Fic in honor of the one and only poisontaster
Title: Silence Between Promises
Author: merepersiflage
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Category:episode porn
Word Count:2500
Summary: So if you saw “Playthings,” you know there wasn’t much to sex up, but it IS on network TV, so there were some teeny details missing.
Warnings: incest, graphic m/m sex, language
Notes: I was invited to honor poisontaster with fic and am happy to do so.
Spoilers: Through “Playthings” (2.11) I doubt it’ll make sense without the episode.
“Wow. That attitude is just way too healthy for me. I’m officially uncomfortable now.” Dean leaned back against the pillow.
“And jealous.”
“What?” Of course Dean had heard him. It pissed him the fuck off when Sam pretended to mutter when he damned well wanted you to hear him.
And it had driven Dad insane.
“Nothing.”
Now Sam was grinning.
Dean took another sip of coffee. “You wish.”
Dean wasn’t jealous. He really wasn’t. He just liked teasing Sam. Even if he did know that one day there was going to be a Sarah or an Ava that Sam wouldn’t walk away from, would get Sam wanting that whole three-bedroom-in-a-subdivision thing again, Dean still wasn’t jealous.
It just wasn’t like that. They weren’t like that. And if Ava and a three-bedroom made Sam happy, Dean wanted it for him.
But only after he was completely certain Sam would be safe for the rest of his life.
“So, you and your healthy new attitude ready to hit the road?”
“After you admit it.”
“What?” He looked down at his coffee before he had a grin to match Sam’s.
“That you’re jealous.”
“Well. So much for healthy.”
Sam loomed over him, grabbed the cup, and pulled it out of his hands.
“Jeez, Sam, if you wanted a blowjob, you coulda just asked.”
“Really?”
Sam’s weight came down on his chest. Dean twisted until his neck wasn’t crooked, and he could breathe. Of course, all that moving, with Sam breathing right in his ear hot and damp on his skin, woke up parts of him the coffee hadn’t gotten to yet. And since their dicks were now lined up, he could tell that Sam was seriously interested in taking Dean up on his offer.
“Oh.” He grinned into Sam’s neck.
“What?”
“That gets you hot.”
“You offering a blowjob? Duh, Dean.”
“No, thinking I’m jealous. You get off on that.”
Sam leaned up, and Dean dragged him back down with a hand on his neck.
“Admit it.” Dean demanded, grinding his hips up into Sam’s.
“You admit it.”
“I’m not jealous, and you are so getting off on thinking I am.”
“Have you seen yourself when you mention Ava? You gets these little lines of tension right at the corners of your mouth.” Sam ground back down on him.
“Jesus, Sam, you really are a girl.”
Sam’s hands settled on his hips, pulling Dean against him until they were both breathing hard.
“Are you going to admit you’re jealous?”
“Are you going to admit you get off on it?”
Sam shook his head. Dean hooked his leg and rolled him onto his back. He tongued the side of Sam’s neck, kept up the friction between their dicks until Sam’s eyelids dropped shut, and he started gasping.
Dean rolled off and stood up. “Then I guess we’re both riding to Connecticut with hard-ons.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe when you admit it.”
* * * *
Sam watched Dean struggle up from the depths of the sagging mattress and bit his lip to keep in a laugh. They’d have been much better off with a king, but since it was the panicked look on his brother’s face that got him stammering for twins, it served Dean right to be subjected to a back ache.
Dean pursed his lips. “Of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we’re gay?”
“You were kind of butch. Probably think you’re overcompensating.” Sam waited for Dean to laugh and then went for the kill. “Or it could be the way you’re always staring at my ass.”
Dean didn’t even sputter. “Yeah, or it could be the puppy eyes you make at me. Seriously dude, of the two of us, why would I be staring at your ass in those droopy jeans? My ass is more . . . stare-at-able.”
“Prove it.”
“Huh?”
“Roll over and lets see it.”
“Sam, you’ve seen my ass like a thousand times.”
“But if it’s so worth looking at, I should see it again.”
“No way. We’re working here.”
“Fine.” Sam shrugged and went back to his print outs.
“Fine?”
“Yeah, Dean, I said ‘Fine.’”
He kept his gaze lowered, knew Dean wouldn’t be able to resist that challenge.
Dean floundered out of the bed and came over, straddling his legs where he sat, his crotch pressed right against the printouts.
Sam shuffled through the papers so that his knuckles brushed against Dean’s fly. Once, twice, the third time he felt the twitch of a response, saw Dean start to lower himself to his lap. “Uh. . . the case?”
“Oh you are in some serious shit now, Sammy.”
Sam stood so that Dean had no choice but to back away, but not before Sam slid his body against Dean’s, as he watched Dean’s eyes went dark with warning.
“Just be glad we’re not in Massachusetts.” Sam looked down at his brother. “We’d probably be getting congratulations on our wedding.”
‘Think anyone would throw in a free night?”
* * * *
Dean stared down into Sam’s pleading, earnest face. Stubborn, selfish bastard. He may as well have the demon clawing at his insides again as watch his brother tear himself up like this. There was only one answer.
“I promise.”
“Thanks. Thank you.” Sam’s hands were fever hot, burning against his face as he pulled him down and forced their mouths together.
How Biblical was that? A kiss to seal the betrayal of a brother.
Dean slapped Sam’s hands away, but Sam just shifted his grip to his shirt and tugged him onto the bed. Dean shook off the lightheaded sensation from the fumes floating off Sam’s lips, his skin.
“C’mon, Sammy.”
“Thank you.” Sam whispered again, climbing up into him.
“Okay. That’s enough. You’re too wasted for this.” He tried to still Sam’s searching hands.
“Dean, please. Please.”
“I think you got enough out of me for one night. Go to sleep, Sammy.”
“Wanna thank you.” His big hot hand was trying to batter its way into Dean’s fly.
“Yeah. You can thank me later, when I’m not worried about you damaging something valuable.”
Between the sagging bed and the tangle of Sammy the drunken spider monkey, it was a challenge to haul himself free but Dean managed, perching cautiously on the edge of his own bed and running a hand through his hair.
Sam snuffled and twisted and grabbed at the pillow.
Thank god. If Sam was drunk enough to pass out, maybe he’d forget the whole damned mess. Dean’s lungs couldn’t get enough air and he had to get out of there. He was almost to the door when Sam’s deep groan stopped him.
“Can’t watch me if you’re not h-here.”
Dean rubbed a hand across his face, but nothing could erase the last five minutes. He stepped back to Sam’s bed. Sam had shoved his jeans and shorts over his hips, and his head was twisted over his shoulder, eyes shining with a look that Dean’s cock knew too well to ignore, despite the argument from his weary, fucked over brain.
“Need you.”
Son of a bitch. Sammy never played fair.
“Dean, Dean, you woan-won’t-“
“I got you.” He slid onto the bed next to Sam, cradled him against his front and reached around.
Sam was only half-hard, and he couldn’t figure out where this desperation was coming from.
“No.” Sam pushed at his hand.
“What?” Dean stroked down his thigh. Sam was shaking.
“You-you. Gotta make you come.”
“This is crazy, Sam.” He murmured in his ear. “Go to sleep. C’mon.” He reached again for his cock, and Sam rolled away on to his belly, tipping his ass up in a way that should have made Dean laugh since he was half off the bed. But the place where his laugh should be just felt hot, empty.
“Please.” Sam said again into the pillow.
Dean tugged him back into the middle of the bed. Maybe if Dean could get him off he’d be under. He wished he were the one with some freaky mind control so he could make Sam forget, because the only way Dean was keeping that promise was if the next bullet went into his own brain. Sam fucking knew Dean’d never broken a promise, not to Sammy. He’d lied to him, god too many times, but he’d never said “I promise” and not meant it.
He ran his hand up underneath Sam’s shirts, found skin damp with sweat, the knobs of his spine sticking up as Sam tried to arch against him.
“Dean. C’mon. Jus-just . . .” Sam reached back and grabbed his hand with the kind of coordination Sam could barely muster when he was sober let alone wasted. He pulled Dean on top of him.
Dean’s body didn’t know that Sam ought to be left alone to sleep it off; it only knew there was hot eager flesh rubbing up against him. He lowered his lips to Sam’s ear. “What do you want, Sammy. Tell me.”
“Fuck me. You hafta.”
He was begging for it like he’d begged Dean to kill him, with that same urgent hoarse voice. If Dean couldn’t deny him that, couldn’t deny him a promise that would destroy them both, how could he deny him what he’d been happy to give him a hundred times before.
“Okay, Sammy.”
Tension poured out of Sam like the alcohol from his pores and then Sam started rolling his hips against him in that half-snake thing he managed when they fucked. Dean unzipped his fly and shoved his own pants out of the way. Sam bucked against him, ground against Dean’s cock until it throbbed, but no matter how desperate Sam might be, he wasn’t taking him dry.
He slipped off the end of the bed, rubbed Sam’s ass, pulled and tightened the skin under his hands, then spread the skin as far as he could, given the bind of denim around Sam’s knees, and put his mouth on him. No teasing, he went right for the center, slick thrusts with his tongue, until he could work a thumb in and then another, until Sam was gasping and chewing on the pillow and fighting his grip.
He kept on wetting him until three fingers slipped by without anything but a satisfied moan, then spit-slicked his cock. The slide of his hand was almost too good after working Sam so open, so close, but Sam wanted him inside, he wanted inside and this was so much easier to give him.
Climbing back on the bed, his legs outside Sam’s, Deam held himself back with a tight grip at the base, sweat sparking at his temples from that first inch of pressure. Sam twisted taking him deeper, moans swallowed by the pillow. With Sam’s thighs pinned together by his jeans he was tight, god so tight, all blistering heat, and the drag on Dean’s skin felt so good he knew he’d never last five minutes. He rocked in slowly, holding Sam still when he would have rushed to slam them together.
Sam seemed to go boneless when he pressed that last bit forward, in to the hilt.
“All right, Sammy?”
“S’good. Need good. Good inside me.”
Dean’s hips tried reminding him that fucking was a biological necessity, his balls were tucking up tight as if they could get through to his guilt-racked brain by tunneling through his intestines. He gave in, moving in sharp quick thrusts-all he could get with Sam clamped tight around him-damn so hot and tight and good around him. He pushed forward, levered himself at a higher angle and Sam made a sound the pillow couldn’t quite absorb.
He did it again, and the sound got louder. Dean let biology win, trusting that whatever had always been between them would get it right in the end. He pressed his weight to Sam’s back, hands sliding under the span of his chest to anchor himself and his hips worked them closer and closer.
“Need, need, need, please-" Sam got clear of the pillow to pant.
“Okay. S’okay.”
Sam started to shudder, all his muscles tightening until Dean was a little concerned about damage after all, and then Sam stuffed half the pillow into his mouth as he came with jerks that knocked something holding the mattress up to the floor. But Dean was too close to worry about them ending up on the floor too. Before Sam had stopped shaking, the rush boiled out of his balls and flooded him, pulsed and tore through him until he came so hard he thought his dick turned inside out.
Sam was gone. Away into that space where well-fucked drunks could rest up for their righteously earned hangovers. He eased from his body and wiped himself off on Sam’s shirt, telling himself with a twist of his lips that Sam would never notice tomorrow anyway. He tugged the pillow out of Sam’s mouth and rolled him onto his side so that if he puked in his sleep, he wouldn’t choke on it.
He took the single step to his own bed, falling into the mattress again, his body still throbbing with the force of that release. He could still feel Sam, smell him, fucking taste him and the room was still so goddamned empty it echoed.
C’mon, Sammy. Be a good drunk and snore. Even the ancient radiator had stopped wheezing. If he had to lay here and listen to his heart beat, he was going to break something. He tucked himself in and went downstairs.
* * * *
Sam let the silence go until they were back on route seven. Dean used to torment him with ear-bleeding music, now it was tight-lipped silence. “I know you think I’m a selfish bastard for asking.”
“You got that right.” Dean stomped on the accelerator, and the car jumped forward.
“But I did it for you.”
“For me, huh? Don’t do me any more favors, all right?”
“Listen for a second. You have to know-I want you to know-that if it happens, I wanted it to. I wanted it to be you.”
“Jesus, Sam. You think that makes it better?” Dean started digging in the tape box.
Sam knew he had about two seconds before Dean popped in a tape and ended the conversation. “Maybe it will.”
Dean grunted and fished out Anthrax. “Hey.” Dean slid the cassette in as he jerked his head toward a billboard proclaiming Lenox, Massachusetts an Antiquers’ Paradise. “Want to see if we can score a free room?”
Author: merepersiflage
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Category:episode porn
Word Count:2500
Summary: So if you saw “Playthings,” you know there wasn’t much to sex up, but it IS on network TV, so there were some teeny details missing.
Warnings: incest, graphic m/m sex, language
Notes: I was invited to honor poisontaster with fic and am happy to do so.
Spoilers: Through “Playthings” (2.11) I doubt it’ll make sense without the episode.
“Wow. That attitude is just way too healthy for me. I’m officially uncomfortable now.” Dean leaned back against the pillow.
“And jealous.”
“What?” Of course Dean had heard him. It pissed him the fuck off when Sam pretended to mutter when he damned well wanted you to hear him.
And it had driven Dad insane.
“Nothing.”
Now Sam was grinning.
Dean took another sip of coffee. “You wish.”
Dean wasn’t jealous. He really wasn’t. He just liked teasing Sam. Even if he did know that one day there was going to be a Sarah or an Ava that Sam wouldn’t walk away from, would get Sam wanting that whole three-bedroom-in-a-subdivision thing again, Dean still wasn’t jealous.
It just wasn’t like that. They weren’t like that. And if Ava and a three-bedroom made Sam happy, Dean wanted it for him.
But only after he was completely certain Sam would be safe for the rest of his life.
“So, you and your healthy new attitude ready to hit the road?”
“After you admit it.”
“What?” He looked down at his coffee before he had a grin to match Sam’s.
“That you’re jealous.”
“Well. So much for healthy.”
Sam loomed over him, grabbed the cup, and pulled it out of his hands.
“Jeez, Sam, if you wanted a blowjob, you coulda just asked.”
“Really?”
Sam’s weight came down on his chest. Dean twisted until his neck wasn’t crooked, and he could breathe. Of course, all that moving, with Sam breathing right in his ear hot and damp on his skin, woke up parts of him the coffee hadn’t gotten to yet. And since their dicks were now lined up, he could tell that Sam was seriously interested in taking Dean up on his offer.
“Oh.” He grinned into Sam’s neck.
“What?”
“That gets you hot.”
“You offering a blowjob? Duh, Dean.”
“No, thinking I’m jealous. You get off on that.”
Sam leaned up, and Dean dragged him back down with a hand on his neck.
“Admit it.” Dean demanded, grinding his hips up into Sam’s.
“You admit it.”
“I’m not jealous, and you are so getting off on thinking I am.”
“Have you seen yourself when you mention Ava? You gets these little lines of tension right at the corners of your mouth.” Sam ground back down on him.
“Jesus, Sam, you really are a girl.”
Sam’s hands settled on his hips, pulling Dean against him until they were both breathing hard.
“Are you going to admit you’re jealous?”
“Are you going to admit you get off on it?”
Sam shook his head. Dean hooked his leg and rolled him onto his back. He tongued the side of Sam’s neck, kept up the friction between their dicks until Sam’s eyelids dropped shut, and he started gasping.
Dean rolled off and stood up. “Then I guess we’re both riding to Connecticut with hard-ons.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe when you admit it.”
* * * *
Sam watched Dean struggle up from the depths of the sagging mattress and bit his lip to keep in a laugh. They’d have been much better off with a king, but since it was the panicked look on his brother’s face that got him stammering for twins, it served Dean right to be subjected to a back ache.
Dean pursed his lips. “Of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we’re gay?”
“You were kind of butch. Probably think you’re overcompensating.” Sam waited for Dean to laugh and then went for the kill. “Or it could be the way you’re always staring at my ass.”
Dean didn’t even sputter. “Yeah, or it could be the puppy eyes you make at me. Seriously dude, of the two of us, why would I be staring at your ass in those droopy jeans? My ass is more . . . stare-at-able.”
“Prove it.”
“Huh?”
“Roll over and lets see it.”
“Sam, you’ve seen my ass like a thousand times.”
“But if it’s so worth looking at, I should see it again.”
“No way. We’re working here.”
“Fine.” Sam shrugged and went back to his print outs.
“Fine?”
“Yeah, Dean, I said ‘Fine.’”
He kept his gaze lowered, knew Dean wouldn’t be able to resist that challenge.
Dean floundered out of the bed and came over, straddling his legs where he sat, his crotch pressed right against the printouts.
Sam shuffled through the papers so that his knuckles brushed against Dean’s fly. Once, twice, the third time he felt the twitch of a response, saw Dean start to lower himself to his lap. “Uh. . . the case?”
“Oh you are in some serious shit now, Sammy.”
Sam stood so that Dean had no choice but to back away, but not before Sam slid his body against Dean’s, as he watched Dean’s eyes went dark with warning.
“Just be glad we’re not in Massachusetts.” Sam looked down at his brother. “We’d probably be getting congratulations on our wedding.”
‘Think anyone would throw in a free night?”
* * * *
Dean stared down into Sam’s pleading, earnest face. Stubborn, selfish bastard. He may as well have the demon clawing at his insides again as watch his brother tear himself up like this. There was only one answer.
“I promise.”
“Thanks. Thank you.” Sam’s hands were fever hot, burning against his face as he pulled him down and forced their mouths together.
How Biblical was that? A kiss to seal the betrayal of a brother.
Dean slapped Sam’s hands away, but Sam just shifted his grip to his shirt and tugged him onto the bed. Dean shook off the lightheaded sensation from the fumes floating off Sam’s lips, his skin.
“C’mon, Sammy.”
“Thank you.” Sam whispered again, climbing up into him.
“Okay. That’s enough. You’re too wasted for this.” He tried to still Sam’s searching hands.
“Dean, please. Please.”
“I think you got enough out of me for one night. Go to sleep, Sammy.”
“Wanna thank you.” His big hot hand was trying to batter its way into Dean’s fly.
“Yeah. You can thank me later, when I’m not worried about you damaging something valuable.”
Between the sagging bed and the tangle of Sammy the drunken spider monkey, it was a challenge to haul himself free but Dean managed, perching cautiously on the edge of his own bed and running a hand through his hair.
Sam snuffled and twisted and grabbed at the pillow.
Thank god. If Sam was drunk enough to pass out, maybe he’d forget the whole damned mess. Dean’s lungs couldn’t get enough air and he had to get out of there. He was almost to the door when Sam’s deep groan stopped him.
“Can’t watch me if you’re not h-here.”
Dean rubbed a hand across his face, but nothing could erase the last five minutes. He stepped back to Sam’s bed. Sam had shoved his jeans and shorts over his hips, and his head was twisted over his shoulder, eyes shining with a look that Dean’s cock knew too well to ignore, despite the argument from his weary, fucked over brain.
“Need you.”
Son of a bitch. Sammy never played fair.
“Dean, Dean, you woan-won’t-“
“I got you.” He slid onto the bed next to Sam, cradled him against his front and reached around.
Sam was only half-hard, and he couldn’t figure out where this desperation was coming from.
“No.” Sam pushed at his hand.
“What?” Dean stroked down his thigh. Sam was shaking.
“You-you. Gotta make you come.”
“This is crazy, Sam.” He murmured in his ear. “Go to sleep. C’mon.” He reached again for his cock, and Sam rolled away on to his belly, tipping his ass up in a way that should have made Dean laugh since he was half off the bed. But the place where his laugh should be just felt hot, empty.
“Please.” Sam said again into the pillow.
Dean tugged him back into the middle of the bed. Maybe if Dean could get him off he’d be under. He wished he were the one with some freaky mind control so he could make Sam forget, because the only way Dean was keeping that promise was if the next bullet went into his own brain. Sam fucking knew Dean’d never broken a promise, not to Sammy. He’d lied to him, god too many times, but he’d never said “I promise” and not meant it.
He ran his hand up underneath Sam’s shirts, found skin damp with sweat, the knobs of his spine sticking up as Sam tried to arch against him.
“Dean. C’mon. Jus-just . . .” Sam reached back and grabbed his hand with the kind of coordination Sam could barely muster when he was sober let alone wasted. He pulled Dean on top of him.
Dean’s body didn’t know that Sam ought to be left alone to sleep it off; it only knew there was hot eager flesh rubbing up against him. He lowered his lips to Sam’s ear. “What do you want, Sammy. Tell me.”
“Fuck me. You hafta.”
He was begging for it like he’d begged Dean to kill him, with that same urgent hoarse voice. If Dean couldn’t deny him that, couldn’t deny him a promise that would destroy them both, how could he deny him what he’d been happy to give him a hundred times before.
“Okay, Sammy.”
Tension poured out of Sam like the alcohol from his pores and then Sam started rolling his hips against him in that half-snake thing he managed when they fucked. Dean unzipped his fly and shoved his own pants out of the way. Sam bucked against him, ground against Dean’s cock until it throbbed, but no matter how desperate Sam might be, he wasn’t taking him dry.
He slipped off the end of the bed, rubbed Sam’s ass, pulled and tightened the skin under his hands, then spread the skin as far as he could, given the bind of denim around Sam’s knees, and put his mouth on him. No teasing, he went right for the center, slick thrusts with his tongue, until he could work a thumb in and then another, until Sam was gasping and chewing on the pillow and fighting his grip.
He kept on wetting him until three fingers slipped by without anything but a satisfied moan, then spit-slicked his cock. The slide of his hand was almost too good after working Sam so open, so close, but Sam wanted him inside, he wanted inside and this was so much easier to give him.
Climbing back on the bed, his legs outside Sam’s, Deam held himself back with a tight grip at the base, sweat sparking at his temples from that first inch of pressure. Sam twisted taking him deeper, moans swallowed by the pillow. With Sam’s thighs pinned together by his jeans he was tight, god so tight, all blistering heat, and the drag on Dean’s skin felt so good he knew he’d never last five minutes. He rocked in slowly, holding Sam still when he would have rushed to slam them together.
Sam seemed to go boneless when he pressed that last bit forward, in to the hilt.
“All right, Sammy?”
“S’good. Need good. Good inside me.”
Dean’s hips tried reminding him that fucking was a biological necessity, his balls were tucking up tight as if they could get through to his guilt-racked brain by tunneling through his intestines. He gave in, moving in sharp quick thrusts-all he could get with Sam clamped tight around him-damn so hot and tight and good around him. He pushed forward, levered himself at a higher angle and Sam made a sound the pillow couldn’t quite absorb.
He did it again, and the sound got louder. Dean let biology win, trusting that whatever had always been between them would get it right in the end. He pressed his weight to Sam’s back, hands sliding under the span of his chest to anchor himself and his hips worked them closer and closer.
“Need, need, need, please-" Sam got clear of the pillow to pant.
“Okay. S’okay.”
Sam started to shudder, all his muscles tightening until Dean was a little concerned about damage after all, and then Sam stuffed half the pillow into his mouth as he came with jerks that knocked something holding the mattress up to the floor. But Dean was too close to worry about them ending up on the floor too. Before Sam had stopped shaking, the rush boiled out of his balls and flooded him, pulsed and tore through him until he came so hard he thought his dick turned inside out.
Sam was gone. Away into that space where well-fucked drunks could rest up for their righteously earned hangovers. He eased from his body and wiped himself off on Sam’s shirt, telling himself with a twist of his lips that Sam would never notice tomorrow anyway. He tugged the pillow out of Sam’s mouth and rolled him onto his side so that if he puked in his sleep, he wouldn’t choke on it.
He took the single step to his own bed, falling into the mattress again, his body still throbbing with the force of that release. He could still feel Sam, smell him, fucking taste him and the room was still so goddamned empty it echoed.
C’mon, Sammy. Be a good drunk and snore. Even the ancient radiator had stopped wheezing. If he had to lay here and listen to his heart beat, he was going to break something. He tucked himself in and went downstairs.
* * * *
Sam let the silence go until they were back on route seven. Dean used to torment him with ear-bleeding music, now it was tight-lipped silence. “I know you think I’m a selfish bastard for asking.”
“You got that right.” Dean stomped on the accelerator, and the car jumped forward.
“But I did it for you.”
“For me, huh? Don’t do me any more favors, all right?”
“Listen for a second. You have to know-I want you to know-that if it happens, I wanted it to. I wanted it to be you.”
“Jesus, Sam. You think that makes it better?” Dean started digging in the tape box.
Sam knew he had about two seconds before Dean popped in a tape and ended the conversation. “Maybe it will.”
Dean grunted and fished out Anthrax. “Hey.” Dean slid the cassette in as he jerked his head toward a billboard proclaiming Lenox, Massachusetts an Antiquers’ Paradise. “Want to see if we can score a free room?”