[SPN (PORN!) FIC]: Night Moves, NC-17

[researchgrrrl]

Title: Night Moves
Author: researchgrrrl
Pairing: Dean/Other
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Porn. For serious. That's it. Porn. Completely gratuitous, completely cracked-out porn. Wincest-free.
Notes: This is a direct result of the fantastic conversations I had with so many folks in the Gen Porn thread. Y'all helped me think through what works for me and what doesn't, and inspired me to push myself out of my comfort zone as a gen writer.

That said? Nothing -- not even porn -- can change the fact that I'm a crackfic writer. You have been warned.

A special thanks to marinarusalka and mireille719 for the fantastic beta work on this, my first full-length SPN story (even if it is a PWP) and my first attempt at porn in years.



Quod sors feret feremus aequo animo
("Whatever chance shall bring, we will bear with equanimity.")
-- Terence, Carthaginian-born Roman poet

"Well, that went crappy. Now what?"
-- Dean Winchester, Kansas-born demon hunter

Of all the weird shit that Dean Winchester had come up against in his years of hunting supernatural monsters, he was pretty sure that he hated goddamned Spring-Heeled Jacks the most.

Seriously. It sucked enough that those flamboyant dipshits would bounce all over the place, slicing off little pieces of you even while they made you feel queasy from motion-sickness, but whatever that gooey funk was that they could...emit? spray? ejaculate?...fuck, whatever...out of the horns on their silvery helmets always reeked of ammonia and always dried into flecks of iridescent glitter.

And nothing -- nothing -- in this world or from any other stuck to shit the way that glitter did.

Glitter, Dean thought with disgust, yanking off his boots. He hated the way they twinkled red and purple at him as he tossed them to his side of the motel room. He peeled off each of his grey sweatsocks and balled them up, but left them on the double bed that Sam had claimed when they had checked in the night before last. Absently rubbing the soles of his bare feet against the Welcome Inn's thin grey-blue carpeting, Dean thought again, Fucking glitter.

From his seat on the foot of Sam's bed, Dean grimly studied the sparkly crap that shimmered on every visible surface of his skin and clothes. There wasn't much else to do while he waited for Sam to return and for that chick they had rescued from the Jack to get out of the shower. Everything on the basic cable lineup sucked and Sam had the laptop in the Impala.

God. The Impala. Dean didn't even want to think about how he was going to get all of the nasty-ass glittery stuff off his baby's interior.

Chivalry occasionally sucked almost as much as most television programming did, Dean decided with another glance at the bathroom door. Here he was in his own fraudulently-rented motel room, and he smelled bad and even in the muted light of the squat metal bedside lamp he sparkled, and he was having to wait for his turn for the shower.

He also harbored a deep and private conviction that the rainbow glitter was dried demon spooge.

Demon semen, Dean thought with a revulsion he usually only felt for rats and anything that got heavy rotation on an "easy listening" radio station. He couldn't suppress a small shudder.

Okay. For real now, if that Amy chick didn't get out of the shower soon, he wasn't sure there was enough chivalry in the world to keep him from joining her because, come on. Blood, entrails, and the stink of acrid smoke? Totally part of the job. But sitting around covered in sparkling demon spooge? No.

Just...no.

He stole another dark look at the closed bathroom door. Tendrils of steam escaped from underneath it into the stale, chilled air of the motel room. Grabbing a corner of the polyester bedspread on Sam's bed -- a stunning pattern of burgundy and dark orange fleurs-de-lys against a field of sullen green -- Dean brushed at the leg of his jeans.

For his efforts, Dean only managed to send up a shimmering cloud from the denim that shifted through shades of yellow, blue, and cream. The glitter made him sneeze five times in rapid succession.

His jaw working, Dean wiped his face against the shoulder of his t-shirt. He belatedly realized that his shirt was even more sparkly than his hands.

Great. Because he needed fucking glitter to help set off the freckles on his cheeks and nose. As if Sam didn't already make enough fun of the stupid freckles.

Dean sighed. At least Sam, who had somehow managed to come out of the fight without looking like he'd survived a bad night at a good rave, had had the decency to offer to pick up dinner. Of course, Sam had also announced that he planned to do a little more research before he returned with food, since they had managed to rescue Amy but failed to kill this particular Jack, but at least Dean wouldn't have to go out again tonight.

Leaning back on his elbows, Dean watched the shimmering cloud dissipate in the dim light. It gradually dispersed to revolve endlessly on the steady blast of cool air from the little wall A/C unit. Dean irritably hoped the excitement wouldn't kill him. He pursed his lips and eyed the bathroom door again, then glanced away. He studied the pale, unremarkable seascape prints screwed to the off-white walls. That killed another ten seconds. With a sigh, Dean found himself thinking once about how he smelled, which led back to the shower and Amy once more.

Dean suddenly wondered what his life had come to when he was more interested in the shower than the naked woman in it.

And, holy shit, what a woman. Hello. Sure, Amy No-Last-Name-Yet had longish blonde hair and pretty green eyes -- and what a rack -- but in the heels she had been wearing when the Jack had manifested, she was the same height as Sam. Jesus. Fuck if Dean was used to having to look up at a woman when she wasn't riding him on cheap cotton sheets.

His dick took notice of that image. It twitched approvingly, which suggested that Dean's priorities might not have become hopelessly skewed despite these past few months around his younger brother. Somewhat comforted by this, Dean reached down the front of his jeans to adjust himself.

Naturally, that was when the bathroom door jerked open. Dean managed to snatch his hand free just as Amy stuck out her head from behind the door. He sat up quickly, then sneezed twice more as another iridescent cloud wafted from his clothes. Dean realized that he could make out the shape of her body thanks to the location and angle of the fogged mirror over the sink in the bathroom. Suddenly all was forgiven regarding his wait for the shower.

Dean was also glad that his dick wasn't still caught in some weird position when he noticed that part of the mirror had been wiped free of the steam, as if Amy had needed to look at herself before opening the door.

"This glitter stuff is not coming off," Amy announced flatly. Dean could hear the running water still drumming against the empty tub. He also realized that he could see the toes of her right foot peeking around the door, the nails painted a color that looked blackberry-ish against the stark white linoleum. His eyes snapped back up to Amy's face when she said, "The smell's gone but I'm still..."

"Naked?" Dean offered with his best Boy Scout smile. Maybe today could be salvaged after all. Sam would be gone for a while.

Well, long enough, anyway.

"Sparkling," Amy said in a forbidding voice.

Dean felt himself liking her more and more. He kind of wished he had baggy jeans right now, though, then kind of wished she would notice he needed the baggy jeans right now.

"Naked," Dean said again. He tipped his head in what he hoped was a thoughtful manner that just happened to improve his view of the defogged part of the mirror. "And with the shower still on. So...what? You want me to give you a hand or something? I have been known to work wonders with a bar of soap."

Dean didn't mention those wonders had largely been worked by scrawling hurried sigils on bathroom tiles to buy himself enough time to escape from violent drain-dwelling manifestations. Unlike Sam, Dean happened to know a thing or two about boundaries and how to avoid TMI.

Amy just looked at him, both the water and Jack-glitter on her face catching the steam-softened light from the overhead fluorescents in the bathroom. Unexpectedly, Amy drew back just enough to start thumping her head against the edge of the door. Surprised, Dean took a few steps forward, but Amy's head abruptly snapped up even as her hand shot out from behind the door to stop him.

Dean was close enough now to see the goosebumps on her skin and the way that the colors on her arm shifted from the amber-gold of a good beer to the silver-white of a magnesium flare. He was also close enough to hear even over the running water that Amy was giggling, low and weird under her breath, as she watched him. Conflicting emotions warred on her face. However, none of those emotions looked particularly put off by him so, okay, so far so good.

"And what just happened there was because of...?" Dean asked, confused but unable to help smiling back at her. Hell, he was almost smiling up at her, even at this distance. His dick definitely approved of the new proximity to the wet, naked chick and the way that her bare shoulder and the side of her breast were visible now, too. Down, boy.

Amy pulled her hand back and shook her head. Her hair, hanging in clumps around her face and darkened to the color of honey by the water, glinted pink and indigo and margarita green with the movement.

"Just give me a minute," she said and shut the bathroom door.

Huh. Okay. Dean breathed into the cup of his hand -- okay there -- then used the opportunity to check himself out in the little vanity mirror above the dresser.

Pros: His hair still looked good, the rip in his light blue t-shirt where the Jack's blade had caught the fabric was just this side of artistically placed near his heart, and the bulge in his jeans hadn't grown to ungentlemanly proportions yet.

Cons: He stank of ammonia and the Febreeze was in the trunk of the Impala, he hadn't had time to shave this morning, and -- oh, yeah -- he still fucking glittered like one of Sammy's elementary school projects gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Fortunately, Dean was a born survivor: he had managed to score with far less going for him. With a sigh and the consolation that his hair definitely still looked good, Dean turned back to the bathroom door.

The sound of running water had stopped. From under the door, he could see the light go out. Amy emerged from the bathroom, smelling like cheap soap, Dean's shampoo, and Sam's cinnamon mouthwash.

Dean distantly supposed that he had his father to thank for training him to be able to take in that sort of information just then. Most of his higher thought processes had shut down to whistle and cheer like that wolf in the old Looney Tune cartoons as soon as he saw how precariously the towel around Amy's body was held closed to cover her breasts.

That thin white towel was probably the largest the Welcome Inn had supplied and it still pulled apart along her side to reveal the glittering curve of her panty-free right hip with every step that she took.

Moments like this? Were why Dean had never doubted that there was a God.

As she approached, Dean realized that Amy reminded him of one of those statuesque actresses from the old B-movies that he liked to watch when he couldn't sleep. This night suddenly had the potential to turn into The Attack of the Totally Stacked Amazon in Living Technicolor, right here in the sparkly flesh in his motel room. Awesome.

Fortunately, Dean remembered to breathe when Amy paused in front of him, the colors of saffron, white sage, and pale peach SweetTarts in her hair and on her cheeks now. He was also aware that he had just lifted his chin the slightest bit to maintain eye contact. Wow. That was a new experience.

Dean loved new experiences. Especially with women.

Dean tried not to look too eager at the sudden thought of Amy overpowering him and explicitly describing how she meant to break him to her will, possibly after tying his hands over his head with strips of that towel and sucking on the sensitive skin that ran from his wrists to the crook of his arms. After all, he didn't want to come across as a total freak, the stink of ammonia and the glitter of dried demon spooge notwithstanding.

"Why are you bouncing up and down like that?" Amy asked. Dean stilled instantly.

"Leg cramp," he lied.

Instead of wrestling him to the ground and pinning him to the floor with brute strength and an open-mouthed kiss, Amy moved past him to sit on the end of his bed, much as he had been sitting on Sam's. She still held the towel around her as best as she could and fussed with it until she managed to settle it around her with as much modesty as possible. Happily, that wasn't much, even with her knees pressed primly together.

He noticed that Amy was still smiling. There was something guarded in her expression that made Dean think again of actresses from old movies, but this time of the women who wore those hats with the little veils that obscured their eyes.

"Are you all right?" Dean asked. He immediately checked the intent to mack -- that could wait until after he knew how she was holding up. Yeah, Amy had listened carefully to Sam's explanations even while she had still been shaking in Dean's arms in the Impala and, yeah, she had only wiped distractedly at the tears in her eyes when she had asked if she could wait here until they knew if the Jack would try for her again. But still. Sometimes this shit took a while to process.

Of course, Dean wryly noted to himself, she had certainly had long enough to think things through in the shower.

"That was a monster," Amy said. She had seated herself directly in front of Dean, her left arm still braced across her breasts to grip the towel near her right armpit. The palm of her right hand rested against the overwrought burgundy and orange fleurs-de-lys of his bedspread, having dropped to her side when she had apparently realized the towel was covering as much of her as it was going to cover. Amy was a little pale beneath the mother-of-pearl sheen on her skin but her mouth was curved into a self-deprecating half-smile. She was watching Dean carefully when she said, "Not just a creepy guy, but an actual not-of-this-world monster."

Ah. One of those conversations. Okay. Dean might as well get comfortable since these epiphany talk-throughs could go pretty much any damned way. Amy might need to cry on his shoulder or beat against his chest or use the narrow space around the beds for pacing and ranting.

Admittedly, Dean was still holding out for the remote hope of being asked to offer comfort sex but, hey, he had never been ashamed of being an optimist.

"Yeah, that was a monster," Dean said. He closed the short distance to join her on the bed. As he moved, he assessed where he could sit that would be close enough to be reassuring but would still leave enough space to not come across as a total creep. Hmm. That would pretty much put him on the very edge of the bed.

Amy, obviously noticing that he was angling for the corner, shifted to make a little room for him rather than to escape him; the way she patted the ugly comforter next to her bare right hip clarified that. Nice. The fact that the little bit of scooting over she did left her backside completely uncovered was just an unexpected bonus for Dean.

His settling weight caused the box springs to creak and Amy to sway toward him just the tiniest bit. Before he could speak, Dean suddenly had to turn his head to sneeze into his shoulder when more of the dried Jack-glitter puffed up from his clothes. Sniffing, Dean turned back to see Amy blinking rapidly but still smiling as she fanned away the sparkling cloud with her free hand.

Smooth, Winchester, thought Dean. He whipped his head away from her again to sneeze a couple more times. He rolled his eyes at himself as he wiped his face on his glittery shirt. What a time to find out that he was allergic to dried demon spooge. Jesus.

When he was certain the sneezing had stopped, Dean faced her once again.

"You all right?" he asked a second time.

Amy fixed him a what-the-fuck-kind-of-question-is-that look that Dean had to respect. She laughed under her breath, glanced around the room, and looked at him again.

"I don't know. I think so," she finally said. Amy didn't sound particularly freaked out which was nice, and not just because Dean had that private rule about not moving in on emotionally fragile women. Meeting anyone who could take in the news that supernatural horrors happened to be real and there were a handful of people who hunted and destroyed those horrors without a meltdown was always nice. God knew Dean hadn't run across many of them. At least not adults, anyway.

"I mean, a monster tried to kill me," Amy continued slowly, "and two random guys suddenly showed up and saved me, and now I'm covered with some sort of sparkly shit that won't come off. I'm wet and naked in a motel with a really hot but also sparkly guy who smells like cat pee, and I'm going to have to borrow some clothes that I can only pray will fit over my hips and tits while I wait to find out if that monster is looking for me. But, I mean, yeah. I actually think I'm all right."

She fell silent, watching him. The little A/C unit finally finished its cooling cycle and clicked off, leaving only the quiet mechanical ticking as it settled and the distant noise of cars traveling along the highway to fill the silence between them.

Dean nodded, considering her words with care before he reached out to touch her hand.

"And how much does the smell of cat pee cancel out the overall sexiness of the rest of that list?" Dean asked gravely.

Amy laughed as suddenly and loudly as Dean had hoped that she would. Even better, she snorted. At the sound, Amy flushed and clapped the hand that he had just touched over her mouth and nose.

The blush that started in her chest and spread upward brought out the sky blue and inky Guinness Stout colors in the Jack-glitter. Dean also noticed that her fingernails were unpainted and shaped into neat ovals. The ones she had left, anyway. Judging from the two freshly torn down to the quick on her right hand, Amy had broken a few nails tonight during the attack because even untrained and unarmed, before he and Sam had arrived, she had done her best to fight off that Jack.

Dean abruptly wanted to taste for himself how warm this woman's skin got when she was embarrassed, what the texture was like when she still damp and freshly washed with cheap motel soap. He wanted those fingers missing their neatly shaped nails in his mouth so he could drag his tongue over the raw skin and find out what noises she made when trapped between pleasure and pain. Dean already knew how the skin under that towel would shimmer with every color imaginable; he wanted to know now how her eyes would glitter down at him while she straddled him.

Dean must not have been the only one to feel the new charge between them because even as her laughter tapered off, Amy's color stayed high and her breathing was definitely a little quicker.

"How about you?" Amy let her hand fall from her face to land on top of his, still resting between their hips on the bedspread. Dean moved his thumb to caress her index finger, his calluses catching slightly against her smoother skin. The shimmer of gold-green on his fingers sparked to copper and turquoise with the touch. When Amy lifted her hand just enough to drag her uneven nails across the back of his hand, Dean felt a prickling of goosebumps; the good kind, not the kind he got when unseen eyes stared from the shadows while he tried to blink away the blood quickly enough to make sure he didn't accidentally shoot Dad or Sam.

"You all right there, Shortcakes?" Amy asked lightly, although Dean heard the faintest catch in her voice.

"'Shortcakes?'" Dean repeated, his eyebrows rocketing upward. He shifted toward her to run the hand not already touching her skin along her exposed thigh, letting his fingers drift inward just enough to skim along the edge of the towel. Dean started at the corner of the thin terrycloth that rested against the innermost part of her thigh, then dragged his knuckles up over her hip, following the line of the towel along her side to where it was now only loosely gripped in her left hand.

As he did so, the restless fingers of Amy's free hand had never stopped moving over his left arm. However, her remaining nails were raking up and down his forearm hard enough to sting pleasantly. There was a quiver in her touch that made Dean both want to extend this flirting indefinitely and end it all at once.

"'Shortcakes,'" Dean said again. His voice sounded a little huskier than even he had anticipated. Dean held Amy's eyes, aware that her left arm had relaxed enough to expose most of her breasts. Her breathing had become so quick that the colors glinting on her skin almost seemed to swirl. Dean moved closer still, his knee now pressing against hers through his dirty, now bronze-sheened, now purple-sheened jeans. "So, is that how it's gonna be?"

Her eyes dropped to his lap then moved back up to his face. Amy wet her lips -- her tongue dark pink against the now-apricot shimmer on her mouth -- before she replied, swaying toward him.

"God, I hope not," Amy said. She definitely sounded out of breath now.

Dean leaned forward, his eyes dropping to her mouth, then jerked back just in time to sneeze violently into the crook of his arm.

Fucking. Glitter.

"Shit," he said. When Dean looked up, Amy was giggle-snorting behind her hand again. A tear, magnifying flecks of gold as it rolled down her cheek, had leaked from the corner of her eye.

"You're really not helping the mood here," Dean informed her, very much on his dignity. He didn't bother to be discreet about adjusting himself through his jeans.

"You fucked it up first, Casanova," Amy replied. She had pulled her hand from her mouth to wipe at her shining eyes. Amy watched him make the adjustment with open interest, then smiled at him.

"So, you're definitely all right? With...this, I mean? Me and...us?" Before Dean could so much as utter "DUH" at her, Amy continued with, "Because I could really do with forgetting everything that happened earlier and pretending for a little while that I'm just here with you for a normal one-night stand. I mean, as normal as it can be with you smelling like a litter box and looking kind of like a butch Rainbow Brite."

Amy smiled at the outraged expression Dean affected, then she bit her lower lip. A sudden flare as red as taillights glinted on her mouth. When her lip slipped free of her teeth, though, it glittered a delicate lavender.

"Would you?" Amy asked softly. "Kiss me now so that I can pretend the world is normal and safe again for a little while?"

"Yeah, I can do that," said Dean. He smiled as he slipped his hand into her damp hair, weirdly pleased to see the sparkle of pink, indigo, and pale green in it again. Drawing Amy to him so that she finally had to drop her left hand to steady herself and only too happy to feel the warmth of her grip on his thigh, Dean explained in a breath against her mouth, "That's what kissing is for."

Amy made a soft sound and Dean brushed his lips over hers. The kiss started as most first kisses did -- in Dean's experience, anyway -- when shared between sober strangers: self-conscious and a little cautious, in need of some time to adjust for breath control and noses and to turn off any thinking. There was no burst of sudden heat but nothing terribly awkward. Well, to the kiss, anyway. Dean didn't usually have the pleasure of sharing a slow, sweet first kiss this far into foreplay, though, and certainly not well after the woman had been flirting with him while sitting next to him completely naked. That definitely added a very cool and very distracting new dimension to the making out.

He moved his head just enough to catch her lower lip in a gently tugging kiss, then ran his parted lips over hers with a slow, breathy touch. Dean flexed his fingers against her scalp, massaging gently; hard-won experience had taught him not to risk running his fingers through a woman's hair unless he knew good and well that she had worked out any tangles.

Amy turned slightly to kiss the corner of his mouth then drag her lips over the stubble on his cheek. Dean felt her weight shift on the mattress, her grip on his thigh tightening. For an instant, Dean had the very happy thought that Amy was about to move into his lap. Naked. And maybe finally straddling him. And then totally having her way with him while she pinned his hands and talked all manners of dirty to him and, okay, there was now a very real chance that if he didn't start reciting the numbers for car parts soon, he might actually come in his pants as soon as her ass had his legs pinned.

But Amy moved off the bed, remaining bent to keep kissing him. Her hands moved to his wrists, pulling the hand that Dean had in her hair free so that his palm slid over her cheek even as she stepped back to guide him to his feet. Dean's fingers glittered pale rose and dark gold against the peach shimmer on her face and he caught his breath as she drew his thumb into her mouth. Amy guided his other hand to her hip, pressing his palm flat against her skin in an invitation to explore.

Then he felt the fucking tickle in his nose.

As Dean turned away, he had to jerk back the hand that was just about to cop a feel of her ass to sneeze into his shoulder again. Amy tipped back her head, giggling once more. She held the hand that she had just been sucking -- and goddammit if Dean didn't resent having that interrupted -- in hers. Dean twined their fingers while he sneezed, seriously starting to wonder if he had pissed off some mambo or houngan the last time he was in New Orleans for this shit to be happening now.

"This is not funny," Dean said when he could. For some reason, that only made Amy laugh harder. Dean found he was torn between mild irritation and genuinely working to keep a straight face until he became aware that he had his first unobstructed view of full-frontal nudity for the night.

All right, then, thought Dean, instantly appeased. This is definitely more like it.

While memorizing everything that he could with the hopes of continuing to improve upon the overall quality of his fantasy life, the thought occurred to Dean that he could have sex with Amy standing up and he wouldn't have to hold her up the whole time or feel a little guilty in the aftermath because she had wound up with a plaster-burn between her shoulders.

And, holy crap, now that he thought about it, he could have sex standing up with Amy with all the lights on and he wouldn't have to make up any bullshit stories about his scars. And as a total bonus? Neither of them would be hung-over in the morning.

1967 Chevy Impala trunk mat, part number ACC-5063 thought Dean, feeling a little light-headed. 1967 Chevy Impala tie rods, part number C00282104.

He resumed his study of Amy's body. The woman was as soft and generously curved as every cutie-pie pin-up girl who had ever winked over her shoulder at him from the old calendars that he had seen as a kid in garages and junkyard offices. While Dad had met with other hunters and whenever Sammy had napped or colored on old roadmaps, Dean had taken in the swell of each thigh, the shape of every mouth, the spill of so much glossy hair around bare shoulders in those pictures. Even then, he had wanted to know everything that he could about women and all of their mysteries.

Dean's grip on Amy's fingers reflexively tightened and a smile tugged at his mouth. In later years, Dean had never understood Sam's passion for book-learning. Dean far preferred the hands-on approach to education, himself.

Her laughter subsiding, Amy pulled her hand free from his. She folded her arms across her breasts a little self-consciously.

"No, no, no!" Dean's protest was spontaneous and sincere; he usually had to hope for Cinemax in a motel's cable lineup to see breasts as nice as hers. He looked at her imploringly. Dean was tickled to see Amy blush again. He even liked the way the Jack-glitter sparkled in colors that put him in the mind of the wildflowers that grew along the highways in Texas in the early spring.

Amy didn't relent, though. In fact, she stepped around Dean and grabbed the towel from where she had dropped it on the bed. Her set shoulders and the arm now clutching the towel to her body glittered with touches of color in pumpkin and cranberry. Dean found the contrast particularly nice against the plain white terrycloth.

He still resented that fucking towel, though.

Amy narrowed her eyes at Dean.

"You. Naked. Now," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied, definitely liking the sound of this. When he reached for the hem of his t-shirt, Amy dropped her hand on his. Confused, Dean looked up at her.

"Not out here," said Amy. Dean realized he could still smell his shampoo in her hair; he had the briefest and most insane urge to growl with satisfaction. "In the bathroom. You're going to be sneezing so much once you peel these clothes off," and here Amy giggled just a little again and gave his hand a slight squeeze, "and besides, you really do smell like cat pee."

"Look, nobody's perfect. Seriously, Amy, this is never going to work out between us if you keep trying to change every little thing about me," Dean said cheerfully as he let himself get ushered with an enjoyable lack of gentleness into the bathroom.

Dean flipped on the lights, the little ventilator automatically coming on with them, as he and Amy stepped through the puddles of now-icy water that Amy had managed to get everywhere.

"Hey, you know what you should try some time?" Dean asked, turning to face her. Amy had just stuffed her towel lopsidedly over one of the aluminum towel racks, right above where her own pile of stinking, twinkling, totally ruined clothes had been discarded alongside...Jesus, were those actually four-inch heels? Holy shit. Dean mentally added sex with Amy while she was wearing those insane fucking heels to the night's growing To Do list as he said, "Closing the shower curtain while you're showering. It's actually not as hard to do as it sounds."

"Shut up," said Amy, smiling at him. The incandescent sparkle to her skin glittered even more vividly under the humming fluorescent lights, catching on her the way that sunlight did on clear water and dragonfly wings.

"Make me," Dean said softly, smiling back, and opened his arms to her.

When Amy molded herself against him, she moved slowly, working her hands under the back of his shirt with a light touch that just managed not to tickle unbearably. Dean slid one hand in her hair again and the other over her ass. He was delighted with the way her breasts actually pressed into his chest and the fact that her legs were longer than his, leaving his belt buckle to press low into her belly. He reflexively thrust against her; Amy tightened her grip on him in response, her fingertips and uneven nails digging pleasurably into his back.

This close, Dean definitely had to tilt his chin up just the slightest bit when they resumed their kiss. The novelty left him feeling a little dizzy and gasping against her lips. Amy took unexpected advantage of this to suck his tongue into her mouth. She sucked hard enough that he felt the sensation all the way down into his dick and, fuck a succubus, if she didn't touch him there soon, Dean was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind.

Releasing his tongue to alternately bite and lick his lips in the messiest, most fun kind of kiss, Amy fumbled behind him with urgent hands to grip the hem of his t-shirt.

"Hold your breath and close your eyes," Amy managed to say around their kissing, her breath still sweet from the cinnamon mouthwash and hot against his mouth.

Eventually, they were able to pull apart enough for Dean to do just that, his hands reluctantly letting her go and lifting to let her pull the t-shirt over his head. Dean heard Amy inhale sharply but, before he could look to see what she was reacting to, Amy quickly and shakily said, "No. No, cloud's still here, baby. I'll tell you when."

Not wanting to set off another sneezing fit, Dean only nodded. He was acutely aware now of his own heartbeat, of the sound of his shirt being thrown to the wet floor, of Amy's trembling fingers finally, oh fucking finally, working open his belt and blue jeans.

The glittering fireworks that Dean started to see against his eyelids when he felt Amy's smooth fingertips and broken nails brushing against his stomach while she undid his fly were easily as dazzling as all the colors that he had seen on her skin thus far. Dean actually felt his knees loosen, ready to buckle, when she stroked him firmly through his Jockeys.

"Breathe, Dean," Amy whispered just loudly enough to be heard over the ventilator fan. "First cloud's gone but there's going to be another when we get you out of these jeans."

Dean exhaled explosively, light-headed all over again as she stepped close to steal another kiss. He could smell the musky scent of her sex over the cinnamon on her breath and the sterile smells of cleaning products and hard water. Hell, even over the stink of ammonia still on his skin.

And, fuck, skin...there was a thought. For the first time, Dean felt her breasts against his naked chest and, with that, primitive instincts lumbered into control. His arms went around her, pinning her hands between them at his fly, and he kissed her artlessly.

"You gasped," Dean said against her mouth, her chin. He pivoted their bodies so that he could back her up the few steps to the sink, so that he could steal glimpses of the way they sparked and glinted against each other in this little white bathroom. Dean distantly noted that he glittered with shades that he associated with caramel sauce and red ale, while her skin shifted dizzyingly through cheerful citrus colors. "Taking off my shirt. Why?"

Dean felt her buck against him when her ass connected with the counter. Holding her close to keep her hands trapped and her arms pinned, Dean worked one hand up into her now mostly-dry hair. He tugged with as much restraint as he had left to tilt her head back to expose her neck and the candied-violet shimmer glittering over the pulse in her throat to him.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," Amy said and squirmed savagely against him when his mouth closed over that pulse point. Amy was now panting raggedly, shaking even more in his arms than she had been in the car when Dean had pulled her against him for the first time. Only then, Dean had been rocking the terror out of her while Sam drove and handled the introductions and exposition, his worried eyes restlessly moving between the road and the rearview mirror to make sure that the inexplicably not-dead Jack wasn't bounding after them.

"Why?" Dean asked again, still thinking of her earlier gasp, but now thinking of how the silver flechette rounds hadn't done a damned thing to the Jack except leave it bristling with darts and screaming with shrill rage.

Focus, Winchester, Dean told himself. You're here now. She's here now.

Still, Dean found that he had to drag his mouth back up to hers, to kiss her until he could pretend the world was normal and safe again.

Or at least as normal and safe as the world ever was for Dean.

Amy had freed her hands to work them over his chest, his shoulders, to slide those long fingers into his hair. His arms tight around Amy, Dean lifted her the inch or so necessary to plant her ass firmly on the bathroom counter, their kissing jostled but unbroken during the movement.

Amy's legs -- Christ, legs longer than highway miles -- looped around his waist. Dean felt his jeans sag over his hips. He pressed his dick against her, the thin black fabric of his Jockeys the only thing separating them.

"Be -- fuck -- because," Amy said, dropping her head back against the support of his arm to allow Dean the access he wanted to her throat and its new pearl-grey shine, grinding all the while against him with fierce little thrusts, "if I...if I had known you looked this good under your clothes, I wouldn't have been naked in front of you all this time."

Dean paused as her words sunk in and drew back to look at her. Amy's face was streaked with marks from the scruffy stubble on his face. Her mouth was slick and shiny with spit and dark with Jack-glitter the colors of coffee and communion wine. He ran his eyes over her glittering body, taking in the way that her fair skin had become a map, a journal, which revealed everywhere that he had gripped and kissed and everywhere that he had left to explore. Dean glanced back up at Amy's concerned, almost apologetic, expression.

"Well, that's fuckin' stupid," Dean said seriously.

Girls were always so weird about the most ridiculous stuff, Dean decided as he dipped his head to resume kissing her neck. Amy started shaking in his arms again, only this time she snorted in his ear. Dean leaned back when he realized that she was laughing breathlessly.

"What?" Dean asked, smiling back but a little bewildered. His confusion apparently only served to make her laugh harder.

Amy leaned back to rest her head against the mirror, her hands having dropped to the counter to support herself. Her legs were still locked around his waist, though, and her spasms of laughter sent frissons of heat through his body with every quivering movement.

1967 Chevy Impala sound deadener, part number ACC-10112. 1967 Chevy Impala carpet floor mats, die cut, part number ACC-9232 , Dean thought frantically.

Fortunately, somewhere around the air compressor and oxygen sensor part numbers, he had control again. Dean realized that Amy's feet had cleverly worked his jeans into a puddle around his ankles at some point with enough care not to have kicked up another cloud of Jack-glitter.

For real, this chick has some skills, Dean thought. Impressed, he glanced at Amy's face, where her own eyes were still squeezed tight while she laughed.

About to comment or possibly work a finger up inside her just to see how much she kept laughing then, Dean got distracted when his gaze dropped back to her breasts. Dean took in the way that they jiggled and swayed, glittering with an irresistible butterscotch sheen, then noticed that Amy's left areola was slightly larger than her right. Unable to resist, Dean dropped his head to start with that one first.

Amy gasped, her legs tightening around him convulsively and her hands moving to his hair again. Dean could feel her heat and wetness through his underwear as she ground against his hard-on and, fuck, that was it.

Dean pulled his head away from his work with an unintentionally loud smacking sound, his own body rigid and trembling.

"Baby, Amy, I gotta take the edge off," Dean said -- babbled -- to her, his right hand moving between her legs even as he gripped her the underside of her right thigh with his other hand with shaky force, trying to hold her still so he didn't come in his Jockeys like an idiot high school boy. "Jesus, baby, this...this isn't where it ends, but I gotta take the edge off now."

Amy nodded, still flushed and glinting butterscotch-gold, but suddenly as serious and urgent as Dean was.

"Can I help?" Amy asked. Her left hand had joined his right to guide his shaking fingers to her clit, to show him how to touch her. Dean bowed his head again to her breasts, kissing and licking even while he easily learned the pace that Amy was setting for his fingers.

"Just...just stay there," Dean said into her clean, warm, glittering skin as he pressed kisses down her belly. "I'll take care of us both right now. I just gotta take the fuckin' edge off."

Dean felt sweat running down his back; couldn't help the shudder that passed through him when he felt Amy get even more wet while he worked his fingers inside of her. He started to kneel but Amy caught his hair, hard. Dean looked up dazedly, feeling desperate and almost furious. He was almost out of his head enough to give the fuck up on sanity and just start pounding his dick into her, then blinked when he realized that Amy was shoving a fresh towel at him.

"For your knees," Amy said. She let her head drop back against the mirror with a solid thump, her hands back to gripping the edge of the counter tightly and her legs relaxed and spread for him as she resumed moving against his hand.

From there, Dean only needed another clumsy few seconds to drop the towel, to lick the taste of her off his fingers, to finally shove his underwear down.

Dean had to sit all the way up on his knees to go down on her while jacking himself off but, Christ, the slightly weird angle was worth maintaining. He slipped his left arm under her leg, groping until he found her fingers, trapping them under his where she held on to the counter. Her other hand dropped to his right shoulder in a hard grip.

The sounds that Amy made while he tasted her and jacked himself were Dean's favorite kind of music in all the world; better even than anything by Led Zeppelin.

While licking, sucking, kissing, and just generally owning Amy's clit with his mouth and listening to those fucking hot sounds, Dean came as quickly as he had ever come. He gasped with the release, collapsing forward into her, and heard Amy's frustrated cry.

Not lifting his head, Dean made a distant mental note to hunt down every idiot who had gotten her this far and had obviously failed to do right by her. At the very least, Dean would finally have a few asses he could kick for the way that Amy pulled at his hair again.

He caught her wrist, hard, as he continued to lick inside of her. Amy's hand relaxed, then shifted to tangle her fingers with his, to stroke the come still warm on his hand. Dean's mouth softened against her right before he sucked with all the force he could. He was abruptly rewarded with the arrhythmic rolling and jerking of her hips as she came, too.

"Dean," Amy said as he drowsily kissed his way along the inside of her still-trembling thigh to her knee.

"I know, baby." Dean pressed another kiss against her leg. "Not real classy, doing it in the john, especially this way. I'll make it up to you."

"No," Amy said. Still out of breath, she waved a hand, a buttercup pink sparkle on her fingers, as Dean, panting, fell back on his heels. "Jeans. You're still wear--"

The sneezing started, right on cue, as the cloud of Jack-glitter that had stirred when Dean had sat back wafted into his face.

Jesus. Fuck this, Dean thought bitterly. Still sneezing, he began to squirm and shift on the wet bathroom floor until he had managed to work his legs out in front of him and out of the rest of his fucking clothes. More Jack-glitter filled the bathroom. Sneezing harder than ever, Dean whacked his elbow on the toilet.

Between sneezes, Dean started to swear.

"Oh, and here I was worried you might not know how to give good afterglow," Amy said, lifting her face to laugh into the swirling colors. Looking sated and grinning more hugely with each of his sneezes, Amy slid off the counter and grabbed the towel that she had used to dry herself earlier.

"Let's just hope your refraction time is more impressive than your learning curve," Amy said happily between planting short, smacking little kisses on his hair before draping the towel over his head. "I'll meet you in the shower after you're finished with the sneezing."

#

The shower was a relaxed and leisurely affair, more about getting clean (for him, anyway) and giggling (for Amy, apparently) than anything else. At one point, though, Dean courteously took the time to demonstrate how to properly draw a shower curtain shut; in response, Amy offered to demonstrate how completely Dean could actually not get laid tonight. Dean, instincts honed to sense approaching danger, then suggested that he might stick to showing her the wonders that he could work with soap. Amy thought that sounded like a great idea and proved to be a far better student of Suds and Sensitive Body Parts than she was of How to Keep the Fucking Floor Dry.

Having pretty much blown through the available towels, they made their way back into the bedroom, still damp, still kissing, and now shivering against each other. Dean finally released her to turn off the A/C. He turned back to find that Amy had stripped off the ugly comforter from his bed and was now stretched out crosswise, resting on her stomach on the fuzzy, pale grey Velux blanket that had been hidden under the comforter. Amy was watching him with her chin propped in her hands and a new kind of smile on her face.

"What?" Dean asked, once again smiling back at her and having no real idea what they were smiling about. Amy shifted on the bed to support herself on her folded arms.

"Just look at you," Amy said. The cheerful brightness in her eyes was entirely hers and entirely human, Dean noticed. He liked that a hell of a lot more than the sparkle of the Jack-glitter for those very reasons. "You're beautiful."

"Bullshit." Dean pulled a face and started to head back to the bed. "I'm manly and, yeah, ruggedly handsome, but--"

"Shut up," said Amy pleasantly. "Look at yourself, Dean."

Dean glanced down and paused. Although he had become accustomed to the colors that still glinted and flared on Amy's skin, he hadn't paid all that much attention to his own body, even in the shower.

As with Amy, the smell of ammonia had washed away but the iridescent glitter still adhered to his skin. It sparked through lustrous colors that Dean couldn't even name at first, then shifted to colors that belonged in the early morning sky and inside of conch shells.

Absently, Dean ran his hand over his chest and down his stomach. He watched the sheen on his skin change once again, this time into the deep purple of the mountains in the Nevada desert as the sun set behind them.

Huh. The effect actually was kind of cool, even on him, Dean had to privately concede. And he was getting better about ignoring the part about it being, you know, dried demon spooge.

Dean looked up when he heard the bedsprings creak. Amy had rolled onto her back, close to the foot of the bed now. Her hair, freshly wet and darkened to the color of honey again, hung nearly to the floor and sparkled with starlight twinkles. Upside-down and smiling, Amy stretched her arms out to Dean and made gimme hands.

"C'mere," Amy said. "I think I need a refresher on how to pretend that the world is safe and normal again."

"I can do that," Dean said. As he moved around Sam's bed to stand over her, Amy tucked her hands behind her head and drew one leg up in what Dean thought of as a very classic, very classy Bettie Page pose. His dick was definitely agreeing that Amy looked about a hundred kinds of hot right now. Dean smiled down at her and said, "I'm a very good teacher, you know."

Amy widened her eyes at him.

"Tell that to the bathroom floor," she said.

Now it was Dean's turn to widen his eyes, which immediately made Amy grin and squirm.

"Oh, that's it," Dean announced. "That's enough sass out of you."

Amy shrieked and giggled and tried to roll away when he lunged, but Dean had her expertly pinned beneath him in a matter of seconds. Dean actually needed far longer to coax her grinning mouth into relaxing enough so that he could kiss her properly than he had needed to trap her under him.

Admittedly, Amy hadn't made much of an effort to escape, but still. Being able to use his training for anything besides hunting monsters or surviving on the road was always a treat, but most especially when he got to use it for foreplay with a writhing, naked, giggling woman who had legs that just didn't quit.

"Hey, the diner didn't have Mountain Dew so I got -- whoa!" said Sam.

His kid brother's timing may suck, Dean noted grimly, but his reflexes were flawless. Sam managed to slam the door shut just as the glittering boot that Dean threw at him crashed against the jamb.

"Tha-that was rude," Amy breathed against Dean's neck when he had settled on top of her once again. She licked his shoulder, then sucked on the tender skin over his collarbone hard enough to almost hurt. Dean made a low, harsh sound and rocked his hips against hers.

"I know," said Dean, trying to find the place that he had staked out on her throat back in the bathroom before he worked his way down to her breasts with his mouth again. "Bitch should have knocked."

"No. I meant. Rude of you." Amy bucked beautifully against him when Dean connected with that spot on her neck. Between her gasps, she said, "What...what if I wanted him to watch?"

"Fucking pervert," Dean said in her ear, taking great care to cop an elaborate feel of her breasts with both hands. He kind of wished that he had thought to have Sam fetch a pair of handcuffs out of the Impala's trunk before he had given Sam the boot.

Heh. So to speak.

"Are you calling me a fucking pervert," Amy asked as she ran her hands through his hair when he eased down to lick the sweat beading along her breastbone, "or suggesting that's what I should do?"

"Yes," Dean said. He worked his way back up her body to kiss her mouth again -- because he was never one to pass up a chance to make the world feel safe and normal -- before he rolled off her. Dean flashed a little grin over his shoulder at her noise of protest, then nearly fell off the bed when he realized that Amy had taken matters in to her own hands.

Well, hand, anyway.

The left one, to be precise, which was now working steadily between her legs as she watched him watch her.

"Hurry," Amy said, breathless. "I want you in me. Now."

If Dean had learned nothing else in life, he'd at least learned when to follow an order, no questions asked.

Dean was only away from her body for as long as it took to snag a condom out of his overnight bag. He ripped the packet open with his teeth, aware his hands were shaking too hard to manage much fine muscle control. He mercifully managed to roll the condom on without tearing the stupid thing.

Settling between Amy's legs, Dean sat back on his heels, his knees spread slightly. He gripped her tightly just behind her knees, lifting her lower body and dragging her close enough to settle her ass against his thighs. Amy inhaled sharply at the suddenness of the move. Wordlessly, she pulled her hand away from herself to help fine-tune her position against him and finally guide Dean into her.

Amy turned out to be limber enough that Dean could manage a great angle and depth to each thrust. He held her legs firmly, making sure that she would stay put, at least as long as her left hand was still that busy.

Dean bit his lip, watching as her right hand fisted and flexed against the blanket, the glitter on her skin seeming all the brighter against the dull grey fabric. Amy continued to flick her fingers lightly over her clit. Dean glanced from that beautiful sight up to her face, expecting to meet her eyes, but realized that Amy was intently watching where their bodies were joined.

His eyes dropped, then widened when he saw what she was watching. Along with the usual soundtrack of gasps, groans, and various squelching, squishing sounds that always accompanied the best sex, they had their own fireworks display skittering over the surfaces of their bodies.

Dean made a low noise deep in his throat, watching as he moved in and out of her, watching the shimmer of colors (sherbet green, leather brown, electric blue, flame orange, salt white, tequila gold, too many others to track), watching his sweat fall onto her body, and finally watching her fingers lose their rhythm. Amy stiffened with a sweet and broken sound, arching her back, and caught his wrist with her right hand.

"How do you want to finish?" Amy asked, running the fingers that she had just used on herself across his lower lip. His thrusting momentarily stilled, Dean shut his eyes and sucked her fingers into his mouth. He found the tender, ragged flesh at the tips with his tongue, then opened his eyes to watch her when she made that same sweet, broken sound. Amy was still clutching his wrist with her right hand, her upper body lifted but trembling from the effort of holding herself at that angle.

"Any way you want," Amy said. She pulled her fingers from his mouth to paint them across the scar branded just above his heart. Still breathing hard, Amy fell back on her elbows, her breasts swaying and her shining, sweating body entirely open to him. "Just tell me how."

"Sweet Jesus," Dean said hoarsely. "On top." He released his white-knuckled grip on her thighs to grab her upper arms and pull. "On top, baby. This time. I want you on top."

They managed to keep the awkwardness of shifting positions to a minimum, managed to steal sloppy kisses and trade sharp bites as Amy settled on top of him. Only now, it was her sweat falling on him, her movements setting the pace. Amy stared down at him with half-lidded eyes, caught his hand when it tried to snake between them.

"Oh, no. This one is all you," Amy said as she hauled both his hands to the side of his head, their fingers locked.

"Then talk to me," Dean said on a gasp. When Amy slowed in apparent confusion, he thrust hard up into her to keep her moving. Dean was rewarded with her sudden inhalation of pleasure and surprise, then with an even harder, faster pace than she had been setting. He smiled up at her. "Dirty. I want you to talk dirty."

Amy's eyes glittered briefly, brilliantly, with amusement right before she dipped her face down to his to lick his mouth.

"Why didn't you say so earlier, bitch?" Amy asked in the sort of low voice that Dean always imagined Bettie Page would have. Dean groaned and tightened his grip on Amy's fingers.

Amy continued to ride him hard, using every beautiful, earthly, earthy, and wholly human obscenity that Dean had ever heard, until Dean finished with a shout that was nearly a sob.

He pulled her face down to his and kissed her, then held her tightly so that he could feel both of their heartbeats racing because of great sex rather than pure terror.

Because that? Was also a welcome treat in his line of work.

"Oh, my god," Amy said at last. She groaned as she pressed herself up on shaky arms. His pendant had left a small red mark above her right breast. She didn't notice, though. She just carefully dismounted and flopped back on the bed, her arm thrown over her eyes as she announced, "If I had known I was going to get laid today, I might have shaved my legs this morning."

"S'okay," Dean said, rolling toward her to plant one last kiss on her breast. "If I had known we were actually going to have sex, I might have put on clean underwear before the first time you got out of the shower."

"Skank," said Amy with a smile. Dean dragged his hand along the inside of her thigh, not feeling any stubble.

"Hippie," he said anyway. He rolled out of the bed and headed to the bathroom to take care of his clean-up.

Dean could hear Amy's soft laugh and subsequent rustling as she apparently commenced to digging through his overnight bag for something to wear, although Dean personally doubted that Sam would risk the chance of another peep show without calling first. God knew there was no reason that Amy needed to be getting dressed on Dean's account.

He flicked on the switch that turned on the light and ventilator fan and eyed the bathroom before entering.

"This floor is a mess," Dean called to Amy, stepping around the puddles.

"Good thing you know how to keep it clean and dry," Amy called back. He was pretty sure she muttered, "Jackass," too.

Dean smiled as he cleaned himself up. He was unable to resist mopping up the floor with the towel that he had used for a kneeling pad (he could always hang it back up for Sam to use tomorrow.) Dean brushed his teeth and washed his face, then looked at himself in the mirror over the sink as he started to pat his cheeks dry.

Water ran down his throat and chest, mingling with the glitter that now sparked white and silver and pale purple. Dean could smell the stink of ammonia on the discarded pile of clothes along with the biting odor of bathroom cleaners. His eyes moved back to the water, to the glitter, as he breathed in the ammonia and cleaner smells.

And something just...clicked.

I know how to kill it, Dean thought suddenly, then said to his stunned-looking reflection, "I know how to kill that fucking Jack."

Holding his breath, Dean hurriedly dragged on his dirty (and wet, dammit) clothes. No sense putting wear and tear -- or stink and spooge, for that matter -- on his other jeans and shirts tonight. Dean ran into the bedroom. He still wound up sneezing half a dozen times, but that was okay.

He knew how to kill that goddamned, spooge-headed Spring-Heeled Jack.

"I know how to kill the Jack," Dean said to Amy. "Find my phone. I gotta call Sammy. He's gotta meet me here."

"Uh. Okay." Looking completely bewildered and stealing little glances at him, Amy got out of the bed and patted down his coat while Dean pulled on his socks. She tossed him the phone as he worked first one foot, then the other, into his boots.

"Any chance you'll let me in on what just happened in the bathroom?" Amy asked.

Dean held up a hand when the second sneezing fit started. He wiped his nose on his shirt, not caring about the glitter this time, and thumbed the redial. Dean started talking as soon as he heard his brother answer but before Sammy could start bitching about earlier.

"Dude! Where the hell is your lazy ass? No, shut up, don't actually answer that, braintrust. Just get back over here. We got a hunt to finish. I know how to kill it." Dean turned off the phone, stuck it in his pocket, and turned back to Amy, grinning.

Amy smiled back at him, still looking a little uncertain and, Dean belatedly noticed, just too fucking cute in a pair of his black Jockeys and his favorite Judas Priest concert shirt. Yeah, she was totally going to leave the t-shirt all stretched out with boobmarks, but that was okay, too.

"I won't be gone too long, baby," Dean said, still grinning. His heart was starting to race again, this time with a different kind of excitement. Dean felt so awake and alive from all of the sex and the laughing and the certainty that he was about to go blow that motherfuckin' Jack straight to hell.

"That dipshit will be so easy to find tonight. We hit him with the silver flechettes, sure, but man what was I thinking?" Dean pulled on his coat, glancing at his watch. Okay, seriously, how far away did Sam drive to hide from hot sex? He looked back up at Amy, who was patiently -- if quizzically -- watching him. Dean caught her face between his hands, pleased that when he was in his boots, their mouths were at exactly the same height.

Although he still hoped to fuck her senseless while she was wearing those insanely high heels, but that suggestion could wait until he had a pair of the cuffs handy, too.

"See, last time we got lucky, being at that aquarium," Dean explained between quick, noisy kisses while Amy held on to his upper arms as if to steady herself. "But the ammonia smell. That was the big hint. Or it should have been anyway. Duh. The ammonia is why we can kill it without being at an aquarium again." Dean unexpectedly found himself distracted by the feel of her nipples pressing through his Judas Priest t-shirt.

"And that would be because...?" Amy prompted. "Eyes are up here, Shortcakes."

"Bite me," Dean said happily. "I'll describe exactly where later." He did look up again, though, this time to press a little kiss on the end of her nose.

"Ammonia is three parts hydrogen and one part nitrogen. And don't look at me like that. You totally have to know this shit when you make exotic ammo. Anyway, when we nailed the other Jack with the silver flechettes and then it hit the water and, you know, kind of boiled apart into these purplish globs, Sam figured there had been some sort of chemical reaction that made silver nitrate and whatever. The thing is, that was only part of what killed it. There's all sorts of cleaning stuff in the aquarium water that probably did way more of the killing than the silver did."

Dean suddenly hauled her into his arms, kissing her deeply as he slipped his hands into the underwear she had borrowed from him to squeeze her ass. When they broke apart, both gasping, he continued.

"This time, we don't have those chemicals. But, baby, ammonia reacts with all sorts of stuff." And now Dean was nearly bouncing in place again. He resumed kissing Amy's mouth with soft, hurried kisses. "We have to hit the Jack with the white phosphorus rounds! Between the potassium in the gunpowder and the heat from the phosphorus flare, all that ammonia in the Jack is going to explode like crazy."

Shutting his eyes briefly, Dean allowed himself one more deep kiss. He could taste more of himself than the mouthwash in Amy's mouth now and, fuck, that was almost as hot as the way that Jack was going to burn.

Dean pulled back suddenly to ask, "Hey, since we're gonna be wrapping this hunt up tonight, you think if I took a couple of days of shore leave that you'd be cool with making this kind of a weekend fling rather than just a one-night stand?"

Amy shot him another great what-the-fuck-kind-of-question-is-that look before she said dryly, "I think I might be persuaded."

"Awesome," said Dean. He started to pull her in for another kiss when the Impala's horn sounded twice from the parking lot.

Sammy and his timing, thought Dean, suppressing a sigh. He reluctantly pulled his hands out of the underwear she was wearing to grab his hunting gear. Dean hitched the bag's strap over his shoulder, thinking, He has seriously gotta work on that.

"Hey," said Amy. Dean glanced at her, his hand already on the doorknob. She smiled and gave him a little half-shrug.

"Thanks for doing what you do. You know, so people don't just have to pretend that the world is a little more normal and safe. You can actually do something to make it that way."

"Yeah, I can do that," said Dean. As he stepped into the night, he noticed that in the light of the Impala's high-beams, the Jack-glitter on his skin and clothes sparkled like flecks of quartz and serpentine in a tombstone on a sunny day. Just before he pulled the door shut, Dean smiled back at Amy and dropped her a wink. "That's what hunting is for, baby."

-end-