Fic: Ten Years (SPN/GA)
Title: Ten Years.
Fandom: Supernatural/Grey's Anatomy
Pairing/Character: Dean Winchester/Izzie Stevens
Spoilers/Warnings: SPN: Bloody Mary (not really a spoiler, just mentions).
Disclaimer: Not mine. ;/
Word Count: 2609
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Red. ( 11/100)
Summary: It's been ten years since she felt his hands on her skin.
Notes: I have no idea where this came from, but I figured I could work it into my Dean/Izzie 'verse (and use my new spankin' prompt table).
For thomasina75, this is how badly you've influenced me with all your smutty smut and your Dean/Izzie teasers, and for impalalove, since you made my morning when you said Dean/Izzie was one of your OTPs. :)
Feedback is love. XP.
She wakes up at the sound of Doc's bark. Meredith's gone to Joe's to mope about her lack of McDreamy-lovelife, George is possibly with her, and Alex . . . she doesn't know where he is, but it's most likely he's with her two roommates, possibly poking fun at George.
She walks to the door, following the sounds of Doc's scratches at the wood and his howls, in long pyjama pants since it's suddenly cold in Seattle. She opens the door, and Doc starts to calm down. She can faintly hear the whines in his throat as she stares at the mess of someone she's lost contact with. "Dean?"
"Hey Izzie," he says as blood from his eyes slides down his face like tears. She's never seen this before; blood leaking from the eye. She's never seen it up close and right in front of her; she's only ever heard of the tales from Cristina during their breaks at Seattle Grace. She's not sure if this would be classified as an illness or something completely out of her element (the supernatural).
She moves aside, letting him in, "Where's Sam?"
"Sleeping like a baby at the motel. I swear sometimes he's not even human," he smirks and Izzie watches, captivated, as the blood trickles further towards his chin.
Izzie's fingers touch Dean's stained face, making sure the liquid (and him) is real. "How did you do this to yourself?"
"Bloody Mary," he smirks again, and with a shrug he manages to bring up a childhood memory that still manages to embarrass the heck out of her. "Just thought I'd kick her ass for giving you a fright when you were fourteen."
She would've rolled her eyes if he didn't look so exhausted. "You need to get cleaned up -"
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I think this look suits me." The familiar smirk caresses his face and Izzie plants her hands on her hips, as it's the only thing she can do to stop herself from hitting him senseless for being such a fool.
"Stop being such an ass. We're going to the bathroom. Come on." Izzie walks up the stairs, listening carefully to his boots as he follows her, and she opens the door to the bathroom once she reaches it. She turns around to find him in front of her, a couple of inches taller and she can see the exhaustion in his eyes, "Sit," she points to the bathtub and he sits on the edge.
"Yes ma'am," he manages as he watches her stand on her toes to reach some supplies. He's just lucky Izzie Stevens is a doctor.
He looks at her long pyjama pants; they've got pink bunnies dancing on the white base colour (it makes him think of Playboy, and this thought then escalates to the Bethany Whisper ad he found in some nameless magazine - he keeps the page folded neatly in his wallet).
When she turns around, she has gauze, some alcohol, cotton balls, tape and what looks like a box of wipes in her hands. She places them down on the floor, which gives him a nice look down her loose shirt. (He's always been impressed with how Izzie grew up). Izzie hears Dean clear his throat, and she grabs a wipe from the box, while muttering under her breath, "Impatient boy."
She lightly touches his cheek with her left hand as her other holds the wet material. He feels the damp cloth wipe away the blood, and the warmth of her hand comforting his cheek. Instinctively, he leans into her palm, watching as she licks her lips without noticing she's teasing him with the action caused by her pink tongue, being careful as to not wipe his eye in the process of cleaning up his face.
The blood is gone, and the cloth is soaked red. Izzie places it in the trash can, muttering that she'll get rid of it before Meredith and George come home. "Did she get you anywhere else other than your face?" She holds the gauze and tape in her hands, and he shakes his head in the negative. "Oh, good. That's good. You feeling better?"
He nods, and Izzie smiles (she places the tape and gauze back). She doesn't know what to do with herself, so she gives him a hug. The familiar leather scented smell erupts her insides, causing her to feel like she's that young girl again with that obvious crush on Dean Winchester.
She feels him stiffen slightly from her touch; Izzie knows he may be wounded elsewhere on his body. She pulls away to say just this, but Dean's hands stop the words in her throat as one snakes around to her neck while the other warms up her cheek and before she can even breathe, his lips are on hers.
It's kind of like a long peck; but instead his tongue outlines hers impatiently, waiting for a gasp or a twitch to be able to dive inside. (He's always been a sneak). Dean's hand on her cheek snakes away, causing little prickling sensations to feel like fire on her neck. His fingers purposely trail down the middle of her back, which cause her to gasp and his tongue immediately invades her mouth.
Everything is so familiar. It's only been ten years since they've done this; ten years since they've been this intimate. She still remembers every crevice, contour and freckle on his body, and the feel of him is so fresh it's like the blood on the cloth in the bin. It's soaking right into her and it's never going to leave.
Izzie's hands travel up his arms as the kisses grow more hotter, more demanding, and she pushes his favoured leather jacket off of his arms and it drops to the floor with a sound of leather rubbing on leather. Dean's pushing her backwards, and it only takes a few seconds before her lower back hits the sink and he grabs underneath her ass to lift her up onto it, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he holds her.
His hands travel up her sides (once she's seated on the bench rather uncomfortably), purposefully touching the sides of her breasts lightly (it sends shots of sparks, like fireworks, to the southern end of her body) and they travel up her bare arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. His hands push the skinny straps of her tank top down as his lips leave hers and trail all the way down her neck. She tilts her head to the side, allowing him more access to cause havoc to her nerves (and brain cells) with his lips and his teeth and his tongue.
Dean's hands grope her pyjama pants tightly, and she secures her legs around his waist as he holds her up (she nibbles his earlobe) and starts to slowly slide her pyjamas down. His fingers slide over her skin teasingly, and Izzie works her way down his neck, her tongue darting out to moisten the skin as she nips at it.
He places her back onto the cold counter and breaks contact with her as he pulls the rest of her pyjama pants off to reveal Hello Kitty. Dean chuckles and Izzie's cheeks turn pink. "That's cute, Iz. Real cute."
She's aching all over and she's wondering why the heck he isn't touching her. She exasperatedly frets in a raspy voice, "Shut up. You gonna kiss me or what?"
Dean gives her a once-over, and seems to be considering his options. "Bossy Izzie is such a turn on. Maybe I should make a comment about your underwear more often."
His lips collide with hers before she can muster, "Does that mean you're staying?" His hands knead her breasts before they slide down her flat stomach. (She remembers, ten years ago, when her stomach expanded and a little girl was brought into the world, and she kisses him harder, trying to wash away the pain and the sudden void in her heart).
Her hands are on his shoulders, and she rakes her nails down his front, eliciting a shudder and a noise that erupts from the back of his throat (and sends bolts of what feels like electricity to her lower heated regions). Izzie smirks against his mouth, lifting the hem of his shirt up. He breaks away from her skin as she pulls the shirt quickly over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side as she savagely attacks his mouth again.
Her hands fumble with Dean's belt as she blindly unbuckles it and works it out of the loops of his jeans. She drops it to the ground and starts on his zipper. She lowers it, and pushes the waist of his jeans down his firm behind and his hands leave her legs as he pushes them all the way down, breaking contact with the column of her smooth neck and he steps out of them (and his boots).
Dean returns to poisoning her skin with little hot kisses down her neck as she nips at his ear. He's standing, his legs flush against the cool lower cabinets of the sink, in his dark, plain boxers (and the coolness of the cabinets does nothing to his aching hardness). His hands cup her thigh, dangerously close to Kitty and his fingers start to rub little circles into her skin. She likes this sensation a little too much than she'd like, and she shivers, trying to stifle the noise tickling the back of her throat.
Izzie's fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and starts to pull them down. Dean helps himself out of them and returns to leaving hot little kisses over the bridge of her nose.
"I missed you," he mumbles clumsily against her lips, and she smiles as his hands tap their way down her legs. He pulls her flush against him, her centre against his hardness and she gasps. "I've missed you very much, Izzie Stevens."
He moves a little against her as if he's testing out the waters to see if there are any sharks, and the movement causes her to moan against his mouth. He does it again, except a little firmer this time, and she grips his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. Dean's mouth drops to her shoulder as he starts to thrust his cock gently against her panties. She growls into Dean's shoulder as he does this, and it only seems to encourage him to keep on repeating the action.
Dean's fingers find the bottom of Izzie's top, and he quickly pulls it over her head. His lips are immediately attentive to the freshly exposed skin. His tongue flicks her right breast and Izzie gasps. Dean's hand cups her other breast, his thumb circling the centre of her flesh. "Seriously Dean, I never knew you'd still be stuck in the phase of foreplay," she breathlessly says as he kisses the skin between her breasts. "I thought by now with all your little conquests you'd get straight to the job."
Dean looks at her squarely in the eye, his dark eyes send warmth to her centre and she wriggles uncomfortably under the scrutiny, "Hunting isn't code for sex, Izzie. As much as I like sex, I'm not exactly who you think I am."
"Yeah?" Izzie grips his shoulders as she moves against his hard dick (she's sick and tired of being the one who is teased), "And who is this person you think I see you as?"
"I - oh god -" Dean bows his head, his hair tickles the skin underneath Izzie's chin. "I don't use women as much as you think," he grits out, gripping the waistband of Izzie's panties and trying to rip them off her legs.
"Then why did you come?" Dean's thumbs are gripping her panties, and they twitch as she says this. That was possibly not the smartest thing to say in a situation like this, she figures, and she's about to rephrase her question but Dean doesn't give her that chance as he lifts her up and places her over his shoulder. She squeals in surprise and he pulls her panties off and places her hard back on the counter. "That's not how you treat someone you're trying to have sex with!"
"Sex isn't sex if you're talking, and you, Izzie Stevens, talk too much." Dean's flush against her again, and his cock is inside of her. He lifts her up as her legs wrap around his waist, and he thrusts into her as he kisses her mouth to keep her from talking.
He moves with her again as a growl itches the walls of his throat, causing her to break contact with his lips as she whimpers with her head held back. Dean kisses her collarbone, lightly nipping at the skin he left untouched, until her head returns to his shoulder. He thrusts more inside of her, and Izzie starts to match each movement.
He captures her lips with his as he moans into her mouth, his hands having a firm grip on her ass, keeping her in place as he moves inside of her. Izzie says something incoherent against his lips, and it's a moan, Dean realises, as she whimpers in the back of her throat. "Oh . . . " he hears as all the blood evaporates from his brain, and Izzie senses Dean groaning as he moves faster.
He says her name against her lips as Izzie curses the heavens as he growls, spilling inside of her. (His hand grips the back of her head and keeps her lips locked with his; he doesn't want to hear her when she comes). Izzie's sweaty forehead rests on his as Dean stands with Izzie wrapped around him in Meredith Grey's bathroom. The air is humid and smells of sex, and Izzie doesn't want to let go of Dean. (She's scared he'll run again).
Dean removes himself from her, and lets Izzie's feet touch the ground. (It's then that he realises what they did wasn't protected, but he doesn't say anything for fear of freaking her out).
He keeps his eyes on her (he feels a tiny sensation in his spent dick as he looks her over for the first time) and he decides against pulling her in for a hug (god knows what would happen if he felt her skin against his again). He pulls his boxers over his legs, and watches as Izzie places her Hello Kitty underwear on and struggles to search for her shirt.
She doesn't say anything, for the fear that she'll break whatever is in the air and he'll run. She lifts her shirt over her head and turns to Dean, "What does this mean?" graces her lips but she doesn't speak it. She looks to the floor, and her eyes dart to his as he brings her fear to life, "I better get back to Sam. God knows if he's awake and wondering where I am."
He's running again.
He bends down and collects his clothes, shoving his shirt roughly over his head, his eyes sparkling as he looks at her. He steps forward and gently kisses her, there's no force of the tongue or any hidden agenda; it's just a simple goodbye, and it's going to make it a hell of a lot easier for when he walks out of that door and back out of her life until the next time fate wishes for them to meet.
She doesn't slide to the floor until she hears the front door close behind him.
-
Fandom: Supernatural/Grey's Anatomy
Pairing/Character: Dean Winchester/Izzie Stevens
Spoilers/Warnings: SPN: Bloody Mary (not really a spoiler, just mentions).
Disclaimer: Not mine. ;/
Word Count: 2609
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Red. ( 11/100)
Summary: It's been ten years since she felt his hands on her skin.
Notes: I have no idea where this came from, but I figured I could work it into my Dean/Izzie 'verse (and use my new spankin' prompt table).
For thomasina75, this is how badly you've influenced me with all your smutty smut and your Dean/Izzie teasers, and for impalalove, since you made my morning when you said Dean/Izzie was one of your OTPs. :)
Feedback is love. XP.
She wakes up at the sound of Doc's bark. Meredith's gone to Joe's to mope about her lack of McDreamy-lovelife, George is possibly with her, and Alex . . . she doesn't know where he is, but it's most likely he's with her two roommates, possibly poking fun at George.
She walks to the door, following the sounds of Doc's scratches at the wood and his howls, in long pyjama pants since it's suddenly cold in Seattle. She opens the door, and Doc starts to calm down. She can faintly hear the whines in his throat as she stares at the mess of someone she's lost contact with. "Dean?"
"Hey Izzie," he says as blood from his eyes slides down his face like tears. She's never seen this before; blood leaking from the eye. She's never seen it up close and right in front of her; she's only ever heard of the tales from Cristina during their breaks at Seattle Grace. She's not sure if this would be classified as an illness or something completely out of her element (the supernatural).
She moves aside, letting him in, "Where's Sam?"
"Sleeping like a baby at the motel. I swear sometimes he's not even human," he smirks and Izzie watches, captivated, as the blood trickles further towards his chin.
Izzie's fingers touch Dean's stained face, making sure the liquid (and him) is real. "How did you do this to yourself?"
"Bloody Mary," he smirks again, and with a shrug he manages to bring up a childhood memory that still manages to embarrass the heck out of her. "Just thought I'd kick her ass for giving you a fright when you were fourteen."
She would've rolled her eyes if he didn't look so exhausted. "You need to get cleaned up -"
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I think this look suits me." The familiar smirk caresses his face and Izzie plants her hands on her hips, as it's the only thing she can do to stop herself from hitting him senseless for being such a fool.
"Stop being such an ass. We're going to the bathroom. Come on." Izzie walks up the stairs, listening carefully to his boots as he follows her, and she opens the door to the bathroom once she reaches it. She turns around to find him in front of her, a couple of inches taller and she can see the exhaustion in his eyes, "Sit," she points to the bathtub and he sits on the edge.
"Yes ma'am," he manages as he watches her stand on her toes to reach some supplies. He's just lucky Izzie Stevens is a doctor.
He looks at her long pyjama pants; they've got pink bunnies dancing on the white base colour (it makes him think of Playboy, and this thought then escalates to the Bethany Whisper ad he found in some nameless magazine - he keeps the page folded neatly in his wallet).
When she turns around, she has gauze, some alcohol, cotton balls, tape and what looks like a box of wipes in her hands. She places them down on the floor, which gives him a nice look down her loose shirt. (He's always been impressed with how Izzie grew up). Izzie hears Dean clear his throat, and she grabs a wipe from the box, while muttering under her breath, "Impatient boy."
She lightly touches his cheek with her left hand as her other holds the wet material. He feels the damp cloth wipe away the blood, and the warmth of her hand comforting his cheek. Instinctively, he leans into her palm, watching as she licks her lips without noticing she's teasing him with the action caused by her pink tongue, being careful as to not wipe his eye in the process of cleaning up his face.
The blood is gone, and the cloth is soaked red. Izzie places it in the trash can, muttering that she'll get rid of it before Meredith and George come home. "Did she get you anywhere else other than your face?" She holds the gauze and tape in her hands, and he shakes his head in the negative. "Oh, good. That's good. You feeling better?"
He nods, and Izzie smiles (she places the tape and gauze back). She doesn't know what to do with herself, so she gives him a hug. The familiar leather scented smell erupts her insides, causing her to feel like she's that young girl again with that obvious crush on Dean Winchester.
She feels him stiffen slightly from her touch; Izzie knows he may be wounded elsewhere on his body. She pulls away to say just this, but Dean's hands stop the words in her throat as one snakes around to her neck while the other warms up her cheek and before she can even breathe, his lips are on hers.
It's kind of like a long peck; but instead his tongue outlines hers impatiently, waiting for a gasp or a twitch to be able to dive inside. (He's always been a sneak). Dean's hand on her cheek snakes away, causing little prickling sensations to feel like fire on her neck. His fingers purposely trail down the middle of her back, which cause her to gasp and his tongue immediately invades her mouth.
Everything is so familiar. It's only been ten years since they've done this; ten years since they've been this intimate. She still remembers every crevice, contour and freckle on his body, and the feel of him is so fresh it's like the blood on the cloth in the bin. It's soaking right into her and it's never going to leave.
Izzie's hands travel up his arms as the kisses grow more hotter, more demanding, and she pushes his favoured leather jacket off of his arms and it drops to the floor with a sound of leather rubbing on leather. Dean's pushing her backwards, and it only takes a few seconds before her lower back hits the sink and he grabs underneath her ass to lift her up onto it, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he holds her.
His hands travel up her sides (once she's seated on the bench rather uncomfortably), purposefully touching the sides of her breasts lightly (it sends shots of sparks, like fireworks, to the southern end of her body) and they travel up her bare arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. His hands push the skinny straps of her tank top down as his lips leave hers and trail all the way down her neck. She tilts her head to the side, allowing him more access to cause havoc to her nerves (and brain cells) with his lips and his teeth and his tongue.
Dean's hands grope her pyjama pants tightly, and she secures her legs around his waist as he holds her up (she nibbles his earlobe) and starts to slowly slide her pyjamas down. His fingers slide over her skin teasingly, and Izzie works her way down his neck, her tongue darting out to moisten the skin as she nips at it.
He places her back onto the cold counter and breaks contact with her as he pulls the rest of her pyjama pants off to reveal Hello Kitty. Dean chuckles and Izzie's cheeks turn pink. "That's cute, Iz. Real cute."
She's aching all over and she's wondering why the heck he isn't touching her. She exasperatedly frets in a raspy voice, "Shut up. You gonna kiss me or what?"
Dean gives her a once-over, and seems to be considering his options. "Bossy Izzie is such a turn on. Maybe I should make a comment about your underwear more often."
His lips collide with hers before she can muster, "Does that mean you're staying?" His hands knead her breasts before they slide down her flat stomach. (She remembers, ten years ago, when her stomach expanded and a little girl was brought into the world, and she kisses him harder, trying to wash away the pain and the sudden void in her heart).
Her hands are on his shoulders, and she rakes her nails down his front, eliciting a shudder and a noise that erupts from the back of his throat (and sends bolts of what feels like electricity to her lower heated regions). Izzie smirks against his mouth, lifting the hem of his shirt up. He breaks away from her skin as she pulls the shirt quickly over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side as she savagely attacks his mouth again.
Her hands fumble with Dean's belt as she blindly unbuckles it and works it out of the loops of his jeans. She drops it to the ground and starts on his zipper. She lowers it, and pushes the waist of his jeans down his firm behind and his hands leave her legs as he pushes them all the way down, breaking contact with the column of her smooth neck and he steps out of them (and his boots).
Dean returns to poisoning her skin with little hot kisses down her neck as she nips at his ear. He's standing, his legs flush against the cool lower cabinets of the sink, in his dark, plain boxers (and the coolness of the cabinets does nothing to his aching hardness). His hands cup her thigh, dangerously close to Kitty and his fingers start to rub little circles into her skin. She likes this sensation a little too much than she'd like, and she shivers, trying to stifle the noise tickling the back of her throat.
Izzie's fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and starts to pull them down. Dean helps himself out of them and returns to leaving hot little kisses over the bridge of her nose.
"I missed you," he mumbles clumsily against her lips, and she smiles as his hands tap their way down her legs. He pulls her flush against him, her centre against his hardness and she gasps. "I've missed you very much, Izzie Stevens."
He moves a little against her as if he's testing out the waters to see if there are any sharks, and the movement causes her to moan against his mouth. He does it again, except a little firmer this time, and she grips his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. Dean's mouth drops to her shoulder as he starts to thrust his cock gently against her panties. She growls into Dean's shoulder as he does this, and it only seems to encourage him to keep on repeating the action.
Dean's fingers find the bottom of Izzie's top, and he quickly pulls it over her head. His lips are immediately attentive to the freshly exposed skin. His tongue flicks her right breast and Izzie gasps. Dean's hand cups her other breast, his thumb circling the centre of her flesh. "Seriously Dean, I never knew you'd still be stuck in the phase of foreplay," she breathlessly says as he kisses the skin between her breasts. "I thought by now with all your little conquests you'd get straight to the job."
Dean looks at her squarely in the eye, his dark eyes send warmth to her centre and she wriggles uncomfortably under the scrutiny, "Hunting isn't code for sex, Izzie. As much as I like sex, I'm not exactly who you think I am."
"Yeah?" Izzie grips his shoulders as she moves against his hard dick (she's sick and tired of being the one who is teased), "And who is this person you think I see you as?"
"I - oh god -" Dean bows his head, his hair tickles the skin underneath Izzie's chin. "I don't use women as much as you think," he grits out, gripping the waistband of Izzie's panties and trying to rip them off her legs.
"Then why did you come?" Dean's thumbs are gripping her panties, and they twitch as she says this. That was possibly not the smartest thing to say in a situation like this, she figures, and she's about to rephrase her question but Dean doesn't give her that chance as he lifts her up and places her over his shoulder. She squeals in surprise and he pulls her panties off and places her hard back on the counter. "That's not how you treat someone you're trying to have sex with!"
"Sex isn't sex if you're talking, and you, Izzie Stevens, talk too much." Dean's flush against her again, and his cock is inside of her. He lifts her up as her legs wrap around his waist, and he thrusts into her as he kisses her mouth to keep her from talking.
He moves with her again as a growl itches the walls of his throat, causing her to break contact with his lips as she whimpers with her head held back. Dean kisses her collarbone, lightly nipping at the skin he left untouched, until her head returns to his shoulder. He thrusts more inside of her, and Izzie starts to match each movement.
He captures her lips with his as he moans into her mouth, his hands having a firm grip on her ass, keeping her in place as he moves inside of her. Izzie says something incoherent against his lips, and it's a moan, Dean realises, as she whimpers in the back of her throat. "Oh . . . " he hears as all the blood evaporates from his brain, and Izzie senses Dean groaning as he moves faster.
He says her name against her lips as Izzie curses the heavens as he growls, spilling inside of her. (His hand grips the back of her head and keeps her lips locked with his; he doesn't want to hear her when she comes). Izzie's sweaty forehead rests on his as Dean stands with Izzie wrapped around him in Meredith Grey's bathroom. The air is humid and smells of sex, and Izzie doesn't want to let go of Dean. (She's scared he'll run again).
Dean removes himself from her, and lets Izzie's feet touch the ground. (It's then that he realises what they did wasn't protected, but he doesn't say anything for fear of freaking her out).
He keeps his eyes on her (he feels a tiny sensation in his spent dick as he looks her over for the first time) and he decides against pulling her in for a hug (god knows what would happen if he felt her skin against his again). He pulls his boxers over his legs, and watches as Izzie places her Hello Kitty underwear on and struggles to search for her shirt.
She doesn't say anything, for the fear that she'll break whatever is in the air and he'll run. She lifts her shirt over her head and turns to Dean, "What does this mean?" graces her lips but she doesn't speak it. She looks to the floor, and her eyes dart to his as he brings her fear to life, "I better get back to Sam. God knows if he's awake and wondering where I am."
He's running again.
He bends down and collects his clothes, shoving his shirt roughly over his head, his eyes sparkling as he looks at her. He steps forward and gently kisses her, there's no force of the tongue or any hidden agenda; it's just a simple goodbye, and it's going to make it a hell of a lot easier for when he walks out of that door and back out of her life until the next time fate wishes for them to meet.
She doesn't slide to the floor until she hears the front door close behind him.
-