Jess took a deep, steadying breath and walked into Winchester Ink.
The parlor was clean, with the usual chairs, displays and colorful art up on the walls, music playing overhead. No one was behind the counter or in the chairs, which made it... odd. A little bit like a haunted house. Even the classic rock playing over the speakers was muted.
Next to the art display, there was a huge notice about California laws and the piercing or tattooing of minors. Some jackass had written you must be this tall to get ink about fifteen feet up the wall. Jess couldn't even reach that high if she stood on her toes and bounced. (Trust her, she tried.) Next to the notice was an explanation of their hygiene practices—sterilization, new needles, and disposable plastic freaking everywhere. Almost involuntarily, she drifted over, biting her lip as she read both boards.
It wasn't the first time she'd been in a tattoo parlor, but she was pretty sure going to one for an ear piercing didn't count. Sure, she had five studs marching up her left ear, but she could take those out at any time and pretend they hadn't happened. A tattoo, as her father pointed out every chance he got, was a lot more permanent.
A jingle announced a door opening behind the counter—and wasn't that weird, the doorbell being there?—and out walked a guy that she was pretty sure could touch the mark on the wall. Her head bent back trying to get all of him in view. It was like looking at a wall with hair on top. A tattooed wall, which she probably should have expected, being in a tattoo parlor and all, but somehow she hadn't thought the artists would be so colorful. It looked like someone had taken crayons to his arms and used Lisa Frank as inspiration. She was pretty sure there was a rainbow unicorn in there somewhere.
"Hi," he smiled brightly, with that sort of warmth that wasn't just customer service, holding out a hand. Just like the rest of him, it was massive. "I'm Sam. What can I do for you today?"
Shaking Sam's hand was more instinct than decision. Hand offered: shake hand. "I'm Jess. You guys did some work on a friend of mine, and I thought I'd check it out?" Jess waved a hand, nerves bubbling up and making her tongue work all on its own. "I'm thinking of getting one. An appointment. For a tattoo. I'm thinking of getting a tattoo." Silently, Jess closed her eyes and hid her face. "Sorry. I'm just nervous."
He didn't laugh at her. Point for him. "I'd be more worried if you weren't."
"I really want this though," she felt like she had to say. Jess didn't want him to think she was one of those idiots who got a tattoo on a whim. "I've been thinking about it forever, and you guys have a good reputation."
"Family owned and operated for forty years," Sam agreed, still giving no sign if he thought she was an idiot. He folded his arms and leaned on the glass counter, giving her a good shot down the front of his tank. Right over his heart was the only plain tattoo on him—a black pentacle, just like the one on the sign out front. It stood out in all the color like a suckerpunch. "You ever been inked?"
Jess shook her head and bit the inside of her lips before she could open them and shove her foot in again.
He didn't look surprised. As nervous as she was, she might as well have a V in red lipstick on her forehead. "Any idea what you want?"
That she had covered. Reaching into her purse, Jess pulled out her draft and spread it out on the counter. It was done in pencil on college rule, and traveling in her purse for a month had left it smudged, but she didn't want to do a final copy until she was sure it was happening. That would have just been depressing, to get all the way to the finish line and then decide that she couldn’t do it.
It was a tree, bare branches on the left and full leafy ones on the right, with a few crows nestled in the branches or flying around it for fun. The roots were only sketched in, since she couldn’t figure out how to make them look like they were planted in her. Really, it wasn't all that unique as far as tattoos went, but she liked the concept, liked how the branches twisted around each other until it was impossible to tell where they started and ended. When sketching the rough, she'd tried to dodge the Celtic knot look, but between the branches and the crows and all of that it was kind of unavoidable.
Sam ran his fingers across the curves and swirls of her lines, raised his eyebrows at the color and position notations. She'd even sketched in a back to show how it would be placed. He actually looked at it, which was more than most people did. Even better, he looked impressed. "This is good. It's going to be pretty big for a first, though. Sure you don't want something smaller?"
"I figured I could start with one of the crows? Up on the shoulder." She couldn't quite keep the defensiveness out of her voice. "If I can't take that, we can stop, and I won't have a half-finished thing on my back."
Before Sam could say anything, the door jingled and another guy walked out from the back room. Tall, again, though not as tall as Sam. His arms were inked too, but with the more usual guy-tattoos; not a rainbow in sight. He settled in next to Sam at the counter, so close their shoulders touched, and gave Jess a fratboy grin.
"Hey there," he leered, eyes flicking down her without much intent, more habit than actual interest. "I'm Dean. Sammy here helping you?"
"We were just looking at this." Without asking her permission, Sam slid the paper over. They stayed tucked against each other, just a little too close, more familiar than most guys ever got.
Dean looked at it, then at her, and then back at the art. "You sure you've got enough balls for this one, Rainbow Bright?"
Instantly, Jess snatched her paper back, crinkling it when Dean's grip didn't give way fast enough. "If that's how you're going to—"
"I was talking to him," Dean cut her off. "You've seen him, right? He looks like a teenage girl's lunchbox." He was grinning, the easy, unapologetic grin of a self-acknowledged asshole.
"Ha ha." Sam rolled his eyes and bumped Dean with his hip. "Yeah, I think I got it."
In spite of herself, Jess smiled. Just a little. They were cute, even if Dean was a dick. "I just wanted to make an appointment. I haven't even finished the art, yet."
With the air of a magician pulling his assistant out of a box, Dean reached into the front pocket of his plaid flannel and produced a card. It said Dean Winchester in shiny black script, with the usual pentacle scrawled on it. "When you do, give us a call, honey."
Batting her eyes, Jess reached around the counter and swapped the card for one of the ones that said Sam. Holding it up between two fingers, she saluted before turning for the door. "I'll be sure to do that."
Sam's first tattoo was only technically legal, in the "no one got in legal trouble for it" sort of way. He'd been thirteen to Dean's seventeen, and their dad had only just started letting Dean get into the family business. Dean's apprenticeship wouldn't start until after high school, but he had access to Dad's tattoo gun and a dream.
"Hey, wait, stop!"
"Don't be a wimp, Sammy, it's just a little pain."
"It's not the pain, I just want to know what you think you're doing."
"It's a war horse!"
"It looks like a fat unicorn."
"... Or we can go with that."
"You're practically a girl already. Man up and take your unicorn."
Their father grounded them both for months after the fat unicorn was found out. Dean wasn't allowed to touch a needle again until he was almost twenty.
The second time Jess stepped into Winchester Ink, she was a lot less nervous. Okay, maybe a little nervous, but she'd been there once. It wasn't a mystery anymore. She knew the place, and just wanted to see it when it wasn't a ghost town. Someone had told her to see how an artist behaved with other people who were giving them money, and it seemed like a good idea.
The place was still sparkling clean, with the same music and art. Someone had dumped an overstuffed backpack in the corner, and there was a new display of piercings, but that was all. Sam was bent over the arm of an older woman in a trucker hat and pigtails. Somehow, his hands looked smaller inside their blue latex gloves, the movements almost delicate as he filled in lines of color on some sort of flower. Maybe a lily, with a name written in the lines of the petals.
When he looked up and saw her, he smiled, and she had to admit that she really, really liked his smiles. They took up his whole face and sparkled. It was a little like watching a kid meet Santa. She wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or give him a cookie.
"You're back awfully quick, Sunshine."
Sam's smiles didn't make up for Dean's complete and utter Deanness, though.
Gritting her teeth, Jess turned and gave Dean a smile. "Just scoping the place out, in case that plastic comes off when the customers roll in."
Dean snorted, eyes fixed on the back of Sam's head across the way. He was wearing short sleeves, showing off the panels of demons and fire that crawled up and around his biceps. It was all reds and oranges, and almost made it look like his arms had been splashed with blood. "Our dad would climb out of his grave to kick our asses if we tried that."
Our dad. Jess narrowed her eyes, glancing between Sam and Dean. Sure. Whatever, it took all sorts, but they were idiots if they thought anyone was going to buy the family bit. Brothers didn't watch each other like they were the last Twinkie before a crash diet. "He won't be the only one kicking your ass. I'm not above reporting a business."
"Ouch," Dean laughed, patting his chest. His grin was easy like Sam's, but without the bright puppy overtones. "Right in the heart."
She rolled her eyes, but settled down on the couch to watch them work.
Dean was nineteen when he found the college brochures in Sam's bedroom. He was twenty when he realized that they were an actual, serious threat, and only a week older than that when the fire department had to be called because Dean lit up the whole stack and had accidentally taken a piece of the wall with them.
"Sam, come on."
"Look, I'm not going to say I'm sorry, 'cause I'm not, but do you really think any of those fancy schools are going to let you have panels? Think anyone'll hire a guy with a freaking Care Bear on his ankle?"
"Okay, fine. Be that way. You'll thank me later. You watch."
Sam didn't talk to him for a month, but Dean got flames at his wrist to commemorate the occasion.
It became a habit. Get out of class, go to the shop, watch magic happen. It got to be such a pattern that Sam even figured out her favorite pizza topping so they could split a pie three ways. Jess still hadn't made her own appointment, or even finished the final draft on her own piece, but as long as she stayed out of the way it didn't seem to be a problem.
Sam was cute. He seemed to be confused about whether to flirt with her or treat her like a sister, which mostly resulted in ranch dressing all over and awkward attempts to not stare at her breasts when she wiped it off her cleavage.
Dean couldn't have been more obviously jealous if he'd actually turned into a physical green-eyed monster. He hovered. He snarked. He did everything but kick her out. And that was, weirdly, kind of cute too. Until it wasn't.
"Seriously, you're going to be a freaking lawyer," Dean said one evening as they were sprawled out in the back room. (Jess had graduated to Back Room Access the time she'd spotted the bad holographic work on one kid's fake ID.) It had been a slow day, with only a couple of appointments and one walk-in that had backed out when he found out getting pierced would hurt, and Jess was just off the ball enough to blink in confusion at him.
"A lawyer," Dean repeated, like that meant anything. "Are you sure you want a tattoo? I hear those are kind of frowned on by the suits."
"Dean." Sam's jaw tightened, and his voice had that special tone that happened mostly when a long-standing couple was having an argument under another argument. "Not right now."
"I'm just saying—"
"You don't have to—"
"Ooooh-kay, I'm done here." Before the argument could escalate, Jess stood up and brushed her hands clean of sandwich crumbs. "I'll be back when the makeup sex is over. Tomorrow good?"
That brought an immediate halt to everything. Sam froze mid-word, and Dean nearly fell out of his folding chair. They stared at her. For maybe the first time ever, Jess had their complete attention, and that included the first time she'd walked in as a prospective customer.
She laughed at their gob-struck expressions. Dean's mouth was even open, and she had to resist the urge to tell him to close it before Sam put something in it. "What?" Jess asked instead, arching an eyebrow. "You didn't think the whole bit was fooling anyone, did you?"
They gave each other a sidelong look and oh, there were secrets there. "You know?" Sam asked slowly, not looking away from Dean. "And you're okay with it?"
"Of course I am, it's 2012." Flapping one hand at the wrist, Jess reached for her purse on the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. "You're gay, I get it. I'm not trying to be competition. Not that I'm not disappointed, because you're both hot like burning, but I get it."
Dean was kind of adorable when he was at a loss for words. "Uh..."
"Just talk it out, and I'll see you tomorrow." Jess smiled and waggled her fingers at them before turning for the door. Maybe she could get the final draft done on her tattoo. It probably would have been finished ages ago if she'd spent half as much time on it as she did Winchester Watching.
It never would have happened if Dad hadn't left on that hunting trip and come back in a body bag. If he'd survived, they never would have risked him walking in and seeing something. Before the funeral, they hadn't even kissed. On bad days, it was like they'd made a deal with the devil—their father's life for a chance to be together. The guilt was a gnawing, aching sort of thing that popped up at the worst times.
"Dean—Dean stop. We shouldn't—"
"Dad wouldn't want this."
"Dad isn't here. We are."
Their dad's urn migrated from the living room, to the back hall, and then to a storage closet. Both of them got angel wings on their shoulder for him instead. It felt safer that way.
After the big reveal, Sam and Dean were different. Not much, really, but she was around enough to notice the little things. They touched more, and there were less awkward excuses to be alone in the back room, though those still happened. Sam looked at her like he didn't know if she was in on a joke and wasn't sure if he wanted to ask.
And Dean... Dean was less of an asshole. Which might as well have been an entire personality transplant. He actually made jokes that weren't always directed at her, and he stopped trying to poison her with mustard. Most tellingly, he stopped giving her the evil eye when he came in and saw her talking with Sam. The day Jess realized that tidbit of change, she'd nearly needed a fainting couch and smelling salts.
All told, it made it actually easy on the day that she walked in and slapped her finished drawing onto the glass counter. "Done."
"Really?" Sam asked, rolling his office chair over from the little side table where he'd been doing the books. "Let me see." He made grabby hands at the paper until she pushed it over to him, even though he could have just stood up. His mouth set in a little frown of concentration as he traced the lines out with a fingertip. "We can definitely do this."
"And it only took three months," Dean cracked. Which, okay, that was fair. It had been fall when she'd first walked in, and now there were Christmas carols playing on the radio.
Jess wrinkled her nose at him anyway. "If it's going to be my only tattoo, I want it to be perfect."
"Ha!" Dean laughed, glancing up from her piece with a smile that was just unfair. It was the one he used on Sam, usually right before they had to go "sort supplies", or whatever excuse got them alone. "No such thing. Just one and you've got an ink kink for life."
Taken and gay, Jess reminded herself sternly. Taken and gay, taken and gay. "Ink kink?"
"You'll see." And it was Sam's turn to use a bedroom smile and really, Jess hadn't done anything to deserve that. "We've got people coming in today, but want to make an appointment now?"
Swallowing hard, Jess stared down at the tree. She wanted it. Bad. But it was still something permanent, a piece of her that the world would be able to see. There wasn't anything easy about that. "Yeah," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "I don't have class this Friday."
Which was how she ended up standing topless in one of the back rooms while Dean pressed the transfer to her back. Not completely topless—she had her shirt clutched to her breasts—but it was enough to make her feel way, way more exposed than she had in a long time. Sex didn't feel as intimate as Dean smoothing the transfer paper over her skin, rubbing the ink on with an alcohol swab.
"Okay, make sure you like it," Dean announced, ripping the transfer off with a flourish. "Once we get started, there's not going to be room to adjust the positioning."
There were mirrors in the room—which explained why Sam and Dean usually used it to vanish into. Jess twisted in them, checking out her back. The tree was placed so the roots looked planted mostly in her left hip, with the trunk leaning to the right and the branches tangling across her shoulder blades. The birds flocked around it; Sam had tried to talk her into including a few songbirds, but she'd stuck with crows. The most prominent one was on the back of her right shoulder, wings spread and body curved in flight. No color on the transfer, but she could see how it would play out.
"I love it," Jess breathed, craning her neck to see everything. It was perfect, and it was hers.
"Great. Now, hold still." Before she could move, Dean held up a camera and snapped a photo.
"Hey!" She jerked around automatically, but the flash had already gone off. "What was that?"
"Reference photo." Dean had his eyes on the camera's digital display, inspecting the results. "We'll need to know how to place the transfer next time you get work done."
Jess rolled her eyes, but relaxed a little. "Don't act like that's not going in your dirty photo stash."
He just grinned and held up the camera like a trophy. "That, too. Now come on, Sweetheart. Let's go pop your cherry."
"That's what I like about you," Jess teased, bumping her elbow into him as she went for the door. "Always so classy."
Bantering back and forth with Dean made it easier to relax as she took a seat on one of the chairs, backwards and with her chin on the headrest. For the big day, she'd put her hair up in a messy bun so it was out of the way, which meant her whole back was bare to the breeze. Sam was doing the first part; he had gentle hands, Dean joked, and always did the virgins.
She kind of saw what Dean meant, though, when Sam pushed a loose strand of hair off her neck, big hands soft on her shoulders. Latex gloves dragged a little, made weird squeaking noises sometimes. His fingers traced the crow up on her shoulder, where they'd be starting, and Jess had to bite her lip.
Back. Erogenous zone. Good to know.
The first touch of the needle on Jess's shoulder was weird. Painful, but more of a burn than a poke. Maybe a scratch, with the vibration of the needle feeling like it might go all the way through her. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd expected. After the first minute passed, it was even a little nice.
Dean had dragged a chair over, since his next appointment wouldn't be there for an hour and the internet was having a slow day. His knee bounced anxiously and his foot nudged up against Sam's, but when she looked up it was her Dean was watching.
"You doing okay, Sunshine?" Dean asked.
Jess thought about it, weighing the pain in her shoulder with the steadying touch of Sam's hand at the small of her back and Dean's carefully not-at-all-worried expression. Then she smiled.
"Yeah," Jess said. "I'm fine."
Dean had finished his apprenticeship when Dad died, but the shop was still Hunter's Blind Tattoo and Piercing, with the same crosshairs that had been on the front sign since their mom had gotten it from her parents. Everyone asked for John when they came in. It took less than a month before Dean threw down.
"We're renaming it W-Ink. And we'll change the logo. Something catchy."
"I wouldn't name a cat Wink, Dean. All we'll get are undercover cops and drug runners."
"Winchester Ink, then. And the logo. Every time I look at that thing, my balls shrivel."
"I haven't noticed any shrinkage. Maybe you're making it up. If you're intimidated by my dick—"
"If you think that monster in your pants is getting anywhere near my ass—"
"I think I can change your mind."
It only took six months for Winchester Ink to get a reputation for good, clean work. On the first anniversary of the name change, they both got the new logo over their heart. It felt like a new beginning.
The crow went well, and the lines were done on the very next appointment. Then Jess spent two weeks sleeping on her stomach, itching and unable to wear even an old cotton bra. Of course, Sam had given her the Very Serious Discussion about how it was an open wound, and she had to be careful to keep it clean and moisturized and blah blah blah, but it wasn't like Jess had anyone she could trust to slather lotion on every couple of hours. Her roommate couldn't even manage to do her own damned dishes; no way was Jess letting her near the giant scabby, peeling thing that was currently her back.
All of which meant that her skin was a dry, itchy mess that she couldn't even scratch. Luckily, every visit to Winchester Ink ended up with her shirt off and one of them making disapproving noises while they rubbed lotion in for her. Usually it was Sam, but this time she walked in and Dean didn't even let her say hi before he practically pinned her to the wall and yanked her shirt up.
Jess really, really wasn't complaining.
"Nice to see you, too," she grunted, twisting her head so she could breathe. The lotion was cool on her back, easing the nagging itch that had been bothering her all afternoon. Most of the scabs had peeled off, but two weeks wasn't enough for the healing to be done. "You know, usually a guy buys me a drink first."
Dean laughed, massaging a handful of lotion into the trunk of the tree. "Usually girls don't complain when I get their shirts up."
"I bet Sam does, though."
Fingers flexed into her spine, and then another gloop of lotion was applied. "Yeah, well, Sam is a girl. Doesn't count."
"Totally counts." Jess shifted against the wall. Her breasts were kind of crushed up against it, which wouldn't have been too bad, except between the pressure and Dean's touch, things were going to get awkward. Thank God lady-boners didn't show through pants. "How'd you two meet, anyway?"
The touch on her back hesitated. "We're brothers," Dean said, voice low and gruff, more than it had been in a month. He picked back up with the lotion, but slower.
If she hadn't been focusing on ignoring how nice Dean's hands felt, Jess would have rolled her eyes. Not that it would have done any good, but it would have felt good. "Yeah, sure you are. I mean really? I think I've been your friend long enough to at least get that much."
"I mean really," Dean repeated.
It took a couple of seconds for his meaning to sink in, past the faint annoyance and buzz of arousal. "You're... and a couple?" she asked, just for clarification. Clarification had clearly been in dire need the past few months. "Really?"
"Oh." That... probably shouldn’t have been hot. Not like she hadn't pictured them fucking before, she had good taste after all, but the word brothers sent a shiver through her that really, really would have disappointed her grandma.
"Okay." Jess bit her lips and turned around. Her shirt stuck to her back, and the whole thing felt about three seconds from turning into the most awkward moment of her life. "I think that's enough. Thanks."
Dean capped the tube and shoved it in his pocket. There was still a thick film of white on his palms, but he didn't move to work it in. She wanted to say something about not judging, or how they were still friends, but what came out was, "Color!"
They were close enough that she could see how ridiculously thick his eyelashes were—also unfair, since she had to work hers to get them half that good. Jess wanted to settle her hands on his hips, to pull him in and feel him pinning her to the wall again. Instead, she shoved her hands into her pockets. Taken and gay.
He blinked, which was better than the awkward, disappointed thing he definitely hadn't been doing a second before. "Come again?"
Organizing her thoughts took Jess a moment, but once she had them, she nodded to herself. "I want you to do my color. You did an amazing job on Sam's, and I really think it'll be great."
There was another one of those pauses, but this time significantly less filled with uncomfortable tension.
"How do you know I did Sammy's work?"
Jess just gave him a flat stare. As if anyone other than Dean was going to be doing Sam's tattoos.
More silence. It obviously wasn't Jess's best day for communicating. Or maybe Dean was just more Dean than usual, it was hard to tell. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll book you a spot. Pushy."
As a reward for putting up with him, Jess let herself loop her arms around Dean's neck and pull him down to kiss his cheek. "You love it."
She wasn't ready when Dean laughed and kissed back, lips landing smack in the middle of her mouth. "Yeah. We do."
Their father had always said that tattoos were supposed to mean something. All of his tattoos had been important—an inked wedding band around his finger, Sam and Dean's names on his chest. Even the damned Impala on his arm was something he could be proud of. He said a tattoo was putting a piece of you out there for the world to see and judge, writing who you were on your skin.
"A hundred bucks says you wouldn't get Tinkerbell."
"Come on, Sammy, you're already a fairy. What's one little bit of ink going to hurt?"
"If I'm a fairy, what're you then?"
"Peter fucking Pan, that's who. Now, you in or no?"
"Fine, but put it on my neck. Then you can watch it next time this fairy has you on your back."
Sometimes who you were was a drunken idiot.
They'd scheduled her in on a Sunday, when the parlor was supposedly closed. It was strange, being inside with the blinds closed and the door locked. Intimate, like they were letting her inside even more. And Jess really wanted to be inside. She wasn't quite sure what it meant to be on the inside, but she thought she liked it.
Unusual scheduling ended up being a good thing, because it meant Sam held her hands when Dean went over the sensitive areas of her spine and shoulder blades. And she needed the handholding. Dean wasn't as gentle as Sam. The sting was still riding that hazy line between ouch and mmm, but noticeably more ouch than usual.
Dean also wasn't as talkative as Sam. Where she could usually rely on some sort of chatter to keep her distracted, Dean stayed focused on his work. Sam made up for it, but his conversation was the one-ended kind. Mostly she tuned it out and made I'm listening liar noises when they seemed appropriate.
Which meant she had plenty of time to look at Sam's tattoos. Specifically, on the fairy that wrapped around the side of his neck.
It was pretty. All of Sam's tattoos were pretty, which was... weird and not weird. Jess had a hard time picturing Sam with anything other than the unicorns and mermaids and ridiculous amount of bright colors, once she'd gotten to know him. When Dean lifted off to get more ink, she shifted she didn't have to crane her neck so much to look at Sam. Who, as a matter of fact, was also very pretty.
Incidentally, endorphins were amazing.
About a third of the way through Dean's work on her leaves, Sam finally noticed that she was staring. His voice sort of faded away, and she blinked at him, registering the silence a beat too late to keep pretending she'd been paying attention.
There were a few things she needed to say, anyway. She wasn't sure if a time when Dean had his needle on her back was a good moment, but it wasn't like there were going to be very many better ones. "Did I tell you that Dean kissed me?"
It was a monument to Dean's professionalism that his hand never slipped. "You didn't. I did."
"Good. I didn't peg you for a cheater." Sam's hands had slipped from hers, and the spot Dean was working on wasn't one of the bad ones, so she laced her fingers under her chin. It was more comfortable that way. Damn them both for being tall bastards. "So, someone want to tell me what that was about, or will I have to spike the pizza with cayenne and hold the water hostage?"
Sam glanced at Dean over her shoulder, and clearly there was some sort of Couples-Only communication going on there. It warmed her a little that she could almost make out the question in the angle of Sam's eyebrows. Well, the question that wasn't, why don't you pluck those things? Because there were sexy eyebrows and there were caterpillar eyebrows, and Sam's were trending dangerously towards leaf-munching creepy-crawlies. Even just a little bit of cleanup on the underside would help.
"Well?" she asked, after the Significant Looks had gone on long enough. "I realize I'm kind of a captive audience, but throw me a bone."
Behind her, she heard the buzz of the needle shut off, and they weren't even halfway done with the planned work for the day. The lack of sound hit her like a brick wall at ninety miles an hour. Jess licked her lips, suddenly aware that she was exactly one half-on sweatshirt from being nearly naked. All she'd have to do would be to sit up and let it fall.
"Or a boner?" Dean asked, settling his hands on the curve of her hips. He still had his gloves on, but she could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin latex. Wheels squeaked over the linoleum floor, and suddenly Dean's knees were pressed into the outside of her thighs, bracketing her from behind. In front of her, Sam wheeled his chair closer too, until his knees were pressed right up against Dean's with only the front of the tattoo chair separating them.
"Or two?" Jess wanted to press backwards, but she knew better. Even if her back didn't really hurt now, it definitely would then. She settled for sitting up straight and tilting her head to touch Dean's shoulder, holding the sweatshirt to her breasts with one arm and a quick prayer. "You know. If you're okay with that."
Sam's hands ran up her thighs, following the line where they were pressed against Dean's. They ended up at her waist, thumbs pressed just above the waistline of her yoga pants.
"I think we could be," Sam murmured, pressing a kiss to her throat. Jess's breath caught as his teeth scraped. Her sweatshirt fell.
Dean's hands stayed steady at her hips as one of Sam's slipped down, past the elastic and under the edge of her panties. His fingers just barely glanced across her clit on the way down to trace the crease of her thighs. He toyed with her, grinding the heel of his hand down against her cunt just enough to make her gasp and try to rock up, then gliding away just when his fingers were almost where she wanted them. It was just enough pressure to be a torment. Jess didn't even try not to whimper.
"Good with his hands, isn't he?" Dean murmured into her ear, breath hot on her skin.
"What about you?" she asked, rolling her eyes enough to see his grin.
"Oh, I'm good," he admittedly easily, "but I've got to stay clean. Hygiene."
"There are other gloves," Jess reminded him, voice gone breathy. Then she cried out when Sam gave her another one of those glancing blows across her clit. Her hips rose off the chair, upsetting her balance enough that her shoulders brushed against Dean's chest.
The sudden shock of raw skin against rough cloth mixed with the touch of Sam's hands, turned into something that sent sparks across her vision. Jess rolled her hips down, and suddenly Sam's fingers were there, bigger and thicker than her own, pushing two into her. She rode them down, pressing back harder against Dean, hissing when her tattoo scraped again.
Latex-covered fingertips ran over her nipples as Sam worked her, thumb still only teasing her clit. His other fingers made up for it. Big hands, Jess thought fuzzily, arching her back to grind down again. Then Dean's teeth set into her neck, just a little nip, probably not even enough to bruise, and that was it. Jess groaned, whole body arching as she came.
When the spots vanished from her eyes, Sam still had his hand down her pants, and Dean's were pressed against her ribs. Jess swallowed and took a shaky breath. "Are we done today? Because I'd really like to be done today."
Latex snapped as Dean finally, finally took the damned gloves off. "We're not even close to done yet, Sweetheart."