Holiday Fluff Advent Style: Day Ten (SPN)
Day Ten: On The Road, SPN, Sam/Dean, PG
Day Ten: On The Road
by Lenore
Dean had been pushing the Impala as hard as she could go since before sundown, and still they were going to end up in the middle of nowhere come midnight, another New Year's Eve shot to hell. Finally he sighed and gave up and pulled the car off to the side of the road. Sam raised an eyebrow.
"It's five to twelve. We're not going to make it back to the roadhouse. Figure we may as well ring it in here."
Sam rustled around in the floorboard and came up with a half-finished bag of Doritos, grinning. "I got the party food."
Dean reached over the seat, produced a warm bottle of Molson. "Looks like we got us a soiree."
They clamored out of the car and sprawled across the hood, ignoring the cold, passing the chips and beer back and forth. Dean tipped his head back and studied the sky. "Clear night. You can make out the Big Dipper and, hey, Orion's belt."
He looked to Sam for some appreciation of his mad astronomy skills, but his brother had his concerned expression on. "What?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just-- I'm sorry we couldn't make it back to the roadhouse. You seemed kind of set on it."
Dean shrugged. "Nah. It's no big deal. I just-- It would have been nice to kiss somebody, you know? I sure could use the luck."
He smiled wryly, and Sam smiled back, because that had to be the understatement of…well, ever. Then Sam was coming at him, laying a big, smacking kiss upside his head. "There you go, Dean-o. One lucky kiss."
"Oh, you do not want to start with me, Sammy."
Sam smirked. "Yeah? What are you going to do about it?"
Dean feinted from the left and lunged from the right, and they rolled off the car, into the grass, wrestle kissing, big, slobbery wet ones wherever they could reach. Sam, the freakishly tall bastard, used his extra height to his advantage, and Dean ended up on his back, Sam's weight on top of him, his brother's tongue in his mouth. He shuddered at the touch of it, and it wasn't the righteous kind of shudder, but the kind that demanded he tangle his hands in Sam's jacket and hold on and kiss back until the only stars he could see were the ones behind his eyes.
When Sam finally scrambled off him, he was panting, his eyes wild. "That was--"
"Purely for luck," Dean said quickly, before Sam could put his emo stamp of guilt on it.
Sam swiped a hand through his hair and for once in his life got with the program, "Right."
They got back in the car, and Dean switched on the radio. "Highway to Hell" blasted out of the speakers, and Dean had to wonder: What kind of luck did it buy you to kiss your own brother at the stroke of midnight on New Year's?