(no subject)

They lie there in the dark, golden-brown dawn. In the room next door it sounds like the demons are watching a horror movie; Sam hopes to God it's just a movie they're watching. He guesses it's maybe another hour or so before the angels start singing.
He brushes his lips against the nape of Dean's neck, just above where the column of his spine seems to begin. "Hey," he says. "When we get married, don't divorce me afterwards."
"Who'd be crazy enough to try divorcing the King of Hell anyway?" Dean says, even as he grips the hand Sam's got resting on his belly a little tighter. The pad of his thumb flickers over Sam's pulse briefly, before he says, "But you suffocating me would be one reason for me to go all Tammy Wynette on your ass. C'mon, man, lemme go."
"Stop squirming," Sam says. "I'm tryn'a sleep here."
"I'm pissing in the bathroom or I'm pissing on you, but I'm pissing in the next five seconds. Your choice."
Sam lets him free instantly, grimacing in disgust. "Oh, dude, gross!"
Dean chuckles and stumbles to the bathroom. Sam stretches out over the warm sheets, his body aching in a good way. He listens to the shower start up and smiles because he's really pretty sure it's a 'life is good' shower, and not an 'emo, hiding out 'til things get better' shower. And Sam is responsible for it. Sam is awesome.

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(no subject)

Sam’s last thought before he falls asleep is that he’s surprisingly okay with the way his life has worked out.

От чистого сердца, именно этого и хотелось: чтобы после всего, что ему пришлось испытать, после всего, что он прошел добровольно, смело и честно - в конце он оказался surprisingly okay, или, другими словами, очень-очень счастлив.
Я что, так много прошу? 
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Sam is bewildered that he failed to notice for the first twenty-six years of his life that Dean is really, stupidly beautiful. It's a realization on a par with suddenly registering that Dean has two heads or even no head at all; it's obvious and right there and somehow Sam never saw it.
"We had to go without front or back fastening," Raum says in an undertone, admiring his handiwork. "It was too fussy a look, all those ribbons. But he would insist on wearing his jeans underneath, which totally ruins the lines. I'll make sure he's naked underneath when it's time for you to ravish him on Lucifer's altar."
Sam's suit really is too tight.
The organist tries to match his pace to Dean's, but Dean is apparently in a hurry to get up the aisle and get things over and done with, either spurred on by the promise of sex or because he knows he can't take the robe off until then. The music becomes a frantic, tuneless jangle of notes and cuts off sharply when Dean reaches Sam.
"Wow," says Sam. "I do like your pretty dress."
"Don't say another fucking word," Dean growls. "They said it was vital. Goddamn demons." His gaze roams over Sam appreciatively. "Huh. Do we get to keep the suit? 'Cause I'd really like to tear it off you with my teeth."
"Boys," Bobby says. "Can we hurry this up? I wanna start forgetting this ever happened as soon as I can."

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He turns to face the absolutely silent angels and demons. Dean's come on his belly and his own slick on his softening cock and thighs - the stickiness of his skin beautifully highlighted by the candlelight - and Dean comatose on the altar, abruptly goes from amazingly hot to kind of mortifying.
Sam glances around nervously.
"Ta-dah!" he says finally, spreading his hands wide and trying a hopeful, please-like-me smile.
As one, the demons drop to their knees before him, and the angels begin to sing for him, high and unearthly. Sam really wishes he'd left Dean conscious enough to see it.

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(no subject)

Этот фик меня убивает, я не могу ржать и дрочить одновременно  Придется выбрать третью опцию - пойти нервно покурить)
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Sam waves and the demons fall into paroxysms of deafening joy. He glances at Dean uncertainly but Dean seems unfazed. He moves to the edge of the balcony and raises his hands for quiet, which he gets, sort of; the demons seem to find it hard to be quiet when Sam is standing there.
"This is your Boy King," he shouts to the demons. "This is your messiah. This is your reason for fucking existing!"
The demons scream and cheer.
"We're gonna save the goddamn world!" Dean shouts.
The demons drop sharply into confused silence.
"Because he's the Antichrist and he can bitchslap you out of existence without even thinking about it if you don't like it!"

[...]
He moves before Sam, raises the crown up – and Sam is unable to take his eyes off him as he does it - and then he sets it carefully on Sam's head.
The instant it touches Sam, it happens. He is aware of all Hell, of Lucifer breathing from its very foundations, of every single demon and how easily he could make them bend before him, of the angel song that penetrates even here. He is aware of Lucifer saying his name, welcoming him.
Everything flies away from him, every detail clear to him and insignificant. He knows what God's face looked like when Lucifer defied Him, he knows how far the universe stretches, he knows how to take a handful of dust and breathe life into it. And he knows the thrum of the Impala as it speeds along the highway and the taste of soda warmed by the sun.
Sam has Hell, he has Lucifer, he has angels, he has a world to save.
"Hail to the king, baby," Dean says and climbs into his lap.
And he has Dean.

БЕСТ ЭНДИНГ ЭВЕР  Нарекаю тебя каноном Канонизирую этот фик в своем сердце и отныне буду считать, что как-то так оно всё и вышло))
The incestuous courtship of the antichrist's bride by fleshflutter
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