Scotch-stained Bedsheets
Title: Scotch-stained Bedsheets.
Fandom: Supernatural/One Tree Hill.
Characters: Dean/Brooke.
Rating: PG-13.
Word Count: 1124.
Spoilers: None. It's set pre-series, possibly AU. It's set after Dean leaves Cassie and after his dad disappears.
Summary: There’s definitely something about a broken guy that she just can’t ignore.
Author's Note: My first attempt at writing anything relating to Supernatural. I'm only half-way through the first season, so here's hoping I didn't butcher Dean too much.
She finds him in pieces at the bar. He’s sitting alone, nursing a Scotch on the rocks, and Brooke can tell he’s fighting tears. She walks over and takes the seat a few down from his, makes sure not to get caught glancing at him. She orders a beer and holds the neck in her fingers gently as she looks towards him again.
His jacket is covered in dirt and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. It makes her throat constrict and suddenly she wants to cry, but she isn’t too sure why.
Beer in hand, she scoots down two seats so there’s only one between them. She takes a drink, glancing towards him out of the corner of her eye and he doesn’t even flinch. She wonders what’s on his mind, what’s causing him to physically tense.
“Hi,” she says as she turns to face him, offering up her best suggestive smile. “I’m Brooke.”
His eyes are haunted when he looks at her and her smile nearly falters. She swallows, though, and tilts her head a little.
“Dean,” he says. His voice is just as broken as he looks.
She takes another drink from the bottle, eyes watching Dean as her eyebrow lifts somewhat. She leans an elbow against the bar top, her smile finally slipping into one that’s a bit friendlier.
“You don’t really look like you’re from around here. I should know,” she pauses, watches his jaw muscles tense. “I know just about every cute guy in this town.”
He turns his head towards her again, doesn’t even let the corners of his lips twitch. It takes him a second but he looks away and downs the rest of his drink in one swallow. Brooke fights the urge to reach out and touch his arm.
“Brooke, was it?” He signals the bartender for another drink, his arms resting on the bar top.
“Brooke Davis.”
Dean looks her over for a moment and Brooke re-crosses her legs slowly. His eyes don’t even stray to the bare flesh below her mini-skirt and she, briefly, wonders if he’s straight. Then he turns ever so slightly towards her and musters up the best smile he can.
“You don’t usually get turned down, do you?”
Brooke freezes for a moment but she recovers quickly, her foot moving gently against his jean-covered leg. She leans in a little and drops her voice to a more seductive tone and suddenly she despises the extra seat she’d left between them.
“You’re not going to turn me down, Dean,” she breathes. Her fingers are slipping closer to his hand as he looks at her, left eyebrow just barely raised in interest. “You’ve had a hard night and you’re looking for someone just like me.”
While she speaks, Dean leans closer to her to hear her better. She can tell that he is considering his options and that he’s hesitant to give into her. So she runs her foot higher and slips her fingertips over the back of his hand, tracing circles against his skin.
“Come on, Dean,” she smiles. “We both know you want me.”
He laughs, then; it’s rough and definitely worn, but she smiles anyways. She watches as he turns completely towards her, drink in his free hand, and he looks her over without even trying to hide it.
“You are one persistent woman,” he smiles.
She can see the sadness in his eyes and she wonders if maybe that’s why she can’t let him go. There’s definitely something about a broken guy that she just can’t ignore.
“Shall we get out of here?” She’s standing before he answers, stepping closer as he smiles and downs his drink. Her fingers trail across his upper back as she walks past him on her way towards the door.
His hand catches her waist once he gets outside and she grins, her eyes falling on his face.
“Where’s your car?” she asks, watching his jaw clench again.
He nods towards his Impala, glowing in the light of a streetlamp. Brooke then moves in front of him, her body so close to his that he can feel her warmth through his clothes. She grins up at him, her fingers trailing down his chest.
She leans closer to him and she can tell that Dean’s focused solely on her. She slowly licks his upper lip before pulling back, his keys dangling from her finger.
“Looks like I’m driving,” she winks before racing towards the car.
“Like hell you are,” he says as he takes off after her.
Within a few steps Dean reaches her and Brooke gasps as he grips her hips. She’s suddenly facing him, the cold of the car pressing against her back. He’s got a hand on the window on either side of her and she smirks as he leans close.
“No one drives my car,” he breathes and she can smell the Scotch on his breath, can feel the warmth of it against her lips.
“You’ve had more than the legal limit,” she replies, hands moving up beneath his shirt. “I wouldn’t want you to get arrested; then I’d lose out on all my fun tonight.”
He chuckles against her neck, his nose running lightly along her jaw line. Brooke lets her eyes fall closed as she pulls him closer to her.
“I’m sure you could find some other sucker to take home.”
She smiles, her cheek pressing against his.
“That’s very true, but I’d rather go home with you.” Her lips press against his ear, just barely grazing it as she whispers, “So let me drive?”
He groans into her ear, his body still against hers for a moment. She nearly thinks he’s changed his mind about her before he pulls back, eyes glazed over with something other than pain or alcohol. He shakes his head but steps back.
“You better be a good driver,” he says and she grins.
Her body presses against his as she reaches down, her fingers curling gently around his crotch. She feels him harden slightly through his jeans and hears his groan.
“I can handle it,” she says before trailing her tongue along his neck. She then pulls away and looks at his face for a moment before unlocking the driver’s side door.
“Better get in or I’ll leave you behind,” she calls from the open window.
He’s in the car within a minute and she smiles, happy to know she’ll be able to distract him from whatever demons are haunting him, at least for the night. She’s speeding down the highway when his hand reaches over, fingertips tickling her thigh.
“Brooke Davis,” he breathes and she glances towards him, flashes a smile. “You are one hell of a woman.”
Fandom: Supernatural/One Tree Hill.
Characters: Dean/Brooke.
Rating: PG-13.
Word Count: 1124.
Spoilers: None. It's set pre-series, possibly AU. It's set after Dean leaves Cassie and after his dad disappears.
Summary: There’s definitely something about a broken guy that she just can’t ignore.
Author's Note: My first attempt at writing anything relating to Supernatural. I'm only half-way through the first season, so here's hoping I didn't butcher Dean too much.
She finds him in pieces at the bar. He’s sitting alone, nursing a Scotch on the rocks, and Brooke can tell he’s fighting tears. She walks over and takes the seat a few down from his, makes sure not to get caught glancing at him. She orders a beer and holds the neck in her fingers gently as she looks towards him again.
His jacket is covered in dirt and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. It makes her throat constrict and suddenly she wants to cry, but she isn’t too sure why.
Beer in hand, she scoots down two seats so there’s only one between them. She takes a drink, glancing towards him out of the corner of her eye and he doesn’t even flinch. She wonders what’s on his mind, what’s causing him to physically tense.
“Hi,” she says as she turns to face him, offering up her best suggestive smile. “I’m Brooke.”
His eyes are haunted when he looks at her and her smile nearly falters. She swallows, though, and tilts her head a little.
“Dean,” he says. His voice is just as broken as he looks.
She takes another drink from the bottle, eyes watching Dean as her eyebrow lifts somewhat. She leans an elbow against the bar top, her smile finally slipping into one that’s a bit friendlier.
“You don’t really look like you’re from around here. I should know,” she pauses, watches his jaw muscles tense. “I know just about every cute guy in this town.”
He turns his head towards her again, doesn’t even let the corners of his lips twitch. It takes him a second but he looks away and downs the rest of his drink in one swallow. Brooke fights the urge to reach out and touch his arm.
“Brooke, was it?” He signals the bartender for another drink, his arms resting on the bar top.
“Brooke Davis.”
Dean looks her over for a moment and Brooke re-crosses her legs slowly. His eyes don’t even stray to the bare flesh below her mini-skirt and she, briefly, wonders if he’s straight. Then he turns ever so slightly towards her and musters up the best smile he can.
“You don’t usually get turned down, do you?”
Brooke freezes for a moment but she recovers quickly, her foot moving gently against his jean-covered leg. She leans in a little and drops her voice to a more seductive tone and suddenly she despises the extra seat she’d left between them.
“You’re not going to turn me down, Dean,” she breathes. Her fingers are slipping closer to his hand as he looks at her, left eyebrow just barely raised in interest. “You’ve had a hard night and you’re looking for someone just like me.”
While she speaks, Dean leans closer to her to hear her better. She can tell that he is considering his options and that he’s hesitant to give into her. So she runs her foot higher and slips her fingertips over the back of his hand, tracing circles against his skin.
“Come on, Dean,” she smiles. “We both know you want me.”
He laughs, then; it’s rough and definitely worn, but she smiles anyways. She watches as he turns completely towards her, drink in his free hand, and he looks her over without even trying to hide it.
“You are one persistent woman,” he smiles.
She can see the sadness in his eyes and she wonders if maybe that’s why she can’t let him go. There’s definitely something about a broken guy that she just can’t ignore.
“Shall we get out of here?” She’s standing before he answers, stepping closer as he smiles and downs his drink. Her fingers trail across his upper back as she walks past him on her way towards the door.
His hand catches her waist once he gets outside and she grins, her eyes falling on his face.
“Where’s your car?” she asks, watching his jaw clench again.
He nods towards his Impala, glowing in the light of a streetlamp. Brooke then moves in front of him, her body so close to his that he can feel her warmth through his clothes. She grins up at him, her fingers trailing down his chest.
She leans closer to him and she can tell that Dean’s focused solely on her. She slowly licks his upper lip before pulling back, his keys dangling from her finger.
“Looks like I’m driving,” she winks before racing towards the car.
“Like hell you are,” he says as he takes off after her.
Within a few steps Dean reaches her and Brooke gasps as he grips her hips. She’s suddenly facing him, the cold of the car pressing against her back. He’s got a hand on the window on either side of her and she smirks as he leans close.
“No one drives my car,” he breathes and she can smell the Scotch on his breath, can feel the warmth of it against her lips.
“You’ve had more than the legal limit,” she replies, hands moving up beneath his shirt. “I wouldn’t want you to get arrested; then I’d lose out on all my fun tonight.”
He chuckles against her neck, his nose running lightly along her jaw line. Brooke lets her eyes fall closed as she pulls him closer to her.
“I’m sure you could find some other sucker to take home.”
She smiles, her cheek pressing against his.
“That’s very true, but I’d rather go home with you.” Her lips press against his ear, just barely grazing it as she whispers, “So let me drive?”
He groans into her ear, his body still against hers for a moment. She nearly thinks he’s changed his mind about her before he pulls back, eyes glazed over with something other than pain or alcohol. He shakes his head but steps back.
“You better be a good driver,” he says and she grins.
Her body presses against his as she reaches down, her fingers curling gently around his crotch. She feels him harden slightly through his jeans and hears his groan.
“I can handle it,” she says before trailing her tongue along his neck. She then pulls away and looks at his face for a moment before unlocking the driver’s side door.
“Better get in or I’ll leave you behind,” she calls from the open window.
He’s in the car within a minute and she smiles, happy to know she’ll be able to distract him from whatever demons are haunting him, at least for the night. She’s speeding down the highway when his hand reaches over, fingertips tickling her thigh.
“Brooke Davis,” he breathes and she glances towards him, flashes a smile. “You are one hell of a woman.”