Ficlets what I have written for 5 Acts
Dec. 6th, 2012 12:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
verucasalt123Sam/Dean/Castiel, for a student/teacher roleplay act
Sam didn't think it would be so easy to slip into the role of a boy, but Castiel had set exactly the right tone to make him (and probably Dean, too) feel like chastised children.
The two of them were standing up straight, shoulders back and eyes facing forward as Castiel paced back and forth in front of them.
"It would seem that I have two very mischievous students to deal with this afternoon."
Dean was the first to speak. Making himself into whatever or whoever he needed to be had always come naturally to him when they worked, so Sam figured the same principle applied here. "It wasn't us! Really, we'd never do something so disrespectful." Man, he sure had that wide-eyed innocent look going.
Sam figured he'd join in. "Dean's right, I don't know who said we were the ones who did it, but they must have made a mistake, or maybe they were mad at us and made it up."
"Is that so?" asked Castiel, fixing an exceptionally stern glare at both of them. "Well then, maybe I should dismiss the two of you and bring that person in here to punish them for lying to me. I know that two such good boys as yourselves would never want to let someone get away with doing something so cruel."
The fight went out of both of them then, and they couldn't keep up the innocent act, carefully avoiding Castiel's stare.
Before either of them could say another word, Castiel continued. "Both of you show me your hands and we can rectify this situation immediately."
Busted, then. Caught, literally, red-handed. Dean and Sam held out their hands, which were smeared in red ink.
"So the vulgar drawings left in that poor girl's locker were the work of you two budding artists, after all. Keep your hands where they are."
The brothers stood completely still as they watched Castiel retrieve a wooden ruler from the table behind him. Swiftly, he started smacking both of their palms with the ruler until they were both on the verge of tears. After he'd administered ten strikes on each boy, five on each hand, he turned and set the ruler back down.
"You can both go stand in a corner and think about what you'll write in your apology letter to the young lady you offended today."
Without hesitation, Dean and Sam hurried to obey, facing the wall on opposite sides of the room. Sam was shocked to find that he really was mentally trying to come up with something to say to a girl who didn't exist about an event that didn't happen. He wouldn't have been surprised the same thing was happening to Dean.
Castiel was just that good.
Dean/Cas implied, for a fight/possessiveness act.
Dean was coming around, but he kept his head down so to avoid alerting his captors. They'd gotten him pretty good the first time; he could still feel the sting of his split bottom lip, the swelling under his right eye and across his cheekbone, the blood slowly drying on his chin.
These demons hadn't been particularly chatty, so he had no idea up to this point what they wanted when they brought him here and tied him to a chair. Maybe they just figured it would be fun to beat the crap out of him. Wouldn't be the first time.
By the time one of the demons noticed Dean straining against his bonds and started babbling about how their hunter was waking up, a loud crash sounded just outside the room they were in. The next thing Dean saw was Castiel, quickly figuring out the number of demons in the room before his eyes landed squarely on Dean.
And oh, yeah, that was a look Dean had seen before. When Cas saw Dean tied up, helpless, beaten, bleeding, hurt in any way, his eyes narrowed to slits and his face was pure rage.
The fight began immediately, and Dean couldn't help but stare. Castiel was beautiful like this, when he was fighting. Every move, every kick, every slash of his blade as if it had been choreographed and rehearsed. And maybe they all had. Castiel was designed to be a warrior, and taking on a vessel hadn't changed that in the slightest. He might as well have been in his true form for as awed as Dean always was to witness the precision and efficiency of Castiel's movements.
This time, though, it was brutal. Anger didn't begin to cover the look in Castiel's eyes when he saw what had been done to Dean. Down to just a handful of demons who were cowering in fear, Cas inspected them in an instant. Yelling at Dean to close his eyes, Castiel dispatched the ones with blood on their hands with a blinding white light, and sent the others on their way by exorcism, leaving only empty meatsuits behind.
He wiped the blood from his blade on one of the fallen bodies before he knelt behind Dean and used it to start cutting the ropes.
Sherlock/John, for a domesticity/intimacy act.
As it turns out, living together is not the same thing as living together. After all, they'd been living together for months. Sherlock and John were flatmates, friends, working partners.
But now, instead of just living together, they were living together.
Instead of getting annoyed with Sherlock's violin at all hours, John was more likely to sit and listen with appreciation for the beauty of the music.
Instead of staying up all night because sleeping was a waste of valuable time that could be put to better use, Sherlock found himself unable to resist the temptation of lying down next to John, holding him in his sleep.
Sure, there were still the inevitable spats about messes and shopping and courtesy, but it was...different. Lovers didn't argue the same way flatmates had. Maybe not more or less frequently, just not the same way.
Sherlock made room in his wardrobe for John's clothes.
John cleared a shelf to make room for Sherlock's books.
They took turns picking out movies to watch, usually too content wrapped in each other's arms to complain about the film choice.
This kind of living together, you know, the living together kind - well, it definitely had its perks.
Sam didn't think it would be so easy to slip into the role of a boy, but Castiel had set exactly the right tone to make him (and probably Dean, too) feel like chastised children.
The two of them were standing up straight, shoulders back and eyes facing forward as Castiel paced back and forth in front of them.
"It would seem that I have two very mischievous students to deal with this afternoon."
Dean was the first to speak. Making himself into whatever or whoever he needed to be had always come naturally to him when they worked, so Sam figured the same principle applied here. "It wasn't us! Really, we'd never do something so disrespectful." Man, he sure had that wide-eyed innocent look going.
Sam figured he'd join in. "Dean's right, I don't know who said we were the ones who did it, but they must have made a mistake, or maybe they were mad at us and made it up."
"Is that so?" asked Castiel, fixing an exceptionally stern glare at both of them. "Well then, maybe I should dismiss the two of you and bring that person in here to punish them for lying to me. I know that two such good boys as yourselves would never want to let someone get away with doing something so cruel."
The fight went out of both of them then, and they couldn't keep up the innocent act, carefully avoiding Castiel's stare.
Before either of them could say another word, Castiel continued. "Both of you show me your hands and we can rectify this situation immediately."
Busted, then. Caught, literally, red-handed. Dean and Sam held out their hands, which were smeared in red ink.
"So the vulgar drawings left in that poor girl's locker were the work of you two budding artists, after all. Keep your hands where they are."
The brothers stood completely still as they watched Castiel retrieve a wooden ruler from the table behind him. Swiftly, he started smacking both of their palms with the ruler until they were both on the verge of tears. After he'd administered ten strikes on each boy, five on each hand, he turned and set the ruler back down.
"You can both go stand in a corner and think about what you'll write in your apology letter to the young lady you offended today."
Without hesitation, Dean and Sam hurried to obey, facing the wall on opposite sides of the room. Sam was shocked to find that he really was mentally trying to come up with something to say to a girl who didn't exist about an event that didn't happen. He wouldn't have been surprised the same thing was happening to Dean.
Castiel was just that good.
Dean/Cas implied, for a fight/possessiveness act.
Dean was coming around, but he kept his head down so to avoid alerting his captors. They'd gotten him pretty good the first time; he could still feel the sting of his split bottom lip, the swelling under his right eye and across his cheekbone, the blood slowly drying on his chin.
These demons hadn't been particularly chatty, so he had no idea up to this point what they wanted when they brought him here and tied him to a chair. Maybe they just figured it would be fun to beat the crap out of him. Wouldn't be the first time.
By the time one of the demons noticed Dean straining against his bonds and started babbling about how their hunter was waking up, a loud crash sounded just outside the room they were in. The next thing Dean saw was Castiel, quickly figuring out the number of demons in the room before his eyes landed squarely on Dean.
And oh, yeah, that was a look Dean had seen before. When Cas saw Dean tied up, helpless, beaten, bleeding, hurt in any way, his eyes narrowed to slits and his face was pure rage.
The fight began immediately, and Dean couldn't help but stare. Castiel was beautiful like this, when he was fighting. Every move, every kick, every slash of his blade as if it had been choreographed and rehearsed. And maybe they all had. Castiel was designed to be a warrior, and taking on a vessel hadn't changed that in the slightest. He might as well have been in his true form for as awed as Dean always was to witness the precision and efficiency of Castiel's movements.
This time, though, it was brutal. Anger didn't begin to cover the look in Castiel's eyes when he saw what had been done to Dean. Down to just a handful of demons who were cowering in fear, Cas inspected them in an instant. Yelling at Dean to close his eyes, Castiel dispatched the ones with blood on their hands with a blinding white light, and sent the others on their way by exorcism, leaving only empty meatsuits behind.
He wiped the blood from his blade on one of the fallen bodies before he knelt behind Dean and used it to start cutting the ropes.
Sherlock/John, for a domesticity/intimacy act.
As it turns out, living together is not the same thing as living together. After all, they'd been living together for months. Sherlock and John were flatmates, friends, working partners.
But now, instead of just living together, they were living together.
Instead of getting annoyed with Sherlock's violin at all hours, John was more likely to sit and listen with appreciation for the beauty of the music.
Instead of staying up all night because sleeping was a waste of valuable time that could be put to better use, Sherlock found himself unable to resist the temptation of lying down next to John, holding him in his sleep.
Sure, there were still the inevitable spats about messes and shopping and courtesy, but it was...different. Lovers didn't argue the same way flatmates had. Maybe not more or less frequently, just not the same way.
Sherlock made room in his wardrobe for John's clothes.
John cleared a shelf to make room for Sherlock's books.
They took turns picking out movies to watch, usually too content wrapped in each other's arms to complain about the film choice.
This kind of living together, you know, the living together kind - well, it definitely had its perks.
