Unless you have spent the last two months on Neptune, you may be vaguely aware of a little shindig that took place here in the UK a couple of days ago. You know, lovely young couple, big church, lots of posh hats and union flags ... ring any bells?
Dean never ceases to surprise Sam, and his sudden interest in the royal wedding is especially perplexing.
Word Count: approx 200 words
Rated T for randy Dean getting down to business *blushes*
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, only in my dreams!
WHERE THERE'S A WILL
Gathering the willowy brunette in his arms, Dean pulled her tenderly into a lingering kiss, skilful fingers threading through long silken hair. Her slender arms wrapped around his muscular back kneading the firm flesh beneath his shirts with nimble manicured fingertips.
She pulled back diving into her lover's penetrating green gaze; "oh, Dean; what would William say?"
A moist tongue ghosted across full lips stained with smudged lipstick as he smirked mischeviously; "probably some crap like; 'oh, how ghastly; that dreadful common yank is banging my wife, la-di-dah, pass the port,' or whatever it is that posh English dudes say!"
She giggled breathlessly as his lips hungrily explored her slim neck, and their entwined bodies sank bonelessly onto the four-poster bed; a well-practiced palm gliding over slim legs, calloused fingertips tracing a lace stocking-top as he growled her name between harsh, panting breaths.
"Dean …" she sighed in glorious surrender
Bleary eyes snapped open and Dean peered sourly over the top of a frayed blanket which smelt faintly of sweat and lasagne.
The decidedly un-willowy brunette standing beside him moaning about rancid socks in the sink was in no way female, royal or beautiful.
Dean rolled over with a groan.
"My life sucks."