First of all, I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I'm currently in x-ray tech school, and I just finished up my finals. I've got a 2-week break before I start summer classes, so I'm going to do my best to catch up on all my stories, and finish up this one. I've got one more chapter after this one, and I hope to have it up either later today (really like tonight, LATE tonight) or tomorrow. This chapter is short, I know, but it's been giving me all kinds of hell. I keep trying to add more at the end, and I end up taking it back off, and I finally just said I'm posting it like this. The next chapter, the closing one, will be longer, I promise.

Special thanks to kaitline24, who keeps pushing me to get my rear in gear and finish this!

**Nothing from Charmed or Supernatural belongs to me.**

Chapter Twenty-Four

*The Honeymoon*

Melinda woke up slowly, feeling the sun warm her bare back, and she smiled. She reached out a hand, reaching to touch her husband, but all she felt were cool sheets. She sat up, pulling the sheets around her, pushing her hair out of her face. It was still curly, left over from the night before. From her wedding.

Melinda smiled again as she looked down at her hand, seeing the new band lying beside her engagement ring. She closed her eyes as the smell of coffee hit her, and she climbed out of bed, finding Dean's shirt on the floor and slipping it on. She walked into the kitchen, seeing him walking around in a pair of pajama pants—where did he find those?—humming what sounded a lot like Def Leppard's Photograph. Melinda let out a sigh and he glanced back, smiling at her.

"Morning, wife."

Melinda laughed.

"Morning, husband. What are you doing?"
"Breakfast. I've heard normal people do it all the time."

Melinda watched him, noticing how he hadn't actually turned to look at her yet. She walked further into the kitchen, watching as he opened the refrigerator. She walked up behind him, sliding her hands over his bare chest, kissing his shoulder blade.

"What do you want? Eggs? Pancakes?"
"I was thinking of something a little different."

Dean turned to face her, seeing her in his shirt, and he raised an eyebrow. Melinda let her hands drift up, slowly undoing the buttons on the shirt. Dean swallowed, unable to take his eyes from her hands.

"What do you think, honey? Think breakfast can wait?"
"Who needs breakfast? Or lunch, come to think of it? Hell, who needs to eat at all?"

Melinda laughed, stopping just above her bellybutton. She stepped beside Dean, taking the milk from his hand and putting it back in the refrigerator. She closed the door, moving back against it, sliding her hands across it as Dean watched her every move. She smiled.

"Did you get your coffee?"

Melinda went back to unbuttoning the shirt, her hands catching Dean's attention again. He watched her, not taking his eyes from her hands, and she smiled.

"Dean?"

He lifted his eyes to hers.

"What?"

Melinda smiled.

"Coffee, babe."
"Oh, do you want some?"

Melinda laughed, finishing with the buttons, but keeping the shirt on, opening it just enough to show Dean that she had nothing on underneath, causing his breath to catch in his throat. She stepped closer to him, a devilish smile on her face as she cleared her throat.

"So here's what I'm thinking."

Dean swallowed, letting out another harsh breath, speaking in a hoarse voice.

"What's that?"

Melinda smiled.

"Well, last night was incredible. It was everything I ever wanted, and I'm being completely honest. It was sweet and loving and gentle."

Dean smiled, and she walked even closer to him.

"However … Sometimes…"

Melinda ran her hands up his chest, looping her arms around his neck. The shirt opened some, and Dean slid his hands beneath it, resting them on her hips. She smiled as she took in a breath, then looked up to him.

"Sometimes, I just need you to fu—"

Dean moved, faster than she expected, pushing her up against a wall. She gasped, letting her breath out in a laugh as Dean crushed his mouth to hers. The shirt fluttered to the floor as Dean lifted Melinda, setting her up on the counter, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of her head. They both let out a moan as she wrapped her legs around him.

Peyton slowly blinked her eyes open, letting out a pitiful whimper. Her head was pounding, every muscle in her body ached, and the light filtering in through the curtains seemed to be burning her retinas. She gently rolled over, taking the covers with her, rolling into a ball with the covers over her head. She pulled her legs up, brushing against something. She kept her eyes closed, running her feet back over whatever she had touched, trying to figure out what it was, when a deep groan rumbled up from beside her. Peyton sat up.

"Oh my… "

She was able to ignore the pain shooting through her head, radiating throughout her entire body, and she managed not to throw up. She pushed her curly, tangled hair out of her eyes, looking at the sleeping body next to hers.

He was lying on his stomach, his dark, shaggy hair standing out against the white of the pillowcase. Part of the sheet was tucked under his waist, but the rest of his long, muscular, golden body was stretched out nearly across the entire bed. Peyton laid a hand over her eyes, letting out a quiet groan.

"Peyton?"

She let the hand fall from her eyes, looking down beside her as Sam opened an eye to look at her. Peyton let out a sigh and Sam brought his hands up to run them through his hair. He took in a breath.

"Well, fuck."

Melinda was panting on the kitchen floor, and Dean was right beside her, doing the same thing.

"Oh … My … God."

Dean nodded, unable to form words just yet.

"That was … You were … Holy shit."

Dean blew out his breath, moving to roll onto his stomach on the cool tile, letting out a groan. He reached and found Melinda's hand, and she wrapped her fingers with his. After a few minutes, Dean lifted his head.

"Mel?"
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing?"

She had her eyes closed, and a smile spread across her face.

"I'm thinking very seriously about taking a little nap right here."
"On the floor?"
"Hey, it's your fault I'm here."

Dean smiled. He had to give her that one. She let out a sigh.

"Besides, I'm not quite sure I can move."
"Hey, you're welcome."

Melinda laughed, and Dean somehow found the strength to stand. His legs still felt a little shaky, but he reached down, offering Melinda his hand. She opened her eyes and let out a sigh. She put her hand in his and he helped her up, where she fell against him. He laughed quietly as she shook her head.

"You just destroy me, Winchester."
"Again, you're welcome."

She laughed as he led her back to the bedroom, where they both crawled back into bed. Dean rolled to her, lying not on top of her, but very close. He was pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses to her skin and she let out a groan.

"Dean… I'm sleepy."
"I know."
"But you're making it hard to … Oh, yeah. Right there."

He smiled.

"Hard to what?"
"Mmm… Making something else hard."

She was mumbling, but Dean understood. He laughed, moving over, more onto her, and she took in a sharp breath.

"What was that, Mel?"
"Nothing. Just … Please, go on."

Dean grinned as he did just that.

Peyton let out a sigh as she ran her hand over her forehead.

"Goddamn it."

At Sam's muttered curse, Peyton let out another sigh.

"Sam…"

He had his big hands covering his face. Peyton shook her head as she lay back down, pulling the covers with her. Sam sighed, going to sit up.

"Peyt, I … Oh. Oh, shit."

Sam stumbled out of bed, going for the bathroom. Peyton grabbed his pillow, pulling it over her head. She was suddenly surrounded by his smell—hotel-issue soap, sunshine and whiskey, mixed with something she could only attribute to being pure Sam. She breathed in deep, sliding his pillow away from her head, rolling over onto it.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, groaning as he leaned up against the doorjamb. He ran a hand across his face, absently thinking that he needed to shave. And put some damn pants on. He started to go for his bag, wondering how in the hell he even got to the hotel last night, when he glanced over at the bed. Peyton was stretched out, her head on his pillow, sound asleep. Sam smiled, then reached in his bag, pulling out a pair of shorts and socks, slipping them on, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Maybe he could outrun it. He decided against a shirt, squinting against the sun as he opened the door. He fought the nausea that threatened again, closing the door softly behind him as he pushed his body into a run, leaving Peyton behind to sleep it off.