FIC - Nothing For It
title: Nothing For it
pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Prompt: I hope this counts for the INCUBUS prompt, it's all I have
Summary: They’ve done some crazy shit for hunts.
Fandom: SPN
OMG, I only have two left and I will have done my whole prompt table for paranormal25. I feel incredibly accomplished.
There was just no way this was happening. Except that it was.
They’d headed to Atlanta on the trail of an incubus who was preying on gay men and had racked up a considerable body count. A search of local news told them where to go, but on the night they checked into the Super 8 on Peachtree, both their hearts sank with the knowledge of where and when they’d have to go out to kill this stupid fucker.
As per their usual tradition, they’d done a 2 out of 3 round of paper, scissors, rock to determine who’d go out to get them what they’d need to blend at Le Buzz in midtown. Also, as per their usual tradition, Dean lost. He huffed several curses under his breath as he grabbed his keys and headed out, feeling much better after the pity head Sam had given him against the motel wall a few moments earlier.
When Dean arrived back at their room, he was angry enough to spit. He threw bags onto the bed nearest the door and shot Sam an angry glance. After successfully obtaining dresses and makeup for them at Atlantic Station, a sprawling mess of retail stores, he’d gotten stuck on shoes. Finding cosmetics and wigs was easy, procuring “plus sized” dresses not much more difficult, but shoes were another story. Everyone told him the same thing - go on down to Little Five Points, you can get anything at Junkman’s Daughter.
They weren’t lying.
Getting ready to infiltrate Le Buzz in Midtown on drag night proved to be quite a challenge. Dean spilled coffee on the low-cut dress he’d purchased for himself, but the dress was black and Sam happily scrubbed it out for him in the sink and he hummed, smiling as he watched in the mirror while his brother stuffed his bra.
Fucking surreal. If Sam didn’t think he’d get his ass kicked, he’d have taken a picture with his phone of that shit.
Making their way up the sidewalk from where they’d luckily secured a parking spot, they were both concentrating on the task at hand and trying to forget that they were in drag. They’d made the attempt, but there was no way anyone was going to mistake either of them for women. Dean bitched about having to walk four whole blocks in three inch heels. Sam didn’t complain so much. His stupid blue and pink wig was itchy and he felt ridiculous in red lipstick and a garish pink dress that he was sure Dean had chosen intentionally. “It’s not like my choices were endless in your size, Samantha”, he’d said, but Sam was pretty sure Dean had gone straight for pink without looking at anything else.
At least he was in flats, though. Apparently, even the drag queen shoe emporium of the city didn’t have giant heels in a man’s size 13, much to Sam’s luck.
Neither of them had a drink, as they’d have felt foolish asking for bottled beer at such an establishment and didn’t want to find out what their alternative would be. They didn’t have to be there that long anyway. It took less than half an hour to identify and corner the incubus who’d been preying on the gay men who frequented this particular nightclub. A hustle out into the alleyway behind the place and a quick exorcism ended the job with a minimum of fuss, neither of the brothers being injured beyond their wounded pride at having to dress like women.
On the way back to the car, they tried to lighten the mood, Sam telling Dean what a great job he did on creating the image of cleavage under his dress and Dean responding that Sam looked pretty hot in that red lipstick. Sam’s reaction was to pull Dean to a stop half a block from their car and kiss him full on the mouth, smearing the aforementioned red lipstick all over Dean’s lips and chin.
Luckily, they weren’t in a neighborhood where this kind of activity drew much attention. Dean fucking hated big cities, but couldn’t tear himself away from the passionate kiss.
That was, until, getting caught up in the moment, he didn’t notice the grate on the sidewalk and leaned the wrong way, getting his left heel caught in one of the metal slats and breaking the black stiletto heel right off his shoe.
Sam laughed so hard at the sight of his brother with red lipstick smeared over his mouth and a black stiletto with a broken heel that Dean couldn’t help but fall into laughing with him after a minute. They giggled all the way back to the car, Dean carrying his shoes and Sam making “walk of shame” comments the whole way.
Needless to say, there were noise complaints at the front desk of the Super 8 that morning. But they checked out early, before too much fallout, because there was a Waffle House right there and Dean was thrilled at the idea of a plate of hashbrowns scattered, smothered, covered and chunked.
pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Prompt: I hope this counts for the INCUBUS prompt, it's all I have
Summary: They’ve done some crazy shit for hunts.
Fandom: SPN
OMG, I only have two left and I will have done my whole prompt table for paranormal25. I feel incredibly accomplished.
There was just no way this was happening. Except that it was.
They’d headed to Atlanta on the trail of an incubus who was preying on gay men and had racked up a considerable body count. A search of local news told them where to go, but on the night they checked into the Super 8 on Peachtree, both their hearts sank with the knowledge of where and when they’d have to go out to kill this stupid fucker.
As per their usual tradition, they’d done a 2 out of 3 round of paper, scissors, rock to determine who’d go out to get them what they’d need to blend at Le Buzz in midtown. Also, as per their usual tradition, Dean lost. He huffed several curses under his breath as he grabbed his keys and headed out, feeling much better after the pity head Sam had given him against the motel wall a few moments earlier.
When Dean arrived back at their room, he was angry enough to spit. He threw bags onto the bed nearest the door and shot Sam an angry glance. After successfully obtaining dresses and makeup for them at Atlantic Station, a sprawling mess of retail stores, he’d gotten stuck on shoes. Finding cosmetics and wigs was easy, procuring “plus sized” dresses not much more difficult, but shoes were another story. Everyone told him the same thing - go on down to Little Five Points, you can get anything at Junkman’s Daughter.
They weren’t lying.
Getting ready to infiltrate Le Buzz in Midtown on drag night proved to be quite a challenge. Dean spilled coffee on the low-cut dress he’d purchased for himself, but the dress was black and Sam happily scrubbed it out for him in the sink and he hummed, smiling as he watched in the mirror while his brother stuffed his bra.
Fucking surreal. If Sam didn’t think he’d get his ass kicked, he’d have taken a picture with his phone of that shit.
Making their way up the sidewalk from where they’d luckily secured a parking spot, they were both concentrating on the task at hand and trying to forget that they were in drag. They’d made the attempt, but there was no way anyone was going to mistake either of them for women. Dean bitched about having to walk four whole blocks in three inch heels. Sam didn’t complain so much. His stupid blue and pink wig was itchy and he felt ridiculous in red lipstick and a garish pink dress that he was sure Dean had chosen intentionally. “It’s not like my choices were endless in your size, Samantha”, he’d said, but Sam was pretty sure Dean had gone straight for pink without looking at anything else.
At least he was in flats, though. Apparently, even the drag queen shoe emporium of the city didn’t have giant heels in a man’s size 13, much to Sam’s luck.
Neither of them had a drink, as they’d have felt foolish asking for bottled beer at such an establishment and didn’t want to find out what their alternative would be. They didn’t have to be there that long anyway. It took less than half an hour to identify and corner the incubus who’d been preying on the gay men who frequented this particular nightclub. A hustle out into the alleyway behind the place and a quick exorcism ended the job with a minimum of fuss, neither of the brothers being injured beyond their wounded pride at having to dress like women.
On the way back to the car, they tried to lighten the mood, Sam telling Dean what a great job he did on creating the image of cleavage under his dress and Dean responding that Sam looked pretty hot in that red lipstick. Sam’s reaction was to pull Dean to a stop half a block from their car and kiss him full on the mouth, smearing the aforementioned red lipstick all over Dean’s lips and chin.
Luckily, they weren’t in a neighborhood where this kind of activity drew much attention. Dean fucking hated big cities, but couldn’t tear himself away from the passionate kiss.
That was, until, getting caught up in the moment, he didn’t notice the grate on the sidewalk and leaned the wrong way, getting his left heel caught in one of the metal slats and breaking the black stiletto heel right off his shoe.
Sam laughed so hard at the sight of his brother with red lipstick smeared over his mouth and a black stiletto with a broken heel that Dean couldn’t help but fall into laughing with him after a minute. They giggled all the way back to the car, Dean carrying his shoes and Sam making “walk of shame” comments the whole way.
Needless to say, there were noise complaints at the front desk of the Super 8 that morning. But they checked out early, before too much fallout, because there was a Waffle House right there and Dean was thrilled at the idea of a plate of hashbrowns scattered, smothered, covered and chunked.