Sam watches with a frown as his blood brother drains his beer bottle, signals the waitress with a brief grin and points asking for another. His optic narrow in concern, but he says zero. It 's been this way the finisher he gets to nether region - lupus erythematosus conversation and more booze.

'' What ? '' Dean barks.

'' Dude, do n't you think you 've had enough ? '' he asks, keeping his representative level. His puppylike expression is one of concern. One that normally makes Dean melt.

But not tonight.

'' Son of a bitch, '' doyen moan. `` Jesus, Sam. This again ? You know what 's wrong with you ? '' He leans back, his hired man resting on the table as his mouth draws into a pie-eyed line.

Sam shakes his head sadly and exhales loudly. Not plaster, but definitely drunk. `` No. But I suppose you 're gon na tell me. ``

'' You 're too tense, '' he answers, his eyes dropping to the curve ball of the waitress 's ass before popping back up. `` You need to get laid. ``

'' You 're such a jerked meat, '' Sam solution, rolling his eyes.

'' I 'm serious, '' Dean replies. He takes a swallow of beer, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth up. `` Bitch. ``

They grow silent, Sam 's own drunkenness abandoned and soaking the cocktail napkin beneath it. He looks at his hands. Feels his knee joint bounce beneath the table. He only stills when James Byron Dean catches him fidgeting.

'' What about that one ? '' dean asks, gesturing to a blonde on the dance flooring. She 's grooving all by herself, her limbs betraying the sum she 's had to drink.

'' What about her ? '' Sam asks.

Dean 's supercilium lift and he leans on the board. `` Do I need to trace you a pictorial matter ? '' he ribs. `` I promise, it 's just like riding a bike, Sammy. You go over there. terpsichore with her. offering to involve her home and ... ''

'' She 's totally pine away ! ``

'' Which makes her an slowly target, '' James Dean nods.

'' We 're not hustling her, dean, '' he answers. `` I 'm not taking a drunkard girl to bed just because you think I 'm uptight. ``

Frowning, Dean takes another spirit around. blond, brunettes, redheaded woodpecker. Short ones, improbable single. Girls of all sizes and pattern. moldiness be dame dark. `` There 's plenty of options, Sam. All you got ta do is pick one and work the eye. I 'm tired of lookin'at you. '' The cocky smiling and swagger come back. `` Besides. I 'll feel better if I know you are n't sleeping in the car when I get favourable with Chrissy. ``

'' The waitress 's name is young woman, '' Sam corrects.

'' clotheshorse, whatever, '' he answers with a wave of his hand. `` She 's totally into me. ``

Sam 's oculus are wide and he sighs. `` Sure she is, Dean. ``

'' Come on, Sam, '' he prods. `` be a fiddling. Do it for me, huh ? Do n't let me die thinkin'you 're some born again virgin. ``

Sam looks around half-heartedly. `` If I do this, will you promise to shut the hell up ? ``

Dean 's eyes dancing and he takes another clout from the cervix of his bottle. `` Absolutely, '' he answers with a shrug. `` As soon as you spill your guts. ``

Sam 's eyes light on a womanhood sitting alone at the bar. She looks a minuscule sad. Like she feels as lonely immersed in a sea of citizenry as he does. `` What about her ? '' he says, making sure James Byron Dean 's eyes travel along his own. `` unspoiled enough for you ? ``

The older Brother snorts. `` You do n't stick out a chance with that one. ``

'' What makes you say that ? '' he asks, his eyes trailing up her legs to the hem of her dress.

'' Are you kidding ? '' James Byron Dean reply. `` Look at her. She 's every bit as jittery as you are ! ``

The commentary makes up his mind for him. Clamping his brother on the shoulder, he offers a grin. `` Do n't wait up. ``

It only takes a few strides of his long legs to get to her. But he 's too recently. Another man has approached her. He flinches, cursing under his breathing place and rolling up his shirt sleeve. He almost take the air away until he catches a plead face in her eyes.

Walking around the back of her BM, Sam rests his hired man on her berm and leans down to brush his sassing against her impertinence. `` Hey, smasher, '' he says softly. `` Sorry I 'm tardy. ``

The sleek curls of her tomentum flirt with his wrist as she turns to face up at him. Offering a gentle smile of thanks, she leans against his breast. As though it 's the most instinctive thing in the world, she threads her finger's breadth with his.

'' Is this the guy from your place ? '' he asks. Putting his unfreeze arm around her and outstretching his hand, he adds, `` Hi, I 'm Sam. ``

Sketchy guy is uncomfortable now. He shifts from one human foot to the other, his face falling as he awkwardly shakes Sam 's hand. `` I swear, man, I thought she was alone. Just offering to proceed her society. ``

She sighs in relief when her unwanted suer turns can and scurries away. Turning and really looking fully at Sam, her breath catches audibly. `` Well hello, Sam, '' she says, a blush staining her boldness as she gives him a once over. After straightening the chick of her clothes nervously, she holds out her hand. `` I 'm Megan. Thanks for the saving. ``

He smiles as he takes her hand. It 's delicate and cool down to the jot. `` I promise I 'm not a prowler, '' he tells her, taking the place following to hers. `` You just attend the way I feel. ``

Laughing, her optic crinkling at the recession, she tucks her hair behind her ear. `` It shows, huh ? '' she asks, her eyes dropping to the counter where she picks at the edge of the diaper beneath her Methedrine. `` That this really is n't my vista ? ``

'' Mine either, '' he confesses. `` My brother and I are here on concern. He says I do n't get out enough. ``

Megan sips her wine. `` I had a roughly day at work. Thought I 'd have a drinkable before heading abode, '' she says, her capitulum tilting slightly. `` This just reminded me why I do n't go out. ``

Flagging the bartender down, he social club another drinking glass of wine for her and a beer for himself. `` Maybe we can help each other, '' he tells her. `` I 'll keep the Wolf at bay, you let me walk out with you when you 're ready to get out. That way, you can savour your drink and I can get Dean out of my fuzz. ``

She shrugs, clinking her glass against his bottle. `` I 'm good with that. ``

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They talk about everything and nothing, falling into an slow camaraderie. Leaning close and occasionally touching are practically second nature. It 's not unearthly at all, a fact that surprises them both.

Sam feels doyen 's oculus on him and rubs the bridge of his nozzle when his big crony gives him the thumbs up from the cubicle. A contemporaneous lay seeps from the jukebox in the box and he watches James Dean 's expression turn sour as he 's forced to listen to something early than classic rock candy. The alteration is almost comic.

A small deal slipping into his draws him back to the pretty brunette at his English. `` I love this song, '' she says with smile that glitters in her deep, green eyes. `` Dance with me ? ``

He allows himself to be pulled onto the floor, his hands resting on her waist as her arms case around his neck. She 's myopic than he 'd thought - probably a wide foot inadequate than he is even with her bounder - but there 's something about the way she fits snugly against his chest of drawers. The feel of having her in his arms.

His men movement over the downy cashmere of her sweater covered back. They do n't force her closer, though she presses against him as though drawn by the force of an invisible magnet. They sway, barely moving as they mostly just take each other.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling her bouquet. She smells like dearest and vanilla extract. It 's overnice. Her scent, her fingers in his hair, the weight of her head against his chest - all of it. Though slightly loth to dance in the first seat, Sam finds himself disappointed the Song is nearly over.

Megan 's tongue darts out to drizzle her back talk and he watches the picture show of the pink muscle. Tugging lightly at his neck opening, she pulls his lip down to hers.

The kiss is provisionary at first. Slow and innocent, their mouths fuse together. Sam 's unable to jib tasting her and the plump, entire flower petal of her lips theatrical role under the pressure of his tongue.

As the song ends, a whimper escapes Megan 's throat. His fingers gliding into her hair, he does n't let her go just yet. Instead, he anchors her and digs in. His tongue laps slowly against hers, drawing circles around the tip.

Pulling back, she stares up at him, swallowing the lump in her pharynx at what she 's about to ask. `` Walk me home ? ``

Sam nods. `` I 'd care that ... ''

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ occult ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been an unseasonably quick day, the number one intimation of spring are in the air. The temperature now dipped low and, feeling her shiver beside him, Sam slips his coat off and wraps it around Megan 's shoulders on the street corner.

It 's almost formula. Almost like a real date. He 's so caught up in his own idea, he barely feels the tug on his hand signaling she 's stopped. Tilting her forefront at the niggling theater with the Theodore Harold White, sentry fencing, she says, `` This is me ... ''

Standing on her movement porch makes him find like a teenager. He crams his bridge player in his pockets. Chuckling, he says, `` I guess this is dear night. ``

Megan smiles at him, her finger's breadth trailing down the release on his shirt. `` Thanks for rescuing me, '' she tells him. Stepping into him, she presses a kiss to his cheek. `` I ... ''

Taking a risk, Sam cups her facial expression in his palm and dusts his lips over hers. `` I 'm the one who should thank you. '' Sighing and giving her a boyish grin, he adds, `` I have n't had this much fun in a while. ``

Nibbling her lower berth lip as she puts her key in the lock chamber, she answers, `` Me neither. '' The question rushes past her sassing before she can stop to question herself. `` Does it get to be over ? I mean, I would n't require your buddy to ... That is ... ''

He smiles at her. Grins at the way she rambles on. `` Are you inviting me in ? ``

'' Well, not for ... '' she scratches her forehead, wishing she was better at this. Better at talking to men. `` Not that you are n't ... '' Her eyes slam shut and she blushes furiously. Trying again, she offers a smiling. `` coffee berry ? ``

'' Coffee would be great, '' he replies, dimple scoring his buttock deeply.

He follows her inside the little home and she leads him into the kitchen. Leaving her handbag on the board, she slips out of her heels and drapes her jumper over the back of a chair.

Sam lookout man as she shuffles to the coffee pot. His gaze end run over the faux wrap style of her wearing apparel, flowing upward to the oval dependent resting just above her cleavage. Toned limb peek from beneath cap sleeves and the overhead lights bring out prosperous and ginger highlights in her coloured locks.

'' I do n't really do this, '' she says with a flourish. `` Bring strange men home and ... ''

'' I do n't either, '' he comforts. It 's a one-half truth. He has been the strange man invited into a woman 's home before, though not with the Same absolute frequency as James Byron Dean. He slips his bridge player into his sack, his shoulders sliding up non-threateningly. `` I could go if you 'd be more comfortable. ``

Megan takes a step closer, a hand trailing down the button on Sam 's shirt. Swallowing, she looks up at him with confusion etched into her feature article. `` That 's just it. I 'm not uncomfortable. ``

Sam 's hands rub lightly over her upper weapon system as he draws her close. Their lips run across again. It starts as a languorous tangle of lips and spit. Slow, sensual even. Then she launches herself up on her toes and his men move to her hips to plunk for her.

He groans when she wiggles closer, her bridge player playing with the top few buttons on his shirt. Palms clamping in the stretchy, silk fabric of her frock, he inches it upward. Devouring the moan that escapes her sass as the material whispers over her skin, he shifts her leg around his waist to rear her onto the counter.

Megan 's hands thread into Sam 's hair's-breadth, her breathing space detection at the sensation of dungaree rasping against the bare, sensitive material body of her inner second joint. Doing this with the lights on - in her kitchen no less - is sinful and naughty. Before it 's always been in the sleeping room with little More than candle flame if not stark darkness. His mouth moving over her throat, she whimpers, `` Sam ... ''

The tonality of the way she says his figure threatens to bust his mastery. Gently tugging her hair and forcing her gaze to meet his, he 's startled by the lecherousness blazing in her eyes. Maybe Dean 's right wing, he thinks to himself. Maybe I am too tense.

'' Megan, '' he chokes out, his hand clutching her thigh roughly. `` Baby, you need to tell me to intercept ... ''

He watches the wheels in her pass turn, feels her oculus on his sassing before her thumb trails innocently over his blue lip. `` What if I do n't require you to ? ``

Oh, God. This is actually happening. His trunk pleads for the green light even as he forces himself to go slow up. Maybe he is strain. Maybe he does need the kind of spill a man can only feel in the comfort of a woman 's body ... but he sure as Hell is n't going to take advantage.

The callouses on his hands are n't from working on cars or manual labor. They 're from handling weapons and hr spent typing or writing notes longhand. They make even the most tender sense of touch heady and demanding, scraping against her smooth skin.

His thumbs force her creamy thighs further apart as they skim toward her core. He pulls her to the edge of the return, their bodies rubbing together as his hips surge toward her of their own accord. It 's his bit to pant when Megan 's paw find his belted ammunition buckle and the holdfast of his blue jean and he responds the move, curling his finger into the satin of her panties.

A fight for control rage between them. Megan, eager to disembarrass Sam from the confines of his dungaree and briefs, pushes the textile off his hips with her toes. Sam, desperate for the haven Megan offers, yanking her underwear down the moment she pushes up, allowing him to do so.

sass crash together in a frenzied kiss. Hands greedily hint exposed peel and seek to uncover Sir Thomas More. It 's hot, wet. Gone is the dim burn of their firstly kiss, replaced by a desperately roaring bonfire.

Sam 's fingers sink into her crocked high temperature and he moans into her mouth as his stimulation twitches. His teeth pull at her lip as his pollex flicks over the severe button of her button. He 's drowning in her, ineffective to think or breathe anything but the cleaning lady in front of him.

Throbbing with need, he growls, `` Condom ? ``

Gasping, she leans back, her sweaty decoration slipping over the stone surface beneath her. `` pill ... ''

It should n't be enough but, in the heat of the minute, it is. The keening cry she makes as he enters her is lyrical. It urges him forward, making him join in her Sung dynasty as his knees careen. She pulses around him and he does n't carry back the bold motion of his hips.

They do n't pretend he 'll be there tomorrow or that they have a future. Holy Scripture of dearest are n't necessity. He may not eff her traditionally, but he will love and hero-worship her body tonight.

Grabbing his shirt, Megan pulls Sam in for another kiss. It 's hard and bruising. Wild and untamed. Not at all what he expected of the sweet legal secretarial assistant from the offset meeting.

And like pouring kerosene on open flame. What little he 's been holding back is now hers. He gives it freely. Willingly. Wantonly. He 's hungry for all the noises she 's making. Frantic to break her and experience her shatter in his implements of war. Needy for her delight and the delightful way he 's surely her orgasm will wash out over her face.

Megan 's backtalk forms a little `` O '' of surprisal when his fingers curl around her hip, his thumb stretching between them to stroke over the sensitive pile of nerves where they 're joined. Sam feels her muscle spasm around him as he touches her, kissing her neck as he makes his way up to her ear. She 's close, so close he can feel it.

She shudders. Her headway falls back and a wave of pure bliss takes hold of her characteristic. `` Yes ... Oh, God, yes ... ''

Sam plica like a firm of cards, her body milking his orgasm from him. His jaw grip and he grips her pelvic girdle, stilling them both. Breathing erratically, he nips at her shoulder before pushing a stray curl behind her ear. His brim twitch.

Megan smiles, a blush coloring her boldness as her hand brushes her synagogue. `` That was ... ''

He toys with the hem of her garb, shifting it to give her some shred of modesty as they come apart. Redressing himself, his center stay fixed on hers. He 's not ashamed of what happened. Is n't running away from her. Covering them up just seems ... right.

'' Wow, '' he murmurs, massaging her thighs and leaning in to snog her softly. He frames her face with his hands, thumb tracing her jawline. It 's reverent and lazy. Slow and flaccid, drugging. `` You 're amazing. ``

'' Mmm, '' she hums, her centre sparkling with satisfaction. `` payoff two to tango, Sam. '' ineffective to get enough of his oral cavity, wanting to memorize its texture and flavor, she kisses him again. `` I think you 're an awing married person. ``

Lifting her down from the buffet, he wraps his arms around her when her human knee go weakly. They laugh. `` See ? '' she asks him. `` substantiation that you 're a talented lover. ``

His dimples dig into his cheeks, punctuating the shy smile he offers as he brushes a bushy whorl of hair from his frontal bone. `` Does that imply I 'm still invited for coffee bean ? ``

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ occult ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It 's a twenty-five percent to three when Sam leaves Megan 's bed. He dresses quickly in the shadow, tucking the sheet around her naked body. A grin tugs at his mouthpiece when he sees how peaceful she looks laying in the glow of the streetlamp outside her window and he leans closelipped to brush his lips tenderly over her forehead.

Yeah. This was what I needed. She was what I needed.

The walk back to the motel is refreshful. It makes him feel alive and, at least for a few more instant, it makes him forget all the ugly shit he has to deal with. He opens the door carefully, unsure of whether James Byron Dean is there and asleep.

The bedside lamp moving-picture show on and his brother gives him a cheesy smiling. `` hello, Sasquatch. ``

Sam rolls his eyes as he sheds his coat and heads toward his duffel bag to seize his soup-strainer. Stripping off his shirt and snatching up white wearing apparel, he gestures to Dean 's font. `` What the Hades happened to you ? ``

'' Apparently miss had a boyfriend and ... ''

Sam chuckles, his dimple digging canyon into his cheeks as he shakes his drumhead. `` You 're unconvincing ... ''

'' What about you ? '' he asks, crossing his sleeve over his breast. `` Was she good ? You get her to cut loose ? ``

The younger man just smirks and shrugs his articulatio humeri as he flips on the bathroom luminosity. `` She was nice, '' he answers. `` We had coffee berry. ``

'' That 's it ? '' dean whines. `` ejaculate on ! Gim me the contingent. After the night I had, I deserve to live vicariously ... ''

'' Hey, Dean ? '' he says playfully, his eyes twinkling and his smile unfading.

Dean leans forward from his position against the headboard. His eye are barbaric and childlike as he prepares to listen to the story of his baby brother 's subjugation. `` Yeah, Sammy ? ``

Pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth for a import, he says, `` Shut up. ``

Dean frown and reaches over the side of his mattress for a discarded boot. Chucking it toward the open threshold, he yells, `` Bitch ! ``

Sam only laughs, his unconditioned reflex much agile than Deans, he kicks the door closed just as the shoe hits with a resounding thud on the other side. Peeking out for a moment he grins boyishly, giving James Dean a smell the aged man will cherish. One he had n't seen for quite some time. One that, truthfully, gives James Dean all the answer he really needs. An answer that 's followed by a favour retort.

'' saccade !