fic: Santa Baby (Supernatural; girl!Sam/Dean; au; adult)
Because what everybody wants for Christmas is girl!Sam fic. *snerk* I actually will have a lot of fic to post in the days upcoming, so this is just the beginning.
Santa Baby
Supernatural; girl!Sam/Dean; au; adult; 845 words
Dean says, "It's Christmastime," like she could possibly forget while she's holding a damn Santa nightie in her hands.
I totally blame luzdeestrellas for not stopping me when I mentioned this to her. And I thank her for looking it over and telling me I could post it.
~*~
Santa Baby
Christmas 2007
"You're kidding me, right?" Sam says, fingering the heavy, red velvet, the soft, white fur lining the hem.
Dean grins at her, and usually that'd be enough to get her going, even now, but then he says, "It's Christmastime," like she could possibly forget while she's holding a damn naughty Santa nightie in her hands.
She shakes her head. "We're not doing this. I'm not doing this."
He brings it up again, talks about making his last Christmas memorable, and she can't do it, can't pretend to be happy now, and forget that if he has his way, she'll be alone next Christmas, if she lives that long without him.
Of course, she does, because he would have for her, always has. Always will, as long as she can keep him alive and free of hell.
After a few cups of eggnog--and God, it's disgusting; even the ridiculous amount of brandy she used can't disguise that--and an evening of football, she's a little dizzy, but when she gets ready for bed, she pulls the Santa nightie out of her duffel, and takes off the tags. It comes with a little red velvet thong with a white bow on the back, and she shakes her head and tries not to break down in giggles as she pulls the outfit on. It's ridiculous, but at least it's soft against her skin.
She's standing on the corner of the tub, trying to get a look at herself in the worn and spotted bathroom mirror, when Dean bangs on the door and startles her. "Jesus, Sam, you drowning in there or what? I gotta take a piss."
"Gimme a minute," she says, pulling a t-shirt on over the outfit, not ready for him to see it just yet.
He doesn't even glance her way when she opens the door, hand already at his fly and intent look on his face. She pulls the door shut behind her when she goes back into the room.
She turns the television off, picks up the empty cups and dumps them in the garbage, and puts what's left of the eggnog into the mini-fridge. She can hear the water running, knows his bedtime routine as well as her own, and when he turns the water off, she slides beneath the covers and takes off the t-shirt.
He's wearing his boxers and a t-shirt when he comes out; he tosses his jeans and shirts onto the couch. When he goes to turn off the Christmas lights, she says, "Don't." He flashes her a grin and flicks the lamp off, then climbs into bed beside her. "Merry Christmas, Dean," she murmurs against his lips, and she can feel him smile as she licks her way into his mouth, the taste of eggnog thankfully replaced by toothpaste.
"You wore it," he breathes against her ear, mouth latching onto her earlobe, sending a jolt of heat through her as his hand slides up under the nightie and over her ass. He starts laughing. "I didn't notice the bow."
"Shut up," she mutters, nipping at his jaw. "Dork."
"I think I'll unwrap my present now," he says, and she can't stay annoyed when he sounds so honestly gleeful, and his fingers are sliding inside her, so she settles for biting his earlobe.
They know each other so well that even drunk and injured they can still get each other off. She shimmies out of the thong and slings a leg over his hips so she can sink down onto his cock, slow because it makes him crazy, makes him curse and beg and growl her name.
He holds her gaze while they fuck, doesn't let her look away, always at his most honest when they're like this, demanding the same honesty from her. She chokes out his name when she comes, body flooded with heat and pleasure and enough love to light the stars.
She slumps against him and buries her face in the sweaty crook of his neck, holding him close as he comes deep inside her.
"Next year," she says, fighting the ache in her chest and the sting of tears behind her eyes, "you're buying me a hat to go with this stupid nightgown."
He laughs and kisses her, but he won't make her a promise he doesn't think he can keep.
***
Christmas 2008
Dean's sitting in front of the television, watching "The Year Without a Santa Claus" and singing along with Snow Miser, when Sam comes out of the bathroom. She's got the Santa nightie on and she spent an hour that afternoon having a pedicure. She grins down at her candy cane-striped toes, and then up at Dean, who's wearing a grin of his own.
And a Santa hat.
"Merry Christmas," he says, pulling her down into his lap. He takes the hat off his head and settles it on hers, pulling it down over her ears the way he used to when she was little and it snowed.
"Merry Christmas, Dean," she answers, willing herself not to cry, and kisses him.
end
~*~
12/24/07
~*~
Feedback is an awesome present.
~*~
Santa Baby
Supernatural; girl!Sam/Dean; au; adult; 845 words
Dean says, "It's Christmastime," like she could possibly forget while she's holding a damn Santa nightie in her hands.
I totally blame luzdeestrellas for not stopping me when I mentioned this to her. And I thank her for looking it over and telling me I could post it.
~*~
Santa Baby
Christmas 2007
"You're kidding me, right?" Sam says, fingering the heavy, red velvet, the soft, white fur lining the hem.
Dean grins at her, and usually that'd be enough to get her going, even now, but then he says, "It's Christmastime," like she could possibly forget while she's holding a damn naughty Santa nightie in her hands.
She shakes her head. "We're not doing this. I'm not doing this."
He brings it up again, talks about making his last Christmas memorable, and she can't do it, can't pretend to be happy now, and forget that if he has his way, she'll be alone next Christmas, if she lives that long without him.
Of course, she does, because he would have for her, always has. Always will, as long as she can keep him alive and free of hell.
After a few cups of eggnog--and God, it's disgusting; even the ridiculous amount of brandy she used can't disguise that--and an evening of football, she's a little dizzy, but when she gets ready for bed, she pulls the Santa nightie out of her duffel, and takes off the tags. It comes with a little red velvet thong with a white bow on the back, and she shakes her head and tries not to break down in giggles as she pulls the outfit on. It's ridiculous, but at least it's soft against her skin.
She's standing on the corner of the tub, trying to get a look at herself in the worn and spotted bathroom mirror, when Dean bangs on the door and startles her. "Jesus, Sam, you drowning in there or what? I gotta take a piss."
"Gimme a minute," she says, pulling a t-shirt on over the outfit, not ready for him to see it just yet.
He doesn't even glance her way when she opens the door, hand already at his fly and intent look on his face. She pulls the door shut behind her when she goes back into the room.
She turns the television off, picks up the empty cups and dumps them in the garbage, and puts what's left of the eggnog into the mini-fridge. She can hear the water running, knows his bedtime routine as well as her own, and when he turns the water off, she slides beneath the covers and takes off the t-shirt.
He's wearing his boxers and a t-shirt when he comes out; he tosses his jeans and shirts onto the couch. When he goes to turn off the Christmas lights, she says, "Don't." He flashes her a grin and flicks the lamp off, then climbs into bed beside her. "Merry Christmas, Dean," she murmurs against his lips, and she can feel him smile as she licks her way into his mouth, the taste of eggnog thankfully replaced by toothpaste.
"You wore it," he breathes against her ear, mouth latching onto her earlobe, sending a jolt of heat through her as his hand slides up under the nightie and over her ass. He starts laughing. "I didn't notice the bow."
"Shut up," she mutters, nipping at his jaw. "Dork."
"I think I'll unwrap my present now," he says, and she can't stay annoyed when he sounds so honestly gleeful, and his fingers are sliding inside her, so she settles for biting his earlobe.
They know each other so well that even drunk and injured they can still get each other off. She shimmies out of the thong and slings a leg over his hips so she can sink down onto his cock, slow because it makes him crazy, makes him curse and beg and growl her name.
He holds her gaze while they fuck, doesn't let her look away, always at his most honest when they're like this, demanding the same honesty from her. She chokes out his name when she comes, body flooded with heat and pleasure and enough love to light the stars.
She slumps against him and buries her face in the sweaty crook of his neck, holding him close as he comes deep inside her.
"Next year," she says, fighting the ache in her chest and the sting of tears behind her eyes, "you're buying me a hat to go with this stupid nightgown."
He laughs and kisses her, but he won't make her a promise he doesn't think he can keep.
***
Christmas 2008
Dean's sitting in front of the television, watching "The Year Without a Santa Claus" and singing along with Snow Miser, when Sam comes out of the bathroom. She's got the Santa nightie on and she spent an hour that afternoon having a pedicure. She grins down at her candy cane-striped toes, and then up at Dean, who's wearing a grin of his own.
And a Santa hat.
"Merry Christmas," he says, pulling her down into his lap. He takes the hat off his head and settles it on hers, pulling it down over her ears the way he used to when she was little and it snowed.
"Merry Christmas, Dean," she answers, willing herself not to cry, and kisses him.
end
~*~
12/24/07
~*~
Feedback is an awesome present.
~*~