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Flesh and Blood, slashy fic [Jul. 11th, 2007|12:18 am]
The CCR/Cash John Winchester Challenge Community
Flesh and blood
by Carla Jane

Written for poorboyshuffle, the prompt was Johnny Cash's "Flesh and Blood". The fic is inspired by that, but it's not a perfect match for the song.

Summary: John and Dean get painted up in preparation for a hunt.
Rating: a soft R for daydreams of parental wincest
Warnings: This fic has a slash theme. No physical contact, but clear John/Dean desires.

He had taken his turn. He’d stood quietly, legs apart and arms lifted, for two hours while the witch had painted him. Blood, water, ashes and herbs, had been applied with a series of tip-crushed willow wands. He'd put up with the wet, nearly maddening tickle of the strands, standing without complaint as the symbols were formed. It was needful. The thing they were hunting later tonight was powerful and dangerous, and made more dangerous by its age. Every precaution had to be taken.

Finished with him and ready to start on her next living canvas, Maggie had shoved him out the door with a couple of musty, hand-written books to keep him entertained. She had told him to get out and stay out until she was finished with the other Winchester. He'd had to bite back the urge to complain. They'd both had their chance to stare at him, exposed and forced into stillness. He'd wanted the opportunity to watch the lines take shape on the solid flesh that misted through his dreams more often than not these days. It was a valid reason to stare at exposed skin. A falsely innocent reason. Maybe Maggie sensed that, maybe that's why she chased him out, to foil his attempt at voyeurism.

In warm air of the summer morning, the books had been a fair option to working up a sweat while practicing. If the paint ran before it dried in the right designs, well, then the symbols wouldn’t be much protection. The book about home-made charms turned out to be rather interesting. There were luck spells, money enchantments, small bits of protection, a few minor curses and a variety of love/lust/binding charms. Most of them were worth trying. Certainly that reed whistle that would call cash to their fingers would be damned handy. Still, it was the pages with those last incantations that caused a powerful shiver, a shiver that was equal parts guilt and eagerness. The ingredients for most of the recipes were lying all about the woodland that surrounded the witch’s cottage. A kit from the trunk of the Impala would provide the few tools he needed. He could do it, if he dared.

Just a year ago it would have been unthinkable to use magic to bind the family together, but just a year ago Sammy had been safely tucked in the back seat while the Winchesters crisscrossed the country on dusty back roads. So he settled down under a willow tree that was thicker around than his thigh and set to drilling holes through horse-chestnuts that had been rubbed with a crushed-rose from Maggie's garden. His bare feet dangled in the cold stream that bubbled along behind the cottage, the foam tickling when he stretched and spread his toes. No paint marked his feet. The crawling symbols came to a halt just above his ankle.

The book said to think about how much you wanted to love and safeguard the subject of the charm as it was strung together. One bead at a time. One desperate plea at a time. That part was too simple, dangerously simple. There was only one other person in the world that he wanted to protect as much. He tried to concentrate on just those attributes, pure love and the urge to protect… but keeping his thoughts perfectly disciplined wasn’t easy. It could almost be called accidental if a measure of lust tainted the spell. Almost, if he was willing to pretend. As much as the wider population of the world would disapprove, he couldn’t help it when desire crept into the weaving as well. Magic had a way of pulling things out of person’s thoughts that couldn’t be shared aloud.

On a more practical level, the chant and stringing of the necklace helped to take his mind off the crawling itch of the charmed lines that were drawn on the exposed skin of his body. Dressed in only a pair of shorts, the breezed puffed across the paint on his face, arms, chest, legs and feet. Damn but Sammy would likely be fascinated if he could see the arcane scrawls curving over his skin. That’s the kind of person Sammy was. Sammy and his aptitude for research, his love of books… that thought caused a grimace. They tried not to talk about Sam these days, even if they couldn’t help but think about him.

Dragging his mind back on track, the completed necklace was knotted into a closed loop while one last soft spell was uttered. There was no flash of light, but the necklace did seem to warm in his hands. Satisfied, he walked to the Impala and quietly opened one of the car doors. There was a crack in the leather of the seat that hadn’t been mended yet.

Feeding it carefully in through the small slit in the covering, he stashed the newly created binding charm out of sight, but in a place where it would be able to influence it’s intended target every day. Maybe this was a sneaky trick, but ‘whatever does the job’ had become a part of the Winchester way of life. Ideally, maybe it should have gone in the seat-back, close to where a heart would beat instead of down near the crotch, but the flaw in the leather was where it was. Hopefully it wouldn’t make the seat uncomfortable.

Closing the door, he leaned on the car and let his attention wander. Geese were squawking over-head. The sun was growing hot, but a breeze kept the air fresh. This was a hell of a sweet piece of property the witch lived on. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to give the area up to the invading spirit that they had come to destroy. A twirling gust filled his lungs with the scent of lilies and sage.

Wandering back to the stream to collect the spell book he’d been using, he glanced at the cottage. It FELT like hours had passed. She had to be nearly done the second enchantment. He was more than a little ashamed by how much he wanted to see the way the sigils made of charmed ink crawled over bare, muscled flesh. Most of the time the two of them wore multiple layers of clothing, but not right now. Maggie had insisted on drawing almost everywhere, even if the markings would disappear under denim and cotton later.

Leaves rustled in the wind. A cardinal burst into song before taking off in a whirlwind of beating wings. A beam of sunshine hit the cottage door and … as if on cue… the door opened. The sight that appeared before him was enough to steal his breath away. Wrong though it might be, his eyes locked on and nearly devoured the view. Brownish-black paint outlined muscles even as the designs warded and told a story. One line of paint circled a nipple, dipped down to swirl over a flat stomach and then disappeared under the waistband of faded blue underwear. It was enough to make his fingers tingle with the desire to tug on that elastic and peer inside, in search of the continuation of the swirling pattern.

“It itches.”

“It’ll itch more as it dries.”

They would have to spend a couple more hours hanging around the cottage to be sure the paint wouldn’t smear as they dressed, stripping away the charms’ protective attributes. Hours of looking while pretending not to stare. Hours of seeing what he wanted so badly without being permitted to touch. This was going to be a brutal test of self-control.

The witch edged out of the door. “Best you both sit in the sun. The glyphs will soak up the power of the light.” She collected her books. Her head tipped and she eyed the nearby forest. “I’m grateful John, to you and your boy. The wraith that lives in there wasn’t much of a bother when I first arrived years ago… but something has stirred it up. It’s been coming right up and rattling the windows lately. I can’t keep animals anymore, not even a cat… and there’s been children disappearing lower down the mountain.” She rubbed at reddened, weary eyes. “I need to take a nap or I’m not going to have the strength to watch over you tonight during the hunt.”

“Go, rest… we’ll be fine.”

John walked over to stand by the stream. Legs bent and he crouched down, his attention caught by a flash of silver scales breaking the surface of the water. The pose tightened the thin fabric across his ass. “This is damned nice piece of property, isn’t it? It’s quiet. I doubt anyone visits who doesn’t have business.” He observed. "Wha’cha been up to, Dean, while you were waiting out here?” Looking back over his shoulder, John frowned, likely puzzled by the expression on Dean’s face. “Have you been fretting? You shouldn’t… this won’t be an easy hunt, but so long as we’re careful we’ll be fine.”

A thumb was hooked toward the now-closed door of the cottage. “I was looking through those charm books… there’s some diagrams for warding circles made out of willow switches. It wouldn’t hurt to bend up a few and toss them in the car.” He made himself breathe slow and steady. Placing his feet carefully, Dean padded over to join John on the bank of the stream. He didn’t go barefoot often so watching his feet, well, that gave him a good reason to fight the urge to stare at John. John's body was impossible to ignore once Dean was right beside his father. Still, he could blame the urge to stare on a curiosity about the designs Maggie painted on them. It's not like Dean could look at the ones on his own shoulders and back.

God damn, but Dean wanted to touch. He'd been skirting the edges of attraction toward John for years, but common morality and Sammy's presence had helped to keep the odd feelings Dean experienced within the framework of 'FAMILY'. Now it was just the two of them, a couple of men traveling together, the urges that Dean had to grab and hold onto his father had taken on a more persistently sexual taint.

Dean disguised the desire, brushing a fingertip gently along one of John's shoulder-blades right at a paint marking. "It's drying fast. She start with your back?" He touched again, lower, biting the inside of his cheek to counter-balance the pleasure of feeling his father's warm, exposed skin. The prickle in Dean's fingertip could have been either the witch's spell-work or sexual tension, at least that was a story he could tell himself.

"Nope, she did the one that sneaks down under my belly first so I could pull my shorts up... but the day's heating up. I think I'm drying faster than you." John's head tipped back and he stared up at the sky, seeming oblivious to Dean's lingering touch. "I hope it stays clear. We're going to need the starlight. Maggie says the spirit conks out flashlights... and a torch or a lantern in the woods is a bad idea. In case it gets dropped."

"If we start out at twilight, that'll get us near it's power-base before it's pitch-black." Sucking on his finger doesn't offer Dean anything but the bitter taste of the paint. "Then we could stay in the forest until dawn... I mean once we've taken out the big-bad. It'll be safe enough, safer than trying to pick our way through the woods in the dark." Safely behind his father, Dean stared, his eyes soaking in the line of John's spine.

John grunted, the tone of it suggesting agreement.

One blanket, Dean decided, just because they needed to save space in the packs for the ritual ingredients and weapons, not because he wanted an excuse to lay tight up against his father in the chill of the forest night. It was a decent lie, not a good one, but a fairly decent one.

John stood, stretching his arms high over his head so stiff joints pulled taunt.

It felt like a gut punch, watching the movement. "Fucking beautiful..." The murmur tore out of Dean, without him meaning to give it voice. "This place..." he added quickly when John turned a frown on him. "It's beautiful."

"Watch your language, Dean," John chided. His gaze swept the lush gardens, sunlit clearing and tumbledown cottage. "But, yeah... Maggie's got a fine place here. Pity she wasn't twenty years younger, boy. You could chat her up, maybe have a reason to come visit more often." John chuckled, teasing gently.

"There's something to be said for this place... and for older women with experience.." Dean smirked back. He had expectations to live up to after all. "But I'm not really the nature-boy type so I'll stick with you, the car and the road."

"That's my boy." John ruffled Dean's hair before heading toward the Impala. "Let's set up the packs for tonight, then we'll raid Maggie's cold cellar. It'll be easiest if we go in with full stomachs... so we don't have to haul food in too."

"Yessir," Dean agreed, but he couldn't help but hang back just enough that he could admire the view as his father walked in front of him. There wasn't anything in the clearing, the cottage, the surrounding woods... or even this part of the country that could possibly look better than seeing the figure of John, mostly naked and decorated like a primitive warrior-king, framed by their only real home, a sleek black car.

~ that's it for now. Milk and cookies time.

The song prompt involved was 'Flesh and Blood', by Johnny Cash
It's here if you want to hear the song: http://download.yousendit.com/0715D0096E9E689A

[User Picture]From: fleshflutter
2007-07-11 06:43 pm (UTC)
That was really lovely. Very evocative. :)
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From: disanddat
2007-07-11 07:43 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much for commenting. *is delighted*
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[User Picture]From: candygramme
2007-07-12 01:59 pm (UTC)
That was very pretty - almost a painting. Beautifully done.
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From: disanddat
2007-07-12 03:21 pm (UTC)
Not too purple then, way cool. Thanks hon.
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[User Picture]From: candygramme
2007-07-12 03:52 pm (UTC)
I didn't think it was purple at all. I think there's a slight kink of mine uncovered here. I got a little quiver going when Sam was painted all over in "In A Gadda Da Vida" and now Dean and John. Pardon me while I have a little quiet time!

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[User Picture]From: phantomas
2007-07-12 02:04 pm (UTC)
I love how oblivious John is, and how vulnerably raw Dean's lust is...and the imagery, omg, the luscious gardens, almost primeval, just like they are, body-painted and half naked. Beautiful use of settings and metaphors.

the figure of John, mostly naked and decorated like a primitive warrior-king, framed by their only real home, a sleek black car.

Kills me.

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From: disanddat
2007-07-12 03:27 pm (UTC)
Thanks for the opinion on the POV. It helped a lot. Of course I've fiddled with it since then.

The song kinda demanded that nature play in an important role... although I admit, the name of the song grabbed me into choosing it.

Mmmm, painted Winchesters. Yum.
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