Deanna Winchester

birds and the bees

The guy she brings home from the bar – David? Daniel? – isn't exactly prince charming, but he's got nice, broad shoulders and strong arms, and that's good enough for a Thursday night. Dad is off on a hunt two states over, so she lets herself loose, gets so plastered that she forgets Sammy is still home.

So there she is, dry-humping a stranger on their ratty couch while he's fumbling with her bra. She hasn't gotten laid in too long, and now she's practically boiling over with pent-up lust, needy and hot and desperate. David/Daniel manages to unclasp the bra and his hands move to her waist while she slides the garment off. The air is cool against her bare skin, and she wraps herself around the warm body before her, about to tug his boxers off when her fifteen-year-old brother walks in from the other room, clad in his pajama shirt and sweatpants.

"Oh my god, Dee!" he yells, raising a hand to shield his eyes. And then, as if realizing the presence of David/Daniel, he exclaims, "that's my sister!" He sounds so deeply offended that it'd be hilarious if it were any other situation.

"Sammy, get the hell out!" she shouts, scrambling off the guy in an ungraceful tangle of limbs. Needing no more instruction, Sam darts back through the door.

"Woah," the guy asks, completely taken aback. "Who's the kid? We can go back to my place if you've got company –"

But no, the moment is beyond lost, and Deanna shakes her head. "That was my little bro. Kind of puts a damper on the mood." When the guy doesn't budge, she raises an eyebrow pointledly and tosses him his discarded jeans. "Uh, you can see yourself out."

The guy's expression quickly goes from expectant to pissed, and he grumbles something about blue balls, but Deanna manages to usher him out without much more fuss. Once he's gone, she dons her shirt and shorts once again, not bothering with the bra – it was a push-up anyways.

"You decent?" Sam yells from the other room, louder than he needs to, and she can hear the embarrassed pitch to his voice.

"Yeah," she replies, scratching at her neck uncomfortably. She feels a vague sense of guilt. Her brother is fifteen, and she was already well-versed in the art of knocking boots at his age, but, damn, this is Sammy, whose first instinct in every new town is to register for a card at the local library. There's just no way he's been getting any. She hopes she didn't traumatize him or anything.

"Jesus, Dee," he says, walking back in. His look of pure trauma has been replaced by Bitchface #4. "Could you find a motel next time? It's a school night."

She decides to play it off as a joke. That always works. "You see, when a guy and a girl love each other very much –"

"Oh god, stop."

Bitchface #5 is revving up. She smirks.

"People get urges! I don't know about you, but if mine aren't relieved every once in a while, then, you know..." Deanna makes a vague gesturing motion at her pelvis. "It gets all backed up. It's not pretty."

Sam is now burying his face in his hands. "That's wrong on so many levels."

She fake-sighs. "Okay, I am sorry you had to see that, Sammy. Although, hey-" she can't stop the smile from spreading across her face. "Now you can tell all your buddies you've seen a girl topless, huh?"

"DEE."