InsaneJournal

Title: Irish Linen isn’t Green

Author: astrothsknot

Fandom: Supernatural/Buffy

Series: Imitating Angels AU

Rating: NC17 for sex and language and sex on a period

Pairings: Dean/Faith, Sam/Lily (OFC)

A/N Sam and Dean make a drunken bet about who can make their girlfriends scream first in bed. For weesta’s birthday. Beta by our very own naughty Santa, missyjack

“I don’ care what an’one says,” slurs Dean, pointing at the porn flick playing on the TV. “That shit ain’t normal. But her films were mas..master…works of art.”

“And you’d know this from your s-stensive research?” Sam giggles as he falls off the bed. He passes the bottle of Southern Comfort over to Dean as he tries dialling again. “They’ve taken t’phone off the hook. An’ I’m jus’ getting’ voicemail. Can’t even have phone’sex. You hid the key, right?”

“I swall’ed. We’re not goin’ be doing an’thing stupid an’time soon and it’ll be worned off by then.” Dean drinks some more. “I pleasured the ladies of this fine country for - Christ… how does she do that?” Dean has a hefty swig. “I fucked a lotta chicks and none’ve ‘em could do that. I’d’ve foun’ ‘er if…yeah, I’d’ve foun’ ‘er.

“I don wanna know how y’ate t’ key. Ever. Fucking succubuses. An‘ their possessed vibrators. Why‘re we watchin‘ porn? Never wan‘ to see porn again. Ever.” Sam stares at the TV. “How many’s she got in there now? I-I’m loshing…wossit called?”

“What’s what called? An‘ innit succubi?”

“When you add shtuff up? W’your fingers.” Sam waves his fingers, then looks at them for a moment. “Mine’s not working anymo‘. Dean, my fing’s are broken. No...I got extra ones. They‘re too new t‘work.”

“That’ll be it. You’d never’d fucked the porn stars anyway, even if we din’t have women an’ you’d have made sure I never’ve…‘ve fucked them either.” Dean waves the bottle round as he makes his point. “Cockblocker.”

“I coun’t get laid if you were around, cos they only came on to me to get to you.” Sam nods, reaching for the bottle. “So’s it your own fault.”

They’re interrupted just then by overly loud screaming from the TV.

“Wow,” says Dean. “There’s no way a human could do that.”

“My fingers ‘re still not workin’,” says Sam. “An’way. You’re easy to get into the sack, slut. But I bet I’m better.”

“How’d you figure? Minute ago you were whining that you never got laid. Gimme the bottle, s‘my turn.”

“Quality, dear brother, not quantity.”

“You soun’ed…almost sober,” says Dean, admiringly.

“I did, din’t I?” Sam says proudly. “I’m goin’ bathroom…”

Dean waits for a moment, before hammering on the door. “Hey, Sammy! Wanna put mon’y where your mouth is?”

There’s a pause before Sam answers. “I’m lis’nin’.”

“You think you’re such hot…s’hot shit an all, lets have lil’bet. Shit, Sam, ‘r’ you pissin’ for ‘Lympics?”

“Wass the bet, Dean?”

“I bet…I bet tha’ I’m better in sack than you.” Dean tries to take a pull from the bottle, but it’s empty. “It’s all gone…Why’s the Scotch aw’ways gone?”

“How you gonna prove that?” Sam asks as he opens the door. “We’re gon’ have to see which one screams first an’ that’ll…ll”

It’s lost as Sam rushes back into the bathroom to throw up.

***

“Christ, are they calling us again?” Groans Faith, as the muffled trilling of the phone comes from the kitchen units. Ricky settles into her on the sofa as they watch Deadliest Catch. He‘s eating some disgustingly bright candy. “How many boxes is it in?”

“It’s in the box with the washing powder,” replies Lily, taking her cell from underneath the sofa cushions and checking the voicemail for a minute. “Some of this is probably quite erotic, if it wasn‘t in Gibberish.”

Faith turns up the sound on the TV. “Fucking succubi. Should have let us do it. Sig or Edgar?”

“Edgar, definitely. Oh! Bet that hurt.” Lily winces as Edgar Hansen gets knocked over by a swinging crab pot. “Poor Norman gets no love.”

“Momma?” Asks a small voice.

“What, sweetie?” Asks Faith, absently. Sig’s on. How’s she expected to concentrate when Sig’s on? “Eat your candy before Daddy gets back and eats it all.”

“Wass a mucking muccubi?”

***

It’s two days before the brothers turn up, still a little worse for wear and more than a little anxious

“Christ, it’s alive,” says Faith as Dean lurches a little through the door.

“Can’t you answer a phone? We’ve been shitting ourselves all the way over here,” Dean snaps, relief coming out as annoyance.

“Hi, Killer, how are you and the kids? Oh, we’re fine.” Faith opens a unit and pulls out some Tylenol and Pepto-Bismol for him. “We’ve lost the phones. Ricky buried them in the woods. He had a little funeral and everything.”

“And you fucking let him?” Dean takes the medicines from her.

“Dude, we were trying to watch Deadliest Catch.” Faith turns round to watch him, arms crossed. She’s got that smile on her face again, the one that makes like everything is one huge joke. Often seen when she’s about to kill something.

“And Sig Hansen is more important than my peace of mind?” Dean’s never sure if that smile makes him want to kill her or kiss her.

“Your peace of mind can go shit in the woods. Mine is way more important, ‘specially when you’re hopped up and horny on succubus juice.” She tilts her head up to him as he moves closer. “I got nothing against phone sex, but you could’ve had the real thing. Jesus, Dean! You ain’t getting any from me till you’ve showered!”

She ducks under Dean’s arm, wrinkling her nose as his cell starts ringing.

“We’ve been driving for two fucking days straight because someone can’t answer a goddamned phone! What?” He demands irritably of the fuckwit on the other end of the line.

“Dean? Could you come and pick up your brother? He’s frightening the tourists.” Lily’s got this deadpan delivery. Sometimes Dean’s jealous of it.

“How come he’s my brother rather than your husband at times like this?” Dean sighs wearily.

“Because right now? My boss has a shotgun on him.”

***

“So, this bet? Still on or what?” Dean says over the pool table at Weesta’s Bar. He hits the red hard and it thunks down into the pocket. The white comes to settle behind a triangle of reds. “I think you’re snookered.”

Sam considers for a moment, before smacking the cue ball hard into the cushion, enough to ricochet it off the opposite cushion, twice, gently kissing one of the yellow balls scattered around the table. “I’m up for it.”

Weesta brings over another two beers. “Whatever you boys are planning, it’d better not involve my bar again. It took a week to get that damned genii out my whiskey bottles.”

“Aw, come on, Weesta, it was funny seeing Earl Ray go through the week with asses ears.” Dean grins. She gives a half-smile back as she trots off to wipe some tables. “So, Sammy? Getting our good ladies to express themselves in the throes of passion?”

“Swallowed a dictionary?” Sam swigs some of his beer. “First to get a scream inside a week scores.”

“And you say I’ve a got a way with words.” Dean holds out his hand.

Sam shakes it firmly. “Done.”

***

“We gotta have some kind of rule, though,” says Dean as Sam’s truck pulls up outside the cabin. “Otherwise, how we supposed to know who’s won?”

“I’m not watching you screw Faith,” Sam replies firmly. “How about - if it’s loud enough to be heard in the other rooms, it counts?”

“I can live with that,” nods Dean. He leans across and picks up the mail package from the trucks’ back seat. “They’ve been on T-shirt Hell again?”

“Mine’s got herself that fairground clown one. Says it’s so she can get some sleep,” Sam says in disgust.

Faith’s got the curtains drawn back in the living room window, casting a soft glow over the mud. “Yep, they’re definitely planning something. Can’t you come over here and read their lips or that mind trick you got going with Sam or something?”

Lily turns over a page in the book she’s reading. “No. Not since I came across the lesbian three-way in his head with that chick from the Pussycat Dolls tryouts. I thought you had super hearing, anyway.”

“Lesbian three-way? Huh and I always thought Sam was so quiet.” She drops the curtain and races to the kitchen. “I’ll get it out of him.”

“Get what outta who?” Dean asks as the brothers come in. Faith’s sitting on the table, swinging her legs.

“How much you really love me.” Faith’s playful smile is back as she catches Dean’s belt loops as he tries to pass her.

Dean laughs, it‘s an old game. “You’re hungry? Can’t I get my boots off first?”

“No. I‘m fading away to nothing here.”

“Let me see what’s in the fridge.” Dean unpeels Faith’s legs reluctantly. They‘re bare, she‘s only wearing panties and one of his t-shirts. “Can’t have my Killer starving.”

“I think there’s some ground beef,” says Faith, peering over his shoulder as Dean investigates the fridge. She’s tight against him and he can feel her tits through the material, rubbing his back.

He pulls it out and kisses her as he turns around, holding the beef as he tastes her. It’s full, deep and he’s hungry for more than supper, before Faith breaks away. Dean hands the meat to her, before going to the units for the rest of the ingredients. “Spaghetti bolognese or chilli?”

“Chilli.” Faith goes to pull a pot down from the rack and manages to bring another two crashing down behind her.

Dean just rolls his eyes before picking Faith up by the hips and placing her on the counter next to the cooker. “I’ll cook, and be sexy. You sit there and stroke my ego.”

“Just your ego?” She says with that wicked grin.

“While I’m cooking, yes!” Dean says firmly, leaning in for a kiss. Faith’s mouth is warm and inviting. He wonders for a moment if there isn’t some succubus venom still running round his system as his tongue slips against hers. He breaks off as the beef begins to spit in the pan, stirring it round as it starts to brown. “Peppers.”

“Shall I get the tortillas?” Faith asks as she jumps lithely down from the counter, handing him the frozen peppers. They spit and steam as they meet the hot pan.

“Yeah. Can I trust you with a can opener?” Faith, smacks his ass, hard. “Hey, not while I‘m cooking!”

“Cheeky bastard. I can take out a squirrel’s eye from fifty feet. I think I can open a can of tomatoes.”

“Faith, you can’t even get a pot down without killing them. Now, tomatoes ple…you’re not funny.” Dean’s words falter as his woman slips both hands around the front of him, pressing right up close behind him. She’s even grinding her hips into his ass. He swallows as she holds the tin of tomatoes over the sizzling pan, opening the can slowly, pouring it in carefully and gently, in time to the movement of her hips.

Dean tries to ignore her as her hands move up under his t-shirt, running over the ridges of his stomach. He can’t help the shiver that runs all through him as Faith palms his nipples. He tries to concentrate on stirring the chilli, making sure the beef and the sauce are mixing together, coating each other…

…but the pungent smells are heady and Faith’s pulling his t-shirt over his head and suddenly he’s painfully aware that’s it’s been ten days since they’ve been together and when Faith starts on his belt buckle, that’s it. Dean drops the spoon and pushes her back against the fridge, hands in her hair, on her tits, roving all over her body. She’s like heat where she’s pressed against him, burning where her body’s tight to his, as if she’s searing his flesh.

Molten where Faith’s hands skim over his back, her legs twined around his, as she rocks against the thigh he’s got between hers. It doesn’t take Dean a second to haul off the t-shirt she’s wearing. He makes a muffled cry into her shoulder as her hand finds its way down to his balls as his jeans pool around his ankles.

Well, Faith didn’t give him the chance to take his boots off.

She plays with his nuts, massaging them around her palm, as Dean bites and mouths his way around the sharp angles of her collarbone. Faith makes that weird high pitched noise that does when she’s really turned on and he’d grin if his mouth wasn’t sucking on her tits. He’s rolling it round as he sucks it full, lips clamped tight like it’s giving out whiskey or something.

Faith pushes Dean back, not letting any balls drop as he hobbles backwards towards the big pine table in the corner. Dean lies back on cool wood, shivering as his skin’s slightly chilled while Faith climbs on top of him. He’s a little light headed from all the smell and heat in the kitchen. There’s something forming in the back of his mind, but Faith’s pussy chases it all away as she sinks down onto him. She’s leaning right over him, hair falling over his face and Dean’s kissing her like there’s no tomorrow, hand in her hair, the other gripping her thigh, bruising the solid muscle.

Faith’s rolling her hips, tight, smooth along his cock and Dean’s always shocked by how good she feels around him and how much he’s missed this. It’s almost worth going away for. There’s nothing playful about Faith now, just rawness and passion and need and Dean and it’s all mixing with the spices and heat and…

“Jesus Christ! Faith, get off! The pan’s on fire!” Dean rolls her off and tries to get to the flaming pan of chilli, forgetting that his feet are hobbled. It’s too much for Faith and she screams with laughter.

“Faith, open the fucking door!” He yells as he waddles urgently to the door.

She collects herself enough to open it. “You’re still hard! Ah-hahaaa! It‘s like a little wobbling soldier! Heeheehee-hahahah! You‘ve got a Weeble for a dick!”

Dean can’t help it, flaming pan and all. He looks down and promptly trips out the back door with a yell. Someone up there really doesn’t like Dean tonight, because the commotion has brought Sam and Lily running in. They look between Faith hyperventilating on the floor and Dean lying ass up in the dirt.

“D’you want to count that one?” Sam asks, in all seriousness.

***

“This isn’t fair, Faith. You should be the one up here scrubbing.” Sam waggles the cloth at her mock accusingly.

“Aren’t I lucky you’re such a gentleman,” Faith giggles back. “Now get back up there.”

“Enjoying the view?” Lily passes Faith some popcorn as she comes back from the living room loaded with shade cards and juggling the phone. “Just get another tub of Spring Apple White then.”

“What the hell colour is that?” Dean demands tinnily from the phone.

She waves a booklet of paint at Faith, who taps a few colours. “It’s a really light, greeny-white. Sort of like the light part of a green apple.”

“The assistant’s just shown me seven different colours that look like that.”

“Well, just tell the bloody assistant you want Spring Apple White.” Lily pauses as Faith holds her finger over another shade of light green. “Pick up some Pacific Wave for the woodwork. Hang on, put back the Spring Apple colour. I want Mint Whisper for the walls.”

“So you want Mint Whisper and Pacific Wave? Final answer? Don’t want to phone a friend?” Dean asks sarcastically.

“No, wait. Ocean Ripple for the woodwork and I’ll do one wall in Irish Linen. Put back one of the Mint Whisper tubs,” Lily says as she glances at Faith, who nods before going back to watching Sam‘s ass. “And don’t forget, you owe me a new pan.”

“Irish Linen isn’t even green!” Protests Dean, exasperated. “Why the hell are you even decorating now?”

“My kitchen looks like there’s been a fire in it,” Lily says, pointedly. “Oh, wait. There was.”

“Irish Linen, Mint Whisper and Ocean Ripple, right?” Dean says something to the assistant that they can’t catch. “Do we have painting stuff?”

“I’ll go check,” says Lily, sending another appreciative gaze at Sam’s busily scrubbing form. She bites her lip. Their perving isn’t lost on Sam, who winks at Faith before announcing loudly, “Damn, it’s hot in here!” and stripping down to his bare torso.

“C’mon, Sammy! It’s really hot in here. Get it all off.” Faith catcalls, reaching into her pocket for her wallet and pulling out ten bucks.

Sam throws his shirt at her and laughs as Lily comes back in. She pauses for a moment and swallows. It takes her a moment to speak and when she does, her voice is shaky. “Get dressed, Sam. You’re scaring the birds. Ooh, popcorn”

Sam just smiles to himself and carries on washing down the walls, well aware that Lily’s turned on something awful. He starts to contort himself into positions that show off his physique, work his muscles. It’s almost like her eyes are burning a hole in his back.

Faith’s noticed and she’s not above a bit of teasing herself. “Hey, Sam, there’s a bit you missed all the way over there.”

“Above the window?” Sam stretches over to reach, twisting a little. He can feel the muscles in his back shift, biceps lengthening and shortening as he scrubs the wall slowly, sensuously. “Back here?”

He casts a quick glance over to Lily, squirming in her chair, as if Sam’s touching all the right places, hands on her back and not the wall. She catches him watching and goes an adorable shade of pink. Then she actually shakes herself before snapping, “Get scrubbing!”

***

“Dean says he’ll start with the primer tomorrow after work,” says Sam as he pours the dirty water down the drain. “It’ll take at least a couple of hours.”

Lily’s looking round the kitchen and nods. “Looks cleaner already.”

“Did I miss anywhere?” Sam asks, voice doing that bass-and-barbed-wire thing that usually has her weak at the knees. Lily doesn’t even look at him. Considering he’s been priming her all afternoon, she should have had him on the kitchen table already. The cooker’s off, so they’re safe.

He leans against the sink, watching her. “What’s wrong?”

“Period’s started,” Lily replies, glumly. “And I was looking forward to having my wicked way with you.”

Sam strokes her cheek, sliding his hand around the back of her head, before pulling her closer to him. “So?”

“You know I hate the mess and -” Sam leans down and kisses her. He feels her hands settle on his chest and it’s almost submissive. He kisses her a little more forcefully before pulling back, leaning his forehead to hers. “Sheets’ll wash and so will we.”

Sam starts walking her backwards, kissing along her cheeks, down her throat to her shoulders. His hands start running along her back, as if they’ve got a life of their own.

“Don’t walk me into a wall,” Lily jokes.

“I won’t,” whispers Sam as he begins to drop gentle bites on her collar bone and the muscles of her shoulders. It’s one of her triggers and right away draws out a strangled cry. Any louder and it would have won him the bet. He smiles a little as they reach their bedroom, falling on their bed.

It doesn’t take them long to get undressed, Sam stops her as she’s about to take off her panties. “Wait,” he murmurs, turning Lily round, feeling her breath hitch under his hands as he guides her to where he wants her, spread and open over his lap. The backs of gentle fingers ghost down to her clit, circling lightly and she jumps against the pressure, gasp loud enough to echo around the room briefly.

He moves his hands in long sweeps over her hips and inner thighs, enjoying the way she grinds down on his dick. “I’m gonna lie you down, bring you off like I’ve seen you do yourself,” he rumbles in her ear. Lily puts one of her hands over his and guides them up her leg to her pussy, flat against her thigh. Sam carefully lays them down on their sides, facing the mirrored wardrobe, so they’re spooning, his cheek resting atop hers. Lily tugs on his hand slightly; it doesn’t take Sam long to get the to and fro motion of hips and hands rubbing against her clit.

He starts off watching her in the mirror, seeing the familiar expressions sweep over her face. But the closer she comes, the more he wants to see it live, propping himself up over her body slightly, watching the flush start to creep over her breasts. He pulls his hand free just before she comes, wanting to keep her on that edge. He turns her back over to him, tearing her panties off and throwing them in the trash. Sam wastes no time in entering her. She’s tight, but it’s an easy slide, despite Sam’s size and he’s glad of that, because he doesn’t want to spend any more time on foreplay. Lily’s legs are entwined with his as she meets his thrusts and she’s making that broken cry as she writhes against him. Sam‘s lips don‘t muffle the sound, they’re busy mouthing her pulse point.

“I always forget that your skin’s really sensitive when you’re on,” he murmurs in her ear and he rolls slightly so that Lily’s back and ass are lifted off the mattress. Not much, but enough for him to slide a hand where it needs to go. Sam can’t thrust in this position, but he doesn’t need to. His hands and her skin are going to do it all for him.

He runs an experimental hand over her waist, chuckling when Lily jumps and gasps. “Shit, Sammy!”

“Where next?” He trails his fingers down her ribcage and across the small of her back, before moving the flat of his hand up her spine and resting it in the back of her neck. She twists and jerks against him and it’s a new sensation for his dick, the random movements of her hips. The look on her face is utterly desperate and he’s not sure he’s ever seen her this turned on.

Her broken sighs get louder as his fingers spiral down to her ass and over her thigh. It’s become a challenge for Sam to bring her off without touching the obvious areas. He stays away from her breasts, her cunt, just relying on his cock deep inside her and his hand teasing along the crease of her ass.

Sam doesn’t kiss her much; he’s too busy watching her face, the way Lily’s hair’s spread out over the pillow, veiling her face. It’s fucking glorious and it’s only matched by her expression when she comes. It rockets through her body, to judge by the way she tenses and nearly pulls his hair out.

He gives Lily a few minutes to come down, enjoying the tremors running along the length of his dick, before he turns them over, so she’s back under him again. This time it’s Sam’s show, as he pounds into her, strong and hard, kissing her the same way. Any noise they’re making is lost between them and it’s not too long before Sam comes as hard as she did.

They lie there, gently kissing as the danger in the touch goes, Sam staying on top, keeping Lily trapped there, until she grimaces. “Sam, I’m sticky and I bet the bed’s a mess.”

Sam gives her a final kiss as he slides out of her. “You start the shower, I’ll sort the bed and join you in a minute.”

Lily starts giggling when Sam stands up and he looks down. “We look like an episode of CSI,” he grins. “Shower.”

He gathers up the sheets, when Lily really starts laughing. “Oh, God, Sam. Your ass! There‘s two perfect bloody handprints on your ass!”

Sam’s deep bass laugh can be heard all the way along the hall to the laundry basket.

“Keep it down!” Yells Dean from the living room. “We’re trying to watch TV in here!”