Summary: Dean stumbles upon another hunter so much like himself. When they’re connection grows inexplicably stronger, they find an answer they never thought existed.
Pairing: Dean x OFC (who looks and acts like Faith Lehane w/o the slayer powers)
Warnings: hand feeding, hair pulling, rough sex, ass play, no condoms, lap sitting, prostate massage, magical bond
xox: @glassjacket @boondoctorwho @cracksinthewalls @naughtygirlsarebest @fatestemptress @adoptdontshoppets @pisces-cutie @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @tumbler-tidbits
She didn’t really mess up, but she’d gotten a little reckless lately. Maybe she was bored. Maybe she let her guard down, hoping against hope that something new or interesting would happen. But the last thing she had hoped for was to get arrested. Getting arrested wasn’t new or interesting.
“Eliza Cornell,” the guard who’d been reasonably pleasant earlier while booking her called her name as his keys clanked in the hole to unlock her cell. “You got a visitor.”
“A visitor.” Her voice sounded as world-weary as she felt. She looked passively at the guard as he waved her toward the open entrance, nodding.
“Federal agent,” he replied without looking her in the eye.
Eliza’s eyebrows jumped and she hummed with mild interest. She stood and crossed the threshold of the cell, waited for the guard to close the door behind her, then followed him down the hall to the interrogation room. “Say what they wanted?” Eliza asked, not exactly expecting the guard to answer.
“Nope,” he answered, stopping in front of a door, opening it, and waving her inside.
She saw him from the back at first – six feet plus of charged muscle, liquidly encased in a dark, cut-rate suit, tense and raw; high and tight, soft brown hair; and that infamous vibe of impulsiveness. If she didn’t know better-
“Agent Bonham,” the guard requested the agent’s attention, and he slowly turned to face them. Eliza’s heart skipped a beat. “Eliza Cornell,” the guard announced. Eliza took a slow pull of oxygen through her nose and pushed it just as slowly out her barely pursed lips.
Dean Winchester.
Eliza’d never met Dean, but his reputation and his looks preceded him. All hunters knew who the Winchesters were. Sam, the younger brother, dead five times at least, possessed by Lucifer among other things; Dean, the older brother, possessed and dead – so she thought; John Winchester, dead; Mary Winchester, also dead. Eliza really only ever heard of Sam as the one dying and coming back all the time. But you never really knew in their line of work.
“Ms. Cornell.” He nodded, and the guard ducked out of the room.
Eliza stood firmly in place, her hands cuffed in front of her. Dean tipped his chin and looked down at her from across the table. Red lips, red tank top, dark denim jacket, snug-in-all-the-right-places cargo pants, work boots – the uniform of a hunter with a real nice twist.
She was small, like Jo, but Dean wasn’t under the impression that this woman was anything but lethal if her rap sheet was to be believed. He had a sudden urge to thread his fingers through her wild hair. He had no idea how she hunted successfully with all that hair flying around, it had to be a disadvantage, but he couldn’t wait to see it.
“Just wanna ask you a few questions.” Dean rounded the table, his eyes continuing to roam her body. She smiled with the kind of knowing that told him she was used to being eyed so thoroughly and liked it.
Her skin tingled in the way that it did when she came upon a vamp nest or knew she was being watched. She was used to being watched, but this time was different. The tingle was like an internal alarm that screamed predator.
Dean stopped about four feet short of her toe line, pulled out a chair, and gestured with a big, calloused hand for her to have a seat. “Really, just a few questions.” His voice was as rough as she imagined it would be, just as deep. It was also soothing, like the monster from her closet was comforting her.
She glanced at the proffered seat but stood still then slipped her eyes back to his face. “Winchester,” she said, like it was an accusation, her smoky, seductive tone betraying her.
Dean paused and narrowed his eyes, then chuckled until his face split with a blinding grin. He let go of the chair before settling back against the table, folding his arms across his broad chest. He hung his head but held her with his eyes. “Got me.”
“Thought you were dead,” she said, attempting to maintain as much indifference in the quality of her voice as possible. Her voice was like the honey he saw in her eyes only sweeter. Dean couldn’t stop licking his lips.
He blinked lazily and shrugged a shoulder. “Not right now.” They held each other’s gaze in silence for a few beats.
“Why are you here?” she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and shifting her weight for a stance with better leverage because one can ever be too careful and her hands were still cuffed. She had no idea what he wanted with her and no hope to beat him and/or whatever potentially possessed his body at any game, but she’d damn well go down with a fight if she had to.
“Same reason you are – shapeshifter,” he answered with a face like it was obvious. “And since you got yourself arrested, I thought you might’ve come close to something, might wanna tell me about it.”
It was her turn to grin and roll her eyes. She shook her head. He really thought she was going to spill it all and let him walk out the door, leaving her there to rot. “That depends,” she said.
“On what, exactly?” he asked, his eyes sparkling and dark.
She lifted her cuffed wrists and arched a brow.
Dean tilted his head and smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I dunno, I think I like you like that.” He really did like her like that; he also liked the way her warm eyes flamed hot at the insinuation.
Eliza scoffed. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but no reason for us to stay here and talk about it.” She stared him down. “Get me outta here.”
Dean’s perpetual Blue Steel washed over her for a moment until he pushed away from the desk, crossed the room, and banged on the door for the guard. When he turned to face her again, he raked his eyes over her one more time.
It occurred to her then that this just might be exactly what she’d hoped for.
They grabbed drive-thru and Eliza caught Dean up on the shifter being a possible hybrid, and most definitely in the wind. They decided to head back to Lebanon to research it further.
During the hour and forty-five-minute car ride from Kearney, Nebraska, Dean gave Eliza a brief run-down of his most recent death and the acquisition of the Men of Letters bunker and they argued over music. When they finally reached their destination, it was mostly dark and quiet inside.
“Damn,” she breathed. She was afraid to speak too loudly. Dean wasn’t the most forthcoming with information, so the bunker stunned her slightly. It was beautiful. “This place is like a mausoleum.”
Dean didn’t say much in return, except to toss, “whiskey?” over his shoulder. He draped his fed jacket over the back of a chair and finished yanking his tie all the way out of his collar, as he made a beeline to a decanter of amber liquid.
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, trailing behind him, running her fingers over the rich mahogany of one long table, savoring the way the low, warm light accentuated the grain.
As Dean clanked around to find two clean glasses to fill, Eliza removed her own jacket and stretched. “Sammy’s off somewhere,” Dean made a gesture with his hands that translated to, ‘I’ll tell you some things, but I’m not telling you that.’
Eliza accepted the glass when Dean handed it over to her. They toasted, each with a different phrase, and nodded before taking equally large draws of whiskey, keeping their eyes on each other over the rims of their glasses.
Once her glass was drained, Eliza set it aside. “So,” she turned her gaze back to Dean’s. “We gonna fuck?”
Dean’s eyes burned into hers as he savored the amber liquid and hefted the weight of her words. He always tried to be careful to not mix business with pleasure, but these days he didn’t give a shit. The mark buzzed in his ears and his mind and his veins, and Sam wasn’t there to stop him. He wouldn’t hurt this girl, not really, but a little necessary roughness could go a long way to quieting his insides; and she seemed more than up for the challenge.
Eliza cocked her head with a sly smile, swaying from side-to-side to the ever-present music that played in her head, watching the warring emotions twist his pretty face in the loveliest ways. “Dean?” she was growing impatient and her clothes were itchy. It had been hours since her fight with the shifter, but the standard-issue post-battle sex buzz was still lingering.
Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and gently set his glass on the bar cart next to hers. That gleam and that sparkle played at the edges of the predominate darkness in his eyes and it made her shiver internally. He pursed his lips and nodded as he crouched and dug through the storage of the cart. When he popped to his full height, he was brandishing a full, unopened bottle of Maker’s Mark. He studied it closely then turned his forceful gaze back to hers. “Let’s go,” he nodded and headed toward the arched doorway then down a hall.
“Nice,” Eliza muttered, following Dean to his room. With his white button-down, open at the collar and rumpled, still tucked into gray flannel pants and a belt, and hair a mess, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. It had been way too long since she’d had access to a man like Dean Winchester for more than a smash and grab in a back alley, and she was going to revel in it.
Dean flung the door open and waltzed inside. “It ain’t much,” he said, cracking the Maker’s red wax seal. He stood in the middle of the room, pulling from the bottle and watching as Eliza walked around the room touching things like the weapons on his wall, the wood of the desk – she snatched the back of his desk chair in one delicate hand and deftly flipped it around.
“Have a seat, pretty boy,” she said, her husky voice almost breaking.
Dean paused again, watching her command the room. She belonged there. She was comfortable and the light and air embraced her exquisitely. “What’re we doin’?” Dean asked, swagger at full effect all the way to the chair. She could see the bulge in his pants.
“Well,” Eliza hummed, running her fingers across the expanse of his shoulders when he finally sat, legs thrown askew, another pull of whiskey bobbing in his throat. “You’re gonna sit in this chair like a good boy, while I ride you like a cowgirl.”
Before Dean could reply with words, Eliza swung around the chair, landing astride his hips. She’d kicked her boots off when he wasn’t looking. Dean grunted in satisfaction and surprise. In such close proximity, he could smell the clean scent of her shampoo, the sweet whiskey on her breath, and the salt of exertion on her skin.
“Hey, cowgirl,” Dean smirked and lifted the bottle once more. Eliza stopped the advance of the bottle at his wrist with one hand then took a sip of her own with her free hand, grinding into his lap.
“You’re hard,” she said. Dean nodded, tracing the seams of her pants with his fingers and thumbs. “That’s good.”
She threw her head back, pitching her hips forward further pressing into him and trickled whiskey down one side of her throat and across her collarbone. Dean didn’t wait to lean into her and lick the sweetness from her salty skin. He gripped her slight hips in his hands, keeping her right where they both want her to be, while he cleaned her with tongue and lips and scraping teeth.
“Oh, baby, this is gonna be lit,” Eliza dipped to the side to set the bottle on the floor then whipped her tank over her head. Before it landed on the bed, she had her hands in his hair and her lips on his – finally – and Dean groaned into the kiss.
Truth be told, Dean loved kissing. He loved making out, loved touching everything, everywhere. He could do this for hours – this soft, supple girl, writhing in his lap, tongues twisting and hands exploring. He slowly pulled one strap of her black satin bra over one shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose and lips over her skin, lightly tracing her spine and along her waistband with the rough pads of his fingers. He wound one hand in the back of her hair, pulling the other up in front to slip the slack cup from her breast.
Dean lightly latched onto her nipple, sliding his tongue around and pulling with soft lips. His mouth felt so good, so warm. Eliza pulled at the skin on his neck with her lips and teeth, it was smooth and he smelled like leather and gunpowder. The sounds he was making were the kind of masculine utterances she longed for, the deep rumbles and moans and sighs, and the wet sounds of his tongue working her nipple, moving across her chest and up her neck to her ear, pulling with his teeth. His breath in her ear turned her skin to gooseflesh.
“Let’s get these off,” his voice was hoarse. He kissed her as he worked the button of her pants through its hole and unzipped them. Eliza stood for the brief moment it took for Dean to work her pants and panties over her hips. She shimmied the rest of the way out of them then kicked them aside with her socks, tossing her bra on top.
“Your turn,” she leered, balancing on his knees, legs spread wide, as she worked his belt and pants open. Dean ran one finger through her slit and reached for the whiskey with his other hand, taking a swig, watching her work. Eliza moved all the fabric out of the way to get at her prize and grinned. “Jackpot.” Her golden-brown eyes flicked up to meet his.
“God, you’re pretty.” She kissed him hard. He had the longest, thickest lashes framing the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen on a man. She could swim in them.
Dean set the whiskey back on the floor, sliding a finger inside her. She chuckled and groaned then wrapped a hand around his hard length, inching into his body, working his shirt open with her other hand. She sighed when her cool hand met the warm, smooth curves of his chest. Her thumb grazed his tip, spreading the bit of precum around, feeling him further swell, as his own matched her movement across her clit.
He gripped one of her knees and squeezed before running his hand up her strong thigh, his thumb stopping at the hot, wet juncture to trace her opening where he was fucking her with a single finger. They were kissing again and he mimicked the movements of his tongue with his fingers and thumbs as best he could. He wanted to taste her pussy, but that could wait.
“Tell me you have a condom because I can’t wait,” Eliza wrapped an arm around his neck and thrust against him hard, mixing her wetness with his and he groaned.
“Back pocket,” he reached for his wallet as she rubbed herself forward and back over his length, almost pulling him inside.
“Fuck, I could come like this,” she gasped, eyes closed, head thrown back in utter abandon, barely hanging by his neck and shoulders.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Dean slowed his actions to watch in awe. She really looked like she was riding a bull and her face was pure rapture. “Do it.” He braced one hand at the small of her back, holding her in place so she could just let it all go, as he ripped open the package with his teeth.
Eliza came fast with a hoarse cry, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat. She was shaking with joy as she collapsed forward onto his shoulder, breathless and a sopping wet mess in his lap, arms and legs loose and humming.
Dean nuzzled into her ear. “Hold on.” He stood and she instinctually wrapped her legs around his waist and groaned. He turned and took three strides to the bed and dropped her dead-center before pulling his shirt off and pushing his pants, boxers, and shoes off in one swift motion. She was enthralled, sprawling open for him as he stood fully nude and hard, rolling the condom to cover his width and length. Her was mouth watering.
Then he leaned forward and gripped one ankle, dragging her a few inches until he could easily kiss his way from her delicate ankle to her wet center. Eliza stretched like a cat under his attention, as he pushed her completely open, hands wrapped around the backs of her knees, pushing them to either side of her chest. “I just want a little taste, but then I gotta be inside you.” His mouth was on her, hot and solid, tongue and lips kissing and licking. He used the full force of his body to fuck her with his tongue, to graze her clit with his lips.
“Ung, your fucking mouth.” She sunk her fingers into his hair, writhing in utter joy.
Dean chuckled then gave her one long lick before moving to his knees. “More later,” he said. He dropped onto all fours, her legs draping his arms and his hands braced on either side of her shoulders. He kissed her lingering, unhurried until he felt her shoulders slump and her hands clasp around his neck. She sighed into the kiss and he pushed inside, long and slow.
They groaned in unison and Eliza pitched her hips until her ankles were hooked behind Dean’s head. He pulled out and slid back in, solid and smooth, then did it again. The angle served him well, but he wanted to make sure she’d come again, wanted to feel her. “Good?” he asked, setting a rhythm.
“Mhm,” Eliza nodded with a dazed grin, licking her lips and breathing hard. He tasted her neck and her collarbone, picking up speed and momentum with each push. Eliza dragged a hand down his torso to where they were joined and braced her clit, two fingers in the shape of a V. His thrusts aided in the friction she needed and she whispered, desperately, “Dean, come with me.”
He was up on his knees, banging into her, hugging her thighs to his chest, watching her closely. “Fuck,” he gritted his teeth. “Already?”
“Yes, god…” she was almost whining.
In moments she came, erratically squeezing around him, soaking him, crying out his name and all kinds of expletives. He kept driving into her, getting closer himself. Three more hard, deep thrusts and he roared his own release, their shouts, bouncing off the brick walls.
They were breathing heavy as a couple of marathon runners, as Dean pulled out and Eliza let her legs drop open to the bed. He tied off the condom and tossed it in the general direction of the trashcan before dissolving into a mass of sweat and sighs at her side.
“Thanks, dude,” she sighed. “That was good.” She rolled to her side, facing him, letting her eyes wander over his superbly male form. “You really are pretty, but I’m sure you already know that.”
“Back atcha, sister,” Dean returned her smirk, shifting to mirror her position. He brushed her hair over her shoulder, clasping her arm and running his hand down over smooth skin until he reached her hip. His finger traced the words set in ink. “What’s this?”
She was thoughtful, her expression more subdued than he’d seen since he first laid eyes on her. “Burning in the light,” she answered. His eyes met hers, asking for an explanation. He could see he wasn’t going to get it.
Eliza rolled off the bed and grabbed his shirt and boxers from the floor. Donning Dean’s clothes like a child playing dress-up and twisting her hair into a bun, she asked, “got anything to eat around here?” Then she disappeared through the door.
Dean shook his head before standing to pull on his discarded pants and follow her to the kitchen.
IncogNinja 