Gonna Set My Soul On Fire; (supernatural, dean/ruby)
Title: Gonna Set My Soul On Fire
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Ruby
Rating: R
Warnings: Bad language, some sexual situations and imagery. Spoilers up to and including the third season.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters herein belong to their respective creators. I'm just playing in someone else's Wonderland.
Word Count: 2344
Summary: What was supposed to be a one-time deal became Dean's first, and last, relationship.
Notes: Written for reality0junkie at spnrarepairs. schmoop_bingo prompt: shower together. So I started this with the intent to make it a straight "Dean and Ruby in Vegas" story, but it kinda took on a life of its own. So it became a little bit of Vegas, a bit of taking the girlfriend to meet the family, and a lot of established relationship between them. I tried to keep it from getting too heavy and injecting bits of schmoop in there. Beta'd by the lovely lanapedia and unintendedmuse. Title from Viva Las Vegas by Elvis Presley.
In all the years he'd been criss-crossing the country, roaming highways from here to Ozette, Washington, Dean Winchester had only been to Las Vegas twice. The first time, he and his dad were on the trail of a witch, a real nasty piece of work that had gotten her kicks offing a string of twenty-something year old men. By the time it was over, the demon bitch iced and her book of tricks burnt to ash, John was in no mood to hang out the poker table. Not that it really mattered - the witch had surprised him from behind, had landed a few good hits, and Dean couldn't see out of his left eye. While chicks may dig scars, they certainly weren't fans of faces that looked like a cross between a rotting banana and a chipmunk. The second time had been a failed attempt to distract Sam from the emotional fiasco that was Madison. That had gone just as well as his first time in town. Sam hadn't wanted to leave the motel room, and his brother's piss-poor mood all but sucked the fun out of Dean's plans. He had hit the tables anyways and come away with an ego beating as bad as the physical one he'd taken the last time around.
But this time, this time was going to be different. No job to finish, no depressed little brother in tow. Just him, his car, and a hot blonde riding shotgun. The thing between Dean and Ruby wasn't supposed to be a thing at all. That night, a few months back outside the Conquistador Motel, was going to be a one time deal. She'd saved his life that day, pouring God only knows what down his throat to counteract the hidden hex bag. She had risked her own safety to help him, to help Sam. It wasn't that alone that spurred him into grabbing her by the arm, pulling her into the backseat of the Impala, and fucking her like they were two sweaty, over-eager teenagers, their clothes still half-on, hair accidentally pulled, palms and backs and feet leaving dirty smudges on the glass. The leather had been more forgiving, but there was no way in hell Sam wouldn't know something had happened while Dean was “out getting Cokes from the machine.” It was her confession, the real truth. There was no way to save Dean from the hell that awaited him. No magic bullet was going to stop the deal that hung over his head and eventually, he'd be just as soulless, just as cold and evil as the rest of the horde in Hell. But maybe he wouldn't. If she could hold on to her humanity, he could too. And if Meg could repeatedly climb out of the pit, if Ruby could claw her way up, then, hell, he would.
It didn't hurt that she was one of the hottest chicks he'd ever seen, either.
It was a month before they saw each other again, before he realized it was a little more than just a random tumble out of desperation and need. Dean and Sam were neck-deep in shit again, caught by Hendricksen after Bela dropped a dime on them. The building was surrounded by demons, and here Ruby came again to pull his ass out of the fire. He did what he could to play it cool, act like nothing had happened between them. What tipped his hand was his vehement no to her planned solution of sacrificing herself. It drew a few raised eyebrows and stares before he cleared his throat and backed it up with saving the life and virtue of Nancy, the station's secretary. They managed a brief moment of privacy just before she left. Dean knew enough about women to know she was pissed, the way her lips were pressed flat and white, the dark rumbles that rolled through her eyes when he looked down. It didn't stop him from pinning her up against the wall, from putting his mouth to hers. She made him work for it, withstanding the pushing, prodding, gentle biting, and sucking until finally, she opened up and let him in. When Dean broke away for a breath, Ruby grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, yanking hard.
“Don't fucking die on me, Winchester,” she said, laying a kiss to his jaw before shoving her way outside, into the gathering mass of demons.
After that, Ruby became a more permanent fixture in Dean's life. There was always some half-bullshit excuse for Sam as to why she'd show - either she was in town or following a lead or she wasn't about to let “you two morons get yourselves killed.” It was plausible enough and by early April, Sam no longer questioned her presence. She was useful and while she may have gotten in the way a few times, she more than made up for it with her knowledge and resources. They got better and better at sneaking around him, too. Given Sam's almost singular focus on getting Dean out of the deal, he would often stay behind at the motel, scouring whatever new website or book he'd found, which gave Dean and Ruby the opportunity to “head out for drinks.” Stolen moments were taken in abandoned houses and lots, back alleys, bar bathrooms, and the backseat. Sex led to other things, things he didn't typically do with the girl in every town. They talked. They shared. They laughed. It was different than other times; it was better somehow. Hell, he even cuddled if the day of chasing some thing that went bump in the night had made him tired or kicked his ass. Dean would never say it out loud, under penalty of having to punch himself in the face, but it was comfortable. Comforting.
A late April afternoon had left them a mess. A sudden downpour while digging up a grave resulted in the three of them slinging mud so they could put a spirit to rest. Sam was the first to hit the shower at the motel, ducking out afterwards to do some laundry and grab dinner. Dean went next, at Ruby's insistence.
“There's something else in that grave dirt,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “And you smell awful.”
Dean's lips fixed into a smirk as he started towards her. He made it about three steps before her power caught him, held him fast.
“You can go on your own, or I can make you go. It's your choice.” She folded her arms across her chest, leaning up against short, squat dresser holding the out-dated television set. While he'd been trying to make a joke, she sounded absolutely pissed and serious. With a snort, he shook himself free and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him a bit more forcefully than necessary.
The mud on his clothes and skin had started to dry and harden, making his shirt and jeans stiff as he pulled them off, clumps of dirt hitting the floor and crumbling. “It was just a goddamn joke,” he grumbled lowly to the tub's knobs and faucet. The water was as hot as he could stand it when he climbed in, the beat of water turning the drying patches to mud and slurry and dirty run-off. Sam, ever courteous Sam, had left hot water from Dean and Ruby, but Dean wouldn't show the same thoughtfulness. By the time he finished, she'd be shit out of luck.
He wasn't so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the cheap vinyl shower curtain crackle in motion, and the non-slip strips in the bottom of the tub were the only things that kept him from falling as he turned too quickly. Dean's hand went for the throat, and was slapped away hard.
“It's just me, dumbass.” Ruby was just as naked as he was, mud still clinging to the ends of her hair and smeared along her cheek. He would look lower for more, but the sight would only drive him to distraction. Her breasts were still fair game, though, full, firm, and high, if a bit on the small side. His eyes lingered a moment on the scar over her heart. Bobby had shot her with the Colt before she helped him fix it. Whoever the girl had been before she'd been Ruby, he knew she'd drop dead the second the demon left.
Lingering a little too long, Ruby cleared her throat to get his attention.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes snapping up to her face.
“I figured,” she started, moving close enough to press her chest to his, “since you were so good and got in the shower all on your own, you earned a little treat.” Her hands slid up his arms in grazing touches, fingertips and nails brushing along the skin so lightly he shivered. Each hand settled on one of Dean's shoulders, gripping gently. “Plus,” her grip tightened as she carefully swung him around, swapping their places in the tub, “I figured you would try to be a bitch and take all the hot water.”
They stayed in the shower long after they'd washed the remaining dirt from each other, Ruby's nails scraping along his scalp as her fingers worked through the suds, his mouth finding a hidden untouched spot under her hair on the back of her neck. Her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, Dean lifted her up against the wall, sliding inside her teasingly slow as the water streamed over them. Slippery and tricky, he had to go slow when all he wanted to do was make her claw his back and gasp soundlessly, like always. Still, they found a steady rhythm, the room ringing with the sound of wet skin meeting tile. The water was ice cold before they stepped out on weary and shaking legs.
Sam and Bobby never gave sign they suspected something was happening. At least, not between Dean and Ruby. Though her presence was constant, herself nearly a part of the team, they kept up their roles. The biting banter added something to their trysts, her insults pounding in his mind as he rocked against her. It was fuel for their hotter fires, the two burning through each other until they collapsed, weak and smoldering. But with four weeks to go, four weeks until his deal came due, Dean didn't want to hide it anymore.
It was a late night at Bobby's place, hunkering down between jobs for rest and research. Late dinner turned into late rounds of beer, the three of them sitting around the table talking shit and nonsense. Bobby's worst hunting trips. Sam and Dean's best pranks on each other. The best way to quickly reload in a pinch. The laughter died down, an easy silence settling as each man nursed his bottle.
“So, uh, so I've been... seeing someone.” The words sounded just as strange to Dean as they surely did to Bobby and his brother.
“You sure that's wise, son, with what's hanging over your head?”
Dean looked at the table, nodding once. “Yeah, uh. She knows. Hunting, the deal, everything.” The looks between Sam and Bobby, it was as if he'd said he was giving up hunting to be an accountant.
“Dean, what the hell are you--”
“Hey.”
Hearing Ruby's voice, Dean looked back, seeing her standing in the archway between Bobby's kitchen and living room. Right on cue, she'd shown. Maybe it hadn't been the best plan, the best way to tell the two of them, but he'd never been that great at this.
The silence that settled now was hard as iron and sharp as a knife. The sound of things falling into place clicked quietly, first for Sam, then Bobby. Sam licked his lips, blinking like it'd suddenly change what was before him. “So you two have been... you guys are together?”
“Yeah, we're... well, it's not like dating. I don't know what I'd call it.” Dead hadn't dated. He didn't date. That required staying in one place long enough to get attached to someone, to like them enough. Maybe even love them. It was a hell of a lot easier that Ruby traveled with him.
“You do remember that she's a demon, right?” Bobby hadn't taken his eyes off Ruby, the look shifting higher and higher as she came to stand behind Dean, her hands resting on the back of his chair.
“Hey, I find that a little racist.”
“C'mon, Bobby. She fixed the Colt. She's saved me and Sam's asses I don't know how many times. Jesus.” Dean rocked back in his seat, lifting the bottle to his lips to finish it off. He set the glass down on the table with a clunk. “Sam trusts her. Hell, I trust her. That should say enough.”
Not being able to read the look in Bobby's eyes gnawed at his stomach. It was something he hadn't seen before and, right about now, surprises were the last thing Dean wanted. But the older man's eyes softened, the corner of his mouth quirked.
“Well, Ruby. You want a beer?”
Two weeks to go, and Dean wanted to just get away. He never made a bucket list because with the life hunters led, a quick death was a blessing. But if he had, Vegas would be on it. Third time's the charm, wasn't it? With the lights of the Strip getting closer, Ruby reached over to the radio to turn it down. “I can't believe you've never been to Vegas.”
He glanced over. “Oh, I've been. Got the shit kicked out of me, but I've been,” he said with a teasing smile.
“I always knew you were a twisted little masochist.” Her hand rested on his thigh, a warm, comfortable weight. “Hope you're ready to lose your shirt.”
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Ruby
Rating: R
Warnings: Bad language, some sexual situations and imagery. Spoilers up to and including the third season.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters herein belong to their respective creators. I'm just playing in someone else's Wonderland.
Word Count: 2344
Summary: What was supposed to be a one-time deal became Dean's first, and last, relationship.
Notes: Written for reality0junkie at spnrarepairs. schmoop_bingo prompt: shower together. So I started this with the intent to make it a straight "Dean and Ruby in Vegas" story, but it kinda took on a life of its own. So it became a little bit of Vegas, a bit of taking the girlfriend to meet the family, and a lot of established relationship between them. I tried to keep it from getting too heavy and injecting bits of schmoop in there. Beta'd by the lovely lanapedia and unintendedmuse. Title from Viva Las Vegas by Elvis Presley.
In all the years he'd been criss-crossing the country, roaming highways from here to Ozette, Washington, Dean Winchester had only been to Las Vegas twice. The first time, he and his dad were on the trail of a witch, a real nasty piece of work that had gotten her kicks offing a string of twenty-something year old men. By the time it was over, the demon bitch iced and her book of tricks burnt to ash, John was in no mood to hang out the poker table. Not that it really mattered - the witch had surprised him from behind, had landed a few good hits, and Dean couldn't see out of his left eye. While chicks may dig scars, they certainly weren't fans of faces that looked like a cross between a rotting banana and a chipmunk. The second time had been a failed attempt to distract Sam from the emotional fiasco that was Madison. That had gone just as well as his first time in town. Sam hadn't wanted to leave the motel room, and his brother's piss-poor mood all but sucked the fun out of Dean's plans. He had hit the tables anyways and come away with an ego beating as bad as the physical one he'd taken the last time around.
But this time, this time was going to be different. No job to finish, no depressed little brother in tow. Just him, his car, and a hot blonde riding shotgun. The thing between Dean and Ruby wasn't supposed to be a thing at all. That night, a few months back outside the Conquistador Motel, was going to be a one time deal. She'd saved his life that day, pouring God only knows what down his throat to counteract the hidden hex bag. She had risked her own safety to help him, to help Sam. It wasn't that alone that spurred him into grabbing her by the arm, pulling her into the backseat of the Impala, and fucking her like they were two sweaty, over-eager teenagers, their clothes still half-on, hair accidentally pulled, palms and backs and feet leaving dirty smudges on the glass. The leather had been more forgiving, but there was no way in hell Sam wouldn't know something had happened while Dean was “out getting Cokes from the machine.” It was her confession, the real truth. There was no way to save Dean from the hell that awaited him. No magic bullet was going to stop the deal that hung over his head and eventually, he'd be just as soulless, just as cold and evil as the rest of the horde in Hell. But maybe he wouldn't. If she could hold on to her humanity, he could too. And if Meg could repeatedly climb out of the pit, if Ruby could claw her way up, then, hell, he would.
It didn't hurt that she was one of the hottest chicks he'd ever seen, either.
It was a month before they saw each other again, before he realized it was a little more than just a random tumble out of desperation and need. Dean and Sam were neck-deep in shit again, caught by Hendricksen after Bela dropped a dime on them. The building was surrounded by demons, and here Ruby came again to pull his ass out of the fire. He did what he could to play it cool, act like nothing had happened between them. What tipped his hand was his vehement no to her planned solution of sacrificing herself. It drew a few raised eyebrows and stares before he cleared his throat and backed it up with saving the life and virtue of Nancy, the station's secretary. They managed a brief moment of privacy just before she left. Dean knew enough about women to know she was pissed, the way her lips were pressed flat and white, the dark rumbles that rolled through her eyes when he looked down. It didn't stop him from pinning her up against the wall, from putting his mouth to hers. She made him work for it, withstanding the pushing, prodding, gentle biting, and sucking until finally, she opened up and let him in. When Dean broke away for a breath, Ruby grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, yanking hard.
“Don't fucking die on me, Winchester,” she said, laying a kiss to his jaw before shoving her way outside, into the gathering mass of demons.
After that, Ruby became a more permanent fixture in Dean's life. There was always some half-bullshit excuse for Sam as to why she'd show - either she was in town or following a lead or she wasn't about to let “you two morons get yourselves killed.” It was plausible enough and by early April, Sam no longer questioned her presence. She was useful and while she may have gotten in the way a few times, she more than made up for it with her knowledge and resources. They got better and better at sneaking around him, too. Given Sam's almost singular focus on getting Dean out of the deal, he would often stay behind at the motel, scouring whatever new website or book he'd found, which gave Dean and Ruby the opportunity to “head out for drinks.” Stolen moments were taken in abandoned houses and lots, back alleys, bar bathrooms, and the backseat. Sex led to other things, things he didn't typically do with the girl in every town. They talked. They shared. They laughed. It was different than other times; it was better somehow. Hell, he even cuddled if the day of chasing some thing that went bump in the night had made him tired or kicked his ass. Dean would never say it out loud, under penalty of having to punch himself in the face, but it was comfortable. Comforting.
A late April afternoon had left them a mess. A sudden downpour while digging up a grave resulted in the three of them slinging mud so they could put a spirit to rest. Sam was the first to hit the shower at the motel, ducking out afterwards to do some laundry and grab dinner. Dean went next, at Ruby's insistence.
“There's something else in that grave dirt,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “And you smell awful.”
Dean's lips fixed into a smirk as he started towards her. He made it about three steps before her power caught him, held him fast.
“You can go on your own, or I can make you go. It's your choice.” She folded her arms across her chest, leaning up against short, squat dresser holding the out-dated television set. While he'd been trying to make a joke, she sounded absolutely pissed and serious. With a snort, he shook himself free and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him a bit more forcefully than necessary.
The mud on his clothes and skin had started to dry and harden, making his shirt and jeans stiff as he pulled them off, clumps of dirt hitting the floor and crumbling. “It was just a goddamn joke,” he grumbled lowly to the tub's knobs and faucet. The water was as hot as he could stand it when he climbed in, the beat of water turning the drying patches to mud and slurry and dirty run-off. Sam, ever courteous Sam, had left hot water from Dean and Ruby, but Dean wouldn't show the same thoughtfulness. By the time he finished, she'd be shit out of luck.
He wasn't so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the cheap vinyl shower curtain crackle in motion, and the non-slip strips in the bottom of the tub were the only things that kept him from falling as he turned too quickly. Dean's hand went for the throat, and was slapped away hard.
“It's just me, dumbass.” Ruby was just as naked as he was, mud still clinging to the ends of her hair and smeared along her cheek. He would look lower for more, but the sight would only drive him to distraction. Her breasts were still fair game, though, full, firm, and high, if a bit on the small side. His eyes lingered a moment on the scar over her heart. Bobby had shot her with the Colt before she helped him fix it. Whoever the girl had been before she'd been Ruby, he knew she'd drop dead the second the demon left.
Lingering a little too long, Ruby cleared her throat to get his attention.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes snapping up to her face.
“I figured,” she started, moving close enough to press her chest to his, “since you were so good and got in the shower all on your own, you earned a little treat.” Her hands slid up his arms in grazing touches, fingertips and nails brushing along the skin so lightly he shivered. Each hand settled on one of Dean's shoulders, gripping gently. “Plus,” her grip tightened as she carefully swung him around, swapping their places in the tub, “I figured you would try to be a bitch and take all the hot water.”
They stayed in the shower long after they'd washed the remaining dirt from each other, Ruby's nails scraping along his scalp as her fingers worked through the suds, his mouth finding a hidden untouched spot under her hair on the back of her neck. Her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, Dean lifted her up against the wall, sliding inside her teasingly slow as the water streamed over them. Slippery and tricky, he had to go slow when all he wanted to do was make her claw his back and gasp soundlessly, like always. Still, they found a steady rhythm, the room ringing with the sound of wet skin meeting tile. The water was ice cold before they stepped out on weary and shaking legs.
Sam and Bobby never gave sign they suspected something was happening. At least, not between Dean and Ruby. Though her presence was constant, herself nearly a part of the team, they kept up their roles. The biting banter added something to their trysts, her insults pounding in his mind as he rocked against her. It was fuel for their hotter fires, the two burning through each other until they collapsed, weak and smoldering. But with four weeks to go, four weeks until his deal came due, Dean didn't want to hide it anymore.
It was a late night at Bobby's place, hunkering down between jobs for rest and research. Late dinner turned into late rounds of beer, the three of them sitting around the table talking shit and nonsense. Bobby's worst hunting trips. Sam and Dean's best pranks on each other. The best way to quickly reload in a pinch. The laughter died down, an easy silence settling as each man nursed his bottle.
“So, uh, so I've been... seeing someone.” The words sounded just as strange to Dean as they surely did to Bobby and his brother.
“You sure that's wise, son, with what's hanging over your head?”
Dean looked at the table, nodding once. “Yeah, uh. She knows. Hunting, the deal, everything.” The looks between Sam and Bobby, it was as if he'd said he was giving up hunting to be an accountant.
“Dean, what the hell are you--”
“Hey.”
Hearing Ruby's voice, Dean looked back, seeing her standing in the archway between Bobby's kitchen and living room. Right on cue, she'd shown. Maybe it hadn't been the best plan, the best way to tell the two of them, but he'd never been that great at this.
The silence that settled now was hard as iron and sharp as a knife. The sound of things falling into place clicked quietly, first for Sam, then Bobby. Sam licked his lips, blinking like it'd suddenly change what was before him. “So you two have been... you guys are together?”
“Yeah, we're... well, it's not like dating. I don't know what I'd call it.” Dead hadn't dated. He didn't date. That required staying in one place long enough to get attached to someone, to like them enough. Maybe even love them. It was a hell of a lot easier that Ruby traveled with him.
“You do remember that she's a demon, right?” Bobby hadn't taken his eyes off Ruby, the look shifting higher and higher as she came to stand behind Dean, her hands resting on the back of his chair.
“Hey, I find that a little racist.”
“C'mon, Bobby. She fixed the Colt. She's saved me and Sam's asses I don't know how many times. Jesus.” Dean rocked back in his seat, lifting the bottle to his lips to finish it off. He set the glass down on the table with a clunk. “Sam trusts her. Hell, I trust her. That should say enough.”
Not being able to read the look in Bobby's eyes gnawed at his stomach. It was something he hadn't seen before and, right about now, surprises were the last thing Dean wanted. But the older man's eyes softened, the corner of his mouth quirked.
“Well, Ruby. You want a beer?”
Two weeks to go, and Dean wanted to just get away. He never made a bucket list because with the life hunters led, a quick death was a blessing. But if he had, Vegas would be on it. Third time's the charm, wasn't it? With the lights of the Strip getting closer, Ruby reached over to the radio to turn it down. “I can't believe you've never been to Vegas.”
He glanced over. “Oh, I've been. Got the shit kicked out of me, but I've been,” he said with a teasing smile.
“I always knew you were a twisted little masochist.” Her hand rested on his thigh, a warm, comfortable weight. “Hope you're ready to lose your shirt.”