I just keep losing my beat
At least they were letting him have a couple of shots between the hand waving and the quarter tossing and that stupid rhyme they kept reciting in Latin.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine but I'd make Dean wear his boots all the time if they were.
Rating: T (Language, Sexual Situations)
Warnings/Spoilers: No spoilers for the show but embroiderama is a crack enabler. Because of her, the standard "this story is set in a Season 2 AU but 'verse knowledge isn't necessary to enjoy it" warning doesn't apply. It's crack.
A/N: I could say this was written for the Jukebox Hero challenge on spn-het-love but it was really written for lj user=katelennon, the very best minion a girl can have.
Being trapped in a goddamn booth watching Sam and Charlie work their way through a bottle of tequila and every single drinking game they had learned in college sucked ass.
It would have been bad enough in one of those yuppie bars full of designer beer and appetizer menus with goddamn pot stickers, a whole room full of strangers watching his little brother and the girl Sam pushed into the back of Dean's car get their freak on with his old buddy Jose.
But they were doing it in the middle of Ellen Harvelle's freaking roadhouse.
Right in front of every single hunter sipping beers and shooting pool.
At least they were letting him have a couple of shots between the hand waving and the quarter tossing and that stupid rhyme they kept reciting in Latin. It wasn't enough alcohol to keep him from choking when Sam slammed down a shot glass and stared Charlie right in the face.
"You ready t' get your ass whipped, Charlotte?" Sam demanded.
"Bring it," Charlie retorted. She narrowed her eyes, pointing one wavering finger at Sam. "You're goin' down."
"If anyone's whipping her ass, Geek Boy, it's me." Dean wrapped his hand around Charlie's wrist, pulling her hand back down onto the table. God help him, but she was still pointing her finger when she picked up her shot glass and started jerking it towards Sam; tequila spilling over the sides. "And if anyone's going down, Girl Genius, it's you," he added, prying the glass out of Charlie's hand.
They ignored him.
Sam leaned forward, spreading his hands on the table. "Truth or dare," he spat out.
Charlie's mouth curved into a smile.
He was screwed.
There was no way in hell Charlie would have staggered after Sam if she hadn't been drunk off her ass.
The damn girl lurched her way across the popcorn-covered floor with a shot glass clutched in each hand, stumbling between the tables and knocking into chairs with a tiny 'excuse me' popping out every time she brushed against someone's elbow. She smiled once at Dean over her shoulder before she set the glasses down onto the table Sam had dragged near the jukebox, right next to the tequila and a heaping basket of nachos.
Charlie tightened the belt on her granny sweater, cocking her head and smiling at Sam - a dare stamped on her face as her mouth quirked up.
"You ready t' hit me wi' your best shot?"
"Think you can take it?"
"You heard me, Geek Boy." Her voice dipped to a growl, low in her throat as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her sweater. Charlie's body shifted to the balls of her feet, like she was getting ready to pounce. "Hit me wi' your best goddamn shot."
Sam snorted and leaned against the jukebox. "You're gonna have t' do better than act like Dean t' scare me."
"An' you're gonna have t' do better than that if you wanna beat me."
One hand snaked out of her pocket and Charlie snagged a chip from the basket. She bit into it delicately, pulling off that arch look of hers even when she was licking her fingers one-by-one. Sam squared his shoulders like he always did when he wasn't backing down from a fight. He narrowed his eyes, watching Charlie warily as she tripped forward to meet him at the jukebox.
That arch look went out the window when Charlie wobbled into Sam.
She nodded, holding on to Sam's arms until she balanced herself on the jukebox. They stopped grinning at each other like idiots, plastering serious expressions on their faces before they began looking at music selections.
"Don' think I'm goin' easy on you, Girl Genius."
"Jesus Christ, Samantha. Jus' pick a freakin' song."
Sam stopped flipping through the selections and pointed towards one. Charlie's eyes went wide as she poked Sam in the arm.
He probably shouldn't have laughed, watching them stand there getting ready to make idiots of themselves, but Dean settled back into the booth when Jo slid him a bottle of Corona. He swallowed a mouthful when Charlie flashed another glance at him over her shoulder with a smile just like the one she'd make every time she traced the length of a scar across his chest with the pads of her fingers.
It was going to be one hell of a floor show.
Even if there was no fucking way he sounded like that.
It wasn't a good sign when the table full of survivalist wannabes started whistling as Charlie put a hand on her hip.
That rabbit-scared look of hers flickered across her face and Charlie bit her lip, turning on her heel until she was facing him. She let out a breathy 'I'm ready' as she glanced at Sam - the same breathy voice Charlie used when she was kissing a trail down Dean's jaw line. If Sam wasn't standing there smirking at her, Dean would have thrown her over his shoulder and hightailed it upstairs.
Especially when Charlie pointed right at him.
"Tell me about it, stud."
Goddamn Samantha could have given him a freaking head's up before Dean ended up spitting beer out of his mouth.
Charlie's hips started shaking with the bass line, that drawl of hers turning into a screech once she started singing, but Dean was getting chills anyway when she sauntered across the floor. Her cheeks went red as she slid her hands down to the belt on her sweater, untying it with a shoulder roll and a sweet smile. She didn't take her eyes off Dean's face as she danced her way towards him, slipping the sweater off her shoulders and letting it drop behind her with a little backwards kick.
By the time she was bellowing about how she needed a man, Charlie had one finger underneath Dean's chin and her entire body was moving like she was doing the cha-cha. The way she was bent over, Dean had a clear shot down her cleavage - all pale skin and lace. She shivered with each 'ooh ooh ooh' every time Dean brushed his fingers down the curve of Charlie's neck but that didn't keep her from sounding like someone was running nails down a chalkboard.
Her tongue darted between his lips when the bass line picked up a second time, her hands on his neck, and he wasn't about to turn down an open invitation. Not with her breathing into his ear about feeling his way into her affections, making the hairs on his neck prickle with each word that Charlie whispered. And he was damned sure he was already keeping her satisfied, the way she'd buck against him when she was scratching her nails down his back
Charlie laughed when his hands cupped her ass but she danced away with another kiss when that chorus started up again, taking three steps before she turned around for every fucking 'ooh ooh ooh' coming out of the jukebox.
Until she caught the toe of her boot on the floor and landed flat on her ass.
Between Charlie's caterwauling and Sam's off-key howl, Dean was just going to sit back and watch when Freddie Mercury came back from the dead and started haunting their asses.
It would have been their own damn fault, singing their guts out as they massacred the latest selection in their impromptu karaoke show from Hell. Charlie was leaning into Sam, his arm flopped over her shoulders while they swayed side-by-side and yodeled to a half-empty bar about those lonely mornings they would get up and start crying. They weren't the only ones dying a little. Every poor idiot sitting within a thirty-foot radius was caught in the crossfire of the worst duet since freaking "Ebony and Ivory."
At least when Sam had been singing R.E.O. Speedwagon, he didn't look constipated. He didn't need somebody to love. He needed some goddamn Pepto Bismol.
Even Ash looked like he was getting ready to duck and cover underneath a pool table when Charlie started singing back-up, tapping out the rhythm on her thighs with her fingers like she did when she was hollering out Creedence in the back seat of the car. And the damn girl wasn't lying when she said her singing was worse the more she drank. But Ellen was the one who cut off their tequila supply after they finished the bottle, having Jo deliver watered down shots with enough Jose Cuervo to fool them into thinking they were drinking more of the real thing.
It didn't help.
Hell, unplugging the jukebox wouldn't have helped.
They were too far gone, lost in the haze of the music. Dean choked on a mouthful of chili cheese fries when they lifted their fists into the air and screamed 'yeah yeah yeah' at each other like they were the only two people left in the room. A smile flickered across Charlie's face and she started stomping one boot on the floor in time to the drums, her eyes closed and her hair flying around her every time she bopped her head.
At least she didn't have to suffer the indignity of watching her little brother start flailing around like a spastic when Sam started playing fucking air guitar during Brian May's solo. There wasn't enough bleach in the world to scour the image of Sam thrusting his pelvis out of anyone's brain, especially when he was staring at some chick playing pool with hooded eyes.
That didn't keep Dean from flagging down Jo for another Corona or from snapping a picture on his cell.
It was time to change the wallpaper on Sam's laptop anyway.
It was a dirty job but somebody had to do it.
They were fighting over who was going to pick the next song, each of them spilling the water Ellen was making them drink onto the floor. Jo groaned, standing ready with a mop. But laughing when Charlie poked Sam in the stomach with her bony finger only made both of them glare, their breath coming out in a huff before they started arguing again.
Dean pushed his way between them, grabbing Charlie's arm when she staggered, and grinned at Sam. "I think it's time someone crashed your private party."
"Jerk," Sam muttered.
Dean snorted. "Bitch."
He already knew the track number, punching it in quickly before Sam's reflexes had a chance to kick in. They both looked ready to take him outside and jump him, their nostrils flaring while their jaws clenched, but Charlie's eyes softened with the first 'baby' blaring out of the speakers. She threw her arms around Dean's neck and flashed a lopsided smile up at Sam.
"I win," she said softly.
Dean choked on a cough. The damn girl was always saying emo crap like that in public.
And goddamn Sam always started laughing his ass off when she did.
"I'm not above sending Bobby pictures of you doing air guitar," Dean hissed.
He might have said more but Charlie's hands were trembling on his cheeks, her mouth leaving flickering kisses along the curve of his neck. Dean pushed her backwards until she was leaning against the jukebox, music vibrating through both of them. She sighed when Dean's mouth found hers, her hands trailing down to his shoulders with a tiny moan.
"Truth or dare," Dean murmured against her lips.
"Had a good teacher," she answered.
He could taste the tequila when Charlie slipped her tongue between his lips. It was less than she deserved, pinned between a jukebox and the screw-up who couldn't make any promises. Never knowing if any of them would make it to another morning, riding through that storm everyone said was coming.
But Charlie smiled when Dean ran his thumb across her cheek.
"An' if I had those golden dreams of my yesterdays," she said gently, "I would wrap you in th' heavens an' feel it dyin' all the way."
"That's what the song says."
"What would you do without classic rock, Dean?"
"I'd walk around sounding as much like a moony retard as you do."
Charlie poked him in the stomach twice before he caught her wrist and started kissing her again.
Dean ended up dragging Charlie's scrawny ass upstairs by himself.
It would have been easier if she wasn't trying to pull his shirt out of his pants, curling her fingers into his waistband with one hand while she yanked on the fabric with the other. Both of her hands were scratching down Dean's back by the time they hit the landing, hitching herself up onto her toes and slamming her mouth into his.
"I feel like makin' love right here, Dean."
Her thumb pushed the button on his waist through the hole, warm fingers curling around his cock after Charlie wriggled her hand past the elastic of his boxers.
Dean grabbed her hand, gritting his teeth as his dick throbbed against his zipper.
"Your damn fault," she retorted. "Playin' that song. Makin' me think you wanted t' screw me."
When Charlie tilted her head up to look at him, kissing his chin before falling back onto her heels, there was nothing he wanted more than to slam her into the wall and screw her until everyone downstairs knew she was getting good and laid.
"What happened t' givin' me night an' day?" she asked softly.
"That's a metaphor, Girl Genius." Dean snorted. "They didn't teach you about metaphors in those fancy schools of yours?"
It was bad enough that the goddamn girl actually giggled but Charlie opened his fingers with her own until they were holding hands and followed him into the bedroom, the thick soles of her boots clumping on the floor. She wrapped her arms around his waist when the door closed behind her, forehead resting on his back.
"Don' need night an' day," she said softly before letting go.
"You're a walking chick flick, you know that?"
Another giggle bubbled out of her as Charlie tripped around him. She shimmied out of her skirt, swaying on her feet, and it was only polite to pull her shirt over her head after that. She didn't thank him, even when Charlie was done crawling onto the bed. She collapsed with an 'oof' and smiled at him, laying there in her plaid boxer shorts and a pink bra that was nothing more than a scratch of lace.
Charlotte Anne Webb looked sexier than any girl wearing mismatched underwear and a scuffed pair of combat boots had a right to.
Dean stretched out next to her, leaning on his elbow.
"Truth or dare," Charlie whispered, her fingers touching his mouth.
Her eyes widened and she settled against her pillow with a yawn, bunching Dean's t-shirt in her hand. "There's nothin' you can...tell me that I...don' - "
The fingers on his shirt loosened when her eyelids started fluttering and it wasn't long before Charlie curled up onto her side, resting her cheek on one hand. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, waiting until it was slow and even.
"Never told you about that girl in Poughkeepsie," Dean murmured. He tucked a sweaty curl behind Charlie's ear, shaking his head when she grunted softly and flopped her free hand over her nose. "She's the one who said I'd fall in love with the world's biggest dork."
But someone sure as hell could have warned him about the snoring.
The title of this story is a song lyric from "Somebody to Love" by Queen.
I may be going to hell for this...but Kate did say someone needed to write a story where Dean makes out with "Feel Like Making Love" in the background. Me? I embellished on the idea.
Yes, I know. I once again sacrificed the dignity of Charlotte Anne Webb for a quick laugh. But I did make Sam do air guitar, so that should count for something.
And, yes, I didn't just look up lyrics - I watched videos for all of the songs I used in the story. I even looked up how many shots were in a standard bottle of tequila.
Extra cookies for you if you know the name of "that girl in Poughkeepsie."
Lastly, my apologies for this being fluffier than my usual fare. It's been a long week...