For realmofthemuse
RotM 1.53 Topic from 31/03/07 - "It wasn't just sex..."
It wasn’t just sex, not this time.
This time Dean went looking for a willing partner for a reason and it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the morning after.
The thing about Dean is that people always walk away or die, no one ever hangs around for long and most of the time Dean doesn’t blame them.
But that doesn’t mean he isn’t left with the scars that people never see but are always there, cutting deep into his character and carving themselves across his insecurities until they’re all just second nature.
A cavalier nature leads people astray and a smile dazzles them until they no longer look for sadness and focus everything on the dimples; it’s all about façade.
He found his partner in a smoke filled bar and she’s a woman of short skirts, long legs, and even longer arms. Arms that crush him against her until Dean can feel every one of her curves and he sinks into them, practically begging them to swallow him whole.
When they get down to it, she makes up for every inch he has on her by grappling his hips with her thighs and holding him closer than anyone’s ever held him before.
After a while he isn’t even sure whose riding who but it doesn’t matter, not when her teeth are in his shoulder like that and not when he can practically taste oblivion on the edge of his tongue.
Dean opens his eyes in time to catch the glimmer of hope in her eyes as she arches under him and she surrenders herself to him completely.
As cruel and twisted as it is Dean feels a sense of satisfaction because he knows she’ll feel the way he does every time someone walks away from him when she turns over tomorrow and finds him gone.
He’s always the one left behind, standing on his own, and he’s tired of it. It hurts too much, cuts too deep, and sometimes he just wants to bleed all the pain away.
But he won’t, because he knows no matter what he’s needed in the world. Someone has to hunt the things in the dark and he’s been taught too well to abandon everything.
This woman, she’s a face he won’t even remember by the time he hits the next town and there will be another woman under him, kissing and dragging from him every thought and feeling.
When he kisses her, he pours everything into it, not because he wants to connect but because he has no other way. He could hunt but he knows better than to carry this much emotional baggage with him on a hunt. This is a release and a twisted form of revenge, not on the people who deserve it, and Dean figures he’s going to hell to burn for doing this to her.
She gasps and keens into his every exploration of her mouth and her hands have clawed small red grooves in his back. She utters his name low and soft, almost desperate, and it takes very little else for Dean to be coming apart piece by meticulous piece.
Not that he lets her see him because - God forbid - he ever lets anyone see that much and that deeply, he just buries his face against her neck and rides his climax with her wrapped tightly around him.
It takes him a few moments to settle and by the time he has she’s taken to kissing his hair and Dean lets her until he finally pulls away. He doesn’t want her tenderness and he doesn’t want any of her care, he’s been fooled too many times to take the chance.
Lying on his back is supposed to put distance between them but she goes with him and wraps herself around him (too much like another) and Dean pushes her away and sits up, finding his clothing. He’s a bastard but he’s hurting and he just hasn’t got anything left in him to care.
Confusion furrows her brow and two simple words, “I’m leaving,” are more than enough for that confusion to flare into full blown hurt. Dean steels himself as he just pulls every piece of clothing back on when she’s only clawed them off him a few hours ago.
He knows she wants an explanation but no one has ever given him one so why should he extend her the same courtesy? She’ll forget about him in a couple hours because everybody else seems to.
His leather jacket is the last thing he pulls on - the last thing he looks at in that room are his keys sitting on the table; he doesn’t bother looking back - and the door handle is the last thing he touches in that room.
His skin’s already cooling and the night’s dark and endless in front of him and he’s alone, again.
At least it’s his choice this time.
Muse : Dean Winchester
Fandom : Supernatural
Word Count : 826
It wasn’t just sex, not this time.
This time Dean went looking for a willing partner for a reason and it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the morning after.
The thing about Dean is that people always walk away or die, no one ever hangs around for long and most of the time Dean doesn’t blame them.
But that doesn’t mean he isn’t left with the scars that people never see but are always there, cutting deep into his character and carving themselves across his insecurities until they’re all just second nature.
A cavalier nature leads people astray and a smile dazzles them until they no longer look for sadness and focus everything on the dimples; it’s all about façade.
He found his partner in a smoke filled bar and she’s a woman of short skirts, long legs, and even longer arms. Arms that crush him against her until Dean can feel every one of her curves and he sinks into them, practically begging them to swallow him whole.
When they get down to it, she makes up for every inch he has on her by grappling his hips with her thighs and holding him closer than anyone’s ever held him before.
After a while he isn’t even sure whose riding who but it doesn’t matter, not when her teeth are in his shoulder like that and not when he can practically taste oblivion on the edge of his tongue.
Dean opens his eyes in time to catch the glimmer of hope in her eyes as she arches under him and she surrenders herself to him completely.
As cruel and twisted as it is Dean feels a sense of satisfaction because he knows she’ll feel the way he does every time someone walks away from him when she turns over tomorrow and finds him gone.
He’s always the one left behind, standing on his own, and he’s tired of it. It hurts too much, cuts too deep, and sometimes he just wants to bleed all the pain away.
But he won’t, because he knows no matter what he’s needed in the world. Someone has to hunt the things in the dark and he’s been taught too well to abandon everything.
This woman, she’s a face he won’t even remember by the time he hits the next town and there will be another woman under him, kissing and dragging from him every thought and feeling.
When he kisses her, he pours everything into it, not because he wants to connect but because he has no other way. He could hunt but he knows better than to carry this much emotional baggage with him on a hunt. This is a release and a twisted form of revenge, not on the people who deserve it, and Dean figures he’s going to hell to burn for doing this to her.
She gasps and keens into his every exploration of her mouth and her hands have clawed small red grooves in his back. She utters his name low and soft, almost desperate, and it takes very little else for Dean to be coming apart piece by meticulous piece.
Not that he lets her see him because - God forbid - he ever lets anyone see that much and that deeply, he just buries his face against her neck and rides his climax with her wrapped tightly around him.
It takes him a few moments to settle and by the time he has she’s taken to kissing his hair and Dean lets her until he finally pulls away. He doesn’t want her tenderness and he doesn’t want any of her care, he’s been fooled too many times to take the chance.
Lying on his back is supposed to put distance between them but she goes with him and wraps herself around him (too much like another) and Dean pushes her away and sits up, finding his clothing. He’s a bastard but he’s hurting and he just hasn’t got anything left in him to care.
Confusion furrows her brow and two simple words, “I’m leaving,” are more than enough for that confusion to flare into full blown hurt. Dean steels himself as he just pulls every piece of clothing back on when she’s only clawed them off him a few hours ago.
He knows she wants an explanation but no one has ever given him one so why should he extend her the same courtesy? She’ll forget about him in a couple hours because everybody else seems to.
His leather jacket is the last thing he pulls on - the last thing he looks at in that room are his keys sitting on the table; he doesn’t bother looking back - and the door handle is the last thing he touches in that room.
His skin’s already cooling and the night’s dark and endless in front of him and he’s alone, again.
At least it’s his choice this time.
Muse : Dean Winchester
Fandom : Supernatural
Word Count : 826