On the Subject of Chick Flick Moments

DISCLAIMER: Everything recognizable belongs to Kripke, Singer and The CW. Damn.

Just some random Wincesty fluff…if you can believe it…not at all related to the DARK ROADS 'verse...but maybe it is...

~~~~~ ON THE SUBJECT OF CHICK FLICK MOMENTS~~~~~

"Hey, Sammy," Dean calls out, hitching his towel around his waist as he bursts out of the cramped motel bathroom. "Do ya think it's a poltergeist or demonic possession this time?"

He looks about their room, seeing nothing but two empty beds and horrible seventies decor.

"Sam?"

Dean snorts and shakes his head. Sam's taken off without saying a word.

Again.

"Little shit," he mutters as he shucks the towel and gets dressed. Even though he knows that Sam can most likely handle himself should anything crop up, it still pisses him off. It’s not safe out there, and sometimes Sam just doesn’t see it.

Several minutes pass, and Dean hunkers down behind the laptop, hoping to all that's holy that someone nearby has an unsecured wireless network. The universe complies, and a minute later Dean's surfing all of the best porn sites bogus credit cards can buy access to.

Another half hour goes by and Dean's already called both Ellen and Bobby to see if they'd heard from Sam; they hadn’t.

Dean throws himself onto one of the queen-sized beds, his arm over his eyes. He lays there, his thoughts alternating between worrying over Sam and how he's gonna kick Sam's ass when he turns up again.

A while later, he hears a key in the lock, and the door to their room creaks open and then shuts quietly.

“Sam?”

“No, it’s Lindsay Lohan.”

"Dipshit," Dean says, pulling his arm from his face to glare over at his brother.

"Am not," Sam shoots back.

Dean sits up, staring into Sam's mischievous eyes. "Where the hell were you? You know it‘s never a good idea to take off without a word." That's when Dean notices the pizza box balanced in Sam's right hand. "What the hell's that?"

Sam pulls a face. "Pizza." He shakes his head, smirking widely. "Man, sometimes you worry me, bro, really." He hefts up his left hand, nodding to the twelve pack of beer. "Got all the food groups right here." He walks over to the small table by the front windows and sets down the pizza and beer. "Get on over here; I know you're hungry."

Dean hoists himself off of the bed, ambling over to stand next to Sam. "Do me a favor next time and tell me when you're gonna just wander away, okay?” He snorts and shakes his head. "That way, I don't worry and wonder about how many pieces I might find you in."

Sam shrugs out of his jacket, snickering. "Dude, I just went out for some food. Like I've done, I dunno, almost every night for the past year and a half." He cocks his head to one side. "You okay? You've been way too bitchy lately."

Dean scratches his temple. "Bitchy," he mutters. "I've been bitchy?"

Sam shrugs. "Yeah. You."

“You know what’s out there.”

“Yeah, Dean, I do.” Sam rolls his eyes. “I was just across the street. Can’t help it the pizza joint was crammed full of kids fresh from a football game.”

“Demons can pop up anywhere, Sammy.”

Sam laughs. “Okay…”

Dean waves a hand. "Fine, whatever. That's the thanks I get for trying to watch out for you."

"Man, you're in a mood," Sam says, his smile growing wider. "That time of the month again?"

"Bite me," Dean replies.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam rolls his eyes and lifts the lid of the pizza box. "Well, if this doesn't lighten you up, I don't know what will." He bends down, making a big show of sniffing the pizza. "Ummmm, smells good."

Dean steps over and peers down at the pizza. "Is that..."

"Yup," Sam nods. "A large pepperoni, double sauce and extra cheese." He reaches into the pizza box and holds up a small plastic container. "With anchovies on the side." He then gestures to the beer. "And, a twelve of Budweiser." He grins knowingly. "All your faves, right?"

Dean snorts and nods. "Yeah, you know they are. But what's the occasion?"

Sam merely shrugs and moves off to retrieve some paper plates and napkins from beside the crusty microwave. "Does there have to be? Can't I just do something cool for you without a reason?"

Dean pauses a moment before his eyes go wide. "Oh, man, don't tell me..."

Sam snickers as he dishes up a slice for each of them.

"You didn't...don't tell me this is all because of..." Dean splutters.

"Because of what?" Sam asks innocently, popping the caps on two beers. "Because it's February fourteenth? What if it is?"

Dean throws up both hands. "You know I can't stand these frickin' Hallmark Holidays. Shit, dude, you can act like such a chick."

Sam wipes his hands on his jeans and shrugs. "Yeah, I guess I do, sometimes," he agrees. He moves over to Dean and clamps his big hands on Dean's waist. "But other times, though..." He pulls Dean in close, pressing his groin tightly against Dean's. "I don't," he growls, his voice low and rumbly. He leans down to suckle and nibble at the skin all along the side of Dean's neck. "If you want me to stop so you can keep on griping..."

Dean moans softly as he grabs Sam's ass with both hands. "Oh, hell no..." he murmurs, grinding his stiffening cock into Sam's. "A chick flick moment every now and then..."

Sam pulls away slightly. "Uh, Dean?"

"What?" Dean answers a bit breathlessly.

"Just shut the hell up, okay?"

Dean grins crookedly. "That's my boy." He crashes his lips to Sam's, and he twists around and pulls Sam down with him onto the bed. Sam lands on top of him, and they scoot around until they're both fully on the mattress, their lips locked together the entire time.

Straddling Dean’s hips, Sam sits up and pulls his hoodie over his head.

Dean just smiles.

This Valentine's crap isn't so bad after all...


~ fin ~