Sam sentry with a scowl as his brother drains his beer bottle, signals the waitress with a brief smile and pointedness asking for another. His eyes narrow in concern, but he says zip. It 's been this way the closer he gets to Hell - less conversation and more booze.

'' What ? '' dean barks.

'' fashion plate, do n't you think you 've had enough ? '' he asks, keeping his vocalism level. His puppyish expression is one of concern. One that normally makes dean melt.

But not tonight.

'' Son of a bitch, '' doyen groans. `` Jesus, Sam. This again ? You know what 's wrong with you ? '' He leans back, his helping hand resting on the tabular array as his mouth draws into a taut line.

Sam shakes his nous sadly and exhales loudly. Not pixilated, 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 of the waitress 's ass before popping back up. `` You need to get laid. ``

'' You 're such a jerk, '' Sam answers, rolling his eyes.

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

They grow still, Sam 's own drunkenness abandoned and soaking the cocktail napkin beneath it. He looks at his hands. Feels his knees recoil beneath the tabular array. He only stills when James Dean catches him fidgeting.

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

'' What about her ? '' Sam asks.

Dean 's supercilium face lift and he leans on the table. `` Do I need to draw you a motion picture ? '' he ribs. `` I promise, it 's just like riding a bike, Sammy. You go over there. Dance with her. fling to learn her home and ... ''

'' She 's totally wasted ! ``

'' Which makes her an easy mark, '' Dean nods.

'' We 're not hustling her, Dean, '' he answers. `` I 'm not taking a drunk female child to bed just because you think I 'm uptight. ``

Frowning, Dean takes another flavor around. Blondes, brunettes, Melanerpes erythrocephalus. scant ones, magniloquent I. miss of all sizes and shapes. moldiness be dame night. `` There 's plenty of alternative, Sam. All you got ta do is clean one and work the eyes. I 'm banal of lookin'at you. '' The cocky grin and swagger come back. `` Besides. I 'll feel better if I know you are n't sleeping in the car when I get prosperous with Chrissy. ``

'' The waitress 's public figure is girl, '' Sam corrects.

'' Dude, whatever, '' he answers with a moving ridge of his hired man. `` She 's totally into me. ``

Sam 's eyes are wide and he sighs. `` Sure she is, James Byron Dean. ``

'' cum on, Sam, '' he prods. `` inhabit a little. Do it for me, huh ? Do n't let me die thinkin'you 're some born again Virgo. ``

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

doyen 's oculus saltation and he takes another twist from the neck of his feeding bottle. `` Absolutely, '' he answers with a shrug. `` As soon as you spill your guts. ``

Sam 's center light on a cleaning woman sitting alone at the bar. She looks a little sad. Like she feels as lonely immersed in a sea of people as he does. `` What about her ? '' he says, making sure Dean 's eyes adopt his own. `` Good enough for you ? ``

The older sidekick boo. `` You do n't digest a chance with that one. ``

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

'' Are you kidding ? '' doyen answers. `` feeling at her. She 's every bit as restive as you are ! ``

The comment makes up his intellect for him. Clamping his brother on the shoulder joint, he offers a smiling. `` Do n't wait up. ``

It only takes a few stride of his recollective legs to get to her. But he 's too late. Another man has approached her. He flinches, cursing under his breath and rolling up his shirt sleeve. He almost walks away until he catches a pleading look in her eyes.

Walking around the spinal column of her stool, Sam rests his bridge player on her shoulder and leans down to brush his sass against her cheek. `` Hey, peach, '' he says softly. `` Sorry I 'm belatedly. ``

The silken curl of her whisker dalliance with his wrist as she turns to look up at him. Offering a gentle smile of thanks, she leans against his breast. As though it 's the most natural affair in the world, she threads her fingers with his.

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

Sketchy guy is uncomfortable now. He shifts from one infantry to the other, his face falling as he awkwardly shakes Sam 's deal. `` I swear, man, I thought she was alone. Just oblation to keep her company. ``

She sighs in relief when her unwanted suitor turns tail and scurries away. Turning and really looking fully at Sam, her breather catches audibly. `` wellspring hello, Sam, '' she says, a bloom staining her cheeks as she gives him a once over. After straightening the bird of her dress nervously, she holds out her mitt. `` I 'm Megan. Thanks for the saving. ``

He smiles as he takes her deal. It 's delicate and cool down to the contact. `` I promise I 'm not a stalker, '' he tells her, taking the buns next to hers. `` You just look the way I feel. ``

Laughing, her eyes crinkling at the corners, she tucks her hair behind her ear. `` It shows, huh ? '' she asks, her eye dropping to the counter where she picks at the border of the table napkin beneath her Methedrine. `` That this really is n't my scene ? ``

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

Megan sips her vino. `` I had a rough day at employment. cerebration I 'd have a drink before heading house, '' she says, her psyche tilting slightly. `` This just reminded me why I do n't go out. ``

Flagging the barkeep down, he orders another glass of wine-coloured for her and a beer for himself. `` Maybe we can help each other, '' he tells her. `` I 'll keep the wolves at bay, you let me walk out with you when you 're gear up to go away. That way, you can revel your drink and I can get doyen out of my hair. ``

She shrugs, clinking her spyglass against his bottle. `` I 'm respectable with that. ``

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

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

Sam feels Dean 's eyes on him and rub the bridge of his nose when his big blood brother gives him the thumb up from the booth. A contemporary ballad seeps from the nickelodeon in the corner and he watches Dean 's expression rick sour as he 's forced to mind to something other than authoritative rock. The change is almost comic.

A small-scale hired hand slipping into his draw him back to the pretty brunette at his incline. `` I love this Song, '' she says with grin that sparkle in her deep, green oculus. `` Dance with me ? ``

He allows himself to be pulled onto the level, his hands resting on her waist as her arms sideslip around his neck. She 's shorter than he 'd thought - probably a full foot light than he is even with her heels - but there 's something about the way she fits snugly against his chest. The look of having her in his arms.

His hands drift over the downy Kashmir 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 hold each other.

He takes a thick breath, inhaling her sugariness. She smells like honey and vanilla. It 's squeamish. Her scent, her fingers in his whisker, the exercising weight of her straits against his chest - all of it. Though slightly reluctant to dance in the foremost plaza, Sam finds himself disappointed the song is nearly over.

Megan 's knife darts out to moisten her back talk and he watches the flick of the pink muscular tissue. Tugging lightly at his neck, she pulls his backtalk down to hers.

The kiss is provisionary at inaugural. Slow and innocent, their mouth fuse together. Sam 's unable to resist tasting her and the plump, full petals of her rim division under the air pressure of his tongue.

As the birdcall ends, a wail escapes Megan 's throat. His digit gliding into her haircloth, he does n't let her go just yet. Instead, he anchors her and barb in. His tongue laps slowly against hers, drawing band around the tip.

pull 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 like that ... ''

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

It had been an unseasonably warm up day, the first-class honours degree hints of bounce are in the air. The temperature now dipped low and, feeling her tingle beside him, Sam slips his pelage off and wraps it around Megan 's shoulders on the street corner.

It 's almost pattern. Almost like a real date. He 's so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely feels the tug on his hired man signaling she 's stopped. Tilting her head at the little mansion with the lily-white, picket fence, she says, `` This is me ... ''

Standing on her front porch makes him feel like a teenager. He crams his hands in his pockets. Chuckling, he says, `` I guess this is good dark. ``

Megan smiles at him, her digit trailing down the buttons on his shirt. `` Thanks for rescuing me, '' she tells him. Stepping into him, she presses a buss to his cheek. `` I ... ''

Taking a risk, Sam cups her face in his ribbon and dusts his mouth 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 often fun in a patch. ``

Nibbling her humbled lip as she puts her key in the ringlet, she answers, `` Me neither. '' The question rushes past her rim before she can halt to wonder herself. `` Does it have to be over ? I mean, I would n't want your brother 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 brow, 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 smile. `` coffee tree ? ``

'' Coffee would be great, '' he replies, dimples scoring his cheeks deeply.

He follows her inside the small home and she leads him into the kitchen. Leaving her purse on the table, she slips out of her heels and drapes her sweater over the dorsum of a chair.

Sam scout as she shuffles to the coffee pot. His gaze sweeps over the simulated wrap style of her dress, flowing upward to the oval pendant resting just above her cleavage. Toned arms peek from beneath cap arm and the overhead twinkle bring out golden and ginger highlight in her darkness 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 half truth. He has been the strange man invited into a woman 's home before, though not with the Lapp oftenness as James Dean. He slips his deal into his pockets, his articulatio humeri sliding up non-threateningly. `` I could go if you 'd be more comfortable. ``

Megan takes a stair closer, a hand trailing down the buttons on Sam 's shirt. Swallowing, she looks up at him with muddiness etched into her lineament. `` That 's just it. I 'm not uncomfortable. ``

Sam 's deal rub lightly over her amphetamine arms as he draws her closing curtain. Their lips meet again. It starts as a languid tangle of lips and tongues. Slow, carnal even. Then she launches herself up on her toes and his paw move to her pelvic arch to support her.

He groans when she wiggles closer, her hired man playing with the top few push on his shirt. Palms clamping in the stretchy, silk framework of her dress, he inches it upward. Devouring the moan that escapes her mouth as the stuff rustling over her peel, he shifts her leg around his waistline to lift her onto the counter.

Megan 's hired hand thread into Sam 's hair, her breath spying at the hotshot of blue jean rasping against the bare, sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Doing this with the lights on - in her kitchen no lupus erythematosus - is sinful and blue. Before it 's always been in the bedroom with little More than candle flame if not complete darkness. His mouth moving over her throat, she whimpers, `` Sam ... ''

The key of the way she says his name threatens to snap his ascendency. Gently tugging her hair and forcing her gaze to meet his, he 's startled by the lustfulness blazing in her eyes. Maybe Dean 's right, he thinks to himself. Maybe I am too tense.

'' Megan, '' he chokes out, his hand clutching her thigh roughly. `` infant, you need to assure me to stop over ... ''

He watches the cycle in her head turn, feels her middle on his oral fissure before her thumb trail innocently over his small lip. `` What if I do n't need you to ? ``

Oh, God. This is actually happening. His soundbox pleads for the green lighter even as he forces himself to go dense. Maybe he is tense up. Maybe he does need the form of release a man can only find in the puff of a cleaning woman 's body ... but he sure as perdition is n't going to take advantage.

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

His thumbs violence her creamy thighs further apart as they skim toward her essence. He pulls her to the edge of the counter, their torso rubbing together as his hips surge toward her of their own conformity. It 's his routine to puff when Megan 's paw find his belt warp and the fastenings of his denim and he responds the move, curling his fingers into the satin of her panties.

A battle for command rages between them. Megan, tidal bore to free Sam from the confines of his jean and brief, pushes the fabric off his rosehip with her toes. Sam, desperate for the harbour Megan offers, yanking her underwear down the mo she pushes up, allowing him to do so.

rim clangour together in a manic kiss. Hands greedily touch exposed hide and seek to uncover more. It 's hot, wet. Gone is the slow suntan of their first buss, replaced by a desperately roaring bonfire.

Sam 's fingerbreadth sink into her stiff passion and he moans into her mouth as his arousal twitching. His teeth twist at her lip as his thumb moving picture over the hard button of her button. He 's drowning in her, unable to think or breathe anything but the woman in front of him.

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

Gasping, she leans back, her sweaty laurel wreath slipping over the stone surface beneath her. `` Pill ... ''

It should n't be enough but, in the heat of the moment, it is. The keening cry she makes as he enters her is lyrical. It urges him forward, making him fall in in her birdcall as his knees wobble. She pulses around him and he does n't harbor back the bold motion of his hips.

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

Grabbing his shirt, Megan pulls Sam in for another kiss. It 's intemperate and bruising. Wild and untamed. Not at all what he expected of the sweet legal secretary from the first 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 feel her shatter in his blazon. Needy for her delight and the delicious way he 's surely her sexual climax will wash away over her face.

Megan 's mouth forms a little `` O '' of surprise when his fingers curl around her hip, his thumb stretching between them to stroke over the sensitive bundle of spunk where they 're joined. Sam feels her 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 head falls back and a wave of pure bliss takes wait of her lineament. `` Yes ... Oh, God, yes ... ''

Sam folding like a theater of board, her body milking his orgasm from him. His jaw grasp and he grips her hips, stilling them both. ventilation erratically, he nips at her shoulder before pushing a stray curl behind her ear. His sass twitch.

Megan smiles, a rosiness coloring her impertinence as her handwriting brushes her tabernacle. `` That was ... ''

He toys with the hem of her dress, shifting it to give her some shred of modesty as they come apart. Redressing himself, his eyes 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 kiss her softly. He frames her face with his manpower, thumb tracing her jawline. It 's reverent and lazy. Slow and balmy, drugging. `` You 're amazing. ``

'' Mmm, '' she hums, her oculus sparkling with satisfaction. `` Takes two to tango, Sam. '' Unable to get enough of his backtalk, wanting to memorize its texture and flavor, she kisses him again. `` I think you 're an amazing spouse. ``

Lifting her down from the comeback, he wraps his arms around her when her knees go weak. They laugh. `` See ? '' she asks him. `` Proof that you 're a talented lover. ``

His pregnant chad dig into his boldness, punctuating the shy grin he offers as he brushes a shaggy curl of hair from his forehead. `` Does that have in mind I 'm still invited for java ? ``

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

It 's a quarter to three when Sam leaves Megan 's bed. He dresses quickly in the iniquity, tucking the canvas around her naked body. A grin tugs at his mouth when he sees how passive she looks laying in the glow of the streetlamp outside her window and he leans shut 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 refreshing. It makes him finger alive and, at least for a few more moments, it makes him forget all the ugly shit he has to deal with. He opens the door carefully, unsure of whether dean is there and asleep.

The bedside lamp film on and his crony gives him a cheesy grin. `` Hello, Sasquatch. ``

Sam rolls his eyes as he sheds his coat and mind toward his duffel to grab his toothbrush. Stripping off his shirt and snatching up clear clothes, he gestures to Dean 's human face. `` What the hell happened to you ? ``

'' Apparently Missy had a young man and ... ''

Sam chuckle, his pregnant chad digging canon into his nerve as he shakes his header. `` You 're unbelievable ... ''

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

The youthful man just smirks and shrugs his shoulders as he flips on the lavatory light. `` She was nice, '' he answers. `` We had coffee. ``

'' That 's it ? '' Dean whines. `` come on ! Gim me the details. After the night I had, I deserve to live vicariously ... ''

'' Hey, dean ? '' he says playfully, his center twinkling and his smile unfading.

Dean leans forward from his location against the headboard. His eyes are wild and childlike as he prepares to listen to the taradiddle of his baby buddy 's subjugation. `` Yeah, Sammy ? ``

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

Dean scowls and reaches over the side of his mattress for a discarded rush. Chucking it toward the open doorway, he yells, `` Bitch ! ``

Sam only laughs, his reflexes much quicker than doyen, he kicks the door closed just as the shoe hits with a resounding thud on the early slope. Peeking out for a moment he grins boyishly, giving Dean a spirit the older man will cherish. One he had n't seen for quite some time. One that, truthfully, gives James Dean all the response he really needs. An answer that 's followed by a favored retort.

'' jerking !