Blue Bliss, Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
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You wake up alone. The clock on your lock screen says it’s a decent hour to be awake but also not shamefully late either. The sheets still smell like Sam and you breathe them in deep as you take a moment to relive last night. That was crazy. You just met the guy. You decide immediately to stop saying that to yourself as an argument because, to be honest, you wanted to fuck him the moment he sat down next to you on the bed, sight unseen. Well wish granted. Deed done. Now what. You can’t help but wonder if this will make things awkward, especially since you seem to have the same inclination towards Dean. What’s done is done and you wouldn’t take it back for the world because regardless of how vanilla last night was, it was still the best sex you’ve ever had. Climaxes are a rare commodity among women in general and he got you twice without even trying. You aren’t sure whether it’s mad skills or if it’s just something about him that gets you all hot and bothered, probably both. First times aren’t normally that awesome. It’s usually awkward and ends up disappointing for someone involved, but last night was none of that. Not even close. You both got your jollies in spades. Regardless of what you think you like in a sex partner, Sam was everything you needed and it was amazing.
You realize that you are hugging the pillow that still holds his scent and decide it’s a great time to get out of bed and think of other things. You go to bathroom, brush your teeth, and smirk at your sex/sleep mussed hair in the mirror. When done, you come out and notice there are clothes and a fresh set of sheets on the chair. A little note rests on top. “I washed these for you yesterday. Thought you might want clean clothes for today. -Sam.” So it was Sam who took your messy clothes, he even laundered them, and he even got you clean sheets, forever the gentleman you muse. Hmmm, although that does mean he was handling your panties, maybe he isn’t so gentlemanly after all. You can’t help but smile at that. A memory from last night floats to the surface of your mind, of bits of clothing lying strewn all over the floor (gone now, you don’t know where), Sam’s body pressed warm and smooth against yours, the softness of his lips and you still remember how he tasted. Desire begins to pool deep inside. You try to shake the thoughts away; it’s too early for that kind of crap right now. With the stack of clean sheets on the chair you decide to wrap yourself in last night’s bed sheet so you don’t walk naked to the shower room. You scoop up your clothes and find a towel included, holy crap he doesn’t miss a thing does he, and you head down the hall to the showers.
The hallway and the shower room are as empty as a tomb. It’s a little creepy but you try to reassure yourself that Sam is around here somewhere and that this place is warded against the boogey men you just discovered are real. The shower helps clear your mind as you wash away the scent of Sam, leaving fresh soap as the only fragrance to inhale. It’s like the fog of desire has been thinned out a bit and you can focus on more than just sexy Sam. You chuckle at that descriptor as you towel off and dress in your original clothes. You feel a bit more feminine now that you have on your skirt and top. It’s nothing fancy but they fit the way they are supposed to and compliment your body nicely, unlike Dean’s loaners. Once you have your hair taken care of, you leave the sheet and towel behind as you decide it’s time to see if the galley has anything for breakfast.
Deserted halls again, but you turn into the kitchen and find Sam sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal as he reads the local paper. Your eyes meet and he swallows his bite of cereal as you both just stare for a moment. That damn attraction is back full force. You don’t know why you thought it would lessen after last night’s shenanigans but you thought it would take the edge off if nothing else. Nope. Not even a little bit. At least it doesn’t seem to be any worse either, so there is that little ray of sunshine you think wryly to yourself. Sam greets you cordially, “good morning. I see you found your clothes where I left them. I’m glad.” You try to be nonchalant and joke about how it’s not exactly a cluttered room but make sure to add a hearty thank you in with it. He gives you a small smile “just doing what I can to help since I know all of this is a bit strange”. You smile back and inquire about breakfast. Sam unfolds himself from the table, strides over and plucks a bowl from inside a cabinet and then opens the door of another one. He places a spoon in the bowl and then with another little smile he says, “Pick your poison and milk is in the fridge.” He sits down and goes back to his cereal. Well. Hmmm. This isn’t to awkward… except that he is acting like last night never happened… or is he? You don’t know. How should he be acting? Were you expecting him to swoop you up with a kiss and a “hello darling, did you rest well?” Some small part of you was apparently hoping for that but the rest of you knows that’s just plain silly. Well he doesn’t appear to have regret or hatred regarding last night so you just shrug it off and consider the situation a win as you head over to the cabinet. You have four choices; some kind of healthy bran flakes, Frooty Lootys, Corporal Crunch’s Peanut Butter Blast, or Bunch o Honey Bits. Somehow you just know that Sam is the only one who eats the bran flakes. You grab the Corporal Crunch and pour a hefty bowl, followed by just the right amount of milk, and you plop down across from Sam in your usual spot. You dig in. Amazing sex gives a person one healthy appetite you realize. You eat without shame as Sam finishes up his bowl of bran.
Sam sets the paper down and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. You pry your eyes from your bowl of Crunch where you’ve been staring, afraid to make eye contact for some unknown reason. Sam’s eyebrows are all bunched up and there is trepidation in his eyes as they lock with yours, “We’ve gotta talk about last night.” You don’t like the way he says any of that sentence but you don’t have time to react because Dean comes strolling into the room and says, “why? What happened last night?” Sam’s expression flips to ‘oh shit’ and then he forces himself into a poker face. “Oh. Uh. Hey Dean. Just get back?” Dean heads for the cabinet where he grabs a bowl and spoon, “Yup. It was a quickie. And now I’m starving.” He grabs the Frooty Lootys and fills the bowl to the brim. He pours on the milk and as he’s kicking the fridge door shut he asks, “So man, what happened last night? Something try to get in or something?” He sits down, spoons a big bite into his mouth and then looks at Sam with one eyebrow raised as he chews.
“What? No. No, nothing like that.” Sam pauses and you hold your breath, wondering what he will say next. “I. We. We did a lot of talking last night and I answered a lot of questions she had about monsters. I just wanted to make sure she’s ok and that I didn’t freak her out to much with the stories I told her.” You let out your breath with relief, and then shove a spoonful of cereal in your cakehole as quickly as you can.
“Geez Sammy. Telling her ghost stories before bed. Real smart.” He turns to you. “Hope he didn’t screw with you to bad.” Dean winks and smiles as your eyes meet and your brain hits the brakes and goes full stop. To many emotions just occurred; lust for Sam, memory of said lustful happenings with Sam, the pull towards him still palpable followed by deep salacious thoughts of Dean, the pull towards him just as strong. You don’t know which way to go. You don’t know what to think. What was the question again?
You have no idea what look is on your face when you utter an inarticulate -huh? Dean notices that you are having some sort of moment so he plunges his spoon into his cereal, leans towards you just a bit and says “Sammy? Did he go and scare the pants off you last night?” Sam chokes on his orange juice. Dean’s wording is killing you both and he has no clue. Dean gives his brother an incredulous look as Sam wipes the orange juice from his chin, and then he turns back to you. Your eyes feel like they are bugging out of your head as you manage to shake your head no and mutter something about it being ok, its information you had asked for. Dean seems satisfied with your answer. “Heh. Well if you say your ok then, ok. But be careful what you ask for. Sam and I have seen some things you don’t ever want to know existed. Remember what I said, ignorance is bliss.” You remember that. Perfectly. You also perfectly remember how he kissed you hot and hard right after that. Oh crap. You have got to get out of this room soon or your brain is going to melt. You mindlessly take another bite of cereal.
Sam gives Dean an annoyed look “I’m not stupid Dean. I didn’t tell her anything I didn’t think she could handle.” He scoops up his bowl and heads for the sink. Dean follows him with his eyes and then grabs the paper, “uh huh. Sure. So. Anything hinky in the paper today?” Dean gives the local news a cursory scan as he takes another bite but you notice his eyes flick to you frequently.
“Just the usual stuff, nothing outta the ordinary. We have other things to focus on anyways, like her case.” He gestures towards you. You’ve been scooping cereal in, not really tasting it, your mind a tumultuous mess.
“Oh yeah, speaking of...” Dean drops the paper on the table, “got a call last night while I was out and I think I’ve got something.” Sam dries his hands from washing his dishes and looks at Dean expectantly as he tosses the towel on the counter. “Well it’s only a little something. More of a tiny hint of something. Ok. It may be nothing. But it’s still something.”
“Dean.” Sam gives him a well-worn bitchface as he exhales sharply in annoyance.
“Ok. Ok. I think that demon was collecting ingredients for a spell… maybe. But it’s kinda a really big maybe. I gotta make a couple of calls to verify some stuff and I need you to hit the books and see what kind of spells need grace.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and scowls. You take another bite of cereal.
“Dean. The only spell I know of that uses grace is the one to lock all the angels out of heaven. If you’re right, then we’re talking about some seriously heavy shit. I’ll check the library but I honestly doubt there’s anything there about that kinda thing.” Dean grabs his empty bowl and heads for the sink. He stops and slaps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, leaning in with a strained smile, “Atta boy Sammy. You just keep being positive.” Then Dean tosses his dishes in the sink, turns, and heads straight for you. He stops right next to where Sam was sitting earlier, hands on his hips, stance defensive. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. We got this. We eat monsters for breakfast.” It feels like a speech for himself more than you, and not a terribly reassuring one either considering the tightness in his voice. You just look up at him. His eyes are wide and kinda wild, like he is psyching himself up for the big game or something as he says, “Ok? Ok.” He nods, pretending you agree, slapping you on the back as he passes by on his way to the door. “Good talk guys. I’m hitting the showers.” You go back to staring straight ahead as you stuff your mouth with another bite of Corporal Crunch; your body stuck on autopilot. One little coherent thought makes its way across your brain, Dean is such a jock and damn sexy even when he’s being weird. Oh what a useful thought. You roll your eyes at yourself. Sam apparently sees you, and thinking it’s a reaction to Dean’s comment, his arms drop to his sides as he sighs and heads towards you. “Hey. We WILL figure this out and I’m sorry. Mighta been better for you not to hear that. I’ll be in the library if you need anything.” He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then leaves you alone to finish your cereal.
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Well none of that was reassuring but honestly you weren’t terribly focused on things either. Most of your thoughts were flipping between the remembered feel of Sam followed by the remembered taste of Dean on your lips. Why do they have to keep touching you? It just makes it so much worse. Every time they make contact it’s like an electric shock shooting straight to your nethers. Even that stupid back slap from Dean made you quiver with yearning. There was important shit said about stuff you should have paid attention too, but with both of them in the room you were lucky to remember to breathe. You finish your cereal; wash your dishes and Dean’s, and then head back to your room. You check your phone for messages, strip and make the bed, and then wonder what to do with yourself. You can’t help but think of Dean in the shower and you curse yourself for being such a perv when realize that you regret missing the chance to sneak down there and catch a peek. You’ve gotta get your mind off that crazy train before you do something ridiculous. Sam is in the library researching. Hmm. There’s an idea. You decide to help him out, especially since you’re involved in all of this. The least you can do is help when capable and four eyes are better than two when it comes to finding things. Besides reading will help keep you from your other, more salacious thoughts. That’s assuming Sam won’t drive you to distraction while you’re with him. That’s also assuming he doesn’t decide to bring up last night again. He didn’t seem upset about last night but you aren’t sure you are brave enough to talk about it regardless. You figure it’s worth the risk to go help; better than going nuts in this little unpadded room.
Remembering where the library is turns out to be pretty easy. At first glance this place looks like a labyrinth but it really isn’t that complicated. As you approach the shallow steps that lead up to the brightly lit library you hear the brothers talking. “Does anything seem weird to you Dean?” Sam’s voice is full of concerned confusion. You stop just out of sight, hold your breath, and listen.
“Weird how Sammy?” Dean’s tone turns slightly exasperated, “you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“I mean weird….” Sam sighs, “I don’t know. Do you feel kinda off your game, or strange, or… weird?”
You can almost picture Dean’s puzzled look as he replies in annoyance, “No Sammy. I don’t feel strange, off my game, or -weird-.” He tweaks his voice on that last word for effect. “If anything, I’ve never felt better. I am A-OK. Peachy. Hunky-dory. Totes Fine.”
You know Sam is raising his eyebrows when he responds with a puzzled, “Totes fine?”
“Yeah. I won’t be saying that ever again. I feel dirty now.” Dean grumbles, and you envision him trying to shake that off as he struggles to move past the awkward moment. Apparently he does what comes most natural; he deflects the attention onto his little brother. “Sam. I think it’s that girl.” His voice brightens with a little bit of matter-of-fact preach tossed in. “I think you like her just a little bit, and you, are being your usual stick in the ass stuffy self, and don’t plan on doing anything about it.” You can almost feel Dean poking his finger in the air at Sam with a haughty eyebrow raised just to emphasize his observation.
“What!? No. No it’s not like that.” You hear the strain in Sam’s voice. You hear him shift in his chair. You know he’s lying through his teeth and you wonder if Dean can tell.
Apparently Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or just wants to jab at his little brother because you here him stand up as he responds brightly, “Good. Then you won’t mind if I end up with that sweet slice of pie.” Oh shit! That was forward. You feel like this conversation needs to end abruptly so you pull another move from the Dean playbook and shoot forward, hopping up the steps lightly as you interrupt by asking -what about pie? You snicker inwardly as both boys jump and then shift uncomfortably, especially Dean.
“Uh. I was just telling Sam that I’m tired of cooking so I’m gonna get takeout for our lunch, and there will definitely…” Dean pauses for emphasis “be pie.” Inside your mind you are giving Dean a standing ovation on his quick cover story. The Winchester brothers are both excellent at avoidance, lying, and denial. It seems pretty deeply ingrained in them and you figure it has to do with the life they lead. They pretty much have to lie to anyone they meet so it’s not surprising that for them it’s like breathing, second nature and so easy. You aren’t going to call them out on their conversation, that would end very badly, so you say that pie sounds great and then ask if you can help with the research, telling them your earlier thought of -the more eyes the merrier.
Sam brightens, replying, “Sure. Sounds great. I appreciate the offer.” You and Dean both notice. Inwardly you brighten too, you’re glad he wants you around. Dean isn’t as thrilled with that little revelation though. His eyes narrow at Sam. He roughly grabs a book off the table, followed by plopping down in a chair and throwing his feet up onto the table.
“Not a bad idea. The more eyes the merrier.” Dean parrots your words as he raises the book, and his eyebrows, in salute to you. Your stomach clenches a little bit because you realize this suddenly became a competition between these two and you are the grand prize. This will be interesting and almost certainly disastrous. Dean cracks open the book and starts skimming the pages. “Um. Sammy? What exactly should we be looking for?”
“Well. Since you still have nothing…”
“Hey.” Dean interjects. “I left voicemails.” He glares at Sam, obviously feeling like he lost points right there.
“Yeah. Nothing.” Sam says flatly, knowing exactly what he’s doing to Dean. “So anything you can find about Cupids, Cupid’s Grace, or Angel’s Grace in general is a good place to start.” He turns to you, expression lighter, and he gestures to a set of shelves across the room from where he’s sitting. “If you want to start on the second shelf from the bottom over behind the armchair, any book on that shelf may have what we need.” You follow his eyes and note which shelf he means, nodding affirmation. He smiles gently at you and then his eyes lock onto his book and he goes back to reading. Dean’s face is fixed with concentration as he thumbs through the book in his hand. Before you move, you take a minute to survey the library.
It looks just as it did last night when Sam showed it to you. It’s a long narrow room with a high ceiling and large columns in intervals down each side. Each one breaks up the open space into homey little alcoves. Each alcove is stuffed neatly with books and antique trinkets. One has several wickedly curved swords; another has a nautical compass and measuring instruments, and so on. Running in a straight line from the entry stairs to the back of the room are three beautiful mahogany tables with matching chairs. Dean’s feet are resting on the middle table and Sam occupies the table closest to the entrance, books and papers scattered around him as he reads. Old Arts and Crafts style lamps decorate each table and large bright lights hang from above, giving the room more than enough light to read by. The back of the room has a large archway, the same style as the entry, but it’s merely an indent, leading to nowhere. Nestled in that little nook behind dark red curtains, is a huge telescope that lends to the impressive feel of the entire room. You can’t help but think how lucky they are to have found this place. You remember Sam telling you a little about how they found it. You were so happy when he got to that part. You suppose it’s because all the stories before that seemed to involve sketchy motel rooms or abandoned houses. These two never really had a home before and now they do. It’s beautiful because of that. You don’t even mind the oppressive underground feel of it anymore because it’s the home of Sam and Dean Winchester, the wandering brothers. Speaking of, they are both settled in and staring hard at those big books and you better start reading too.
You quietly pad over to the alcove Sam pointed to, and down low on the second shelf from the floor is a mish-mash of books. All of them different shapes, sizes, and styles. You lean down, bending at the waist to read the names on their spines. You hear two chairs creak. Your spidey sense kicks in and you feel two pairs of eyes on your ass. Well that wasn’t what you wanted to happen... or was it? You’re face turns beet red and you freeze in place, not sure what to do. You find yourself growing warm deep down knowing that both of them are checking you out but it also kicks in your self-conscious side just a little bit. At least you’re wearing your clothes and not Dean’s, one of your favorite shirt/skirt combos, so you aren’t too squeamish because you know you look pretty good. This doesn’t mean you can handle that amount of attention, so you snag a large black tome with gold accents and stand up straight, trying to stay nonchalant. You hear them both shift as you slowly turn around. You wonder if they caught each other looking and smile inwardly at that amusing thought. You eyeball them both before you sink into the armchair, which happens to face their direction. They both seem to be deeply involved in reading but you can tell it’s an act; they are good liars but not this time. You open your book and smirk as you hide behind its pages. It’s exhilarating to know that both of these insanely handsome men have a thing for you. You share their wanting and the more you experience it, the less you feel like fighting it. Nothing has made any sense from the moment your world was turned upside down in that dark alley; your only option has been to just go with the flow, which has turned out to be a pretty good decision. Sam felt so perfect last night, and Dean’s kiss was a promise of so much more he could give, so why would a person fight that, especially when you don’t even feel a hint of guilt. You should feel terrible for playing both of them but the thing is; you aren’t really playing them at all. You are….. Hmmmm. You can’t explain it; it just seems to be beyond your grasp of comprehension no matter how long you chew on the thought.
Time ticks by and you find that you haven’t been much help at all, you aren’t sure if you’ve even turned a single page in the big book you’ve been hiding behind. Your mind has been whirring with inappropriate thoughts and every time you glance at one brother or the other they meet your gaze, strengthening that ever-present pull and further fueling the raging bonfire building inside. At last Dean breaks the quiet by slamming his book shut and announcing, “ok boys and girls. I’m gonna grab the grub.” Sam jumps and gives him a bitchface. You find yourself smiling whenever Sam does that, it’s enjoyable to watch these two knuckleheads interact.
“Alright Dean, I’ll keep at it. Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.” Sam is apparently the hardcore research type and isn’t fond of interruptions.
“Psh. That door would be so lucky to hit this ass.” Dean jokes as he winks at you, “hey, you wanna come with? Or are you married to research like Mr. Stick-in-the-mud here?” You leap at the chance to remove yourself from this torture but you try not to appear too eager. Don’t want to give the wrong impression to either brother. “Sweet. I’m sure you want a bit of fresh air after being cooped up here and don’t worry, if we run into anything big, bad, and nasty out there, I’ve got ya.” His macho bravado is endearing despite the fact that it’s completely unnecessary. You chuckle a thanks as you set the book on the chair and start to follow him towards the door. You catch a glimpse of Sam rolling his eyes at Dean’s comment and you find it harder and harder to hold in your mirth, but you manage it.
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It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala, or so says Dean. The doors are heavy and squeak loudly when opened or closed, the seats are well worn and it’s enormous inside to the point where you feel a little lost on the bench seat. You are thankful for the seatbelt because you feel that you’d slide around the expansive passenger side otherwise. Your left hand rests on the seat, your right props your chin on the door so you can watch the world pass by. Dean is headed to a nearby Bigerson’s but you don’t really care where the car is going because Dean is occupying the same space and that’s all that matters to you at the moment. AC/DC is playing quietly from the tape deck. You chuckle at the fact that Dean still uses tapes but then you stop to think about it for a minute and it almost depresses you. Those tapes probably have some deep sentimental value and Dean is the type to quietly cling to objects that bring good memories. You wonder how you know that and you wonder why you would bet good money that they belonged to his Dad. Sam didn’t talk much about their dad other than to say he raised them both and taught them everything he knew about hunting. You somehow know that Dean grips tightly to the good times any way he can and these old tapes, with their worn out tracks, bring him comfort. You want to hug him, just like when he sat on your bed the other day. It’s so odd to be around Dean. Your mind isn’t sure which way to process him. One part of you wants to hold him tight, tell him everything will be ok and then slowly make love to him until the world melts away to nothing. The other part wants to grab him by the collar and rape his mouth with your tongue while grinding against his firm body so you can watch him come alive with unleashed appetite. Either way your mind is completely focused on the singular thought of getting into Dean Winchester’s pants. Maybe this little trip wasn’t such a smart idea.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You snap back into reality to find that you’ve been staring at him instead of out the window. Dean’s eyes flick to you and he flashes you one hell of a sexy grin, then he goes back to watching the road. You blush and mumble something about sorry, you were spacing. He chuckles “It’s alright girlie. I don’t mind. Better you staring at me than Sam. I hate it when he does that shit. Does it just too weird me out because what are brothers for, right?” His tone is light and he seems so relaxed behind the wheel of this roaring boat of a car. “To bad it’s raining. You finally get out of there and it’s craptastic weather.” You shrug, not really sure what to say because you haven’t really minded being in the bunker. “Eh. Well I’m glad for the company so thanks for that. Even if you don’t talk much.” He flashes you another smile. You smile back and then you talk. Dean wants to chat, so you gladly chat. Your conversation is easy and enjoyable and before you know it Dean is putting the car in park next to the Bigerson’s building.
He doesn’t park in the front like most people do; he pulls in close along the side of the building, near the employee access door. You unbuckle your belt, wondering if it’s some sort of hunter strategy. That thought is abruptly stopped by Dean’s fingers threading up into your hair, and his lips pressing against yours. Oh. That’s why he parked here. This is unexpected, and nice. Then your mind stops thinking as you focus on the warmth of his mouth. Last time you were hesitant. Not this time. Your surprise wears off quickly and you immediately match his eagerness. He slides his body closer to you, in turn pulling you towards him till you’re together; bench seating has its merits. Your arms wrap around his neck as his hands slide up your back, pressing you in, breasts against his chest. Moans escape you both as you take turns attacking each other’s mouth. Hot breath, slippery lips, and animated tongues are the order of the moment and it’s so fucking mind-blowing. One of his hands moves up and begins to massage your breast. Dean finds your nipple through the layers of fabric and he pinches, then kneads your flesh again as you moan between his lips. His hands snake up under your shirt and are working on your bra strap when the employee door bursts open. You both jump, the moment shattered. Dean glares at the employee as he drags a big bag of trash to the nearby dumpster and then runs back inside, trying to avoid the rain. The guy didn’t even give you a glance but that doesn’t matter, what matters is the moment was broken. “Let’s go order lunch.” Dean is gruff but it’s not directed at you. He’s sexually frustrated and so are you. This sucks.
The guttering along the building keeps you both from getting noticeably wet but it’s nice to step inside the brightly lit dry interior of Bigerson’s. The place is pretty empty, more employees than customers at the moment. You give your order at the takeout counter, followed by Dean ordering for himself and Sam. He insists on paying for it and you don’t argue because all your money is back at the bunker. The girl taking your order tells you it will be about 20 minutes; 20 minutes of torture as you stand there with your body on fire. Your nipple aches wonderfully where Dean pinched it and you can still taste him on your lips. Ugh. Torture. However, there’s enjoyment in the fact that Dean has been shifting uncomfortably since you left the car, attempting to conceal his boner. You want so badly to help him with that little problem but fucking like rabbits in the middle of the Bigerson’s dining room is never an option. You both step away from the counter and Dean flashes you a look full of lust as he jerks his head towards the hallway with the bathroom sign. “Let’s hit the head before we go. Sound good?” His voice is low and full of promise. Your stomach clenches and your heart skips a beat at the idea you know he’s suggesting. You find yourself nodding a wordless yes. Fucking in a bathroom is not classy, but honestly, you could care less right now. All you want is Dean and the feeling of perfect connection that comes with touching him. You go first, since you’re closer, and you note as you head towards the hall that they are small single stall rooms with a door and a lock, not the typical multi stall bathrooms you often find with the swinging doors. You bet Dean knew that, the sly dog. Apparently you aren’t moving fast enough, because he crowds up behind you and after a quick glance over his shoulder, herds you into the men’s bathroom.
As soon as the door is shut and locked Dean is all over you. You have no say in the matter as he pushes you up against the wall and presses his body against yours. You couldn’t protest if you had wanted to because your mouth is filled with his fervent tongue. It glides along your teeth, tangles with yours, and explores with urgency. You’re right there with him, matching his desperation with your own expedition. Dean’s hands slide up under your shirt and he doesn’t mess with your clasp, he just grabs your bra and wrenches it up so it bunches up with your shirt above your breasts, which are now exposed. He doesn’t feather kisses down your neck, there’s no time for that kind of shit right now. He just ducks down and envelops one breast and then the other with his hot mouth. His tongue runs circles around each nipple before he clamps down gently with his teeth, shooting molten rapture through your entire body. You arch your back into his kisses as your fingers thread through his short hair. You bite back your moans, keeping them muted out of fear that you might be heard.
Dean straightens, his shirt scraping against your sensitive nipples as he pulls your head in to meet him. You both breathe in ragged uneven air between kisses and you are almost lost completely in the moment until a sudden urge to take control overpowers, and suddenly you attack. You push off from the tile and spin Dean around so that he is the one pressed against the wall. It’s your turn now. Your hands slide up and down his firmly toned chest as you claim his mouth with your tongue. Your fingers move down and find his fly. Before you unbutton his jeans your hand cups the bulge constrained behind his zipper. Dean lets out a low moan; his head lulls back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his pelvis, pushing himself into your hand. A little burst of fireworks explodes inside your head at the sight of him mingling with the feel of his hardened cock pushing against your palm. Oh god you want it. You want him.
Your lips eagerly find his again as your fingers unzip his jeans, and you push both layers of fabric down, releasing him from that cotton prison. Your hand wraps around his fevered shaft as you slowly pull away from his mouth. You suckle his bottom lip, watching it snap back in place when you finally let go, your eyes locking with his. He is wrecked and so fucking gorgeous. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his chest is heaving as his dick pulses in your grip. You bite your lip and give him a wicked grin and you see his eyes go wide as you sink to your knees. You don’t take your time and tease him; like before, there’s no time for that shit. With no warning you wrap your lips around Dean’s cock and slide it in deep. “Oh fuck.” Dean quietly explodes out a breath, his voice deep and heavy. You attack without mercy, wanting to hear him say that again. Your lips fervently work his shaft as your head bobs, sliding him in and then out, in and out, in. out. His hand grips your hair as his head tilts back against the wall, his ever-present bowlegged stance rigid with pleasure. “Oh god yes. You feel so fucking good down on your knees for me.” Dean’s voice is a hoarse whisper and it shoots straight to your core, churning that molten pool that continues to build. His words encourage you to keep going until you feel his legs begin to shake and then he grips your head with both hands, shifting so that you release him. He pulls you up off your knees and jams his tongue between your lips, kissing you hard and heavy in appreciation. Then he turns you both so that you are leaned against the countertop. It’s one of those decently built ones with cabinets underneath and a nice open space to one side, perfect for your ass. Dean’s hands run up your thighs and his fingers hook your panties and they are somewhere on the floor by the time he lifts you up onto the countertop, which is just the right height.
Dean only stops kissing you for a moment, just long enough to line up and slide himself deep inside your wet sex. “Oh yeah. Oh fuck yeah. You feel amazing.” Dean apparently likes to dirty talk and you are one hundred percent ok with that. When his tongue isn’t dancing between your lips, he’s breathing sentences against your neck as he thrusts. “Do you like that? It feels fucking good doesn’t it?” You get lost in the rhythm, the words, the feel. Perfection. It feels like perfection. The molten pool that’s been building erupts and you bury your strangled moan into his neck as you’re hit with a mind-bending orgasm. You clutch at Dean’s jacket as he continues to shove himself deep into you with broken sentences and animalistic grunts. “Holy shit girl. Fuck yeah. Like that? Fuck.” You ride the feeling of euphoria for what feels like forever and then Dean’s body tenses and strains with a few final thrusts. His arms constrict you, crushing you against his rigid body; his teeth clamp down on your earlobe at the final thrust, a burst of aching pleasure courses through you, and Dean moans in your ear as you feel him pulse hot inside you. He stills, muscles still pulled tight, holding you firmly, and then he melts. His teeth release you, replaced by warm lips sliding from your lobe to your neck, then up your cheek. Dean’s muscles loosen as he licks at your mouth, a gentle thank you as his hands come to rest on your upper arms. He shifts his body away slightly and ever so slowly slides out of you. Dean’s lips release yours and he glides them across your cheek with a warm breath; then he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing deep.
“Holy shit,” Dean exhales quietly. Holy shit is right but you don’t say a word, you just hold him while he holds you. In tandem he steps back and you slide off the counter onto your feet, his hands still on your arms and yours on his sides and neither one of you wants to let go. Your forehead rests against his chest as you try to steady your breathing, inhaling his scent as you do. Dean’s hand brushes through your hair as he steps back and says, “We better get outta here before someone notices.” You agree with him and then the moment is over and it’s all business. Dean hikes up his pants while you find your underwear on the floor and after refusing to put them back on (because eww, bathroom floor), you stuff them in Dean’s coat pocket. He is about to protest but then stops and just accepts it. Dean unlocks the door and opens it a crack to peek out. The coast is clear. Dean gives your ass a little smack as you quickly scoot over to the women’s bathroom. “Meet you at the car.” Sounds like a plan to you. It doesn’t take long to clean up and when you leave the bathroom you try to act normal. Now walking nonchalantly through the dining room, wearing no underwear, with Dean Winchester leaned against the counter watching as you pass by is not an easy task, but you make it out the door.
You keep up the charade until you round the corner of the building and then you lean against the wall, close your eyes, and let out an explosive breath. The rain is still coming down pretty hard but the wind isn’t blowing and the guttering is protecting you. You stand there for a minute processing, reveling, reliving. Mother of all things holy! That was mind-blowing, and your knees are still weak from it. You push off from the brick and start for the Impala. Just as you are about to step into the rain towards the passenger door, someone grabs you. Your body is slammed back against the wall with brutal force and suddenly there is hot sour breath in your face as an arm begins to crush your neck. Solid black eyes bore into you from a face twisted in anger. “Finally found you, you little bitch.” The man spits the words at you as he presses his body in close, “now where is it? Did you give it to the Winchesters you little shit?” You’re speechless, eyes wide with surprise and terror. You watch as the man raises a knife to your cheek, its long curved edge resting against your skin.
Suddenly you feel the blade slice a gash into your face as the man pushes harder into you, his mouth hanging open with a gargle of pain as a strange electrical pulse crackles from his eyes and throat. Then you see Dean, face twisted with primal rage and disgust as he rips a long bone-handled blade from the man’s back. Dean grabs the man by his collar and guides the now dead body to the ground. Blood drips from the knife in Dean’s hand as he stands in the rain breathing through his adrenaline; then he’s immediately invading your space. He runs a wet thumb along your cheek, concern etched across his waterlogged features, “you ok?” You don’t answer. You are just so happy to see Dean and happy that man (not a man, that monster) is not going to hurt you anymore. “Are you ok?” Dean’s voice is sharp, insistent, his concern turning to panic as he tries to lock eyes with you. His voice snaps you from the daze and your eyes finally focus on him. You nod an affirmation that you’re ok and gulp back an impending sob. Dean lets out an explosive breath of relief and gives you a once over, apparently not trusting your judgment. Then he orders you, “get in the car and don’t move.” Your eyes are still wide as you nod in agreement. Wordlessly you splash to the passenger side, get in, and slam the door shut. From the rearview mirror you watch Dean wipe off his wicked looking knife and tuck it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Your eyes stay locked on him as he grabs the dead man (no, the dead monster) up under his armpits and drags the body across the alley to the opposite side of the dumpster out of site, the rain running in a red trail behind him. Dean reappears and swaggers to the car, not seeming to care about the rain since he is already soaked to the bone. He stops by the employee access door for a moment and grabs several bags full of something. The door creaks loudly as he gets in and slams it hard. He drops the bags on the seat between you and stares out the window at the rain for a moment. “Fuck!” Dean slams his hands on the steering wheel, his outburst startling you. He looks at you; his face plagued with worry and a need for forgiveness as he reaches out a dripping arm and rests his hand on your cheek. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think… I’m sorry.” Your eyes soften as they gaze into his but you still can’t find any words to say. You press your cheek into his hand and it stings, the cut still bleeding, but you don’t care. You want him to know its ok and that’s the only way you can right now. That small gesture seems to relax him a bit. His fingers slide from your cheek and the Impala roars to life as he turns the key. The drive back is silent, the only sound is the purr of the engine, the hum of the wheels, and AC/DC shooting to thrill.
<<< >>>
You wake up alone. The clock on your lock screen says it’s a decent hour to be awake but also not shamefully late either. The sheets still smell like Sam and you breathe them in deep as you take a moment to relive last night. That was crazy. You just met the guy. You decide immediately to stop saying that to yourself as an argument because, to be honest, you wanted to fuck him the moment he sat down next to you on the bed, sight unseen. Well wish granted. Deed done. Now what. You can’t help but wonder if this will make things awkward, especially since you seem to have the same inclination towards Dean. What’s done is done and you wouldn’t take it back for the world because regardless of how vanilla last night was, it was still the best sex you’ve ever had. Climaxes are a rare commodity among women in general and he got you twice without even trying. You aren’t sure whether it’s mad skills or if it’s just something about him that gets you all hot and bothered, probably both. First times aren’t normally that awesome. It’s usually awkward and ends up disappointing for someone involved, but last night was none of that. Not even close. You both got your jollies in spades. Regardless of what you think you like in a sex partner, Sam was everything you needed and it was amazing.
You realize that you are hugging the pillow that still holds his scent and decide it’s a great time to get out of bed and think of other things. You go to bathroom, brush your teeth, and smirk at your sex/sleep mussed hair in the mirror. When done, you come out and notice there are clothes and a fresh set of sheets on the chair. A little note rests on top. “I washed these for you yesterday. Thought you might want clean clothes for today. -Sam.” So it was Sam who took your messy clothes, he even laundered them, and he even got you clean sheets, forever the gentleman you muse. Hmmm, although that does mean he was handling your panties, maybe he isn’t so gentlemanly after all. You can’t help but smile at that. A memory from last night floats to the surface of your mind, of bits of clothing lying strewn all over the floor (gone now, you don’t know where), Sam’s body pressed warm and smooth against yours, the softness of his lips and you still remember how he tasted. Desire begins to pool deep inside. You try to shake the thoughts away; it’s too early for that kind of crap right now. With the stack of clean sheets on the chair you decide to wrap yourself in last night’s bed sheet so you don’t walk naked to the shower room. You scoop up your clothes and find a towel included, holy crap he doesn’t miss a thing does he, and you head down the hall to the showers.
The hallway and the shower room are as empty as a tomb. It’s a little creepy but you try to reassure yourself that Sam is around here somewhere and that this place is warded against the boogey men you just discovered are real. The shower helps clear your mind as you wash away the scent of Sam, leaving fresh soap as the only fragrance to inhale. It’s like the fog of desire has been thinned out a bit and you can focus on more than just sexy Sam. You chuckle at that descriptor as you towel off and dress in your original clothes. You feel a bit more feminine now that you have on your skirt and top. It’s nothing fancy but they fit the way they are supposed to and compliment your body nicely, unlike Dean’s loaners. Once you have your hair taken care of, you leave the sheet and towel behind as you decide it’s time to see if the galley has anything for breakfast.
Deserted halls again, but you turn into the kitchen and find Sam sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal as he reads the local paper. Your eyes meet and he swallows his bite of cereal as you both just stare for a moment. That damn attraction is back full force. You don’t know why you thought it would lessen after last night’s shenanigans but you thought it would take the edge off if nothing else. Nope. Not even a little bit. At least it doesn’t seem to be any worse either, so there is that little ray of sunshine you think wryly to yourself. Sam greets you cordially, “good morning. I see you found your clothes where I left them. I’m glad.” You try to be nonchalant and joke about how it’s not exactly a cluttered room but make sure to add a hearty thank you in with it. He gives you a small smile “just doing what I can to help since I know all of this is a bit strange”. You smile back and inquire about breakfast. Sam unfolds himself from the table, strides over and plucks a bowl from inside a cabinet and then opens the door of another one. He places a spoon in the bowl and then with another little smile he says, “Pick your poison and milk is in the fridge.” He sits down and goes back to his cereal. Well. Hmmm. This isn’t to awkward… except that he is acting like last night never happened… or is he? You don’t know. How should he be acting? Were you expecting him to swoop you up with a kiss and a “hello darling, did you rest well?” Some small part of you was apparently hoping for that but the rest of you knows that’s just plain silly. Well he doesn’t appear to have regret or hatred regarding last night so you just shrug it off and consider the situation a win as you head over to the cabinet. You have four choices; some kind of healthy bran flakes, Frooty Lootys, Corporal Crunch’s Peanut Butter Blast, or Bunch o Honey Bits. Somehow you just know that Sam is the only one who eats the bran flakes. You grab the Corporal Crunch and pour a hefty bowl, followed by just the right amount of milk, and you plop down across from Sam in your usual spot. You dig in. Amazing sex gives a person one healthy appetite you realize. You eat without shame as Sam finishes up his bowl of bran.
Sam sets the paper down and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. You pry your eyes from your bowl of Crunch where you’ve been staring, afraid to make eye contact for some unknown reason. Sam’s eyebrows are all bunched up and there is trepidation in his eyes as they lock with yours, “We’ve gotta talk about last night.” You don’t like the way he says any of that sentence but you don’t have time to react because Dean comes strolling into the room and says, “why? What happened last night?” Sam’s expression flips to ‘oh shit’ and then he forces himself into a poker face. “Oh. Uh. Hey Dean. Just get back?” Dean heads for the cabinet where he grabs a bowl and spoon, “Yup. It was a quickie. And now I’m starving.” He grabs the Frooty Lootys and fills the bowl to the brim. He pours on the milk and as he’s kicking the fridge door shut he asks, “So man, what happened last night? Something try to get in or something?” He sits down, spoons a big bite into his mouth and then looks at Sam with one eyebrow raised as he chews.
“What? No. No, nothing like that.” Sam pauses and you hold your breath, wondering what he will say next. “I. We. We did a lot of talking last night and I answered a lot of questions she had about monsters. I just wanted to make sure she’s ok and that I didn’t freak her out to much with the stories I told her.” You let out your breath with relief, and then shove a spoonful of cereal in your cakehole as quickly as you can.
“Geez Sammy. Telling her ghost stories before bed. Real smart.” He turns to you. “Hope he didn’t screw with you to bad.” Dean winks and smiles as your eyes meet and your brain hits the brakes and goes full stop. To many emotions just occurred; lust for Sam, memory of said lustful happenings with Sam, the pull towards him still palpable followed by deep salacious thoughts of Dean, the pull towards him just as strong. You don’t know which way to go. You don’t know what to think. What was the question again?
You have no idea what look is on your face when you utter an inarticulate -huh? Dean notices that you are having some sort of moment so he plunges his spoon into his cereal, leans towards you just a bit and says “Sammy? Did he go and scare the pants off you last night?” Sam chokes on his orange juice. Dean’s wording is killing you both and he has no clue. Dean gives his brother an incredulous look as Sam wipes the orange juice from his chin, and then he turns back to you. Your eyes feel like they are bugging out of your head as you manage to shake your head no and mutter something about it being ok, its information you had asked for. Dean seems satisfied with your answer. “Heh. Well if you say your ok then, ok. But be careful what you ask for. Sam and I have seen some things you don’t ever want to know existed. Remember what I said, ignorance is bliss.” You remember that. Perfectly. You also perfectly remember how he kissed you hot and hard right after that. Oh crap. You have got to get out of this room soon or your brain is going to melt. You mindlessly take another bite of cereal.
Sam gives Dean an annoyed look “I’m not stupid Dean. I didn’t tell her anything I didn’t think she could handle.” He scoops up his bowl and heads for the sink. Dean follows him with his eyes and then grabs the paper, “uh huh. Sure. So. Anything hinky in the paper today?” Dean gives the local news a cursory scan as he takes another bite but you notice his eyes flick to you frequently.
“Just the usual stuff, nothing outta the ordinary. We have other things to focus on anyways, like her case.” He gestures towards you. You’ve been scooping cereal in, not really tasting it, your mind a tumultuous mess.
“Oh yeah, speaking of...” Dean drops the paper on the table, “got a call last night while I was out and I think I’ve got something.” Sam dries his hands from washing his dishes and looks at Dean expectantly as he tosses the towel on the counter. “Well it’s only a little something. More of a tiny hint of something. Ok. It may be nothing. But it’s still something.”
“Dean.” Sam gives him a well-worn bitchface as he exhales sharply in annoyance.
“Ok. Ok. I think that demon was collecting ingredients for a spell… maybe. But it’s kinda a really big maybe. I gotta make a couple of calls to verify some stuff and I need you to hit the books and see what kind of spells need grace.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and scowls. You take another bite of cereal.
“Dean. The only spell I know of that uses grace is the one to lock all the angels out of heaven. If you’re right, then we’re talking about some seriously heavy shit. I’ll check the library but I honestly doubt there’s anything there about that kinda thing.” Dean grabs his empty bowl and heads for the sink. He stops and slaps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, leaning in with a strained smile, “Atta boy Sammy. You just keep being positive.” Then Dean tosses his dishes in the sink, turns, and heads straight for you. He stops right next to where Sam was sitting earlier, hands on his hips, stance defensive. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. We got this. We eat monsters for breakfast.” It feels like a speech for himself more than you, and not a terribly reassuring one either considering the tightness in his voice. You just look up at him. His eyes are wide and kinda wild, like he is psyching himself up for the big game or something as he says, “Ok? Ok.” He nods, pretending you agree, slapping you on the back as he passes by on his way to the door. “Good talk guys. I’m hitting the showers.” You go back to staring straight ahead as you stuff your mouth with another bite of Corporal Crunch; your body stuck on autopilot. One little coherent thought makes its way across your brain, Dean is such a jock and damn sexy even when he’s being weird. Oh what a useful thought. You roll your eyes at yourself. Sam apparently sees you, and thinking it’s a reaction to Dean’s comment, his arms drop to his sides as he sighs and heads towards you. “Hey. We WILL figure this out and I’m sorry. Mighta been better for you not to hear that. I’ll be in the library if you need anything.” He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then leaves you alone to finish your cereal.
<<< >>>
Well none of that was reassuring but honestly you weren’t terribly focused on things either. Most of your thoughts were flipping between the remembered feel of Sam followed by the remembered taste of Dean on your lips. Why do they have to keep touching you? It just makes it so much worse. Every time they make contact it’s like an electric shock shooting straight to your nethers. Even that stupid back slap from Dean made you quiver with yearning. There was important shit said about stuff you should have paid attention too, but with both of them in the room you were lucky to remember to breathe. You finish your cereal; wash your dishes and Dean’s, and then head back to your room. You check your phone for messages, strip and make the bed, and then wonder what to do with yourself. You can’t help but think of Dean in the shower and you curse yourself for being such a perv when realize that you regret missing the chance to sneak down there and catch a peek. You’ve gotta get your mind off that crazy train before you do something ridiculous. Sam is in the library researching. Hmm. There’s an idea. You decide to help him out, especially since you’re involved in all of this. The least you can do is help when capable and four eyes are better than two when it comes to finding things. Besides reading will help keep you from your other, more salacious thoughts. That’s assuming Sam won’t drive you to distraction while you’re with him. That’s also assuming he doesn’t decide to bring up last night again. He didn’t seem upset about last night but you aren’t sure you are brave enough to talk about it regardless. You figure it’s worth the risk to go help; better than going nuts in this little unpadded room.
Remembering where the library is turns out to be pretty easy. At first glance this place looks like a labyrinth but it really isn’t that complicated. As you approach the shallow steps that lead up to the brightly lit library you hear the brothers talking. “Does anything seem weird to you Dean?” Sam’s voice is full of concerned confusion. You stop just out of sight, hold your breath, and listen.
“Weird how Sammy?” Dean’s tone turns slightly exasperated, “you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“I mean weird….” Sam sighs, “I don’t know. Do you feel kinda off your game, or strange, or… weird?”
You can almost picture Dean’s puzzled look as he replies in annoyance, “No Sammy. I don’t feel strange, off my game, or -weird-.” He tweaks his voice on that last word for effect. “If anything, I’ve never felt better. I am A-OK. Peachy. Hunky-dory. Totes Fine.”
You know Sam is raising his eyebrows when he responds with a puzzled, “Totes fine?”
“Yeah. I won’t be saying that ever again. I feel dirty now.” Dean grumbles, and you envision him trying to shake that off as he struggles to move past the awkward moment. Apparently he does what comes most natural; he deflects the attention onto his little brother. “Sam. I think it’s that girl.” His voice brightens with a little bit of matter-of-fact preach tossed in. “I think you like her just a little bit, and you, are being your usual stick in the ass stuffy self, and don’t plan on doing anything about it.” You can almost feel Dean poking his finger in the air at Sam with a haughty eyebrow raised just to emphasize his observation.
“What!? No. No it’s not like that.” You hear the strain in Sam’s voice. You hear him shift in his chair. You know he’s lying through his teeth and you wonder if Dean can tell.
Apparently Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or just wants to jab at his little brother because you here him stand up as he responds brightly, “Good. Then you won’t mind if I end up with that sweet slice of pie.” Oh shit! That was forward. You feel like this conversation needs to end abruptly so you pull another move from the Dean playbook and shoot forward, hopping up the steps lightly as you interrupt by asking -what about pie? You snicker inwardly as both boys jump and then shift uncomfortably, especially Dean.
“Uh. I was just telling Sam that I’m tired of cooking so I’m gonna get takeout for our lunch, and there will definitely…” Dean pauses for emphasis “be pie.” Inside your mind you are giving Dean a standing ovation on his quick cover story. The Winchester brothers are both excellent at avoidance, lying, and denial. It seems pretty deeply ingrained in them and you figure it has to do with the life they lead. They pretty much have to lie to anyone they meet so it’s not surprising that for them it’s like breathing, second nature and so easy. You aren’t going to call them out on their conversation, that would end very badly, so you say that pie sounds great and then ask if you can help with the research, telling them your earlier thought of -the more eyes the merrier.
Sam brightens, replying, “Sure. Sounds great. I appreciate the offer.” You and Dean both notice. Inwardly you brighten too, you’re glad he wants you around. Dean isn’t as thrilled with that little revelation though. His eyes narrow at Sam. He roughly grabs a book off the table, followed by plopping down in a chair and throwing his feet up onto the table.
“Not a bad idea. The more eyes the merrier.” Dean parrots your words as he raises the book, and his eyebrows, in salute to you. Your stomach clenches a little bit because you realize this suddenly became a competition between these two and you are the grand prize. This will be interesting and almost certainly disastrous. Dean cracks open the book and starts skimming the pages. “Um. Sammy? What exactly should we be looking for?”
“Well. Since you still have nothing…”
“Hey.” Dean interjects. “I left voicemails.” He glares at Sam, obviously feeling like he lost points right there.
“Yeah. Nothing.” Sam says flatly, knowing exactly what he’s doing to Dean. “So anything you can find about Cupids, Cupid’s Grace, or Angel’s Grace in general is a good place to start.” He turns to you, expression lighter, and he gestures to a set of shelves across the room from where he’s sitting. “If you want to start on the second shelf from the bottom over behind the armchair, any book on that shelf may have what we need.” You follow his eyes and note which shelf he means, nodding affirmation. He smiles gently at you and then his eyes lock onto his book and he goes back to reading. Dean’s face is fixed with concentration as he thumbs through the book in his hand. Before you move, you take a minute to survey the library.
It looks just as it did last night when Sam showed it to you. It’s a long narrow room with a high ceiling and large columns in intervals down each side. Each one breaks up the open space into homey little alcoves. Each alcove is stuffed neatly with books and antique trinkets. One has several wickedly curved swords; another has a nautical compass and measuring instruments, and so on. Running in a straight line from the entry stairs to the back of the room are three beautiful mahogany tables with matching chairs. Dean’s feet are resting on the middle table and Sam occupies the table closest to the entrance, books and papers scattered around him as he reads. Old Arts and Crafts style lamps decorate each table and large bright lights hang from above, giving the room more than enough light to read by. The back of the room has a large archway, the same style as the entry, but it’s merely an indent, leading to nowhere. Nestled in that little nook behind dark red curtains, is a huge telescope that lends to the impressive feel of the entire room. You can’t help but think how lucky they are to have found this place. You remember Sam telling you a little about how they found it. You were so happy when he got to that part. You suppose it’s because all the stories before that seemed to involve sketchy motel rooms or abandoned houses. These two never really had a home before and now they do. It’s beautiful because of that. You don’t even mind the oppressive underground feel of it anymore because it’s the home of Sam and Dean Winchester, the wandering brothers. Speaking of, they are both settled in and staring hard at those big books and you better start reading too.
You quietly pad over to the alcove Sam pointed to, and down low on the second shelf from the floor is a mish-mash of books. All of them different shapes, sizes, and styles. You lean down, bending at the waist to read the names on their spines. You hear two chairs creak. Your spidey sense kicks in and you feel two pairs of eyes on your ass. Well that wasn’t what you wanted to happen... or was it? You’re face turns beet red and you freeze in place, not sure what to do. You find yourself growing warm deep down knowing that both of them are checking you out but it also kicks in your self-conscious side just a little bit. At least you’re wearing your clothes and not Dean’s, one of your favorite shirt/skirt combos, so you aren’t too squeamish because you know you look pretty good. This doesn’t mean you can handle that amount of attention, so you snag a large black tome with gold accents and stand up straight, trying to stay nonchalant. You hear them both shift as you slowly turn around. You wonder if they caught each other looking and smile inwardly at that amusing thought. You eyeball them both before you sink into the armchair, which happens to face their direction. They both seem to be deeply involved in reading but you can tell it’s an act; they are good liars but not this time. You open your book and smirk as you hide behind its pages. It’s exhilarating to know that both of these insanely handsome men have a thing for you. You share their wanting and the more you experience it, the less you feel like fighting it. Nothing has made any sense from the moment your world was turned upside down in that dark alley; your only option has been to just go with the flow, which has turned out to be a pretty good decision. Sam felt so perfect last night, and Dean’s kiss was a promise of so much more he could give, so why would a person fight that, especially when you don’t even feel a hint of guilt. You should feel terrible for playing both of them but the thing is; you aren’t really playing them at all. You are….. Hmmmm. You can’t explain it; it just seems to be beyond your grasp of comprehension no matter how long you chew on the thought.
Time ticks by and you find that you haven’t been much help at all, you aren’t sure if you’ve even turned a single page in the big book you’ve been hiding behind. Your mind has been whirring with inappropriate thoughts and every time you glance at one brother or the other they meet your gaze, strengthening that ever-present pull and further fueling the raging bonfire building inside. At last Dean breaks the quiet by slamming his book shut and announcing, “ok boys and girls. I’m gonna grab the grub.” Sam jumps and gives him a bitchface. You find yourself smiling whenever Sam does that, it’s enjoyable to watch these two knuckleheads interact.
“Alright Dean, I’ll keep at it. Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.” Sam is apparently the hardcore research type and isn’t fond of interruptions.
“Psh. That door would be so lucky to hit this ass.” Dean jokes as he winks at you, “hey, you wanna come with? Or are you married to research like Mr. Stick-in-the-mud here?” You leap at the chance to remove yourself from this torture but you try not to appear too eager. Don’t want to give the wrong impression to either brother. “Sweet. I’m sure you want a bit of fresh air after being cooped up here and don’t worry, if we run into anything big, bad, and nasty out there, I’ve got ya.” His macho bravado is endearing despite the fact that it’s completely unnecessary. You chuckle a thanks as you set the book on the chair and start to follow him towards the door. You catch a glimpse of Sam rolling his eyes at Dean’s comment and you find it harder and harder to hold in your mirth, but you manage it.
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It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala, or so says Dean. The doors are heavy and squeak loudly when opened or closed, the seats are well worn and it’s enormous inside to the point where you feel a little lost on the bench seat. You are thankful for the seatbelt because you feel that you’d slide around the expansive passenger side otherwise. Your left hand rests on the seat, your right props your chin on the door so you can watch the world pass by. Dean is headed to a nearby Bigerson’s but you don’t really care where the car is going because Dean is occupying the same space and that’s all that matters to you at the moment. AC/DC is playing quietly from the tape deck. You chuckle at the fact that Dean still uses tapes but then you stop to think about it for a minute and it almost depresses you. Those tapes probably have some deep sentimental value and Dean is the type to quietly cling to objects that bring good memories. You wonder how you know that and you wonder why you would bet good money that they belonged to his Dad. Sam didn’t talk much about their dad other than to say he raised them both and taught them everything he knew about hunting. You somehow know that Dean grips tightly to the good times any way he can and these old tapes, with their worn out tracks, bring him comfort. You want to hug him, just like when he sat on your bed the other day. It’s so odd to be around Dean. Your mind isn’t sure which way to process him. One part of you wants to hold him tight, tell him everything will be ok and then slowly make love to him until the world melts away to nothing. The other part wants to grab him by the collar and rape his mouth with your tongue while grinding against his firm body so you can watch him come alive with unleashed appetite. Either way your mind is completely focused on the singular thought of getting into Dean Winchester’s pants. Maybe this little trip wasn’t such a smart idea.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You snap back into reality to find that you’ve been staring at him instead of out the window. Dean’s eyes flick to you and he flashes you one hell of a sexy grin, then he goes back to watching the road. You blush and mumble something about sorry, you were spacing. He chuckles “It’s alright girlie. I don’t mind. Better you staring at me than Sam. I hate it when he does that shit. Does it just too weird me out because what are brothers for, right?” His tone is light and he seems so relaxed behind the wheel of this roaring boat of a car. “To bad it’s raining. You finally get out of there and it’s craptastic weather.” You shrug, not really sure what to say because you haven’t really minded being in the bunker. “Eh. Well I’m glad for the company so thanks for that. Even if you don’t talk much.” He flashes you another smile. You smile back and then you talk. Dean wants to chat, so you gladly chat. Your conversation is easy and enjoyable and before you know it Dean is putting the car in park next to the Bigerson’s building.
He doesn’t park in the front like most people do; he pulls in close along the side of the building, near the employee access door. You unbuckle your belt, wondering if it’s some sort of hunter strategy. That thought is abruptly stopped by Dean’s fingers threading up into your hair, and his lips pressing against yours. Oh. That’s why he parked here. This is unexpected, and nice. Then your mind stops thinking as you focus on the warmth of his mouth. Last time you were hesitant. Not this time. Your surprise wears off quickly and you immediately match his eagerness. He slides his body closer to you, in turn pulling you towards him till you’re together; bench seating has its merits. Your arms wrap around his neck as his hands slide up your back, pressing you in, breasts against his chest. Moans escape you both as you take turns attacking each other’s mouth. Hot breath, slippery lips, and animated tongues are the order of the moment and it’s so fucking mind-blowing. One of his hands moves up and begins to massage your breast. Dean finds your nipple through the layers of fabric and he pinches, then kneads your flesh again as you moan between his lips. His hands snake up under your shirt and are working on your bra strap when the employee door bursts open. You both jump, the moment shattered. Dean glares at the employee as he drags a big bag of trash to the nearby dumpster and then runs back inside, trying to avoid the rain. The guy didn’t even give you a glance but that doesn’t matter, what matters is the moment was broken. “Let’s go order lunch.” Dean is gruff but it’s not directed at you. He’s sexually frustrated and so are you. This sucks.
The guttering along the building keeps you both from getting noticeably wet but it’s nice to step inside the brightly lit dry interior of Bigerson’s. The place is pretty empty, more employees than customers at the moment. You give your order at the takeout counter, followed by Dean ordering for himself and Sam. He insists on paying for it and you don’t argue because all your money is back at the bunker. The girl taking your order tells you it will be about 20 minutes; 20 minutes of torture as you stand there with your body on fire. Your nipple aches wonderfully where Dean pinched it and you can still taste him on your lips. Ugh. Torture. However, there’s enjoyment in the fact that Dean has been shifting uncomfortably since you left the car, attempting to conceal his boner. You want so badly to help him with that little problem but fucking like rabbits in the middle of the Bigerson’s dining room is never an option. You both step away from the counter and Dean flashes you a look full of lust as he jerks his head towards the hallway with the bathroom sign. “Let’s hit the head before we go. Sound good?” His voice is low and full of promise. Your stomach clenches and your heart skips a beat at the idea you know he’s suggesting. You find yourself nodding a wordless yes. Fucking in a bathroom is not classy, but honestly, you could care less right now. All you want is Dean and the feeling of perfect connection that comes with touching him. You go first, since you’re closer, and you note as you head towards the hall that they are small single stall rooms with a door and a lock, not the typical multi stall bathrooms you often find with the swinging doors. You bet Dean knew that, the sly dog. Apparently you aren’t moving fast enough, because he crowds up behind you and after a quick glance over his shoulder, herds you into the men’s bathroom.
As soon as the door is shut and locked Dean is all over you. You have no say in the matter as he pushes you up against the wall and presses his body against yours. You couldn’t protest if you had wanted to because your mouth is filled with his fervent tongue. It glides along your teeth, tangles with yours, and explores with urgency. You’re right there with him, matching his desperation with your own expedition. Dean’s hands slide up under your shirt and he doesn’t mess with your clasp, he just grabs your bra and wrenches it up so it bunches up with your shirt above your breasts, which are now exposed. He doesn’t feather kisses down your neck, there’s no time for that kind of shit right now. He just ducks down and envelops one breast and then the other with his hot mouth. His tongue runs circles around each nipple before he clamps down gently with his teeth, shooting molten rapture through your entire body. You arch your back into his kisses as your fingers thread through his short hair. You bite back your moans, keeping them muted out of fear that you might be heard.
Dean straightens, his shirt scraping against your sensitive nipples as he pulls your head in to meet him. You both breathe in ragged uneven air between kisses and you are almost lost completely in the moment until a sudden urge to take control overpowers, and suddenly you attack. You push off from the tile and spin Dean around so that he is the one pressed against the wall. It’s your turn now. Your hands slide up and down his firmly toned chest as you claim his mouth with your tongue. Your fingers move down and find his fly. Before you unbutton his jeans your hand cups the bulge constrained behind his zipper. Dean lets out a low moan; his head lulls back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his pelvis, pushing himself into your hand. A little burst of fireworks explodes inside your head at the sight of him mingling with the feel of his hardened cock pushing against your palm. Oh god you want it. You want him.
Your lips eagerly find his again as your fingers unzip his jeans, and you push both layers of fabric down, releasing him from that cotton prison. Your hand wraps around his fevered shaft as you slowly pull away from his mouth. You suckle his bottom lip, watching it snap back in place when you finally let go, your eyes locking with his. He is wrecked and so fucking gorgeous. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his chest is heaving as his dick pulses in your grip. You bite your lip and give him a wicked grin and you see his eyes go wide as you sink to your knees. You don’t take your time and tease him; like before, there’s no time for that shit. With no warning you wrap your lips around Dean’s cock and slide it in deep. “Oh fuck.” Dean quietly explodes out a breath, his voice deep and heavy. You attack without mercy, wanting to hear him say that again. Your lips fervently work his shaft as your head bobs, sliding him in and then out, in and out, in. out. His hand grips your hair as his head tilts back against the wall, his ever-present bowlegged stance rigid with pleasure. “Oh god yes. You feel so fucking good down on your knees for me.” Dean’s voice is a hoarse whisper and it shoots straight to your core, churning that molten pool that continues to build. His words encourage you to keep going until you feel his legs begin to shake and then he grips your head with both hands, shifting so that you release him. He pulls you up off your knees and jams his tongue between your lips, kissing you hard and heavy in appreciation. Then he turns you both so that you are leaned against the countertop. It’s one of those decently built ones with cabinets underneath and a nice open space to one side, perfect for your ass. Dean’s hands run up your thighs and his fingers hook your panties and they are somewhere on the floor by the time he lifts you up onto the countertop, which is just the right height.
Dean only stops kissing you for a moment, just long enough to line up and slide himself deep inside your wet sex. “Oh yeah. Oh fuck yeah. You feel amazing.” Dean apparently likes to dirty talk and you are one hundred percent ok with that. When his tongue isn’t dancing between your lips, he’s breathing sentences against your neck as he thrusts. “Do you like that? It feels fucking good doesn’t it?” You get lost in the rhythm, the words, the feel. Perfection. It feels like perfection. The molten pool that’s been building erupts and you bury your strangled moan into his neck as you’re hit with a mind-bending orgasm. You clutch at Dean’s jacket as he continues to shove himself deep into you with broken sentences and animalistic grunts. “Holy shit girl. Fuck yeah. Like that? Fuck.” You ride the feeling of euphoria for what feels like forever and then Dean’s body tenses and strains with a few final thrusts. His arms constrict you, crushing you against his rigid body; his teeth clamp down on your earlobe at the final thrust, a burst of aching pleasure courses through you, and Dean moans in your ear as you feel him pulse hot inside you. He stills, muscles still pulled tight, holding you firmly, and then he melts. His teeth release you, replaced by warm lips sliding from your lobe to your neck, then up your cheek. Dean’s muscles loosen as he licks at your mouth, a gentle thank you as his hands come to rest on your upper arms. He shifts his body away slightly and ever so slowly slides out of you. Dean’s lips release yours and he glides them across your cheek with a warm breath; then he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing deep.
“Holy shit,” Dean exhales quietly. Holy shit is right but you don’t say a word, you just hold him while he holds you. In tandem he steps back and you slide off the counter onto your feet, his hands still on your arms and yours on his sides and neither one of you wants to let go. Your forehead rests against his chest as you try to steady your breathing, inhaling his scent as you do. Dean’s hand brushes through your hair as he steps back and says, “We better get outta here before someone notices.” You agree with him and then the moment is over and it’s all business. Dean hikes up his pants while you find your underwear on the floor and after refusing to put them back on (because eww, bathroom floor), you stuff them in Dean’s coat pocket. He is about to protest but then stops and just accepts it. Dean unlocks the door and opens it a crack to peek out. The coast is clear. Dean gives your ass a little smack as you quickly scoot over to the women’s bathroom. “Meet you at the car.” Sounds like a plan to you. It doesn’t take long to clean up and when you leave the bathroom you try to act normal. Now walking nonchalantly through the dining room, wearing no underwear, with Dean Winchester leaned against the counter watching as you pass by is not an easy task, but you make it out the door.
You keep up the charade until you round the corner of the building and then you lean against the wall, close your eyes, and let out an explosive breath. The rain is still coming down pretty hard but the wind isn’t blowing and the guttering is protecting you. You stand there for a minute processing, reveling, reliving. Mother of all things holy! That was mind-blowing, and your knees are still weak from it. You push off from the brick and start for the Impala. Just as you are about to step into the rain towards the passenger door, someone grabs you. Your body is slammed back against the wall with brutal force and suddenly there is hot sour breath in your face as an arm begins to crush your neck. Solid black eyes bore into you from a face twisted in anger. “Finally found you, you little bitch.” The man spits the words at you as he presses his body in close, “now where is it? Did you give it to the Winchesters you little shit?” You’re speechless, eyes wide with surprise and terror. You watch as the man raises a knife to your cheek, its long curved edge resting against your skin.
Suddenly you feel the blade slice a gash into your face as the man pushes harder into you, his mouth hanging open with a gargle of pain as a strange electrical pulse crackles from his eyes and throat. Then you see Dean, face twisted with primal rage and disgust as he rips a long bone-handled blade from the man’s back. Dean grabs the man by his collar and guides the now dead body to the ground. Blood drips from the knife in Dean’s hand as he stands in the rain breathing through his adrenaline; then he’s immediately invading your space. He runs a wet thumb along your cheek, concern etched across his waterlogged features, “you ok?” You don’t answer. You are just so happy to see Dean and happy that man (not a man, that monster) is not going to hurt you anymore. “Are you ok?” Dean’s voice is sharp, insistent, his concern turning to panic as he tries to lock eyes with you. His voice snaps you from the daze and your eyes finally focus on him. You nod an affirmation that you’re ok and gulp back an impending sob. Dean lets out an explosive breath of relief and gives you a once over, apparently not trusting your judgment. Then he orders you, “get in the car and don’t move.” Your eyes are still wide as you nod in agreement. Wordlessly you splash to the passenger side, get in, and slam the door shut. From the rearview mirror you watch Dean wipe off his wicked looking knife and tuck it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Your eyes stay locked on him as he grabs the dead man (no, the dead monster) up under his armpits and drags the body across the alley to the opposite side of the dumpster out of site, the rain running in a red trail behind him. Dean reappears and swaggers to the car, not seeming to care about the rain since he is already soaked to the bone. He stops by the employee access door for a moment and grabs several bags full of something. The door creaks loudly as he gets in and slams it hard. He drops the bags on the seat between you and stares out the window at the rain for a moment. “Fuck!” Dean slams his hands on the steering wheel, his outburst startling you. He looks at you; his face plagued with worry and a need for forgiveness as he reaches out a dripping arm and rests his hand on your cheek. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think… I’m sorry.” Your eyes soften as they gaze into his but you still can’t find any words to say. You press your cheek into his hand and it stings, the cut still bleeding, but you don’t care. You want him to know its ok and that’s the only way you can right now. That small gesture seems to relax him a bit. His fingers slide from your cheek and the Impala roars to life as he turns the key. The drive back is silent, the only sound is the purr of the engine, the hum of the wheels, and AC/DC shooting to thrill.