never trust a big butt and a smile (obeetaybee) wrote,
never trust a big butt and a smile
obeetaybee

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FIC(SPN): Aftermath (Het, NC-17, Dean/OFC)

title: Aftermath
characters: Dean/OFC
rating: NC-17
word count: 1943
disclaimer: Not mine, I just like to pull them out and play with them once in awhile.
note: Written for lisan for spn_holidays. One of the things she asked for was a Dean/OFC het piece. I hope you like.

Thank you again to the wonderful dotfic for the beta.




Aftermath



“Couldn’t sleep?” Dean asked from the doorway.

Shadows from the lone candle on the table jumped and flickered along the kitchen walls, lighting her face with pale orange light as she glanced up at him. “No. Too much, whirling around. In here,” she said, bringing her hand up and twirling it around her head. “I was hoping maybe drink and a smoke would relax me enough to lie back down.”

“Working?”

She snorted. “No.”

Dean pushed off the door jamb and moved further into the kitchen, pulling out the chair across from her. “You got another glass around here?”

She gave a small smile and tilted the chair back to hook her finger around a jelly glass sitting on the counter behind her. “Of course.”

Dean tried to ignore the flash of her taut stomach as she stretched backwards for the empty glass. His cock gave an uncomfortable twitch and he shifted in his seat as she placed the glass on the tabletop.

She unscrewed the lid of the bottle of Jack and poured him a healthy dollop. “How’s Sam?”

“Sleeping, thank God. The vicodin you gave really helped for the headache.”

She nodded and twirled her glass in her hands. “I’m sorry, for not knowing…”

“Not your fault. How could you have known Sam was psychic? Even I didn’t know until last year.”

“But still, I feel responsible. I called you guys to Hell House to help me get my dad back. I should have warned you about the house, what it does…how it feeds off of fear and psychic energy. I should have told you that the other psychics who have entered the house either killed themselves or went insane. I didn’t think.”

“Isabelle, don’t. Sam will be fine. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He still would have gone inside to save your dad. Both of us would.”

She pushed her hands through her hair and rested her forehead on her palms. “That wasn’t the worst you’ve ever seen, is it?”

Dean brought his drink to his mouth. He smiled behind the glass, but it wasn’t pleasant. “No. Not by a long shot.”

Isabelle stood up from her seat, pulling the sweatshirt on the back of the chair up and over her head. She patted the pockets and looked down at Dean. “I’m going out back. Want to come?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure.”

“Bring the bottle.”

Isabelle pulled open the back door and held the screen open for Dean as he walked out onto the concrete patio. Rain fell in sheets in the backyard, obscuring the view of the woods at the back of the lot. She sat down on the step and pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboros. Her hands shook as she flicked the lighter to life and touched the flame to the end of cigarette. She took a deep breath, letting the smoke infiltrate her lungs and the nicotine rush through her veins.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Dean said as he settled down beside her on the top step.

Isabelle’s face was pale in the semi-darkness. “I don’t. I mean, I did a long time ago. But I quit because my dad asked me too. Let’s just say after tonight, I think smoking an occasional cigarette is the least of my worries. Do you want one?”

“Naw. Out of all of my vices, smoking is one I never picked up.”

She smiled around the cigarette butt in her mouth. “Good, because I think this was the last one anyhow.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rain pattering against the tin overhang sheltering them from the worst of the downpour. “How’s your dad doing?”

Isabelle exhaled a long tube of gray smoke. “As well as can be expected, I guess. The doctors think his prognosis is good. I’m heading back to the hospital in the morning.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, Sam and I, we’ll probably hit the road in the morning. Thanks for letting us stay here for the night.”

Isabelle made a ‘forget about it’ motion with her hand. “Don’t say another thing about it. It was the least I could do, considering this is the second time you’ve saved my ass.”

“You’ve never had any more trouble with graveyard ghouls have you?”

Stubbing out the cigarette against the concrete step, Isabelle reached for the bottle and brought it to her lips for a drink. “I wouldn’t know,” she breathed against the burn in her throat. “I haven’t been back to a graveyard at night since I was seventeen and you wiped out that nest.” She handed the bottle to Dean and he took a healthy swallow.

“Is the drink working?”

Wrapping her arms around her sweatpants covered legs, she laid her head on her knees and turned to look at Dean. “It’s making the inside of me warm. Helping me forget, not so much.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the rain fall. “This is what you do, right? All the time? Things like this, you and Sam?”

Dean swallowed another mouthful of Jack Daniels. “Yeah.”

“How do you go to sleep at night?”

“Honestly?” He glanced down at her as she nodded her head. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. There isn’t much anymore that surprises or disturbs me. But sometimes, like tonight, when things are fucked up beyond repair and the after hunt adrenaline is flowing, I might find a bar and get drunk or I’ll find a woman that’s willing and I’ll try and fuck my way back to normalcy. It doesn’t always help. Having Sam with me does, though.”

Isabelle nodded her head and turned back to the yard. “Will you help me forget?”

“You know, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Isabelle. Any other night, any other time, if we met in different circumstances, I’d be all over you like a bear on honey.”

“Do you know what I saw when I closed my eyes tonight? I saw that woman, the one with her face and stomach…chewed. I saw those people, those things…I saw that dead man we found chained behind the wall. How can I ever forget that, Dean?”

“I don’t know, Isabelle. Time, maybe? Therapy?”

Isabelle laughed, quick and harsh. “Therapy. As if that could help. What could I ever say to a therapist that wouldn’t have me locked away in a padded room?”

Then suddenly, she was crying, her body shuddering compulsively, her hands pressed against her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she choked as Dean pulled her against his body, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and stroking her hair.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Sometimes doing this helps too. I’m sorry you had to see all of that,” he said as he rocked her back and forth. “I wish I could take it all away for you. I really do.”

“I know,” she whispered against his chest, her arms snaking around his back and under his t-shirt. Bringing her head up, she buried her face against his throat, feeling his pulse beat against her lips. The heavy hands stroking her back stilled, and in one forward motion, she was in his lap, straddling his hips with her legs.

“I need this, Dean,” she whispered as she slowly kissed up his neck, searching for his mouth. “I need you right now.” Her tongue traced the soft fullness of his lips, teasing. “I’m not going to beg,” she said softly, “but I’m not looking for the rest of your life either.” As she kissed him, his stomach tightened, his mouth responding as his mind fought for control. “Please,” she breathed against his open mouth, “please help me forget.”

Any hope he might have had of stopping, of pushing her off of him was shattered when she guided his hand in between her thighs, pressing his fingers into a hole in the fabric. She wasn’t wearing any underwear and she was wet, God help him.

Her forehead rested against his while he stroked her, her breath smelling of whisky and cigarette smoke. She moaned against his mouth when his fingers found the sweet spot and she thrust her hips, pushing his fingers deeper into her. She came suddenly, gasping and tightening her grip on his shoulders and his cock throbbed in anticipation, wanting the velvet softness of her pulsing against his fingers.

He waited until the last spasm was over before pulling his fingers from her, thinking maybe that was all she needed, but she surprised him when she ripped the hole in her pants wider, and devoured his mouth. He groaned against her hot lips, his hands coming up to grasp her hips, grinding up against her, the unforgiving denim of his jeans pushing against his cock, the friction delicious.

Her hands drifted down as her mouth and tongue sucked against the side of his neck. She undid the button of his jeans and brought him out, palming the heavy weight of his cock. She stroked it gently, thumbing the head and wiping the pre-come she found there. She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked, and he groaned again.

“I have something, in my pocket.”

He felt her nod against him and then a moment later he heard the sound of the plastic wrapper ripping and he hissed as the condom came down and sheathed over the length of him. She raised herself up on her knees and came down slowly, throwing her head back as she took him in inch by inch. His fingers tangled in her long hair and pulled, exposing her neck to his mouth as he bit down until he found the fabric covering her breasts. She moved slowly, so slowly, whimpering against the rain.

“I need this,” she whispered. “You’ll be gone tomorrow, but it’ll be okay.” Her hips bucked against his as his hands pulled down the back of her sweatpants, cupping her buttocks and squeezing, kneading the soft skin. “I’ll be okay.”

He pulled the sweatshirt up and over her head, wanting skin to taste, to suck. Goose pimples broke out across her chest and back, her nipples hardening against the chill. He leaned forward and suckled against one, and she squirmed against the heat of his mouth. Then she pushed him back against the steps and his bent cock rubbed against her clit and her eyes flew open from the sensation rippling though her body. “Oh God,” they both moaned at the same time.

The rain came down harder, hitting the ground and steps, ricocheting onto their entwined bodies. For a moment neither one moved, both so very close to their own orgasms.

Then Dean’s fingers slid in between their bodies, knowing he was close and wanting her to come when he did. His finger tickled her clit, and it was just the extra push she needed to send her over the edge. She started to come slowly, the sensation building around his cock, squeezing him until he couldn’t hold back any longer.

When she came she cried out his name, throwing her head back, the rain striking her face and masking the tears that fell against her cheeks. He jerked against her, pulling her hips down hard against him, filling her with his length, flooding the condom with his come.

Afterwards, he held her tight against his lap, his arms wrapped around her body. And just when he thought she had drifted off to sleep she whispered, “thank you.”

He nodded silently, and brought a hand up and wiped the tears from her face. He kissed her softly on the lips and pulled her head down against his neck, hoping that maybe just for tonight, she’d sleep peacefully.

Lord knows, he wouldn't.



fin

Tags: dean/ofc, supernatural
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