Title: 12 Days of Crossovers: Five Rules
Rating: R, for some profanity and sexual situations
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Taylor Townsend
Spoilers: Miscellaneous spoilers for the S4 premiere of Supernatural and S4 of The O.C..
Summary: One night stands might come without strings attached, but that doesn't mean there aren't rules.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and The O.C. were created by Eric Kripke and Josh Schwartz, respectively. No profit is being made from the use of any of the recognizable characters.
Author's Note: Written for my own personal 12 Days of Crossovers fic challenge. Pairing and prompt provided by halfway2home. This one turned out to be insanely fun to write...I hope it's not too cracktastic. Many thanks to monimala for helping me come up with Taylor's rules.
Newport Beach wasn't hell--if anyone was qualified to know, it was Dean--but it just might count as purgatory. Oh, sure, the eye candy was nice, and there were undoubtedly some kick-ass golf courses. But seriously, a coven that called itself the 'Newpsies'? That was just shameful.
On the plus side, said coven had been efficiently disbanded, which Dean was pretty sure would put a significant dent in the local Botox and lipo trade, but what was a guy to do? Safeguarding the general populace pretty much trumped any ill effects on the economy. If anything, a job so well done deserved a nice, cold beer. Or six.
After wandering around the pier for a while, indulging in a funnel cake (because who didn't love a funnel cake?), Dean found himself outside a place called The Bait Shop. The name was a little cheesy, and felt like a weak double-entendre, but there was supposed to be live music, so he ducked inside.
It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the dim interior. The place was reasonably crowded for a weeknight, but not so packed that there wasn't room to move, and he easily made his way to the centrally-located bar. Nodding at the bartender, he quickly ordered a beer and proceeded to scope out the scenery.
The crowd was younger than he had expected, and he realized that it was probably an all-ages club. That was going to make trolling for chicks a little trickier, because, hello, The Jailbait Shop really wasn't what he had in mind.
Leaning against the bar, he took a long pull from the frosty bottle, and mentally catalogued the top five candidates. The busty blonde six feet to his left seemed especially promising, if the belly-button ring glinting in the club lights was anything to go by. Which it totally was. He started casually moving in that direction when a slightly perky voice stopped him cold.
"She's still in high school."
He turned, vaguely annoyed but also grateful, and nodded. "Thanks for the tip."
"The older crowd doesn't usually show up until later," she added helpfully. "After curfew."
"Good to know." He gave her the once over, because that's what he did. She wasn't bad--long wavy hair (maybe light brown? It was hard to tell in there), pretty face, decent rack. She was sipping on a straw poked in some kind of fancy water bottle, and he cocked one eyebrow. "What about you?" he asked. "You have a curfew?"
She shook her head. "Not for years. I do, however, have a few rules."
"Rules for what? Talking to guys in bars?"
For the record? Beer coming out the nose? Hurts. "Excuse me?" he spluttered.
She gazed up at him, all wide-eyed innocence that he realized was totally, completely fake. "That is why you're here, isn't it? Find a pretty girl, take her back to your hotel or apartment or dorm or whatever, give her a night you're quite convinced she'll never forget, and then never see her again?"
Well, when she put it that way... "What kind of rules are we talking about here?"
She smiled. "Buy me a drink, and I might consider telling you."
Rule #1 was protection. She was on the Pill, but he had to wear a condom. He certainly wasn't going to argue, because if he got her knocked up, he might have to come back to this Godforsaken vortex of rich people. He really didn't want to do that unless there were demons to be killed.
"Do you have condoms?" she asked as he turned the key in the Impala's ignition.
"Of course," he replied, a little defensively.
"I was just asking. But I have my own. So we don't have to stop, either way."
"Glad that's settled."
Rule #2 was that they weren't allowed to kiss on the mouth. Girl had totally seen Pretty Woman too many times. And he was blaming Sammy for the fact that he even got that reference.
"If it's good enough for Julia Roberts, it's good enough for me," she said primly...or as primly as a person could when she was in the midst of getting a truly spectacular hickey, which meant it was more 'gasping' than 'prim.'
"You do realize that it was a character played by Julia Roberts, and not Julia Roberts herself? And that she was a hooker?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank you, I am aware of those salient facts."
"Good, because I'm willing to do a lot of things, but pay for sex is not one of them."
He's pretty sure she would have slapped him, if he hadn't chosen that moment to kiss her. On the mouth. Rules were for pussies.
Except the condom one. That was just good sense.
Rule #3 was that he wasn't allowed to compare her breasts to any kind of fruit. Which was completely absurd, because who did that anyway?
"What kind of a rule is that?"
"The kind with a long, sordid story that I'm not about to share with someone I've known for an hour and thirty-seven minutes," she snapped as she shimmied out of her blouse.
Years of practice had him unclasping her bra in a matter of seconds. "So you'll have sex with me, but I'm not allowed to use fruit metaphors? Because they really are like ripe..."
One small hand clamped over his mouth, the other snaked down his jeans to wrap around his cock. "First off, that's a simile. Second, if you finish that sentence, I will castrate you."
Okay, so clearly the peaches comparison could wait until after the first orgasm.
Rule #4 was that they weren't allowed to stay in bed past 10 a.m.
"I'm all for the early bird getting the worm--" or the blowjob, if she was so inclined-- "but why not?"
"Because if you make it to brunch, then it's not a one-night thing."
Huh. That actually made a certain amount of sense. "So what you're saying is that we have..." he squinted at the clock, "ten hours and twelve minutes to satisfy any and all sexual fantasies before going our separate ways forever?"
"Something like that," she replied, catching his earlobe between her teeth and tugging gently.
"I can work with that," he hissed, hands skimming down her back, tugging her tighter against his body.
"Still," she said, wrapping her legs around his hips, "we shouldn't waste any time."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She didn't tell him Rule #5 until he was buried deep inside her.
"There's just one...last...thing," she gasped out, head flung back, hair a caramel-colored (dammit, Sammy) halo on the pillow.
"Hmmm?" was all he could manage at that particular moment.
Several seconds later, she mumbled, "You are absolutely not allowed to fall madly, passionately in love with me."
He waited until she stopped screaming his name and opened her eyes before replying. "Sweetheart, I'm pretty sure you need to worry more about falling madly, passionately in love with me." Then, just for good measure, he kissed her...on the mouth.
Rules were totally for pussies.
(Except the condom one.)