#hanchester

“Jodes,” Donna hissed. “What are you doing?”

Jody shushed her, waving away the question. Donna narrowed her eyes and glared at her friend. She was up to something, she knew it.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Jody said.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Donna muttered, though she had a feeling the answer was “no” considering the look Jody gave her. Over the top of her friend’s head, she could see Dean, leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand, a donut from the box on the table in the other, the shadow of a beard visible on his cheeks. He took a huge bite of the donut and grunted in Sam’s direction.

“Alright, Dean and Donna will go in the bar, pretend to be a couple, while Jody and I wait outside. We can cover the exits,” Sam explained. “Hopefully you guys can draw out the witch.”

Dean shrugged and shoved the rest of the donut in his mouth. “Works for me,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth. “You good with that D-Train?”

Donna nodded, but she felt numb. She couldn’t believe Jody had thrown her under the bus, volunteered her to pretend to be Dean’s girlfriend. Of course, Jody had no idea how Donna felt about Dean, that was a closely guarded secret that never came to light, ever. It wasn’t like being around him made her stomach twist in knots, or her heart pound, or sweat to pool between her shoulder blades, or her hands shake. No, not at all. She pushed herself out of her chair and darted out the back door, sliding to a stop on the patio and sucking in giant lungfuls of air.

“You okay?”

His gruff, whiskey-thick voice sent a chill racing down her spine. She steeled herself before turning around, vowing not to let herself get lost in those gorgeous green eyes.

“I’m good,” she nodded. “Just...nervous is all. Witches aren’t my favorite.”

“I hear ya,” Dean chuckled. “Witches are disgusting. But, we’ll be good, I promise. We go in there, lure out the guy casting the spells on couples, and we’ll be fine.”

“How are we going to keep him from casting some kind of spell on us?” Donna asked.

“Sam’s making us hex bags as we speak,” Dean said. “Honestly, D, we’ll be great. Might even have some fun, like a real date.” He bumped her with his shoulder, winked at her, and went back inside.

“Fun, sure,” she sighed.

Donna adjusted the skirt she had chosen to wear and climbed from the car. To her surprise, Dean caught her hand in his and tugged her close. He put his arm around her waist when he opened the door to the bar, leaving it there even after they were inside.

“Let’s find a table,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin and making goosebumps break out all over her.

She could only nod and follow Dean’s lead. He led them to a table in the back, in the corner, positioning them so his back was to the wall and he could see everything. He ordered drinks and it wasn’t until the waitress set them down that Donna realized he’d gotten her favorite.

“How did you -”

“I pay attention, gorgeous,” he smirked. He leaned close, his lips just inches from hers. “By the way, you look absolutely stunning.”

“You’re a big giant fooler, Dean Winchester,” she breathed.

“I’m not,” he shrugged. He grabbed his beer and downed half of it before setting it back down. “You have a hard time taking compliments, don’t you?”

“A little,” Donna murmured. “I guess I’m not used to being complimented. Doug never -”

“Doug’s an idiot,” Dean grumbled. “The biggest idiot.” He squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Relax, okay? Try to have fun.”

A blush colored her cheeks and she couldn’t stop fidgeting. She glanced around the bar, wondering which one, if any, of the patrons was the witch they were looking for. Someone had been cursing local couples, somehow amping up their jealous streaks to a point where people had died. The last two victims had been found in a destroyed apartment, with hex bags on them. The last place all the victims had been seen alive was this bar.

Two hours later, they were no closer than they’d been when the evening started. Donna was about to ask Dean if he wanted to call it a night when he abruptly rose to his feet and held out his hand.

“Come dance with me,” he said.

“What?” she mumbled.

Dean leaned over her, palms flat on the table. “We’re going to dance and we are going to play it up. Those cursed couples? All the witnesses said they were madly in love, disgustingly in love. We are going out on that dance floor and we are going to make a big old show of how crazy in love we are. Okay?”

“O-okay,” Donna nodded. She took his hand and followed him to the dance floor, with one brief stop at the jukebox, where Dean chose a song “appropriate for slow dancing”.

They’d just stepped onto the hardwood dance floor, along with several other couples, when the music started. The beat moved through Donna, loud, thrumming, her heart thumping out of time, too fast, too nervous, too much. She gasped as Dean pulled her into his arms, bending over to nuzzle her neck with his nose, his blunt fingers digging into her hips as he tugged her close. Heat blasted through her, settled deep in the pit of her stomach and took up residence, intent to stay.

“Relax,” he purred, his voice soft like velvet.

Donna nodded and took a deep breath and moved, letting the music and Dean guide her. She put her arms around his neck, her fingers loosely intertwined, nails scratching at the short hairs on the back of his neck. 

Dean smiled and dragged her right up against his body, flush against him, so close there wasn’t an inch of space between them. He pushed his knee between her legs, his hips wiggling, his green eyes flashing with something Donna couldn’t quite decipher.

She closed her eyes, shutting out everyone and everything but her and Dean. She forgot about the case. She forgot about her nerves. She even tried to forget that she had it bad for Dean Winchester and dancing with him would only make it worse. She shut down her brain and let her heart take control.

Dean’s hands traced her curves as they swayed to the music, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes on her and her alone. He was a damn good actor, that was for sure. He even had her believing they were in love. She couldn’t look at him, fearful he would see her truth reflected in her eyes.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Donna peeked at him through her lashes, unable to handle the full force of his stare. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back, then he gently brushed a kiss across her lips.

“Don't hide from me, Donna."

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago," he whispered. "I'm not gonna fight it anymore."

"Fight what?" She was intentionally playing dumb, terrified that he was doing all of this for show, acting like he truly liked her when really, he didn't. She held her breath as she waited for an answer.

"Fight being with you. I think when this fake date is over, we need to try the real thing."

Donna froze. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because if you're joking, I swear I'll kick your ass."

"I'm not," Dean insisted. "I wouldn't. What do you say? Are you willing to give me a shot? I understand if you're not..."

Donna nodded, her blonde hair flying around her head. "Holy smokes, Dean, I've been crushing on you since the day I met you. Of course, I'm willing to give you a shot."

Dean's mouth was on hers, kissing her with an almost desperate need, the two of them clutching at each other as if they were somehow going to be torn apart. Which unfortunately happened about twenty seconds later when Donna felt Dean's cell phone vibrate in his front pocket.

Damn it," he muttered, yanking it out of his pocket and opening it. "It's Sam. He says stop messing around and get to work."

"Oh, shoot," Donna giggled. "I forgot we were working."

"Me, too," Dean smirked. He pressed another kiss to Donna's lips, pulling away reluctantly. "This isn't over, sweetheart. We're picking up right where we left off when this case is over."

Heart in her throat, Donna could only nod. Knowing that was going to make it very hard to concentrate for the rest of the night.

Finally his alarm went off, telling him it was time to go home and get ready.

Dean had laid out his suit that morning, pressing the wrinkles out of the deep black fabric and starching his white shirt.  His best black tie was set aside.  He’d stopped just short of picking every individual piece of lint off the damn thing, but only just.  The nervous energy made him very detail-oriented, apparently.  Now, he smoothed the jacket down and looked in the mirror for the dozenth time in the last half hour.  It fit him the same as it always did, tight across his shoulders but otherwise fine.  His hair had smoothed into place evenly and he’d shaved, trying very hard to look like someone who belonged with Donna.  He’d even gone so far as to dress in neutral black, not knowing what she was wearing and not wanting to clash with her.  Even if he hadn’t quite realized his motivations, subconsciously he wanted it too look like they belonged together.

He was ready too soon, he realized with a groan when he was ready and putting on his watch.  He wouldn’t have to leave for another hour.  Sighing and loosening his tie, Dean headed to the kitchen.  He’d drink a beer, eat some leftovers.  Pretend this wouldn’t be the longest damn hour of his life, dragging on and on until he felt like screaming.  Luckily the beer was cold and smooth on his tongue, sliding easily down his throat.  It settled warm in his stomach and he sighed again, this time in satisfaction.  He tossed a tupperware container in the microwave and took another long pull from the bottle.  

Only fifty-three minutes left to go.

The microwave dinged to let him know his food was edible and at his phone beeped simultaneously, his inbox letting him know that a new message had popped up.  Faced with very little else to do, he opened his email to find that the new message was from Donna.  He frowned first in confusion, then in concern that she was cancelling, only to find that it was a work email.  The message contained the next three chapters in the saga of Chloe and Dan.  

Dean pored over it, reading in between bites of leftover lasagna.  Chloe and Dan managed to kill the wendigo and make it out of the forest, although only barely.  Chloe was sporting some cracked ribs and Dan was spiking a fever, weak enough now that Chloe was almost carrying him down the trail.  She was able to radio for help as they got closer to civilization, the ambulance meeting them at the entrance to the forest just as she was ready to collapse.  They both got loaded up and taken in, Dan jokingly telling her not to run off before the pain pills kicked in and he passed out.

Chloe stayed.

Even after they taped up her ribs and she was cleared to leave, even after she learned that Dan would be fine, she stayed.  

This was a new MO for Chloe, who prided herself on her ability to avoid attachments.  She had her dad and her sister - everyone else was optional.  Except, suddenly, for Dan.  For Dan she stayed in that waiting room and worried herself sick, imagining the swollen and angry red edges of the wound as the EMTs ripped his shirt apart to treat him.  

A nurse came out and asked for her, shaking Chloe out of her brooding and down to something deeper than bone.  Maybe to her soul.  She hadn’t realized how scared she was that she might not see him again until the moment it was a possibility.  

“Detective Ransom?”

She nodded.  “That’s me.”

Ahem.  Sort of.

“He wants you.”

The words struck her completely mute.  She realized that the nurse meant he wanted to see her, but Chloe had been scared philosophical and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.  

“Do you need a minute?” the nurse asked, clearly making an effort to be accommodating.  In reality, she had a whole other wing of patients to worry about and mopping Chloe up off the waiting room floor was not a priority.  

“I’m good,” Chloe said, easing her sore torso up out of the chair.  “Lead the way.”

He wasn’t in the ICU, which she considered a good sign.  She was led to his room and then abandoned as the nurse took off for the next room, the next tower of paperwork.  Fine by her.  Dan was staring out the window, watching the sun as it sank behind dark storm clouds building on the horizon.  The light filtered through as a dark, bloody red that splashed over the floor and the blanket on his bed.  A reminder of what could have happened.  It made bile rise up in Chloe’s throat even as she studied him, appreciating the strong jaw and the half-week of beard growth.  He was gorgeous.  And smart.  And kind.  And resourceful.  Maybe even perfect, even if her logical brain balked at the word.

The nurse’s words rang in her ears.

He wants you.

She wanted him, too.

Finally Dan noticed her there and turned to face her with a big dopey grin, taking ten years off his face while still making those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appear.  Damn him.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Chloe was supposed to show up, kill the monster, and leave.  Maybe have a few laughs and a roll in the hay if a pretty face was in the area.  She wasn’t supposed to let herself get tied into a knot over some park ranger, even one with glittering emerald eyes and a voice that made every cell in her body hum.  

He was going to hurt her.

“Hey, detective,” he greeted, speech slurred by morphine, and patted the bed next to him.  “Come sit with me.”

And goddamn it, she was going to let him.  

Dean closed the document and looked at the wall in front of him, his dinner forgotten next to him.  His beer sat neglected on the counter.

This was the closest he’d gotten to a window into Donna’s thoughts, he realized.  

She was a master of deflection, avoiding topics like Doug with ease.  A bright smile and a quick shift of the conversation was all it took to put the unpleasantness in the rearview mirror.  She may have narrated her adventures with Jody and opinions on bobby pins, may have confessed to having thoughts about him that made his heart race, but she’d never told him much more than that.  Certainly had never hinted on what all this was about, even with Chloe and Dan racing inevitably toward each other.

Now he knew.  

Now he knew that she was just as torn up over him as he was over her.  Dean could relate - he craved her like sunlight, like air, even as he held himself back from initiating anything for fear of rejection.  It might have killed him, he realized now, and she must be feeling something close to that if Chloe’s inner dialogue was to be trusted.  He knew now that Donna was opening herself up to him, to whatever it was they were cultivating between them.  Even after a divorce, even after being hurt.  

She was giving him a chance.

And goddamn it, he was going to take it.

-- X --

Donna’s release party was in one of the big executive’s penthouses, an entire two floors perched atop a skyscraper in the densest part of the city.  Deciding against taking the chance that someone would scratch Baby in a public parking lot, Dean called for a cab and anxiously kept an eye on his phone the entire ride.  He’d started a new message roughly a dozen times, only to erase it and groan in frustration.  Even now he stared at his phone, willing himself to find the perfect words to convince her that she was safe with him.

She was perfect.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

She drove him crazy.

He wanted her so much that it was a physical presence in his veins, incinerating him with every beat of his heart.

As always, Donna beat him to the punch.  Her message popped up a block from the party, simple and somehow managing to convey every bit of her anxiety.  He could feel her tensing up from his place in the cab, worrying about speaking in front of people and then worrying about how personal she’d gotten with Chloe and Dan.

You still gonna make it?

Dean sent his reply and tucked the phone into his breast pocket, hoping he’d said enough to put her at ease.

Wouldn’t miss this for the world.

The cab dropped him off and the doorman checked his name against the guest list, letting him in with a smile and a general encouragement to have a nice time.  Dean smiled in thanks and headed for the elevator, pleased when it was occupied with people he knew.  Making polite small talk spared him from getting himself worked up over this going well.  It was all he could do to keep his head in the conversation instead of wondering where Donna would be when they got to the penthouse.  Would she be mingling?  Would she be waiting for him at the elevator?  Would she be cornered by another agent, pitching the newest movie deal?

The elevator opened and they all exited, greeted by catering staff with pressed white shirts and slim flutes of champagne.  Dean turned his down, wishing instead for another beer.  Hell, maybe whiskey. His eyes scanned the party, looking for Donna and coming up empty.  She was probably hyperventilating in a spare bedroom.  The thought made him grimace.  He wanted to help if she was nervous, which she almost certainly was.  He kept half of his attention on his phone in case she needed him, doing his best to stay at the edges of the crowd to keep a better eye out for her.

She didn’t show.

He didn’t catch a hint of her blonde hair or the fabric of her undoubtedly bright dress against the dark formal wear everyone else had donned.  Her bubbly laughter never rose above the murmur of the crowd or the faint beat of the music.  Dean circled the main room one more time, exchanged words with a few people he knew, and made his way back to the kitchen to peek inside.  The food was all vampire-themed to match Chloe’s latest baddie and while he was interested in the fang-marked cupcakes, they weren’t what he was looking for.  His mind turned traitor, suggesting that maybe Donna had changed her mind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed for it a little too quickly, leaning against a bookshelf to keep anyone from reading over his shoulder.  His first thought was to go into interrogation mode - where are you? - but her message stopped him.  

Donna watched Dean move through the throng of people, stone-faced and single-minded in his pursuit.  At first she thought he might have been looking for something a little stronger than champagne, she couldn’t blame him for that, but then she noticed that his eyes popped up whenever a blonde head passed by.  Was he looking for her?

Dean scowled.   You know I am.

Waiting was torture, Donna thought to herself as she readjusted her dress for the hundredth time in the last hour.  She’d spent the day agonizing over seeing him, counting down the seconds until she could get an eyeful of the man who made her feel like an idiot teenager with hormonal problems.

You and me both.   He sighed, looking around the room again in hopes of catching a glance.  If she could see him, he could undoubtedly find her.   You know we could skip this, right?  Just get out of here?

God, how she wanted to.  She wanted to climb down the fire escape and get a taxi out of there, especially if Dean was offering to escape with her.  But she made a commitment and had every intention of sticking to it, even if it meant waiting that much longer to touch him.  Donna stared at him, the pouting jut of his lower lip as he frowned at his phone, and remembered dragging her tongue over that plump swell of flesh.  She wanted another taste more than she wanted her next breath.  

Dean didn’t know what she’d been doing all day, in between makeup and hair appointments and looking longingly at food that she wasn’t allowed to have.  Devoid of all other human satisfaction she’d been forced to write, pushing Chloe and Dan ever further toward completion.  Narrative completion as well as physical, she thought as she recalled scribbling filthy words on a hotel notepad.  Her skin had superheated in minutes, thinking less of the Dan’s character than she had the man who inspired him.

Dean’s brow furrowed and he snuck glances over his shoulders, making sure no one was behind him to read his phone.  

There was only so much you could do with your imagination but Donna did her best, imagining planes of muscle covered in lightly tanned skin.  She suspected the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones might appear elsewhere along the length of his body, a constellation to guide her intrepid fingers as they committed him to memory.  She would read him like braille before letting herself have a taste, Donna thought to herself.  If it took her all night, she would memorize every inch of muscle and bone and skin that made him whole.  Dean was an oasis and she’d been stranded in the desert a very long time - she would drink him in as though her life depended on it.

Dean’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath in through his nose, only barely holding it together.  The air passed back through his slightly parted lips but did nothing to calm his pounding heart.  

Maybe her life did depend on it, she mused to herself.  She’d spent the day fantasizing about what she’d do to him once they were in the same room and now it felt like she would die if she didn’t touch him.  Her imagination supplied all the details, from the fabric of his suit to the softness of his hair as it carded through her fingers.  The smell of his aftershave.  It was hell.  Sweet hell that made her every breath sizzle in her lungs.  They were a few scant feet away and heat had pooled mercilessly between her thighs, the slick flesh desperate for attention she couldn’t give.  Even if she could, her own fingers would only be a disappointment knowing Dean’s were in reach.

Jesus, Donna.   They were the only words his overwrought brain could process, most of his blood in the process of rushing elsewhere.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Dean was experiencing his own personal hell in that suit, flesh hardening against his zipper as Donna’s words scrolled across his mind.  Could he feel how much she wanted him through the phone?  She felt like everyone who passed her could tell that she was burning up, aching and wet.  How he was tolerating all this she would never know.

I’m going crazy here, he told her honestly.   I need to see you.  Please.

He never got the chance to plead his case.  The executive responsible for the party - Gabriel something or other - had stepped into the middle of the room, tapping his fork on his glass to get everyone’s attention.  He gave a charismatic introduction that got plenty of laughs and applause, smiling smugly at the attention even as he was talking up Donna’s success and the work she’d put into it.  Goddamn it, this was lasting forever.  Dean was considering giving up his place at the back of the room in favor of searching every room for his date but then he heard Donna’s pseudonym and he stood at attention again.  

The healthy smattering of applause faded into the roar of blood in his ears as Donna emerged from a dark hallway onto the landing above them, overlooking the party.  Her hair was pulled into an intricate knot at the base of her neck and her eyes had been lined in dark makeup, turning her warm eyes into something closer to sultry.  Gold earrings dangled from her ears, drawing his eyes to the smooth line of her neck and then to the bare expanse of her collarbones.  Gold bracelets dangled on her wrists as she grasped the banister, grounding herself.  

She was wearing the tightest dress he’d ever seen, the smooth black leather stretching over her waist and hips before transforming into dense black lace that brushed against the floor.  It was strapless, the neckline dipping low between her breasts before converging into a solid gold zipper that trailed down her front to stop at the apex of her thighs.   Dean felt like his every daydream had been picked apart and put on display, exposing the depth of his desire to a room full of people.  He watched helplessly as Donna’s eyes surveyed the crowd and found his.  Her gaze hit him like a crack of lightning, shooting straight down his spine to the insistent throb of his erection.

“We’re together a lot, Cas,” Dean says, slapping the book closed and dragging his feet from the table to sit forward, hands folded casually in front of him. He looks the angel in the eyes. “Are you sure the question isn’t whether or not me and Donna’re fucking?”

Cas sighs. “I was trying to be discreet, but, yes, that has also been suggested.”

“Well, not that it’s anyone’s business, but you can officially update our relationship status to ‘together’, or however you wanna put it,” Dean drawls before standing to leave the library. “I’m gonna go check and see if she is, in fact, in my room right now because it’s been at least eight hours since we’ve been together, and I kinda miss it.”

Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, even as impressed as he is with the way Dean handled it.

The initial conversation in Michigan was that nothing would change at the bunker; Donna would keep her own room and they’d keep their complicated relationship on the down-low. By the time they got back, though, Dean climbed out of the Impala, looked at Donna and said, “pack up your room, D, and move into mine,” without missing a beat.

Donna stood stunned for a moment, threw Sam a questioning look, and he returned a shrug and a bright, surprised smile.

Sam likes that they’re making a real go of it. He feels more fulfilled just for being near them. As for his involvement, it doesn’t happen often, never when anyone else is in the bunker, and only when Donna gets a certain look in her eye or Dean just knows Sam needs them; and then they take their time, learning each other, exploring their wants and needs and limits. 

Then they catch a case when all three of them are available and they hit the road – together.

“It’s too hot in here for us all to be wearin’ so many clothes,” Donna says. “Especially these fed get-ups.” Donna says ‘fed’ like it’s a dirty word, which it probably is for a small town sheriff.

She yanks at Dean’s tie, and he lets her, smirks down at her. “You too, Sam,” Donna says over her shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam answers with a smirk of his own. 

He takes his jacket off, drapes it over the back of one of the kitchenette chairs then tugs his tie undone. He watches Donna do the same to Dean with his tie before jerking his shirt out of his dress pants and pulling it open, popping buttons and letting them fly.

“Whoa,” Dean says, teasingly, his face and body showing how much he loves the way she’s handling him. He settles his hands on her hips, smoothes over the fabric of the pencil skirt.

“Fuck, you look hot in this skirt and those glasses with your hair up.” Dean grins as Donna pushes his shirt, tie still under the collar, and jacket off and onto the floor in one fell swoop. “That blouse is just this side of too sheer, though, you bad girl.”

“Maybe she needs to be punished,” Sam says, toeing his shoes to the side, leaving his shirt open at the collar and cuffing his sleeves.

“Hmm,” Dean hums and nods. “Probably.” He reaches for the buttons of her delicate blouse and starts to unbutton them one at a time, slow and steady, holding her gaze.

Donna laughs, deep and satisfied. “What d’you propose, Sam?” She asks without taking her eyes from Dean as the sheer fabric floats to the floor. She’s left in the curve-hugging skirt and a pink satin bra that pushes her breasts up pleasingly.

“Oh, spanking, definitely,” he answers, reaching in the mini-fridge for a beer and twisting the cap off before dropping it in the trash can on his way to the armchair. “I wanna see that big hand spank your gorgeous ass red, baby.” He makes himself comfortable for the show.

Dean appears to be surveying his options as he rounds Donna, eyes dragging down and up again. She licks her smiling lips and waits. 

“Skirt up or off, Sammy?” Dean stops in front of her, facing her. She’s in heels, so the height difference isn’t as exaggerated as usual, but Dean’s still so much bigger than she is.

“Hiked up over her ass,” Sam says, working his belt open. “Bend over the end of the bed, Donna, on your elbows.”

Donna looks at Dean, her breathing is already ragged. “I cannot believe I’m about to let you spank me,” she says, her cheeks flushing bright pink.

Dean nods, ordering her to turn and do as she’s been told. He follows close behind her, his hands roaming the dip of her waist and over the flare of her hips as she bends over. He drapes over her back, fists buried in the bedspread on either side of her forearms to pepper kisses and nips at the nape of her exposed neck. When he reaches one hand up to cup one of her breasts, Sam speaks.

“Pull the cups down,” Sam says, and Dean smirks, then does just that, squeezing then pulling her nipples tight.

Donna hisses and bucks her ass into his hips. “Oh, boy,” she breathes.

Then Dean slowly rises to his full height. He’s shirtless but his pants and belt are still in place, unlike his brother’s. Dean cups himself hard before reaching for the bottom of Donna’s skirt to slowly work it upward over her thighs and hips.

“Look at that ass,” Sam says, groaning, taking things slow, squeezing himself over his boxer briefs.

“Oh, I see it,” Dean says, smoothing a hand over the matching pink satin panties before pulling them down just enough to frame her ass between her bunched up skirt and satin.

“Shit, yeah,” Sam says, watching Dean slip two fingers between her legs.

Dean chuckles. “For questioning this punishment, you sure are soaking fucking wet, D,” he says.

Donna moans and grinds onto his hand, hides her face between her hands on the bed. “Do it,” she whispers.

Dean drags his hand from between her thighs and Sam can see her slick glistening on Dean’s middle and ring fingers. He wants to suck them clean.

Thwack.

The sound of the first strike mingles with Donna’s yelp and subsequent groan. Dean soothes the spot with the same hand and holds her hip with his other. “Okay?” he asks, and Donna nods enthusiastically.

Dean glances at his brother as he uses his open hand to smack her again, just below the first strike point. “How many?” he asks Sam.

“Ten,” Sam says, pushing his hand inside his underwear and gripping himself. “Three on each ass cheek and two on each of her tits.”

Dean groans. “Fuck.” He makes quick work of reddening her full, rounded ass before pushing her panties to the floor with one booted foot, unzipping and removing her skirt. “Step out of ‘em,” he orders, and Donna obliges, her skirt dropping on top of her panties. “Up. On the bed, on your back.”

Sam and Dean watch her climb up and settle in the center of the bed. Dean works his belt and pants open and pushes them to the ground. They tangle around his dress shoes, and he curses but gets the shoes off and pants kicked aside before Donna can get too cold.

He climbs onto the bed between her legs then drops over her to really kiss her. His hands work at her bun, pulling her hair loose and wavy. Then he reaches for her glasses and sets them aside on the nightstand before kissing her again.

Her breasts are peeking over the tops of the satin cups in a way that Sam thinks is begging to be abused. 

“Slap her tits, Dean,” Sam says, breathing heavy.

Dean nods and spreads her open wider with his knees, kisses his way down her neck, uses his teeth on her collarbone. 

“I need a knife,” he says, teasing and light.

Donna doesn’t flinch, but her expression is curious as she rests her hands over Dean’s shoulders, letting him kiss anywhere he wants. Sam gets up from the chair where he’s sat, crosses the room to Dean’s duffle bag. He keeps his eyes on Donna and his hand on his cock as he digs through the bag for Dean’s request.

After he hands the blade to Dean, he moves back to the chair to watch as Dean rises triumphantly to his knees, twirls the knife like a drumstick across his palm, and drags the dull side of the blade over the creamy skin of Donna’s breastbone.

She sighs, breathy and sweet. Then she shifts her gaze to Sam. “What should he do with it, Sam?”

Dean looks to Sam. They share a moment, a nod, then Dean skims the blade under the satin band between her breasts.

“Pretty in pink,” Dean mutters before twisting the knife, blade-side up, and slicing the fabric in a millisecond. When her breasts bounce totally free, Dean drops to all fours over her, pressing the knife into the bedspread under one palm. “So pretty,” he sighs before brushing his lips over her quickly puckering nipples.

He laves and swirls at her with his warm, wet tongue, pulls the tight flesh between his full, pursed lips, uses his teeth a little and her back arches on a silent cry. He puffs a warm laugh over her damp skin, mouth open just a centimeter above her, eyes watching her with amusement.

“After this, you tell me what you want,” Dean says, his eyes smiling, moving to Sam’s for a beat then back to see Donna open her big, warm browns, hazy and love drugged. He smiles wide. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Sam believes him. If Dean is anything, he’s a man of his word. He can see that Donna believes him, too.

Dean sits back on his haunches and grips both breasts in his hands, squeezing and pulling. Then he slaps one right over her hard nipple, and she hisses. “Okay?” he checks in again.

Donna smiles and nods, thrusting her hips and draping her thighs over Dean’s to get closer. 

“It feels good,” she says, turning to look at Sam. Her eyes are so dark, pupils blown so wide, they almost look demon-black – which turns Sam on even more.

Dean repeats the slaps and the gentle squeezes, watching closely as her plump flesh turns bright pink from his hands. “Really pretty,” he echoes his earlier sentiment.

When he’s done, he drops wet kisses to her breasts and pulls her tender nipples inside the heat of his mouth. “That’s four,” he says. “Now what?” He’s hovering over her, waiting for direction – hers or Sam’s. He looks a little like a racehorse at the starting gate.

“I just want you inside me,” Donna says, reaching for his jaw and pulling him down for a kiss, her fingers sliding into his hair.

Dean relaxes into the kiss, lifting Donna from her back to straddle him. They keep kissing as she guides him inside her and she starts to ride him.

Dean’s fingerprints are everywhere on her skin, her hips and ass and breasts. Sam thinks it’s beautiful.

“You look amazing,” he says to them both, pumping himself, fantasizing about how Donna feels and tastes. He wonders if he’ll ever know.

It isn’t long before the telltale signs of Donna’s orgasm are apparent. Sam thinks they really are a perfect match since she always comes so easy.

When she comes, she says both of their names, rests her head on Dean’s shoulder as he comes right after her, Sam quickly following.

What they have isn’t normal; some would say it’s twisted. But what they have works for them, keeps them warm, and they’re as happy as they ever could be.

FIN

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“So…” Sam tentatively enters the room from where he was watching to grab their attention. “I caught a case.”

The comfy looking pair glance up at Sam in interest. “Yeah?” Dean says, continuing to rub into the arch and ball of Donna’s foot. “What’s the deal?”

Sam explains the situation in Michigan – vamp nest, probably some of Michael’s hybrids. “So no easy ride,” he says. “We should call in back-up.”

“Michiganders,” Donna says, pulling her foot from Dean’s grasp as she snaps the book shut with a smirk that reads to Sam like something distinctly intimate between her and his brother.

Dean doesn’t readily let go of her foot and he returns the same smirk, as her naked, pink-polished toes slowly slide through his fingertips.

“Never an easy bunch – vamp or human,” she says as she pushes up from the small couch. “We can call Jodes.”

“Where y’goin’?” Dean pouts. “I was just gettin’ to the good part.”

“My spleen?” Donna laughs out loud as she twists her hips in a full stretch.

“No,” Dean replies, dropping his foot to the floor to meet the other, sounding mildly offended. “I was movin’ to your kidneys and bladder, smartass.”

Donna arches a brow and cocks her hip. “My ass is so much more than smart.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling before his gaze drops to her hips just as she turns to Sam.

“So, we’re goin’ on a road trip!” She grins and bounces on her toes slapping her hands together.

Dean rises to stand next to her with a goofy grin on his face. Sam is honestly baffled by Dean’s continued insistence that there’s nothing between him and Donna and uncomfortably turned on by yet another indulgent massage session.

Jody brought Claire, and three other hunters joined them. They cleared out the nest in no time with fewer injuries than anticipated, zero casualties – apart from the vamps – and little more to go on in finding the archangel.

Sam reveled in watching Donna and Dean fight in tandem – all power and precision. It’s as if they save all other emotions and feeling for everything else in their lives. That thought lights Sam up inside.

After a big diner meal and debrief, the hunters go their separate ways. Donna spends a few extra minutes chatting and hugging Jody and Claire. Sam can see the warmth and love shared between the women and it warms him all the same.

“Hmm,” Dean grunts beside him. “Jody, huh?” He looks up at his brother, deadpan but pointed.

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes at his brother’s teasing.

Dean drives the distance to the hotel for the night. There are only two beds. Sam declares since he’s the biggest, he gets his own bed, but he has ulterior motives. “One of you can shower first, though,” he says with a wry smile.

“Callin’ it,” Donna says without pausing as she tosses her bag to the bed she’ll be sharing with Dean and peels her jacket from her shoulders as she goes.

When the bathroom door clicks shut behind her, Dean rounds on Sam. “What d’you have planned, little brother?”

Sam tries to look innocent. “I dunno what you’re talking about,” he says, busying himself with his bag, toeing out of his boots, digging for his shower kit.

“Right,” Dean says, sitting to unlace his boots. “You aren’t tryin’ to push me and Donna together.”

Sam can feel Dean’s eyes on him as he moves to hang his jacket and remove his overshirt. When he turns back, Dean is watching him expectantly.

Sam sighs. “OK, maybe I…” He chews on the inside of his mouth. “Maybe I’m curious.”

Dean blinks slowly, knowingly. “About?” he encourages.

Sam clears his throat. “About the two of you,” he answers, squares his hips and shoulders, determined to get this out, once and for all. “Together.”

Dean purses his lips and nods, drags his gaze to the bathroom door, behind which the shower is running. Sam imagines Donna in there, under the spray, washing all that hair, soaping up her breasts and belly and thighs. He swallows thick as Dean looks back at him.

“So, you wanna watch,” he says, the beginnings of a smirk, playing at the edge of his mouth.

Sam draws a deep breath then nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I do.”

Dean nods and they wait for Donna to emerge from the bathroom.

One night about 10- or 12-years-ago before Dean went to Hell, the brothers went out and really cut loose; looser than usual. They hooked up with twin sisters and brought them back to their hotel room. That was the only time they’d ever done anything like that, before or since, contrary to what certain angels and demons may say behind their backs.

But Sam will never forget the way Dean navigated both women’s bodies. He was like Fred Astaire or Monet or Mozart. Sam’s confident in his skills but watching Dean that night – he witnessed a whole other level of expression and induction of pleasure; especially when the girls swapped brothers and he was able to compare and contrast their sounds and reactions.

Tonight, all clean and slightly buzzed, the trio sit around the little table, playing cards, in an attempt to turn their brains off from hunting. Sam watches Dean as he ramps up the flirting and touching. Donna leans into him even more than usual.

“We should play strip poker,” Dean suggests like it’s an original, great idea.

Sam drops his head, shaking it.

If he fucks this up… he thinks to himself.

Donna laughs. “Dean, if ya wanna get me naked, all you gotta do is ask,” she says, batting her eyelashes in a side-eye and sipping her beer.

Dean’s grin splits his face wide. “That right, D-Train?” he asks, turning in his chair to face her, knees spread wide.

Donna sets her beer aside and licks her lips, looks down into his lap. “You serious right now?” she asks, leaning one elbow on the table, eyes narrowed and not even slightly timid.

“Yeah’m serious,” Dean answers. “You serious, Sammy?” Dean keeps his eyes on Donna’s as her brows arch over her narrowed eyes.

“I’m serious,” Sam answers, and Donna’s eyes widen as they turn to him. “I just wanna watch,” he says, hands held up in placation.

Donna’s eyes soften and she relaxes, her eyes dart to Dean’s and he raises a brow in question. “Pretty kinky,” she says, clearly pondering. Then, “okay, what the Hell. Let’s give it a go.”

Dean laughs. “You sure?” he asks, reaching for her as she swivels out of her chair and moves over him.

“Yeah,” she answers, smiling down at him, smoothing the sides of his mostly dry hair and settling over his lap. “But… what if I change my mind?” she asks, running her thumb along Dean’s bottom lip.

Dean thinks for a beat then cracks a grin, swiping his tongue out to lick her thumb. “Donut,” he says. “Just say donut.”

Donna throws her head back in laughter. Even Sam laughs at that.

Sam watches as they begin to kiss. At first, it’s tentative but, soon enough, they find their groove. They’re both smiling and Sam feels for a brief moment like he’s intruding. Then he finds Donna’s eyes and she winks.

Sam melts into his seat, rests his hand in his lap, feels himself growing hard in his jeans. They’ve only just begun, and Sam is out of breath. He tries to catch it as his mind spins around what’s next.

Part Three

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who would be the one to randomly adopt a puppy without consultation

Donna. She always wanted a puppy and Doug didn’t. After the divorce, she kept meaning to get one, but things kept coming up - vampires, haunted costumes, Dean. But one of these days, she was getting that puppy, and by golly, Dean would love it whether he wanted to or not.

who would force the other to take aesthetic pictures of them

Donna. Not because she likes to see herself in a photo (she doesn’t) but because every second with Dean is important to her and she wants to remember them all.

who would do stuff they think is stupid just to make the other one happy

Dean. If Donna wants to do it, then he’ll do it. He only wants to make her happy and if that means going to look at Christmas lights in the freezing cold or dressing up as Indiana Jones to go to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark, well, he’ll do it. Because he wants to see her smile.

who picks out the horror movies to watch just so the other will cling to them

Dean. He’d never really been into horror movies, not when he knew what was really out there, but Donna loves them. He agreed to watch them with her, but he got to pick them out. The scarier, the better. Because it rarely took more than five minutes for her to be scooting closer to him, burying her face in his shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, giggling and squealing every time something scary happened, getting closer and closer until she was basically sitting in his lap. They rarely made it to the end of the horror movie.

who is constantly studying and who is constantly trying to distract them

Donna. Ever since learning about Dean’s world and the things that live in it, Donna has devoured everything she can get her hands on related to the supernatural. She even read the Carver Edlund books (though Dean doesn’t know that). But when Dean’s around, he makes it really hard to concentrate on anything other than him. Not that she wanted to.

who initiates the facetime calls whenever they’re separated

Donna. Sometimes she just needs to see him, even more than she needs to hear his voice, see him so she knows he’s in one piece. That little smile, the crinkles around his eyes, the dimples she loves so much. She has to see him to know he’s alive.

who is more likely to storm out after a fight and who is more likely to cry when they do

Dean is more likely to be the one to storm out after a fight. Sometimes he just needs a minute, a second to pull his head out of his ass and relax. He knows he has a temper, knows that he can be the most stubborn person on the planet. Walking away after a fight keeps him from saying something stupid to the woman he loves. Donna on the other hand, will almost always cry when he storms off. She hates it when they fight, she always feels responsible, feels like it’s her fault, and Dean leaving terrifies her, because she is convinced that one of those times, he won’t come back.

who stays up way too late binge-watching their favorite shows

Dean. He’ll stay up half the night catching up on Game of Thrones, bingeing The Walking Dead, or one of those superhero shows. He knows he should get some sleep, but sometimes, he just has to know what is going to happen. Donna would stay up with him, but inevitably, she would fall asleep, her head on a pillow or in his lap, the blanket from the back of the couch thrown over her.

who bites the other’s ear when they’re feeling frisky

Dean. He figured out completely by accident that nibbling on Donna’s ear was a sure fire way to rev her engine. She’d giggle and try to pull away, while leaning into him at the same time. He knew just what she liked and exactly how to get her going.

who sprays the other with water when they’re washing the car

Dean. There’s nothing like getting Donna wet to put a smile on his face.

who has more fun decorating the house during holidays

Donna. She goes a little crazy. Or maybe a lot crazy. But Dean secretly loves it, even when he’s tripping over stuffed Christmas bears, or being forced to help stuff candy in stockings. If Donna is happy, so is Dean.

who is more likely to give the silent treatment when they’re mad at the other

Dean. He keeps his mouth shut so he doesn’t say something he’ll regret, something he won’t be able to take back. He doesn’t want to hurt her with senseless words thrown out in haste. Better to lock it down than fuck it up.

who plays with the others’ hair more

Dean. It’s an absentminded thing, twirling her hair around his fingers as they watch TV, running his fingers through it when he’s kissing her, burying his nose in it when they make love. He loves her hair, how soft it is, how sweet it smells, how it curls around her face when it falls from her ponytail. He can’t help but touch it.

who is more likely to climb all over the other one when they’re bored

Donna. She can’t help herself. She has to touch him, remind herself that he’s real, that he’s there, that he’s her’s. She’ll crawl in his lap, wrap her arms around him, anything to get as close as possible to him.

who tries to kiss the other as often as they can

Dean. He loves kissing Donna, loves the feel of her lips moving with his, loves the taste of her - the cherry chapstick she uses, the lingering taste of minty gum. He loves the way she lets out these little sighs, or how she sometimes moans into his mouth, her fingers digging in and pulling him close. He could kiss her forever.

who initiates the sex

Dean. That’s not to say that Donna doesn’t, but Dean knows it makes her uncomfortable to be the one to initiate sex, after all this time she’s still scared he’ll reject her. So more often than not he takes the lead. Of course, if he had his way, he and Donna might never leave the bedroom. She knows that, just like she knows that sometimes when Dean is kissing her, pulling off her clothes, that it’s because he knows it’s what she wants, maybe even what she needs, and he’s just doing what she can’t.   

who always forgets the umbrella and who holds it when they actually have one

Donna always forgets the umbrella. She is always leaving it in her desk drawer at work, tucked under the seat of her car, or in the mudroom at home. On those few occasions when they have one, Dean holds it. He’s taller, so it doesn’t smack him in the head like it does when she holds it.

who demands showering first in the mornings

Donna. Except she doesn’t demand it necessarily, she just insists on using it first, especially when they’re at her place. Dean tends to use all the hot water, justifying it by explaining that he never gets a hot shower in the crummy motels he stays at. She starting setting an alarm so she’d be up and in the shower first.

who sneaks into the shower with the other one in the mornings

Dean. Donna might get to the shower first, but that just means he gets to do his favorite thing, sneak in with her. He slips in behind her, his hands sliding over her wet body, pushing her hair off her shoulder so he can kiss her bare skin, squirting soap into his hands so he can run his hands over the curves he loves so much, caress every inch of her. She doesn’t know that he lets her get in the shower first.

who will text the other one thirty times in a row until they respond

Dean. Especially when they’re apart. He’ll text her, and if she doesn’t answer, he’ll text her again. He worries about her, worries too much, thanks to that damn Djinn, and the demon in Wyoming. He knows it makes him look possessive, if you’re on the outside looking in, but he knows, and Donna knows, that when you love someone, when you find someone, someone you never thought you’d have, that love manifests in ways not everyone understands. She knows the truth, she knows what’s in Dean’s heart. He can text her a million times if it makes him feel better.

who always forgets to charge their phone overnight

Donna. She’ll toss it on the table beside the charger, but she forgets to plug it in, at least three or four times a week. Which is one of the reasons Dean has to text her dozens of times before he gets an answer. Hard to answer a text message from a dead phone.

who comes up behind the other and slide their hands into their back pockets

Dean. He loves Donna’s ass, especially in her favorite pair of jeans, so it’s nearly impossible for him to keep his hands to himself. He’ll walk up behind her, push her hair off of her neck so he can kiss her, then he’ll turn her around, pull her tight against him, sliding his hands into the back pockets of her jeans, squeezing gently. She always giggles, tries to push him away, but it isn’t serious, it’s halfhearted at best, a game they play. Two kisses in and her hands are in his back pockets, squeezing his ass.

who is louder and who constantly has the tell the other to be quiet

Donna is the loud one. When they’re at her place, Dean doesn’t care, in fact, the more noise she makes, the more it fires him up. She gets embarrassed, blushing, which he loves, her cheeks flushing a gorgeous shade of pink. She swears she can’t help herself, it’s because of the things he does to her. When they’re at the bunker, Sam a few doors away, he’ll try to shush her, even though it usually ends with him laughing, and Donna giggling, and Sam pounding on the door, begging them to keep it down. The next morning she’ll barely be able to look Sam in the eye, and her face will be tinged a permanent shade of pink.