Fic: Tonight's Choice
Title: Tonight's Choice
Pairing: Bobby/Ellen
Type : Romance
Rating: NC-17
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 3785
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character. Just playing around here!
Summary: Set during "Abandon All Hope". It's the night before they move on Carthage, as they try to relax at Bobby's. Dean isn't the only one looking for love on the "last night of earth".
Warnings: Graphic het sex.
Notes: Written for one of my squares for the spnpairingbingo.
It's the night before they move on Carthage, where the plan is to shoot Lucifer with the Colt. Maybe it will kill him. Maybe that will shut the apocalypse down right then and there. Maybe not. They can only, as the saying goes, give it a shot. They don't have any better plan right now, but lord knows they gotta try something.
Team Free Will is at Bobby's house, figuring it was better to gather here the night before the mission and go over plans, then convoy to Carthage early in the morning. So Castiel, Ellen, Jo, Sam, Dean, and of course Bobby are all piled into Bobby's kitchen, drinking beers and passing the whiskey. It's pretty relaxed, considering how tense they all are about tomorrow. It's a moment to enjoy each other's company, have some drinks, relax with the people that are your family. And this group, these people, they are family.
Jo's over by the refrigerator with a beer, her long, golden hair in silky waves, her lips pink. Her jeans are snug on her ass as she bends to look inside the fridge. Dean meanders over to her, standing next to her as he leans against the counter. Bobby's across the room, but he can see what's going down, no problem. Can see Dean's mobile features move as he makes a move on Jo. Bobby snickers as Dean plays the "last night on earth" card, the one that's either an ace or a joker. And judging by Jo's laugh as she fakes him out, pretending to move in with a kiss, it's a joker. Bobby can hear her as she tells Dean about preferring to spend the night "with a little something I call self respect", and then she laughs again as she walks away. Dean shakes his head. He thought he had a sure thing - Jo's wanted him for a couple of years now. But, apparently, not sure anymore. Dean picks his head up, looks for Sam, moves over to him. Everyone sees Sam cuff Dean's head to a round of laughter. Bobby thinks he's the only one who catches the jealous glint in Sam's eye - the one that appeared while Dean was chatting up Jo.
Bobby and Ellen sit together at Bobby's kitchen table. Bobby sits in his wheelchair and Ellen is on one of the plain but sturdy kitchen chairs. They laugh and toast each other, clinking their shot glasses. Ellen puts her empty glass down and smiles broadly. "That's my good girl! She's grown up so much, Bobby. Back when we met the boys, she'da taken that offer in a split second. Lord, she mooned after Dean so hard! But she's learned she's worth a man that'll commit to her, and that man ain't Dean Winchester. I'm proud of her."
Bobby nods his head in agreement. "Dean's a helluva hunter, nigh on unmatched, but he ain't single-threaded. He's got a shitload of baggage, I'm afraid. The only one who can really handle him is Sam." He glances at the boys, only to find Ellen's eyes regarding him steadily when he looks back at her. They sit there quietly for a moment, each knowing what the other is thinking, but not daring to speak it aloud. Lately, there's been . . . something different between the brothers, something odd that Bobby doesn't really want to think about or deal with. Something like about how Dean is perched on the sofa arm so close to Sam, and the way Sam is leaning back into his older brother's space, and the intent behind that smack to Dean's head earlier. Bobby shakes his head - he doesn't want to know.
"Everybody get in here - its time for the line up. Usual suspects, in the corner," Bobby calls out, rolling over to adjust his camera on the tripod. They straggle in, moaning and groaning as they move.
Ellen stands with her hand on her hip, saying "Oh, come on, Bobby! Nobody wants their picture taken!"
"Shut up, you're drinking my beer," retorts Bobby, setting the timer. "Anyway, I'm going to need something to remember your sorry asses by." More groaning and guffaws follow. They arrange themselves for the picture - Castiel on the right, then Sam behind Bobby, Ellen next to Bobby, Dean behind her with his arm around Jo.
Ellen remarks, "Always good to have an optimist around," as they finish shuffling themselves.
Castiel speaks in his deep, gravely voice, "Bobby's right. Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. This is our last night on earth." Dean looks over at him in concern. Everyone falls silent, unable to shake off the feeling of doom Castiel has just cast on them, The laughing, smiling faces go somber as one.
The photo - initiated in drunken good humor - subdues the party. They begin to break off and head to bed after another drink or two, ready to search for rest amidst the apprehension that's building for the morrow.
Ellen and Bobby move to the study, sitting in front of his fireplace and watching the flames consume the logs. The snap and soft hiss of the wood and the flickering oranges tongues of the flame soothe and relax both of them. Ellen sits close to Bobby, taking his hand in hers as her arm rests next to his. Bobby appears unmoved about her action, but inside his pulse quickens. He's long admired Ellen - her inner strength as she dealt with the loss of her husband and raising her daughter alone; her tenacity and bravery in the face of evil; her down-to-earth attitude and common sense. That doesn't even touch qualities like her wide smile, her warm demeanor, her thick hair, and her generously-sized bosom that fills her tee shirt out so temptingly. Bobby harbors no illusions - this really is a 'last night on earth' night, and she probably is just seeking the simple comfort of another human being. He knows she has always remained devoted to the memory of her husband Bill, killed - as so many have been - in the line of duty. Bobby has had the odd dalliance since his own wife's death, but they've been few and far between. An infrequent bar pick-up, strictly for physical release; the occasional female hunter suffering from the same loneliness all hunters share, the solitary existence forced on them by the nature of the work. But not often, and nothing lasting - transient touches leaving shadows instead of any lasting marks.
Ellen strokes his hand a little, and Bobby has trouble breathing steadily, the warmth of her hand speeding directly to his heart. He thinks that even if she did mean for anything to happen with them tonight, it couldn't. When that knife slid into his gut and severed his spinal cord, Little Bobby was collateral damage. His pecker's only good for pissing these days, and even that requires a catheter stuck in it and a bag strapped to his ankle. God, what he'd give for a good fuck! But whatever he'd give, it wasn't going to be tonight.
"Well, guess it's about time to turn in," he says gruffly. "The room Jo's in has another bed. Just upstairs and to the right. Sam and Dean are further down the hall on the left." He wants to caution her - last time the boys had stayed here, Bobby had been at the foot of the stairs and heard some . . . noises. A little bit of thumping, and then what sounded a whole lot like cursing. Sam's name had been mixed in there too. Bobby had turned his chair around and got the hell out of there. He didn't want Ellen to blunder into anything . . . unfortunate. Since Jo was sleeping alone, there was no telling what might be going on in the other bedroom.
Ellen looks at him quietly, not moving. Her voice is low and rich when she speaks. "Bobby, we've been dancing around this a long time. No one's respected me as much as you - I think since Bill died, you've hardly allowed yourself to be alone in a room with me. Your respect has meant a lot to me. But Bill's been gone a long time, and I'm still alive. I'm alive and I'm lonely. Not just for company, I can get that, but for touch. For feeling the press of a body next to mine, feeling the warmth of someone's hand on my skin." She strokes Bobby's hand again. "I've seen how you look at me when you think I don't see. And I think you're as lonely - if not more so - than me." She laughs wryly. "I don't mean to be borrowing a page from the Dean Winchester playbook, but this could in fact be our last night on earth. And I'll be damned if I want to spend it alone. I'd much rather spend it in the arms of a man I love and respect, and who loves and respects me." She sits back and spreads her arms wide. "Besides, what better way to say fuck you to the Devil than choosing love?"
Ellen leans forward and softly kisses Bobby's mouth. She gets up and crosses over to the bed he'd set up in the study after his accident. Sitting down on it, she pats the mattress. "Bobby Singer, would you care to join me here?"
Her words stun Bobby. She knew how he felt? And she wanted to be with him, spend the night with him, in his bed? Joy surges through him, quickly quelled by what he knows he has to tell her. She's not going to want a broken old man like him in a minute.
He rolls over to the bed, facing her. "Ellen - woman, you take my breath. To have a beautiful, wonderful woman such as yourself offer to spend the night with me is a dream I never dared to have. But - I'm afraid I have to be blunt." He coughs, feeling tears building behind his eyes. "When I had to - the stabbing, it - the knife severed my spinal cord. And it didn't just take away my legs. I can't - there's no - " He chokes, unable to get the words out. The tears fall now, and he ducks his head so she won't see. He's never felt the loss so acutely as at this moment.
A finger brushes his lips, hushing him. "It's okay. Shh, don't worry, Bobby. It's okay." She raises his chin up so he has to face her, wet cheeks be damned. "I rather assumed that was the case, frankly. And it's okay. There's more to lovemaking than a penis. We have hands and mouths and brains. We have love and respect, and a whole lotta skin we can share. I want to make love with you, Bobby, and that doesn't mean we're limited to just fucking."
Bobby is struck dumb by her words. He nods - he'd known all that once, but in the agony of losing his manhood, he'd lost that knowledge. He nods again, holding up one hand to ask her to wait a moment. As intimate as they're about to be, there's some things he's going to keep private. He rolls off to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and empties his urine bag. He unstraps it from his ankle, putting it in the plastic basin under the sink. He undoes his pants and pushes them down as far as he can. Carefully, slowly, he removes the catheter, dropping it into the basin as well. It's one thing to say he's not fully functional anymore, but dammit if he's wearing that shit to bed tonight. Since its purpose is to empty rather than to contain, he's fine to go without it for a few hours. He pulls his pants back up, although he doesn't bother zipping up again, washes his hands, and rolls back to his no-longer-empty bed.
Ellen's undressed while he was gone, and she's turned back the blanket, lying naked now on the sheet. He's struck dumb again by how beautiful she is. Her body is lush and mature; large breasts spilling on her chest, a well-defined waist with a belly that is soft and somewhat rounded. He can't wait to kiss it, feel its softness under his lips. Her hips are as curvy as her jeans had suggested, and there's a patch of dark golden brown hair at the junction of her legs. They're sturdy legs, with muscled thighs and calves, ending in surprisingly delicate ankles. She's smiling at him, happy to see him look at and appreciate her body. The firelight flickers and makes shadows play against her skin, catching the golden highlights in her thick, silky hair and making her eyes glitter. She's a feast spread out on his bed, and Bobby Singer is a hungry, hungry man.
The next hours are like a dream, a wonderful dream filled with soft touches, sweet, urgent kisses, and skin that's scented with vanilla and whiskey and woman. He undresses with her help and joins her on the bed, his chair shoved aside. They kiss, shyly on his part, bolder on hers. He loses the shyness pretty quickly as her mouth opens under his and their tongues meet, igniting the passion that's been dormant in him all these years. His hands are in ecstasy as they run over her body, relishing the soft, smooth skin and silky hair. He explores all of her, every inch, all the places he'd dreamed about and some he'd never thought of. The insides of her wrists, where her pulse beats fast; the sides of her ribcage where those glorious breasts blossom from; the sacral dimples above her lovely ass. Not that he neglects the usual places, oh no. He could spend a week worshiping her breasts, so full and round, the milky skin with a delicate tracery of blue veins. The dark rose-brown circle of her areola begs to be tasted, and the large, perky nipples rising from them need a good tweak for their impertinence. Bobby's always been a breast man, and Ellen's are utterly delicious.
Ellen's as eager to explore him, which pretty much is blowing Bobby's mind. He's a old, beat-up hunter, with half a functioning body. A woman like Ellen could get anyone she wanted, including someone a durn sight better than him. But here she is, running her tongue around the shell of his ear, whispering loving words as she goes. She's kissing his mouth and then kissing her way down his body, trailing soft, hot presses of her lips across his chest. She licks his nipples, and he shivers with pleasure. Can't say anyone ever did that to him before, but damn if it doesn't feel good. She continues with the licking and moves on to biting and sucking. Bobby's body is tingling now, and he may not have a dick but his head doesn't seem to know that. He can feel those currents in his body, those electric-type ones that zing around inside, and he's just thrumming. Between what she's doing to him and what he feels from touching her, he's as horny and excited as any guy could be.
He touches her all over, tasting and sucking on her like her body is some fantastic candy, but he hold back from exploring between her legs yet. It's Ground Zero, and he hesitates, thinking sure, maybe everything so far has been okay, but she might not want him there. He's stroking her thighs, running his hands over her sleek muscles and trailing his fingertips down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her legs fall open, and he's transfixed by the sight of her pink pussy. Her golden brown pubic hair is neatly trimmed and shaped, and he can see that she's wet. He looks up at her face for reassurance that she wants this, really wants to share this with him. She's gazing at him with desire writ plain on her face, her mouth slack and her eyes glazed. Oh yeah, he's an ass - she wants this as much as he does. Bobby grins at her before focusing back on her body. He runs a meandering finger along the seam of her thigh and torso, then slides it right up the lips of her pussy. Goddamn, she's so wet, and his finger slides smoothly up and down. Her breath catches and he circles her clit with his wet finger, making her moan. Finally he slides the roaming finger inside her, feeling her slick walls move as her hips jerk.
Bobby slides his finger out and slides two in. Ellen's moaning again, her legs wide open for him. He leans on his other elbow to kiss her, plunging his tongue into her mouth as his fingers thrust into her body. She's got one hand on the back of his head and the other on her own breast, squeezing it and playing with the nipple. He pulls back to watch her fingers roll and rub on her nipple, loving the look of the swollen nub against her breast. He has to mouth it, suck it, feel that little hard bit of flesh poking against his tongue. With a final flick of his tongue, he kisses her again and then slides down her body. He pillows his head on one thigh, putting her cunt-to-face with him, and then he starts running his tongue over her. He licks her clit, making her gasp; licks her labia, making her moan; and finally tongue-fucks her, plunging into her again and again. She tastes divine, like fucking nectar, and he's moaning as he laps at her. Her juices are slicking his face, and he loves the damp imprint on his cheeks. He rubs his face against her thighs, reveling in feeling so sexually abandoned. He sucks on her clit, flicking the tiny button with the tip of his tongue, then licking it with the flat, then sucking again. He's gripping her thighs because she is moving now, her hips bucking as she whimpers and curses.
Bobby pulls himself further up her body again. Ellen opens to his kiss, moaning as she tastes herself in his mouth. His hands hold her breasts, crushing them together so he can bury his face into them. Bobby works her nipples with his thumbs for a moment before switching to using his mouth. He can't get enough of feeling her nipples in his mouth, their firm shape utterly tantalizes him. He alternates left and right; sucking, licking, fondling, biting. Ellen is groaning continuously now, and every sound she utters sends another spark down his nerves, thrills him. He's positive his dick is hard and pulsing, and feels himself to check if it's true somehow. Of course it isn't, but he doesn't really care anymore. He's filling up like a hot air balloon with the delight and satisfaction that making love with Ellen is giving him. He's panting, he's sweating, and every bit of his skin is sensitized and recording how blissful she feels as she rubs against him.
Left hand still moving on Ellen's tits, Bobby's right hand slides back down that gently rounded belly, caressing the tender skin on the way. He scratches her mound, feeling the crispness of her hair, and then his fingers round down to her pink, wet folds again. He slides his first two fingers back into her, pumping them as he rubs them against her hot, tight walls, leaving his ring and pinkie fingers to tease her asshole. She gets louder and louder, her hands clutching at his shoulders and arms as her hips move. Her excitement continues to feed into his own, and he intensifies his feasting on her breasts. He grunts as he sucks and nibbles on her, feeling drunk on both delicious sensation and delirious emotion. He slips a third finger into her and she's really keening now, so he starts grinding firmly on her clit with the heel of his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers inside her. Her legs wrap around him now, locking him in place, and he doesn't care - he could die here a happy man. She cries out his name, and he's selfishly so happy that she's not calling for her husband. His breathing is rough and broken, he just manages to pant out a word here and there - "baby", "love you", "oh god". It feels like they are wrapped up in a spell woven from their shared bodies, bound together with spit and fluids and sweat.
A surge of wetness from inside heralds Ellen's orgasm. She cries out loudly as her body convulses, her back arching and hips vibrating with the spasm of her release. Bobby can hardly breath, his hands full of her, his heart beating with hers. She grabs his head and kisses him fiercely, grinding her whole body against him, and he's done. There's no cock pulsing out spunk, but he feels a massive charge shoot through his body and spark in his brain. He yells her name as his arms crush her, his muscles going rigid, his eyes slamming shut. For a moment, he's floating above the bed, looking down at the two intertwined bodies, and he's completely peaceful. Then he's back with her, and the very air feels electric with their discharge, the smell of sex heavy around them.
They lie there for a while, quiescent, simply enjoying being close. Bobby breathes her scent in as he tenderly strokes her neck and the gentle slope of her breasts. She tangles her fingers in his curly, gray chest hair and nuzzles his beard. Finally they grow chilly, skin pebbling, and he shifts himself into his chair. He kisses her, murmuring "thank you, dear heart" before he rolls into the bathroom. When he comes out, apparatus back on and pajama pants donned, she is gone.
The dawn is chilly and quiet. There's little to say as they load the last items into the Impala and the SUV. No one is hungry - they'll grab something on the road. There's no handshakes, no false words of cheer or inspiration - just a couple of old cars bearing the hope of the human race, heading off down the dusty gravel road at Singer Salvage. The sun is barely up by the time the road lies empty, the dust kicked up by the cars still hanging in the pink and yellow early morning air.
Bobby sits on his porch for a long time, even after the dust has finally fallen to the driveway.
Pairing: Bobby/Ellen
Type : Romance
Rating: NC-17
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 3785
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character. Just playing around here!
Summary: Set during "Abandon All Hope". It's the night before they move on Carthage, as they try to relax at Bobby's. Dean isn't the only one looking for love on the "last night of earth".
Warnings: Graphic het sex.
Notes: Written for one of my squares for the spnpairingbingo.
It's the night before they move on Carthage, where the plan is to shoot Lucifer with the Colt. Maybe it will kill him. Maybe that will shut the apocalypse down right then and there. Maybe not. They can only, as the saying goes, give it a shot. They don't have any better plan right now, but lord knows they gotta try something.
Team Free Will is at Bobby's house, figuring it was better to gather here the night before the mission and go over plans, then convoy to Carthage early in the morning. So Castiel, Ellen, Jo, Sam, Dean, and of course Bobby are all piled into Bobby's kitchen, drinking beers and passing the whiskey. It's pretty relaxed, considering how tense they all are about tomorrow. It's a moment to enjoy each other's company, have some drinks, relax with the people that are your family. And this group, these people, they are family.
Jo's over by the refrigerator with a beer, her long, golden hair in silky waves, her lips pink. Her jeans are snug on her ass as she bends to look inside the fridge. Dean meanders over to her, standing next to her as he leans against the counter. Bobby's across the room, but he can see what's going down, no problem. Can see Dean's mobile features move as he makes a move on Jo. Bobby snickers as Dean plays the "last night on earth" card, the one that's either an ace or a joker. And judging by Jo's laugh as she fakes him out, pretending to move in with a kiss, it's a joker. Bobby can hear her as she tells Dean about preferring to spend the night "with a little something I call self respect", and then she laughs again as she walks away. Dean shakes his head. He thought he had a sure thing - Jo's wanted him for a couple of years now. But, apparently, not sure anymore. Dean picks his head up, looks for Sam, moves over to him. Everyone sees Sam cuff Dean's head to a round of laughter. Bobby thinks he's the only one who catches the jealous glint in Sam's eye - the one that appeared while Dean was chatting up Jo.
Bobby and Ellen sit together at Bobby's kitchen table. Bobby sits in his wheelchair and Ellen is on one of the plain but sturdy kitchen chairs. They laugh and toast each other, clinking their shot glasses. Ellen puts her empty glass down and smiles broadly. "That's my good girl! She's grown up so much, Bobby. Back when we met the boys, she'da taken that offer in a split second. Lord, she mooned after Dean so hard! But she's learned she's worth a man that'll commit to her, and that man ain't Dean Winchester. I'm proud of her."
Bobby nods his head in agreement. "Dean's a helluva hunter, nigh on unmatched, but he ain't single-threaded. He's got a shitload of baggage, I'm afraid. The only one who can really handle him is Sam." He glances at the boys, only to find Ellen's eyes regarding him steadily when he looks back at her. They sit there quietly for a moment, each knowing what the other is thinking, but not daring to speak it aloud. Lately, there's been . . . something different between the brothers, something odd that Bobby doesn't really want to think about or deal with. Something like about how Dean is perched on the sofa arm so close to Sam, and the way Sam is leaning back into his older brother's space, and the intent behind that smack to Dean's head earlier. Bobby shakes his head - he doesn't want to know.
"Everybody get in here - its time for the line up. Usual suspects, in the corner," Bobby calls out, rolling over to adjust his camera on the tripod. They straggle in, moaning and groaning as they move.
Ellen stands with her hand on her hip, saying "Oh, come on, Bobby! Nobody wants their picture taken!"
"Shut up, you're drinking my beer," retorts Bobby, setting the timer. "Anyway, I'm going to need something to remember your sorry asses by." More groaning and guffaws follow. They arrange themselves for the picture - Castiel on the right, then Sam behind Bobby, Ellen next to Bobby, Dean behind her with his arm around Jo.
Ellen remarks, "Always good to have an optimist around," as they finish shuffling themselves.
Castiel speaks in his deep, gravely voice, "Bobby's right. Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. This is our last night on earth." Dean looks over at him in concern. Everyone falls silent, unable to shake off the feeling of doom Castiel has just cast on them, The laughing, smiling faces go somber as one.
The photo - initiated in drunken good humor - subdues the party. They begin to break off and head to bed after another drink or two, ready to search for rest amidst the apprehension that's building for the morrow.
Ellen and Bobby move to the study, sitting in front of his fireplace and watching the flames consume the logs. The snap and soft hiss of the wood and the flickering oranges tongues of the flame soothe and relax both of them. Ellen sits close to Bobby, taking his hand in hers as her arm rests next to his. Bobby appears unmoved about her action, but inside his pulse quickens. He's long admired Ellen - her inner strength as she dealt with the loss of her husband and raising her daughter alone; her tenacity and bravery in the face of evil; her down-to-earth attitude and common sense. That doesn't even touch qualities like her wide smile, her warm demeanor, her thick hair, and her generously-sized bosom that fills her tee shirt out so temptingly. Bobby harbors no illusions - this really is a 'last night on earth' night, and she probably is just seeking the simple comfort of another human being. He knows she has always remained devoted to the memory of her husband Bill, killed - as so many have been - in the line of duty. Bobby has had the odd dalliance since his own wife's death, but they've been few and far between. An infrequent bar pick-up, strictly for physical release; the occasional female hunter suffering from the same loneliness all hunters share, the solitary existence forced on them by the nature of the work. But not often, and nothing lasting - transient touches leaving shadows instead of any lasting marks.
Ellen strokes his hand a little, and Bobby has trouble breathing steadily, the warmth of her hand speeding directly to his heart. He thinks that even if she did mean for anything to happen with them tonight, it couldn't. When that knife slid into his gut and severed his spinal cord, Little Bobby was collateral damage. His pecker's only good for pissing these days, and even that requires a catheter stuck in it and a bag strapped to his ankle. God, what he'd give for a good fuck! But whatever he'd give, it wasn't going to be tonight.
"Well, guess it's about time to turn in," he says gruffly. "The room Jo's in has another bed. Just upstairs and to the right. Sam and Dean are further down the hall on the left." He wants to caution her - last time the boys had stayed here, Bobby had been at the foot of the stairs and heard some . . . noises. A little bit of thumping, and then what sounded a whole lot like cursing. Sam's name had been mixed in there too. Bobby had turned his chair around and got the hell out of there. He didn't want Ellen to blunder into anything . . . unfortunate. Since Jo was sleeping alone, there was no telling what might be going on in the other bedroom.
Ellen looks at him quietly, not moving. Her voice is low and rich when she speaks. "Bobby, we've been dancing around this a long time. No one's respected me as much as you - I think since Bill died, you've hardly allowed yourself to be alone in a room with me. Your respect has meant a lot to me. But Bill's been gone a long time, and I'm still alive. I'm alive and I'm lonely. Not just for company, I can get that, but for touch. For feeling the press of a body next to mine, feeling the warmth of someone's hand on my skin." She strokes Bobby's hand again. "I've seen how you look at me when you think I don't see. And I think you're as lonely - if not more so - than me." She laughs wryly. "I don't mean to be borrowing a page from the Dean Winchester playbook, but this could in fact be our last night on earth. And I'll be damned if I want to spend it alone. I'd much rather spend it in the arms of a man I love and respect, and who loves and respects me." She sits back and spreads her arms wide. "Besides, what better way to say fuck you to the Devil than choosing love?"
Ellen leans forward and softly kisses Bobby's mouth. She gets up and crosses over to the bed he'd set up in the study after his accident. Sitting down on it, she pats the mattress. "Bobby Singer, would you care to join me here?"
Her words stun Bobby. She knew how he felt? And she wanted to be with him, spend the night with him, in his bed? Joy surges through him, quickly quelled by what he knows he has to tell her. She's not going to want a broken old man like him in a minute.
He rolls over to the bed, facing her. "Ellen - woman, you take my breath. To have a beautiful, wonderful woman such as yourself offer to spend the night with me is a dream I never dared to have. But - I'm afraid I have to be blunt." He coughs, feeling tears building behind his eyes. "When I had to - the stabbing, it - the knife severed my spinal cord. And it didn't just take away my legs. I can't - there's no - " He chokes, unable to get the words out. The tears fall now, and he ducks his head so she won't see. He's never felt the loss so acutely as at this moment.
A finger brushes his lips, hushing him. "It's okay. Shh, don't worry, Bobby. It's okay." She raises his chin up so he has to face her, wet cheeks be damned. "I rather assumed that was the case, frankly. And it's okay. There's more to lovemaking than a penis. We have hands and mouths and brains. We have love and respect, and a whole lotta skin we can share. I want to make love with you, Bobby, and that doesn't mean we're limited to just fucking."
Bobby is struck dumb by her words. He nods - he'd known all that once, but in the agony of losing his manhood, he'd lost that knowledge. He nods again, holding up one hand to ask her to wait a moment. As intimate as they're about to be, there's some things he's going to keep private. He rolls off to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and empties his urine bag. He unstraps it from his ankle, putting it in the plastic basin under the sink. He undoes his pants and pushes them down as far as he can. Carefully, slowly, he removes the catheter, dropping it into the basin as well. It's one thing to say he's not fully functional anymore, but dammit if he's wearing that shit to bed tonight. Since its purpose is to empty rather than to contain, he's fine to go without it for a few hours. He pulls his pants back up, although he doesn't bother zipping up again, washes his hands, and rolls back to his no-longer-empty bed.
Ellen's undressed while he was gone, and she's turned back the blanket, lying naked now on the sheet. He's struck dumb again by how beautiful she is. Her body is lush and mature; large breasts spilling on her chest, a well-defined waist with a belly that is soft and somewhat rounded. He can't wait to kiss it, feel its softness under his lips. Her hips are as curvy as her jeans had suggested, and there's a patch of dark golden brown hair at the junction of her legs. They're sturdy legs, with muscled thighs and calves, ending in surprisingly delicate ankles. She's smiling at him, happy to see him look at and appreciate her body. The firelight flickers and makes shadows play against her skin, catching the golden highlights in her thick, silky hair and making her eyes glitter. She's a feast spread out on his bed, and Bobby Singer is a hungry, hungry man.
The next hours are like a dream, a wonderful dream filled with soft touches, sweet, urgent kisses, and skin that's scented with vanilla and whiskey and woman. He undresses with her help and joins her on the bed, his chair shoved aside. They kiss, shyly on his part, bolder on hers. He loses the shyness pretty quickly as her mouth opens under his and their tongues meet, igniting the passion that's been dormant in him all these years. His hands are in ecstasy as they run over her body, relishing the soft, smooth skin and silky hair. He explores all of her, every inch, all the places he'd dreamed about and some he'd never thought of. The insides of her wrists, where her pulse beats fast; the sides of her ribcage where those glorious breasts blossom from; the sacral dimples above her lovely ass. Not that he neglects the usual places, oh no. He could spend a week worshiping her breasts, so full and round, the milky skin with a delicate tracery of blue veins. The dark rose-brown circle of her areola begs to be tasted, and the large, perky nipples rising from them need a good tweak for their impertinence. Bobby's always been a breast man, and Ellen's are utterly delicious.
Ellen's as eager to explore him, which pretty much is blowing Bobby's mind. He's a old, beat-up hunter, with half a functioning body. A woman like Ellen could get anyone she wanted, including someone a durn sight better than him. But here she is, running her tongue around the shell of his ear, whispering loving words as she goes. She's kissing his mouth and then kissing her way down his body, trailing soft, hot presses of her lips across his chest. She licks his nipples, and he shivers with pleasure. Can't say anyone ever did that to him before, but damn if it doesn't feel good. She continues with the licking and moves on to biting and sucking. Bobby's body is tingling now, and he may not have a dick but his head doesn't seem to know that. He can feel those currents in his body, those electric-type ones that zing around inside, and he's just thrumming. Between what she's doing to him and what he feels from touching her, he's as horny and excited as any guy could be.
He touches her all over, tasting and sucking on her like her body is some fantastic candy, but he hold back from exploring between her legs yet. It's Ground Zero, and he hesitates, thinking sure, maybe everything so far has been okay, but she might not want him there. He's stroking her thighs, running his hands over her sleek muscles and trailing his fingertips down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her legs fall open, and he's transfixed by the sight of her pink pussy. Her golden brown pubic hair is neatly trimmed and shaped, and he can see that she's wet. He looks up at her face for reassurance that she wants this, really wants to share this with him. She's gazing at him with desire writ plain on her face, her mouth slack and her eyes glazed. Oh yeah, he's an ass - she wants this as much as he does. Bobby grins at her before focusing back on her body. He runs a meandering finger along the seam of her thigh and torso, then slides it right up the lips of her pussy. Goddamn, she's so wet, and his finger slides smoothly up and down. Her breath catches and he circles her clit with his wet finger, making her moan. Finally he slides the roaming finger inside her, feeling her slick walls move as her hips jerk.
Bobby slides his finger out and slides two in. Ellen's moaning again, her legs wide open for him. He leans on his other elbow to kiss her, plunging his tongue into her mouth as his fingers thrust into her body. She's got one hand on the back of his head and the other on her own breast, squeezing it and playing with the nipple. He pulls back to watch her fingers roll and rub on her nipple, loving the look of the swollen nub against her breast. He has to mouth it, suck it, feel that little hard bit of flesh poking against his tongue. With a final flick of his tongue, he kisses her again and then slides down her body. He pillows his head on one thigh, putting her cunt-to-face with him, and then he starts running his tongue over her. He licks her clit, making her gasp; licks her labia, making her moan; and finally tongue-fucks her, plunging into her again and again. She tastes divine, like fucking nectar, and he's moaning as he laps at her. Her juices are slicking his face, and he loves the damp imprint on his cheeks. He rubs his face against her thighs, reveling in feeling so sexually abandoned. He sucks on her clit, flicking the tiny button with the tip of his tongue, then licking it with the flat, then sucking again. He's gripping her thighs because she is moving now, her hips bucking as she whimpers and curses.
Bobby pulls himself further up her body again. Ellen opens to his kiss, moaning as she tastes herself in his mouth. His hands hold her breasts, crushing them together so he can bury his face into them. Bobby works her nipples with his thumbs for a moment before switching to using his mouth. He can't get enough of feeling her nipples in his mouth, their firm shape utterly tantalizes him. He alternates left and right; sucking, licking, fondling, biting. Ellen is groaning continuously now, and every sound she utters sends another spark down his nerves, thrills him. He's positive his dick is hard and pulsing, and feels himself to check if it's true somehow. Of course it isn't, but he doesn't really care anymore. He's filling up like a hot air balloon with the delight and satisfaction that making love with Ellen is giving him. He's panting, he's sweating, and every bit of his skin is sensitized and recording how blissful she feels as she rubs against him.
Left hand still moving on Ellen's tits, Bobby's right hand slides back down that gently rounded belly, caressing the tender skin on the way. He scratches her mound, feeling the crispness of her hair, and then his fingers round down to her pink, wet folds again. He slides his first two fingers back into her, pumping them as he rubs them against her hot, tight walls, leaving his ring and pinkie fingers to tease her asshole. She gets louder and louder, her hands clutching at his shoulders and arms as her hips move. Her excitement continues to feed into his own, and he intensifies his feasting on her breasts. He grunts as he sucks and nibbles on her, feeling drunk on both delicious sensation and delirious emotion. He slips a third finger into her and she's really keening now, so he starts grinding firmly on her clit with the heel of his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers inside her. Her legs wrap around him now, locking him in place, and he doesn't care - he could die here a happy man. She cries out his name, and he's selfishly so happy that she's not calling for her husband. His breathing is rough and broken, he just manages to pant out a word here and there - "baby", "love you", "oh god". It feels like they are wrapped up in a spell woven from their shared bodies, bound together with spit and fluids and sweat.
A surge of wetness from inside heralds Ellen's orgasm. She cries out loudly as her body convulses, her back arching and hips vibrating with the spasm of her release. Bobby can hardly breath, his hands full of her, his heart beating with hers. She grabs his head and kisses him fiercely, grinding her whole body against him, and he's done. There's no cock pulsing out spunk, but he feels a massive charge shoot through his body and spark in his brain. He yells her name as his arms crush her, his muscles going rigid, his eyes slamming shut. For a moment, he's floating above the bed, looking down at the two intertwined bodies, and he's completely peaceful. Then he's back with her, and the very air feels electric with their discharge, the smell of sex heavy around them.
They lie there for a while, quiescent, simply enjoying being close. Bobby breathes her scent in as he tenderly strokes her neck and the gentle slope of her breasts. She tangles her fingers in his curly, gray chest hair and nuzzles his beard. Finally they grow chilly, skin pebbling, and he shifts himself into his chair. He kisses her, murmuring "thank you, dear heart" before he rolls into the bathroom. When he comes out, apparatus back on and pajama pants donned, she is gone.
The dawn is chilly and quiet. There's little to say as they load the last items into the Impala and the SUV. No one is hungry - they'll grab something on the road. There's no handshakes, no false words of cheer or inspiration - just a couple of old cars bearing the hope of the human race, heading off down the dusty gravel road at Singer Salvage. The sun is barely up by the time the road lies empty, the dust kicked up by the cars still hanging in the pink and yellow early morning air.
Bobby sits on his porch for a long time, even after the dust has finally fallen to the driveway.