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Oh look! I wrote porn!
Jan. 9th, 2010 01:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupTitle: Bunyips and Barbeque
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
essene
Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,300+
Summary: There’s a bunyip in Savannah, but something that happened in Cincinnati might keep them from a successful hunt.
Warnings: incest
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are NOT MINE. More’s the pity.
Taut and rigid as piano wire, the tension stretched between them. They’d traded off shifts in the drive, but no matter their position, the silence remained. It had been like this since Cincinnati and Sam wasn’t sure where, or when, or what would be the end of it. Turning into the truck stop, he shut the engine off and they entered the diner.
Tiny and waif-like their waitress looked like a strong wind would do her in, but the cracking twang of her voice was brisk and sharp, “Special tonight is meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. What’ll you have?”
Not looking up from the menu, Dean ordered “Coffee, black. The special and a slice of blueberry pie.” He handed over the menu and then looked out the window.
Disconcerted by Dean’s almost adamant refusal to flirt, charm or otherwise beguile and engage the waitress, Sam stared at him open-mouthed until the cut of her voice prodded him, “What do you want, Stretch?”
Eyes snapping to her, pencil poised and hip cocked in impatience, he scanned the menu once more and said, “Lemonade, and a club sandwich,” before handing the menu to her and watching her turn on her heel.
Dean was still staring out the window at…nothing as far as Sam could tell. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat like he used to when he was young—coiled energy with no outlet—and tried to think about the bunyip awaiting them in Savannah. Its pattern was instantly recognizable: first the disappearance of small animals then small children, and graduating up in the size scale to humans and cattle. It was kind of surprising that some other hunter hadn’t already gotten there considering it took months for the thing to get from one stage to another. They had the necessary clapping sticks and a near pharmacopeia of Australian poisons to pack into their bullets…
The explosion came from the opposite side of the diner, windows blasting inward, bits of glass skittering to Sam and Dean’s feet. A brief look of confirmation from each other and they were rushing into the chaos.
Turned out some dimwit trucker had managed to pick up a banshee and when he tried to get out of the truck for some dinner she’d demonstrated her displeasure vocally (as banshees do) and he’d gotten an exploded head as a result. The diner windows were just collateral damage.
Sam’s stomach was grumbling as the Impala ate up the asphalt. They’d naturally had to leave without dinner as the diner had shooed out everyone who hadn’t run out screaming after the blast and closed for business. At least he knew he wasn’t alone, he could hear Dean’s stomach churning and bubbling in empty protest on the other side of the bench seat.
An hour after getting back on the road, and two hours after their initial order, they parked in front of a ramshackle building somewhere in Tennessee, that purported to have the “world’s best bar-be-que.” Surprisingly, they didn’t exaggerate. 45 minutes later, Sam was leaning back in his chair and rubbing his distended stomach, idly wondering if he could fit in one more piece of cornbread. On the other side of the table, Dean had a blissed-out look that Sam had only ever seen…he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head to stop the memory from taking over. He reached out for his drink and took a long swallow.
They showed their appreciation as best they could—or rather Mr. Egon Spengler did—with a massively generous tip. Neither of them was going to be much good after that, so Sam tentatively addressed his brother for the first time that day, “Motel?”
Dean nodded in agreement and looked at the kid at the register, “Where’s a clean, cheap motel ‘round here?”
After shuffling back to the car they made the few left turns the kid indicated and pulled into the parking lot of the Honeybee Inn where the sign promised “ ACAN Y”. After looking them over skeptically and muttering something intelligible around his cigarette the skinny flannel-clad owner gave them a key with the brusque apology?news? that they only had queen beds, but he could rent them another room for 25 bucks more.
Dean snatched the keys with a quick, “Well make due, Chief,” before crossing back through the small lobby and out the door. Sam gave the owner a small smile of thanks and followed.
The trunk was already open and Dean was pulling out their duffels by the time Sam caught up with him. Sam was surprised Dean could move so fast, he felt like someone had replaced his bones with molasses, which is why he was a bit slow in reacting when Dean threw his duffle at him--it bounced off his chest and hit the ground.
Sam retrieved his duffle from the dusty asphalt and shambled across to where Dean was unlocking the door to their room. He’d no sooner made it inside and closed the door than Dean was on him, fingers deftly unbuttoning his jeans, mouth sweeping moist and hot across his collarbone.
He was dreaming. Had to be. This couldn’t be Dean, his brother, the man who hadn’t spoken more than three words to him in nearly a week. His head was foggy, as happened with all huge meals, he’d become lethargic and slow as the blood left other areas and diverted to his stomach. This was a result of that, a food-induced-dreaming-coma of a sort.
But then he felt the heat and wet of Dean’s mouth as it took his flaccid prick in, rolling it between tongue and cheek, and realized that no, indeed , he was awake. This was happening. The thready needy noises coming from Dean only emphasized the reality of it all, pulling Sam’s gaze down where Dean’s head was bobbing and nuzzling. Sam took in the white-knuckled grip off Dean’s hands on his hips and placed an encouraging-soothing hand on Dean’s head before letting his own roll back against the door.
It didn’t take long before he was thrusting into Dean’s mouth, holding his head still as he pumped in, Dean looking up at him through dark lashes, green eyes begging “more, harder” as Sam’s cockhead bumped the back of his throat repeatedly, using his brother’s mouth for his own pleasure, watching the stretch and roll of those plush lips as his cock passed through them. It didn’t take long before he was shooting down Dean’s throat, feeling the tight muscle there contracting around him repeatedly as Dean swallowed each pulse.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam muttered exhaustedly, leg muscles threatening to give way. Toeing out of his boots, and shucking the remnants of his clothes, he stumbled the few paces to the bed and collapsed, limbs sprawled akimbo.
He dimly heard the sound of a zipper and the soft swish of clothes being removed, but it didn’t register until a very naked, very erect Dean was straddling him, cock inches away from Sam’s face as he positioned himself just above Sam’s chest, Dean’s shins pinning Sam’s arms to his sides. Sam watched as Dean gave himself a few quick strokes along his shaft and then angled the swell of his cockhead down to glide across Sam’s lips, coating them with slick pre-come. Sam let his tongue sweep over the trail, tasting the salt and musk of Dean mixing with the residue of smoke and bar-be-que from earlier. Dean slapped Sam’s mouth with his cock a few times, and Sam tried to lick at it to no avail, unable to time his swipes with Dean’s motions. Finally, he just opened up and caught Dean’s eyes, smoldering and lust-blown, offering himself up to his brother. With a groan, Dean pressed in and Sam flattened his tongue, feeling the silk of Dean’s flesh glide along his taste buds, curving up to cradle the thick ridge of vein on the underside, lifting up to press Dean firmly against the roof of his mouth, closing his eyes in exultation when Dean said, “Yes, Sammy. God, yes.”
It was more than a bit awkward from this angle as Sam couldn’t move his head as he would have liked in response to Dean’s thrusts and he couldn’t really control his gag-reflex; as a result he was producing more saliva than usual and it was spilling out around Dean’s dick as he bobbed awkwardly, trying to take as much of Dean into him as he could. He knew it was okay when Dean dropped one hand to his face, running his thumb through the messy slick there, sliding two fingers into Sam’s mouth, crowding next to his own prick as he pumped in and out. They were gone and then back and gone and then back and soon Sam began to realize his brother’s aim, which only served to make him salivate more, his already spent dick rising up again.
All too soon, Dean was repositioning, pulling his cock from Sam’s greedy lips, placing a hand on Sam’s chest and pressing for leverage as he moved himself down Sam’s body; warm shins moving from biceps down, raising goose bumps from Sam as their crisp-soft hair heightened already sensitive nerves. Dean’s nails dug in slightly as he rose up on his knees, and swung his other arm behind him to grip Sam’s cock, pulling it down to the right angle for his ass cheeks to caress it, tease it. Dean scooted back more and Sam could feel the change in skin, from soft downy hair to smooth ridges and hot, tight heat teasing at the end of his cock. Sam watched Dean, the concentration, the need, the want painted across his brother’s face and body in bright red patches, the lust glittering golden around blown-pupils and felt his heart clench, his throat knot.
Everything smoothed out into incoherency though when Dean finally found his mark and pressed, Sam’s the crown of his cock squeezing through an impossibly tight ring of muscle as Dean panted and huffed above him, hand pressing harder into Sam’s chest, nails digging deeper as he breeched himself with his brother’s dick. A high keening whimper came from Sam as he adjusted to the intense compression Dean’s sphincter was exerting on the sensitive ridge just under the flare of his cockhead. Millimeter by agonizing millimeter, Dean cursed and swore and shook as he took Sam deeper. Sam matched him with breathless words of praise as the rest of his dick passed through the tight squeeze of Dean’s hole and into the almost burning heat of his body.
When Dean was fully seated, ass heavy and firm against Sam’s groin, he let out a last shuddering breath and slowly lay forward onto Sam, giving his brother a soft, brief kiss before moving to tuck his face into Sam’s neck. Sam wrapped his arms around in response, palm of one hand rubbing slow soothing circles into his brother’s back. They lay there for a few moments, or minutes--Sam couldn’t tell, but he did know that he could have laid there, like that, forever—before Dean lifted back up and placed his hands to either side of Sam. Dean caught Sam's eyes briefly before closing them and beginning an easy rise and fall on Sam’s prick. Sam moved his feet under him and began lifting his hips in time with Dean’s rhythm when Dean opened his eyes again and licked his lips before catching the bottom one between his teeth.
They’d done this enough now that Sam knew when Dean was almost ready to roll over and take it. Seconds later, Sam was turning them both and had Dean on his back as he lifted his brother’s ankles up and used them for leverage, giving into instinct and letting his hips find the pace that gave him the most pleasure. Sweat was rolling off him now as he grunted and rutted in his brother’s ass, thrusting deep and sure one second, shallow and rapid the next. Dean was gorgeous, muscles taut and strained, head rolled back, neck exposed as he used one hand to grip his balls, trying to stall the inevitable, even as his other hand was a blur over his cock.
The tight, heavy spark in Sam was about to give way and he let Dean know, “Gonna come Dean, gonna come, gonna come in you…” and then he was, hips stuttering with the pulses of his seed shooting deep into his brother’s body even as he felt Dean come apart around him ass fluttering and clenching as Dean shot all over his own torso, come glistening in the dark. Sam thrust a few more times not wanting to give up the feeling, until it all became too much and he finally had to pull out. He collapsed next to Dean on the thin coverlet.
For awhile there was only the soft wheezing of their breath as they came down from the high. Neither of them said anything for long minutes after that.
“I’m sorry about Cincinnati, Dean.” Sam finally said it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t before.
Dean didn’t respond, just rolled off the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. The lights flicked on and Sam heard the water run. A few moments later a warm, wet washcloth hit him. Dean was wiping himself off and caught in the flare of the bathroom light, for a moment Sam was hit with the full-force of his brother’s effect on him.
Moving back towards the bed, Dean’s motion broke Sam’s thrall, “Nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should probably be apologizing to you. But hey, that’d be against my new motto and that’s just not happening.” He gave himself a last wipe and threw the washcloth back towards the bathroom before pulling down the covers and getting on the bed.
Sam gave his dick a final swipe of the cloth, tossed it over by Dean’s and then got up and pulled down the covers on his side while grabbing the remote from the nightstand. He tossed it at his brother as he asked, “And what is this new motto of yours?”
Turning on the TV and starting to flip through the channels, Sam could hear the grin in his voice as Dean responded, “No regrets, Sammy. No regrets.”
Author:
essene Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,300+
Summary: There’s a bunyip in Savannah, but something that happened in Cincinnati might keep them from a successful hunt.
Warnings: incest
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are NOT MINE. More’s the pity.
Taut and rigid as piano wire, the tension stretched between them. They’d traded off shifts in the drive, but no matter their position, the silence remained. It had been like this since Cincinnati and Sam wasn’t sure where, or when, or what would be the end of it. Turning into the truck stop, he shut the engine off and they entered the diner.
Tiny and waif-like their waitress looked like a strong wind would do her in, but the cracking twang of her voice was brisk and sharp, “Special tonight is meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. What’ll you have?”
Not looking up from the menu, Dean ordered “Coffee, black. The special and a slice of blueberry pie.” He handed over the menu and then looked out the window.
Disconcerted by Dean’s almost adamant refusal to flirt, charm or otherwise beguile and engage the waitress, Sam stared at him open-mouthed until the cut of her voice prodded him, “What do you want, Stretch?”
Eyes snapping to her, pencil poised and hip cocked in impatience, he scanned the menu once more and said, “Lemonade, and a club sandwich,” before handing the menu to her and watching her turn on her heel.
Dean was still staring out the window at…nothing as far as Sam could tell. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat like he used to when he was young—coiled energy with no outlet—and tried to think about the bunyip awaiting them in Savannah. Its pattern was instantly recognizable: first the disappearance of small animals then small children, and graduating up in the size scale to humans and cattle. It was kind of surprising that some other hunter hadn’t already gotten there considering it took months for the thing to get from one stage to another. They had the necessary clapping sticks and a near pharmacopeia of Australian poisons to pack into their bullets…
The explosion came from the opposite side of the diner, windows blasting inward, bits of glass skittering to Sam and Dean’s feet. A brief look of confirmation from each other and they were rushing into the chaos.
Turned out some dimwit trucker had managed to pick up a banshee and when he tried to get out of the truck for some dinner she’d demonstrated her displeasure vocally (as banshees do) and he’d gotten an exploded head as a result. The diner windows were just collateral damage.
Sam’s stomach was grumbling as the Impala ate up the asphalt. They’d naturally had to leave without dinner as the diner had shooed out everyone who hadn’t run out screaming after the blast and closed for business. At least he knew he wasn’t alone, he could hear Dean’s stomach churning and bubbling in empty protest on the other side of the bench seat.
An hour after getting back on the road, and two hours after their initial order, they parked in front of a ramshackle building somewhere in Tennessee, that purported to have the “world’s best bar-be-que.” Surprisingly, they didn’t exaggerate. 45 minutes later, Sam was leaning back in his chair and rubbing his distended stomach, idly wondering if he could fit in one more piece of cornbread. On the other side of the table, Dean had a blissed-out look that Sam had only ever seen…he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head to stop the memory from taking over. He reached out for his drink and took a long swallow.
They showed their appreciation as best they could—or rather Mr. Egon Spengler did—with a massively generous tip. Neither of them was going to be much good after that, so Sam tentatively addressed his brother for the first time that day, “Motel?”
Dean nodded in agreement and looked at the kid at the register, “Where’s a clean, cheap motel ‘round here?”
After shuffling back to the car they made the few left turns the kid indicated and pulled into the parking lot of the Honeybee Inn where the sign promised “ ACAN Y”. After looking them over skeptically and muttering something intelligible around his cigarette the skinny flannel-clad owner gave them a key with the brusque apology?news? that they only had queen beds, but he could rent them another room for 25 bucks more.
Dean snatched the keys with a quick, “Well make due, Chief,” before crossing back through the small lobby and out the door. Sam gave the owner a small smile of thanks and followed.
The trunk was already open and Dean was pulling out their duffels by the time Sam caught up with him. Sam was surprised Dean could move so fast, he felt like someone had replaced his bones with molasses, which is why he was a bit slow in reacting when Dean threw his duffle at him--it bounced off his chest and hit the ground.
Sam retrieved his duffle from the dusty asphalt and shambled across to where Dean was unlocking the door to their room. He’d no sooner made it inside and closed the door than Dean was on him, fingers deftly unbuttoning his jeans, mouth sweeping moist and hot across his collarbone.
He was dreaming. Had to be. This couldn’t be Dean, his brother, the man who hadn’t spoken more than three words to him in nearly a week. His head was foggy, as happened with all huge meals, he’d become lethargic and slow as the blood left other areas and diverted to his stomach. This was a result of that, a food-induced-dreaming-coma of a sort.
But then he felt the heat and wet of Dean’s mouth as it took his flaccid prick in, rolling it between tongue and cheek, and realized that no, indeed , he was awake. This was happening. The thready needy noises coming from Dean only emphasized the reality of it all, pulling Sam’s gaze down where Dean’s head was bobbing and nuzzling. Sam took in the white-knuckled grip off Dean’s hands on his hips and placed an encouraging-soothing hand on Dean’s head before letting his own roll back against the door.
It didn’t take long before he was thrusting into Dean’s mouth, holding his head still as he pumped in, Dean looking up at him through dark lashes, green eyes begging “more, harder” as Sam’s cockhead bumped the back of his throat repeatedly, using his brother’s mouth for his own pleasure, watching the stretch and roll of those plush lips as his cock passed through them. It didn’t take long before he was shooting down Dean’s throat, feeling the tight muscle there contracting around him repeatedly as Dean swallowed each pulse.
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam muttered exhaustedly, leg muscles threatening to give way. Toeing out of his boots, and shucking the remnants of his clothes, he stumbled the few paces to the bed and collapsed, limbs sprawled akimbo.
He dimly heard the sound of a zipper and the soft swish of clothes being removed, but it didn’t register until a very naked, very erect Dean was straddling him, cock inches away from Sam’s face as he positioned himself just above Sam’s chest, Dean’s shins pinning Sam’s arms to his sides. Sam watched as Dean gave himself a few quick strokes along his shaft and then angled the swell of his cockhead down to glide across Sam’s lips, coating them with slick pre-come. Sam let his tongue sweep over the trail, tasting the salt and musk of Dean mixing with the residue of smoke and bar-be-que from earlier. Dean slapped Sam’s mouth with his cock a few times, and Sam tried to lick at it to no avail, unable to time his swipes with Dean’s motions. Finally, he just opened up and caught Dean’s eyes, smoldering and lust-blown, offering himself up to his brother. With a groan, Dean pressed in and Sam flattened his tongue, feeling the silk of Dean’s flesh glide along his taste buds, curving up to cradle the thick ridge of vein on the underside, lifting up to press Dean firmly against the roof of his mouth, closing his eyes in exultation when Dean said, “Yes, Sammy. God, yes.”
It was more than a bit awkward from this angle as Sam couldn’t move his head as he would have liked in response to Dean’s thrusts and he couldn’t really control his gag-reflex; as a result he was producing more saliva than usual and it was spilling out around Dean’s dick as he bobbed awkwardly, trying to take as much of Dean into him as he could. He knew it was okay when Dean dropped one hand to his face, running his thumb through the messy slick there, sliding two fingers into Sam’s mouth, crowding next to his own prick as he pumped in and out. They were gone and then back and gone and then back and soon Sam began to realize his brother’s aim, which only served to make him salivate more, his already spent dick rising up again.
All too soon, Dean was repositioning, pulling his cock from Sam’s greedy lips, placing a hand on Sam’s chest and pressing for leverage as he moved himself down Sam’s body; warm shins moving from biceps down, raising goose bumps from Sam as their crisp-soft hair heightened already sensitive nerves. Dean’s nails dug in slightly as he rose up on his knees, and swung his other arm behind him to grip Sam’s cock, pulling it down to the right angle for his ass cheeks to caress it, tease it. Dean scooted back more and Sam could feel the change in skin, from soft downy hair to smooth ridges and hot, tight heat teasing at the end of his cock. Sam watched Dean, the concentration, the need, the want painted across his brother’s face and body in bright red patches, the lust glittering golden around blown-pupils and felt his heart clench, his throat knot.
Everything smoothed out into incoherency though when Dean finally found his mark and pressed, Sam’s the crown of his cock squeezing through an impossibly tight ring of muscle as Dean panted and huffed above him, hand pressing harder into Sam’s chest, nails digging deeper as he breeched himself with his brother’s dick. A high keening whimper came from Sam as he adjusted to the intense compression Dean’s sphincter was exerting on the sensitive ridge just under the flare of his cockhead. Millimeter by agonizing millimeter, Dean cursed and swore and shook as he took Sam deeper. Sam matched him with breathless words of praise as the rest of his dick passed through the tight squeeze of Dean’s hole and into the almost burning heat of his body.
When Dean was fully seated, ass heavy and firm against Sam’s groin, he let out a last shuddering breath and slowly lay forward onto Sam, giving his brother a soft, brief kiss before moving to tuck his face into Sam’s neck. Sam wrapped his arms around in response, palm of one hand rubbing slow soothing circles into his brother’s back. They lay there for a few moments, or minutes--Sam couldn’t tell, but he did know that he could have laid there, like that, forever—before Dean lifted back up and placed his hands to either side of Sam. Dean caught Sam's eyes briefly before closing them and beginning an easy rise and fall on Sam’s prick. Sam moved his feet under him and began lifting his hips in time with Dean’s rhythm when Dean opened his eyes again and licked his lips before catching the bottom one between his teeth.
They’d done this enough now that Sam knew when Dean was almost ready to roll over and take it. Seconds later, Sam was turning them both and had Dean on his back as he lifted his brother’s ankles up and used them for leverage, giving into instinct and letting his hips find the pace that gave him the most pleasure. Sweat was rolling off him now as he grunted and rutted in his brother’s ass, thrusting deep and sure one second, shallow and rapid the next. Dean was gorgeous, muscles taut and strained, head rolled back, neck exposed as he used one hand to grip his balls, trying to stall the inevitable, even as his other hand was a blur over his cock.
The tight, heavy spark in Sam was about to give way and he let Dean know, “Gonna come Dean, gonna come, gonna come in you…” and then he was, hips stuttering with the pulses of his seed shooting deep into his brother’s body even as he felt Dean come apart around him ass fluttering and clenching as Dean shot all over his own torso, come glistening in the dark. Sam thrust a few more times not wanting to give up the feeling, until it all became too much and he finally had to pull out. He collapsed next to Dean on the thin coverlet.
For awhile there was only the soft wheezing of their breath as they came down from the high. Neither of them said anything for long minutes after that.
“I’m sorry about Cincinnati, Dean.” Sam finally said it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t before.
Dean didn’t respond, just rolled off the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. The lights flicked on and Sam heard the water run. A few moments later a warm, wet washcloth hit him. Dean was wiping himself off and caught in the flare of the bathroom light, for a moment Sam was hit with the full-force of his brother’s effect on him.
Moving back towards the bed, Dean’s motion broke Sam’s thrall, “Nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should probably be apologizing to you. But hey, that’d be against my new motto and that’s just not happening.” He gave himself a last wipe and threw the washcloth back towards the bathroom before pulling down the covers and getting on the bed.
Sam gave his dick a final swipe of the cloth, tossed it over by Dean’s and then got up and pulled down the covers on his side while grabbing the remote from the nightstand. He tossed it at his brother as he asked, “And what is this new motto of yours?”
Turning on the TV and starting to flip through the channels, Sam could hear the grin in his voice as Dean responded, “No regrets, Sammy. No regrets.”
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 07:26 pm (UTC)In conclusion, stutter!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:11 pm (UTC)*punches more buttons*
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 07:56 pm (UTC)but that is beside the point because HOLY FUCK THIS WAS HOT.
*pants*
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:12 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading it and I'm pleased as punch that you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:13 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for reading it, I'm glad you liked it and YES ramshackle generally = good food (particularly BBQ).
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:13 pm (UTC)How goes yours?
no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 11:17 pm (UTC)So hot!!
Thx for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-10 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-15 04:16 am (UTC)