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Fic: Get in, Get off, Get gone.

Title: Get in, Get off, Get gone
Rating: R
Fandom: Spn/Btvs
Pairings: Non-explicit Buffy/Sam, Faith/Dean
Disclaimer: Not mine. Any of them. No profit. No Sue.
Warnings: Crack, Crossover, Naughty Language, gay!Andrew, no Wincest.
Recipient: ladybug218

Summary: Dean ticks off the wrong one night stand and finds himself a little too irresistible. The Potentials, Andrew, Faith and Buffy agree.

“Ah ... what?” Dean croaked the words into the phone without opening his eyes. There was a heaviness in his head that let him know he'd been drinking.

“Dean, where are you?” Sam sounded annoyed on the other end of the phone.

“Uh....” Cracking one eye open he took in the unfamiliar alarm clock on his right. Looking to the left, he saw a mass of red curls spilling over a frilly cream pillow. His eyes naturally followed the line of her body downward. The supple curve of her back was visible and tempting even in his drowsy state.


“Sorry. I don't know where I am.” Lifting the cover gently, he smirked. “You can occupy yourself for a few hours, right?”

“Buffy called. They need us in Sunnydale.”

“Really?” He glanced longing at the girl again. “Now?”

“Yes, now. Come on, Dean. You're the one who's always going on about-”

“I've been up for about eight seconds, Sammy. Is there any way we could skip the guilt trip?”

“Just hurry up.” There was a huff of aggravation and then the phone line went dead.

He clicked the phone closed with a groan and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Head spinning, he staggered to his feet and reluctantly pulled on his jeans. The tee shirt was half way over his head when he heard her voice.

“Are you trying to sneak out on me?”

He yanked the material downward and was surprised to see the girl sitting up in bed, a look of both astonishment and anger on her face. Almost more surprising was the fact that he didn't remember anything from the night before.

“What? No.”

She pushed the covers aside and stood. Taking in the almost unnatural perfection of her naked body, he itched to run his hands over every inch of the girl.

“What?” he asked again, suddenly aware that she was talking.

“You're not even listening to me!”

“Okay, darlin-” he began, his trade mark smile appearing to calm and charm.

“Don't 'darlin' me. You were going to sneak out of here without so much as an insulting note thanking me for a good time, and now you can't stop leering at me long enough to hear a damn word that's coming out of my mouth.”

“I don't leer. I was just admiring....” Spotting his belt on the floor he bent and picked it up. “What'd we use this for?”

“I spanked you.” She growled.

His head shot up and he grinned at her. “Oh, honey, I don't think so.”

“And then I bound your hands.”

“I wasn't that drunk.”

“Check your wrists, cowboy.” She sauntered forward and it was everything he could do to look away from her long enough to inspect the red chaffing on his skin.

“I'll be damned.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, calling even more attention to her body. Despite her angry words his body began to react to the sight of her. A flash of memory hit, those lips parting to engulf him whole, and he nearly staggered under the assault. Subconsciously, he took a step forward.

“Damn you!” A picture frame came flying at him. Unable to react, he watched as it thudded against the wall a few inches from his head. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to be treated like an amusement ride? To not even be heard when you're speaking right at someone?”

“I'm listening. I just want to make you happy.” He reached a hand toward her, his fingertips tingling at the prospect of touching her.

A wave of rage washed over her face and then she was moving forward. Pressing her body against his, he wished more than anything that there was more bared skin to slid against her naked body. His hands caught her hips and pulled her tight. And then her lips were pressed against his and she was deepening the kiss. The caressing slide of her tongue was a reward and pure torture. It wasn't enough.

A sensation of searing heat flashed down his throat and through his stomach. At once he released her and staggered back, only barely refraining from falling to his knees in agony. The sexual tension in the room sizzled out like a light bulb blowing.

“What?” He panted, his hand cradling his stomach.

“There. That made me really, really happy.” She turned and stalked toward the bathroom. At the last minute she turned back and ordered, “Now get out.”

Four Days Later

Dean was ready to go. He missed his car and the privacy of their motel rooms. By the time they'd made it to Sunnydale, Willow had already banished the ghost. Dean seriously doubted that they were ever truly needed in the first place. Sam had disappeared into Buffy's bedroom within minutes of walking into the house and they refused to come out again for hours.

Dean had a hard time begrudging his brother some time to relax, but two days was enough. The girls were stalking him day and night. He couldn't get a second alone. Not the shower. Not even when he slept at night. If it wasn't the girls, and he wouldn't put it past them, then it was Andrew. It might be paranoid but he swore that the guy watched him sleep.

Dean opened the bathroom door a crack, his body tensed and alert for any sound. There were distant sounds of girls arguing over the remote, but the upstairs seemed deserted. He clutched the towel tighter around his waist and pressed his eye to the crack in the door. The hallway looked clear. Bright sunlight streamed through the curtains and made the passage look cheerful and peaceful.

He was just about to venture out of the bathroom when a door swung open. Gasping, he jumped back and slammed the door shut. His heartbeat quickened as someone approached the door. Dear god, he was trapped. They had him trapped!

“Dean! You've been in there forever.” Sam's annoyed voice snapped through the door and Dean cracked the door open again, only an inch.

“Sam?” He sighed in relief but didn't open it any further. “Are you alone, man?”

"No, we're taking group showers now." He shoved his foot against the door and it thumped against Dean's cheek painfully. "Are you okay? You've been acting really weird since we got here."

"They stole my clothes!" He stepped back and gestured to the bathroom counter. "I was in the shower and they stole my clothes!"

"You left them on the dresser, genius. And what did I tell you about smoking that shit on cases? It makes you more paranoid than usual."

"I'm not stoned!" He gripped Sam's shoulder hard and shook him. "I know it sounds crazy, but I think the Potentials are possessed. They keep stealing my clothes and staring, and I've heard camera flashes!" He grimaced and wrapped a protective arm around his stomach. "I don't even want to know what they do with the pictures."

"I hear there's a shrine. They sit around and swoon over how strong and manly you are." Sam shoved him toward the door. "Lay off, dude. Seriously."

Sam gave him a shove and Dean stumbled into the hallway. The door to the bathroom slammed closed and locked. He hesitated for an instant and then swung around, his eyes sweeping the hall. Carefully, his feet barely making contact with the ground, he snuck toward the room he shared with Sam and Andrew.

He got close to the door and gave a heavy sigh of relief. That was the precise moment he heard the giggles. Freezing where he stood, he glanced toward the stairs in apprehension. There was a small gaggle of Potential on the stairs. The younger ones mostly giggled and covered their mouths in amusement. One of the older girls looked him up and down and then glared into his eyes and licked her lips.

“Hey.” He gave an awkward wave, his other fist holding the towel closed so tightly that his knuckles were white. “I'm just going to....”

He ducked into his room and threw his shoulders against the door, breathing raggedly.

"What the-"

“Dean? Is that you?”

Dean jerked his head toward the closet ... which was where the sound was coming from. Not taking his shoulders away from the door, he muttered, “Why are you in the closet, Andrew?”

“That's a good question, my friend.” Andrew threw the doors open and took a step into the room. He was wearing a pair of red silk boxers and had a rose between his teeth. “I think it's just about time I came out, don't you?”

His words were jumbled from the rose, making the entire situation that much more ridiculous to Dean's reeling mind.

“Jesus, Andrew!” Dean grabbed him by the shoulder.

“I knew it was only a matter of time, my-”

“Out!” Dean shoved him toward the door.

“What's wrong? I thought you wanted this?” Andrew asked, the rose falling from between his teeth.

“I'm sorry, Andrew. I am, man. But ... get out.”

When Dean glanced into the hallway he saw the group of potentials still standing there, watching him. After shoving the mostly naked Andrew into their midst, he slammed the door and shoved the vanity against it.

He had a healthy ego. Long years of positive reinforcement and an embarrassing tendency to preen in front of anything shiny had combined to leave him well aware of his good looks. But there was good with women and then there was whatever this was. It had to be a spell. Or an amulet or a vengeance demon, or....

“I really hate Sunnydale,” he whined.


The exact moment he realized what was happening took place about half an hour later. Sam had dragged him out of the room, laughing and mocking the whole time, to meet the newest arrival in Sunnydale. The legendary Faith had arrived. He liked her blunt words and no bullshit attitude instantly, and didn't think to object as Sam and Buffy left to get some groceries. The sound of the car pulling away was just fading as her eyes seared him from head to toe and then back again. The naked hunger in her eyes was almost over whelming. She smirked as she reached for him, and it was in that instant that things clicked into place.

"Oh, fuck me." He squeezed his eyes closed, hating himself for taking this long to see what was so obvious.

"Read my mind, baby." She sidled forward, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Okay, wait." He held up a hand and forced a smile. "This is actually a funny story. You're going to laugh."

"That right?" she asked, taking another step forward as he took one back.

"Yeah. You don't really want me." He smirked. "Okay, so you probably would have wanted me, cause look at me. But this is a curse. There was a witch, and...."

Faith reached for him again, her fingertips sliding down his chest in a teasing caress. He batted her hands away, annoyed. "Stop that."

"Come on, baby. You don't have to play hard to get. I'll still respect you in the morning. Scout's honor."

She shoved him backward and landed in his lap an instant later. Dean held stock still as she gripped the short strands of his hair and yanked his head back.

"Listen ... Faith, you don't really want to do this. It's not real. You're under a curse." She moaned and rolled her hips. Leaning down, she nipped at his jaw before meeting his lips in a forceful kiss. "Hey! Stop that!"

"I just want to...." Her hands went to his jeans and started grappling with his belt. "I'll make you feel so good."

"Would you stop!" He grabbed her wrists and tried to still them. When she only growled and caught both his wrists in one hand, squeezing painfully when he tried to struggle free, he finally stilled. "Just ... just listen-"

"You talk too damn much." Her mouth was over his again, teasing and punishing. "I'm going to curl around you, get inside your head, make you come so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Panic sparked in his chest even as he responded to her nimble fingers. A great big, predatory smile curved her features when she felt him harden and he suddenly realized how bad things could get if he didn't do something soon.

"You want this to be good?" He forced himself to relax against her and thrust his hips up slightly. "Baby," he nuzzled at her neck, "you want to make me happy?"

"Yeah." She ground down harder. "Yeah, I'm going to make you so happy."

"There's some chocolate syrup in the kitchen. I want you to lick it off me." He tipped his hips up again, the groan very real as her fingers tightened around him. "Smear it all over my cock and lap it off? Can you do that?"

"I...." She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly suspicious.

"I want it." He opened his mouth and nibbled on her jaw, his tongue soothing away the gentle teeth marks he was leaving. "I need your mouth."

"Okay." She slithered off his lap and darted into the kitchen.

For one long instant he stayed where he was, not sure exactly why he wanted to escape. But then common sense kicked in and he started for the stairs as quietly as he could.

Dean saw the small cubbyhole a few seconds later. He tucked his legs to his chest and pulled the cabinet door closed. Around him, the pillows and sheets conformed to his body. It wouldn't be long until the already confining walls began to close in on him but anything was better than the alternative. She was out there and she was probably mad now. An angry, sexually frustrated Slayer was not something he wanted to deal with.


At some point he drifted to sleep. When he came awake, it was to a shadow obscuring the sliver of light leaking into his hiding place. Dean held his breath. It felt weird to hide and be so panicked with only the soft material of the sheets to cling to. A gun, a knife, anything sharp, pointy or heavy would have been nice ... if completely inappropriate. But as the door opened an inch he wished he had a weapon regardless.

“Dean?” A hiss of a whisper filled his cubbyhole.

“Sam?” He grabbed the door and pulled it shut again. “Get out of here, man. I'm hiding.”

“What's wrong with them?”

“That freaky girl cursed me. Man, I should have known she was a witch. I've never been into getting spanked.”

"What?" Sam demanded, laughing.

"Nothing. Shut up!"

“Fine, jerk. I won't help.”

The sound of his brother's retreating steps made the desperation of his situation sink home. “Sam. Wait a minute. Sammy?”

“I'm here.” He hunched down and opened the closet a crack so that one eye and half his mouth was showing.

“Are you still laughing, asshat?” Dean hit the door and smirked triumphantly when Sam yelped in pain and rubbed at his forehead.

“You're hiding in the closet from girls, Dean. You're lucky I'm not snapping pictures. This is definitely computer worthy.”

“Hey, since they're not trying to gang bang you ... for obvious reasons, why don't you go and try to talk some sense into them.” Dean gave him a disgruntled shooing motion and added, “If you're done trying to be funny.”


The general commotion outside of his hiding space was very worrying. Dean concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and even.

"Ow! Damn it, Buffy!" Sam yelped, more annoyance in his voice than real pain.

"Come on out, lover." Faith kicked his cabinet lightly, her voice song sing sweet but with an edge that scared the hell out of him.

"Fine!" He climbed out rather than have them came in after them. He had no illusions that he could defend himself against two Slayers without either seriously hurting them or himself. "Listen, this is getting-"

"You're so pretty," Buffy cooed. She let go of Sam's arm, which she had twisted behind his back and shoved him off to the side. "I can't believe I didn't notice how pretty you were."

"Pretty?" Dean frowned. He realized that her choice of words was the least of his problems, but pretty? "I always thought I was more sexy than pretty."

"Seriously, Dean?" Sam growled, rubbing his arm.

"I think you're sexy." Faith sidled forward, her leather pants riding profanely low on her hips.

"I meant sexy." Buffy turned to look at Faith, a gradual frown spreading over her features. "You don't think he's going to pick you over me, do you?"

"Back off, Buff. You already have a strapping young boy-toy." She jerked her chin at Sam. "Go put on Enya and assume the missionary position. Dean and I understand each other."

"And he was hiding in the closet, why?" Buffy snapped back. She walked forward and draped herself over Dean's side. Her hand slid down and dipped into his pocket daringly.

Dean looked from Buffy to Sam to Faith, panic in his chest. His brother looked pissed. Buffy and Faith looked like they were about to go at it. And he was just terrified of what would happen when one of them officially won him.

"You know, I'm not a two dollar whore," he grumbled. "You can't lay dibs on me."

"Dibs!" Faith yelled, looking triumphant.

"I said you can't lay dibs on me. Can't!" Dean said.

"That wasn't fair. I wasn't ready." Buffy dragged Dean behind her body and struck one of her patented Slayer poses.

"All right, bitch. This the way you want it." Faith spread her arms wide and reached into the waist of her pants to pull out a wicked looking knife. "You know I throw down."

"And you know I'm going to stab you with that knife," Buffy snarled back.

"It's been a long time, Buff. I've got moves you've never seen."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean snarled, throwing himself between them. "This is so fucked up! Go ahead and kill each other, I'm not touching either of you! I may be easy, but I am not a whore!" Dean shivered and shook his arms out. "I feel so dirty!"

He felt the searing pain rip up his throat and fizzle in the air. The relief that washed through him was almost palpable. Around him, both Buffy and Faith took a step away. Sam was glaring at him, bitchface harsh and condemning.

"Oh my god," Buffy groaned, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

"Hey," Andrew stuck his head out of one of the nearby rooms, "if they don't get you, I call dibs."

"Andrew, man," Faith shook her head and chuckled, "the spell is broken, kid."

"Oh, sorry. I'm further away, it must have just," he made a show of pausing and then nodded enthusiastically, "there it is. Never mind. I don't want to have sex with you at all."

"We're leaving," Dean announced. "Right now."

"Okay." Sam nodded.

Dean waited in the car until Sam had said goodbye to Buffy and grabbed their things out of the room Andrew was hiding in. When Sam climbed into the passenger seat there was a smirk tugging at his features.

"You felt dirty?" he asks, grinning.

"It wasn't as sexy as it looked, dude."

"Want me to get you a rape whistle?" Sam flashed a big smirk.

"Fuck you." Dean started the car in response and hit the gas. "I'm going to kick that girl's ass. She was a witch or a Succubus or something."

"I don't know. Maybe she did you a favor."

"Did me a favor?" Dean growled.

"Yeah, now you know how women feel when you treat them like-"

"Ah, I get it. This was for my own good. Like one of those ironic little bed time stories where the guy learns an important lesson about life at the end."

"Yeah, kinda." Sam gave him a dry look. "Did it work?"

"Yeah, sure. I learned something about one night stands." He flashed a too big grin at Sam and added, "Get in. Get off. Get gone."

"You're an asshole, Dean."

"Aw, you know you love me."


Aug. 20th, 2007 12:57 am (UTC)
That's okay. I know stuff comes up. :D