rockstarpeach: (rockstarpeach)
As promised...

I actually wrote Dean/Sam!! I wrote some Jensen/JDM as well, which I might post later, but I'm more nervous about that :) This is kind of... I don't know. Based on a prompt from the kink meme, but I went so far off the rails that I'm not sure it's still what they wanted :(

Title: So They Say
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Summary: Outsider POV. Sam and Dean are badass hunters of legend. People talk, but nobody knows their real story. Mild D/s.

He's heard of the Winchesters.

Hell, who hasn't? He's never met them, though. Never met anyone who's met anyone who's met them.

They're old school, legend. He's only just turned twenty, only been hunting for three years but he's heard of the Winchesters.

When he first see's them, he's not even sure it's them, not really. The few photographs he's seen were taken almost a decade ago and they look different, now. And since they're on their third round and he's not an idiot, he's already checked with the bartender. Dean Smith is the name on the credit card for their tab, but then he wasn't exactly expecting these guys to go by their real names.

People say that Sam raised Lucifer from Hell and set him free on Earth and that Dean boned a dozen angles and made one of them his bitch and that they were both, at one point or other, demons. They say Sam was born that way.

They say to stay far, far away because these two guys have left a trail of dead humans in their wake almost as long as the trail of monsters.

Some people say that they can't stand each other, some say it's always been that way and others say it's recent. Some say that they're lifelong hunting buddies, some say that they've been married longer than most hunters have been alive.

Some people even say that they're brothers, swear they knew a guy who knew a guy who met their dad way back when, but he doesn't think so. That generation is long gone, stories all that's left and he doesn't believe half of what he hears. If anyone can spin a tale, it's a hunter.

Besides, based on the way that they're looking at each other right now, he's putting his money on married.

They're not smiling, not exactly but they're clearly so... content, just being near each other. The bartender puts down two pint glasses on the bar in front of them, along with a plate wings.

“Kneel for me, Sammy,” the shorter one says and Sammy folds down gracefully, leans his head easily against Dean's thigh when Dean cups the back of his neck.

Okay, so... Okay. It's like that between them. That's something none of the stories ever mentioned. And hello? This might be a dank little dive, but it's a regular bar, not some sort of fetish club! You can't just go around... hand feeding someone carrot sticks while they kneel at your feet.

Except. You know. If you're a Winchester, apparently you can.

Because despite a couple of odd looks at Sam's initial drop, it doesn't take more than a cold, daring glance from either of the men before everyone finds their own drinks more interesting than the show Sam's putting on as he kneels.

Everyone except him.

He's still staring.

And they notice, they must because they've been at this for twenty years and they're still kicking so they must make a habit out of noticing things but they don't say anything to him.

Sam's quiet, doesn't move except where Dean directs him and when Dean passes him a chicken wing Sam makes a face, but dutifully licks all the sauce from Dean's fingers.

“That's my good boy,” Dean says. He passes Sam the second glass of beer. “Use your hands, baby.”

Sam takes the glass, drinks a large gulp and then he looks up at Dean, like he wants to say something.

Dean ignores him while he waves the bartender over, smiles at her and checks out her cleavage while he asks for a glass of water. He passes it down to Sam without a word when it comes and Sam trades it for his beer, drinks gratefully and greedily until the glass is empty.

Dean doesn't seem to miss the way people keep sneaking glances at them, at Sam and he tells his husband as much.

“You don't need to be ashamed, Sammy.”

“Of course not,” Sam answers, the first time he's heard him speak. “It's their problem if they don't get it. I'm proud that I'm yours.”

“Oh, they get it plenty,” Dean tells him. “This might be small town nowhere, but they get it. They're just jealous. And I don't blame them one bit. Love showing you off like this.”

Sam rolls his eyes – just barely – and Dean tugs sharply at the back of his hair until Sam bows his head.

“Good boy. Always my good boy.”

Dean feeds him a few more bites over the course of the next half hour and manages to flirt with no less than four other bar patrons who stand next to him while they order. Two of them look like they're going to take him up on it, but then then Sam conveniently coughs and they scurry away.

He just chuckles, from his corner seat.

Eventually they finish and Dean guides Sam up to stand next to him, tall and proud. Proud that they belong to each other. They mutter a few quiet words that he can't make out and then Dean nods and signs the bill and makes straight for the door, without waiting to see if Sam follows.

Sam doesn't.

Instead, he makes his way over.

“Enjoy the show?” Sam asks, looming, mouth against his ear. It sends a shiver down his spine and he swallows back his nerves. “It's not even close to over yet. You can run and tell all your little hunter friends about how the great and powerful Sam Winchester is really Dean's bitch, or you can come see for yourself. Dean doesn't really like an audience for the more... intimate things, but he indulges me, once in a while.”

He doesn't even have to think twice, throws a few bills down on the table and scampers out of the bar, after Sam.

Oh, he's going to be the most popular hunter around the pyre when he spins this tale.



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