The Roadhouse attracted a lot of rough and ready hunters, but very few gorgeous creatures, so when Dean sauntered in to see a beautiful woman with eyes full of death leaning against the bar he had to know more.
He didn't get within six feet of her before the darkness behind her eyes flared and she growled: "Stay away."
Of course, Dean did no such thing. He wanted, well not to tame her, but to ride the wildness and emerge bruised and marked and satisfied.
"You don't want to do that."
Dean drew his brows together, certain that he hadn't voiced his desires.
"Why, you a monster, or just a hunter? 'Cause, y'know, I draw the line at the monsters."
She just sighed and turned back to the bar.
Dean could almost smell her scent rising from tousled dark hair, a scent tinged with the blood and sweat of a recent hunt. So, not a monster then, but a hunter, in the way that Jo wished she could be, and Ellen would never allow.
This time he got within a foot, before a knife was slammed on the bar, and growl trickled from between her lips.
"I said, you..."
Dean cut her off with a hand on her hair, rougher than it looked, and matted in places with blood she hadn't yet had the time to wash out.
Turning to slap his hand away she saw the darkness rise behind his eyes, the monsters and the deaths, the desire for a woman who understood the hunt. She sighed again, changing the slap to a caress of his cheek.
"Buy me a drink, then."
The better part of a bottle of whiskey later they stumbled out to the Impala, shedding clothes and dignity by degrees to the cold night.
The first touch of Faith's lips against Dean's was like fire in the frigid air, and then they were frantically crushing mouths and bodies together to spread the flames.
He didn't get within six feet of her before the darkness behind her eyes flared and she growled: "Stay away."
Of course, Dean did no such thing. He wanted, well not to tame her, but to ride the wildness and emerge bruised and marked and satisfied.
"You don't want to do that."
Dean drew his brows together, certain that he hadn't voiced his desires.
"Why, you a monster, or just a hunter? 'Cause, y'know, I draw the line at the monsters."
She just sighed and turned back to the bar.
Dean could almost smell her scent rising from tousled dark hair, a scent tinged with the blood and sweat of a recent hunt. So, not a monster then, but a hunter, in the way that Jo wished she could be, and Ellen would never allow.
This time he got within a foot, before a knife was slammed on the bar, and growl trickled from between her lips.
"I said, you..."
Dean cut her off with a hand on her hair, rougher than it looked, and matted in places with blood she hadn't yet had the time to wash out.
Turning to slap his hand away she saw the darkness rise behind his eyes, the monsters and the deaths, the desire for a woman who understood the hunt. She sighed again, changing the slap to a caress of his cheek.
"Buy me a drink, then."
The better part of a bottle of whiskey later they stumbled out to the Impala, shedding clothes and dignity by degrees to the cold night.
The first touch of Faith's lips against Dean's was like fire in the frigid air, and then they were frantically crushing mouths and bodies together to spread the flames.
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