Well. Hustler was supposed to be a oneshot, but after I posted it I realized that I had an entire fic up here in my head - possibly even a series. I told myself I wouldn't post, since a oneshot leaves a lot less dissapointed people than an unfinished fic, but since I wrote nearly thirty pages in like four days I decided this is worth posting.
The hope is that now that I've decided to post it my muse won't decide to take a vacation. We'll see.
Also, this fic was mostly written very quickly and very late at night while I was hopped up on caffine and sugar. As a result, the writing is a little more rushed than my usual. You have been warned.Edit:
I went back and extended this chapter, adding more to these scenes because there was something missing in the development of the two main relationships. Also, I added a little bit at the end, to explain what happened to Sam and Dawn's phones.
Note for the new scenes - if you don't know what a butterfly knife is, go here
. (God, I love these things. *knifegasm*)Warnings:
Sexy situations, breifly described violence and angst, and gratuitous use of the f-bomb. What can I say? It's a wonderful word.Disclaimer:
I claim no right to the characters, plot, or settings of Supernatural, Buffy, or Angel. Joss Whedon and Eric Kripke have that distinct honor.
Dawn and Faith managed to make it as far south as Oklahoma City by mid-December. According to Dawn’s count, they had now been on the road for eight months, two weeks, and three days; they had been to nearly eighty small towns and four large cities, and Faith had had seventeen separate one-night stands. In that time they had dusted thirty-six vamps, fourteen demons, five ghosts and a robot.
Now it was getting close to Christmas, and the next day they’d be hopping on a plane to Cleveland by way of Chicago. They were leaving the Council’s van in storage. After a week visiting family and friends at the New Watcher’s Council, they would fly back and pick up their journey where they left off.
But tonight, the two were planning on enjoying city life for all it was worth. Eighty small towns was a lot
Faith chose the club. It was a smaller, more ‘alternative’ affair, with black-painted walls and equally black-painted clientele. It was just the sort of place demons would congregate, which may have had something to do with her decision, subconsciously. The music was loud, the lighting dark, the booze cheap, and the air heavy with smoke of all kinds.
Dawn had been careful to pack a few club clothes without Buffy noticing, all those months ago. In that time she’d only had one other opportunity to wear them; when they were in Chicago barely a month into their trip. Now, she pulled them out – black jeans that fit like a second skin, a silky, loose red halter, and big silver jewelry, including her favorite silver cross. She did her makeup dark and smoky and piled her hair messily on her head, pinning it in place. She knew she looked like vamp-bait – especially exposing her neck like that – but she felt just cocky enough not to care. Still, her blessed silver stiletto blade went into her boot, a pair of hand crossbows into her bag, and a pair of thin wood stakes into her hair like chopsticks.
Faith agreed wholeheartedly with this attitude, dressing even more daringly in a backless black top and red leather pants. A stake and her knife went into her boots, as that was the only place on the whole outfit she could ever hope of concealing anything.
They left their motel at 9:45, walking to the club.
By 10:30, when they actually reached
the club, they had slain six vampires and saved a canoodling couple from an untimely demise. This, of course, left Faith in her usual post-slaying state – hungry and horny. Dawn was beginning to see what she meant.
It was good to be back in the city.
Dean pointed this out many times, loudly and with increasing vehemence as he drove around the city trying to find a place to park where he didn’t have to pay an exorbitant amount of money. They finally found a tiny lot, in back of a small Gothic club. The sign said “For Club Patrons Only” but Dean was so sick of driving around aimlessly that he simply reasoned that this place would be as good as any for picking up the trail of the case they were in town to investigate – a rash of kidnappings. They parked and ducked into the club.
They stuck out way more than they were used to. Ninety percent of the club’s patrons were dressed in black, black and white, black and red, or some variation on the theme, with mass amounts of makeup on even the guys. Dean’s bad-boy glare and leather jacket helped a little, but Sam’s height and clean-cut good looks left him sticking out like a sore thumb.
As if he wasn’t uneasy enough, Sam got the distinct feeling that not everyone in the room was human – though he wouldn’t have been able to single anyone out as such.
Sam got carded when they went for drinks, to Dean’s intense amusement. Sam only shot him a glare and pulled out the ID that proclaimed him “Samuel Miller”, age 23. The bartender gave him an eyebrow but passed him the beer anyway, and together the two brothers found a corner table and sat down.
It was a bit too loud to talk, even as far from the speakers as they were, so they resigned themselves to drinking and watching the crowd. After the first beer, Dean grabbed Sam’s jacket and pulled him over.
“There’s nothing here,” he said into his brother’s ear. “We should go find a real bar.”
Sam shook his head, turning to speak into Dean’s ear. “No, we have to stay. There’s definitely something here, I just don’t know what.”
Dean looked at Sam like he was crazy, so Sam sighed and pulled him in again. “Look, I’ve been getting a feeling. There’s something not right in here.”
sort of feeling? Or just a feeling?”
Sam rolled his eyes. His brother certainly had a way with words.
“Look, I just...” He trailed off helplessly, unable to explain.
This time when Dean pulled away he stared into his brother’s eyes, hazel meeting hazel, for a long moment. Finally he nodded.
“Alright. But if nothing happens soon I might start
Sam rolled his eyes and got up to get another round from the bar. Dean snickered at his back before turning his attention back to the club.
Just as Sam was sitting back down, Dean noticed a couple familiar faces coming through the entrance. He reached out and smacked his brother lightly on the arm, indicating the door.
Sam furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what Dean was looking at, and leaned over.
“Dude, that’s them. The lesbian chicks I told you about.”
“What, you mean from that town in Missouri? The one with the rabid dog sighting that was actually a rabid dog?”
“Yeah, yeah. Biker Chick and Babydoll. Shit, what’re the chances?”
“Not a whole hell of a lot.” Sam muttered, studying the two women. They were every bit as gorgeous as Dean had claimed, loudly and repeatedly. They were not, however, lesbian. True, the taller girl had her arm through the shorter’s, but the gesture was a protective one from both of them; there was no true sexual attraction there. Trust Dean to see what he wanted to see. What Sam saw was a pair of friends, possibly sisters, who understood how dangerous life could be and were determined to protect one another.
Babydoll – his brother’s nicknames for them fit surprisingly well – was the first to spot them. Her blue eyes widened, and she bumped Biker Chick with her shoulder, leaning down to speak in her ear.
Black-lined chocolate eyes swept over them, taking them both in with one intense gaze. Cherry lips twisted into a smug, satisfied smile, and Sam suddenly realized why Dean had talked about this chick for a week. She got under your skin, and without even speaking to you.
Dean, beside him, turned in his seat, sprawling out and opening his body towards them. He gave the two a smile and an eyebrow, raising his beer in a blatant invitation.
The girls had a quick, whispered conversation, then Babydoll headed for the bar while Biker surged onto the dance floor. Sam snickered at Dean’s expression – he would have called it a pout if he didn’t know his brother would pummel him for it.
“De-nied.” Sam said in Dean’s ear, prompting a growl.
Dawn smiled, watching Faith from the bar as she waited for her order. The Slayer had spotted a vamp on the floor right away, and was currently dancing her way towards it. As she watched, Faith sidled up to the vamp in question, grinding against him and running her hands down her body. One, two, three flashes of the strobe and suddenly she had a stake in her hand, another flash and both stake and vamp disappeared from view. Right there, on the dance floor, surrounded by people.
Dawn searched the crowd, but no one seemed to notice, and fortunately the Hustler Twins were too busy trading barbs to pay attention to anything else. She turned her attention back in time to see Faith dust another one, before turning and flashing her a thumbs-up. Coast clear. And now, surrounded by music and undulating bodies, Dawn was betting on horny over hungry.
Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Dawn turned and accepted the large basket of boneless hot wings and a pair of drinks – a margarita for herself, straight Southern Comfort for Faith. Wordlessly the two converged on the Hustlers’ table.
Faith met her halfway to the table, grabbing a wing from the basket and popping it into her mouth. The younger Hustler noticed them approaching and kicked his partner under the table. Hustler Two looked up in time to catch Faith licking hot sauce off her fingers as she moved. His eyes widened and he shifted in his seat, staring at Faith’s mouth. That prompted a smothered giggle from Dawn, and Faith shot her an amused look.
As they reached the table, Faith took her glass from Dawn, drained it, and set it down on the table with a thunk
. She grabbed the shell-shocked older guy by his collar and hauled him out of his seat, tossing Dawn a grin.
“We’ll be back.”
With that she dragged the poor man off onto the dance floor.
Dawn shook her head, settling herself down into the seat the man had just vacated. She turned to the younger man, who was laughing quietly behind his hand, and gave him a bright smile.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. Hi. I’m Dawn.”
She pushed the basket of wings towards him.
Dean was never much of a dancer, but what he was doing with Biker Chick was closer to fucking than dancing. As the thought passed through his head, he realized he still didn’t know her name, so he leaned down and asked her.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, one hand playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and pulled herself up to his ear. “Faith,” she drawled, her tongue brushing his ear on the “th”. Dean shivered and let his hands drop lower, resting them just above her ass, and turned his head slightly so she could hear him.
“Hi, Faith, I’m Dean.”
She chuckled and turned, her body maintaining contact with his. Now back-to-front, she rested her head back against his shoulder and rolled her hips in time to the music, eliciting a groan and a possessive squeeze from her dance partner. Grinning slyly, she reached up and pulled his ear down to her mouth again.
“Are we all acquainted now?”
Dean nodded wordlessly, the job momentarily forgotten, his entire world focused down to the girl in his arms. They danced for a few minutes more, winding each other up, until Faith went the extra step and attached her lips to the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Dean’s eyes fluttered closed, as some far-off portion of his brain wondered if she was a vampire, or maybe a succubus, because he didn’t think a human woman could get him worked up like this without having some sort of magical help.
Her lips moved away and he opened his eyes and looked down at her, unable to hold down a chuckle. “You know,” he said, “usually I have to do my own seducing.”
She gave him another rattlesnake smile. “Not tonight, baby.” Fisting a hand in his shirt, she yanked him down to her level and kissed him with the force of a freight train.
Dean growled low into her mouth, kissing back with everything he had. This chick was frikkin’ dangerous
– something about her just pushed his every button and then some.
Apparently he was getting to her, too, because she gave up even the pretense of dancing. One leather-clad leg slid around his calf, pulling her flush against his thigh. Her hands were everywhere, skimming dark-painted nails from his hair down his neck, tracing the muscles of his chest and arms, smoothing down to the small of his back – and that’s when she froze and broke the kiss, eyebrow cocked, and Dean suddenly remembered the .45 he’d tucked into the waistband of his pants.
He opened his mouth to come up with some sort of silly excuse, a lie to assure her he wasn’t a crazy killer. But then he looked down into her eyes and realized she didn’t look frightened at all. Instead she looked sort of intrigued, like maybe the gun added a level of mystery to his already sexily mysterious façade. So Dean just gave her a sly smile.
She returned the smile, her own less sly and more searching. And then she started to drop, slithering
down his body in what had to be the sexiest frisking he’d ever gotten. And a frisking it was, because she ran a hand over the military blade in his boot and grinned, as if she had just won a bet with herself.
She locked a hand in his belt and smoothly dragged herself back up his body, keeping in contact the entire time. When she was fully standing, the leg still wrapped around his calf continued moving, up, up, until it settled at an almost impossible angle around his hips. He could feel his eyes widen, and he didn’t really care – that was quite possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
She cocked her head, still smiling, and swung her calf around so it was bent under her butt, the inside of her thigh still pressed warm against his side. She reached down and lifted the hem of her pants, revealing a gleaming silver butterfly knife, folded closed and wedged tightly into her girly heeled combat boot.
Dean’s eyebrows hit the roof. He’d been wrong. Now that
was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. God, the flexibility, the sheer control
she had to have just to do that move, let alone make it as slow and sexy as... And the knife
. Butterfly knives were illegal in half of the world, including some US states. They required extra skill to use well, and those that knew how were artists, performers; flipping the blade around their hands, handles fluttering like the insect it was named for. And no one carried one unless they knew how to use it.
Looks like his assessment of dangerous
was more true than he had thought. Did it make him a twisted sonofabitch if that fact somehow just made her sexier?
“Don’t ask, don’t tell?” she asked, as if answering his unspoken question, her voice husky and right there in his ear. He nodded and yanked her to him again, bending her back with the force of his kiss.
That was just fine with him.
Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard. Dawn was a joy, both to listen to and to look at. Her delicate hands gesticulated wildly in the air as she regaled him with tales of her family in Cleveland and her roadtrip with Faith.
“So my sister gets Spike in this judo-armlock and starts dunking him headfirst into the sink, yelling that if she ever finds out he’s been buying the girls porn again she’ll hang him by his ankles out the third-story window. Meanwhile, Faith has already gotten the mags out of the trash and hidden them in her room, and she tells the girls that they’re welcome to raid her sex-toy drawer whenever they feel like it.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh at that, imagining an older Dawn dunking a big, beefy biker guy named Spike in a sink. The image was just too ridiculous. Dawn laughed along with him, sipping at her girly pink margarita. Her eyes swept over the dance floor for a moment.
“Oh, man. Looks like Faith’s planning on a late night tonight,” she said, and Sam followed her gaze. On the dance floor Dean and Faith were making out like they were trying to suck each other’s brains out through their mouths, arms and legs all tangled and pressed so tightly against each other it was hard to see where one ended and the other began.
Sam groaned. “Oh man, I so
don’t want to sleep in the car tonight.”
Dawn laughed brightly, picking up another wing from the half-eaten basket on the table in front of them. “Too bad, because I am not sleeping in the van tonight. I don’t care what she says.” She delicately bit off half of the wing and chewed thoughtfully, regarding Sam with a tilted head.
“What?” he asked, thrown off by her sudden pensiveness.
“Well. I know I don’t know you very well, but I’d hate to see you kicked out of your room because of Faith.” She popped the other half of the wing in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. “Our suite has two queens – you can crash on Faith’s bed if they end up staying at your place.”
Sam blinked at her generous and possibly very foolish offer. “That’s very nice of you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’ve slept in the car before, it isn’t that big a deal.”
She smiled a little. “Yeah, we’ll see about that. When it gets to be three in the morning and you want nothing more than to fall into bed ‘cause you’re dead tired, you’ll change your mind.”
“How do you know I’ll be tired at three?” Sam asked, thinking about the all-nighters he’d pulled recently.
“Because,” Dawn replied, “now that Faith and your brother are back to watch the coats, you and I are going to dance until we drop.” Sam looked up in time to see Dawn pass Faith her half-finished drink before the slight girl grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. Sam shot a pleading look over his shoulder at Dean, who only gave him a broad smile and a waggle of the eyebrows before plopping down into the recently vacated chair and pulling Faith down onto his lap. Faith ignored them, setting to the wings with a will.
Sam had always felt like an idiot on the dance floor. He was too gangly, all arms and legs and big, stupid feet. Any grace and economy of movement he had he’d always saved for fighting. Jess had told him several times that he thought about it too much, was too concerned about looking like an idiot, and that when he let go and just had fun he was actually a pretty good dancer. He usually had to have a few shots in him for that to work, though, and tonight he’d only had a couple of beers. Still, he tried.
After a few minutes, though, Dawn gave him an exasperated sigh and halted, locking her hands around his waist to still his movements. Sam stopped, feeling his face flush with embarrassment, and snuck a look back at the table to make sure Dean wasn’t watching. Fortunately, his big brother’s attention was focused on Faith. On her lips, specifically, as she told him some story, probably one of the ones Dawn had just finished telling him
Dawn caught his attention with a snap of her fingers, indicating that he should pay attention to her
She lifted a finger in the general direction of the music.
Sam cocked his head, listening. The song was some heavy, pulsing thing he didn’t recognize.
He started when Dawn pulled herself flush against him, bodies connected from stomach down almost to their knees. She grabbed his hands and settled them on her waist, then placed her own firmly on his hips. God, she felt tiny under his big, stupid hands. This was not going to end well.
“Pay attention,” she chided.
And she began to move. The pressure between their bodies and from her hands brought him along with her, and he found the rhythm surprisingly quickly. Slow rocking, swinging from side to side, perfectly in time with the music and somehow more suited to the pulsing beat than whatever he’d been attempting before.
Her huge blue eyes, dark and flickering in the colored lights, caught his and held them. He let himself fall into them, barely blinking, as the music enveloped them.
Dawn, not dropping his gaze, let her hands loosen and slide up his body. Sam took that as a cue, and let his own hands move a little. He could still feel her body, guiding him, so when the song changed to something slightly more pounding and less pulsing, he found himself slipping smoothly into the new rhythm.
He smiled, then, suddenly understanding what Jess had been trying to tell him for years.
Dawn smiled back, a bit of pride creeping into the twist of her candy-pink lips. She ran her hands down his arms, coming to rest on his hands at her hips. And then the pressure was gone, her body pulling away from his just slightly, like a parent letting go of a child to ride their first bike alone.
Sam’s rhythm stuttered a bit, and then he found it again. Dawn smiled wider and moved further away, and Sam found himself stepping back in opposition, hips still keeping the beat, now connected to Dawn only by their intertwined fingers.
He watched her carefully, noting the way the rest of her body flowed, connected, followed her hips. How she could make the simplest motion – she was just rocking from side to side, really – seem exotic, just by angling her body a certain way. How her movements seemed to follow the music, as if it was controlling her somehow. He tried to mimic, letting his body fall back, loose, lazy, like the song.
He couldn’t really match her natural ability, but by the time the song switched again he thought he’d pretty much gotten the hang of it.
This song was faster still, and Dawn swung into a slightly different step without blinking. This one was smaller, closer, but simultaneously had more of a roll in the hips.
Sam didn’t think he’d even want to try it, knowing how silly a movement like that could look on a man. Instead he let the beat travel up his body until he was leading with his shoulders, not really matching Dawn’s movements but trying to complement them.
Dawn let out a surprised huff of breath, looking him up and down approvingly. “You learn fast,” she commented, and started moving back in closer.
Sam, instead of bending his elbow to compensate for the change, raised their joined hands over Dawn’s head. Automatically, she spun halfway around, coming to rest with her back against him, never losing step. Her other hand broke from his, snaking around to meet it again at her waist.
With a start Sam realized this wasn’t the usual bump-and-grind of a high school prom. This was actual dancing
, and he had just led Dawn into a step completely by accident. Sure, it wasn’t anything as complicated as ballroom or swing or salsa, but the basic idea was still the same.
He studied her for a moment, noting how one arm was crossed over her chest and the other around her waist, each meeting one of his hands lightly. He waited for the right time in the music and then moved his hands, guiding her back around until she was all untangled and facing him again.
Her smile was dazzling.
“You’re a natural, Sam.”
He blushed, smiling back.
“Thanks. This is...better. Than how I’m used to dancing.”
“You mean like that?” she asked, indicating a couple a few feet away who were bumping awkwardly against each other. Sam laughed.
“Hah, yeah. Pretty much just like that.”
She laughed as well, studying him.
“Wanna try something else?”
He cocked his head at her, the question unspoken. She only smiled enigmatically and turned her body perpendicular to his, her far hand breaking from his and coming to rest behind her back. She wiggled her fingers, indicating that he should take her hand from the new position.
He did so, curious. She moved her arms slowly, leading him around and turning herself until they were back-to-back. She paused, letting that part sink in, then continued the motion, turning him completely in place. They were now facing each other, hands crossed in front of them. She lifted a hand and spun under his arm, somehow managing to end facing him, completely untangled.
Dawn laughed and put her hand behind her back again.
This time she didn’t pause between steps, turning them once, twice, three times in a row. Miraculously, they ended untangled again, and Sam started to get the idea.
This time he let go of her hand first, giving it a little push to indicate that it should move behind her back. She complied easily and they swung into the turn, arms flying overhead. By the time they were facing each other again, both were laughing.
They fell back into the dance, moving back and forth and occasionally turning, as if they actually knew what they were doing. Sam started actively trying to lead, experimenting with new things. Like turning with his hands held low behind his back, the way he’d seen the men doing in the TV salsa competition Jess had been watching that one time. It wasn’t like Dawn’s arms could reach over his head anyway.
And there he was, thinking about Jess again. He stopped, suddenly sobering.
“What is it?” Dawn asked immediately.
“Huh?” Sam replied. “Oh. Nothing, really.” Dawn’s eyes said that she didn’t believe that for a minute, and he sighed. “I just...I had this girlfriend. She died, a few years back.”
Dawn bit her lip, sympathetic and confused at the same time. Sam flashed her the ghost of a smile.
“She was always trying to teach me to dance, but she would get so frustrated...I guess I just wish she could see me now.”
Dawn nodded in understanding, taking his hands with an encouraging smile.
“You’d be surprised at what the dead can see.”
About half an hour later the wings were gone and Faith knew a little bit more about the man she fully intended to fuck senseless later. He and his brother were drifters, moving from town to town, surviving on hustling and odd jobs, and generally out to see America before they got old and had to settle down. He was also not telling her something, something that had to do with the esoteric-looking amulet around his neck and the pistol at the small of his back. But she only wanted to fuck him, not marry him, and Lord knew he couldn’t be the most evil thing she’d ever fucked, whatever his story. That honor went to the demon masquerading as a human she’d had a one-night stand with back in Ohio, barely a week into their trip – it had tried to eat her, and not in a good way. Immediately afterward she had called and berated Xander for passing on his demon-dating curse.
She noticed Dean regarding her from under heavy lashes and tossed him a grin, running a finger from his knee up his thigh. He shivered.
“Are we done here?” he asked, indicating the club with a lazy wave of his hand. She smiled.
“I think we are. Your place or mine?”
Dean’s face split into a wide grin, glad he hadn’t misread the signs. A little voice in the back of his head warned him that it was all too easy, too good to be true; he squashed that voice immediately.
“Mine,” he replied. “Sam can sleep in the car. I’ll go let him know.”
Dean stood, his hazel eyes scanning the dance floor for his brother. Usually it was not hard to pick Sam out in a crowd; standing at six foot four in his stocking feet had its perks. But tonight there seemed to be a plethora of tall, lanky, dark-haired guys on the dance floor, and there was no way he was going to be able to find Dawn. He frowned, touching his fingers lightly to Faith’s shoulder.
“I don’t see them.”
“Maybe they went out to get some fresh air?” Faith asked. Dean turned to look at her and noticed with approval that she already had her coat on and was carrying Dawn’s coat and purse. Faith looked down and at the same moment they both came to the same conclusion.
“No way Dawn would have gone outside without her coat,” Faith breathed. “She’s a Cali girl through and through.”
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat both saw their own fear reflected in the other’s eyes. Then Faith blinked and the moment was broken.
She pulled out her phone, flipping it open against her hip and hitting a button. A cheery ring tone began emitting from the coat in her hands, and Faith grimaced and hung up. She dug in the pocket until she came out with what had to be Dawn’s cell.
Dean didn’t even bother. He just reached into the folds of Sam’s jacket and pulled out his brother’s phone. They exchanged looks.
“I’ll go that way, you go this way. Meet at the door.”
Dean nodded at her very sensible suggestion and they split up.