mirabella: (Supernatural no dust)
mirabella ([personal profile] mirabella) wrote in [community profile] mirabellafic2013-05-20 08:04 pm
Entry tags:

Untitled Domestic!Antichrist fic, Supernatural, Sam/Dean, PG.

Title: Untitled Domestic!Antichrist fic.
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Supernatural, PG.
Summary: Apparently the fact that Sammy is ruling in Hell doesn't mean Dean can tap all the succubi he wants. Whatever, it was an honest mistake.

Dean still thinks Sam is overreacting. Because, dude, succubi. Come on. You cannot be like "Dean Winchester, succubi can no longer harm you, and also they're all over the place peeling grapes for you," and not expect him to tap that shit like John Bonham on a meth spree.

Except that Sam apparently did. Add to that the fact that Sam is six and a half feet of fucking girl and also quite literally capable of making Hell tremble on its foundations with the Power of Bitchface, and… well, Dean's not going to be getting any anytime soon, is what it looks like. Also, there are a lot fewer succubi around than there used to be.

"I can't believe you!" Sam says furiously.

"Dude, come on!" Dean protests. "Succubi! That's gotta be, like, a freebie! You can't count that, Sammy, it's like fucking Angelina Jolie."

Sam does that pissy snorting-down-his-nose thing, except that now when he does it his eyes get all yellow and it's actually really damn unnerving. Not that Dean's ever going to admit that to his baby brother, who may be King of Hell but still whines when he gets tired and nearly brought the entire Underworld down on their heads the first time a demon popped out in front of him looking like a clown. "Dean, have I been neglecting you or something?"

"Um. No?" says Dean, because there's keeping the game face on and then there's being stupid, and Dean Winchester is not a stupid man. Also, those shadows congealing behind Sam's back and looking like they're about to materialize as big black bat wings are worrying him a little. Last time he saw the bat wings, a tidal wave in the Pacific Rim killed forty-three people and Mom called to lecture him about how he was too old to be teasing his brother.

(Dean's not that cool with cell service between here and Heaven, by the way, as good as it is to talk to Mom again. He lives in – well, not terror, but serious unease, anyway – of Sam getting a call from Jess. Or, worse, Dean getting a call from Jess. Or, and Dean has never bought into the whole idea of divine protection but sometimes he hopes for it just a little anyway, Dad finding out that consensual fraternal incest is now down there with moving traffic cones on the sin severity scale and calling to demand an explanation.)

"So what the fuck, then?" demands Mr. 800 SAT Verbal.

Dean sighs, wondering if they've reached the point where the game face does more harm than good. "Sammy, baby, come on –"

"I know you did not just 'baby, come on' me like a bleach-blonde truck stop waitress."

It's on the tip of Dean's tongue to ask which of them is the truck stop waitress in that comparison, but he wisely refrains because, yeah, bat wings. "Look, I swear I didn't think it would bug you this much. I mean, at least you don't have to wonder what they have that you don't, you know?"

That was probably the wrong thing to say. Dean can see Sam making an entry on his mental to-do list.

"Anyway, it never used to bug you," Dean hurries on. "Not succubi, I mean, but just… me banging every chick in sight. You used to just sort of snicker about it. How was I supposed to know how much of a one-eighty you'd done?"

Sam snorts again, but he's listening now, reluctantly conceding that Dean might have a point. See, this thing between them was still pretty new when Sam decided that if he couldn't keep Dean out of Hell he was damn well going to go down there with him and make sure the accommodations were good, and the issue hadn't really had time to come up. "It did bug me," he says, but he sounds a little less mad and the shadows behind his back are ebbing a little. "I just never had a right to say anything."

"Yeah, well." Dean steps forward and laces his fingers through Sam's, hoping that he can bring an end to the chick-flick moment through the sheer power of pheremones. "You do now, okay? And I get it. No more succubi."

Sam's eyes narrow a little, calculating. "No more anyone but me, okay?"

"Promise," Dean soothes, nuzzling a little at the line of Sam's jaw.

Sam lets out a breath and his eyes go back to normal. "Okay. You do the monogamy thing and I'll try anything kinky you come up with at least once."

"So, we good?" Dean asks quickly as Sam bends to kiss him, because he loves Sam so much it makes him stupid but he's not about to be sealing pacts with the Boy King of Hell, and anyway, he hates the taste of sulfur.

Sam gives him the bitchface, just a little, because he totally knows what Dean just did. "Yeah, we're good," he says, and the smell of sulfur on his breath goes away.

That means it's safe to kiss him, then, and since Dean likes doing that shit more than he'll admit, he's pretty glad.

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