i can feel the weather in my bones (causeways) wrote,
i can feel the weather in my bones

The Love Bug | Impean, Wincest [implied], Damniotic [implied] | NC-17

I was going to post a Wincon recap, but really? I feel like this pretty well sums it up.

The Love Bug
Impean, Wincest [implied], Damniotic [implied] | NC-17
by notthequiettype, phaballa, causeways, wendy and nasus221
Warnings: carpreg, implied multi-generational incest, self-lubricating aloe assholes

The Love Bug

"It's all slimy," Sam says, holding up the fleshy sack of oozing . . . stuff.

Dean frowns. "Dude, that's my kid you're talking about."

The Impala honks angrily. "It's okay, baby, I've got you," Dean says, stroking her headlight soothingly.

"Do you have any idea how creepy this is?" Sam says, staring.

"Dude, it's your fault I got dosed with the sex pollen when we were hunting that hoodoo priestess in Louisiana," Dean snaps.


Some people love their car, but Dean Winchester loves his car.

"God, baby, you're so warm." Dean pistons his hips, quick snaps that push him deep into the Impala's tailpipe. "So good, baby, so fucking good."

"Honk," says the Impala.

"Yeah, baby, I know you love it," Dean responds.

Dean grinds seductively against the hot, chafing metal of the pipe. His dick has never been so red or chafed, but it is leaking like a really wet leaking thing. Like a leak in a really big dam. Like a gushing Niagara Falls, that's how much he's leaking.

Dean's hips are like a jackhammer pounding some really hard cement. His dick is the metal bit at the end only not made of metal, otherwise there might be sparks and the Impala's gas tank would explode, which would make Dean very sad. But it's okay right now because there aren't any explosions except for how Dean is shooting off like a rocket deep into the Impala's innermost parts, spurting so hard that the rolly thing, the kind that you use to repair the parts of cars except right now Dean's been using it for the most perfect moment of intimacy he's ever experienced with his car -- well anyway, that rolly thing shoots backwards, jerking Dean's well-chafed red dick out of the Impala's heat and throwing him so far backwards that he knocks his head against the pavement and passes out.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam runs forward and grabs his half-naked brother's shoulders and shakes him. "What are you doing on the ground? And why is your enormous glorious manhood so chafed?"

Dean groans and his eyelashes flutter erratically against the constellation of freckles across his razor-sharp cheekbones. "Is she okay?"

"Is who okay?" Sam pulls his hand away quickly from Dean's crotch. "Were you fucking a disease-ridden whore again? Are we dealing with another herpes outbreak?"

"I TOLD you, that wasn't a hooker, it was an escort, and herpes is child's play compared to genital warts. Just, look. Tell me if she's okay," Dean gasps weakly, his red dick weeping like Britney Spears when she cheats on a psychotically stalking Justin Timberlake. Not with sores, though, but with happiness, because Dean is totally not diseased.

"Uh, she's fine. I think you need medical attention. Your bits are very red. Weeping, even."

"Gross, Sam. Just help me with my pants, and let us never speak of this again."

"No, really, I think you're gonna need some medical help with that," Sam says self-sacrificingly, pulling Dean's pants all the way off. Astonishingly, Dean's dick leaks even more when Sam's eyes fix on it. "Here, let me rub some salve on it."

Sam pulls out the aloe he keeps around in case of sunburn emergency and slicks both of his hands, then carefully strokes up and down the inflamed length of Dean's cock. "Does that feel any better?" Sam asks his clearly-suffering brother.

"Glulgh," says Dean. He swallows thickly and lazily pushes Sam's hands away. "I have to see if she's okay."

"Dean, what are you talking about? There's no one out here."

Dean stumbles across the parking lot, delicately cradling his tender bulge. He presses himself along the hood of the Impala and strokes her tenderly. "Are you okay, baby?"

Sam stares curiously at Dean's back. "Dude . . . you were fucking the car?"

"Don't listen to him, baby. He's a narrow-minded automotivist."


Sam stares at the sack, appalled. It gurgles and bubbles mindlessly in its vein-filled sack while Dean coos happily.

"We need to get it out of there," Dean says.

"Get WHAT out of where?"

"Get my baby out of that sack, which is clearly full of amniotic fluid, you retard," says Dean.

"Um," says Sam, and promptly pukes.

Dean pulls out a knife and tries to cut out his car baby, but fails. The knife dulls on contact.

"Huh," says Dean. "I think this calls for drastic measures." Dean whips out his gigantic red manmeat and rubs it over the veiny sack, a frown of concentration on his face.

"Urgh," says Sam, and drops the sack, licking his lips at the sight of Dean's beautiful, perfect dick.

Upon Dean's enormous member touching the sack, the membrane cleaves in two, spilling baby and baby juice slipping noisily across the Winchester arsenal in the trunk.

The baby flails its fists awkwardly, opens its mouth and lets out the exact sound of the Impala's horn.

Dean swoons and pulls the baby up into his arms. "My little Chevy girl!"

"Dean," Sam grimaces, "aren't you . . . worried that maybe it's . . . I don't know, EVIL?"

"Samuel! My baby isn't EVIL!"

And they come all over each other and it tastes like candy and cupcakes.


Written for Fic Idol at winchestercon while totally not under the influence of any controlled substances ever. 100% MORE BUTTSEX.
Tags: fic, sam/dean, spn, wincon

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