Hustling
Title: Hustling
Author: brosedshield
Disclaimer: If anyone owns anything in this relationship, Supernatural owns my heart. And won't give it back. And won't pay me for it. (i.e. Don't own, don't profit)
Characters: Deanna
Rating: PG
Word count: 411
Spoilers: none (preseries)
Summary: When Sam's away at Stanford, Deanna (22) tries new things.
Author notes: Third Deanna fic I wrote. And I swear I'll stop numbering them after this, but the first three have come in a clump for a long time. Naturally, lavinialavender beta'd.
Deanna hated to admit it, but some things were easier to try without Sam around. Like wearing that shirt to play pool. Sam would have looked at her like he knew she wasn’t telling him things and but, dammit, she had nothing to hide. And she was not going to get sucked into talking about her feelings and all that girly shit.
The tank top left her considerably less to hide. Low-cut, bright red, skin tight, it made hustling pool easier, both because Dad’s oversized jacket wasn’t catching on the table when she went for shots and because the men she played with left their brains at the bar the second she leaned over.
She sank the last ball and smiled at the guy who’d just lost a hundred bucks to her. “Lucky shot,” she said. They had all been lucky shots, but he hadn’t been watching the table. “Pay up.”
He looked startled. Then flashed a grin. “Hey, girl, how about you and me go somewhere and I give you something better than cash?”
Used to be that this was the point when she would step in, after some jerk had told Sam he wouldn’t pay up, and stare the jerk down, and he would think again about backing out of the deal. But Sam wasn’t there anymore. Suddenly, Deanna just felt tired.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’m not in the market.”
He grinned, and reached for her waist. “C’mon, girl, I’ll make it worth your time.”
Deanna had only been practicing the feminine wiles for a few months. She had the chest and the ass, but as far as application she had a ways to go. She’d been scaring the shit out of things more badass than this jerk since she was twelve.
She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. She pressed the hilt of her knife into his belly and felt him break out in a cold sweat straight through the shirt. He was damn well looking at her eyes now. “Give me my fucking money, or I’ll hurt you right here.”
He fumbled out the bills and she grabbed the jacket and left. She saw him talking to a bunch of friends, and a couple of them were leaving the bar when she slid into the Impala. They got into trucks and started up.
Whatever. Let them come. Sammy wasn’t waiting for her and for tonight, she’d had enough of being a girl.
Author: brosedshield
Disclaimer: If anyone owns anything in this relationship, Supernatural owns my heart. And won't give it back. And won't pay me for it. (i.e. Don't own, don't profit)
Characters: Deanna
Rating: PG
Word count: 411
Spoilers: none (preseries)
Summary: When Sam's away at Stanford, Deanna (22) tries new things.
Author notes: Third Deanna fic I wrote. And I swear I'll stop numbering them after this, but the first three have come in a clump for a long time. Naturally, lavinialavender beta'd.
Deanna hated to admit it, but some things were easier to try without Sam around. Like wearing that shirt to play pool. Sam would have looked at her like he knew she wasn’t telling him things and but, dammit, she had nothing to hide. And she was not going to get sucked into talking about her feelings and all that girly shit.
The tank top left her considerably less to hide. Low-cut, bright red, skin tight, it made hustling pool easier, both because Dad’s oversized jacket wasn’t catching on the table when she went for shots and because the men she played with left their brains at the bar the second she leaned over.
She sank the last ball and smiled at the guy who’d just lost a hundred bucks to her. “Lucky shot,” she said. They had all been lucky shots, but he hadn’t been watching the table. “Pay up.”
He looked startled. Then flashed a grin. “Hey, girl, how about you and me go somewhere and I give you something better than cash?”
Used to be that this was the point when she would step in, after some jerk had told Sam he wouldn’t pay up, and stare the jerk down, and he would think again about backing out of the deal. But Sam wasn’t there anymore. Suddenly, Deanna just felt tired.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’m not in the market.”
He grinned, and reached for her waist. “C’mon, girl, I’ll make it worth your time.”
Deanna had only been practicing the feminine wiles for a few months. She had the chest and the ass, but as far as application she had a ways to go. She’d been scaring the shit out of things more badass than this jerk since she was twelve.
She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. She pressed the hilt of her knife into his belly and felt him break out in a cold sweat straight through the shirt. He was damn well looking at her eyes now. “Give me my fucking money, or I’ll hurt you right here.”
He fumbled out the bills and she grabbed the jacket and left. She saw him talking to a bunch of friends, and a couple of them were leaving the bar when she slid into the Impala. They got into trucks and started up.
Whatever. Let them come. Sammy wasn’t waiting for her and for tonight, she’d had enough of being a girl.