Fandom: One Tree Hill, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I do not own One Tree Hill, Supernatural, or any products/books/songs mentioned.
Summary: Dean and Peyton have a video camera.
I'm his Brandy Alexander
Always get him into trouble
I hide that I am flattered
I'm his Brandy Alexander
Always get him into trouble
I hide that I am flattered
The screen zooms into a picture of them sitting in a wooden frame, (her eyes are closed and her nose is scrunched up, and he holds her close and kisses her temple.)
“Aren’t we cute?”
It swerves and swings to a girl sitting in front of a computer. “Say hi to the camera, babe.”
She turns toward him and makes a face.
“Beautiful girl, isn’t she?”
A black blur, the sound of rustling objects, and the monitor is now sideways. Dean's face comes sharply into focus as he uprights the camera, and he gets up from the bed and disappears off-screen. There is a shriek of laughter in the distance.
After a few moments, both faces come into view.
“This is Peyton Sawyer, reporting live from Tree Hill, North Carolina, and I’m here with our residential Ghostbuster, Dean Winchester.” She points an imaginary microphone under his chin.
“How are you, Dean?”
He smiles and attempts a suave, debonair persona. “Good, good, thank you.” He nods once at the camera and winks. “Hello, ladies.”
She props her elbow on her knee and leans her head against her hand. “Tell us about yourself.” (Fake serious; exaggerated attention.)
Dean squints at the opposing wall and scratches his chin. “Well I play with guns; hunt the monsters in the dark.”
Peyton nods at the camera and leans forward, cupping her mouth with her free hand. “It’s pretty badass.”
He looks down at her, a smile appearing on his face. “You think so, huh?”
Peyton thinks. “Only when you wear that leather jacket.”
He roughly pushes her back against the bed and covers her body with his own.
He replies by nuzzling his face against her neck and she laughs. There is rustling and more giggling, and then his lips find its way to hers, and the laughter dies in her throat.
They are almost fluid in their touches, smooth and languid; hands moving over arms, shoulders, necks, backs. He peppers kisses along her jaw and when his lips linger in the crook of her neck, she tilts her head back and releases a soft moan.
His hand slides up the side of her leg and inches underneath the hem of her shirt when the phone rings in the background. After the fourth ring, Peyton holds his face with both hands, her eyes still closed. “I should probably get that,” she whispers between kisses. His hand blindly reaches for her phone, his lips still attached to hers, and he pulls away for just a second before he lazily says, “Peyton Sawyer is very busy right now,” (here he drops a chaste kiss on her lips,) “please leave a message,” (another kiss; this time, a little less chaste,) “and she’ll get back to you as soon as she can.”
The blood suddenly drains from his face and he sits straight up.
Dean shoots Peyton an uneasy look.
“No, sir, I’m just a…Yes, sir. No funny business, sir.”
(He looks to her for help, but she’s too busy hooking her bra back on.)
“I was just checking up on her, making sure she was safe. You know how these streets get at night.”
His awkward small-talk smile turns into a confused frown.
Peyton finally snatches the phone away from him. “Hi, daddy,” she says, sliding off the bed.
“Who’s rakeboy?” he calls after her.
She doesn’t answer.
“You want anything while I’m downstairs?”
“You mean other than a beatdown from your dad?”
“Yeah, besides that.”
Dean isn’t amused.
“Oh! What about that pie we bought yesterday?”
“And ice cream!”
She uncovers the mouthpiece and disappears behind the doorway.
He watches her leave and then starts to whistle and look around the room. His eyes catch sight of a book by her bedside, and he rolls over and quickly flips through it, stopping somewhere in the middle.
Dean looks at the camera and points to the cover (The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde,) and shows the bookmarked page where something is scribbled underneath the printed text.
“Lucas,” he deadpans. “Nice guy.”
Dean carelessly throws the book back on the drawer.
Peyton finally re-appears, holding a carton of Ben&Jerry’s in one hand, a spoon in the other.
“There's no more pie,” she says matter-of-factly.
She waves a spoonful of Cherry Garcia in front of his face, and he is glad to oblige.
“So my dad wanted to know what you were really doing here at eleven-o’clock at night.” She sits with her legs tucked underneath her and eats a spoonful of ice cream herself.
“Yeah? And what did you tell him?”
“That you were being a gentleman and making sure I was locked up properly.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow to kick your ass 9AM sharp.”
She kisses him.
“No, seriously though, he's coming back from a fishing trip and he wants you to come to dinner.”
Dean peeks at her through narrowed eyes. “Are you going to cook?”
She looks at him suspiciously. “Yeah, why?”
“Yeah, no, I don’t think I can make it.”
“Seriously, Peyton; I’m still recovering from that thing you made last night.”
“It was spaghetti. You can’t mess up spaghetti.”
His eyes widen in disbelief. “You would think so.”
She puts the ice cream carton down and hits him in the arm.
“Do you remember the last time I met your dad? It was a disaster!”
“I thought it went well.”
“Peyton, your dad nearly threw me out of the house.”
She squints at him. “Really?”
“Well to be fair, you did come out of the shower with nothing but a towel on.”
“My clothes were in the wash. And if you really want to play this game, we were redecorating your room, and weren’t you the one who decided to paint me red?”
“I thought it was a good color on you.”
She makes a face.
“OK. So he doesn’t like you. If it makes you feel any better he didn’t like any of my other boyfriends either.”
“He liked Jake. He likes Lucas.”
“Fine. He just doesn’t like you.”
“Why not?!” he whines. “Aren’t I lovable? I think I’m lovable.”
“You’re plenty lovable.”
She tilts her head to catch a glimpse of his downcast eyes and brings her hand to the side of his face. “I like you.”
He holds her other hand and kisses the inside of her palm, and Peyton pulls his head close to hers so that their foreheads are touching. “That’s all that really matters, right?” she asks. She smiles. “Tomorrow, 6:30, my house.”
“I’ll buy pie.”
He sighs. “The things I do for you.”
Peyton rolls her eyes. “The things you do for food.” She holds his chin with one hand and gives him an Eskimo kiss.
“Wanna sleep over?”
He grabs the disregarded Ben&Jerry’s carton from the bedside table and pushes a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “Depends.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“For example, is this sleepover going to require clothing?”
He pretends to ponder. “Hm. Tempting.”
She slides up next to him and presses a kiss below the hinge of his jaw. “Pleeeaaase?” she asks softly.
"Your dad is coming in the morning. You think he wanted to throw me out before? What do you think he'd do if he saw me in bed with his daughter?"
She nips at his bottom lip. "You can leave early." (Her lips move behind his ear.) “Pleeeeaasse?” (Her body presses up against his.) “Pleeeeeaassse?”
Just when he turns his face towards her, she wriggles her fingers into his side.
He laughs and quickly places the ice cream on the far side of the bed before grabbing both her wrists in one swift swipe, trapping her arms in front of her and bringing her into a backwards embrace. Her laughter escapes in short gasps as he proceeds to tickle her with his free hand, and she squirms in an attempt to get away. He finally desists amidst her pleas to stop, (she gives up!), now cradling her in his arms as she lays half in his lap. Her hair is everywhere and her eyes are bright and her cheeks are red with laughter and he drops his head to the side of her face and murmurs something indiscernible.
She laughs, and asks, “what?” and he helps her sit back up on the bed. When she is sitting next to him and her hair is pushed back from her face, he just rubs the back of his neck and doesn't say another word. She puts her chin on his shoulder, her hazel eyes half-closed. Her hand intertwines with his, and she murmurs something indiscernible right back.
A grin spreads on his face, and he quickly covers it with his hand and transitions it into a cough. "Yeah, well. Good. That's good."
They smile at each other, and he leans in to kiss her just as her eyes flicker to the camera. “Is that thing still on?” she asks, surprised. Dean opens one eye and looks at the object in question.
“Yeah, I think so.”
She pulls him forward and the screen blacks out.