Supernatural Overheating

This uses the characters of Dean and Sam Winchester from the Supernatural TV series. I do not own these characters (damn, but I wish I did!)

*

She sighed as she lifted the hood, knowing what was wrong. The rocketing temperature gauge and alternator warning light were a dead giveaway. Thinking of the meagre tool roll in the trunk, she sighed again. She could almost feel his disappointment. He'd taught her better than this.

"I know, dad. I should've checked it over properly before I left on this hare-brained adventure," she muttered to the imagined reproach. "Or at least carried spares. I know."

She smiled sadly. He'd always drummed it into her to maintain her vehicle so she wouldn't get in a situation like this. Now he was gone, and she'd stuffed up.

"Oh, well," she continued her one-sided conversation. "No use crying over spilt milk, or overheated radiators. Guess I'll just have to sit here till she cools down enough to limp back into whatever the name of that place was and hope I can get a belt there."

It was only about 10 miles, but it was sure gonna take a while to get there - the radiator wasn't the only thing that was hot.

It was too hot to walk back, she'd risk heat stroke. And driving was going to be a sad, slow and stop-start affair. So undignified for her beautiful baby. Might be worth leaving it a couple of hours, until the air temperature cooled off a bit too.

Looking back down the road, she could see the heat shimmering off the tar. At least she'd had the sense to carry a water bottle. She thanked her stars the fan belt had let go here and not an hour further on down the road. Then she'd be in serious trouble. There was a mighty lot of empty space between that last town and the next and it didn't look like this was a road that suffered much from traffic congestion.

The car's interior was pretty damn warm too, so she settled down in the shade, leaning against the passenger's side rear wheel. Listening to the car ping and creak as it slowly cooled, she let her mind drift and her eyes close.

***

Something had woken her up -- a change in the surroundings. A sound. The sound of an approaching car. She stood, turning toward the sound and brushing the dust from the ass of her faded cut-offs. Definitely a car coming, V8 by the growl. Then she saw it, travelling the opposite way to her. That was one serious piece of car -- big, black and flying low to the ground -- an old Chevy, Impala by the look of it. She turned to her car and muttered, "That's what I want you to be when you grow up," then smiled and patted the red Mustang's tail. "Not really, baby, but you gotta admit: that is a

nice

car."

As she watched, the Impala slowed, its engine grumbling and muttering, finally pulling off the tarmac opposite her. Yeah, a really damned fine car.

"Do you need a hand?" The rich voice pulled her attention from the car to its driver. He was mid 20s, with stubble and spiky short light brown hair, a smirk and a set of piercing green eyes.

"Nice car," she said, returning the smirk as she watched his eyes glide up and down her body. Definitely a wolf in wolf's clothing, wonder if he bites as well as he barks. "It's a '67, isn't it?"

He blinked. "Yeah, she is. You know cars then?" The door let out that old car squeak as he opened it and climbed out.

She chuckled. "Don't sound so surprised. I would've thought the '65 Mustang'd be a giveaway." She patted her car again.

"Yeah, I guess it should. I'm Dean, by the way. What's the problem?"

"I'm Callie. Spat the fan belt and, stupidly, I'm not carrying a spare." She looked suitably chagrined. "And before you even ask: no, I don't have a pair of pantyhose. I hate the things, even if they do make useful emergency belts. I was gonna wait till it was cooler and limp back into town."

The smirk was back. "You looked more like a stockings girl to me." He turned back to the car and pointed under it. "Limping into town's a bit risky, looks like the belt took a chunk out of the bottom hose when it let go. You could cook the motor."

Her face fell as she noticed the pool of water under her beloved Mustang. "Oh, great."

That put any chance of moving under her own steam out of the picture.

"Town's only a few miles that way, isn't it?" Dean quirked a thumb. "We could drive in and get the parts, give you a hand to get her running again."

"We?" Callie looked over to the Impala, noticing for the first time there was someone in the passenger's seat.

"Yeah, that's my brother, Sam. He's the quiet one. Hey! Sam! This is Callie. She needs a hand. Get the trunk."

Sam raised his hand in greeting and reached over to get the keys from the ignition. To manage that without scooting, he had to be big. His door squeaked the old car squeak too.

His head disappeared into the trunk. "What am I getting?"

"Tool roll and ground sheet will do for now," Dean called back, his head still under the hood of the Mustang.

Callie was torn between putting these guys out in their own travel plans, and wanting to get on with her own.

After a short discussion it was agreed that Dean would stay with her, getting that old hose off, ready for the new one and Sam would drive into town to get the parts. Callie didn't put up much of a fight, Dean was definitely worth wasting a couple of hours on. Hell, she might even be able to get a look at what was hidden under that shirt if she worked it right.

***

They spread the ground sheet under the car, sliding it in as far as possible. "OK, darlin', here's where we get a little dirty." Dean's grin was crooked and his eyes sparkled with mischief. "You're smaller, you get to go underneath."

If he was expecting a complaint, he was disappointed. Callie quickly shuffled under the car with a screwdriver to undo the clamps holding the ruined hose in place.

"If you're just gonna stand there and look pretty, at least you could try and be useful," her voice was muffled by the motor above her. "Pass me a blade would you? This hose is jammed tight."

Sam drove off, chuckling at Dean's expression in the rear view mirror.

When he returned, about half an hour later, Callie was definitely dirty. Grease spots freckled her face, along with dirty smears where she had brushed her hair out of her eyes with blackened hands. Dean's hands were also less than clean, and they were both sweaty.

"Think I found a reasonable motel back there," Sam said, taking Dean aside as he handed over the new belt and hose, a jerry of water to refill the radiator and two bottles of water to refill Dean and Callie.

"I'll head back and get a room, check out a couple of things in Marathon while you're busy here. I think that newspaper report left out more than a few details."

Dean grunted an affirmative then spoke up to Callie. "Sam's found a motel. You want him to book you a room too? It'll be pretty close to dark by the time we get done here."

She thought briefly. Very briefly -- a motel, Dean in the next room... "Yeah, don't feel much like tackling that desert stretch tonight."

Dean grabbed his jacket out of the back of the Impala and threw it on the seat of the Mustang, then watched Sam pull away, before turning his attention back to Callie and the Mustang.

He took a drink. Sure was hot out here, and dusty. But he could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than this. Callie was petite, cute and sassy as all hell. He found himself wondering how good that chest looked out of the shirt. Later, boy, later.

Dean set to replacing the fan belt while Callie slid back under the car and went back to cursing and hacking away at the old radiator hose.

They swapped tools, banter and offered each other unnecessary advice on how best to manage the job. All was going well till Dean's hand slipped and he dropped a spanner. It clattered down through the engine bay and fell through, neatly catching Callie on the bridge of the nose.

"Ah!" She rolled onto her face, hugging her nose.

"Shit! Are you all right? I'm sorry, it slipped." The concern in Dean's voice would've made her laugh if her nose didn't hurt so much.

"Crap, how about warning a girl?" She crawled from under the car, still clutching her face, her eyes streaming. Dean hovered. "I'm fine. Get off me." She staggered slightly, clutching the fender as she swiped her hand across her eyes, leaving a marvellous black smudge, and making her look a little like a raccoon.

Dean was now grinning, but still a bit worried. "Oh, babe, I like the new look! You sure you're OK, though?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute." She leaned against the car and rested her head on her arms, her eyes tight shut. Man but that hurt.

When she opened her eyes, Dean was under the car. "Hey, that's my job, remember?"

"My penance for being a clumsy jerk. I get squished as well as dirty."

She grinned. "OK. I can see that."

She could hear him grunting and cursing under his breath as he tried to manoeuvre in the cramped space, his lower legs sticking out from under the car, the leg of his jeans pushed up where he'd squirmed in under.

Playfully she squatted down over his legs and stroked one grotty hand up his calf. "What the?" He jumped, nearly bashing his head on the sump. She tugged the leg of his jeans back into place and innocently said: "Sorry, honey, I didn't want you to get sunburnt."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, that's a real worry seeing as we've been in the shade for the past 10 minutes. Get that jerry, so we can refill the radiator."

When she returned, she couldn't help giggling at the sight as he humped out from under the car like a grotesque worm. He emerged sweaty and grubby, grease spots adding to the freckled appearance of his face. "You find this funny?" he panted. "Have you seen yourself lately?"

Callie looked in one of the side mirrors. Good God! Her face was streaked with filth, she had the greasy freckles too but, more than that, she had the beginnings of two black eyes. "Oh, that's just great," she muttered at her reflection.

Dean's face appeared, well a small section of it appeared, beside hers in the mirror. "I really am sorry about that," he said, suddenly serious. He turned her toward him. "Am I forgiven?"

"Maybe," she lowered her eyes, away from his, coquettish. "Depends if that hose leaks when we fill the radiator."

"Oh, so that's the way we're playing it, is it?" Dean grabbed the can and carefully drained it into the radiator. "So far so good. Start her up."

Callie turned the ignition key and gently coaxed the car into a steady idle, then joined Dean, studying their combined work for leaks. There were none.

Callie killed the engine and crash tackled Dean as he closed the hood, hugging him and whooping in glee. "Damn, what a team! I'm back on the road again."

Dean returned the embrace, his strong arms wrapping around her, holding her close. He lowered his face to hers and, ever so gently, kissed the bruised and dirty bridge of her nose.

"So I am forgiven, then?"

Something in his tone made Callie's heart sing. She looked up into his eyes, those deep soul-piercing eyes, reached up and kissed him. The kiss was deep, passionate, forgiving and, mostly, an invitation. Dean's response was definitely an acceptance of that invitation.

They parted, both breathing a little heavily, studying each other intimately and openly for the first time.

She reached up and ran her hand gently down his stubbly cheek. Dean's lips parted and he licked his bottom lip, his eyes just a little unfocussed. He pulled her close to him with one hand, the other exploring her magnificent chest, leaving a dark print on her top. She sighed and thrust herself towards him, arching her back.

His hands were now working their way under her clothing: one up her top and inside her bra, kneading her boob; the other climbing up the leg of her cut-offs to cup her ass and tickle her moist cleft. Her hands were also moving, up his shirt and across his well muscled chest and down to his groin, cupping the heat between his legs, the hardness growing as he ground against her hand.

Convulsively he grabbed her and pushed her away from him, hunger etched on his face, a burning desire in his eyes. He quickly undid his belt and jeans, letting them drop to his ankles and tangle in his boots. She followed his lead, undoing the cut-offs and letting them fall, along with her panties. The need in her was almost unbearable.

He picked her up and perched her on the hood of the Mustang and entered her in one fluid move; spreading her, thrusting deep to her core. She cried out and arched to meet him, wrapping her legs around his waist. She could feel him throbbing deep within her before he slowly withdrew, only to plunge in again, stretching her further, going deeper than before.

Her hips rocked up to greet him, she gasped as each penetration seemed greater than the last, pleasure surging through her. He pushed her top up over her chest and pulled her boobs free. As he continued to thrust further, deeper, harder into her, he played with her nipples, tweaking and twisting them, sending shocks of pleasure down to meet the waves rising from her sex.

She could feel his excitement increasing with hers, his movements becoming more frenetic, his breathing more laboured. As he moaned, jerking into her, she cried out, shaking against him as her body burst with sensation, pleasure crashing over and through her, leaving her weak and trembling, gasping for breath.

Dean had collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. Shakily he rose, gently lifting her off the hood and carefully rearranging her top. He looked up and down the road quickly, then pulled up his jeans. She caught his meaning and swiftly redressed herself, a smile playing on her face. It could be a bit much to explain to a passing motorist.

As Dean opened his mouth to speak, his cell phone rang. With irritation, he grabbed his jacket off the car seat and answered it.

"What? ... Yeah, just finished ... Good, where? ... Right." He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. "His timing's good for once. That was Sam. He's at the motel."

Quickly they collected the tools and rolled up the ground sheet.

Callie drove, Dean gave directions and did his best to distract her, tickling her thigh through her jeans. She slapped his hand away so she could concentrate on driving. "Hey," he sounded suitably aggrieved. "I thought I was forgiven."

***

The motel was cheap and cheerful. Sam was waiting in the driveway and waved them over to park beside the Impala, outside a room with the door open. "Callie's got the room next door," Sam greeted them as they got out of the Mustang, and checked it again for leaks.

"OK, you're officially forgiven," Callie hugged Dean, making sure she caught his eye before running her teeth across her bottom lip and lightly biting down on it. Dean's eyes instantly darkened, taking on a lazy intensity.

Callie turned away, smiling. "Sam, you're an angel. I'm dying for a shower."

Sam noticed the greasy handprint on the front of Callie's shirt. "I'll go rustle up some food," he said, giving Dean a filthy look. "There's a Chinese down the road that looks OK. I saw it when I was checking out the library."

Dean raised an eyebrow and grinned. "You might want to double check that research, Sammy."

Rolling his eyes at Dean, Sam climbed into the Impala and drove off, stopping near the motel office and throwing one last look at Dean before pulling out onto the main road.

Dean laughed.

"He doesn't really approve, does he?" Callie grinned.

"Let's just say he has no idea how to have fun. Now, race you to the shower!" He bolted for the door, disappearing before Callie had a chance to move.

"Hey, no fair!" She followed him, only to be tackled just inside as he grabbed her and kicked the door closed with his foot.

"Can't get clean with all these clothes on, can we?" he growled as he nibbled her neck and his hands stripped off her shirt and began exploring her body. "No risk of interruptions now."

"What about Sam?" she whispered as she eagerly removed his shirt. "Won't he be back soon?" He kicked off his boots as she undid his belt, his hands busy removing her cut-offs.

Dean took her hand and led her into the bathroom. "I think Sammy will be busy at the library for a couple of hours yet," and he growled softly in her ear.

He turned on the water and stepped to one side. "We need to get this grease off and," his eyes twinkled at her, "then let's see how much good clean fun we can have while he's off playing with his books."

Callie stepped into the shower, letting the spray wash away the sweat and surface grime. She closed her eyes and let the water run down her face. It felt so nice to just stand there, feeling the heat, grime and stress of the day slide from her with the water.

She felt his presence, knowing he was watching, and then felt his hands, soapy, running over her body, rubbing away the greasy evidence of his earlier exploration. She opened her eyes, smiling into his and, stepping clear of the flow of water, ushered Dean in. Then she took the soap from his hands and began carefully cleaning his chest.

Neither spoke or made any sound. They concentrated on cleaning each other of the general grunge that comes from working on a car on the side of a road.

Gradually the soap became a caressing aid rather than a cleaning aid. Callie ran her hands over and over his chest, feeling the hard strength of the muscles, feeling them ripple under her touch as she swirled her hands across his stomach and around his belly button, brushing across the tops the curls of hair below, before slowly running around his hips to slide across his tight ass and slowly explore the muscled beauty of his back.

Meanwhile Dean's hands were carrying out their own examination, across her shoulders, down to cup her breasts, across her belly and around to squeeze her ass and pull her closer to him.

He lowered his face as she raised hers, their lips connecting; their faces under the full force of the shower's spray. They separated, gasping. Dean shut off the water. Callie reached for a towel.

Dean took it from her, his face serious, and gently dried her face and neck, her shoulders and chest, paying particularly close attention to dabbing dry her breasts before moving on to her back and ass, then her belly. The soft towel, his firm hands were sending shivers through her.

She took another towel and went to work on drying him, in the same slow, gentle, silent and methodical manner, smiling as she felt him quiver beneath her hands.

Then he kneeled, drying to her feet, slowly dabbing the water off her lower legs and up her thighs, parting them to chase the last of the water away. Then he stopped, dropping the towel.

She stood, looking down at the top of his head, feeling the charge between them, barely breathing for fear of breaking the spell. She dropped her towel as he studied her. Then, slowly his head swivelled as his eyes travelled up her body, pausing at her chest, finally arriving at her face and meeting her eyes.

He stood, never breaking eye contact. Picking her up like a child he carried her out of the bathroom and gently laid her on the nearest bed, lying beside her, covering her mouth with his.

The kiss sent fire bursting through her body, settling in her breasts and between her thighs. Their tongues caressed, her hands hugged him to her, one in his hair, the other exploring that magnificent spine.

Dean's hand found her breast and again cupped it, tickling the nipple with his thumb before leaving it to stroke gently across her belly to her mound.

She arched to meet his hand, sighing into his mouth as he broke the kiss, his mouth moving across her neck and shoulders to kiss and nuzzle her breast. His flicking tongue brought sharp bites of pleasure to her hardened nipple. She writhed under his sensual touch, her hands playing across his muscled body, down his belly, up his thighs, finally resting on his engorged and rigid cock and the sac behind it, squeezing and stroking. He gasped around her nipple, his hips reacting to her touch, his cock even harder under her fingers as he pulled away from her grasp.