And now for something completely different.
Title: Wife.
Author: bitchandjerk
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating :R for language
Words: 3,300
Warnings:Non graphic wincest. Cake torture. Sam's secret pancake ingredient.
Summary: I honestly have no idea how to summarize this.
Notes: I started this inspired by the plethora of Food Porn that's been popping up on my friend's list lately. It's very hard for me to write and not have Sam and Dean get horizontal. I may or may not add to it. Who knows.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
Feedback: Makes me hard.
When Dean broke his arm Sam had insisted they take a break. Dean thought it was bullshit, he knew he could kick ass with or without a fully functioning right arm. Sam used his hypnotic sad face and Dean found himself signing a month long lease on a small house in the middle of nowhere.
“This is bullshit!” Dean yelled, kicking his bag after it landed on the floor.
“What is?” Sam asked from the doorway.
“This house and you.”
“What did I do?”
“You did that thing. That thing with your face.”
Sam looked hurt.
“That thing!” Dean yelled. “It’s unfair for you to do that thing with your face.”
Sam closed the door and picked up Dean’s bag before disappearing into the bedroom.
“Bullshit.”
“I heard that.” He yelled.
“I don’t care!”
Sam returned a second later sitting in the chair opposite Dean.
“You can’t shoot, you can’t throw a punch, until your arm is healed, all you can do is sit there and look pretty.” Sam laughed. “You can’t even jerk off.”
“I can shoot, punch and jerk off with my left arm.”
“No you can’t.”
“Bitch.” Dean muttered, turning on the sofa away from Sam. “This house is stupid, there’s only one bed, the carpet is pink and it smells funny.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Since when do we need more than one bed?”
Dean turned back towards Sam. “We need a bed for sex and a bed for sleeping, dumbass.”
“We just won’t have sex then.”
“Kill me now.”
Sam got up to sit next to him on the sofa. Dean shifted awkwardly trying to move away from his brother.
“Listen.” He started. “It’s only a month lease. I can’t hunt without you one hundred percent.”
Sam hoped that appealing to Dean’s vanity would shut him up.
“Bullshit.”
“Alright. Let’s go find something to hunt. One of us will probably end up dead again but let’s go.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” Sam said smiling. “Don’t make me do that thing with my face.”
“Fine, but we leave in a month even if I still have this stupid cast on my arm.”
Sam stood up, proud of himself.
“I’m going to get some food and cook dinner.”
“You know how to cook?” Dean asked.
“Well, I naturally assumed I could.”
“Knock yourself out Martha. I’m going to lay down.”
Sam gave Dean a quick kiss against the back of his head before reaching into his pocket to pull out the keys.
Dean surveyed the house after Sam left. It wasn’t so bad, aside from the pink carpet. It was much nicer than the motel rooms they were used to. He’d never let Sam know but he might actually be able to like living in one place for a month.
He shrugged his jacket off before sitting down on the bed to kick off his shoes. It might be nice to walk around in his socks unafraid of collecting some strange new disease from motel room carpet.
Before drifting off into much needed sleep, he made sure to toss the pink bedspread onto the floor.
“Not in this lifetime.”
Dean awoke two hours later. The sunlight had faded and the only light in the room came from the glowing alarm clock.
Immediately he smelled something foreign.
“What the hell?” He muttered, rubbing at his eyes.
The hard cast scratched against his face. It would take some time to get used to having hard plaster where his arm should be.
Sam was in the kitchen busying himself with something on the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, sitting down at the table.
“Uh.” Sam looked back. “I made a cake.”
“A cake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Sam said, turning and bringing the cake to the table. “I just wanted a cake.”
Dean stared down at the chocolate blob in front of him. The layers were uneven and threatening to slide off of each other. There were pieces of crumbs stuck in the frosting and huge gaps of cake still showing through.
Dean looked up at Sam after finishing his thorough study of the cake. He looked tired and utterly defeated.
“I tried to make a cake.” He said quietly.
“I’m sure it tastes okay.” Dean said smiling. “Did you just make cake?”
“No, I made lasagna.” Sam said before turning around and producing a huge bubbling tray.
“That’s a shit load of lasagna. How are we going to eat all of that?”
Sam shrugged. “We can save the rest.”
Dean nodded, there was something strangely satisfying knowing that they were able to keep leftovers.
Sam scooped out a giant serving onto Dean’s plate before fixing a smaller portion for himself.
“It smells good.” Dean said, lifting the plate to his nose.
“My cake looks like shit.” Sam said, staring at it across the table.
Dean looked over at it. It did look like shit. Dean had to wonder if he would have been able to do a better job. It didn’t look burnt, he wasn’t sure his wouldn’t have.
Dean dropped his first forkful of lasagna. “Fucking cast.” He muttered.
“You’ll get used to it.”
With his fork firmly secured between his fingers, Dean took a small tentative bite of the lasagna, preparing himself to feign approval if it was terrible.
Anything would have been better than the crap they usually ate in diners. Sam’s lasagna was surprisingly good.
“This is really good.” He said, taking a larger bite.
“Thanks.”
“Where’d you learn to make this?” Dean asked, shoveling more into his mouth.
“Uh.”
“What?” Dean asked, a sauce slicked noodle hanging out the side of his mouth.
“I bought it frozen.”
Dean laughed. “I thought you were going to cook.”
“I cooked the cake!” Sam said, pointing at it as the top layer slid further from the bottom one.
Dean picked up his knife to shift the top layer back in place. As soon as he removed it it started to slide again.
“Mother fucker.” He muttered sliding it back and stabbing his knife into the top to secure it.
Sam laughed at the knife sticking straight up out of the cake.
“It’s decoration.” Dean said, returning to his plate.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Sam finished his lasagna and set his fork down.
“I know you don’t want to be here.”
Dean shrugged while shoving the last heaping forkful into his mouth.
“It’s not so bad. Will you fake cook every night?”
“I cooked the cake!” Sam yelled.
“Baked.”
“You know what I mean.” Sam said before taking their plates to the sink. “Are we going to eat it?”
Dean looked over at it. He was so full of lasagna that another bite of anything would cause extreme discomfort, but he was willing to deal with that for Sam.
“Did you buy milk?”
“Yes.”
“Real milk?”
“Yes.” Sam groaned. He had picked up soy milk but put it back knowing Dean would bitch about it.
Sam returned to the table with two glasses of milk, two plates and extra forks. Dean watched as he carefully moved the cake in front of him, afraid any small movement would cause it to crumble.
“I jammed that knife in it pretty good.”
Sam smiled at him before cutting out a piece, catching it on a plate and handing it to Dean. It fell over again as soon as the plate touched the table. Sam looked over at it.
“What did I tell you about that face?” Dean asked as Sam cut another piece and watched it fall in half before he even got it to the plate.
Dean dragged his lips across the fork, catching the cake in his mouth.
“How is it?” Sam asked, poking at his own slice.
“It tastes like cake.” Dean said.
“Good cake?”
It was pretty good. It wasn’t dry and the frosting on his piece was thick and creamy.
“I haven’t had any better.” Dean said.
Sam’s eyes lit up as he ate his first forkful. It may have not been pretty but it sure did taste good.
“I guess it’s pretty hard to screw up cake from a box.”
Dean laughed, taking another bite. “Who’s going to do the dishes?”
“I cooked, you have to do the dishes.”
“I can’t get my cast wet.” Dean said, thankful for the cast for the first time.
“I’ll wash, you dry.”
“Deal.” Dean said, taking one last bite of Sam’s chocolate monstrosity.
Later in bed Dean was groaning while pressing his hand to his stomach. Sam ignored him and tried to focus on reading.
“Ugh.” Dean moaned
“Does your tummy hurt?” Sam asked without looking up from his book.
“No.” Dean said. “My stomach hurts.”
Sam reached over to rub slow gently circles over Dean’s stomach.
“What are you reading?” Dean asked, sinking down into the bed.
“1001 gay sex positions.”
Dean snatched the book out of his hands. “No shit?”
He scanned a few pages before realizing that the book had absolutely nothing to do with gay sex. Dean closed the book and tossed it against the wall.
“I was reading that!” Sam yelled pressing down hard against Dean’s stomach.
“Ugh.”
“You’re such a pussy.” Sam said, getting out of bed to retrieve his book. “You made me lose my place.”
“You were on the page where they weren’t talking about gay sex.”
Sam flipped through the pages before finding his place.
“My stomach.” Dean whined poking Sam in the side.
Sam muttered something under his breath before reaching over to continue rubbing his stomach.
“What did you say?” Dean asked.
“I love you.” Sam lied.
“Liar. My stomach really hurts.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten so much.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me so much.”
Sam marked his place before setting the book on the nightstand. “You didn’t have to eat it all.”
“But it was so good.” Dean groaned.
Sam reached over to turn off the lamp before turning onto his side to pay attention to Dean’s rumbling stomach.
“Do you want to have sex?”
“Do you want to?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “If you want to.”
“My tummy hurts.”
“I thought it was your stomach?”
“That too.”
They laid in the darkness with Dean on his back while Sam kept rubbing his stomach in small soft circles.
“Oh god.” Dean said.
“What?”
“We’re like an old married couple.”
Sam laughed.
“No, I’m serious. I’m the husband and you’re the wife.”
Sam sat up in bed, jabbing his hand into Dean’s stomach again.
“I’m not the wife. You’re the wife.”
Dean laughed. “Because I spent the day baking? You’re the wife.”
Sam stared at him for a second before gritting his teeth and holding his hands to his head.
“Sam?” Dean said, sitting up in bed.
“Fuck.” Sam muttered, pulling his hair through his hands.
Of course, when Dean was too stuffed to even move Sam would have to have a vision.
“What is it?” Dean asked, grabbing Sam by the wrists.
“It’s a woman.”
“And?”
“She’s in a kitchen somewhere.” Sam groaned. “She’s a total bitch.”
“What?”
“Wait, it’s you, you’re a total bitch. You’re my bitch wife.”
Dean shoved him hard enough that he fell backwards out of the bed laughing.
“Mother fucker!” Dean yelled. “That’s not funny.”
Sam crawled back into bed still laughing.
“Get off of me.” Dean said, nudging Sam with his shoulder. “Bullshit!”
“I love you.”
“I hate you.” Dean muttered, turning onto his side.
“See, you are a bitch.”
“You’re the bitch.”
Sam reached his arm around Dean, pulling him into his chest. If his stomach hadn’t hurt so bad, Dean would have flipped Sam over and showed him who the bitch was.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Sam asked, nuzzling his mouth against Dean’s neck.
“I don’t care.”
“You sure you don’t want to have sex?”
“I’m never having sex with you again.”
Sam laughed and made a mental note to give Dean a blowjob if he woke up in the middle of the night.
The next morning Dean woke up freezing and missing a pair of underwear and a brother.
“Sam?” Dean yelled into the hallway.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m baking.” Sam yelled from the kitchen.
Dean looked to the clock. It wasn’t even 9:00am yet, why the hell would he be baking this early? After a few minutes of searching Dean found his underwear half hidden under the bed and a pair of sweat pants from Sam’s bag.
He stumbled into the kitchen to find Sam standing next to the stove.
“You molested me in my sleep last night.” Dean muttered while making his way to the coffee maker.
“I did not.” Sam said shocked. “I would never do that.”
Dean took a long swallow of dark black coffee. “You took advantage of me.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, you did, you molested me.”
Sam turned around looking ridiculous with a spatula in hand.
“That’s not how it happened.”
“Oh? How did it happen?”
Sam turned back to the stove. “I was sleeping peacefully and I woke up horrified with you violating my mouth.”
“Right.” Dean said, sitting down at the table to flip through the newspaper.
“’No Dean no!’ I yelled but you were more animal than man.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m the victim here.” Sam said.
“You’re a cockslut..”
“A what?” Sam asked, turning towards Dean.
“A cockslut, a slut for cock. That’s what you are.” Dean said, paying more attention to the newspaper than to Sam. “What’s for breakfast.”
“Pancakes.”
“Frozen?”
“No, I actually made these.”
Dean liked pancakes. He wasn’t too sure about Sam’s skill at cooking them, but it sure did beat having to eat them in a loud diner.
Sam placed the huge steaming plate of pancakes down on the table before handing Dean a plate.
“I thought pancakes were supposed to be round.”
“These are Samcakes.” Sam said, handing him a fork. “They’re like pancakes but better.”
“What makes them better?”
“I jerked off in the batter.”
Dean dropped his fork. “Seriously?”
“Yes Dean, I seriously stood at the stove and jerked off in the batter.”
“I’ll know if you did.” Dean said, taking the first bite.
Dean doubted Sam would have actually done that but he made a concerted effort to find out. They were soft and hot and held the perfect amount of syrup squishing between his teeth.
“I love pancakes.” Dean said once he was sure there were no special ingredients.
“I know.”
Sam cut his pancakes into small pieces before dousing them with syrup. Dean just tore into them, breaking off chunks that he knew he could get into his mouth. Sam’s napkin was laid carefully on his lap while Dean’s was crumpled next to his plate already covered in syrup.
“You sure these aren’t frozen?”
“Nope.” Sam said, pointing to the empty box on the counter.
“Good job.” Dean said, glancing over at the newspaper. “Anything in the paper?”
“No, I’m pretty sure nothing has ever happened in this town.”
Dean laughed. The front page article was about a town meeting.
“How about we rip out that pink carpet today?”
“How about we not get our security deposit back?”
“Oh yeah.” Dean said, mouth full of pancakes. “Can we get a new bedspread?”
“What for?” Sam asked.
“Dude, it’s pink.”
“Why does that matter?”
“What if someone breaks into the house and sees me sleeping under a pink bedspread?”
Sam looked up at Dean completely puzzled.
“They’d probably run after seeing you violating me in my sleep.”
“You violated me!” Dean yelled.
“You liked it.” Sam said laughing. “Don’t eat too many pancakes or I’ll do it again.”
Dean immediately stabbed two more pancakes with his fork and brought them to his plate.
“I bet we can find a cheap non pink bedspread.”
Sam sighed. “Fine.”
“You’re such a good wife.” Dean said, smiling with pieces of pancake stuck in his teeth.
Sam got up to take his plate to the sink. “You’re the wife.”
Sam was still grumbling about not being the wife when Dean knocked a bedspread off the shelf and into their cart.
“Let’s go.”
“Is this the one you want?” Sam asked, looking at the picture on the outside of the plastic bag. It was black and white and there was no pink to be seen.
“It’s fine.” Dean said, looking around at all the other bedspreads and not finding anything better.
“It’s two hundred dollars.” Sam said, shoving it back onto the shelf.
“What? No it’s not.”
Sam pointed at the tag wondering why it was so expensive.
“That’s not the one I want.” Dean said, studying the less expensive bedspreads. “What do they put in the beyond section?”
Sam shrugged, he had no idea what was in the beyond of Bed, Bath and Beyond. “The kitchen stuff I guess.”
“Want me to buy you an apron?”
“Shut up and pick a bedspread.”
Sam sat down on one of the made up bed’s waiting for Dean to find one that he likes and wasn’t two hundred dollars. The bed was ridiculously soft, Sam wondered what exactly was under it to make it so soft. Years of sleeping on hard motel mattresses had convinced him that they all felt like softened concrete.
Laying back he stared up at the ceiling, blinded by the bright fluorescent lights. “Check out this bed.”
Dean turned to lay down next to him, their feet swinging off the side of the bed.
“This is a bed.” Dean said, pressing himself further into it. “Can we take this bed?”
“It’s pink.”
“Who cares? It’s awesome.”
Sam sat up to quickly survey the area before falling back onto the bed on top of Dean.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Violating you.” Sam answered, pressing his mouth against Dean’s.
He tried to say something but Sam pressed in harder muffling the words against his tongue.
Dean was about to give into Sam’s mouth when the sound of squeaking wheels jolted him back into reality. He pushed against Sam knocking him against the pile of pillows against the headboard.
“Don’t stop on account of me.” The woman standing there said. “I’m just looking for some sheets.
“Sorry.” Dean said, staring at Sam.
“You know anything about sheets?” She asked.
Dean was immediately furious thinking she assumed that just because he was making out with his brother that he new about sheets. He was about to inform her that he was all man when Sam spoke up.
“I’d get the three hundred thread count Egyptian cotton.”
“Wife.” Dean said under his breath.
“Bitch.”
“Your face is.” Dean shot back.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“You’ve got bitch face!” Dean yelled, oblivious to the woman still standing in front of them.
“Thanks for the help.” She said before rushing away.
“Egyptian cotton?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that what we have?” Dean asked.
“I doubt that.”
“Let’s get that too.”
Sam tried to take Dean out of buying so much stuff reminding him that they were only there for a month.
“What the hell is a bed skirt?” Dean asked, picking up a package and reading the back of it.
Sam knocked it out of his hand. “Something we don’t need.”
Three hundred dollars later Dean was struggling with four huge bags.
“Bitch!” He yelled. “Take some of these.”
Sam stopped. “What?”
“Take some of these bags.”
Sam laughed. “I thought you wanted to be the husband.”
“What the hell.”
“That’s what they do, they carry the bags.”
“I hate you.” Dean yelled, hoisting the bags up.
Sam got into the car and shut the door behind him. “I know.”
Author: bitchandjerk
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating :R for language
Words: 3,300
Warnings:Non graphic wincest. Cake torture. Sam's secret pancake ingredient.
Summary: I honestly have no idea how to summarize this.
Notes: I started this inspired by the plethora of Food Porn that's been popping up on my friend's list lately. It's very hard for me to write and not have Sam and Dean get horizontal. I may or may not add to it. Who knows.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
Feedback: Makes me hard.
When Dean broke his arm Sam had insisted they take a break. Dean thought it was bullshit, he knew he could kick ass with or without a fully functioning right arm. Sam used his hypnotic sad face and Dean found himself signing a month long lease on a small house in the middle of nowhere.
“This is bullshit!” Dean yelled, kicking his bag after it landed on the floor.
“What is?” Sam asked from the doorway.
“This house and you.”
“What did I do?”
“You did that thing. That thing with your face.”
Sam looked hurt.
“That thing!” Dean yelled. “It’s unfair for you to do that thing with your face.”
Sam closed the door and picked up Dean’s bag before disappearing into the bedroom.
“Bullshit.”
“I heard that.” He yelled.
“I don’t care!”
Sam returned a second later sitting in the chair opposite Dean.
“You can’t shoot, you can’t throw a punch, until your arm is healed, all you can do is sit there and look pretty.” Sam laughed. “You can’t even jerk off.”
“I can shoot, punch and jerk off with my left arm.”
“No you can’t.”
“Bitch.” Dean muttered, turning on the sofa away from Sam. “This house is stupid, there’s only one bed, the carpet is pink and it smells funny.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Since when do we need more than one bed?”
Dean turned back towards Sam. “We need a bed for sex and a bed for sleeping, dumbass.”
“We just won’t have sex then.”
“Kill me now.”
Sam got up to sit next to him on the sofa. Dean shifted awkwardly trying to move away from his brother.
“Listen.” He started. “It’s only a month lease. I can’t hunt without you one hundred percent.”
Sam hoped that appealing to Dean’s vanity would shut him up.
“Bullshit.”
“Alright. Let’s go find something to hunt. One of us will probably end up dead again but let’s go.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” Sam said smiling. “Don’t make me do that thing with my face.”
“Fine, but we leave in a month even if I still have this stupid cast on my arm.”
Sam stood up, proud of himself.
“I’m going to get some food and cook dinner.”
“You know how to cook?” Dean asked.
“Well, I naturally assumed I could.”
“Knock yourself out Martha. I’m going to lay down.”
Sam gave Dean a quick kiss against the back of his head before reaching into his pocket to pull out the keys.
Dean surveyed the house after Sam left. It wasn’t so bad, aside from the pink carpet. It was much nicer than the motel rooms they were used to. He’d never let Sam know but he might actually be able to like living in one place for a month.
He shrugged his jacket off before sitting down on the bed to kick off his shoes. It might be nice to walk around in his socks unafraid of collecting some strange new disease from motel room carpet.
Before drifting off into much needed sleep, he made sure to toss the pink bedspread onto the floor.
“Not in this lifetime.”
Dean awoke two hours later. The sunlight had faded and the only light in the room came from the glowing alarm clock.
Immediately he smelled something foreign.
“What the hell?” He muttered, rubbing at his eyes.
The hard cast scratched against his face. It would take some time to get used to having hard plaster where his arm should be.
Sam was in the kitchen busying himself with something on the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, sitting down at the table.
“Uh.” Sam looked back. “I made a cake.”
“A cake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Sam said, turning and bringing the cake to the table. “I just wanted a cake.”
Dean stared down at the chocolate blob in front of him. The layers were uneven and threatening to slide off of each other. There were pieces of crumbs stuck in the frosting and huge gaps of cake still showing through.
Dean looked up at Sam after finishing his thorough study of the cake. He looked tired and utterly defeated.
“I tried to make a cake.” He said quietly.
“I’m sure it tastes okay.” Dean said smiling. “Did you just make cake?”
“No, I made lasagna.” Sam said before turning around and producing a huge bubbling tray.
“That’s a shit load of lasagna. How are we going to eat all of that?”
Sam shrugged. “We can save the rest.”
Dean nodded, there was something strangely satisfying knowing that they were able to keep leftovers.
Sam scooped out a giant serving onto Dean’s plate before fixing a smaller portion for himself.
“It smells good.” Dean said, lifting the plate to his nose.
“My cake looks like shit.” Sam said, staring at it across the table.
Dean looked over at it. It did look like shit. Dean had to wonder if he would have been able to do a better job. It didn’t look burnt, he wasn’t sure his wouldn’t have.
Dean dropped his first forkful of lasagna. “Fucking cast.” He muttered.
“You’ll get used to it.”
With his fork firmly secured between his fingers, Dean took a small tentative bite of the lasagna, preparing himself to feign approval if it was terrible.
Anything would have been better than the crap they usually ate in diners. Sam’s lasagna was surprisingly good.
“This is really good.” He said, taking a larger bite.
“Thanks.”
“Where’d you learn to make this?” Dean asked, shoveling more into his mouth.
“Uh.”
“What?” Dean asked, a sauce slicked noodle hanging out the side of his mouth.
“I bought it frozen.”
Dean laughed. “I thought you were going to cook.”
“I cooked the cake!” Sam said, pointing at it as the top layer slid further from the bottom one.
Dean picked up his knife to shift the top layer back in place. As soon as he removed it it started to slide again.
“Mother fucker.” He muttered sliding it back and stabbing his knife into the top to secure it.
Sam laughed at the knife sticking straight up out of the cake.
“It’s decoration.” Dean said, returning to his plate.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Sam finished his lasagna and set his fork down.
“I know you don’t want to be here.”
Dean shrugged while shoving the last heaping forkful into his mouth.
“It’s not so bad. Will you fake cook every night?”
“I cooked the cake!” Sam yelled.
“Baked.”
“You know what I mean.” Sam said before taking their plates to the sink. “Are we going to eat it?”
Dean looked over at it. He was so full of lasagna that another bite of anything would cause extreme discomfort, but he was willing to deal with that for Sam.
“Did you buy milk?”
“Yes.”
“Real milk?”
“Yes.” Sam groaned. He had picked up soy milk but put it back knowing Dean would bitch about it.
Sam returned to the table with two glasses of milk, two plates and extra forks. Dean watched as he carefully moved the cake in front of him, afraid any small movement would cause it to crumble.
“I jammed that knife in it pretty good.”
Sam smiled at him before cutting out a piece, catching it on a plate and handing it to Dean. It fell over again as soon as the plate touched the table. Sam looked over at it.
“What did I tell you about that face?” Dean asked as Sam cut another piece and watched it fall in half before he even got it to the plate.
Dean dragged his lips across the fork, catching the cake in his mouth.
“How is it?” Sam asked, poking at his own slice.
“It tastes like cake.” Dean said.
“Good cake?”
It was pretty good. It wasn’t dry and the frosting on his piece was thick and creamy.
“I haven’t had any better.” Dean said.
Sam’s eyes lit up as he ate his first forkful. It may have not been pretty but it sure did taste good.
“I guess it’s pretty hard to screw up cake from a box.”
Dean laughed, taking another bite. “Who’s going to do the dishes?”
“I cooked, you have to do the dishes.”
“I can’t get my cast wet.” Dean said, thankful for the cast for the first time.
“I’ll wash, you dry.”
“Deal.” Dean said, taking one last bite of Sam’s chocolate monstrosity.
Later in bed Dean was groaning while pressing his hand to his stomach. Sam ignored him and tried to focus on reading.
“Ugh.” Dean moaned
“Does your tummy hurt?” Sam asked without looking up from his book.
“No.” Dean said. “My stomach hurts.”
Sam reached over to rub slow gently circles over Dean’s stomach.
“What are you reading?” Dean asked, sinking down into the bed.
“1001 gay sex positions.”
Dean snatched the book out of his hands. “No shit?”
He scanned a few pages before realizing that the book had absolutely nothing to do with gay sex. Dean closed the book and tossed it against the wall.
“I was reading that!” Sam yelled pressing down hard against Dean’s stomach.
“Ugh.”
“You’re such a pussy.” Sam said, getting out of bed to retrieve his book. “You made me lose my place.”
“You were on the page where they weren’t talking about gay sex.”
Sam flipped through the pages before finding his place.
“My stomach.” Dean whined poking Sam in the side.
Sam muttered something under his breath before reaching over to continue rubbing his stomach.
“What did you say?” Dean asked.
“I love you.” Sam lied.
“Liar. My stomach really hurts.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten so much.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me so much.”
Sam marked his place before setting the book on the nightstand. “You didn’t have to eat it all.”
“But it was so good.” Dean groaned.
Sam reached over to turn off the lamp before turning onto his side to pay attention to Dean’s rumbling stomach.
“Do you want to have sex?”
“Do you want to?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “If you want to.”
“My tummy hurts.”
“I thought it was your stomach?”
“That too.”
They laid in the darkness with Dean on his back while Sam kept rubbing his stomach in small soft circles.
“Oh god.” Dean said.
“What?”
“We’re like an old married couple.”
Sam laughed.
“No, I’m serious. I’m the husband and you’re the wife.”
Sam sat up in bed, jabbing his hand into Dean’s stomach again.
“I’m not the wife. You’re the wife.”
Dean laughed. “Because I spent the day baking? You’re the wife.”
Sam stared at him for a second before gritting his teeth and holding his hands to his head.
“Sam?” Dean said, sitting up in bed.
“Fuck.” Sam muttered, pulling his hair through his hands.
Of course, when Dean was too stuffed to even move Sam would have to have a vision.
“What is it?” Dean asked, grabbing Sam by the wrists.
“It’s a woman.”
“And?”
“She’s in a kitchen somewhere.” Sam groaned. “She’s a total bitch.”
“What?”
“Wait, it’s you, you’re a total bitch. You’re my bitch wife.”
Dean shoved him hard enough that he fell backwards out of the bed laughing.
“Mother fucker!” Dean yelled. “That’s not funny.”
Sam crawled back into bed still laughing.
“Get off of me.” Dean said, nudging Sam with his shoulder. “Bullshit!”
“I love you.”
“I hate you.” Dean muttered, turning onto his side.
“See, you are a bitch.”
“You’re the bitch.”
Sam reached his arm around Dean, pulling him into his chest. If his stomach hadn’t hurt so bad, Dean would have flipped Sam over and showed him who the bitch was.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Sam asked, nuzzling his mouth against Dean’s neck.
“I don’t care.”
“You sure you don’t want to have sex?”
“I’m never having sex with you again.”
Sam laughed and made a mental note to give Dean a blowjob if he woke up in the middle of the night.
The next morning Dean woke up freezing and missing a pair of underwear and a brother.
“Sam?” Dean yelled into the hallway.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m baking.” Sam yelled from the kitchen.
Dean looked to the clock. It wasn’t even 9:00am yet, why the hell would he be baking this early? After a few minutes of searching Dean found his underwear half hidden under the bed and a pair of sweat pants from Sam’s bag.
He stumbled into the kitchen to find Sam standing next to the stove.
“You molested me in my sleep last night.” Dean muttered while making his way to the coffee maker.
“I did not.” Sam said shocked. “I would never do that.”
Dean took a long swallow of dark black coffee. “You took advantage of me.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, you did, you molested me.”
Sam turned around looking ridiculous with a spatula in hand.
“That’s not how it happened.”
“Oh? How did it happen?”
Sam turned back to the stove. “I was sleeping peacefully and I woke up horrified with you violating my mouth.”
“Right.” Dean said, sitting down at the table to flip through the newspaper.
“’No Dean no!’ I yelled but you were more animal than man.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m the victim here.” Sam said.
“You’re a cockslut..”
“A what?” Sam asked, turning towards Dean.
“A cockslut, a slut for cock. That’s what you are.” Dean said, paying more attention to the newspaper than to Sam. “What’s for breakfast.”
“Pancakes.”
“Frozen?”
“No, I actually made these.”
Dean liked pancakes. He wasn’t too sure about Sam’s skill at cooking them, but it sure did beat having to eat them in a loud diner.
Sam placed the huge steaming plate of pancakes down on the table before handing Dean a plate.
“I thought pancakes were supposed to be round.”
“These are Samcakes.” Sam said, handing him a fork. “They’re like pancakes but better.”
“What makes them better?”
“I jerked off in the batter.”
Dean dropped his fork. “Seriously?”
“Yes Dean, I seriously stood at the stove and jerked off in the batter.”
“I’ll know if you did.” Dean said, taking the first bite.
Dean doubted Sam would have actually done that but he made a concerted effort to find out. They were soft and hot and held the perfect amount of syrup squishing between his teeth.
“I love pancakes.” Dean said once he was sure there were no special ingredients.
“I know.”
Sam cut his pancakes into small pieces before dousing them with syrup. Dean just tore into them, breaking off chunks that he knew he could get into his mouth. Sam’s napkin was laid carefully on his lap while Dean’s was crumpled next to his plate already covered in syrup.
“You sure these aren’t frozen?”
“Nope.” Sam said, pointing to the empty box on the counter.
“Good job.” Dean said, glancing over at the newspaper. “Anything in the paper?”
“No, I’m pretty sure nothing has ever happened in this town.”
Dean laughed. The front page article was about a town meeting.
“How about we rip out that pink carpet today?”
“How about we not get our security deposit back?”
“Oh yeah.” Dean said, mouth full of pancakes. “Can we get a new bedspread?”
“What for?” Sam asked.
“Dude, it’s pink.”
“Why does that matter?”
“What if someone breaks into the house and sees me sleeping under a pink bedspread?”
Sam looked up at Dean completely puzzled.
“They’d probably run after seeing you violating me in my sleep.”
“You violated me!” Dean yelled.
“You liked it.” Sam said laughing. “Don’t eat too many pancakes or I’ll do it again.”
Dean immediately stabbed two more pancakes with his fork and brought them to his plate.
“I bet we can find a cheap non pink bedspread.”
Sam sighed. “Fine.”
“You’re such a good wife.” Dean said, smiling with pieces of pancake stuck in his teeth.
Sam got up to take his plate to the sink. “You’re the wife.”
Sam was still grumbling about not being the wife when Dean knocked a bedspread off the shelf and into their cart.
“Let’s go.”
“Is this the one you want?” Sam asked, looking at the picture on the outside of the plastic bag. It was black and white and there was no pink to be seen.
“It’s fine.” Dean said, looking around at all the other bedspreads and not finding anything better.
“It’s two hundred dollars.” Sam said, shoving it back onto the shelf.
“What? No it’s not.”
Sam pointed at the tag wondering why it was so expensive.
“That’s not the one I want.” Dean said, studying the less expensive bedspreads. “What do they put in the beyond section?”
Sam shrugged, he had no idea what was in the beyond of Bed, Bath and Beyond. “The kitchen stuff I guess.”
“Want me to buy you an apron?”
“Shut up and pick a bedspread.”
Sam sat down on one of the made up bed’s waiting for Dean to find one that he likes and wasn’t two hundred dollars. The bed was ridiculously soft, Sam wondered what exactly was under it to make it so soft. Years of sleeping on hard motel mattresses had convinced him that they all felt like softened concrete.
Laying back he stared up at the ceiling, blinded by the bright fluorescent lights. “Check out this bed.”
Dean turned to lay down next to him, their feet swinging off the side of the bed.
“This is a bed.” Dean said, pressing himself further into it. “Can we take this bed?”
“It’s pink.”
“Who cares? It’s awesome.”
Sam sat up to quickly survey the area before falling back onto the bed on top of Dean.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Violating you.” Sam answered, pressing his mouth against Dean’s.
He tried to say something but Sam pressed in harder muffling the words against his tongue.
Dean was about to give into Sam’s mouth when the sound of squeaking wheels jolted him back into reality. He pushed against Sam knocking him against the pile of pillows against the headboard.
“Don’t stop on account of me.” The woman standing there said. “I’m just looking for some sheets.
“Sorry.” Dean said, staring at Sam.
“You know anything about sheets?” She asked.
Dean was immediately furious thinking she assumed that just because he was making out with his brother that he new about sheets. He was about to inform her that he was all man when Sam spoke up.
“I’d get the three hundred thread count Egyptian cotton.”
“Wife.” Dean said under his breath.
“Bitch.”
“Your face is.” Dean shot back.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“You’ve got bitch face!” Dean yelled, oblivious to the woman still standing in front of them.
“Thanks for the help.” She said before rushing away.
“Egyptian cotton?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that what we have?” Dean asked.
“I doubt that.”
“Let’s get that too.”
Sam tried to take Dean out of buying so much stuff reminding him that they were only there for a month.
“What the hell is a bed skirt?” Dean asked, picking up a package and reading the back of it.
Sam knocked it out of his hand. “Something we don’t need.”
Three hundred dollars later Dean was struggling with four huge bags.
“Bitch!” He yelled. “Take some of these.”
Sam stopped. “What?”
“Take some of these bags.”
Sam laughed. “I thought you wanted to be the husband.”
“What the hell.”
“That’s what they do, they carry the bags.”
“I hate you.” Dean yelled, hoisting the bags up.
Sam got into the car and shut the door behind him. “I know.”