FANFIC: Clear the Area, Ch 6: She's My Cherry Pie
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC, Castiel, Kevin
Rating: R
Chapter Word Count: 2,770
Total Word Count: 18,050 (Complete)
Genre: Romance/Humor
Summary: This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OFC's shoes. Sorta set end of S8. AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker; everyone is healthy, and Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact. (Story title from appropriate Imogen Heap song.)
Author's Note: Not beta'd, any and all mistakes belong solely to me. This is the first Supernatural fanfic I've posted, so please let me know what you think! :)
You spend the night alone in the motel bed, trying desperately to sleep and not think about your all-too brief romp with Dean.
In the morning, the sexual tension between the two of you is so strong the air is practically crackling with it. You're using every ounce of self control to hold it together until you two can get back to the bunker.
And then Dean decides that the best way to vent his own building frustration is to torment you mercilessly.
The first time he does it, Sam and Castiel are outside loading up the car, preparing everything for the 6+ hour drive back to the bunker.
You're crouched down, packing your duffle when Dean creeps up behind you, pushes your hair aside, and bites the nape of your neck just hard enough to send chills and heat racing through your body. You groan and arch back against him when he easily pulls you up onto your feet. You offer no resistance, because you're fairly certain your legs just turned into jello.
With a knowing, rumbling chuckle, he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. He moves up the side of your neck, nipping and sucking, rolling his tongue against your skin. His fingertips just barely slide up under the hem of your shirt to graze your bare stomach before you're interrupted.
Dean expertly manages to put a few feet of space between you just in time for Sam to walk back in to grab his duffle.
The younger Winchester stops short when he sees you both. He squints and eyes you appraisingly for a few seconds before going about his business. You're sure you look every bit as turned on as you're feeling. But Dean, the rotten bastard, manages to appear completely unaffected and innocent.
You take comfort in the fact that Sam knows Dean far too well to believe he's 'innocent' when standing next to a frazzled woman.
The second time he torments you, you've all been on the road for several hours. Sam has just gone into the store you're parked outside of to grab drinks. When Dean tells Cas to follow Sam and find him some pie, you know you're in trouble.
Cas is barely out of the car before Dean spins around in his seat and grins at you.
"No!" You laugh. "Whatever you're thinking? No!"
With the ease of a man who's probably had half of his sexual encounters within the interior of this car (and isn't that just a disturbing thought), he is over the back of the seat and covering your body with his own in a flash.
He kisses you frantically, groping and moaning and grinding and pulling back on your hair and you swear you could get off just from this and then, without warning...
He's gone.
You sit up shakily, looking every bit the part of a mauling victim and slowly come back to your senses. Dean is back in the front seat, licking the taste of you from his lips and staring at you in the rear view mirror. He's grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
The Impala door squeaks and the car jostles as Sam slides into the passenger seat.
"Grabbed us some grub," he announces as he closes the door. "Not really much of a selection, but at least they had-"
He stops when he looks over at Dean. Seeing the self-satisfied expression on his brother's face, Sam scowls suspiciously. Turning in his seat, he takes one look at you and rolls his eyes. He sits back in his seat heavily.
"Never mind..." he huffs bitchily. "I see you've already eaten."
"Just the appetizer," Dean assures cheekily.
Sam grimaces.
Castiel climbs into the backseat beside you and passes a bag up to Dean. "They only had cherry. I hope that is satisfactory."
"Mmm... looks absolutely delicious," Dean damned near purrs, winking at you in the rear view.
You shift in your seat, your heart racing because he damned sure hasn't even looked at the slice of pie Cas brought.
Sam glares over at his brother, knowing damned well what he's doing. "Dean," he says low in warning.
"Finger-lickin' good, even," Dean continues, pointedly ignoring his brother. His eyes are still locked with yours as he swipes his tongue suggestively across his upper lip. "I'm telling you, I cannot wait to get it open and-"
"Ugh! Duuddeee!" Sam finally cries in disgust at being subjected to his brother's double entendres.
Dean tosses his head back and laughs heartily before putting it in drive and pulling back out onto the road. "Prude," he teases.
That night, back at the bunker, you find yourself alone in your bed, staring at the clock, wound up tight with sexual frustration and waiting eagerly for Dean to show.
You're wearing excessively-short shorts and a flimsy tank top this time, which'll give him instant access to far more of your skin than he's ever been permitted to touch in the past. You're shaved and lotioned to the appropriately high standards for first-time-sex-with-a-super-hot-guy. You took extra time arranging your hair in a sleeker version of his favored fresh-from-bed style. You even broke out your expensive as hell bra and panties - the matching set you splurged on a few months back and reserved only for such special occasions. Not that any part of you thought it'd be Dean you'd be wearing them for when you bought them.
By 2:00 AM, you feel yourself starting to fade. You wonder if he's intentionally making you wait to build up the anticipation. You don't think that's particularly fair, as you're pretty sure it's not physically possible to want it any more than you already do.
You try not to worry that he's changed his mind. Because, seriously? Dean? Change his mind about the sex he's been trying to have with you for a year?
You try not to get annoyed that he's keeping you waiting. Because, yeah - you did sorta say no for a year.
At some point, you finally lose the battle and drift off, stretched out on top of the covers.
You wake to the hair-raising sensation of being watched and before you can slide your hand beneath your pillow for your gun, you hear him.
"Hey, beautiful," he rumbles, somehow knowing that you're awake.
You smile drowsily and open your eyes, surprised to find him sitting in a chair several feet away from your bed. He always just slid right in beside you before. You stretch in an admittedly intentionally-provocative manner and laugh lightly at the appreciative hissed, 'Ooh... yeah, girl...' he gives in response to the view.
"What ya doin' way over there?" You ask, pouting slightly.
"Waiting for you to wake up," he replies.
"But there's all this empty space right here," you say, sliding your hand across the mattress in front of you. "And I'm sure you could have thought of some way to wake me up."
He chuckles and nods. "More than a few ways crossed my mind while I was waiting, believe me. Especially with you wearing that. Almost broke my restraint when I walked in here." He clears his throat and tries to sound serious as he goes on. "But I've got some stuff I need to say first, so I'm just gonna go ahead and say it."
"Well... that sounds ominous," you say, arching a brow apprehensively.
"Don't worry. It's not," he assures.
"You sure you can't say it over here?" You ask, patting the bed beside you in invitation with one hand while twirling a lock of your hair with the other.
Dean licks his lips at the sight of you in that moment. "When I get into that bed with you? Trust me, darlin', the last thing I'm gonna be doing with my mouth is talking."
"Ooh, promise?" You tease.
"You bet that sweet little ass of yours," he says with a wink.
"This sweet little ass is yours - just as soon as you get over here and take it," you purr and settle down onto your stomach, watching as his eyes become fixated on the curve of your ass.
"You're making this really difficult," he declares in a voice that's at least a full octave higher than normal.
You laugh at the desperation in his tone and resist the urge to apologize for making it hard for him.
"But back to... what I wanted to say," he says, trying to focus. "Look, the thing is... I may bust on Sammy, but I haven't exactly had the best track record with women, either. I mean sure, it's a long record..." he grants, his eyes widening for emphasis.
You wince and sit up in bed, abandoning the seductive pose and tone of voice. "Annndd I'm suddenly feeling a headache coming on."
"No, no. No headaches!" He laughs. "I promise, I am going somewhere with this."
"Can you be going somewhere other than a highlight reel of exes and one-nighters? Cuz really? So not a turn-on."
"Yeah. Right. Got it," he says with a nod and rubs his palms across the tops of his legs before drawing a hand over his mouth.
You frown as you take in his body language. You can almost hear Castiel's voice in your head, struggling to identify what Dean is conveying: Insecurity. Nervousness. Uncertainty.
Taking a deep breath, Dean leans forward and drapes his forearms over his knees.
"What I'm trying to say is... there's a reason for it. This is my life. Hunting demons and monsters. Hustling and running scams to pay my way. Living in a secret underground bunker, for Christ's sake, when I'm not driving all over the place and crashing in cheap motels.
"By most people's standards, my brother and I are entirely too codependent and I have an unhealthy infatuation with my car. I have a socially retarded angel damned near crawling up my ass half the time and I somehow managed to adopt a twitchy little geek of a prophet. Seriously, the kid just imprinted on us like a baby duck.
"I fight. I flirt as easy as I breathe. I'm stubborn as hell. I probably drink too much and Sammy swears if I don't die on a hunt, my cholesterol's gonna kill me long before I ever see 40. But that's who I am. I'm not gonna change. I'm never gonna be that guy working a 9-to-5, paying a mortgage, going home to a wife and kids in a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a dog-"
"Dean," you interrupt his rant gently and wait for him to meet your gaze. "I know all of that. It's fine. You don't need to-"
"Just... bear with me," he pleads and swallows hard to keep some unnamed emotion in check. His eyes become trained on his now tightly-clasped hands. "I'm trying to tell you something important here."
"Okay," you answer a bit anxiously, wondering briefly whether you should be testing his reaction to silver. Dean doesn't talk. He doesn't share his thoughts and feelings. But he's already said more in this impromptu rambling speech than the entirety of the time you've known him. It's actually a little scary, to be honest, watching him open up without warning. But you hold your tongue and let him try to get it out.
"The reason I don't get involved is because we have to use lines like, 'Hazard of the job,' and 'Comes with the territory'." He continues. "Because more often than not, shit goes bad and when it does? People get hurt and killed. And the bastards we hunt don't care if we want to keep our families separate. Anyone we get close to, we're putting them in danger. But you?"
He looks up at you finally, smiling as he meets your gaze.
"You're right, you do know all of this. Because it's your life, too. I don't have to try to make you understand. I don't have to hide this shit from you. I'm not putting you in danger because you were hunting long before we met and, if we hadn't started working together, you'd still be out there doing it solo.
"And yeah, one of these days, one of us won't come back from a hunt. Don't have to like it to know it's true. Just the way it is. Might be tomorrow, might be ten years from now. But until that happens..."
He bites his bottom lip and narrows his eyes, studying yours to gauge your reaction.
"I guess what I'm really trying to say is... if you're in? If you're into... this," he says, motioning between the two of you. "Then I'm in. All the way. Not just for kicks. Not until somebody else comes along. In for real."
With that final declaration, the room falls to silence.
You have no idea what to say.
Your mind seems to have suffered a system error and is struggling to reboot.
"I umm..." he clears his throat and looks back down at his hands. "I can't promise you it'll be easy or perfect," he goes on a little unsteadily.
Some part of your brain recognizes that he's misinterpreting your silence as hesitation. He sounds borderline self-conscious, which is just all kinds of wrong coming from Dean.
"But I give you my word that I will never intentionally hurt you," he offers sincerely. "You know me. I'm as loyal as they come and I take care of the people that matter to me. I guess it's just that... if we're gonna start doing more than 'just sleeping' together, I wanted you to know where I'm coming from."
"Dean..." you try, but trail off, too overwhelmed to speak.
"So if you want to um... take some time to think about it..." he says as he stands up.
You realize in panic that he's getting ready to bolt out the door. He's feeling way too vulnerable in this situation and seeking an escape.
Thankfully, your feet are moving before your brain can catch up.
"Wait," you say, snagging his wrist as he turns toward the door. "I'm in, Dean. For real. All in."
He turns to face you slowly.
"Yeah?" He asks, studying your eyes cautiously.
"Hell yeah," you answer with a grin.
A warm smile slowly spreads across his face.
"Yeah. Okay then," he says, nodding and staring down into your eyes intently. "Sooo... celebratory sex?" He offers with an arched brow and a wicked smirk.
"Thought you'd never ask," you reply and laugh when he lifts you up off your feet.
A/N: What do you think? Looking forward to the next part? I know, I know. Wicked, evil cliff-hanger ;) But I promise to pick up right at this point in the next chapter. I'm not gonna skim over any of the good stuff, promise.
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC, Castiel, Kevin
Rating: R
Chapter Word Count: 2,770
Total Word Count: 18,050 (Complete)
Genre: Romance/Humor
Summary: This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OFC's shoes. Sorta set end of S8. AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker; everyone is healthy, and Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact. (Story title from appropriate Imogen Heap song.)
Author's Note: Not beta'd, any and all mistakes belong solely to me. This is the first Supernatural fanfic I've posted, so please let me know what you think! :)
You spend the night alone in the motel bed, trying desperately to sleep and not think about your all-too brief romp with Dean.
In the morning, the sexual tension between the two of you is so strong the air is practically crackling with it. You're using every ounce of self control to hold it together until you two can get back to the bunker.
And then Dean decides that the best way to vent his own building frustration is to torment you mercilessly.
The first time he does it, Sam and Castiel are outside loading up the car, preparing everything for the 6+ hour drive back to the bunker.
You're crouched down, packing your duffle when Dean creeps up behind you, pushes your hair aside, and bites the nape of your neck just hard enough to send chills and heat racing through your body. You groan and arch back against him when he easily pulls you up onto your feet. You offer no resistance, because you're fairly certain your legs just turned into jello.
With a knowing, rumbling chuckle, he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. He moves up the side of your neck, nipping and sucking, rolling his tongue against your skin. His fingertips just barely slide up under the hem of your shirt to graze your bare stomach before you're interrupted.
Dean expertly manages to put a few feet of space between you just in time for Sam to walk back in to grab his duffle.
The younger Winchester stops short when he sees you both. He squints and eyes you appraisingly for a few seconds before going about his business. You're sure you look every bit as turned on as you're feeling. But Dean, the rotten bastard, manages to appear completely unaffected and innocent.
You take comfort in the fact that Sam knows Dean far too well to believe he's 'innocent' when standing next to a frazzled woman.
The second time he torments you, you've all been on the road for several hours. Sam has just gone into the store you're parked outside of to grab drinks. When Dean tells Cas to follow Sam and find him some pie, you know you're in trouble.
Cas is barely out of the car before Dean spins around in his seat and grins at you.
"No!" You laugh. "Whatever you're thinking? No!"
With the ease of a man who's probably had half of his sexual encounters within the interior of this car (and isn't that just a disturbing thought), he is over the back of the seat and covering your body with his own in a flash.
He kisses you frantically, groping and moaning and grinding and pulling back on your hair and you swear you could get off just from this and then, without warning...
He's gone.
You sit up shakily, looking every bit the part of a mauling victim and slowly come back to your senses. Dean is back in the front seat, licking the taste of you from his lips and staring at you in the rear view mirror. He's grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
The Impala door squeaks and the car jostles as Sam slides into the passenger seat.
"Grabbed us some grub," he announces as he closes the door. "Not really much of a selection, but at least they had-"
He stops when he looks over at Dean. Seeing the self-satisfied expression on his brother's face, Sam scowls suspiciously. Turning in his seat, he takes one look at you and rolls his eyes. He sits back in his seat heavily.
"Never mind..." he huffs bitchily. "I see you've already eaten."
"Just the appetizer," Dean assures cheekily.
Sam grimaces.
Castiel climbs into the backseat beside you and passes a bag up to Dean. "They only had cherry. I hope that is satisfactory."
"Mmm... looks absolutely delicious," Dean damned near purrs, winking at you in the rear view.
You shift in your seat, your heart racing because he damned sure hasn't even looked at the slice of pie Cas brought.
Sam glares over at his brother, knowing damned well what he's doing. "Dean," he says low in warning.
"Finger-lickin' good, even," Dean continues, pointedly ignoring his brother. His eyes are still locked with yours as he swipes his tongue suggestively across his upper lip. "I'm telling you, I cannot wait to get it open and-"
"Ugh! Duuddeee!" Sam finally cries in disgust at being subjected to his brother's double entendres.
Dean tosses his head back and laughs heartily before putting it in drive and pulling back out onto the road. "Prude," he teases.
That night, back at the bunker, you find yourself alone in your bed, staring at the clock, wound up tight with sexual frustration and waiting eagerly for Dean to show.
You're wearing excessively-short shorts and a flimsy tank top this time, which'll give him instant access to far more of your skin than he's ever been permitted to touch in the past. You're shaved and lotioned to the appropriately high standards for first-time-sex-with-a-super-hot-guy. You took extra time arranging your hair in a sleeker version of his favored fresh-from-bed style. You even broke out your expensive as hell bra and panties - the matching set you splurged on a few months back and reserved only for such special occasions. Not that any part of you thought it'd be Dean you'd be wearing them for when you bought them.
By 2:00 AM, you feel yourself starting to fade. You wonder if he's intentionally making you wait to build up the anticipation. You don't think that's particularly fair, as you're pretty sure it's not physically possible to want it any more than you already do.
You try not to worry that he's changed his mind. Because, seriously? Dean? Change his mind about the sex he's been trying to have with you for a year?
You try not to get annoyed that he's keeping you waiting. Because, yeah - you did sorta say no for a year.
At some point, you finally lose the battle and drift off, stretched out on top of the covers.
You wake to the hair-raising sensation of being watched and before you can slide your hand beneath your pillow for your gun, you hear him.
"Hey, beautiful," he rumbles, somehow knowing that you're awake.
You smile drowsily and open your eyes, surprised to find him sitting in a chair several feet away from your bed. He always just slid right in beside you before. You stretch in an admittedly intentionally-provocative manner and laugh lightly at the appreciative hissed, 'Ooh... yeah, girl...' he gives in response to the view.
"What ya doin' way over there?" You ask, pouting slightly.
"Waiting for you to wake up," he replies.
"But there's all this empty space right here," you say, sliding your hand across the mattress in front of you. "And I'm sure you could have thought of some way to wake me up."
He chuckles and nods. "More than a few ways crossed my mind while I was waiting, believe me. Especially with you wearing that. Almost broke my restraint when I walked in here." He clears his throat and tries to sound serious as he goes on. "But I've got some stuff I need to say first, so I'm just gonna go ahead and say it."
"Well... that sounds ominous," you say, arching a brow apprehensively.
"Don't worry. It's not," he assures.
"You sure you can't say it over here?" You ask, patting the bed beside you in invitation with one hand while twirling a lock of your hair with the other.
Dean licks his lips at the sight of you in that moment. "When I get into that bed with you? Trust me, darlin', the last thing I'm gonna be doing with my mouth is talking."
"Ooh, promise?" You tease.
"You bet that sweet little ass of yours," he says with a wink.
"This sweet little ass is yours - just as soon as you get over here and take it," you purr and settle down onto your stomach, watching as his eyes become fixated on the curve of your ass.
"You're making this really difficult," he declares in a voice that's at least a full octave higher than normal.
You laugh at the desperation in his tone and resist the urge to apologize for making it hard for him.
"But back to... what I wanted to say," he says, trying to focus. "Look, the thing is... I may bust on Sammy, but I haven't exactly had the best track record with women, either. I mean sure, it's a long record..." he grants, his eyes widening for emphasis.
You wince and sit up in bed, abandoning the seductive pose and tone of voice. "Annndd I'm suddenly feeling a headache coming on."
"No, no. No headaches!" He laughs. "I promise, I am going somewhere with this."
"Can you be going somewhere other than a highlight reel of exes and one-nighters? Cuz really? So not a turn-on."
"Yeah. Right. Got it," he says with a nod and rubs his palms across the tops of his legs before drawing a hand over his mouth.
You frown as you take in his body language. You can almost hear Castiel's voice in your head, struggling to identify what Dean is conveying: Insecurity. Nervousness. Uncertainty.
Taking a deep breath, Dean leans forward and drapes his forearms over his knees.
"What I'm trying to say is... there's a reason for it. This is my life. Hunting demons and monsters. Hustling and running scams to pay my way. Living in a secret underground bunker, for Christ's sake, when I'm not driving all over the place and crashing in cheap motels.
"By most people's standards, my brother and I are entirely too codependent and I have an unhealthy infatuation with my car. I have a socially retarded angel damned near crawling up my ass half the time and I somehow managed to adopt a twitchy little geek of a prophet. Seriously, the kid just imprinted on us like a baby duck.
"I fight. I flirt as easy as I breathe. I'm stubborn as hell. I probably drink too much and Sammy swears if I don't die on a hunt, my cholesterol's gonna kill me long before I ever see 40. But that's who I am. I'm not gonna change. I'm never gonna be that guy working a 9-to-5, paying a mortgage, going home to a wife and kids in a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a dog-"
"Dean," you interrupt his rant gently and wait for him to meet your gaze. "I know all of that. It's fine. You don't need to-"
"Just... bear with me," he pleads and swallows hard to keep some unnamed emotion in check. His eyes become trained on his now tightly-clasped hands. "I'm trying to tell you something important here."
"Okay," you answer a bit anxiously, wondering briefly whether you should be testing his reaction to silver. Dean doesn't talk. He doesn't share his thoughts and feelings. But he's already said more in this impromptu rambling speech than the entirety of the time you've known him. It's actually a little scary, to be honest, watching him open up without warning. But you hold your tongue and let him try to get it out.
"The reason I don't get involved is because we have to use lines like, 'Hazard of the job,' and 'Comes with the territory'." He continues. "Because more often than not, shit goes bad and when it does? People get hurt and killed. And the bastards we hunt don't care if we want to keep our families separate. Anyone we get close to, we're putting them in danger. But you?"
He looks up at you finally, smiling as he meets your gaze.
"You're right, you do know all of this. Because it's your life, too. I don't have to try to make you understand. I don't have to hide this shit from you. I'm not putting you in danger because you were hunting long before we met and, if we hadn't started working together, you'd still be out there doing it solo.
"And yeah, one of these days, one of us won't come back from a hunt. Don't have to like it to know it's true. Just the way it is. Might be tomorrow, might be ten years from now. But until that happens..."
He bites his bottom lip and narrows his eyes, studying yours to gauge your reaction.
"I guess what I'm really trying to say is... if you're in? If you're into... this," he says, motioning between the two of you. "Then I'm in. All the way. Not just for kicks. Not until somebody else comes along. In for real."
With that final declaration, the room falls to silence.
You have no idea what to say.
Your mind seems to have suffered a system error and is struggling to reboot.
"I umm..." he clears his throat and looks back down at his hands. "I can't promise you it'll be easy or perfect," he goes on a little unsteadily.
Some part of your brain recognizes that he's misinterpreting your silence as hesitation. He sounds borderline self-conscious, which is just all kinds of wrong coming from Dean.
"But I give you my word that I will never intentionally hurt you," he offers sincerely. "You know me. I'm as loyal as they come and I take care of the people that matter to me. I guess it's just that... if we're gonna start doing more than 'just sleeping' together, I wanted you to know where I'm coming from."
"Dean..." you try, but trail off, too overwhelmed to speak.
"So if you want to um... take some time to think about it..." he says as he stands up.
You realize in panic that he's getting ready to bolt out the door. He's feeling way too vulnerable in this situation and seeking an escape.
Thankfully, your feet are moving before your brain can catch up.
"Wait," you say, snagging his wrist as he turns toward the door. "I'm in, Dean. For real. All in."
He turns to face you slowly.
"Yeah?" He asks, studying your eyes cautiously.
"Hell yeah," you answer with a grin.
A warm smile slowly spreads across his face.
"Yeah. Okay then," he says, nodding and staring down into your eyes intently. "Sooo... celebratory sex?" He offers with an arched brow and a wicked smirk.
"Thought you'd never ask," you reply and laugh when he lifts you up off your feet.
A/N: What do you think? Looking forward to the next part? I know, I know. Wicked, evil cliff-hanger ;) But I promise to pick up right at this point in the next chapter. I'm not gonna skim over any of the good stuff, promise.