A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.
To my readers: Don't be too concerned about who is going to end up with who.
Warning: This chapter contains a bit of naughty stuff. Not too graphic by any means but a little risqué.
I apologize for any errors. I'll do a clean-sweep later.
Please enjoy the chapter! Read and Review.
Early April 2008
Hermione hung up the hotel phone and laid back into the fluffy cushions of the bed for a few seconds, relishing the strain taken off her bruised and aching body. In thirty minutes, her room service would be here, and she'd enjoy her first meal since yesterday's lunch. She made a good load last time she swung through Vegas, so maybe she could stay for a couple of days and enjoy the pool and spa and the local cinema. What was playing? My Blueberry Nights looked positively estrogen-friendly, but 21 looked fine. She should search online and see what else there was to do in this town.
Following a few minutes of resting, she climbed off the bed and stripped. A little bit torn and worn around the edges, but her clothes would be all right. The angry spirit of Anne Wilhelm didn't take kindly to being put to rest forcefully, but that nasty wench was cutting up Honeymooners at that old B&B on Main Street.
While checking her injuries in the loo, she allowed the hot water to run in the shower before hopping in. The rivulets felt wondrous on her skin, and she let them do their cleansing magic on the graveyard dirt embedded into her hair, hands, and underneath her fingernails.
After washing off, she leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes for a few minutes before shutting off the water and wrapping her hair in a towel. Her room came with a robe, so she slipped it on and padded out in the bedroom and dug for pajamas in her bag and settled on an old, plaid button up shirt that went to her knees. She then carefully combed her hair, wincing at the knots she came across and twisted the tresses up into a bun.
The remote to the telly was found in the bedside table. She opened up the cupboard harboring her entertainment until bedtime and flipped it on and rifled through the channels until settling on the History Channel. Ironically, it was showing a documentary about demonic possession. Twenty seconds in, she knew the entire show was a pitiful attempt at scaring late night watchers.
The food finally arrived at a quarter to eight, and she opened the door to let the server in with the tray. She took it from the young woman and bid her a thanks and goodnight and set it down on the table next to the window. The drapes were slightly pulled apart, so she could see the town as she dined on her beef stew and garlic bread. "Mmm." She licked her lips and sighed contently. Definitely worth the twenty dollars.
Hermione washed her hands and brushed and flossed her teeth, readying herself for bed when she heard a knock at the door. Frowning, she wiped her mouth on a hand towel and went to the door and peered through the spyglass and grunted in annoyance, opening the door and saying, "Seriously. How did you find me?"
"You stole our hunt," Sam stated. "Plus, Jean Potter is a dead giveaway. Using your middle name as an alias…"
"Ugh." Hermione stepped away so Sam could come in. "I know why you came to see me, and all I can say is that I haven't found anything. If I had, I would have called you. But…I do plan on taking a trip to New Orléans in the next few weeks. Always hunts to find there. Anyway, I'll check in the local hoodoo shops down there and ask some questions. See if they can help me. I'll be sure to not drop a name. You Winchesters are getting bad rep these days. With what happened in Wyoming, and everyone knows about Dean now. Ellen is uh…upset." Hermione looked down at her wringing fingers. "And so is Jo."
"So am I," whispered Sam and brushed by her and sat down at the table, eyeing her tray of dishes. He nudged it experimentally and said, "How do you pay for all this? The nice hotels and the room service."
Hermione shrugged and sat down on the bed closest to him, being careful as to sit a certain way, so he couldn't have a gander up her nightshirt. "My secret to keep. Although, I don't always stay in places like these. Sometimes I get stuck with the ones with the suspicious stains, too."
Sam forced a smile. "You'll find that hex bag, right? You promised."
Hermione exhaled softly and gave Sam a tired look. "I said I'd try. If I can't find it, then I can't find it. I'm sorry if it comes down to that."
"Then you won't get your spell."
She looked down at her lap. "Then I won't get my spell, but you'd truly deny me it if I failed?"
Sam said nothing, but his jaw twitched and his nose was kind of scrunching. His fingers tapped on the wood of the table in a fast rhythm. After a minute of this, he sighed and shook his head and stared at her, his eyes travelling from her face to the exposed parts of her legs. She hurriedly covered up the surgical scar on her left thigh with hand and stood to let her nightshirt cover it fully.
"Don't. Please don't," she said calmly.
But he did.
His hand found her knee, and he pressed a long thumb into the fleshy part above, the tip coming into contact with the bottom of the scar.
"Sam," she warned and his palm moved up and grasped her thigh.
He gently needed her leg and said, "I can feel it. The plate. Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore, but you need to…"
"Stop me," he dared and she was surprised by his boldness. His fingers were inching towards the inner part of her leg, tracing patterns on their way.
It didn't feel bad.
"I'm sure your brother is wondering where you are?"
Sam stood up and towered over her, and she realized without her shoes, she came to his chest. Like her, he was wearing plaid only his was green and hers was red.
The fingers returned, but this time they came to her neck and down to her collarbone, landing at the top button of her nightshirt. He bent down and brushed his nose against her hairline, inhaling deeply before taking a step back and shirking his shirt and wife-beater in one smooth extraction.
She covered her eyes and laughed softly, a tad embarrassed from his flawlessly defined torso and seeing that he was in fact demon-less. The anti-possession tattoo above his heart relieved her.
"Sam," she said again, but this time in amusement.
She felt hands on her elbows, and he said, "Lift them for me."
"No." She laughed which stopped instantly when he dropped to his knees and lifted the hem of her shirt up to her belly.
He made a high-pitched chortle and said, "Cute," and skimmed the elastic of her panties with a forefinger and tapped at the clear patch above her right hip. It was her Nicorette patch, having gave up smoking a few weeks ago after trying to run away from a werewolf, only to be tackled and nearly bitten. Luckily, she was able to cleanly stab her silver knife into the thing's chest.
"You like Lamb Chops?" she asked and squeaked when feeling wet point swipe above the elastic.
Her underwear was practical and tasteful and fun. She was a hunter, not a model or girlfriend. Cotton was lovely on the bum and the lady parts when fighting or trying to run away from zombies. Silk and satin, in her line of work, were unnecessary. She wasn't sexually active. Hadn't been with a gentleman in…well…a long time. Sex was messy and complicated and doing it casually always led to misunderstandings and disappointment. Surely, Sam knew this. He was an educated bloke and not promiscuous like his brother.
"Yes. Lay down."
Not providing her anytime to answer, he pushed his face into her stomach and urged her bum on the mattress while tugging at her knickers. They slid off her legs, and Sam unhooked them from her ankles and tossed them aside and then stood to place his mouth on hers.
Oh.
Sam was very good at this, and she was having a difficult time keeping up. He kisses were fast and primitive, and it was like he was snogging her with his entire body. With little trouble, she was on her back and being smothered by a giant, and she hardly minded. Her eyes would flutter shut and snap open when his tongue would do something unexpected and new. She sighed in gratitude when he finally ventured away from her mouth, allowing her lips to rest and her lungs to gather in breath.
Teeth grazed her pulse point, and she yelped and wiggled her legs. Molten hot butterflies swarmed inside her belly, and she hadn't felt such a thing in so long, it was like experiencing it for the first time. It was rather uncomfortable and pleasant all at the same time.
Hermione kept her eyes trained on the ceiling. This had gotten entirely out of hand, and she should really make Sam stop, but he was so eager and enthusiastic. Effortlessly, his fingers unbuttoned her nightshirt, and he was making these manly, grunting sounds mixed with appreciation.
She didn't like, though, how her calves were chaffing against his jeans. "Take your pants off," she mumbled.
"My shoes. It'll take too long."
Despite Sam's latching onto a very sensitive place, she scoffed and glared down at him. "Planning your quick escape already, are you?"
He detached and replied, "No. I just don't want to waste any time."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I can't wait."
"Take off your pants. I know you want this, but at least make it enjoyable for me."
Sam's features darkened and the next few words he said weren't cocky in the least but dangerously promising. "Oh, I will," he said and easily flipped her over and she got a mouthful of fluffy pillow. Her eyes widened, and her stomach clenched unsurely. She raised her head and craned it to stare at Sam who was eying her backside in consideration.
"Don't even think ab-"
SMACK!
"Ow!" She shoved her heel into the side of his leg which he barely registered. "That is not enjoyable!"
"I must've done it wrong." He cupped her bum and rubbed soothingly, the stinging lessening little by little. "Sorry."
"Hmmph," she noised and pressed the side of her face into the pillow and looked at Sam from the corner of her eye. "If we do this, we do it simply. I don't need to be spanked. I've been a good girl."
Sam lifted up the back of her nightshirt and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the base of her spine, taking perverse little nibbles from the tops of her rump. "I don't know about that," he murmured into her skin.
The rising sun shining between the parted curtains landed on Hermione's face. She pinched her face and rolled over, feeling each sore, achy part of her body. Her eyes slit open and was surprised to see Sam still beside her and deep in sleep. He was on his back with his head turned towards her, and the sheet and comforter were twisted around his torso. Brown, fluffy hair was in disarray and stuck to the pillow supporting him.
Hermione closed her eyes and yawned, stretching her limbs and groaned as they screamed in protest. Especially her legs. Oooh. Ouchie. Sam may come off all gentle and considerate, but he truly was an animal. Phew! His stamina was insane, and his refractory period was laughable. The man didn't have one, it seemed like. He just kept going like the bloody Energizer Bunny!
"Sammy," she moaned sleepily with her hands above her head, trying to work out the kinks, "you're in the wrong line of work. Oh!" Several pops travelled up her spine, and she melted back into the mattress, boneless. She messaged her eyelids and yawned again, her belly growling.
"Food." Gingerly, she slithered out of bed and muffled every pained noise she wanted to make. When she finally got to her feet, she decided it would be best to hop from one foot the other. Simple walking could prove to be excruciating. She definitely needed to take a couple of ibuprofen, but first, breakfast. She hopped to the other side of the bed, careful not to disturb Sam, and picked up the room's phone and ordered room service.
"The blueberry waffles. Yes. Can you add chocolate chips? Mmmm. And an extra side of whipped cream and another side of sliced strawberries." She glanced at Sam's slackened, sleeping face, and she sighed. "Double that order, would you? Oh, and some lemon tea, please. No milk for that, obviously. Good. Thanks." She hung up the phone and tiptoed towards the bathroom for what was sure to be the most painful piss of her life.
It had all been good fun in the moment, sure, but Sam—dear Samuel—was overwhelming, anatomically speaking.
Hermione inspected the markings littering her body while standing in front of the mirror. Some bruises were from the hunt, but many of the others were from Sam. Her lips were tender and a tad swollen, and there were hickeys all over her neck and in other more shameful places.
After washing her hands, she slipped on her robe and went back into the room, stumbling over Sam's jeans. She toed off the garment and was hit with an idea, and hesitation eluded her. She dove for the trousers and dug through the pockets, coming up with his wallet and cellphone. Choosing the wallet first, she opened it and fingered every possible compartment, only seeing a few twenty-dollar bills encased in a money clip, a few identification cards with different names, and a few credit cards and insurance cards, and two condoms. Deeming the wallet useless, she shoved it back where it went and started in on the phone and cracked Sam's lock-code on the second time with a 012479.
In the past ten hours, Dean had called eleven times and left six messages and fourteen text messages. Curiosity got the better of her, and she went through the texts, most of them asking where his brother was.
Geesh, Sammy. How long does it take to get beer?
Did you stop for food? I'm starving.
I want pie.
Sam?
Where are you, dude? Not at the liquor store and not at Biggerson's.
You went to see her, didn't you? Dammit, Sammy. She's trouble!
Hermione scrolled down a little ways and got to the last text, sent at three in the morning.
You slept with her, didn't you?
She exited out of Sam's inbox and found his documents and came upon a file under Doc7. Inside was a list of ingredients that had to have been for a ritual. She read the list, her eyes narrowing with each ingredient.
Blood. A lot. And fresh.
She spared Sam a look to make sure he was still sleeping and quickly found a pad of hotel paper and a pen, jotting down the information and stowing it away in her purse. Her mind numbed at the prospect of attaining that much blood for the spell.
It wasn't a summoning spell but instructions on carrying out a sacrifice to a god. A human life for a visit from Loki.
Hermione sat down at the table and studied Sam's sleeping form, a deep pensive frown etched on her face. He was never going to give her the spell. The man saw an opportunity for an exchange but had no real intention of fulfilling his end of the bargain. Not if it required bleeding a civilian dry. She suspected that even if she had found the hex bag that'd get Dean off Lilith's grid, Sam wouldn't give it to her. Blood on her hands would be blood on his, too.
When breakfast arrived, Hermione took the cart from the server and wheeled it into the room. The clanking of the dishes roused Sam from his slumber. He smiled sluggishly at her and stretched his long arms over his head before scratching his chest. Silently, she put together her meal, piling her waffle with her extra serving of whipped cream and strawberries and smothering it in maple syrup. She then sat back down at the table and started and said, "Got you some breakfast. Eat up. I'll be leaving soon."
"Thanks," he said and got out of bed and put on his discarded boxers. He took a dish from the cart and joined her at the table. He grinned in surprise at the artistic creation on her plate. "You have a sweet tooth."
Hermione licked her lips, erasing any evidence of cream and syrup. "You were never going to give me that spell, were you, Sam?"
His fork paused midway to his mouth for a brief second and then continued its journey to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before answering. "No."
"But you still wanted my help in saving Dean."
"I wasn't going to allow you to kill someone, Hermione. The spell-"
"I went through your phone," Hermione interrupted unashamedly, ignoring Sam's affronted expression. "I found it."
He put his fork down and got up from his seat. "I'm going to go. Dean's probably wondering where I am."
"He knows."
"You called him?"
"I went through your text messages. You don't give your brother enough credit, Sam."
"Thanks for breakfast." He pulled his trousers up and buckled his belt.
A bit peeved, Hermione gripped her butter knife. "Is that the only thing you're thankful for?"
"Last night was a mistake. Obviously."
"Oh, really!" She leapt to her feet at that and marched towards him, her wagging finger almost touching his. "You came here, Sam Winchester, for one thing and one thing only. You got it, but now that you had it-"
"You invaded my privacy."
"Well, you invaded a lot more than that. My trust, for one. Me, for another."
Putting on his plaid shirt, he said coolly, "I'll be gone in a minute, and we won't have to see each other ever again. Forget about helping Dean."
"I'll still look."
Sam grabbed his shoes and sat down at the edge of the bed. "You saw the spell. Are you going to do it?"
"No." Hermione shook her head and messaged the back of her neck. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Good. Whatever beef you have with him, it's not worth killing over or being killed over. Trust me on that."
A few minutes later, he was gone and Hermione went into the loo to look in the mirror and whispered, "You've come this far. You can't stop now."
To be continued...