hegemony: (Supernatural-Canon: Two Sides of a Oujia)
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Here are the prompts I wrote for during the [livejournal.com profile] blindfold_spn kink meme. Overall, even though the meme took host to prompts of a very disturbing nature (Again, apparently fandom can only like/accept female characters under the age of 10), I think It was really awesome for not only the fandom, but for my writing as well. I'm finding a new voice in comment fics, and it's good to keep the practice of ficcing again without writing another near-novella (the first one was enough, trust me). I found Misha, (and maybe a little bit of Castiel) through this, and I decided to brush up some of the writing before putting it here.

God/Castiel (This was that ooey-gooey blasphemy I was talking about)


It's true, few angels ever get visited. He'd never expected his Lord to approach him, knows not of what his savior looks like, or form he takes on this plane. Far more important than that, nobody ever talks about is what happens in visitation. Castiel was surely not prepared.

Castiel's still in his vessel, in a house during shore leave, replenishing this body even though it is essentially dead. No one's anywhere around him when the Lord descends upon him, pushes his body to the ground and takes it, surprisingly enough, like it's for his pleasure his pleasure. His surprise is beyond words, he thought divinity was above mere pleasure, but the way it almost eclipses him blithely feels amazing.

It's not nearly as neat as a second corporeal manifestation: he does not do things in that way. Instead, it's like someone else is sharing this vessel with Castiel. Someone else is sharing Castiel's grace, even. His mouth, his voice, his everything is shared, his faith validated, his soul aching. He submits to it, as if his king is testing his loyalty. He tries not to pay attention to the way he feels (tries to hear what his lord is telling him) and yet it's undeniable in its pleasure, the screech of a lover's touch when all he's ever known is unwavering service and the will to never question.

If he focuses a bit, he can feel the vessel on the floor, back frozen in an arch with every possible avenue open for access. This body bends in ways that are beyond his control, palms splayed out, fingers curled in, a twisted unhinged neck, eyes rolled back into a mindless skull. Castiel can feel the heat of blood boiling, feel the purity of his grace get infected with a passion beyond words, an ever-steepening climb to release while looking down into perdition. It's like he finally understands the pleasures of humanly flesh, and his creator has given him that indulgence, that opportunity, that perspective and that reward.

His vessel's toes curl, his eyes roll back in his head. They're both shaking, and Castiel feels like he's being pulled right out, like he's gotten clearance to leave this vessel behind. It clings to him, and he clings to it as well.

God is showing him his place, he thinks. He is seeing his orders, where he fits into this plan, at the one time when his faith feels like it could falter. This is punishment, the loving kind hand of God stroking him back and forth until he's complacent (until he allows himself to listen), his skin crawling with what is and what could have been.

A wave of rapture hits him and the vessel anew, his body rolling up into an even deeper arc, pinned up into the floor as if he has no bones. God whispers in his ear, slips a note under his wing and Castiel clings to it, clings to the sheer texture of his lord inside him, hands that are at once everything and nothing, the balance of the universe's equilibrium. He allows himself to have this, to marry this sensation as if it will be his last, and as his grace begins glowing bright red with its exertion, he comes. His body levitates, breaking free of all the variables this vessel's humanity has hindered him with, his wings breaking free from their trap and his body shaking. The house is bathed in red light, and Castiel has no control over anything, anymore.

God's touch leaves him bit by bit, he can feel the vessel return to the ground, collapsing in warmth, toes uncurling as he comes to. He's ejaculated, and there's a weary ache in his bones as if he has to sleep. He can feel God's lips on the inside of his skin, a farewell kiss.

He knows of the note, can feel the writing, the delicate script as if it's been seared into this vessel's skin. It says: Rest, my child. We must keep spirits high, and the road is long ahead.



Since we're on the subject of blasphemy, the next request was Dean bound to some kind of fucking machine[...] Overstimulation kink. Bonus points for steampunk.


It's a pretty machine he's been snapped into, copper piping wound around his wrists and ankles, the way the tubes have pressed themselves up to Dean's nipples, to the sides of his neck and the tube around his mouth. The slinky braided leather tied in knots along the arched line of his neck, an opulent and token restraint. He imagines how he looks, imagines how he, too, is now a pretty part in a pretty machine.

The metal is warm around him, and he waits in it, waits for the cogs to start moving, waits for the dildo sitting in the vacuum around his mouth to approach, waits for the one pressed against his ass to press in before the lubricant dries. He itches and shrugs, struggles a bit, but there are tubes all over him, pillars of metal and glass sheathing all around him. He's sweating, all fucked up before the main event has even started. Escape, however cunning and imaginative it could possibly be, is not an option.

Dean's breathing heavy and if it weren't for the fact that his ears are ringing and he's being completely overstimulated even before the fun starts, he'd think that Castiel had thrown him back into a different part of hell.

"I had to hide you somewhere," He said to Dean, "Sam's gone on a rampage, and your his catayst. We have to keep you unaware." Castiel stares at him afterward, as if he'd never said that word in the first place.

Later, Castiel continues, watching for a few more seconds before closing his eyes, tamping down on his control. "You're safe here. He has blessed this machine, it's been known to keep men alive for eons. We will not disturb you here. Nobody will."

The machine starts to creak to life, and suddenly everything that could possibly invade him does all at once, bottoming out inside him as if it's in need of oil. He can feel it all, from the metal sound lowering into his dick while the pump starts to tamp down onto his shaft and the dildo breaking through the seal of his lips to the thick brush of unyielding marble as it presses into him and doesn't let up until it's seated deep in his ass. He arches, groaning. He wants to plead, but his mouth is full. He panics, but the machine holds him full and close as more metal crawls like quicksilver around him, looping around his waist, doubling and tripling around his ankles and wrists until it envelopes his hands and feet. His heart starts beating faster; sweat drips from his pores.

Castiel's disappeared. And now, it's just golden piping and his own skin, the long, thick slide out and surge back in.

It happens in a flurry, Dean getting taken from both ends. The first time he comes, the dick in his mouth explodes with him, feeding him his own come through the tubes, letting it fall down his throat. His nipples are being sucked so hard he's sure they're going to fly off and when the brass tubing slings around his eyes, cutting off his vision he is, well, 'unaware'. It breathes for him, and even as he strains it takes care of him, lets him fight until he gets tired.

The machine keeps going, pounding away at him dutifully, and eventually he relaxes to it, lets it pound away at him as the machine's binds get tighter and tighter and he sinks deeper into space. He shifts, but eventually he can't even feel that, as his muscles start to lock up and the machine cradles him deeper, even more. All he knows is the sum of the air making him swell, blasts of air everywhere around him, the stimulation of his cock, his ass, tense bodies and the ability to barely breathe. He's trapped, he's lost, doesn't even know where he is and can't get himself out of this contraption. There's the feeling that he'll probably be lost, well, for as long as his lord wants him to be lost.

It's probably best that his mouth is full, so he doesn't start praying.



Also somewhat blasphemous: Jensen/Misha, roleplaying as Dean/Castiel


Jensen's already looking at him with the kind of eyes Tyra Banks would kill for, wide and emotionless. He's standing there, totally telling the whole story for him as he sheds the rest of his clothes, presses them into the chair off to the side.

There's only one light on in the room. It makes this feel even more awkward than it is, like there's a camera documenting this somewhere. Misha knows he wouldn't want this on camera. He's sure he's tearing Dean Winchester to bits by just standing the way he is.

"Why'd you want to do it with me?" Misha asks in a huff. The flannel of his pajama pants does very little to console his erection. The pendant (Dean's pendant) is dangling heavy and out of place on his chest.

Jensen's monotone is low, serious. "I want to know. With anyone else, it would be a sin, but with you..."

Jensen's mouth hangs open just a little, his eyes looking down. Misha thinks he gets the point. Whatever point it is. He's also a bit insulted, although he doesn't know if Jensen's insulting Castiel or paying him a backhanded compliment.

"Well," Misha says, "How much do you know about..."

"About human procreation? I know that the lord gave you the means to reproduce, and the means to make it pleasurable," Jensen says. "Is there anything else?"

Misha doesn't think he (or Dean) knows what to say to that. It's not like having an angel show up wanting sex is something that happens normally in Dean Winchester's life. Instead, he walks to Jensen, stands in front of him.

"Forget about that," he supplies. "Forget about it and kiss me."

Jensen looks a bit worried. Perhaps they never showed that in angel sex-ed.

"You have seen people kiss before, right? You know what it is?"

"Yes," Jensen says, a bit annoyed and even more indignant. He takes Misha's face in his hands, ghosting a kiss on his lips. Misha's arms slink around him, bring him closer, kiss him like he knows Dean would, gentle at first before letting his lips ply Jensen's open to steal a taste of that mouth, Castiel's grace be damned. He brings a hand to Jensen's shoulder blade, and Jensen's hand slides down to Misha's collarbone, curious fingers that have never inspected another body up close.

Misha's watched the show before, knows Dean's all talk when it comes to sex, much more about slow, searing strokes and taking his time as opposed to force and timing. He thinks Jensen's done a bit of character work as well, as Castiel wants so desperately but simply has no way to express it, seems reluctant to disobey, but even more reluctant to tell Misha 'no.'

Misha's mind goes blissfully clear as he presses into Jensen. Jensen's tight, well lubed, it had been easy to simply point his cock and push right in, and while he thought that Jensen was going to want something more romantic than a basic (and quick, and heated) preparation, instead he's gotten himself a mass of angel lying under him, drawing out soft moans that sound downright pornographic on top of being rather blasphemous.

"I didn't think this would be this way," Jensen says like its an indulgence. Or maybe like he's hooked. Misha wants to say something romantic, but that's not what this is, and he's not going to turn a little kinky character exposition into a long-lost episode of Dawson's Creek.

Jensen digs his fingers into Misha's skin, his breathing hitching with little moans to ease the way before he simply gives in, comes like he's got somehting otherworldly shoved inside him, letting Misha watch as it claws at him from the inside out.

He clenches needily around Misha, who hides his face in Jensen's neck, thinks about how Dean would deal with Castiel after, and shakes to idle-minded completion himself.

"Dean, I... didn't know," Jensen says afterwards, right before the character slips through his fingers and he presses a kiss so totally different to Misha's lips, so indulgent that it's almost too romantic. It's a red flag and an end to this game.

That was close, and he was almost sure that Castiel was going to cough up some grace and he'd never be able to recover the character again without thinking of Jensen's sighs, the nails that dug into his back. That would have fucked a few things up, to say the least.

Misha thinks next time, they're going to have to bring a demon into this game.

He wonders idly if Jared would be up for the challenge.



Now, onto the far less blasphemous portion of the evening. Misha / Jared; size-kink, Misha is a slutty little size queen


The thing is, Misha likes challenges.


"Goddamnit, Misha, Jesus Christ. Oh. Jesus. Oh god!"

Jared's been pressed back against a wall, his head arched back as Misha fucks at him steady, head pressing further and further down his cock. When Misha chokes, he just backs off a bit, then keeps on going. Jared's watching like he's never seen anyone want so badly before, panting as he offers encouragement. It's only a matter of time until the head of Jared's cock is all the way down Misha's goddamn throat, mouth stretched thin-wide at the base of his cock like he's still hungry and about to open up and fit Jared's whole pelvis into his mouth whole. There's no leverage between them, and when Jared gets the idea to shove himself in a little deeper, the head pops in and out of Misha's throat. When Jared comes, Misha wouldn't even know it if it weren't for the heavy shake, and the way Jared seems to get even bigger, and the way Jared groans afterward, falling flat.

The thing is, Jared's cock is a challenge. Misha's not even sure if he could get his fingers to meet at the base of Jared's cock, nevertheless open himself up around it but he'll damn well try. He loves the stretch of it in his mouth, how he has to breathe through the pain of it and unhinge his jaw to get it anywhere near the back of his throat, and if today's haphazard blowjob was any example, going over to his place tonight is going to be.

Misha loves the way he turns into a rubber band, finds himself turning hungry for getting those last few inches in, for stretching it all the way. In his more brilliant moments of clarity, he's realized how it's about feeling like the sum of his parts, getting that one last part that turns fucking into simple math.

Beyond that, he just likes getting fucked.

Jared strips him easy as you please, silent and almost impersonal until the first kiss he really means. That's the one where Jared's got his hands around Misha's wrists, pulling them behind his back and making it easy for him to bite into Misha's mouth, lick at it like he's looking for gold, and when Misha goes weak at the knees, Jared simply holds onto him, lets their air run out. Until he pulls away.

"I think it should hurt, a little," Misha says, breathless.

"A little," Jared says, amused. He walks them to the full length mirror, sits Misha down on his hands and knees, "Wanna fuckin' watch you take it. Wanna stretch you wide. Wanna make you scream."

It's three fingers-deep before Misha begs, gasping and sitting Jared back, covering his cock and sitting in his lap. He takes a deep breath, opens his legs, waiting for Jared to lift his eyes to the mirror.

"Watch me," Misha says, breathless. He winds himself around the head of Jared's cock, before leverage himself down onto it, all the way in. "Fuck, Jared. 'S huge."

Jared watches, arches up and in and watches Misha lose it as he bottoms out, biting his lips and rolling down into Jared's cock. "Fuck."

"Mmph, yeah," Jared groans.

The stretch is infuriating, and Misha breaks himself right open on it, can't get enough.

"Fuck, I have to fuck you," Jared says, "Look too good, full of me."

Jared rolls the both of them over, holds Misha open and fucks right into him, pushing him back onto his cock, ramming it in. There's a hand on Misha's hip and one on his shoulder, fucking right in.

Jared watches in the mirror as he presses slick lips to Misha's ear. "I think it's time for you to come."

Misha closes his eyes, clenches down on that huge cock, and comes like an earthquake. After that, Jared feels even bigger inside him.

The thing is, Misha can't get enough.




And if the rest of this wasn't so over the top and ridiculous, we've now entered the genderfuck portion of tonight's review: J2. Girl!Jared is very well endowed. Pegging; but also top!Jensen (switching?). Lots of titsucking and breastplay. However, I'm sure that it turned into girl!J2 and then turned into boy!girl!Jensen and girl!Jared. DON'T ASK ME HOW I GOT THERE.


Jensen's fingers slide to the chain visible in the deep V of her dress. Jensen looks better in glasses while he's this way, she thinks, more debonair in that suit this way, there's an aura to him. A man's man, maybe even a real one. "What's this, hmm?"

"I wore it for you," She says, fobbing off her heels, watching as he circles her like a hawk. The soles of his shoes are loud on the floor.

"Of course you did," He murmurs, bored. A thrill runs down her spine as his fingers slide into her choppy-messy hair, his lips press down into the curve of her neck, dragging up to her ear. "Be a good girl, undo this top. Push the dress to your waist."

"Always so romantic, Jensen," she says, wonders how the roles would reverse if Jen were in her position. She waits until he's in front of her again, peeling the bands of the dress' halter top down and pushing the rest of the fabric to her waist. She's naked underneath, breasts full and tan. She knows he's looking at the clover clamps attached to her nipples. She stands tall, unrepentant before she reaches down and undoes her other shoe. "Like it?"

He reaches out, pulling at one of the clamps until it tugs down on her harder. She gasps, arches into the touch like it will temper the shot of pain. He smiles deftly, "Yeah. I do like it. You know what I'd like more? If you put this in your mouth."

She opens obediently, can feel him burrow in conspiratorially close, and press the chain into her mouth before setting to covering every part of her torso with his hands, his mouth. He leaves rosy bruises in her cleavage, tells her how beautiful she looks. He's teasing, she can tell it in the way she knows he wants her to. She can feel the press of his hand between her thighs, circling until the right time to strike.

He presses her back to the wall, and when she looks up at him, he smiles, his fingers finally parting her thighs, parting her lips and sinking into her. He smiles, an intimate, sweet smile. "You're wet."

He kisses the chain right out of her mouth, pulling at it while she arches and moans, her whole body drawn tight and dependent.

"That's what usually happens when you get the nipple clamps out with a girl of my size," she moans.

"Gonna have to get rope, next time. Tie your smart ass up," he remarks, as if he could do it now, but wants to have the right material, only the best. "Even better, tie these pretty little breasts up, sit you on my lap and play with your nipples until you come. You'd squirm so pretty, wouldn't you?"

"I'm sure you'd love to try that," she says. "Sure you'd love to try that. Would you fuck me after?"

"I'd let you get off some way." he says, pulling at both ends of the chain at the same time, the pressure maddening as the clamps finally fall right off, sending Jay straight to the moon, shaking as she tightens, and Jensen's fingers surge right in, pressing fingers to all the places that Jay loves the fact that Jensen can find.

He takes an ice cube from the brandy he'd been nursing since they'd gotten home, runs it over both her nipples and feels her clench around his fingers.

"Just think of all the things I could do for you if you let me," He whispers. She believes him.

He presses his lips to one nipple, then to the other. She groans, head shifting back, fingers lost in his hair. He stops without relief of any kind, he's just gotten her into a harried state with no reason to let her go.

"You know what I want tonight?" He asks.

"I don't read minds, Einstein."

"You don't? You should try," He offers, hovering in close. "What do you think I want?"

"What do you want?" She asks, tapping her lip in thought for a second before easing her dress from her hips to let it drop and pool at her ankles, feet slipping back into her heels. She steps out of the dress, walks to him naked. "Hmm. That's so hard to think about. What could a boy like you want? You sure you don't want to give me a hint?"

He smirks, fingers grafting a careful curve across the arc of one of her hips. She smiles, gently, kisses him as she traces the shape of her breast and her side, meeting his hand and pushing it down to his crotch. He exhales carefully, like he's trying to keep some resemblance of control. She just smiles.

"You want this. Good," She chirps, "because I want you to come untouched when I fuck that perfect little ass of yours. Might even let you keep some modesty this time."

"Trust me when I say modesty's never been my strong suit. Don't let the shyness in public fool you," he says, hesitating for a second before taking her mouth, letting her wrap herself around him before lifting her completely and marching her into bed.

He comes the first time her cock touches his lips, skin-toned silicone with an angry red head that traces over him like it's real. He simply strains and exhales before she even pushes in, and she can tell how much he wants this, how much he wants her this way.

She thinks it's cute that he doesn't expect her to want more. It's even cuter when he's totally focused in as she slips into him deep and slow, driving him crazy. She looks at him, happily, and finally sees her Jensen staring back before she lets go, control slipping through her fingers.

Perhaps next time they'll skip the genderbending foreplay, or maybe they'll just do it right; Jensen will wear the cock this time.



So, um, there's one more, but I don't know how to make it better, and it was a ridiculous concept in the first place. Maybe I'll post it later. <3.
Mood:: 'tired' tired
Music:: Late in the Evening - Paul Simon
There are 3 comments on this entry. (Reply.)
 
posted by [identity profile] dev-earl.livejournal.com at 12:04pm on 17/01/2009
I TOTALLY knew that last one was one of yours. Hee!
 
posted by [identity profile] tlcprovider.livejournal.com at 05:35am on 19/01/2009
Um those were interesting. The dean and machine one was hot.
 
posted by [identity profile] panda-pooka.livejournal.com at 08:03am on 19/01/2009
OH. My. Wow. *fans self*

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