Just When You Thought It was Safe to Drink
Rating: Heavy PG-13, Light R (mostly for drunkenness, some incestuous themes–it is Supernatural, after all)
Sam is drunk. Again.
Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Drink
Once again, Sam had hit the bottle a little too hard. He knew this because he was staring into the mouth of said bottle and he could see right through the bottom. But the fact that Sam had had too much to drink didn’t dawn on him until much later; right now Sam was much more interested in the kaleidoscope of colors refracted through the bottom of his bottle, which he still hadn’t lowered from his squinty eyed gaze.
From across the room, someone shouted, “Hey! Sam’s a pirate!”
Sam said, “Argh.”
Sam was at a frat party in the middle of nowhere Arkansas. He and Dean were hunting something that was chewing up and spitting out college students at the local university. Dean decided the best place to start was the bar district in town, and Sam felt obliged to follow him—to make sure he stayed out of trouble. But once back in the atmosphere of sophomoric drunken intellectuals, Sam reverted back to his college days self and started slamming shots with a bunch of liberal arts majors. Then they had a debate about the rights of women in the Middle East (which Sam thought he did very well in, despite the fact he knew nothing about the Middle East beyond the ‘mythological’ creatures present there). That in turn led to another debate about the rights of women here (which Sam mopped the floor in, because Sam was a Feminist and knew all about Women’s Inequality in America).
Then some douche bag looking dude in a popped collar, pastel polo shirt approached their table and told them about this wicked awesome party on Church and Center street, and did they want to go?
“It’s wicked awesome,” he said.
And everyone said, “Sure.” Even Sam. And they left to go to this wicked awesome party on Church and Center Street.
It wasn’t until a few hours later that Sam realized he had ditched Dean at the bar.
Dean was covered in goo. Nasty, smelly, monster vomit goo. He tried wiping it off, but only succeeded in spreading it everywhere. He managed to kill the monster (mutated hellcat—who knew?) all by himself because someone left the bar they were investigating, but the monster exploded when Dean shot it in the head. Thus, the goo. Growling loudly, he took out his cell phone. Miraculously, it still worked, even covered in a thick, green coating like the rest of him.
He punched the speed dial. After three rings, a familiar voice answered.
“Where,” Dean growled. “The fuck. Are. You?”
“Um,” finally Sam answered, “where am I supposed to be?” Someone giggled in the background. Someone feminine.
“Are you with a girl?” Dean exploded. Here he was, saving the world, and Sam was getting his jollies off with some hussy—
“Two, actually,” Sam chirped.
Dean heard water splashing in the background and more giggling. He paused, curiosity getting the better of him. “Where are you, Sam?” he repeated, much more calmly than before.
“In a hot tub. With some girls I met,” he answered. “You should be here Dean—they’re very pretty.”
There was a fumbling noise, then a girl’s voice said, “You should definitely come over. Sam’s told us all about you, Dean.” She purred his name.
Dean swallowed hard. Oh, he was going to kill Sam. But the girl did sound pretty hot. He looked down at his slime covered self, shrugged, and said, “Sure, where are you?”
Luckily, the girl wasn’t as drunk as Sam sounded to be, and gave Dean lucid directions to some house not far from the bar the brothers had gone to earlier that night. Once he was sure he had the destination right, he hung up the phone and started his long trek back to where he left the Impala.
Two birds with one stone, he thought. He could beat the living tar out of Sam for ditching him and hook up with some cute chick all at once.
Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Sam forgot all about Dean until the irate man confronted him in the kitchen where Sam was getting refills on his drinks.
“Sam!” Dean yelled—partly from anger and partly so he could be heard over the pulsing techno music emanating from the living room. “What the hell, man?” Even as he said it, his eyes widened to the size of saucers when he saw Sam. A lot of Sam.
“Why are you naked?”
Sam looked to the door he just entered. It led out to a porch area. “Hot tub,” he nodded.
Dean just stood there, more than confused. “That would explain why your underwear’s soaking wet,” he offered finally.
“I didn’t pee myself,” Sam declared, petulantly.
“Good to know,” Dean answered, still shocked at his brother’s lack of attire.
Sam held up a bottle. “Tequila?”
Dean blinked, sighed, then nodded his head. “Sure.
Several shots later found Dean stripped to his skivvies and diving into the hot tub with two lovely (nude) ladies.
Ever the gentleman, (even when he was having trouble counting the number of heads people currently possessed), Sam made the introductions.
“Ladies, this is Dean. My brother. The sexy one,” he added for good measure. “Dean, this is Jessica and Cassandra.”
“With a ‘K’,” the blonde said.
“’scuse me. Kassandra.”
“Hi,” Dean purred at the blonde. Realizing something, he quickly turned to Sam. “Wait. The sexy one?”
The brunette—Jessica answered for him. “Sam’s told us all about you—how you work together, driving on the open road in a muscle car,” she nearly moaned the last bit, thus raising Dean’s esteem of her a significant amount. “He said he’s the smart one and you’re the sexy one.” She eyed him up and down, and Dean could feel the mark of her eyes on his skin. “He was wrong, though. You’re both sexy.”
If Dean wasn’t the playboy that he was, he would have blushed at the tone of her sultry voice. “And you, ladies, are very fine indeed,” he grinned his most charming grin—the one Sam insisted he could see light twinkle off his teeth when he did it.
And so the game began. Dean had to admit that it was a little weird, trying to hook up with a chick when his brother was practically sitting on his lap—plus they were both mostly naked. That, of course, was canceled out by the girls being completely nude. Still, it was a little weird. Weirder still that Sam was too drunk to notice. Dean decided he should catch up with Sam’s level of inebriation, and grabbed the tequila bottle from him. “Who wants shots?” he shouted before taking a swig right out of the bottle.
Half the bottle later and Sam and Dean were both gloriously drunk. They were also minus one pair of underwear (Sam’s, but Dean kept thinking it might be his because they were on his head). Kassandra, the blonde, slid up and pressed full-bodied against Dean. “So,” she said, nuzzling along Dean’s jaw line. “I heard you and Sam kissed.”
Dean grinned at her, but then the words caught up to his mind and he paused. “What?”
Sam was quicker on the uptake. “Twice!”
As Kassandra giggled, Dean turned on his brother. “Wait, twice?” Dean asked. “I only remember that one time.”
“You were asleep,” Sam explained.
“Dude, that’s creepy,” Dean slurred. He took another drink to fortify himself. Even through his drunken haze, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like where this conversation was heading.
Sam seemed to have no problem with it, however. “And the other time was at this bar. I was playing Truth or Dare.” He grinned and whispered conspiratorially, “I picked dare.”
Dean took another drink. Sam grabbed the bottle away from him. “I’s think you had enough, Mr. Designated Driver.”
Dean pouted. The girls pouted with him. “Aww, if you don’t let him drink, then how will he kiss you?”
Both Sam and Dean paused at that. They looked to each other. Then they looked back at the girls.
The girls dithered. “They’re so cute!”
Sam and Dean looked back to one another. Sam took a drink and handed the bottle back to Dean. Dean clutched it like a lifeline. “Why would I—?”
The girls interrupted him. They started to look more like scheming harpies than cute college girls. “If you and Sam kiss, then we’ll kiss each other.”
They were scheming harpies.
Dean looked at Sam. “We shouldn’t—.”
Sam leapt on him. Dean tried to shove him away, but the larger man was persistent. Dean was well and truly pinned under Sam’s heavier frame. “Get off me, Sam!” Dean growled.
“Boobies, Dean!” Sam said, as if that explained everything. In the momentary pause caused by Dean’s confusion, Sam took his opportunity and sealed his mouth over Dean’s. Dean’s cries now muffled, Sam enthusiastically kissed him for all he was worth. Which was quite a bit, actually.
Dean barely heard the girls’ squeals of delight over the roaring in his eyes. Sam was kissing him, and it was surprisingly good, and he was very drunk, and they were both very naked… and Dean was very drunk. So he twined his hands into Sam’s hair, pulled him closer and gave it all he had.
The girls squeals now turned to out and out screams of voyeuristic ecstasy, attracting way more attention that Sam and Dean would liked, had they been aware enough to notice. They clung to each other—Sam to Dean’s waist and Dean to Sam’s shoulders—and sucked major face.
Finally, Sam broke away. He untangled himself from Dean, turned to the girls, and demanded, “Kiss. Now.”
The girls sighed, but complied. It was Sam and Dean’s turn to squeal like morons.
Dawn lit the edge of the horizon in a gray bluish glow before Sam and Dean finally stumbled on foot to the motel room, (not that Dean had any ill feelings towards drunk driving—he just didn’t want to hurt his Baby). They crashed headfirst on their separate beds and groaned. Sam hugged a pillow for comfort.
“Just when you thought it was safe to drink,” he murmured.
“We’re never going to speak of this, right?” Dean asked, the edge to his voice blunted by the pillow he talked into.
Sam cracked one bleary eye towards his brother. He thought a moment, and answered.
“We did it for the boobies, Dean. No shame in that.” He rolled over and presumably went to sleep.
Dean glared balefully at his brother’s back, before snorting and closing his eyes. Sleep was not long coming.
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Cross posted on fanfiction.net and erisoreilly.com