... of having a dirty mind. This is a scurrilous lie and is patently not true, my mind is as pure as the driven snow.
*Watches nose grow all the way across the room*
I do, however, find myself, against my better judgement, occasionally being led astray by the scandalous influence of a certain Mr. D Winchester even though I fight hard against it..
*nose grows again, opens a window to make room*
I set out below an example of how that naughty, naughty man has corrupted my otherwise innocent and irreproachable mind ...
HIDE AND SEEK
Word Count: approx 300
A witch wants something from the boys. Dean wants something from the witch. Sam wants Dean to shut his piehole.
Rudery, embarrassment and an experience to forget ensues ...
A Triple drabble written for the EO Weekly challenge - challenge word 'floor'
Disclaimer: I own nothing - it's quite tragic really..
Tightly bound back to back, the Winchesters sat squirming furiously on the floor of the candlelit basement.
They froze as a woman's voice cut the darkness.
"Do you know why I've brought you here?"
"To play Jenga?" Dean spat petulantly.
A bitter laugh; "no, I want to take back the talisman you stole from me."
"Well I want world peace, but we can't always get wha ... "
Dean's words trailed into a dribble as the witch stepped from the shadows and stood, hands on hips, before them.
Sam looked at the glamorous hourglass figure and sighed.
This had trouble written all over it.
She sauntered towards them, kitten heels tapping across the floor.
"I know one of you has my talisman secreted about your person."
"That'll be me then," Dean replied with a broad grin, "Sasquatch here's allergic to pewter."
"Lets discuss terms, sweetheart; come an' sit on my lap and we'll see what comes up."
"Start talking pretty boy, otherwise I'm going to have to start searching." She hissed menacingly.
"don' let me stop you," Dean replied airily.
She sighed; "I can make this easy or I can make it very, very hard."
"Oh trust me, baby, it's already very ..."
"DEAN! Not helping."
Glaring at her captive's smug grin, she folded her arms and sighed wearily. "Well then, I guess I'll have to conduct a thorough search."
Dean smiled, leaning casually against his furious brother; "Do your worst babycakes."
Turning angrily, she marched to the door.
"Igor," she called sweetly, and was instantly joined by a redheaded neanderthal with a scarred battering ram of a face, knuckles which almost reached the floor and skulls tattooed on his forearms.
The witch slipped away closing the door behind her, and smiled triumphantly on hearing the panic-stricken squawk; "It's in my sock ... IN MY SOCK!"