[FIC]: Surfacing (Dean/OFC, Adult)
Title: Surfacing
Author: nyoka @ chocolate_muse
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Count: ~4,700
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. I own nothing and no one.
Warnings: language; sexuality.
Notes: Set pre-series Stanford-era. Written as a pinch hit for abeautifullie3 for the spn-hetexchange to the prompt: late night swim. Originally posted here. Thank you maerhys for the beta.
Summary: Thing is, Dean doesn't know how to be lonely. He doesn't know how to be alone.
* * *
Locals say the Peyak River floods every fall, a slow push of water that spreads across the flat plateau and seeps down into the southern-portion of Grover's Valley. Dean sprints as he follows the rising river north, stopping every once in a while to eye the churning water as it crashes over broken rocks and weathered tree stumps, moving in a tireless flow inland.
Dean pauses for breath somewhere on the outskirts of Caleb's property, his chest heaving as he scans the eastern horizon. He watches as the morning sun throws colors across the sky, its soft light filtering down through the trees and bouncing off the fast-flowing creek that runs out back behind the property. Dean listens to the gurgling rush of water, cold and crisp sounding in the early morning air, before he takes off again, his worn tennis shoes sliding across the fallen mulch and moss covering the forest floor.
Dean loves jogging this particular trail through the woods bounding the property line; more often than not, these morning runs help to calm his mind in ways nothing much else does besides riding his baby down a straightaway. When he's running, it's just Dean alone in his body: the steady push of his legs, the pumping of his arms, and the staccato sound of his breathing. It's rhythm and form, discipline and training. Order when everything else in the world is chaos.
Dean's breathing slows when he settles against a tree and searches through his pack for his water bottle. The rough bark of the pine digs into his back as he relaxes against it and drinks deep, sucking down gulps of warm spring water as he stretches his legs out and stares past the treeline.
The morning is cool, but Dean's threadbare t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, his damp hair falling flat against his forehead. He pushes his hair back and thinks about how it's time for a trim. When Dad and Caleb get back from the field, he'll ask one of them to give him a military cut. Dean's been letting his hair grow out since Sam left for Stanford; in mourning or in memory, he's not quite sure. Dean lets a few minutes pass before picking himself up and hiking back to Caleb's, following the creek that flows toward the homestead.
It's late August, and they've been in Nebraska for almost two weeks now. Dad and Caleb are tracking a banshee throughout the northern part of the state, and Dean's been left behind to do most of the research. Dean spent the last few days pissed off about having to stay put, but according to Dad, Dean's been off his game lately and he needs Dean to get his head back on straight. Truth is, they've both been off their game, trying to figure out how to be a family, a unit, with one less person. Sam's leaving left a hole in the Winchester dynamic that Dean doesn't even know how to begin to mend. Dean's always been the one to fix things when Dad and Sam got into it, but Dean has a feeling there's no fixing this. Sam's not coming back, and Dean's gut churns with the failure.
Dean sighs and kicks at the fallen leaves, sending them dancing across the rocky path as he approaches Caleb's house. He hears the screen door slap shut, and he looks up to see Eva standing on the porch, head cocked in his direction, lips curled in a welcoming smile. Eva is Caleb's little sister. Not so little actually. She's a couple of years older than Dean, and she hunts part-time with Caleb when she's not busy backpacking around the world taking pictures (she freelances as a photographer for nature magazines).
Probably fresh from the shower, Eva runs a hand through her wet hair, twisting the tangled dark locks up into a bun as Dean approaches. "Good run?" she asks, smirking.
"Fuckin' great run," Dean smirks back, settling down on the porch with a tired huff. It was Eva who took him running the first couple of times and got him addicted to the smell of the river and the rich earthen forest along the river trail.
Eva sits down beside Dean on the porch steps, her long legs kicking out in front of her. Her big black boots are unlaced like she just slipped them on, and her yellow sundress pools around her thighs.
They settle beside each other, knees knocking together. This close Dean can smell Eva, the soft hint of her homemade sage soap, the lavender of her shampoo. For a moment, Dean's distracted by the way strands of her damp hair curl along the nape of her neck, dark coils against her olive skin.
"Am I really that fascinating?"
Eva's voice kicks Dean out of his thoughts, and he smiles as he straightens his body, turning to look out at the path he just followed from the woods. "Not at all," he quips, leaning his elbows back on the top step. He cards his hand through his damp hair; he needs a shower badly, something long and hot and soothing. His muscles ache from the run and he feels like he could sleep for days. He closes his eyes, feels the warmth of the sun against his lids. Says, "The river's getting high."
"It'll get higher when the rains finally reach us," Eva says, and Dean can feel as she leans against him, her body soft and warm at his side.
They're quiet together for a while before Dean asks, "Have you heard from my Dad or Caleb today?"
Eva shifts closer as she says, "Not yet."
Dean frowns, something sour sliding at the back of his throat. "They should have taken me along," he mutters. He feels useless out here, like he's been put in some kind of kindergarten time-out. He's twenty-two for fuck's sake.
Eva's silent, but her hand comes to rest against Dean's forearm. Dean inhales tiredly, the need to do something expanding in his chest along with his lungs.
He doesn't know why Dad's distance is getting to him, why it's left him feeling like Dean is the one who's done something wrong. Dean thought the distance was just Dad's way of dealing with Sam's abandonment, the pain of losing something precious.
"I know what it's like to be lonely," Eva says after a time, her words quiet but cutting as they slide their way through the silence.
Dean squeezes his eyelids tight because he doesn't want to do this now; in fact he's been trying to avoid doing this all week even though Eva's been making sad eyes at him, responding to his flirtations with a knowing smile, talking to him like Dean's something fragile, something ready to break.
"I'm not-" Dean pauses, the words stuck in his throat. He coughs, sits up and puts some distance between them on the steps. He pulls his legs up to his chest and settles his chin against his knees. "Can we just skip the sharing and caring part and go directly to the comfort sex?" he mumbles, trying for a smile.
Eva laughs softly, stretching out her long legs again. "Just thought you could use someone to talk to."
Dean snorts. "Trust me, I'm fine."
Eva laughs again, but this time it sounds broken to Dean's ears. "Dean, you're the unhappiest boy I've ever met." She says it like it's some fact she read in a book, and Dean flinches, shaking his head.
Eva sighs. Says, voice quiet, "Sure you hide it behind flirtation and bad jokes but-"
"Hey," Dean cuts in, feeling hot with the sudden need to take up his rifle and shoot off several rounds in Caleb's firing range out back. He exhales loudly and says instead, "Sweetheart, I know you mean well but I'm not in the mood for some self-pity party, okay?"
Dean's thinking now that maybe this was all some kind of set-up-that maybe Dad and Caleb left him here to connect with someone more his age. Because, apparently, Dean is incapable of making his own goddamn friends. For a moment Dean feels so pathetic he wants to laugh. Instead he takes a deep breath and presses his palm against his eyes, urges the thoughts out of his head.
These last few weeks have been tough, it's true. A steady stream of dreams about Dad and Sam driving off, leaving him behind on some dusty road. Not even losing himself in a string of truck-stop waitresses had made the hollow, empty feeling go away. It's easier to just keep moving, to keep running. Standing still makes it harder to ignore the deep ache settling into the marrow of his bones; makes it harder to ignore the way everything he's worked so hard to build is crumbling apart. Thing is, Dean doesn't know how to be lonely. He doesn't know how to be alone.
"We don't have to talk," Eva says, and Dean turns back to face her, watching as her long fingers play with the hem of her dress before settling down on her bare knees. Dean reaches out to cover her hand where it rests over her knee. His hand dwarfs hers, and he wonders at the feel of his rough palm against the smooth skin of her hand. For a while they just stare at the way their hands touch, the crisscross pattern created by their fingers.
When Dean's fingers begin to run over Eva's knuckles, they brush against her thigh, bringing both of their attention to the lines of bumpy scar tissue that begin above her kneecap and curve up her left thigh and flank, hidden now by the skirt of her dress. Claw marks.
Not for the first time, Dean wants to ask Eva about the scars riddling her body. He knows the thing responsible for them is the very thing that propelled both her and Caleb into the life. Dad told him that Caleb was just your garden-variety ex-con before something nasty and evil tore into his little sister while she was camping in the Adirondacks.
Dean considers asking her what so brutally changed her life, but instead he runs his finger along the patchwork of puckered, pink flesh. Eva shivers, breath hitching as Dean touches her, but she doesn't ask him to stop. Scars are something Dean understands intimately. He doesn't need to know their cause.
"Caleb will kick your ass if you keep that up," Eva says breathlessly, voice cracking as Dean trails his fingers further up her thigh, sliding under the hem of her dress.
Dean huffs a soft laugh, remembering Caleb's parting warning of: Winchester, you touch my sister, you die.
Dean wants to touch her though. He wants to lean in, stick his face against her neck, and press his body into the warm curve of her own. He wants to squeeze her small tits between his hands and sneak his fingers beneath her white cotton panties. He wants her to laugh, to make that breathless panting sound she gets whenever they're jogging together. He wants her not to feel so lonely.
Eva lets Dean touch her, and Dean thinks about how this is a girl who knows about being broken, torn apart and stitched back together. She knows about the shit that spills out of the earth in the dark. The way pain has its own flavor.
Dean rests his hand against her thigh for a long moment. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he says, not really in response to anything Eva asked. Not really in response to anything going through his mind right now either. But it's the only words willing to tumble out of his mouth.
The look Eva wings his way is one of understanding before she eases closer to him, her hand covering his hand where it rests against her thigh. She runs her other hand through his hair, before smoothing her fingers against the rough stubble of his chin. "You're doing it," she says, meeting his eyes. "What you're doing is enough."
* * *
Dusk finds Dean sitting out on the back porch this time. The day's heat has faded, and the sun's sinking low into the surrounding hills. Dean's tinkering with some of Caleb's old transistor radios, thinking about salvaging the spare parts and constructing something that will up the amplification on the EVP recorder he's building.
When he looks up from the screwdriver he's holding, his eyes settle on Eva across the grassy yard where she's taking down sheets from the clothesline. He watches her for a while, maps the way she moves, the twist of her hips and the lean stretch of her arm muscles as she pulls towels from the line. Her slim curves aren't hidden by the thin material of her sundress.
Dean doesn't know what compels him to move, but he pushes his toolbox aside and climbs to his feet without thought. All he knows is that he can't sit still and just watch anymore. He's moving across the yard before he knows it, and Eva's watching him with a curious expression.
"Dean?" she says, pausing with a shirt in her hand.
"Hi," he says, stopping in front of her, and Eva laughs softly, shaking her head as the evening breeze sends her dark curls flying across her face. She drops her laundry, and Dean lifts one hand cautiously and places it against her shoulder. He runs his fingers up and down the thin strap of her dress, moving it back and forth between his thumb and index finger.
"Can I?" Dean asks, because it feels like they've been building up to this for days.
"Please," she says, soft brown eyes going wide.
Dean leans in closer and raises both hands to tug at the spaghetti straps of her sundress, slipping them down and off her shoulders until the entire dress falls from her body with a soft whisper of fabric as it pools at her feet.
She's not wearing a bra, and her breasts are small, firm, and round, a perfect fit to his palms. As he steps closer, Eva pulls the clip out of her hair, letting the heavy curls fall against her shoulders. Dean runs his hands up and down her arms, before moving in to cup her pale breasts. He loves the smooth texture of her taut nipples, the way they respond to his touch as he tweaks them.
Eva's got tan lines and freckles, but it's the claw marks that stand out the most. They cover the left side of her torso, starting just under the her ribcage and trailing down her belly and onto her thigh.
"Am I really that fascinating?" Eva repeats her question from this morning, but this time she sounds unsure, guarded.
"Yeah," Dean whispers, meeting her eyes with a smile. "You're freaking beautiful."
"I'm damaged goods," Eva says softly, shrugging away the compliment.
"Ain't we all," Dean says, and then he moves closer and twists a hand into her hair before leaning in to mouth at her jaw. She tastes like sunlight and salt, the sweet heat of a long work day.
Eva turns her head, and their lips meet. The kiss is chaste at first, almost too tender. But then she opens her mouth for him, dips her tongue inside of his own, and the kiss turns sloppy-warm and needy. She falls into his arms, kisses him harder.
Dean doesn't like talking, but he can do this: suck on Eva's tongue until she's trembling, her body gone lax and warm in his embrace. He hooks his thumbs into her panties and pulls them down and off, never even pausing to break the kiss. When he pushes two fingers into her wet cunt, she groans into his mouth and bucks up into his hand.
They pull out of the kiss for air, and Eva bites at Dean's jaw as he fucks his fingers inside her, slow and steady. For the longest time, Dean's hand makes itself at home between Eva's legs, lost in that tight, slick heat. Eva's voice is warm and gentle against his ear, easing him further inside.
* * *
The house is pitch black when Dean wakes up. He yawns, twisting around to find the clock on the night stand, which reads a quarter past midnight. It takes Dean a minute to get his bearings, to remember where he is: Eva's bedroom at Caleb's.
"Eva?" he calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he tries to see into the murky darkness. She's not in the room, but Dean has an idea of where she goes when she needs some peace late at night. Dean climbs out of bed, pulling on his abandoned sweats and boots before shuffling out of the bedroom and down the dark hall. The rest of the house is quiet and cool, but Dean doesn't even bother to look around before heading out through the back door.
Once in the backyard, Dean heads down to the creek that runs out behind the house. It's dark outside, but the quarter moon offers a slice of light that spills across the weedy terrain. Dean's boots crunch through the overgrown grass as he walks, the sound a soft accompaniment to the loud racket of bugs haunting the night.
Soon enough he hears the soft gurgling of the creek, whose stream bed flows down into a dark pool of water nestled between a series of large boulders. The shallow stream pool makes for a decent nature-made swimming hole. Eva once told him about her late-night swims, which clear her head much in the same way Dean's morning jogs clear his own.
There's just enough light to see Eva by, floating on her back in the midnight-black pool. For a moment Dean wonders if maybe he's intruding, but then he sees Eva move, dunking under the water before surfacing from beneath, her naked body glistening in the moonlight.
"Coming in?" Eva calls, motioning with her arms. She's standing now, feet likely touching the bottom of the pool as she shakes the water from her hair. Dean watches the water slide along her skin, before his eyes drop to the small, round swells of her breasts and the wide expanse of her hips moving in and out of water. He thinks about the warm, dark space between her legs he had spent all evening learning.
"Yeah," Dean says, quickly pulling off his boots and sweatpants before moving toward the pool. Eva waits for him, hip-deep in the water, body dripping.
By the time Dean dips his feet into the pool, his eyes are better adjusted to the darkness. The night air is warm and moist, and the water is cool against his skin. He wades in until the bottom half of his body is submerged, and he's standing next to Eva.
Dean shivers, gooseflesh breaking out across his skin as he moves his fingers through the water on either side of him. "This shit is frigid," he mutters, shooting her a dubious look.
Eva laughs softly, swimming closer to him. "You'll get use to it." She smoothes her wet hand across his shoulders before she leans in and aligns their damp, naked bodies together. "That better?" she asks. Eva's body rubs against his own, from chest to hips to groin, and Dean shivers for an entirely different reason.
"Much," he whispers, feeling his cock swell between his legs as he presses closer to her.
Eva curls her arms around him, and Dean pulls her closer by the hips. They spin around in the water like that for a moment, wrapped close together, before Dean pulls them both lower, letting the water reach their collarbones. The water is still a cool shock against his warm skin, but he's slowly growing use to it, loving how the heavy water pulls them down toward the bottom of the pool.
The creek pool is shallow, but Eva is the one who leads them both under, bodies curling until they're entirely submerged beneath the murky darkness of the water. It feels amazing, the heavy pressure pulling at him on all sides. Dean keeps his eyes closed, hands wrapped around Eva's waist as they hold their breath under the water for several long seconds. Just as Dean's lungs start to ache, he feels Eva guiding them around beneath the water and then moving them up until they're breaking through the surface of the pool together. Dean crashes through with a loud splash, sucking in the warm air.
Eva's laughing, water flowing down her body, long hair matted to her face. Dean's feet press against the bottom of the pool, water lapping at his waist as he stands. He scrubs a hand through his wet hair and sucks in several noisy breaths as he smiles at Eva. "Again?" he asks.
Eva nods, and they repeat the process several more times: Dean letting Eva pull him under for several long moments, until they push through the surface together. It's almost like some kind of baptism, being dunked under again and again. Surfacing is a revelation each time, with Dean rising from the water and sucking in deep breaths like he's waking up from a bad dream. After a time, they laze against the boulders, catching their breaths. Eva's talking about the water table being higher this time of the year, the rising Peyak River feeding the creek which raises both the stream bed and the small stream pool they're swimming in.
When she's finished talking, Dean runs his thumb over her mouth before he leans down to kiss her, their lips slipping together as their slick bodies move against each other. Eva hums as Dean spreads his hands across her hips, pressing instinctively closer to the warm wet curve of her body.
Dean kisses her again and again, holding her close as the water laps at their bodies. Eva's smiling when she pulls her mouth away to slide them through the water toward the edge of the pool, settling them against the boulders. Dean then arranges their bodies just so, their slick limbs tangling in the water, until he's got Eva's firm breasts and soft belly pressing against his chest. His hands then slide against the back of her thighs, fingers gliding over the bumps of old scars as he curls her legs around his waist.
Feet flat on the bottom of the pool, Dean moves them together until he's grinding his cock against Eva's tight little cunt. He watches her face as he pushes in, the way her mouth breaks open on a silent gasp before sucking in a deep breath.
"Dean," she whimpers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Dean forces Eva's legs tighter around his hips, hooking her feet against the dip in his back as he spreads her around his cock. Then he's thrusting into her hard and deep, and she's panting and mewling, her short fingernails digging into his wet back.
Water sloshes around them as they move, and Dean struggles to maintain their precarious balance against the rocky side of the pool, clutching Eva close as he propels most of their weight into the act of fucking. Eva grips his shoulders tighter and holds on as Dean pushes into her, both of their movements turning frantic and greedy. Their bodies bounce up and down in the pool, sending water splashing all around until Dean slows his thrusts, lets them both feel the glide of his cock pushing into the perfect tight glove of her cunt.
Eva's moans are so sweet and hot, and Dean can feel every vibration of her body as she makes each sound. The fucking slows, turns more rhythmic, water pushing up between their bodies with every jostle. A breeze whispers through the pines towering above them. The air skitters along Dean's naked back as he moves, making them both shiver and draw closer in the water.
Eva wraps her hand around Dean's neck and pulls his head up until she's looking into his face. Dean pauses, now comfortably nestled inside of her, and turns to meet her gaze. She runs the wrinkled pads of her fingers along his cheek before tracing the outline of his face. "You feel so good," she says, her voice a soft rasp. Dean laughs, and shifts again, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back into her, lifting her slightly as he does in order to get a better angle this time, something tighter and sweeter, something that allows him to root himself even deeper inside. They stay that way for a long moment before Dean starts moving again. Her hands tangle in his hair, forcing Dean's head down and pulling him into a wet, messy kiss.
He's coming soon after, shaking and shuddering, body jerking so hard he's splashing water everywhere. She follows right behind him, her legs winding tighter around his waist. Dean buries himself inside of her as her muscles contract, squeezing out of the last of his orgasm.
The come down is slow, and the water feels like a cool caress against his heated skin. Eva kisses him again, after, and cradles his head against her chest. Soon enough they'll have to climb out. Maybe get a warm shower before crawling into Eva's bed for another round. But for now Dean listens to the soft lapping of the water, his body rocking with the gentle waves.
* * *
Morning comes in smooth and cool, and the Nebraska air is humid-thick and heavy with the promise of a coming rainstorm. Dean wakes up late, groggy and tired, his body still sparking from his late-night exertions. He lies in bed with his eyes closed for a long while, twisted in bed sheets that smell like lavender and pine. He feels good, relaxed even. Eva, he knows, is an earlier riser, and he can hear her knocking around in the kitchen; the smell of percolating coffee adds a rich aroma to the air.
When Dean finally gets up, he slides on his sweats and stumbles barefooted to the front porch. He finds Eva sitting on the steps, sipping from a big mug of coffee. Dean squints; even the dim morning light is too sharp for his still-sleepy eyes.
Eva turns and winks up at him. Her smile is soft, warm. Her dark hair is twisted into a messy bun, and she's wearing sweats and one of Dean's old flannel shirts. She says, "Morning, sleepyhead."
"Morning," Dean grunts as he settles beside her on the porch. He gladly accepts the cup of coffee she offers to him. It's still warm, and it's strong the way he likes it. He takes a sip and stares out at the trees lining the yard. The sky is overcast, and Dean thinks he can hear thunder rolling in the distant hills.
"The rain's finally here," Eva says, and right on cue the sky breaks open, sending thick droplets of rainwater down to soak into the earth.
They move from the steps and stand farther under the porch to avoid the splash of water. Eva's hand finds his own, and she curls their fingers together. Dean looks down at her, and she steps up on her tippy-toes to kiss him. The kiss is slow and warm and wet, and the sound of rain is loud as it drums against the roof of the porch.
Dean imagines the river flooding its banks, the heavy clouds sending water down throughout the entire valley. He imagines running through the rain in the woods, running until all he feels is the clock-work rhythm of his body locked in motion. He imagines sinking deep beneath the creek pool, the heavy pressure of the water weighing him down. He imagines pushing himself up and breaking through the top, that first inhaled breath after surfacing.
-fin-
Author: nyoka @ chocolate_muse
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Count: ~4,700
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. I own nothing and no one.
Warnings: language; sexuality.
Notes: Set pre-series Stanford-era. Written as a pinch hit for abeautifullie3 for the spn-hetexchange to the prompt: late night swim. Originally posted here. Thank you maerhys for the beta.
Summary: Thing is, Dean doesn't know how to be lonely. He doesn't know how to be alone.
* * *
Locals say the Peyak River floods every fall, a slow push of water that spreads across the flat plateau and seeps down into the southern-portion of Grover's Valley. Dean sprints as he follows the rising river north, stopping every once in a while to eye the churning water as it crashes over broken rocks and weathered tree stumps, moving in a tireless flow inland.
Dean pauses for breath somewhere on the outskirts of Caleb's property, his chest heaving as he scans the eastern horizon. He watches as the morning sun throws colors across the sky, its soft light filtering down through the trees and bouncing off the fast-flowing creek that runs out back behind the property. Dean listens to the gurgling rush of water, cold and crisp sounding in the early morning air, before he takes off again, his worn tennis shoes sliding across the fallen mulch and moss covering the forest floor.
Dean loves jogging this particular trail through the woods bounding the property line; more often than not, these morning runs help to calm his mind in ways nothing much else does besides riding his baby down a straightaway. When he's running, it's just Dean alone in his body: the steady push of his legs, the pumping of his arms, and the staccato sound of his breathing. It's rhythm and form, discipline and training. Order when everything else in the world is chaos.
Dean's breathing slows when he settles against a tree and searches through his pack for his water bottle. The rough bark of the pine digs into his back as he relaxes against it and drinks deep, sucking down gulps of warm spring water as he stretches his legs out and stares past the treeline.
The morning is cool, but Dean's threadbare t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, his damp hair falling flat against his forehead. He pushes his hair back and thinks about how it's time for a trim. When Dad and Caleb get back from the field, he'll ask one of them to give him a military cut. Dean's been letting his hair grow out since Sam left for Stanford; in mourning or in memory, he's not quite sure. Dean lets a few minutes pass before picking himself up and hiking back to Caleb's, following the creek that flows toward the homestead.
It's late August, and they've been in Nebraska for almost two weeks now. Dad and Caleb are tracking a banshee throughout the northern part of the state, and Dean's been left behind to do most of the research. Dean spent the last few days pissed off about having to stay put, but according to Dad, Dean's been off his game lately and he needs Dean to get his head back on straight. Truth is, they've both been off their game, trying to figure out how to be a family, a unit, with one less person. Sam's leaving left a hole in the Winchester dynamic that Dean doesn't even know how to begin to mend. Dean's always been the one to fix things when Dad and Sam got into it, but Dean has a feeling there's no fixing this. Sam's not coming back, and Dean's gut churns with the failure.
Dean sighs and kicks at the fallen leaves, sending them dancing across the rocky path as he approaches Caleb's house. He hears the screen door slap shut, and he looks up to see Eva standing on the porch, head cocked in his direction, lips curled in a welcoming smile. Eva is Caleb's little sister. Not so little actually. She's a couple of years older than Dean, and she hunts part-time with Caleb when she's not busy backpacking around the world taking pictures (she freelances as a photographer for nature magazines).
Probably fresh from the shower, Eva runs a hand through her wet hair, twisting the tangled dark locks up into a bun as Dean approaches. "Good run?" she asks, smirking.
"Fuckin' great run," Dean smirks back, settling down on the porch with a tired huff. It was Eva who took him running the first couple of times and got him addicted to the smell of the river and the rich earthen forest along the river trail.
Eva sits down beside Dean on the porch steps, her long legs kicking out in front of her. Her big black boots are unlaced like she just slipped them on, and her yellow sundress pools around her thighs.
They settle beside each other, knees knocking together. This close Dean can smell Eva, the soft hint of her homemade sage soap, the lavender of her shampoo. For a moment, Dean's distracted by the way strands of her damp hair curl along the nape of her neck, dark coils against her olive skin.
"Am I really that fascinating?"
Eva's voice kicks Dean out of his thoughts, and he smiles as he straightens his body, turning to look out at the path he just followed from the woods. "Not at all," he quips, leaning his elbows back on the top step. He cards his hand through his damp hair; he needs a shower badly, something long and hot and soothing. His muscles ache from the run and he feels like he could sleep for days. He closes his eyes, feels the warmth of the sun against his lids. Says, "The river's getting high."
"It'll get higher when the rains finally reach us," Eva says, and Dean can feel as she leans against him, her body soft and warm at his side.
They're quiet together for a while before Dean asks, "Have you heard from my Dad or Caleb today?"
Eva shifts closer as she says, "Not yet."
Dean frowns, something sour sliding at the back of his throat. "They should have taken me along," he mutters. He feels useless out here, like he's been put in some kind of kindergarten time-out. He's twenty-two for fuck's sake.
Eva's silent, but her hand comes to rest against Dean's forearm. Dean inhales tiredly, the need to do something expanding in his chest along with his lungs.
He doesn't know why Dad's distance is getting to him, why it's left him feeling like Dean is the one who's done something wrong. Dean thought the distance was just Dad's way of dealing with Sam's abandonment, the pain of losing something precious.
"I know what it's like to be lonely," Eva says after a time, her words quiet but cutting as they slide their way through the silence.
Dean squeezes his eyelids tight because he doesn't want to do this now; in fact he's been trying to avoid doing this all week even though Eva's been making sad eyes at him, responding to his flirtations with a knowing smile, talking to him like Dean's something fragile, something ready to break.
"I'm not-" Dean pauses, the words stuck in his throat. He coughs, sits up and puts some distance between them on the steps. He pulls his legs up to his chest and settles his chin against his knees. "Can we just skip the sharing and caring part and go directly to the comfort sex?" he mumbles, trying for a smile.
Eva laughs softly, stretching out her long legs again. "Just thought you could use someone to talk to."
Dean snorts. "Trust me, I'm fine."
Eva laughs again, but this time it sounds broken to Dean's ears. "Dean, you're the unhappiest boy I've ever met." She says it like it's some fact she read in a book, and Dean flinches, shaking his head.
Eva sighs. Says, voice quiet, "Sure you hide it behind flirtation and bad jokes but-"
"Hey," Dean cuts in, feeling hot with the sudden need to take up his rifle and shoot off several rounds in Caleb's firing range out back. He exhales loudly and says instead, "Sweetheart, I know you mean well but I'm not in the mood for some self-pity party, okay?"
Dean's thinking now that maybe this was all some kind of set-up-that maybe Dad and Caleb left him here to connect with someone more his age. Because, apparently, Dean is incapable of making his own goddamn friends. For a moment Dean feels so pathetic he wants to laugh. Instead he takes a deep breath and presses his palm against his eyes, urges the thoughts out of his head.
These last few weeks have been tough, it's true. A steady stream of dreams about Dad and Sam driving off, leaving him behind on some dusty road. Not even losing himself in a string of truck-stop waitresses had made the hollow, empty feeling go away. It's easier to just keep moving, to keep running. Standing still makes it harder to ignore the deep ache settling into the marrow of his bones; makes it harder to ignore the way everything he's worked so hard to build is crumbling apart. Thing is, Dean doesn't know how to be lonely. He doesn't know how to be alone.
"We don't have to talk," Eva says, and Dean turns back to face her, watching as her long fingers play with the hem of her dress before settling down on her bare knees. Dean reaches out to cover her hand where it rests over her knee. His hand dwarfs hers, and he wonders at the feel of his rough palm against the smooth skin of her hand. For a while they just stare at the way their hands touch, the crisscross pattern created by their fingers.
When Dean's fingers begin to run over Eva's knuckles, they brush against her thigh, bringing both of their attention to the lines of bumpy scar tissue that begin above her kneecap and curve up her left thigh and flank, hidden now by the skirt of her dress. Claw marks.
Not for the first time, Dean wants to ask Eva about the scars riddling her body. He knows the thing responsible for them is the very thing that propelled both her and Caleb into the life. Dad told him that Caleb was just your garden-variety ex-con before something nasty and evil tore into his little sister while she was camping in the Adirondacks.
Dean considers asking her what so brutally changed her life, but instead he runs his finger along the patchwork of puckered, pink flesh. Eva shivers, breath hitching as Dean touches her, but she doesn't ask him to stop. Scars are something Dean understands intimately. He doesn't need to know their cause.
"Caleb will kick your ass if you keep that up," Eva says breathlessly, voice cracking as Dean trails his fingers further up her thigh, sliding under the hem of her dress.
Dean huffs a soft laugh, remembering Caleb's parting warning of: Winchester, you touch my sister, you die.
Dean wants to touch her though. He wants to lean in, stick his face against her neck, and press his body into the warm curve of her own. He wants to squeeze her small tits between his hands and sneak his fingers beneath her white cotton panties. He wants her to laugh, to make that breathless panting sound she gets whenever they're jogging together. He wants her not to feel so lonely.
Eva lets Dean touch her, and Dean thinks about how this is a girl who knows about being broken, torn apart and stitched back together. She knows about the shit that spills out of the earth in the dark. The way pain has its own flavor.
Dean rests his hand against her thigh for a long moment. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he says, not really in response to anything Eva asked. Not really in response to anything going through his mind right now either. But it's the only words willing to tumble out of his mouth.
The look Eva wings his way is one of understanding before she eases closer to him, her hand covering his hand where it rests against her thigh. She runs her other hand through his hair, before smoothing her fingers against the rough stubble of his chin. "You're doing it," she says, meeting his eyes. "What you're doing is enough."
* * *
Dusk finds Dean sitting out on the back porch this time. The day's heat has faded, and the sun's sinking low into the surrounding hills. Dean's tinkering with some of Caleb's old transistor radios, thinking about salvaging the spare parts and constructing something that will up the amplification on the EVP recorder he's building.
When he looks up from the screwdriver he's holding, his eyes settle on Eva across the grassy yard where she's taking down sheets from the clothesline. He watches her for a while, maps the way she moves, the twist of her hips and the lean stretch of her arm muscles as she pulls towels from the line. Her slim curves aren't hidden by the thin material of her sundress.
Dean doesn't know what compels him to move, but he pushes his toolbox aside and climbs to his feet without thought. All he knows is that he can't sit still and just watch anymore. He's moving across the yard before he knows it, and Eva's watching him with a curious expression.
"Dean?" she says, pausing with a shirt in her hand.
"Hi," he says, stopping in front of her, and Eva laughs softly, shaking her head as the evening breeze sends her dark curls flying across her face. She drops her laundry, and Dean lifts one hand cautiously and places it against her shoulder. He runs his fingers up and down the thin strap of her dress, moving it back and forth between his thumb and index finger.
"Can I?" Dean asks, because it feels like they've been building up to this for days.
"Please," she says, soft brown eyes going wide.
Dean leans in closer and raises both hands to tug at the spaghetti straps of her sundress, slipping them down and off her shoulders until the entire dress falls from her body with a soft whisper of fabric as it pools at her feet.
She's not wearing a bra, and her breasts are small, firm, and round, a perfect fit to his palms. As he steps closer, Eva pulls the clip out of her hair, letting the heavy curls fall against her shoulders. Dean runs his hands up and down her arms, before moving in to cup her pale breasts. He loves the smooth texture of her taut nipples, the way they respond to his touch as he tweaks them.
Eva's got tan lines and freckles, but it's the claw marks that stand out the most. They cover the left side of her torso, starting just under the her ribcage and trailing down her belly and onto her thigh.
"Am I really that fascinating?" Eva repeats her question from this morning, but this time she sounds unsure, guarded.
"Yeah," Dean whispers, meeting her eyes with a smile. "You're freaking beautiful."
"I'm damaged goods," Eva says softly, shrugging away the compliment.
"Ain't we all," Dean says, and then he moves closer and twists a hand into her hair before leaning in to mouth at her jaw. She tastes like sunlight and salt, the sweet heat of a long work day.
Eva turns her head, and their lips meet. The kiss is chaste at first, almost too tender. But then she opens her mouth for him, dips her tongue inside of his own, and the kiss turns sloppy-warm and needy. She falls into his arms, kisses him harder.
Dean doesn't like talking, but he can do this: suck on Eva's tongue until she's trembling, her body gone lax and warm in his embrace. He hooks his thumbs into her panties and pulls them down and off, never even pausing to break the kiss. When he pushes two fingers into her wet cunt, she groans into his mouth and bucks up into his hand.
They pull out of the kiss for air, and Eva bites at Dean's jaw as he fucks his fingers inside her, slow and steady. For the longest time, Dean's hand makes itself at home between Eva's legs, lost in that tight, slick heat. Eva's voice is warm and gentle against his ear, easing him further inside.
* * *
The house is pitch black when Dean wakes up. He yawns, twisting around to find the clock on the night stand, which reads a quarter past midnight. It takes Dean a minute to get his bearings, to remember where he is: Eva's bedroom at Caleb's.
"Eva?" he calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he tries to see into the murky darkness. She's not in the room, but Dean has an idea of where she goes when she needs some peace late at night. Dean climbs out of bed, pulling on his abandoned sweats and boots before shuffling out of the bedroom and down the dark hall. The rest of the house is quiet and cool, but Dean doesn't even bother to look around before heading out through the back door.
Once in the backyard, Dean heads down to the creek that runs out behind the house. It's dark outside, but the quarter moon offers a slice of light that spills across the weedy terrain. Dean's boots crunch through the overgrown grass as he walks, the sound a soft accompaniment to the loud racket of bugs haunting the night.
Soon enough he hears the soft gurgling of the creek, whose stream bed flows down into a dark pool of water nestled between a series of large boulders. The shallow stream pool makes for a decent nature-made swimming hole. Eva once told him about her late-night swims, which clear her head much in the same way Dean's morning jogs clear his own.
There's just enough light to see Eva by, floating on her back in the midnight-black pool. For a moment Dean wonders if maybe he's intruding, but then he sees Eva move, dunking under the water before surfacing from beneath, her naked body glistening in the moonlight.
"Coming in?" Eva calls, motioning with her arms. She's standing now, feet likely touching the bottom of the pool as she shakes the water from her hair. Dean watches the water slide along her skin, before his eyes drop to the small, round swells of her breasts and the wide expanse of her hips moving in and out of water. He thinks about the warm, dark space between her legs he had spent all evening learning.
"Yeah," Dean says, quickly pulling off his boots and sweatpants before moving toward the pool. Eva waits for him, hip-deep in the water, body dripping.
By the time Dean dips his feet into the pool, his eyes are better adjusted to the darkness. The night air is warm and moist, and the water is cool against his skin. He wades in until the bottom half of his body is submerged, and he's standing next to Eva.
Dean shivers, gooseflesh breaking out across his skin as he moves his fingers through the water on either side of him. "This shit is frigid," he mutters, shooting her a dubious look.
Eva laughs softly, swimming closer to him. "You'll get use to it." She smoothes her wet hand across his shoulders before she leans in and aligns their damp, naked bodies together. "That better?" she asks. Eva's body rubs against his own, from chest to hips to groin, and Dean shivers for an entirely different reason.
"Much," he whispers, feeling his cock swell between his legs as he presses closer to her.
Eva curls her arms around him, and Dean pulls her closer by the hips. They spin around in the water like that for a moment, wrapped close together, before Dean pulls them both lower, letting the water reach their collarbones. The water is still a cool shock against his warm skin, but he's slowly growing use to it, loving how the heavy water pulls them down toward the bottom of the pool.
The creek pool is shallow, but Eva is the one who leads them both under, bodies curling until they're entirely submerged beneath the murky darkness of the water. It feels amazing, the heavy pressure pulling at him on all sides. Dean keeps his eyes closed, hands wrapped around Eva's waist as they hold their breath under the water for several long seconds. Just as Dean's lungs start to ache, he feels Eva guiding them around beneath the water and then moving them up until they're breaking through the surface of the pool together. Dean crashes through with a loud splash, sucking in the warm air.
Eva's laughing, water flowing down her body, long hair matted to her face. Dean's feet press against the bottom of the pool, water lapping at his waist as he stands. He scrubs a hand through his wet hair and sucks in several noisy breaths as he smiles at Eva. "Again?" he asks.
Eva nods, and they repeat the process several more times: Dean letting Eva pull him under for several long moments, until they push through the surface together. It's almost like some kind of baptism, being dunked under again and again. Surfacing is a revelation each time, with Dean rising from the water and sucking in deep breaths like he's waking up from a bad dream. After a time, they laze against the boulders, catching their breaths. Eva's talking about the water table being higher this time of the year, the rising Peyak River feeding the creek which raises both the stream bed and the small stream pool they're swimming in.
When she's finished talking, Dean runs his thumb over her mouth before he leans down to kiss her, their lips slipping together as their slick bodies move against each other. Eva hums as Dean spreads his hands across her hips, pressing instinctively closer to the warm wet curve of her body.
Dean kisses her again and again, holding her close as the water laps at their bodies. Eva's smiling when she pulls her mouth away to slide them through the water toward the edge of the pool, settling them against the boulders. Dean then arranges their bodies just so, their slick limbs tangling in the water, until he's got Eva's firm breasts and soft belly pressing against his chest. His hands then slide against the back of her thighs, fingers gliding over the bumps of old scars as he curls her legs around his waist.
Feet flat on the bottom of the pool, Dean moves them together until he's grinding his cock against Eva's tight little cunt. He watches her face as he pushes in, the way her mouth breaks open on a silent gasp before sucking in a deep breath.
"Dean," she whimpers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Dean forces Eva's legs tighter around his hips, hooking her feet against the dip in his back as he spreads her around his cock. Then he's thrusting into her hard and deep, and she's panting and mewling, her short fingernails digging into his wet back.
Water sloshes around them as they move, and Dean struggles to maintain their precarious balance against the rocky side of the pool, clutching Eva close as he propels most of their weight into the act of fucking. Eva grips his shoulders tighter and holds on as Dean pushes into her, both of their movements turning frantic and greedy. Their bodies bounce up and down in the pool, sending water splashing all around until Dean slows his thrusts, lets them both feel the glide of his cock pushing into the perfect tight glove of her cunt.
Eva's moans are so sweet and hot, and Dean can feel every vibration of her body as she makes each sound. The fucking slows, turns more rhythmic, water pushing up between their bodies with every jostle. A breeze whispers through the pines towering above them. The air skitters along Dean's naked back as he moves, making them both shiver and draw closer in the water.
Eva wraps her hand around Dean's neck and pulls his head up until she's looking into his face. Dean pauses, now comfortably nestled inside of her, and turns to meet her gaze. She runs the wrinkled pads of her fingers along his cheek before tracing the outline of his face. "You feel so good," she says, her voice a soft rasp. Dean laughs, and shifts again, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back into her, lifting her slightly as he does in order to get a better angle this time, something tighter and sweeter, something that allows him to root himself even deeper inside. They stay that way for a long moment before Dean starts moving again. Her hands tangle in his hair, forcing Dean's head down and pulling him into a wet, messy kiss.
He's coming soon after, shaking and shuddering, body jerking so hard he's splashing water everywhere. She follows right behind him, her legs winding tighter around his waist. Dean buries himself inside of her as her muscles contract, squeezing out of the last of his orgasm.
The come down is slow, and the water feels like a cool caress against his heated skin. Eva kisses him again, after, and cradles his head against her chest. Soon enough they'll have to climb out. Maybe get a warm shower before crawling into Eva's bed for another round. But for now Dean listens to the soft lapping of the water, his body rocking with the gentle waves.
* * *
Morning comes in smooth and cool, and the Nebraska air is humid-thick and heavy with the promise of a coming rainstorm. Dean wakes up late, groggy and tired, his body still sparking from his late-night exertions. He lies in bed with his eyes closed for a long while, twisted in bed sheets that smell like lavender and pine. He feels good, relaxed even. Eva, he knows, is an earlier riser, and he can hear her knocking around in the kitchen; the smell of percolating coffee adds a rich aroma to the air.
When Dean finally gets up, he slides on his sweats and stumbles barefooted to the front porch. He finds Eva sitting on the steps, sipping from a big mug of coffee. Dean squints; even the dim morning light is too sharp for his still-sleepy eyes.
Eva turns and winks up at him. Her smile is soft, warm. Her dark hair is twisted into a messy bun, and she's wearing sweats and one of Dean's old flannel shirts. She says, "Morning, sleepyhead."
"Morning," Dean grunts as he settles beside her on the porch. He gladly accepts the cup of coffee she offers to him. It's still warm, and it's strong the way he likes it. He takes a sip and stares out at the trees lining the yard. The sky is overcast, and Dean thinks he can hear thunder rolling in the distant hills.
"The rain's finally here," Eva says, and right on cue the sky breaks open, sending thick droplets of rainwater down to soak into the earth.
They move from the steps and stand farther under the porch to avoid the splash of water. Eva's hand finds his own, and she curls their fingers together. Dean looks down at her, and she steps up on her tippy-toes to kiss him. The kiss is slow and warm and wet, and the sound of rain is loud as it drums against the roof of the porch.
Dean imagines the river flooding its banks, the heavy clouds sending water down throughout the entire valley. He imagines running through the rain in the woods, running until all he feels is the clock-work rhythm of his body locked in motion. He imagines sinking deep beneath the creek pool, the heavy pressure of the water weighing him down. He imagines pushing himself up and breaking through the top, that first inhaled breath after surfacing.
-fin-