Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic: stole my life from a wandering man
A very het post!
First, a Sam kissing girls picspam I posted over on spnroundtable a few days ago. Sam has very big hands.
And second, some Dean het.
Title: stole my life from a wandering man
Fandoms: Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairings: Dean/Faith, Dean/Faith/Sam, mentions of Faith/Buffy and Sam/Ruby
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,330 words
Beta: Thanks to the lovely girlmostlikely. And, as always, thanks to lazy-daze for keeping me writing!
Notes: The threesome is for deirdre-c, who begged prettily. Vampire slaying and porn. Set early in season 4 of Supernatural. In case you don't know who Faith Lehane is, she's a vampire slayer and she's hot!
She's frozen in a high kick; he's staring at her crotch.
He'd like the moment to last longer. Or at least end differently.
It ends with him on his back - and that hurt - and her standing over him, wooden stake in her hand like she's about to stick him with it.
Ideally, he'd roll out of the way and then come up with a witty remark, but he's winded, and that's one very firm boot on his stomach. So he tries that look Sam puts on, all sort of mournful and pitiful - it's his last resort, okay? If her arms are even half as strong as her legs, that stake could split him in half, and he's not in a mind to go out that way, not when he's just fucking well crawled out of hell thank you very much.
She lowers the stake, but the boot stays firmly in place.
"How many in your nest?" she asks.
Dean splutters. "Nest?" he manages to croak. "What the fuck are you on about, girl?"
"Your nest, or group, or clique, or whatever the hell you call yourselves. How many?"
Maybe it's not the smart thing to do, but then Sam's supposed to be the smart one and he's not here, so Dean just goes for it. He bursts out laughing, hard enough that his belly presses up into her boot uncomfortably, but he can't stop. This freak of nature little girl thinks he's a fucking vampire.
"Wow, you have got it so wrong," he says.
"You smell like a vampire," she says, practically a hiss. She's hot. "You smell dead."
"Yeah, well, there's sort of a reason for that. Long story. I could tell you over a drink?" he tries hopefully.
She snorts, and she still doesn't let up on the pressure of her boot, but he can tell she's at least considering that he's telling the truth.
"Nice try, not gonna happen. I've got time; how about you give me the Cliff Notes version right now, and then I'll think about whether to believe you or not."
"Yeah," Dean drawls slowly. "Thing is, it's gonna sound-pretty far-fetched without all the background. And you're looking thirsty, like you could murder an ice cold beer. Am I right?"
The girl lifts the stake back up again, and leans over him. The view would be superb - killer rack - but for the look in her eyes which is telling him he's right in line for being split open again.
"I had a short spell in Hell. Hung up on meat hooks. Nasty place, don't like to talk about it much. It's gonna take a while before I get rid of the stench completely. Okay?" Tough if the bitch doesn't like his tone.
She tilts her head to one side and eyes him up. Not surprise, not even pity, just like he's not the first guy she's known to have gone to hell and come back. "Yeah, okay. You're telling the truth," she says, just like that. Like he hasn't told her a crazy story. She holds out her hand to him, and he gives her his without even thinking, too shocked at the turnabout. She pulls him up like he weighs nothing. "Just keep out of my way, especially at night," she says, and starts to stride away.
"Who the hell are you?" Dean calls after her.
"The Slayer," she says - the unsaid of course is clear - and vanishes into the night.
*
Sam apparently can't get beyond the point where Dean was on his back and put there by a girl. Little fucker won't stop laughing.
"I'd believe you were making the whole thing up if it weren't for the bit where you got kicked on your ass," Sam says, still harping on the whole kicked on his ass part of it. "Sounds a bit like you're confusing reality with porn, yet again."
"She was real, dammit, Sam. Look," he says, and lifts his shirt. "I've got the bruises to prove it."
He has. A footprint shaped bruise on his stomach. Kind of turns him on, thinking about it. He's got the beginnings of a hard-on.
"I'ma gonna go jerk off and think about her now," he tells Sam. It's always worth oversharing with Sam.
He does jerk off in the shower, and the mysterious girl (the Slayer, she called herself) figures heavily in getting him off. He moans loudly as he comes, making sure he's loud enough to be heard over the sound of the shower, and imagines Sam's irritation. That's almost as good as getting off.
*
Next time he sees her, she's leaning against his car.
Waiting for him.
"I don't let just anyone lean against my baby, you know," he says, making his check for dirt, scratches, or the slightest damage obvious.
"Good thing I'm not just anyone, then," she counters.
Dean gives her half a smile. "My brother doesn't believe you're real," he tells her.
He thinks she likes that. "You know I'm real, though, don't you, Dean Winchester."
"I don't remember telling you my name."
She shrugs. "You didn't."
He shrugs. "Okay, you've done your homework. Least you can do is share yours."
"Faith. Faith Lehane."
"So, Faith, what're you doing hanging around here?"
"Got a situation, and thought you boys might want in on it. Heard you're not too shabby in a fight."
"A situation?" Dean laughs. "You mean you need our help? And you're the Slayer?"
She doesn't like being laughed at. He can tell by the way she purses her lips and the tiny contraction of her eyes. It's all quick enough, though, that most people would never have noticed. "Need, no." The pride in her eyes. It's like looking into a mirror, Sam would tell him. He'll take that as a compliment. "But I could use your help."
"Okay," he says, because she's the real deal, he knows that without question, and no isn't an option.
*
He tries to tell it like that to Sam. Sam's a pissy bitch, though, who likes to be consulted first.
It's okay, because once he sees Faith, he stops arguing. No one can argue with their jaw on the ground.
"Close your mouth, Sam. You'll catch flies," Dean tells him, and gets an elbow to his ribs.
*
Faith's situation is a vampire nest.
"The sort that bite people," she adds. Dean gets the feeling she knows everything about them. It's-uncomfortable.
At least she's stopped looking at Dean as though she wants to shove a stake in his chest. She's got more of a speculative look now. Dean can take that.
"Your demon girlfriend can come along too if she wants," Faith offers. "I guess she can hold her own in a fight. That's assuming she'd fight on our side."
Yeah, Dean wouldn't want to bank on that.
"She's not my girlfriend," Sam says, though Dean thinks it's more an automatic reaction than the truth. It's okay, he can deal with his little brother fucking a demon. Not like he's gonna get himself a normal girlfriend any time soon.
"She's handy with a knife, though, I bet," Faith says, head to one side as if she's measuring them up as much as Ruby. He gets the feeling she's not rating him as high as he deserves.
"There's no need to get Ruby involved," Dean says. "It isn't her battle. We can handle it," he says. A couple of vamps. No problem. He'll show this girl some real hunter skills.
"Ruby's-not around right now, anyway," Sam says.
"Gone walkabout, has she?" Dean always hopes she'll go and never come back.
His luck's never that good.
"Meet you there then," Faith says. She rides a bike, a Yamaha R1. Nice. Very nice. She doesn't bother with a helmet, which earns her a disapproving look from Sam. Dean's too busy admiring the curves: hers and the bike's. Maybe his luck's turned.
He thinks that until he pulls up behind Faith's bike - he gives her an inch of space, and she doesn't so much as blink - and they follow her across a field to a view of the vamps' nest.
Dean expected a barn with a couple of vamps, half a dozen at the most, all dozing in the daytime. Easy pickings. No point making things harder than they need to be, after all.
There's a barn. He got that part right. Easy pickings. Hah. There's a razor-wire perimeter, guard dogs the size of fucking elephants, and the barn's big enough to hold an army.
"You know how many vamps there are?" Sam asks. Dean's still staring at the teeth on the nearest dog.
"About twenty," Faith says, all casual like.
"Twenty vamps?" Sam on the other hand sounds like he's choking. Makes two of them.
Faith shrugs. "Give or take. I didn't do a head count."
"Are you serious? I mean, what, you thought that was too small a detail to bother mentioning? That you want the three of us to go up against twenty vamps? Give or take." He mimics Faith. She scowls.
Okay, so he's not always hot on details himself - he leaves that to library-boy - but some details are fucking obvious.
"What, you expected a couple of vamps curled up in the corner just begging to be staked? You think I'd have bothered to bring you along if that's all there were?"
"No." He didn't. Not exactly. He'd just assumed, like anyone with any sense would, that there'd be reasonable odds, that they wouldn't be willingly walking into a fight that made them look like David with a fucking pebble and slingshot.
"Got a plan?" Sam asks, and Dean just knows by that tone that he's not bothered if Faith has or not because he's got one.
Dean's got a plan - get out of here. Don't fucking wake up sleeping vampires, not without a nice little army of hunters to back them up. It's a good plan, and like all good plans, it ends with him at a bar, cold one in one hand, hot chick in the other. Sam's plans are never that good.
Faith rubs her stake on her jeans. It's damn distracting. "Kill them all," she says. "What more of a plan do you need?"
Dean's gotta admire her enthusiasm.
"That's not a plan," Sam says. Of course he'd dismiss anything that doesn't involve a day at the library or hours hunched over his laptop.
"You've got an idea, though, don't you," Faith says, like she knows Sam as well as he does.
"Yeah," Sam says, and looks back at the Impala. "There's a bottle of whisky in the trunk."
Okay, maybe Sam's plans are getting better.
Dean's all for it until Sam gets back, bottle in hand, and it hits him what Sam plans to do with the whisky.
"Oh hell, no, you're not wasting good whisky like that."
"Got a better way of getting the vamps out? Or maybe you'd like to fight them inside?"
Dean fucking hates Sam's sarcastic voice. Especially when he hasn't got a snappy comeback to put him in his place. He settles for muttering under his breath and hoping Sam will fill in the blanks with something scornful.
"What about the dogs?"
Faith opens her bag. It's full of wooden stakes and some gory chunks of raw meat. "Doped," she explains. "The vamps don't remember to feed them often enough, so give it a couple of minutes and they'll be out for the count. I plan when I need to," she says. She sounds almost defensive, like she's been on the receiving end of criticism for her planning - or lack of planning - before.
She sneaks ghost-quiet up to the fence and throws the meat over without the dogs so much as turning their heads towards her. He'd love to know how she does it.
She must have soaked the stuff in dope, the speed the dogs go out.
Wire cutters appear next, and Faith makes short work of a section of fence. They roll it back and they're almost ready.
Dean holds out his hand for the doctored whisky bottle. It's his whisky, after all. He should have the honors. He runs around back, and lobs the Molotov cocktail though a small window. It lands inside with a satisfying explosion. Dean can see the flames reflected in one large shard of glass still hanging from the window.
He gets back to the front of the barn just as the first vamp appears.
Faith stakes him.
It sounds like there's chaos inside. Shouting and confusion, and that's great in Dean's book.
A second vamp appears in the doorway. It looks hesitantly up at the sky, barely seeming to register their presence.
Faith stakes him.
And a third.
"Are you sure you want us here?" Dean asks. There's an old water barrel nearby - he could sit on it and enjoy the show. Have a barbeque on the barn embers afterwards. He's got some beers in the cooler. Maybe Faith's got some undoped meat.
"It'll get busier in a minute," she says. "Those were just the babies, the ones most scared by the fire, still new enough to be nervous of daylight."
Sure enough, the next at the door isn't so easy. She sniffs the air. "I smell Slayer," she announces, like it's the vampire equivalent of shit on her shoe.
Sam's taken up position on the other side of the entrance to Faith, but he's barely moved before the she-vamp and Faith are squaring off against each other. Dean watches bemused as the two of them do flips and somersaults over each other. It seems an energy-sucking way of fighting to him, but then Faith slips her stake up under the vamp's ribcage and that's another one dispatched.
That's the last of the single ones, and the last of him having the luxury to watch Faith. He catches glimpses of her, flying all over the place, but the vamps they're fighting now are old. They don't go down easily and Dean's gonna have the bruises tomorrow to prove it.
Bruises and worse. A crushed larynx if he's not careful. One second's inattention - he was checking to see Sam was okay - and he's got a vamp behind him, thumbs pressed right where they do the most damage. Dean can't speak let alone shout. He tries kicking back and gets a laugh for his effort.
"Silly little human. I'm immortal, and you think you can best me?"
Dean knows he can. He just can't seem to think straight enough to work out how. It's hard to think when the world's spinning and all he can see are stars. Strange, that, stars when he could have sworn it was daytime.
Next thing he knows he's lying on his back, gulping in air. Tastes good, air. You don't realize that until you do without for too long.
Sam's standing over him. At least he has the decency not to ask if Dean's okay or offer him a hand up.
Dean stands and massages his throat. Faith's collecting up her stakes - he caught sight of her throwing one at one stage, and he doesn't like to think how much skill and strength it takes to throw a stake accurately enough and hard enough to kill a vamp.
"That was impressive," he says, because damn, she really is something.
Faith shrugs like it was nothing. The worst of it is, Dean suspects it wasn't to her. This girl - slayer, what the fuck ever - can fight. Twenty-one vampires (Dean did a head count), and they killed them between the three of them, but if she'd been alone, Dean'd bet his last dollar she'd have still come out on top.
His dick isn't sure if it should be turned on or feeling inadequate. It settles for the former - a hot chick's a hot chick, after all. "So, want to go out and celebrate?" he offers.
Faith looks like she's halfway to high already. There's a buzz about her that wasn't there before. Maybe she's a crazy hot chick.
Dean's dick doesn't care.
"I like to celebrate a good kill with a good fuck. You up for it?"
Dean's dick is up for it. Dean's up for it. Hell yes, he's up for it.
"Sounds like she's your ideal woman," Sam says. Probably just jealousy.
"You're welcome to join in, Sammy," Faith offers, and Dean expects his brother to splutter and flush and shame the Winchester name. He's all set to mock when Sam nods.
"What the fuck?" Dean shouts. "You do know we're brothers, right?"
Sam tips his head back and laughs.
Somewhere in the last couple of minutes, Dean's completely lost control of the situation, and this is not alright.
"I wasn't suggesting you fuck each other while I watch," Faith says. "Though, come to think of it-" She licks her lips, and practically purrs.
"No." Dean glares.
"Your asshole too tight, Dean?" Sam asks, and Dean can't believe Sam's enjoying this so much.
Faith's stroking her stake. She's stroking her large, pointy stake, and Sam's talking about Dean's asshole, and Dean suddenly feels the need to sit down and put something solid between his ass and Faith's stake. He resists. Barely.
Instead, he pulls his keys out and throws them to Sam. "There'd better not be a scratch on her," he orders, and turns to Faith, gesturing toward her bike. "How fast does it go?"
*
Faith's motel room is a tip. Dean only registers that for a second before she's turning him around and pushing him back onto the bed. He'd protest the manhandling, but she's got his belt and fly undone, and it'd be churlish to complain about that.
"So, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to strip you, and then I'm going to ride you. I like it fast and I like it dirty, and I don't like to waste time."
She already has his shirt half off. Dean's masculinity is taking a hit, but on the other hand, if he just reaches up, yes, just like that, and pulls off Faith's tank top, then he's going to have a face full of extremely fine breasts that are barely kept in check by a scrap of lacy red bra. He pushes the cup down and lets one breast fall loose as Faith's grabbing his hips, lifting him up, and pulling down his jeans. Her nails catch on his thigh, so he bites her breast. She lets his ass fall back to the bed and he tugs off the other bra strap and bites that breast to match, twin red teeth marks. She grins with her teeth.
"Glad you can keep up," she says.
"Oh, baby, I can keep up," Dean promises, ignoring the fact that he's already breathless and she's doing all the work.
The marks on her breasts are fading already. He bites again, harder. He wants her to remember him. You don't get fucked by Dean Winchester and forget the experience.
She's rubbing up against his dick, rough denim, and Dean needs her naked now, before he has friction burns on his dick. He reaches out to start unbuttoning her jeans, but she anticipates his plan and wriggles off him, shucking her jeans in seconds, red lace pantiess dropping with them. She's back on top of him before his dick has the chance to miss her much - he appreciates a woman who's efficient at the important things. And most especially he appreciates a hot wet pussy like Faith's. She's rubbing herself along his dick, sticky already and it feels so fabulous he knows being inside her is going to be something special.
She shifts back a fraction, weight on his thighs, and takes his dick in her hand. Strokes him confidently, slides on a condom, and then holds him steady while she sinks down onto him. She's tight, and when she clenches around him it's so good it's almost painful. She digs her nails into his waist and rides him, harder and faster than he'd have thought possible. Dean's left biting his lip and staring up at the ceiling instead of at her breasts bouncing in front of him to make sure he holds on long enough to avoid embarrassment.
Then there's a sound. The turn of a key - no, a lock pick, fast and efficient but still slower than a key - and that's enough to make Dean's dick wilt a little. He grabs Faith by the waist, ready to pull her down and underneath him, and tries to reach for his gun at the same time. The gun that's somewhere on the floor with his clothing and dignity, damn it.
Faith doesn't seem worried. "Who'd be trying to get in?" he asks, and she just grins.
"Surprise," she says, and the door opens.
Dean gapes.
"Surprise," Sam says, and walks in the door.
"What the-" Dean says. It's understandable if he stutters a fraction. He's in the middle of fucking a hot chick, a really hot chick, and his brother walks in as calm as you please. Last time Sam walked in on Dean he'd stammered and stuttered and spent the rest of the day whining that he needed brain bleach. And now he's got his jacket off, and is unbuttoning in his shirt, and fucking smirking.
No way.
"No fucking way," Dean says, just to make things absolutely clear, in case there's any way Sam might interpret his glare as a welcome.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to fuck your cherry ass. Faith can handle both of us," Sam says, and he's naked from the waist up now, already working on his belt. Faith's twisted around on Dean, watching the strip show.
She turns back to Dean. Not that he was feeling neglected or anything, but still. He's not used to a girl watching someone else while he's trying to fuck her.
"It was insurance," she explains.
"Huh?" Dean says eloquently.
"Wasn't sure if you'd be enough, so I invited your brother along for the ride. Literally," she says, and wriggles her hips just so, and his dick seems to forget his brother's in the room, naked now. Naked and hard. Naked, hard, and huge, and Dean so didn't need to know that.
He concentrates on Faith, because damn if this isn't a woman worth giving a hundred and ten percent of his concentration. He still hears Sam, though, feels the mattress dip when he climbs onto the bed, fucking feels Sam's hairy legs on either side of his own when Sam kneels behind Faith. He hears the rustle of foil, the little grunts from Faith which must be from Sam working her open.
She's impatient. "Just do it," she spits at him, and Sam does. Dean can feel it, feel the extra fullness inside Faith when Sam works his way in, inch by inch. Faith stills a moment, looking frustrated that she needs that much, and then she bites her lip and moves. Back and forth, and she must be pushing herself onto each of them in turn. Dean can only imagine how it feels.
There's a thin sheet of sweat on her now, and she's breathing faster. Dean should be insulted that she needs the two of them to get her this worked up, but Faith's one of a kind, and it's hard to feel insulted when her breasts are bouncing right in his eye line, and his balls are tightening up and he's going to go off like an express train any second now.
Her cellphone goes off first.
His perfect woman always turns her cellphone off before sex. Faith ignores it. That's good enough for him. He comes with a grunt, Faith's tits in his face and he'd bet heaven isn't a patch on this.
He gives himself five seconds then pulls out and slips his fingers in. He tries to ignore Sam's panting, and the way he's lifting Faith from behind, and he definitely does not look at Sam's dick pumping in and out of Faith's ass, just crooks his fingers up and works his magic.
Faith loves it, naturally. So much she's clenching around him in seconds.
There's nothing better than getting a girl hot and wet and panting.
Shame he had to learn what Sam's orgasm face looks like immediately after. (For the record, kinda like he's got a swarm of bees in his pants - Dean's seen that face too, and there's not much to choose between them.)
Faith slides out from between them. Not one for pillow talk afterwards. Dean respects that. He gives her bonus points for the curve of her ass as she walks across to her messenger bag, slung on the floor, half-hidden under her jeans. She flips the lid on her cell.
"Anything important?" Sam asks. Dean's trying to pretend Sam's not even in the room, let alone naked on the bed next to him. It was a whole lot easier when he had his hands full of naked female, and it'd help if Sam would just-keep quiet or disappear or something. Dean would give him a pointed glare, but that would mean looking at him. Tricky. He settles for watching Faith.
"It was Buffy," Faith says. She's dressing already.
"Buffy?"
"Girlfriend. Slayer. Like me. The four of us should meet up some time," she says, sliding her boots on. "You'd like her - she's hot."
Dean imagines a second woman like Faith. He imagines the two of them together. He gulps. "Yeah," he says, as Faith scribbles on a piece of paper and drops it on the bed with the room key as she leaves.
It's his birthday soon. And he has Faith's number.
Also her motel bill, unpaid, but what the heck, she was worth it.
//
First, a Sam kissing girls picspam I posted over on spnroundtable a few days ago. Sam has very big hands.
And second, some Dean het.
Title: stole my life from a wandering man
Fandoms: Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairings: Dean/Faith, Dean/Faith/Sam, mentions of Faith/Buffy and Sam/Ruby
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,330 words
Beta: Thanks to the lovely girlmostlikely. And, as always, thanks to lazy-daze for keeping me writing!
Notes: The threesome is for deirdre-c, who begged prettily. Vampire slaying and porn. Set early in season 4 of Supernatural. In case you don't know who Faith Lehane is, she's a vampire slayer and she's hot!
She's frozen in a high kick; he's staring at her crotch.
He'd like the moment to last longer. Or at least end differently.
It ends with him on his back - and that hurt - and her standing over him, wooden stake in her hand like she's about to stick him with it.
Ideally, he'd roll out of the way and then come up with a witty remark, but he's winded, and that's one very firm boot on his stomach. So he tries that look Sam puts on, all sort of mournful and pitiful - it's his last resort, okay? If her arms are even half as strong as her legs, that stake could split him in half, and he's not in a mind to go out that way, not when he's just fucking well crawled out of hell thank you very much.
She lowers the stake, but the boot stays firmly in place.
"How many in your nest?" she asks.
Dean splutters. "Nest?" he manages to croak. "What the fuck are you on about, girl?"
"Your nest, or group, or clique, or whatever the hell you call yourselves. How many?"
Maybe it's not the smart thing to do, but then Sam's supposed to be the smart one and he's not here, so Dean just goes for it. He bursts out laughing, hard enough that his belly presses up into her boot uncomfortably, but he can't stop. This freak of nature little girl thinks he's a fucking vampire.
"Wow, you have got it so wrong," he says.
"You smell like a vampire," she says, practically a hiss. She's hot. "You smell dead."
"Yeah, well, there's sort of a reason for that. Long story. I could tell you over a drink?" he tries hopefully.
She snorts, and she still doesn't let up on the pressure of her boot, but he can tell she's at least considering that he's telling the truth.
"Nice try, not gonna happen. I've got time; how about you give me the Cliff Notes version right now, and then I'll think about whether to believe you or not."
"Yeah," Dean drawls slowly. "Thing is, it's gonna sound-pretty far-fetched without all the background. And you're looking thirsty, like you could murder an ice cold beer. Am I right?"
The girl lifts the stake back up again, and leans over him. The view would be superb - killer rack - but for the look in her eyes which is telling him he's right in line for being split open again.
"I had a short spell in Hell. Hung up on meat hooks. Nasty place, don't like to talk about it much. It's gonna take a while before I get rid of the stench completely. Okay?" Tough if the bitch doesn't like his tone.
She tilts her head to one side and eyes him up. Not surprise, not even pity, just like he's not the first guy she's known to have gone to hell and come back. "Yeah, okay. You're telling the truth," she says, just like that. Like he hasn't told her a crazy story. She holds out her hand to him, and he gives her his without even thinking, too shocked at the turnabout. She pulls him up like he weighs nothing. "Just keep out of my way, especially at night," she says, and starts to stride away.
"Who the hell are you?" Dean calls after her.
"The Slayer," she says - the unsaid of course is clear - and vanishes into the night.
*
Sam apparently can't get beyond the point where Dean was on his back and put there by a girl. Little fucker won't stop laughing.
"I'd believe you were making the whole thing up if it weren't for the bit where you got kicked on your ass," Sam says, still harping on the whole kicked on his ass part of it. "Sounds a bit like you're confusing reality with porn, yet again."
"She was real, dammit, Sam. Look," he says, and lifts his shirt. "I've got the bruises to prove it."
He has. A footprint shaped bruise on his stomach. Kind of turns him on, thinking about it. He's got the beginnings of a hard-on.
"I'ma gonna go jerk off and think about her now," he tells Sam. It's always worth oversharing with Sam.
He does jerk off in the shower, and the mysterious girl (the Slayer, she called herself) figures heavily in getting him off. He moans loudly as he comes, making sure he's loud enough to be heard over the sound of the shower, and imagines Sam's irritation. That's almost as good as getting off.
*
Next time he sees her, she's leaning against his car.
Waiting for him.
"I don't let just anyone lean against my baby, you know," he says, making his check for dirt, scratches, or the slightest damage obvious.
"Good thing I'm not just anyone, then," she counters.
Dean gives her half a smile. "My brother doesn't believe you're real," he tells her.
He thinks she likes that. "You know I'm real, though, don't you, Dean Winchester."
"I don't remember telling you my name."
She shrugs. "You didn't."
He shrugs. "Okay, you've done your homework. Least you can do is share yours."
"Faith. Faith Lehane."
"So, Faith, what're you doing hanging around here?"
"Got a situation, and thought you boys might want in on it. Heard you're not too shabby in a fight."
"A situation?" Dean laughs. "You mean you need our help? And you're the Slayer?"
She doesn't like being laughed at. He can tell by the way she purses her lips and the tiny contraction of her eyes. It's all quick enough, though, that most people would never have noticed. "Need, no." The pride in her eyes. It's like looking into a mirror, Sam would tell him. He'll take that as a compliment. "But I could use your help."
"Okay," he says, because she's the real deal, he knows that without question, and no isn't an option.
*
He tries to tell it like that to Sam. Sam's a pissy bitch, though, who likes to be consulted first.
It's okay, because once he sees Faith, he stops arguing. No one can argue with their jaw on the ground.
"Close your mouth, Sam. You'll catch flies," Dean tells him, and gets an elbow to his ribs.
*
Faith's situation is a vampire nest.
"The sort that bite people," she adds. Dean gets the feeling she knows everything about them. It's-uncomfortable.
At least she's stopped looking at Dean as though she wants to shove a stake in his chest. She's got more of a speculative look now. Dean can take that.
"Your demon girlfriend can come along too if she wants," Faith offers. "I guess she can hold her own in a fight. That's assuming she'd fight on our side."
Yeah, Dean wouldn't want to bank on that.
"She's not my girlfriend," Sam says, though Dean thinks it's more an automatic reaction than the truth. It's okay, he can deal with his little brother fucking a demon. Not like he's gonna get himself a normal girlfriend any time soon.
"She's handy with a knife, though, I bet," Faith says, head to one side as if she's measuring them up as much as Ruby. He gets the feeling she's not rating him as high as he deserves.
"There's no need to get Ruby involved," Dean says. "It isn't her battle. We can handle it," he says. A couple of vamps. No problem. He'll show this girl some real hunter skills.
"Ruby's-not around right now, anyway," Sam says.
"Gone walkabout, has she?" Dean always hopes she'll go and never come back.
His luck's never that good.
"Meet you there then," Faith says. She rides a bike, a Yamaha R1. Nice. Very nice. She doesn't bother with a helmet, which earns her a disapproving look from Sam. Dean's too busy admiring the curves: hers and the bike's. Maybe his luck's turned.
He thinks that until he pulls up behind Faith's bike - he gives her an inch of space, and she doesn't so much as blink - and they follow her across a field to a view of the vamps' nest.
Dean expected a barn with a couple of vamps, half a dozen at the most, all dozing in the daytime. Easy pickings. No point making things harder than they need to be, after all.
There's a barn. He got that part right. Easy pickings. Hah. There's a razor-wire perimeter, guard dogs the size of fucking elephants, and the barn's big enough to hold an army.
"You know how many vamps there are?" Sam asks. Dean's still staring at the teeth on the nearest dog.
"About twenty," Faith says, all casual like.
"Twenty vamps?" Sam on the other hand sounds like he's choking. Makes two of them.
Faith shrugs. "Give or take. I didn't do a head count."
"Are you serious? I mean, what, you thought that was too small a detail to bother mentioning? That you want the three of us to go up against twenty vamps? Give or take." He mimics Faith. She scowls.
Okay, so he's not always hot on details himself - he leaves that to library-boy - but some details are fucking obvious.
"What, you expected a couple of vamps curled up in the corner just begging to be staked? You think I'd have bothered to bring you along if that's all there were?"
"No." He didn't. Not exactly. He'd just assumed, like anyone with any sense would, that there'd be reasonable odds, that they wouldn't be willingly walking into a fight that made them look like David with a fucking pebble and slingshot.
"Got a plan?" Sam asks, and Dean just knows by that tone that he's not bothered if Faith has or not because he's got one.
Dean's got a plan - get out of here. Don't fucking wake up sleeping vampires, not without a nice little army of hunters to back them up. It's a good plan, and like all good plans, it ends with him at a bar, cold one in one hand, hot chick in the other. Sam's plans are never that good.
Faith rubs her stake on her jeans. It's damn distracting. "Kill them all," she says. "What more of a plan do you need?"
Dean's gotta admire her enthusiasm.
"That's not a plan," Sam says. Of course he'd dismiss anything that doesn't involve a day at the library or hours hunched over his laptop.
"You've got an idea, though, don't you," Faith says, like she knows Sam as well as he does.
"Yeah," Sam says, and looks back at the Impala. "There's a bottle of whisky in the trunk."
Okay, maybe Sam's plans are getting better.
Dean's all for it until Sam gets back, bottle in hand, and it hits him what Sam plans to do with the whisky.
"Oh hell, no, you're not wasting good whisky like that."
"Got a better way of getting the vamps out? Or maybe you'd like to fight them inside?"
Dean fucking hates Sam's sarcastic voice. Especially when he hasn't got a snappy comeback to put him in his place. He settles for muttering under his breath and hoping Sam will fill in the blanks with something scornful.
"What about the dogs?"
Faith opens her bag. It's full of wooden stakes and some gory chunks of raw meat. "Doped," she explains. "The vamps don't remember to feed them often enough, so give it a couple of minutes and they'll be out for the count. I plan when I need to," she says. She sounds almost defensive, like she's been on the receiving end of criticism for her planning - or lack of planning - before.
She sneaks ghost-quiet up to the fence and throws the meat over without the dogs so much as turning their heads towards her. He'd love to know how she does it.
She must have soaked the stuff in dope, the speed the dogs go out.
Wire cutters appear next, and Faith makes short work of a section of fence. They roll it back and they're almost ready.
Dean holds out his hand for the doctored whisky bottle. It's his whisky, after all. He should have the honors. He runs around back, and lobs the Molotov cocktail though a small window. It lands inside with a satisfying explosion. Dean can see the flames reflected in one large shard of glass still hanging from the window.
He gets back to the front of the barn just as the first vamp appears.
Faith stakes him.
It sounds like there's chaos inside. Shouting and confusion, and that's great in Dean's book.
A second vamp appears in the doorway. It looks hesitantly up at the sky, barely seeming to register their presence.
Faith stakes him.
And a third.
"Are you sure you want us here?" Dean asks. There's an old water barrel nearby - he could sit on it and enjoy the show. Have a barbeque on the barn embers afterwards. He's got some beers in the cooler. Maybe Faith's got some undoped meat.
"It'll get busier in a minute," she says. "Those were just the babies, the ones most scared by the fire, still new enough to be nervous of daylight."
Sure enough, the next at the door isn't so easy. She sniffs the air. "I smell Slayer," she announces, like it's the vampire equivalent of shit on her shoe.
Sam's taken up position on the other side of the entrance to Faith, but he's barely moved before the she-vamp and Faith are squaring off against each other. Dean watches bemused as the two of them do flips and somersaults over each other. It seems an energy-sucking way of fighting to him, but then Faith slips her stake up under the vamp's ribcage and that's another one dispatched.
That's the last of the single ones, and the last of him having the luxury to watch Faith. He catches glimpses of her, flying all over the place, but the vamps they're fighting now are old. They don't go down easily and Dean's gonna have the bruises tomorrow to prove it.
Bruises and worse. A crushed larynx if he's not careful. One second's inattention - he was checking to see Sam was okay - and he's got a vamp behind him, thumbs pressed right where they do the most damage. Dean can't speak let alone shout. He tries kicking back and gets a laugh for his effort.
"Silly little human. I'm immortal, and you think you can best me?"
Dean knows he can. He just can't seem to think straight enough to work out how. It's hard to think when the world's spinning and all he can see are stars. Strange, that, stars when he could have sworn it was daytime.
Next thing he knows he's lying on his back, gulping in air. Tastes good, air. You don't realize that until you do without for too long.
Sam's standing over him. At least he has the decency not to ask if Dean's okay or offer him a hand up.
Dean stands and massages his throat. Faith's collecting up her stakes - he caught sight of her throwing one at one stage, and he doesn't like to think how much skill and strength it takes to throw a stake accurately enough and hard enough to kill a vamp.
"That was impressive," he says, because damn, she really is something.
Faith shrugs like it was nothing. The worst of it is, Dean suspects it wasn't to her. This girl - slayer, what the fuck ever - can fight. Twenty-one vampires (Dean did a head count), and they killed them between the three of them, but if she'd been alone, Dean'd bet his last dollar she'd have still come out on top.
His dick isn't sure if it should be turned on or feeling inadequate. It settles for the former - a hot chick's a hot chick, after all. "So, want to go out and celebrate?" he offers.
Faith looks like she's halfway to high already. There's a buzz about her that wasn't there before. Maybe she's a crazy hot chick.
Dean's dick doesn't care.
"I like to celebrate a good kill with a good fuck. You up for it?"
Dean's dick is up for it. Dean's up for it. Hell yes, he's up for it.
"Sounds like she's your ideal woman," Sam says. Probably just jealousy.
"You're welcome to join in, Sammy," Faith offers, and Dean expects his brother to splutter and flush and shame the Winchester name. He's all set to mock when Sam nods.
"What the fuck?" Dean shouts. "You do know we're brothers, right?"
Sam tips his head back and laughs.
Somewhere in the last couple of minutes, Dean's completely lost control of the situation, and this is not alright.
"I wasn't suggesting you fuck each other while I watch," Faith says. "Though, come to think of it-" She licks her lips, and practically purrs.
"No." Dean glares.
"Your asshole too tight, Dean?" Sam asks, and Dean can't believe Sam's enjoying this so much.
Faith's stroking her stake. She's stroking her large, pointy stake, and Sam's talking about Dean's asshole, and Dean suddenly feels the need to sit down and put something solid between his ass and Faith's stake. He resists. Barely.
Instead, he pulls his keys out and throws them to Sam. "There'd better not be a scratch on her," he orders, and turns to Faith, gesturing toward her bike. "How fast does it go?"
*
Faith's motel room is a tip. Dean only registers that for a second before she's turning him around and pushing him back onto the bed. He'd protest the manhandling, but she's got his belt and fly undone, and it'd be churlish to complain about that.
"So, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to strip you, and then I'm going to ride you. I like it fast and I like it dirty, and I don't like to waste time."
She already has his shirt half off. Dean's masculinity is taking a hit, but on the other hand, if he just reaches up, yes, just like that, and pulls off Faith's tank top, then he's going to have a face full of extremely fine breasts that are barely kept in check by a scrap of lacy red bra. He pushes the cup down and lets one breast fall loose as Faith's grabbing his hips, lifting him up, and pulling down his jeans. Her nails catch on his thigh, so he bites her breast. She lets his ass fall back to the bed and he tugs off the other bra strap and bites that breast to match, twin red teeth marks. She grins with her teeth.
"Glad you can keep up," she says.
"Oh, baby, I can keep up," Dean promises, ignoring the fact that he's already breathless and she's doing all the work.
The marks on her breasts are fading already. He bites again, harder. He wants her to remember him. You don't get fucked by Dean Winchester and forget the experience.
She's rubbing up against his dick, rough denim, and Dean needs her naked now, before he has friction burns on his dick. He reaches out to start unbuttoning her jeans, but she anticipates his plan and wriggles off him, shucking her jeans in seconds, red lace pantiess dropping with them. She's back on top of him before his dick has the chance to miss her much - he appreciates a woman who's efficient at the important things. And most especially he appreciates a hot wet pussy like Faith's. She's rubbing herself along his dick, sticky already and it feels so fabulous he knows being inside her is going to be something special.
She shifts back a fraction, weight on his thighs, and takes his dick in her hand. Strokes him confidently, slides on a condom, and then holds him steady while she sinks down onto him. She's tight, and when she clenches around him it's so good it's almost painful. She digs her nails into his waist and rides him, harder and faster than he'd have thought possible. Dean's left biting his lip and staring up at the ceiling instead of at her breasts bouncing in front of him to make sure he holds on long enough to avoid embarrassment.
Then there's a sound. The turn of a key - no, a lock pick, fast and efficient but still slower than a key - and that's enough to make Dean's dick wilt a little. He grabs Faith by the waist, ready to pull her down and underneath him, and tries to reach for his gun at the same time. The gun that's somewhere on the floor with his clothing and dignity, damn it.
Faith doesn't seem worried. "Who'd be trying to get in?" he asks, and she just grins.
"Surprise," she says, and the door opens.
Dean gapes.
"Surprise," Sam says, and walks in the door.
"What the-" Dean says. It's understandable if he stutters a fraction. He's in the middle of fucking a hot chick, a really hot chick, and his brother walks in as calm as you please. Last time Sam walked in on Dean he'd stammered and stuttered and spent the rest of the day whining that he needed brain bleach. And now he's got his jacket off, and is unbuttoning in his shirt, and fucking smirking.
No way.
"No fucking way," Dean says, just to make things absolutely clear, in case there's any way Sam might interpret his glare as a welcome.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to fuck your cherry ass. Faith can handle both of us," Sam says, and he's naked from the waist up now, already working on his belt. Faith's twisted around on Dean, watching the strip show.
She turns back to Dean. Not that he was feeling neglected or anything, but still. He's not used to a girl watching someone else while he's trying to fuck her.
"It was insurance," she explains.
"Huh?" Dean says eloquently.
"Wasn't sure if you'd be enough, so I invited your brother along for the ride. Literally," she says, and wriggles her hips just so, and his dick seems to forget his brother's in the room, naked now. Naked and hard. Naked, hard, and huge, and Dean so didn't need to know that.
He concentrates on Faith, because damn if this isn't a woman worth giving a hundred and ten percent of his concentration. He still hears Sam, though, feels the mattress dip when he climbs onto the bed, fucking feels Sam's hairy legs on either side of his own when Sam kneels behind Faith. He hears the rustle of foil, the little grunts from Faith which must be from Sam working her open.
She's impatient. "Just do it," she spits at him, and Sam does. Dean can feel it, feel the extra fullness inside Faith when Sam works his way in, inch by inch. Faith stills a moment, looking frustrated that she needs that much, and then she bites her lip and moves. Back and forth, and she must be pushing herself onto each of them in turn. Dean can only imagine how it feels.
There's a thin sheet of sweat on her now, and she's breathing faster. Dean should be insulted that she needs the two of them to get her this worked up, but Faith's one of a kind, and it's hard to feel insulted when her breasts are bouncing right in his eye line, and his balls are tightening up and he's going to go off like an express train any second now.
Her cellphone goes off first.
His perfect woman always turns her cellphone off before sex. Faith ignores it. That's good enough for him. He comes with a grunt, Faith's tits in his face and he'd bet heaven isn't a patch on this.
He gives himself five seconds then pulls out and slips his fingers in. He tries to ignore Sam's panting, and the way he's lifting Faith from behind, and he definitely does not look at Sam's dick pumping in and out of Faith's ass, just crooks his fingers up and works his magic.
Faith loves it, naturally. So much she's clenching around him in seconds.
There's nothing better than getting a girl hot and wet and panting.
Shame he had to learn what Sam's orgasm face looks like immediately after. (For the record, kinda like he's got a swarm of bees in his pants - Dean's seen that face too, and there's not much to choose between them.)
Faith slides out from between them. Not one for pillow talk afterwards. Dean respects that. He gives her bonus points for the curve of her ass as she walks across to her messenger bag, slung on the floor, half-hidden under her jeans. She flips the lid on her cell.
"Anything important?" Sam asks. Dean's trying to pretend Sam's not even in the room, let alone naked on the bed next to him. It was a whole lot easier when he had his hands full of naked female, and it'd help if Sam would just-keep quiet or disappear or something. Dean would give him a pointed glare, but that would mean looking at him. Tricky. He settles for watching Faith.
"It was Buffy," Faith says. She's dressing already.
"Buffy?"
"Girlfriend. Slayer. Like me. The four of us should meet up some time," she says, sliding her boots on. "You'd like her - she's hot."
Dean imagines a second woman like Faith. He imagines the two of them together. He gulps. "Yeah," he says, as Faith scribbles on a piece of paper and drops it on the bed with the room key as she leaves.
It's his birthday soon. And he has Faith's number.
Also her motel bill, unpaid, but what the heck, she was worth it.
//