Writing From the Inside

Unspoken by raina-at.

Slash.

Fun story. Sam and Dean are investigating a werewolf in the woods, but at night they are at each other, having sex,  and then sleeping really well afterwards. Sam wants to talk about it, Dean refuses to do so. What was really good was the sex in the silence, sex that isn’t romantic or even fun. It feels desperate and dark and edgy, which, given the taboos this particular act is crossing, seems perfectly right.

A good mix of angst and boys and skin and working a job. And some wonderful tension added when one night the lights go on and the boys have to confront what they are doing. Being Winchesters, of course, the confrontation involves running off into the night, arguments that have no solutions, and all the while this job has got to be worked.

“Releasing Dean’s arms, he spits into his hand and wraps it around Dean’s cock, strokes it quickly, roughly, lubricating it with saliva and the precome leaking from the tip. Slowly, holding on to whatever part of Dean he can get his hands on, he lowers himself on Dean’s cock, shuddering as mingled pleasure and pain split through his body, making him instantly aware of just what he’s doing, and in the next instant forcing everything out of his awareness that isn’t Dean’s hands on him, Dean’s cock inside of him, Dean’s panting breath under him. He’s tempted to turn on the light and see Dean’s face, see him stripped of all defences, willingly in Sam’s hands, at Sam’s pleasure and the source of it. Only he doesn’t, because he’s afraid to see what he always sees, the smooth mask in place, and he’s afraid of what Dean might see, Sam broken open to take out whatever he wants.”

So I went to Cafe Sol in Boulder, expecting better than what I got. I’m not saying the coffee wasn’t good because it was, though the poppy seed cake had a hair in it. The tables were pushed up at the edges of the room, it was on the chilly side, and the conversations were BOR-ing. There were two women to the left of me. One of them was getting signed up for Share A Car or something, where you buy a part of a car, or lease it or something, kind of like renting on a permanent basis. Oh man. The rules to doing this went on forever.

The two women on the right of me bitched on and on about how the coffee shop overcharged them. Turned out there was a ghostly charge for some juice, and the coffee shop happily gave them their money back. Yes, cash instead of putting the charge back on their card, and oh, how they moaned about that!

I couldn’t write a thing. It was not a good atmosphere. The Cafe Sol was a bust, sadly.