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There are some weird-ass names on this phone.
Dean rubs his neck at the phantom soreness he expects from sleeping on a couch. Aside from the usual tension that’s dogged him since he had –teen at the end of his age he feels pretty damn good.
Apparently Jared Pootatooski’s couch is more comfortable than half the beds Dean’s spent his life sleeping on.
He’d pocketed “Jensen’s” phone and cracked the password in two tries (BABY, like even this hideous iteration of himself couldn’t resist her). He’s a closet case, a stone-cold freak, or the most boring man on earth based on the bland selection of pictures on his phone. What kind of person doesn’t have a single sexy picture saved somewhere?
He jumps a little when the phone vibrates with a message from “Danni”, flashing a picture of a smiling redhead who looks like she belongs on the cover of Maxim. Danni’s a stripper name and if Dean loves one thing, it’s strippers.
Where the fuck ru babe?
Dean rolls onto his side and sits up, groaning a little as the leather sighs beneath him. He’d buy a couch like this if he had money. Or a living room. Or a home of any kind.
Gen&I missed u at party
Dean clicks on the attached picture and almost drops the damn phone.
Not-Ruby winks up at the camera, her eyes lined with too much makeup just the way Dean secretly likes. It still makes him feel a little sick to look at her but the blow is significantly softened by the sight of her tongue curling expertly around a rosy-pink nipple. Red lacquered fingers thread through her hair, tugging a little possessively. It’s the same way Dean likes to grab Sam’s hair.
“Well, goddamn.”
Danni’s face looks smug, satisfied, and even prettier up close with her lipstick a little smeared. Her emerald green cocktail dress is tugged down, straps slipping down her slim shoulders to reveal a set of tits that look like they’re hers because she paid for them. Dean’s never minded a little body work. He licks his lips, zooming in a little bit where Danni’s other hand disappears under the short black hem of Genevieve’s dress.
They look like they’re locked in a small but ostentatiously decorated bathroom, the kind where the throw-away towels are nicer than the ones Dean used after his last shower. They probably tasted like expensive champagne when they kissed.
“I gotta start going to more otter parties.”
He’ll craft a better response after a beer. He makes three wrong turns and carefully backs out of a room full of exercise equipment before he finally finds the kitchen. Soft lighting glints off acres of dark marble, and some lizard-thief part of Dean’s brain can’t stop casing the place. How much fucking money do these assholes get paid?
There are vegetables in this giant refrigerator that Dean can’t even name. He wrinkles his nose at a sludgy bottle of whatever the fuck kombucha is. He manages to find something too snooty to be called beer, but beggars in alternate realities can’t really be choosers. It cracks open with a satisfying hiss just as Sam stumbles into the light from the open fridge.
“Sammy, I have to show you- “
Dean narrows his eyes as his baby brother fills a glass of water at the sink, his eyes barely focused and half his hair sticking out a weird angle. He’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs far too pristine to belong to a Winchester and a Seahawks shirt that looks brand new. Sam gulps down the entire glass of water with a few loud bobs of his adam’s apple.
Dean knows that thirst.
“Did you just?”
Dean closes the fridge and his eyes.
“Did you fuck not-Ruby?”
“I think she kind of fucked me?”
Sam takes another long swallow before he leaves his glass in the big sink.
“Are you mad?”
Sam’s all wide-eyed sex puppy, shoulders stooping down and his big hands spreading out over the island separating the fridge from the sink. Everything in this house is too damn big.
“I’m not.”
Dean takes another sip of prissy, bitter beer and sighs.
“I’m not mad, it’s not really… Whatever.”
Ruby’s never gonna not-hurt but it isn’t this chick’s fault she got cast in this angel-hell sitcom. He drags Sam into bed every chance he gets, it’s not like he can blame her.
“Was she any good?”
It’s worth it just to see Sam blush.
“Yeah, she was, uh,” Sam shakes his head, his eyes going wide again.
“Frisky?” Dean waggles his eyebrows, wishing he had a better beer to drink while he teases Sam.
“Strong.”
Sam shivers a little.
“She hit me. In the face. When she came. Well, the second time she, anyway, that’s not,” Sam bites his lip and leans closer.
“She kept telling me about some woman she fucked in the bathroom at the otter thing. I think I, uh, Jared knows her or something, it’s all kind of,” Sam trails off, his eyes focusing on something behind Dean’s shoulder.
“I think old Jensen’s pretty familiar with her, too.”
Dean slides the phone on and across the counter. Sam looks cute with his mouth hanging open like that.
“Fuck.”
“Right?”
Dean drains the last of his beer and wipes his lip with the back of his hand. Sam’s watching him.
“I’d say succubi but apparently the only magic here is between your fake-wife’s legs.”
“Her name’s Genevieve.”
Sam shrugs a little as Dean mumbles it to himself and points to ginger spice.
“And her name’s Danni , I swear to God.”
Sam snorts, lips curling up in a smile.
“I guess we have a type wherever we are.”
He licks his lips, looking up at Dean as his eyebrows draw together.
“So if they’re…”
Sam V’s his fingers and meshes them together a few times, because Sam may be the largest puppy in this and any world, but he’s not above a good scissoring joke.
“Yeah, does that mean we’re…?”
Dean offers his own classy hand gesture as he slides his fingers into his circled palm.
“I hope so.”
Sam pushes himself upright and circles around the kitchen island until he’s right in Dean’s space. His snug boxer briefs have SAXX emblazoned right above his dick. Bizarro Sam is definitely not a fan of subtlety.
“There’s no kind of world where I wouldn’t want you.”
Sam’s arms wrap around him from behind and even here, in the midst of all this overpriced stone and the smell of sex all over Sam, he knows Sam is his just the same.
“Hope you’re not too worn out.”
Dean turns around, letting Sam’s warm chest bleed against his as he reaches back to shamelessly grope Sam’s ass. Dean’s not big on subtlety either.
“I think we should go meet Mrs. Jensen.”
~
Danneel Harris is a girl-next-door actress with a megawatt smile and a button nose made for network television. She’s also the closest thing to a blowup doll Dean’s ever encountered. She answers the door with no pants on and a bottle of Heineken dangling from her fingers.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Dean beams the full extent of his charm as he strides into what is apparently his and Danneel’s apartment.
“Babe!”
She’s wearing a worn-soft LSU shirt and a tiny pair of black satin panties. Dean stumbles back a few steps as she jumps up to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him.
Her lips are soft and she’s not wearing a bra, either.
“Hello, stranger.”
Danneel arches an eyebrow at Sam over Dean’s shoulder. She smells like beer and lipgloss as she laughs at Sam’s awkward wave.
“Gen told me you two were getting along again.”
Sam closes the door behind himself and manages to look lost and supremely fuckable all at once.
“Yeah, uh, Jared and I, you know how it is.”
“Oh, I know.”
She rolls her eyes and tip-toes up to Sam, her hands easy and possessive around his waist.
“Glad you two finally kissed and made up.”
She cuts Sam’s response off with a made-up kiss of her own, one hand running down his stomach and straight into his borrowed Saxx.
“Where is Gen, anyway?”
Danneel gives Sam a good squeeze that makes Dean’s dick jealous and delighted all at once. Sam swallows his whimper as they follow her into a huge, aggressively modern living room.
“I, uh, I think I wore her out back home.”
“She was in a mood, wasn’t she?”
Danneel bites her lip and gets two more beers from the fridge. She cracks them open without looking down and Dean seriously hopes the soap opera star wearing his skin appreciates this girl.
“Why are you two still in wardrobe?”
She hands out beers and squints at Dean and Sam, who are both wearing flannel shirts and sensible jackets like normal people. These assholes probably wear Armani suits when they’re relaxing.
“Busy day, darling.”
Dean takes a long swill off his beer and winks.
“I love it when he does the Dean voice,” she stage-whispers to Sam, whose eyebrows disappear into his hair as his dimples come out in full force.
“Oh, me too.”
And it’s Sam, with all his soft charm and awkward sincerity, who kisses him first. Danneel makes a soft groan in her throat that scratches at every inch of Dean’s show-off streak.
“Goddamn, I missed that.”
She sets her beer down on the counter with a clink and slides in between them easily, tiny in front of Sam’s broad chest. Dean’s lips throb with Sam’s kiss.
They’ve shared just about everything in life and girls are no exception. The sight of Sam’s big mitts swallowing up some girl’s handspan waist is nothing new, but the sting of Sam’s mouth on his makes his stomach drop. They usually keep their hands to themselves until they’re alone.
“We’ve, uh, really been getting in character lately.”
Sam’s eyes are all over Dean but his hands roam easily down Danneel’s side, sizing up the curve of her hips and backing the swell of her ass against him.
“I can see that.”
Danneel’s arms circle up around Sam’s neck, leaning back against him. Dean basks in the hungry stares of two sets of eyes and licks his lips, leaning back against a wall of sleek cabinets.
“Think my brother likes you, Danni.”
Dean’s not really sure what makes him sound different from Jensen but it sure makes Danneel purr. He lets his hand sling off his belt, low enough that he’s almost cupping over his dick. Girls always like that.
Danneel leans her head back, her eyes sweeping shut as Sam kisses along the long curve of her neck.
“I’m still a mess from banging your wife, hot stuff.”
She does something with her hand that makes Sam huff.
“Why don’t you boys help me get cleaned up?”
Before either of them can answer she’s off, stripping her tshirt over her head. Dean stares at her bare back as Sam loops a finger into his jeans.
The bathroom is larger than half the apartments Dean’s half-lived in. Everything is gleaming white and chrome, with a huge glass partition enclosing a shower Dean could park his car in. Her panties fall to the floor in a little black heap and Dean has to bite his tongue to keep from whistling. Even the little landing strip above her pussy is perfect. Dean’s nose knows where it wants to live.
“I am a lucky guy, aren’t I?” Dean grins, easy in someone else’s skin for a little while with Sam’s fingers plucking at the buttons of his shirt.
“You two sure are in a good mood, aren’t you?”
She bites her lip, sizing them both up like they’re the ones standing stark naked in front of her. Dean’s pretty sure he knows who wears the pants in this relationship.
“Can you blame us, sweetheart?”
He kisses his way through getting Sam’s shirts off before he chucks his own into a pile. Danneel barely takes her eyes off them as she turns on the water, one of those big overhead fixtures that would deserve a Flashdance joke if Dean wasn’t preoccupied with pressing over the girl-shaped scratches dotting Sam’s back.
He might trade magic for more girls like this on the other side.
“Go get her wet for me.”
Sam’s out of his pants and his ridiculous underwear in no time, the flush spreading across his back making un-Ruby’s marks stand out. Dean swallows thickly.
If Sam has one thing it’s focus. He stalks toward Danneel like his gorgeous hard-on is an afterthought. It’s the first thing Danneel makes grabby-hands for but watching Sam kiss her and get his hands all over her is even better.
Dean’s so used to wanting what he can’t quite have. He’s watched Sam with so many girls, girls he’s had first, girls he’ll have second, girls he’ll hate forever and ones he’ll miss a little when they’re gone. Even here there’s comfort in familiarity, in the old aches and pains that mirror the strain of his cock against his jeans. Every second he gets with Sam is the borrowed time of a fantasy.
Sam’s beautiful. Not pretty-boy pretty like Dean is, something you whip out when you need fast money and eyes turned in the other direction. With demon blood running through his veins and his newly-resurrected soul stuffed in backwards Sam is still the purest thing Dean’s ever been addicted to.
Steam cascades against the glass, fogging up Dean’s view into dream-smeared radiance. He grinds his hand against his dick, until it hurts just enough to feel real. Sam’s arm cuts a clean stripe through the glass as he leans over Danneel, backing her up until the wet swathe of her hair clings and smears it clear again.
The water’s warm when Dean steps in. Some primal part of him stirs when Sam turns right for him, his hands still making expert work of Danneel’s tits but his heart easy to read. Dean lets water run down his face as they both watch him stroke his cock.
“You gonna watch your little brother fuck me, Dean ?”
“I’m not here to watch.”
She’s easy to pick up. The large bench in the corner is big enough for four people, which Dean suspects isn’t an accident. The bottle of silicone lube next to the stunning array of haircare products definitely isn’t.
“You always get this wet for his dick?”
She doesn’t answer when he slips two fingers inside of her, easy and warm. Sam doesn’t wait to be told, just sits down with his back against the tile and lets her straddle him face-first. Dean’s always had a soft spot for the cowgirl.
Sam’s got a dick that should be commercially available at every major retail outlet but Danneel’s pussy is centerfold-perfect. She spreads her legs wide and lets Sam fuck up into her, slow and slick and Dean can see every inch as she opens for him. It’s Dean’s second-favorite shade of pink.
“He feel good in that tight little pussy?”
She groans into Dean’s mouth, one hand scratching through his hair while the other slides down to circle three-fingered over her clit. She groans even louder when Dean leans over her to kiss Sam.
“Do that again.”
She’s a girl after Dean’s heart and he’s happy to oblige. He kisses Sam with too much tongue and his cock throbbing in his hand while Danneel works himself on him, grinning when Sam growls in his throat. Dean knows the exact sound Sam makes when a girl comes on his dick. At least that hasn’t changed here.
“Let’s see how many of those we can get out of here, hmm?”
Sam just nods as Dean sinks to his knees. He barely notices the cold bite of the tile, not when Danneel’s mile long legs bracket his head and Sam’s dick is girl-slick and buried right in front of him.
Dean’s always wanted to do this.
Like most things Dean’s good at, it’s a mix of natural talent and practice. He teases her for as long as he can stand it, memorizing every folded secret of her pussy, the way she shudders when he bites softly at her inner lips, the growl of frustration when he licks just to the side of her clit.
It’s the sound Sam makes when he forces his tongue right next to the root of his cock that fucks Dean up the most. Dean loses himself in the scent of sex and steam and a world where the only hell seems to be whatever secrets they’re all keeping.
Danneel says someone else’s name when she comes but Sam’s kissing him when he finally comes inside her.
“You two are never allowed to fight again.”
“Hear that, Sammy?”
Dean grins with borrowed innocence and strokes his dick.
“We got some making up to do.”
Sam’s happy to return the favor when it’s Dean’s turn, and Dean’s free hand is out of fingers to count how many times Danneel’s come when they finally shut off the water and half-carry her to bed.
~
“Do you think,” Sam sighs, glancing back at Danneel’s sleeping face. She’s still smiling.
“Do you think we’re happy here?”
Dean snorts, looking around at the neutral art work and rolling his eyes.
“I think I want to go home.”
He rifles through Jensen’s clothes and finally decides to fetch his own from their pile in the bathroom. That’s the problem with other people’s skin. It never really fits right.
“Hopefully that saint’s leg will be at the airport tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Sam whispers, smiling softly as Danneel rolls over. He shrugs his jacket on and walks as quietly as his big feet will allow.
“Let’s get back to normal.”