Author: Regala Electra
Word Count: 505
Summary: They don’t move until they see the credits tossed their way.
Author’s Notes: I hate ignited. I try to give her a cracktastic prompt and then I WRITE this. Crossover with Farscape, you don’t technically need to have seen Farscape to read this. So, um, Dean and Sam are brother and sister. And they’re whores. In space. I may have made a suggestion of a crackish manip to start this madness. Ahem. DAMN YOU, STEF!
They don't move until they see the credits tossed their way.
See all the currency hastily tossed into the vacuum-sealed top hat -- Dean had picked it up (stolen) when they’d made that brief stop at the last Commerce Planet, eyes hungrily eating them up while they stand there, idly stripping down to their underclothes, Sam in the modest bra and panties (stupid flimsy things that are only worn for the show) and Dean stays in his leather pants and boots, just tears off his shirt, smiles at the ones who make appreciative noises at his scarred torso, he could buy off twenty Diagnosans to make his skin flawless but they’re war-wounds, for all that he and Sam are willing to change, they never let their scars fade.
Listen to the sounds of the universe, hear how the coins, stones, hard rocks that gleam (and therefore, are worth something) all drop in the mottled grey hat with a faint plink, like water drops hitting a tin bucket.
No way of losing out on getting paid in full, this here is a special hat, can't take anything out of the hat unless your genetic code is recognized to be pure Winchester.
There’s only two left in the whole fucking universe with that DNA, no bastards left behind, much to their surprise.
Sam bends over the bar top, gives a fuck off look to keep the patrons in line, they only get to look, never touch.
Dean rips off the flimsy black panties, spreads his sister's pussy open between his thumbs, almost-licks her and then kisses away, anywhere but there, lips trailing down her thighs until they're offered double-the-amount for just starting the show and then he's tonguing, deep.
Sam, brown hair flying every-which way as she scrambles for purchase, shoving her pussy in her brother's face.
Not a long show, enough to clean out the packed house out of their precious currency, ends with Dean wiping wet off his face, Sam wiping Dean's come off of her modest tits.
It’s enough. Enough to continue hunting, surviving, these strange outsiders who don't look like siblings but call it out.
"Hey litle sister, what do you think?" Dean'll ask her when they're picking out guns, his hand down the front of her pants, shameless.
Or Sam, cheerfully watching Dean pick out some exquisite other (different species with unique perversions, Sam knows her brother well) to play with (and not just for him, for both of them), Sam crooks a smile, bends down to whisper, "My brother's just delicious, isn't he?"
They're in their short-range transport pod, made out like gangbusters, Dean taking stock of what's keeping them unique in the universe, left them gender-bendering freaks, addicts maybe, but whatever, they were fucked up from the get-go.
Says to Sam, "Only enough for one more hit. You wanna get back to bein' you or can I get a pussy? I'm in the mood to be munched on."
Sam just licks her lips and Dean swallows the bitter liquid in one gulp.