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The Tale of Brittney, Sexually Frustrated Intern of the Damned

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They caught up with her as she was trying to stuff the last of Lucien's spellbooks into his trunk, and wishing she could just flick a wand and Harry Potter the damn thing so everything would fit. (She'd asked Lucien to teach her a spell like that once, when she couldn't squeeze everything she needed into her tiny going-out purse, and he'd patted her cheek and said "All in due time, love." Her boss was, to be honest, kind of a condescending douche, but, well, magic.)

When she'd stopped over at his place after her classes that afternoon, he'd been muttering about nosy hunters and throwing his clothes into a suitcase with none of his usual stuffy precision. He’d instructed her to gather the rest of his books and ingredients and other witchy stuff and meet him at a hotel outside of Cincinnati. And if he thought she was sharing a room with him, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

This stupid internship was starting to seem like more trouble than it was worth. Lucien hadn't taught her any actual magic, mostly just sent her out to find weird smelly herbs and powders, and she'd completely balked when he’d asked her to bring him a live toad once. Like, it’s the 21st century, didn't they have vegan alternatives for this stuff?

She answers the knock at his door to find two federal agents standing in the doorway, looking grim and also looking, to be honest, way too tall and way too hot to be government employees.

"Alex and Eddie Van Halen?" She snorts as she examines their IDs. "Just because I wasn't born in 1984 doesn't mean I've never turned on a radio."

The shorter man turns a little pink in the cheeks, and the long-haired one mutters, "Told you to dial it back."

"So who are you really?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"We need to speak with Lucien," says the taller one, Alex. “Please,” he adds, flashing her a set of dimples that make her knees wobble.

"And if his name's actually Lucien, I'll eat my own big toe," adds Eddie with a smirk, “‘Cause I’m betting he’s actually a Larry.” And then she goes a little dizzy when she notices his freckles.

"He's not here." She tries to close the door in their faces because, eye-meltingly hot or not she's pretty sure Lucien will fire her if she lets them in, and she might be about ready to tell Lucien to kiss off but she’s never been fired before, but they just push past her.

"Hey!" she protests. "Don't you need, like, a warrant or something?"

"Look, Miss," Alex says.

"Brittney," she says, crossing her arms.

"Look, Brittney, we have reason to believe your boyfriend was involved in the dea—"

"Ew!" She cuts him off. "Not my boyfriend! He's like, 40. I'm just helping him out, you know, like an internship."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, eyebrow raised with interest. "What's that pay?"

"Well...nothing. But I'm getting lots of great experience."

He scoffs. "What a scam. Hey college boy," he asks his partner, "is that really how internships work?"

Brittney blinks. "Don't you have to have a degree to be a federal agent?" Because she’s pretty sure she looked that up when she was mainlining episodes of The X Files last summer on Netflix.

He ignores her, and she begins tapping her fingers impatiently as they wander around Lucien’s study. But when they start digging through the trunk that she's been struggling to pack for thirty minutes, she snaps.

"Hey!" she yells, crossing the room and grabbing for the stuff Eddie’s holding. “Hands off!”

“Let go!” Eddie snaps at her. “We’re taking this stuff in!”

“In where? Because If you’re FBI agents then I’m the Queen of freaking England!”

She bats at his hands and his grip falters, and then a small clay vial sails through the air, smashing against the hearth and releasing plumes of purple clouds.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie yells at her, and before she can register what’s happening, he’s spun her around and cuffed her hands behind her back.

“Hey! Let me out, you perv, I know all about just cause! My mom’s an attorney, and she’s gonna sue the stuffing out of you when I tell her about this!”

“Dean,” the other agent says, distantly.

“I”d like to see her try,” Eddie--Dean?-- snarls. “What’d you poison us with anyhow?”

“Poison?” Brittney’s head whips around. The clouds of mist have dispersed but she’s starting to feel a little itchy, and… “Oh, shit,” she says.

“What was that?” Eddie-Dean demands again, but she shakes her head mutely. She has no idea. But Lucien...she’d flipped through enough of his books to know that he might be into some seriously shady shit. She’d just sorta assumed that the spells for like, exploding people or melting their brains were. Y’know. Metaphorical.

“I don’t know!” she cries, her voice climbing to an octave she can only dream of reaching when she’s shower-singing. “I’m just an intern!”

“Dean,” his partner says again.

“What, Sam?” he snaps.

“I...I think I know what that was.”

She realizes then that Agent Alex--Sam--was closest to the fireplace when the little jar exploded, and his cheeks have gone a shade of pink she’s only seen on her father’s prized azaleas, and his hand is...oh. Oh, holy Hecate. His hand is sliding towards the crotch of his suit.

“Holy shit, sex pollen is real,” she breathes.

Dean takes a step closer to her, scowling, and she has time to notice how very green his eyes are, how long his lashes, and to thank the goddesses that if she’s going to have witchy and seriously ambiguous sex, consent-wise, at least she’s with two guys who look like underwear models, and at least she had time to shower this morning.

Then Dean pushes past her, strides across the room, and pulls Sam into a liplock so smoldery that her legs turn to jelly and she collapses onto the floor.

Well, damn, she thinks, as Sam brings his giant paws up to cup his partner’s face.

She goes a little (okay, a lot) tingly as she watches, as the kiss deepens and then they start stripping off their clothes, and holy abs, why did she have to get sex-pollened with two of the hottest, gayest, not-Federal agents in existence? Because this? Is so unfair.

“Um, hi?” she tries, as the lasts of their clothes hit the floor with a flump. “Hello?”

They ignore her completely. She averts her eyes, feeling like maybe she should give them some privacy, but it’s a little like watching an eclipse, she can’t not look. She peeks up through her lashes as they crash onto the floor, all long limbs and pink lips and freckles and dimples and those asses....

“Hey!” she yells, because that cloud of Lucien’s stupid witchy sex powder had hit her too, and she can’t even shove a damned hand down her skirt like she desperately wants to because freaking Eddie Van Halen cuffed her hands behind her back.

They’re naked now, backlit by the fire Lucien hadn’t even bothered to put out, the glow of the flames licking at their smooth skin, and damn, she'd like to be licking that skin too.

She looks away again and takes a deep breath, which was maybe not such a great idea, because another wave of lust catches her. She watches as they rut against each other, teeth nipping, strong hands tangling in hair, sucking and licking at each other like they need it for sustenance, and Brittney? Has never been more turned on in her life.

She tilts her head to get a better look as Dean starts doing filthy things with his tongue that make his partner curse and shudder.

It’s really quite educational.

With a happy sigh, Brittney remembers that time she started to feel a little tingly during a particularly intense Bikram class, and she tenses all the muscles in her legs, releases them, tenses again, hands winding helplessly together behind her back, watching as they rub their sweat-slick bodies together, and she contracts all the voluntary muscles in her body again, again, again, until she comes with a shuddery gasp, and it's a weak thing without actual contact but it’s enough to let the evil purple cloud that took hold of her disappate.

They’re still going at it, and she slumps against a footstool, curling her legs up underneath her as they move together.

She kinda wishes she had some popcorn.

When they’re finished, they collapse side by side, fingers entwined.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, sounding hoarse. “Top ten!” And Sam laughs, looking embarrassed.

“Um, hi?” Brittney says, and their heads swivel to look at her, startled, before they jump up and, sadly, start throwing on their clothes.

When they’re more or less presentable, Dean kneels in front of her and says, “So, do I really need to give you the ‘witches are bad’ lecture now?”

“No, think I got it,” she mutters.

“Where is he?” Sam asks, and she tells him the name of the hotel where they were supposed to meet, and then Dean uncuffs her.

As they’re gathering up all of Lucien’s books and stuff, a thought occurs to her, and she says, “Hey, at least you aren’t actually brothers!”

They both freeze.

“What?” Sam asks cautiously, and she rolls her eyes.

“Y’know, like the Van Halens. Wouldn’t that have been awkward!”

They exchange glances, and Sam says, “So awkward!” with a strangled little laugh.

As they’re piling the last of the stuff up into a car that is definitely not government issued, another thought occurs to her.

“Hey, I’ve gotten pretty good at tracking down weird stuff. Do you guys need an intern?”

They hit the road so fast that she hollers after them, “Hey, assholes! School zone!” but they're already gone.

She sighs, and decides she's probably put off applying to law school long enough anyways.