turning away and heading back to his office.
 

Five minutes later, Clark nearly ran over Lois and knocked about ten files from her hands in his clumsiness. As Richard heard him apologizing profusely, he smiled. 
 

Clark smiled at the distant memory and at that had occurred since then. However, it wouldn’t do him any good to reminisce at the moment.
 

He walked to the side of the bed and looked down at the man who had shown him how to merge Superman and human at the same time; the man who had shown him what it was to fit with someone, how to love even while being scared to love.
 

“Richard. What happened with Lois?”
 

 “Saying nothing is useless, isn’t it?”
 

“I’d rather do this as Clark than as Superman.”
 

Richard raised his eyebrows. “Well, my preference about that would depend completely on what you had in mind –”
 

“Richard.”
 

“I know. Innuendo is inappropriate. This is discussion time.” He sighed. “Lois asked me if you were seeing anyone.”
 

Clark laughed in surprise. “What?”
 

Nodding, Richard said, “She said you seemed different lately and that it made you more appealing. I asked her why she thought I would know, and she said because she noticed us together a lot lately.”
 

He looked up to see Clark looking at him intently. “You don’t strike me as the type to worry about that, Richard.”
 

“You’ve always wanted Lois, Clark.”
 

“No.” Clark corrected. “I wanted Lois as Superman, and she wanted me as Superman.”
 

“And I want you as Clark. So shouldn’t you want us both? Wouldn’t that bring you the connection of your two characters?” Richard was looking down again.
 

“Richard, look at me. Lois was never interested in anything but Superman. You asked me once why I hid; I didn’t hide. I was Clark for so many years that I am Clark. He is half of me. I could never be with someone who didn’t want me for everything I am.” Clark smiled widely and rested a hand on Richard’s stomach. “And as for her asking about me being available now….well, she’s a bit too late, isn’t she?”
 

Richard swallowed. “That’s distracting.”
 

“Yes, I know.”
 

“She’s the mother of your child,” he continued half-heartedly, as Clark’s hand moved up his chest to rest against his heart.
 

“And you are the man I love,” Clark replied fiercely, all playfulness gone. “You are what I want, what I will always want, and what I will always need. She could never save me like you do every day.”
 

Turquoise eyes lit on fire, and Richard pulled Clark down next to him. “Okay,” he said simply, and pulled the other man to him for a hard kiss.
 

When they broke apart, Clark grinned again. “Now, about these glasses…” He reached for them. “I think you’re done wearing them for now. In fact, I think you’re done wearing a lot of things for now…”
 

Richard laughed fully and pulled Clark’s mouth to his once more.

Title: Unexpected
Author:
getalife11x

Characters/ Pairing: Peter/Mohinder
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. If I did, would I be wasting my time writing about them?
Summary: The beginning of something new - told through Mohinder's p.o.v.
Notes: This is my first Heroes fic. I just love these boys lol. Who in their right mind doesn't? I hope you enjoy, feedback is loved!


Unexpected

This isn’t what Mohinder had come to New York for.

In fact, this topped the ‘things that he would never have imagined happening and should probably be more opposed to than he currently is’ list that we sometimes create in life to file away the inexplicable and irreversible events that change us forever.

Number One on that list, no questions asked, used to be delving head-first in the large and far too inviting footsteps that his father’s unfinished research had left behind. A father murdered, wonderfully intricate genetic mysteries left unsolved, human beings with power beyond belief – what more does a person need to satisfy a call for an unanticipated life?

Nothing, Mohinder had thought. He had even started thinking that if this situation got any stranger, he might implode.

It was evidently a debatable question.

For example, Peter’s mouth on his had definitely redefined Mohinder’s meaning of unexpected.

--------------------------------------------

Earlier That Day

The harsh knocking on his apartment door didn’t alarm Mohinder. Ever since their return to New York, Zane had taken to visiting without letting him know first, each time with a new insistent genetics question that apparently couldn’t be answered over the phone. He sighed, steeling himself for another set of rapid-fire inquires about people with abilities. As he reached the door and slid the chain lock open, he briefly wondered when the last time he’d had a quiet day was.

Of course, that was before all coherent thought was destroyed as his door was flung open by Peter. Well, someone who looked like Peter, Mohinder amended, because this wasn’t Peter. First of all, Peter was the type to wait for doors to be opened and stand there with his big, expressive eyes until you could do nothing else but invite him in and hear him out. Second of all, this Peter was advancing on him with an aura of confidence and power, which was startling because a) Mohinder was vaguely sure that Peter didn’t make a habit of advancing on people and b) it should have been more unsettling than it was.

This Peter inspired a whole new slew of adjectives that made Mohinder a little light-headed. Peter’s sudden entrance seemed to raise the temperature about ten degrees.

Peter stopped a few paces in front of Mohinder, eyes flashing and that hair settling in its rightful place in his face. Mohinder stared back, studying the new man who stood in front of him.

“When did this happen?” Mohinder’s voice was quiet, barely breaking the crackling silence that Peter’s power brought. It did, however, seem to lull the raging fire, and Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t answer.

"Did Simone’s death do this to you?” he asked more forcefully, something unexplainably intense threading his voice.

Peter didn’t ask how Mohinder knew. “No,” he said, a touch of his old sadness slipping through his impressive demeanor. Mohinder allowed himself a small smile – Peter had always been useless at hiding his emotions. It came with the empathy territory, Mohinder supposed.

“What happened?” he said gently, bringing the other back to the present.

Peter smiled, but it looked haggard. “I got tired of being thrown off buildings by Claude,” he said wryly.

“Claude?”

The sharpness in Mohinder’s tone was uncalled for, but Peter seemed to understand it and brushed it off, murmuring something about an invisible man and controlling power before his eyes caught fire once again. He strode to Mohinder’s table, littered with pages and pages of discovery, as if remembering why he had come.

“How many times has Sylar been here?”

Mohinder looked at Peter in confusion, walking to his side. “Sylar has never been here. Well, except to kill my father, I suppose, but –”

Peter looked at him in amazement. “Please don’t tell me you actually believe that guy is Zane.”

Mohinder laughed uncertainly. “Of course he is Zane. He lives in Zane’s house, has Zane’s power –”

“And people just magically die where you take him?”

Mohinder stopped. This was a valid point. His brain began working overtime. Why had this never occurred to him before? Sylar needed to know where to locate people with abilities and who better to go to than the person who discovered – Damn.

A somewhat inappropriately amused look flitted across Peter’s face. “Has anyone ever told you that your inference skills could use some work?”

Mohinder half-heartedly glared at the other. Placing a hand at the bridge of his nose, he said, “I miss the days when science didn’t involve other people.” Peter barely managed to cover his laugh with a cough.

“I was so blinded by any chance of success, of reception. I should have known better than to accept anything at face value. Nothing is ever what it seems. This is what got my father killed.”

“And it could have gotten you killed, too. What were you thinking? Sharing such information with someone you know nothing about when you know that Sylar is out there waiting for one of us to slip so that –”

“I wasn’t thinking! Is that what you want to hear, Peter? That I was so involved in the gratification of my father’s research that I somehow managed to become blind to the pure fact lying right in front of me?” He hadn’t raised his voice once, but the quiet intensity of it balanced the force of Peter’s words and presence.

Peter’s face softened and suddenly he was right in front of Mohinder. “Hey. I’m not yelling at you for nothing. I’m used to being worried about people, as I’m sure you know” – here he broke off and gave a small smile- “but the thought of you being hurt after everything that’s happened…” He broke off again, looking down. When he looked up again, his voice was firm and his jaw was set. “It terrified me.”

“Peter, there is no reason for the fate of the world to lie on your shoulders as you feel it does.” The words were said sincerely, with a poignant softness that caused Peter’s gaze to sharpen further.

“You mean more to me than the fate of the world,” he said simply.

Mohinder blinked, unsure how to process Peter’s words, unsure whether the depth behind them was intentional or not, unsure what it would mean it if it was. Peter was still standing in front of him, waiting for a response that Mohinder didn’t know how to give.

Being at a loss for words was new to Mohinder, but all he could come up with was a shaky, “I…I don’t…”

“Yes. You do.”

If Mohinder had any logical thought left in him, he would have mused how curious it was that the empath was overpowering the scientist through sureness of passion – Peter was breaking down the age old scientific idea that logic overruled emotion. And all Mohinder could do was stare back and wonder when his world became this swirling mass of power and ability and beauty that he found in Peter’s gaze.

Then Peter’s eyes dropped to his mouth and his horizons were even further widened as an unfamiliar mouth was suddenly pressed against his own.

And the word unexpected started to be redefined.

Unexpected wasn’t his father’s death – that was inevitable.

Unexpected wasn’t following in his father’s footsteps – that was and always had been fact.

Unexpected wasn’t believing in his father’s research after reputing it– his father had been too smart a man to chase after something nonexistent, and he respected his father too much to think him a liar or unintelligent.

Unexpected was this. It was the warm press of Peter’s mouth against his, the slide of his own hands through Peter’s hair, the feel of his apartment wall against his back as Peter braced him against it so that he could lean even further into Mohinder. Unexpected wasn’t ugly and seemingly unnecessary events that we complain scramble our lives beyond recognition – it was the things that pop up when we least expect them and leave us breathless with new possibility and light and hope.

Mohinder pulled away, nearly diving back when Peter whimpered at the loss of his mouth. Peter’s eyes were dark with lust finally burning free, and Mohinder were sure his eyes held the same intensity.

“You’re not different,” he slowly realized. “You’re whole now. This new you…it’s who you were meant to be.”

“Please don’t say I’ll save us all. I’m not sure I can do that.” Peter’s voice was soft and uncertain, the first half of him that Mohinder had met shining through.

Mohinder cupped the side of Peter’s face. “You will save me.”

Peter smiled a glorious smile, and it warmed Mohinder as not even the best cup of tea ever had.

Maybe he had come to New York for this after all.

Title: Maybe
Author: getalife11x
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Asylum, Faith
Disclaimer: I don't own them but oh, how I want to!
Summary: Just some thoughts on how Sam and Dean readjust after reuniting and how they learn each other, it's sort of trying to show the progress of their emotions.



There were a lot of maybes in the lives of the Winchester brothers.

There were the angry, emotional maybes.

Maybe Sam regretted leaving law school, leaving Jess, to search for a father who didn’t want to be found.

Maybe a tiny part of Sam felt damn good for shooting that rock-salt blast into Dean and his unwavering trust in a man who didn’t even bother to find out if his son had survived a heart attack.

Maybe Sam felt everything Dean should have been feeling towards John Winchester.

Maybe Dean actually felt everything Sam thought he should feel towards their so-called father, but cared more about having Sam there than finding the man. Maybe he thought arguing or showing any emotion that mattered would only drive Sam away again. Maybe Dean just thought the show of emotion was plain unnecessary; maybe he had been burying emotion for so long that he simply didn’t feel it anymore.

Or maybe he really was just damn good at hiding it all. Maybe Dean thought that the rock-salt episode was just a preview of what would happen, of him losing Sam once again to his rebelliousness. Maybe Dean was scared beyond belief of being alone again, of once again living only for the hunt and not for the man who he loved more than he cared to believe or admit. Maybe this is what spurred on Dean’s sense of recklessness, the death wish that angered Sam so.

These were the maybes that resulted in the screaming matches that left both hoarse and no less angry. These were the maybes that began the physical fights that left them both breathing heavy on the floors of the crappy motel rooms they stayed in, with angry bruises to accompany the rage they began to hide once again before even rising from the filthy carpets.

There were the hopeful, desiring maybes.

Maybe Sam hadn’t hallucinated; maybe Dean really did steal those glances at him whenever he stepped out of a lukewarm shower in whatever hotel they were staying in at the moment. Maybe Dean’s eyes really shouldn’t have been so goddamn mesmerizing, so goddamn green and honest; more honest than his mouth could ever be. Maybe it was those beautiful eyes that always made Sam forgive Dean’s equally beautiful mouth for the sharp things it said.

Or maybe Sam was too busy focusing on the sexy grin that accompanied the sharp comments to actually be hurt by them anymore. Maybe the surge of jealousy that Sam felt whenever Dean flirted with various women was a tad over the line of appropriate brotherly feeling; maybe the desire to be in the woman’s place, kissing Dean in the alley behind the bar, was so strong that it didn’t occur to Sam that it could ever be inappropriate.

Maybe Dean couldn’t resist watching his brother sleep, the image surpassing that of any woman Dean had fucked in his travels. Maybe he loved being the one to be there when Sam woke up, the one that could make Sam smile first thing in the morning. And maybe Dean did tend to forgive Sam for his part in whatever fight they had just had the moment he stepped out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his waist. Maybe Dean could not tear his gaze away from his brother when he stood like that, graceful and lean and still, as though waiting for something.

These were the maybes that led to Sam finally being pressed against a thin motel room wall with Dean’s hungry mouth over his, the seeming wrongness of the act only a flitting thought as they gave in to the maybes that overruled anything else. These were the maybes that led to their first night together as more than brothers, and their second night, and then more nights than they could count.

Maybe nothing had ever seemed more important to Dean than Sam’s body pressed into his, his hands and mouth learning things about Dean that Dean had hoped but never dreamed Sam would want to learn about him.

Maybe this is what made Sam realize that Dean was what had been missing from his life at college, that this new level of his relationship with Dean was what he had been searching for. Maybe this felt like all Sam ever needed and ever wanted.

And maybe, things just felt so fucking good and right when they were together that they managed to stop thinking so hard about everything else. This was one of the most important maybes; the one that indicated they were safe enough around each other to just be. Maybe Dean was tired of being a warrior, a champion, just to be with their father, and Sam understood that; just as Dean understood that maybe Sam was tired of being what Dean wasn’t. So maybe they learned to complement each other.

Maybe the scratches and bruises that graced Sam’s lithe body each morning were the feelings that Dean’s quick-witted mouth couldn’t express. Sam could understand that; the whole violent, possessive, die-for-your-family thing was what Dean had been raised on, what he had thrived under.

Maybe Sam was thinking about it too much.

Maybe Dean just thought the scratches and bruises looked hot on Sam, someone he had always thought was too beautiful for there to be room for any improvement. Of course, that was before he had learned how much Sam liked him to use his mouth, before he was blessed with the image of Sam on a bed before him, eyes dark with lust and naked body arched, wanting him, begging him. Dean liked the scratches and bruises; maybe the thought process behind it really was that simple.

Maybe not.

These were the maybes that led to Dean’s eyes being glued to one particularly sexy bruise on Sam’s neck while driving the Impala one Saturday morning, resulting in Sam shouting, “Jesus, Dean!” while guiding the swerving car to a stop in the right-most lane of the highway and turning the ignition off. Dean’s gaze remained still, however, until Sam finally called his name, to which he responded, “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What the hell am I doing? I know you’d never admit to caring if I die in the crash, so let me put it to you this way; you almost ran your precious car off-”

He stopped as Dean’s eyes glazed over once again. Waving a hand in front of his brother’s face, he said, “Dean, where do you keep fading-”

Somehow in the millisecond it took Sam to get out that incomplete question, Dean’s mouth had landed on the bruise he had been staring at, kissing it gently, making Sam’s breath catch. Dean pulled the neck of Sam’s shirt aside and turned him slightly to do the same to the light scratches that marked Sam’s left shoulder.

“Do I hurt you?”

“No more than I want you to hurt me, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes burned into Sam’s with the expression of everything Sam wanted to hear from him as his hand came up to gently stroke Sam’s cheek. This was new for them; Dean wasn’t one for meaningful glances. Then again, everything was different for Dean when it came to Sam. It always had been. Suddenly, it became crucial that Sam know this, to know that he was a category all his own in Dean’s world.

Their lips met in a gentle kiss, with Dean’s hand still on Sam’s face, and Sam couldn’t imagine why he had ever thought he needed words from Dean. This kiss described it all, as well as the eyes that Sam should have known would show everything. As good a liar as Dean was, his eyes never could lie to Sam.

They pulled apart after a minute, foreheads resting against each other, surprised that such a light kiss could make them breathless.

“That was new,” Sam finally managed.

“You’re mine, Sammy.”

“I know.”

“I don’t do meaningful feelings for anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone.”

Dean grinned. “Cocky bastard. If you’re not careful, I’m gonna go back to biting you to show that you’re mine.”

Sam’s returning smile had a wicked twist to it. “Have I ever complained about the biting?”

“Good point, little brother.”

Dean started the car and then they were back on the highway with Dean’s music playing, the moment over, but Sam could feel that something was different, in a way that made him grin right along with Dean.

So maybe the Winchesters were far from perfect. Hell, they probably had only just begun to scratch the surface of their issues.

Maybe they didn’t know where they would be five days from now, or even how alive they would be five days from now. Maybe they didn’t know what they the hell they were doing, being brothers and sleeping together at the same time. Maybe they didn’t know what would happen to this new relationship that was allowing them to truly live if they actually did find their father.

But maybe, just maybe, Sam thought for the first time since he had left Stanford behind, as the heat of Dean’s hand on his thigh seeped through his jeans, not knowing everything wasn’t so bad.