"If You Only Knew" [nc17] Part 2, Sam/Dean (past Sam/Alec)

[queenklu]

Title: If You Only Knew (title stolen from Shinedown, who rox)
Author:  queenklu
Beta by: the babelicious (;P)  shri_amato  who discovered the horny fairies who stole their boxers
Pairing: Sam/Dean (mentions of past Sam/Alec)
Crossover: Supernatural/Dark Angel
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 8,500+ O.O ...and about half of that is porn. *headdesk*
Disclaimer: I keep them in a jar by the side of my bed. This, according to Dean, does not mean i own them.

Summary & A/N: Honestly, you don't need to be familiar with Dark Angel to enjoy this fic. Simply imagine What Fun occurs when Sam's ex-boyfriend (Yes, Boyfriend) turns out to look like a dead-ringer for Dean.


“Dean,” Sam said the instant their motel door snapped shut behind them, “we really don’t have to talk about this. I’ve spent years not talking about it, I think I can-"

“No, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes jerked up to his for the first time since he got in the car, but dropped back to the corner of their room he’d decided needed some serious focusing on. Or what the fuck ever. Who knew why Sam did the things he did-Dean only knew that they happened. A small, almost teasing smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Since when are you all care-and-share?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Since when do you fuck men who look like me?” It was light up until the last word-almost as casual as “I like to think its because of my perky nipples”-but that last word (and fuck) hit Sam like a slap to the face... And Dean made-let-it happen, gut clenched tight against the need to make it stop. Stop before Sam retaliated. Stop before Sam left.

“…You want an exact date?” Sam asked through his bangs, and Dean hated that smile creeping back on his face with a nameless fury. Like he’d expected this reaction all along, and Dean hated being predictable but it was hard being anything but around Sam. So he nodded, jaw tight, just to piss him off. Just to see that flicker of surprise before it was closed off behind a hardening mask. Very quietly, but mean, like he had no choice in answering, “Six months at Stanford. Right before Jess. Not that it’s any of your business.”

What Sam didn’t say-maybe because he didn’t think Dean could or would do the math-is that six months before Jess pretty much coincided with the time that he forced himself to break contact with Sam. ‘Hey in almost two years I haven’t bothered you, haven’t asked you for a thing.’ He remembered saying that outside Sam’s apartment when he was dragging him into the search for Dad, mostly because it was a tried and true guilt trip, but also because he wanted Sam to say, “Yeah, why is that exactly? Where the fuck have you been, I missed you.” Only maybe not so chick-flicky.

So it’s understandable that something in his chest tightened as he realized it was true-Sam had missed him. Only a lot more than Dean had ever, ever known.

Did that make all this his fault?

All this took about a split-second hesitation that even Sam would miss if he wasn't on his game, and then Dean shot his mouth off, because that’s what he does best. “Oh, it’s my business, Sam.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean! What’s bugging you more? The fact that I slept with a guy, or the fact he just happened to look like you?”

Dean sank back on his heels, unaware until that moment that he’d been in a stance waiting to be physically attacked. Or maybe doing the attacking. Either way, he knew in the back of his head that Sam had noticed, that it might’ve brought on this outburst. He just didn’t care.

“So. It was just coincidence he’s a dead ringer.” Dean found himself fighting the sudden urge to circle, because it’d be too much like talking to that freak ass creepy dream double and he really didn’t want to go there. “And you expect me to believe that, why exactly?”

“God, why are you pushing this?” Sam shouted, and Dean felt it like a vampire punch to the gut because Sam only shouted when he was cornered, and a cornered Sam was dangerous. Sam seemed to realize that at the same time and reigned it in, shoving his hair out of his eyes with a huffed sigh, words still coming out clipped and angry. “I happened to be in a relationship with Alec because he was fun to be around and-he had longer hair back then, and he didn’t look a thing like you! C’mon, man, we’re brothers. That’s fucked up even for us.”

There’s a big part of Dean that wanted to let it go at that-a huge fucking part. but Cassie-Cassie, of all people-popped up in his head, snapping, “I forgot that you do that. Whenever we get, oh, what’s the word, close?” and everything that came after that. For no other reason than stubbornness, Dean planted his feet and refused to back down.

“Right,” he said, words slipping out of a mouth that was a little too open to be serious, and it felt like every word was killing him. “So when Alec dumped you for moaning out my name one too many times...that must’ve come as a real shock.”

Sam went deathly white in an instant. Even without removing his eyes from Sam’s face Dean saw his fingers twitch, his whole frame tense. Dean felt his body go still, but with a resignation that made this spot under his collarbone fucking ache with the knowledge of Sam’s next move.

“You really think running is going to fix this, Sam?” He choked on the need to call him Sammy but didn’t think anyone would notice because his voice was so faint anyway. Something flickered across Sam’s face, too much like confusion for Dean to ignore. “Isn’t that the patented Sam Winchester response? Things get a little hot around the collar and you run for the hills. What, you think I completely blacked out Stanford?” He’d tried. God, he’d tried until his eyes felt like they’d gone ten rounds with Bloody Mary. “Or every other time you bolt? The scarecrow job or when you took off without a warning and Gordon almost sniper-ed your brains all over the wall? Or every fucking night for weeks after I got back from hell to go play demon games with Ruby?”

It was a low blow, bringing up Ruby. But Dean couldn’t make himself shut up. Hell, even threatening to go, that whole “can’t wait to get back to school” speech had clawed Dean up from the inside-too much like that witch’s hex bag-just the thought of Sam abandoning him a-fucking-gain.

But Dean had his eye on the prize, which in this case happened to be Sam’s face. Those stupid bangs weren’t hiding as much as the younger Winchester hoped. Anguish-or something a lot like it-pulled at his lips, twisting them into a smile so bitter it hurt to look at. Dean suddenly found himself very aware of his own breathing, how loud it sounded in the growing quiet. This was it. This was the part where Sam grabbed his half-packed duffel and walked out that door, tossing something over his shoulder like, “This time I’ll try harder to stay away.” The sound of Dean’s breathing abruptly cut off.

“Why do you think I kept leaving?” Sam asked in a whisper so quiet that if Dean had been indulging in air he would’ve missed it.

“What?” he blurted anyway, because he really couldn’t get a read on what the hell Sam meant by that.

“It’s not a trick question,” Sam said just as quiet, bangs flopping even further in his eyes with a light shake of his head. “I really just... want to know.”

Oh. “Because you can’t stand the sight of my ugly face?” Dean knew the instant he’d said it-arms outstretched and mouth quirked in what was supposed to resemble his favorite smirk-that it was a mistake, because Sam was watching him with those fathomless (fathomless, what the hell?) green-brown eyes that could always see right through his crap, and he knew Sam saw just how fucking vulnerable this whole conversation was making him and it only stripped him further.

And then something flickered on his little brother’s face.

“Sam,” he warned, and they were suddenly matched step for step as Sam advanced on him and Dean backed into a wall. A fucking wall! The door knob smacked into his hip, nudging him to one side just in time for Sam to crowd into his personal space, enormous hands planted on either side of his shoulders. “Sam.” And maybe this time it was a snarl, because if all this was a mind-fuck Dean was going to kill his brother, and even if it wasn’t Dean didn’t fucking like feeling trapped. “Back off.”

“You really want me to?”

Dean fought back a shudder, because under that solid almost-teasing growl Sam was just as exposed and terrified as he was. He felt his head jerk in a nod, even as his hands fisted in Sam’s shirt to keep him there.

“You sure?” Sam’s stupid bangs were back in his eyes as he dropped his gaze to Dean’s hands and back up, a shaking laugh trying to turn the self-conscious words teasing.

“Shut up,” Dean growled, eyes focused solely on the dead center of Sam’s shirt collar, not the skin above it, and if his hands snaked up Sam’s sides it was only to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. And then he did, shoved Sam back half a step, because-because he had to shout, “You stupid ass! You think ‘take care of Sammy’ stops at demon-y bad things that go bump in the night?!” Shoved him again, back toward the bed with the intention of tying him there so he couldn’t fucking run, while he’d go out and buy an extra large baby leash back-packy thing and-

“So, what? You have to protect me from yourself now?” Sam asked, and he was getting the wrong idea about the bed because he was shrugging out of his jacket which meant Dean had to let go and find something else to hold onto, and the only thing within range happened to be Sam’s belt loops-and stupid, stupid Sam thought that meant he wanted him closer, hip to hip, and damn. That couldn’t all be Sam, right? “You really think you could hurt me, Dean?”

Something ugly reared up in Dean while the majority of his brain was distracted, but not the part that controlled his mouth, apparently. “You made me promise I would.” Angry. Hissing. And Sam’s breath felt so hot and strange on his face, making him dizzy with frustration and want, it was freakishly hard to think, and it was all his fault.

“You know that was his crap-he had no right to lay that on you.” Sam was almost but not quite growling into his face, and their foreheads were touching without Dean having any idea how that happened. Great. Now he had Sam’s bangs in his eyes. “He was never there for me-you always were.” And boy didn’t this sound familiar?

“You fucker!” He grabbed Sam’s hips and pushed so hard Sam stumbled back until his knees hit the bed and he fell flat on his (really rather cute) ass, barely getting up on his elbows in time to see Dean advancing on him, every muscle in his shoulders pulled taught. “I knew you went snooping in my head! No way you let that grass-head trash your knees with a baseball bat that fucking long!”

“He caught me right after that, if it makes you feel better,” Sam offered with a shaky shrug, the tremors so subtle anyone but Dean wouldn’t have noticed. But Dean did notice, and Sam noticed Dean noticing it, and god this was so fucked up-like a sick merry-go-round of gay incest he couldn’t get off. And then the start of a smug grin was making one of Sam’s dimple play peek-a-boo, and Dean needed to put that bitch in its place before it got any ideas-and speaking of ideas...

Sam’s moan was right in his ear when he pinned his little brother down to bite at his jaw, obviously not paying attention to the fact that he was being punished, here. Course pinning Sam was more complicated than it sounded, because the only way to make those freakishly long legs stay put was to sit on them. He used his thighs to keep Sam’s locked shut, in case-just in case, alright?!

Dean’s thoughts broke off in a choked gasp, because all of Sam’s millions of shirts had ridden up sometime in the tussle, and, “What the fuck is that, Sam?”

“What’s it look like?” And Sam wrapped one hand around the back of Dean’s head and dragged him down for a kiss.

Kissing Sam was like…something completely alien and completely familiar at the same time, like he’d never really kissed someone before or not someone who counted or mattered or could push and pull and give and take at the same time, like kissing something…feral, all teeth and tongue and desperate hungry need. He tasted like flames, (gasoline and ash), and beer (just a little bit), and a trace of that peppermint candy stuck to his back teeth from their last diner that Dean tried valiantly to remove before it gave Sam cavities. (See, this was just…being responsible!) Every time their lips stopped touching-even if it was split second brief repositioning-Sam let out this crazy, breathy, desperate whine that made Dean’s blood thrum through his veins. Like sitting in the Impala with the music so loud it was almost impossible to think. Almost.

“It’s a tattoo of my amulet,” Dean gasped when Sam’s mouth got distracted by the muscles straining in his neck-straining to get away, a little voice protested valiantly-long enough to let him breathe in huge gulping breaths against Sam’s searing palm working the muscles under his shirt, fingertips grasping for purchase.

“Uh-huh,” Sam moaned against his skin, and something low in Dean’s belly cried out in want. The last of Dean’s brain cells wanted to point out they’d really expected something sarcastic like, “Wow, you’re observant tonight,” or “Gee, you think?” but there was something so open and honest and needy in the way Sam couldn’t string together two words while Dean’s hands were holding his hips with his thumbs nestled in the cut of his taint, his right one nudging over inked skin like a rough spot on one of his guns that just needed polishing to shine.

“Wh…” And maybe Dean was having issues with the word-stringing-togetherness too, because Sam was working really hard at getting his jacket off and Dean really didn’t want to move his hands. Really freaking irrational that his entire being balked at letting Sam go. And when did that happen? “When?”

Sam let out a strangled cry for no real reason, and Dean went absolutely still. “Please don’t ask me that,” he whispered, arching up to nudge at his brother’s chin until Dean started breathing again.

“C’mon,” Dean begged against the impossibly soft skin of Sam’s neck just under his ear, eyelashes batting away Sam’s hair and no idea why this mattered so much, “When I was-"

“No,” Sam groaned, and this time wasn’t letting Dean’s reluctance stop him from tearing off layers of his brother’s clothing, forcibly moving his hands so he could get the sleeves off, and Dean had just enough patience to wait until after his last tee hit the floor before he grabbed Sam by his wrists and pinned him back down.

“When?”

“After Alec,” Sam choked, “before Jess.”

“How does that work?” Dean murmured, fingers wandering to splay over fresh skin bared by clothing their wiggling had shoved out of the way, hands wrapping around the shape of Sam’s rib cage and just holding him, like he could hold him together, like if he didn’t Sam would shatter into a million shards of sunlight. “Seen you with your-oh god-shirt off, Sam…” The name turned into a low, shuddering moan as the little brat found a spot behind his ear that turned almost every bone in Dean’s body to jello. “Member that, mmm, time you came out of the shower in that crazy armadillo motel, towel barely big enough to go around your hips…goddamn it, Sammy, couldn’t get in the shower fast enough, beat off before the water got warm…”

Oh Jesus, he really hadn’t ever meant to tell that to a soul. Fuck, but Sam-Sam made him want-do-things he really shouldn’t, and it just-

Dean took a deep breath. And fucking gave up.

Sam let out this sort of keening hiccup when Dean finally-finally-worked the front of his jeans open and his thumb was doing not-so-lazy laps around the shape of his dick in his boxers. “Tell me,” Dean growled against the shape of his jaw, tongue sneaking out to lap at the tiny mole and cleft of his chin, eyelashes brushing Sam’s not-quite stubble. “C’mon Sammy, spill…”

A choked off half-laugh reminded him how that could be taken two ways, and then Sam’s teeth were playing with Dean’s earlobe, lips shivering against his skin as Sam gasped out, “Couldn’t-had to-had my hand over it-god, missed you too much, couldn’t think without-couldn’t work, couldn’t make it work, oh fuck-”

“S’okay, Sammy, ‘s’okay. I’ve got you.”

“Not okay.” Sam shook his head with an impatient growl, and just like that Dean’s hands were off his body like he’d been burned by, or was burning, Sam. But before he could do so much as hiccup Sam had Dean’s fingers crushed in those massive paws of his, half sitting up under him and-wowholyjesusfuck that had his cock making fast friends with Sam’s, kind of pinned together there between them, and it felt so ridiculously hot and-and unfair because Dean junior got to touch and taste and feel before Dean did and-did he really have penis envy of his own dick?

“Stop,” Sam whispered, then blew at his bangs when that just made Dean jerk again, trying to make his body do what the fuck Sam was asking, “Dean, Dean, st…stay. Stay here, with me. I won’t break, not going to back down.” And even though Dean could see the muscles fluttering in Sam’s back as the strain started to show, Sam still leaned forward to brush his lips along the curve of Dean’s jaw. And then a strangled cry tore out of Sam’s mouth as something in him did break, and-"You really shouldn’t-really shouldn’t let me, god, Dean…”

Their hips were rocking together like they had no idea what kind of major life shattering things were going on above them, Sam’s dick heavy and desperate, and Dean’s really fucking glad to make its acquaintance. Seriously, no one had even touched his boys and since when had they ever been this raring to go? Since-not before Stanford. Oh, fuck.

The sound of his belt buckle was obscenely loud in a room where their panting gasps were the only other noises. Until Dean’s voice decided to drop twelve octaves, forehead back against Sam’s as something like a smirk pulled at his lips. “Yeah? You do something bad, Sammy? Besides fuck my double?”

Sam groaned, his head sliding down Dean’s stubbled cheek to rest against his shoulder like holding it up another second was suddenly impossible. But even as he mumbled, “Dean, didn’t-” against his skin, he was squirming, leveraging under his brother’s weight to sit up further on the bed and maybe the angle was a little less hello there but Dean was willing to bet it’d get a lot friendlier the sooner both their jeans were on the floor.

“Did he touch you like this, Sammy? Make you scream?”

There was an acute burst of holyfucktheworldisspinning, and then Dean was flat on his back, Sam shucking them both of their jeans with efficient jerks of his arms and hands before pinning Dean’s wrists to the bed with those massive paws, leaning over him like the world’s dirtiest push up. His eyes were heavy lidded and roaming Dean’s suddenly tense body-because, yeah, reminding a bed partner of sex with their ex? Failure of fucking apocalyptical proportions. And then Sam leaned down to lave at Dean’s bellybutton with long, warm strokes of his tongue, and Dean thought maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t said it out loud.

“Of course he made me scream Dean,” Sam growled against the cut of Dean’s hip suddenly, like he’d just now found the air. Dean’s whole frame flinched, skin pulling tight just in time for Sam to sink in his teeth. “Fucking screamed for you, remember?”

Dean’s throat sealed off with a dry gulp, but the words had dried up too, so he strained up on his elbows, Sam still caging his wrists with the hard press of his hands, and caught Sam’s lip with his teeth, sucking and pulling until Sam groaned and let his hips fall, trembling with the exertion of just resting against Dean. Their boxers felt like tissue paper faced with the hard heat tenting them both, and the sliver of Sam’s flesh that managed to fight through felt like the worst kind of torture against Dean’s trapped cock. He licked into Sam’s mouth; needy little whimper fighting free when the cut of Sam’s abdomen pressed against his, their breathing already (always?) in sync.

“I have this figured out,” Sam gasped with the last of his air as he dragged his mouth away from Dean’s, just as Dean managed to fight one hand free and palm Sam’s ass, trying to get him to rut and grind and relieve some of this insane pressure.

“No, no,” Sam whimpered, trying to still the instinctual thrust of his hips. “No, I have this figured out. Please, Dean…”

The please took his breath away, leaving him utterly defenseless. He stared up at Sam and hoped he never realized that. But he thought maybe Sam already had.

And then Sam was letting himself fall backwards, away from Dean, reaching for something at the end of the bed. Dean caught his ribs and rolled with him, until he had a lapful of Sam and miles of golden skin stretched taught over the strain of his muscles. He was still staring when Sam flicked something at his face.

“Lube,” Sam murmured, and it was ridiculously hot for a voice to be dripping with that much sex even as a blush stained the top of his baby brother’s cheeks.

“Sammy…” Dean was too stunned to do anything but gape as Sam divested them of their boxers with quick, efficient jerks, and his train of thought nearly derailed at the hot, glistening length of Sam straining up towards his belly button. “Why do you have lube?”

“Max’s roommate.” Sam blushed again. “Original Cindy. She’s...kind of a wild card. She’s a lesbian though, so…not exactly sure what she was doing with…um, unless… Oh and Dean?” He licked at his brother’s pulse in his wrist as Dean snatched the bottle and dribbled lube onto his hand. “I’m preemptively vetoing asking her to let us watch.”

“You’re no fun,” Dean chided, sliding one slicked finger in a shaky circle around Sam’s entrance, legs splayed wide around his hips even if they were backwards on the bed. His hand stuttered to a stop. It was too hot, too intimate. Too vulnerable. Sam shouldn’t-it just wasn’t-

“I value my balls,” Sam murmured, and caught Dean’s eyes with a gaze that wouldn’t let go, emotions so clear it was as if he was speaking out loud. Please, let us have this. Please…Need you too much, just-I trust you. Let me… And Sam’s eyes darkened as he pushed his hips down onto Dean’s fingertip, breath dragged in a stuttering gasp.

Dean gulped down his panic and let Sam slide to the second knuckle before he pulled back and pushed all the way in. “I value your balls too,” he whispered against Sam’s thrumming jugular, then brushed kisses all along his heated skin as he worked in another, thumb reaching up to tease the skin behind the piece of anatomy in question.

He barely managed to work three fingers in Sam with his sanity intact, before Sam flat out shoved him back on the bed, shivering as his iron grip of Dean’s wrist dragged those calloused digits from his reddened, glistening hole.

“This’ll…This’ll work, Dean, okay? Trust me, I’ve got it…” He sank all the way down, back arching in a near-filthy gorgeous move, words pushed out of him like there was no more room in his body with Dean so deep inside. “…figured out oh god-"

“Sammy,” Dean forced out, voice thready with the strain of so much, everywhere. “So tight, fuck-god, Sam, this can’t-”

“This can,” Sam corrected with a needy, desperate jerk of his hips, looking a little panicked that Dean was backing down.

“-be comfortable,” Dean finished on a strangled note he would not under any circumstances admit was a squeak. He forced his fingers to loosen from their bruising grip on Sam’s hips and gave an uncontrollable buck up when Sam lowered both his head and gaze to stare down at Dean, eyes wide and a little terrified with the possibility that he could have something he’d prepared himself to spend the rest of his life going without. And Dean could see all of that, read it, hear it, like Sam was inside his skin instead of-oh fuck-the other way around.

“Dean…” His voice broke as he dragged his hips up, inch by agonizing inch. “Dean Dean Dean…”

“Sammy-" Dean choked on a moan, suddenly understanding the reasoning behind their position, Sam riding him with deep slow pumps of his hips, tender skin of his thighs pressed to the outside of Dean’s flanks, hands not so much holding him down as bracing on the bed on either side of Dean’s head. If he’d been on top, driving into Sam’s clenching godsotight hole, he would have been able to convince himself later that Sam hadn’t really wanted this, that he’d just let Dean take out of some sense of guilt. And if Sam had been in him-which was, oh god, something he wanted to look into, monster dripping cock like that-Dean would’ve managed to flip the situation to fit himself. But now, now, with Sam working himself on Dean’s cock, thighs shuddering with the strain of how much he wants-

“You know why I keep leaving?” Sam nearly sobbed, voice tight and desperate.

Dean groaned as his little brother’s words hit him like a knife low in his gut, which only (somehow) drove the need higher, sharper, faster. “Sam. Sam. Don’t-”

“Every time,” Sam gasped, gulping in breaths in time with his faltering thrusts, hands splayed across the bed on either side of Dean like he was too hot to touch. “Every single time I just wanted you to stop me.”

Dean braced his feet on the bed and thrust up into Sam the same instant Sam pushed down, and the heat that’d been building far too long between them suddenly burst. Dean’s hips stuttered upward as needy whimpers were licked from his mouth, Sam’s tongue and lips faltering as Dean grasped his weeping cock and stroked, yanked, pulled the pleasure from him, pleasure Sam wasn’t willing to let himself have. His whole body jerked, trembled, whimpers breaking free of his clenching, gulping throat in a breathless keen that made Dean shake and empty another desperate spurt in Sam.

“Okay, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean whispered into Sam’s skin, rolling them over the instant he reminded his rubbery muscles how, which trembled harder the few seconds his cock slid from Sam’s fucked out ass. “Got you, got you…”

Sam was all legs and arms and none of them were working, but Sam’s eyes were open slightly, as if he was afraid of what he’d see if he opened them all the way. Dean folded him up in a tangle of limbs, hands soothing away the tremors in both their bodies until Sam finally dredged up the strength (courage?) to look him in the eye. In the meantime, it was nice to have Sam half-sprawled across him, the weight of Sam’s head solid and real on his chest with every swell of his lungs.

“I think we owe Alec a thank you,” Dean blurted.

His baby brother blinked up at him. “What?”

“Hell, poor guy’s probably ruined for anyone else,” Dean teased with a soft, awkward laugh he tried to hide in Sam’s hair. “You kind of have that effect on people.”

“Not funny.” Sam poked at his chest, but there was a wide, glorious grin he couldn’t keep out of his voice, shone so bright Dean could feel it against his collarbone. “What are you saying? Threesome?”

“Kind of like having you to myself,” Dean admitted, not as grudgingly as he’d have liked it to sound. “But who knows? We’re in Seattle for a while…”

“We are?” Sam asked, lifting his head up to peer curiously down at Dean, hair sticking every which-way and making something warm curl in Dean’s belly.

“Hell yeah. Remember those stress relievers you mentioned?” Sam blushed, but did his best to look unashamed. Dean smacked his ass, and let a slow southern drawl pull at his tongue. “Gotta tell ya, I am feelin’ mighty stressed, Sam.”

Sam’s slanted eyes canted up in the corners as those wanton dimples flashed, and Dean tried explaining with an amused smile that he had no real hold on his tongue or where it went.

“Hey Sam?” he asked after a long, thorough stream of kisses (and not all of them on the lips), “What the hell is a rubber ducky dream?”

THE END

A/N Pimp, my pretties, PIMP! I'm a new author with a very small fanbase so if you like the story TELL YOUR FRIENDS! Also: Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedback ;)

P.S. THERE'S A  SEQUEL!  Now with Gilmore Girls!