Fic: Speed of the Choices We Make
Title: Speed of the Choices We Make
Pairing: Dean/Charlie
Rating: Adult, R-ish?
Summary: "Sometimes, a single night, a single person, can change you."
Word Count: About 3,345
Note: Unbeta'd. There are probably a million and a half mistakes. Also? WRITTEN FOR WHO_FAVOR_FIRE BECAUSE SHE IS SO AWESOME! Also, I made her wait a VERY long time for this. HERE IS YOUR DEAN/CHARLIE, BB! I do hope it's what you've been wanting since you saw the movie. :D
Title taken from the Bush song "Out of this World." SPN timeline is an alternate late Season 4 in my brain.
Los Angeles. Dean hated big cities. The cops tended to look at him differently than small town sheriffs that could be won over with a charming "Yes sir," and a round at the local watering hole.
Nevertheless, this bar was the last lead that he had, and he was gonna take it and run. The last thought that crossed his mind as he tucked the fake LAPD badge into his pocket and pushed open the door was "God, I hope the waitress is hot," 'cause that was the only thing that was gonna make his night any better.
- - - - -
Charlie whirled around with hurried grace as she grabbed a bottle of tequila from behind her and poured a shot with a smooth flick of her wrist. Her eyes were already scanning the bar for someone who looked like they could tip well as her fingers stuffed a stack of grungy bills into the cash register.
She brushed her bangs away from her face and her eyes locked on the man at the end of the bar that had just come in; the guy surrounded by shadows. Charlie passed a man in a suit that had been shooting her smiles all night to sidle up to a guy sitting hunched over, wearing leather and flannel in Los Angeles.
"You look like you could use a drink," she said, low and slow, with just a sliver of a smile.
The guy sighed or laughed (she couldn't really tell) before he looked up and met her eyes. He looked surprised for a moment, like the wind got knocked out of him. His green eyes widened so she could see a solid ring of emerald surrounding little black pinpoints.
He looked like he didn't know what to say at first, like he wanted to ask her a question. Eventually he settled on, "Yeah, I could most definitely use a drink. You got a beer?"
"Depends," Charlie grinned. "What kind are you looking for?" she asked, playfully popping neon green bubble gum behind her teeth.
"Whatever's good," he smirked back at her, and Charlie recognized the signs of a man falling easily into a role, a man hiding something.
He was good at it, she had to admit. And she bent over the large steel tub behind the bar, giving him a good view of her ass as dug out a beer from the very bottom.
The amber glass thumped hard against the Red Oak of the bar top and sprayed little flecks of ice in every direction. "$4.50," Charlie said simply, throwing him a wink and leaning on her elbow against her side of the bar while the guy dug out his wallet.
He tossed a fifty on the patch of cracked varnish next to his beer, Ulysses S. Grant staring up at Charlie as an implicit invitation. She folded the bill into her bra cup and looked at the man across from her with an entirely different perspective. "Seems to me like you're looking for more than a drink."
The silver of his ring clinked softly against the glass bottle as he raised it to his lips. Nodding shortly he said, "I'm looking for some information."
"How 'bout you tell me who the hell you are first," she demanded, standing a little taller up to her full, impressive height.
She watched the guy reach into his pocket and pull out a badge case. He looked at it for a second before casually setting it down on the bar and covering it with his hands. "My name is…Dean Winchester," he finally said.
"Really?" Charlie asked skeptically, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head. "Why don't you want to show me your badge?"
"Well--" was all he got out before Charlie snatched the badge from his fingers.
She flipped it open, running her eyes carefully over the name, badge number, and picture. "Funny," she remarked. "This says that your name is Detective James Page of the LAPD."
Dean, James, whoever he was…shrugged. "Yes it does."
"Any particular reason?" she asked before she tossed the badge at his chest and reached for a rag.
"In my…line of work…it can be useful to have an alias…or two," he said carefully while she wiped down the area next to him.
Charlie nodded thoughtfully, leaning back on her elbows against the shelf behind her. "I see. Well, I'm not gonna ask what you do."
"Really?"
"Really," she confirmed. "If it's so bad you gotta pretend to be other people, then I don't wanna know."
"Okay," he said before taking a casual sip of his beer.
"I do want to know one thing first," Charlie said, leaning in close to him.
"Shoot."
"What's your real name?"
"Dean Winchester," he said without hesitation. "Find me a Bible, and I would swear on it for you."
Charlie chuckled. "Don't think I've got one of those lying around, so I guess I'll just take your word for it. I'm Charlie," she said, extending her hand across the bar.
"Nice to meet you, Charlie. Now, how about those questions I've got?"
"How about those questions," Charlie cheekily responded before spreading her arms out and saying, "Ask away."
"Have you seen this woman recently?" he asked, sliding a picture of a sultry brunette towards her. "I have it on fairly good authority that she's been in here in the last few days."
"You know, we get a lot of pretty girls in here," Charlie said regrettably. "They all start to run together after a while…"
Dean smiled, coughed back a laugh and threw another bill onto the bar, a 20 this time.
Charlie picked up the bill, stuffing it next to the other, and grinned at him. "Damnedest thing, she just stood out. She was in here the night before last."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm. I remember because right after I poured her drink, I spilled sour mix all down the front of my shirt and I had to go change."
"Was she here with anyone? Or alone?" Dean asked nonchalantly, but Charlie could tell there was more. This was the question that he was betting the rodeo on.
"She came in alone and ordered one drink, vodka on the rocks. But a guy came in and met her at about the time I was heading back to change."
Dean drained the last of his beer. "Do you remember the guy?"
"I should. He charged right over to her and grabbed her arm."
"What did he look like?"
When Charlie said, "Really tall," Dean's eyes slammed shut and he muttered something that sounded like "Damnit Sam."
"Is she your girlfriend?" Charlie asked, pouring him something a little stronger than beer.
"Who?" Dean asked like this was the first time a girl had been mentioned in their conversation.
"The girl in the picture."
"Oh. No. Definitely not," he said adamantly, taking a strong sip of the whiskey in front of him.
"The guy, then?"
"My brother," Dean specified.
"Sorry," Charlie said sympathetically. "I didn't get a chance to talk to him."
Dean snorted. "Oh, I know that. Trust me, that would have been one memorable conversation."
"Really? How so?"
"Just would," he answered cryptically. "Listen, thanks for all your help, Charlie, but I gotta look into another couple of leads."
"No problem," Charlie smiled.
- - - - -
The next night Charlie tossed back a shot of Jim Beam. She counted to five as the warmth seeped down to her toes and then shot back up and settled in her head. Then she took another.
She yelled across the bar, "I'm out, Carl! See you tomorrow!" and without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her bag headed out the back.
Somehow, Charlie wasn't surprised one bit to see Dean waiting out back, leaning against a shiny black car, when she pushed open the door to the alley.
"Find your man?" she asked, tossing him a smile before lighting a cigarette.
He smiled back, but it was off, not quite reaching his eyes, sad. "Not exactly. But I think I'm close."
"Close is good," she drawled as she took three slow steps towards him, smoke billowing out from between her lips.
"I'm leaving town tomorrow," Dean said quietly. "Got some new leads to follow up on, and normally I'd just leave town now, but…"
"What's not normal about this time?" she asked with a smirk peeking out in the dark.
"I met a beautiful girl that I wanted to say goodbye to."
"Damn," she said, finishing the cigarette with a deep breath. "That's a nice line."
She moved to put the cigarette out on the hood of the car, and Dean said "Not on the car!" while she lifted her foot and stubbed it out on the sole of her shoe in a single fluid motion.
She smiled at him in the orange fluorescent light surrounding them, one full lip caught between her teeth before she said, "Do I look like an idiot? This car obviously means a lot to you."
"Do you maybe want a ride in it?" he asked with all of the pride and arrogance of a man who knew he was just that good.
Charlie shifted her bag on her shoulder and considered the options in front of her. All full of late-night and semi-drunk logic, she shrugged and decided, "Why the hell not. You can give me a ride home."
- - - - -
Dean was bombarded by the smell of vanilla and honey the moment he stepped over the threshold into Charlie's little studio apartment.
"Wow," he said, while a million memories of his very first home and goodnight kisses and feeling safe raced through his mind as he deeply inhaled the sweet air.
"Sorry," Charlie whispered before she pressed a kiss against his jaw and pulled the leather jacket off his shoulders. "I come home smelling like liquor and men's B.O. every night, so I go a little crazy with the air freshener," she said, smiling.
"I like it," he said, pulling her closer by the waistband of her blue jean miniskirt and kissing her on the lips, as deep, soft, and sweet as the air around them. He started backing her towards the unmade bed shoved in the corner, unbuttoning her shirt, one button for each step he took, until it fell open and the left side slipped off her shoulder.
"I like you," he said as he started to trace a line from her shoulder to her collarbone with his lips, his teeth, and his tongue and then repeating the process back up her neck to her swollen lips. "Now, let me help you with this," he said before he winked, popped open the button on her skirt, and slid his hands over her ass to push it off her hips.
Charlie chuckled huskily before pulling off her tank top to reveal a red lace bra that just barely covered her full breasts. Pushing Dean down onto the bed, she saucily whispered, "I like you, too, Stranger," before she kissed him with enough heat to make him forget when and where he was for just a second.
When she pulled back, her face caught in a beam of moonlight, she narrowed her eyes and playfully said, "You seem way more dressed than I am."
He hooked a finger into the right strap of her bra and slid it down over one perfect bare shoulder before kissing her back. "I'm okay with that," he smirked.
"I'll bet you are, but nothing else is coming off of me until you lose something of your own."
Dean pursed his lips and considered her ultimatum. "You know, that does seem fair," he said, dropping his boots to the floor with two heavy thuds, one after the other, and then tossing his button up at her head.
Charlie giggled and tossed the shirt on a chair in the corner. "I hope you don't think you're stopping there," she said before she grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head.
Then she gasped and took a small step away from him, the shirt limply falling to the floor, and it took Dean a minute to figure out why.
"The tattoo is…" he started before really figuring out a way to explain that it wasn't what it probably looked like to her.
"Creepy? Intense? Kinda hot?" she suggested.
"I guess…it's all of those things?" he shrugged.
"Why do you have something that looks borderline satanic tattooed on your chest?"
Dean took her hand and pulled her back to stand in between his legs. "In order for me to explain the tattoo, I'd have to tell you what I do," he told her honestly. "You didn't want to know."
"And I still don't," she said emphatically, pressing a hand to his cheek. "Just…promise me you're not gonna kill me in my sleep…"
Dean laughed. "Even of you don't wanna know what I do, you should trust in this…I'm one of the good guys, sweetheart."
Softly, she said, "I don't know why, but…I believe you." She kissed his lips then, smiling against them, and tugged playfully on his belt buckle. "We're nowhere near equal, cowboy."
Dean flipped her onto the bed, trading places with her easy as pie and stripped down to his boxer briefs. He threw his jeans blindly toward the corner before he turned back to her and asked "Satisfied?"
She smiled up at him from the pillow and said, "Not yet, but oh, I will be."
He laughed before he crawled up the bed, sliding over her body to kiss her collarbone. Lips and teeth for just long enough before her moved to work on the place where her perfect neck met a flawless slope of toned shoulder.
"Feels like we've done this before," she breathed in his ear. "You seem to know just what to do to drive me crazy."
Charlie pulled his head up so that she could look in his eyes before she shifted her legs, her hips now cradling his against her own. She ground her hips against his, telling him in a way that words simply couldn't that she wanted to take the controls.
Dean flopped back against the pillows and grinned at her. "Sure you can handle driving, sweetheart?"
She leaned in close and whispered, "This isn't the first time I've done this," before she closed the last fraction of an inch and kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth. She started kissing her way down his chest, and he groaned when she kissed the center of the pentagram over his heart.
He ran his hands across her back, undoing the catch on her bra before she continued her sensual assault by hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and shimmying her way down to the end of the bed to throw them on the floor. Dean smiled appreciatively at her when she dropped her bra next to them and lowered her own underwear.
Never more ready to go in his life, his skin was practically vibrating with anticipation and he could tell she felt the same by the way her breathing quickened every time their skin touched.
Dean pulled her closer, one hand on her hip and one cradling her cheek, to kiss her on those lips that he couldn't get enough of and to run a hand down her chest and stomach before he slipped his hand between their hips and pressed his fingers against her in a rhythm guaranteed to drive her out of her mind.
"Sure know how to heat a girl up," she panted.
"Know how to do more than that," he winked. Then, Dean threw a frenzied look at his pants balled up beside the chair in the corner and half-heartedly said, "I'm pretty sure I got a condom in my wallet somewhere."
But when Charlie said, "Don't worry about it," and pulled him into another long, heated kiss, he didn't.
He entered her, hard and bare, in one smooth motion and started in on long, slow thrusts. When she yelled "Harder," he went harder and when she yelled "Faster," he did that, too. Each time, she moaned and pressed her face into his neck.
In what seemed like forever and all at once at the same time, Dean felt her shake in his arms as her orgasm coursed through her body and she stilled for just a second, panting out a sigh of complete contentment as he followed her, spilling into her. He pulled out and eased himself down beside her, but they stayed like that for a moment, long legs a tangled mess above the sheets.
Their heated bodies started to cool, and Dean crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled up a blanket before settling in next to Charlie.
"Where are you from, Charlie?" he asked as he traced an idle pattern into her hip.
"Nowhere," she laughed softly. "Literally. I grew up in the middle of the desert, but I finally made it somewhere. I made it here, to a shitty apartment in a bad neighborhood."
Dean chuckled softly in response.
"What?" she asked, running her thumb along his jaw.
"Nothing, it's just…I used to know this guy. He was from nowhere, too, only his nowhere was everywhere. He wanted to make it out, get a different life for himself."
"Did he?" Charlie asked quietly, as if the answer was a secret.
Dean smiled proudly. "Got all the way to Stanford. He fell in love with a beautiful girl, too," he whispered, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. "But life has a way of catching up with people and he just…got sucked back into the madness."
"Back to nowhere," Charlie concluded quietly.
"Mm-hmm…" he sighed.
Charlie kissed his temple and shifted her body closer to his; resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart. "You should sleep for a few hours, and then I'll make you breakfast before leave town."
"You cook?" he asked, amused.
She smiled into the dark. "Bet your sweet ass I cook. I'm damn good at it, too, so you're in for a treat."
"I'll say. I don't get to eat home-cooked food very often."
"Well, you will tomorrow. For now, though, you should sleep."
Dean mumbled something in agreement, and a few minutes later Charlie heard his breathing become sleep heavy and slow.
The next morning Charlie fed her stranger pancakes, bacon and eggs, and lots of coffee. He left her all too quickly, with nothing but the imprint of a kiss on her full lips and a scrap of paper with a phone number to keep her company.
"You call me if you need anything, okay?"
In her mind Charlie wondered what she could possibly need from this handsome stranger that happened to stumble into her life. But, she decided to humor him and she said, "Sure. I'll call you."
And then he kissed her one last time before he sped away in his shiny black car.
- - - - -
Charlie looked at the three plastic sticks strewn across her bathroom counter, each proudly bearing two bright pink lines. One, two, three little tests…and the walls started closing in on her. She dropped to her knees and vomited, just barely making the toilet.
The next day, she found the scrap of paper with the phone number on it in her purse while she was looking for a pen at the bank. The thought of calling him crossed her mind for all of five seconds before she told herself that it wouldn't matter. She just wanted to make it all go away. Pretend like it never happened.
Three days after that, she ran out of a clinic with angry tears falling from her eyes and hate churning in her belly, right above the complication that she didn't give a shit about, yet couldn't seem to get rid of. And she didn't have a single fucking clue what she was gonna do next.
The End.
Begin LEGION.
- - - - -
Notes: I think this officially takes the place of the raciest thing I have ever written. I got SO STUCK on that part. I still really loved writing this, even though my muse was a pissy bitch to work with and I'm not super sure about the finished product...
My hope for this is that it reads as cohesively as it felt to me. There are things that I tried to highlight about the situation they were in; things like the level of spontaneity on both their parts, along with the feeling that their encounter was somehow "fate" or at the very least that it was a little out of the ordinary for them.
Thanks for reading!
Pairing: Dean/Charlie
Rating: Adult, R-ish?
Summary: "Sometimes, a single night, a single person, can change you."
Word Count: About 3,345
Note: Unbeta'd. There are probably a million and a half mistakes. Also? WRITTEN FOR WHO_FAVOR_FIRE BECAUSE SHE IS SO AWESOME! Also, I made her wait a VERY long time for this. HERE IS YOUR DEAN/CHARLIE, BB! I do hope it's what you've been wanting since you saw the movie. :D
Title taken from the Bush song "Out of this World." SPN timeline is an alternate late Season 4 in my brain.
Los Angeles. Dean hated big cities. The cops tended to look at him differently than small town sheriffs that could be won over with a charming "Yes sir," and a round at the local watering hole.
Nevertheless, this bar was the last lead that he had, and he was gonna take it and run. The last thought that crossed his mind as he tucked the fake LAPD badge into his pocket and pushed open the door was "God, I hope the waitress is hot," 'cause that was the only thing that was gonna make his night any better.
- - - - -
Charlie whirled around with hurried grace as she grabbed a bottle of tequila from behind her and poured a shot with a smooth flick of her wrist. Her eyes were already scanning the bar for someone who looked like they could tip well as her fingers stuffed a stack of grungy bills into the cash register.
She brushed her bangs away from her face and her eyes locked on the man at the end of the bar that had just come in; the guy surrounded by shadows. Charlie passed a man in a suit that had been shooting her smiles all night to sidle up to a guy sitting hunched over, wearing leather and flannel in Los Angeles.
"You look like you could use a drink," she said, low and slow, with just a sliver of a smile.
The guy sighed or laughed (she couldn't really tell) before he looked up and met her eyes. He looked surprised for a moment, like the wind got knocked out of him. His green eyes widened so she could see a solid ring of emerald surrounding little black pinpoints.
He looked like he didn't know what to say at first, like he wanted to ask her a question. Eventually he settled on, "Yeah, I could most definitely use a drink. You got a beer?"
"Depends," Charlie grinned. "What kind are you looking for?" she asked, playfully popping neon green bubble gum behind her teeth.
"Whatever's good," he smirked back at her, and Charlie recognized the signs of a man falling easily into a role, a man hiding something.
He was good at it, she had to admit. And she bent over the large steel tub behind the bar, giving him a good view of her ass as dug out a beer from the very bottom.
The amber glass thumped hard against the Red Oak of the bar top and sprayed little flecks of ice in every direction. "$4.50," Charlie said simply, throwing him a wink and leaning on her elbow against her side of the bar while the guy dug out his wallet.
He tossed a fifty on the patch of cracked varnish next to his beer, Ulysses S. Grant staring up at Charlie as an implicit invitation. She folded the bill into her bra cup and looked at the man across from her with an entirely different perspective. "Seems to me like you're looking for more than a drink."
The silver of his ring clinked softly against the glass bottle as he raised it to his lips. Nodding shortly he said, "I'm looking for some information."
"How 'bout you tell me who the hell you are first," she demanded, standing a little taller up to her full, impressive height.
She watched the guy reach into his pocket and pull out a badge case. He looked at it for a second before casually setting it down on the bar and covering it with his hands. "My name is…Dean Winchester," he finally said.
"Really?" Charlie asked skeptically, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head. "Why don't you want to show me your badge?"
"Well--" was all he got out before Charlie snatched the badge from his fingers.
She flipped it open, running her eyes carefully over the name, badge number, and picture. "Funny," she remarked. "This says that your name is Detective James Page of the LAPD."
Dean, James, whoever he was…shrugged. "Yes it does."
"Any particular reason?" she asked before she tossed the badge at his chest and reached for a rag.
"In my…line of work…it can be useful to have an alias…or two," he said carefully while she wiped down the area next to him.
Charlie nodded thoughtfully, leaning back on her elbows against the shelf behind her. "I see. Well, I'm not gonna ask what you do."
"Really?"
"Really," she confirmed. "If it's so bad you gotta pretend to be other people, then I don't wanna know."
"Okay," he said before taking a casual sip of his beer.
"I do want to know one thing first," Charlie said, leaning in close to him.
"Shoot."
"What's your real name?"
"Dean Winchester," he said without hesitation. "Find me a Bible, and I would swear on it for you."
Charlie chuckled. "Don't think I've got one of those lying around, so I guess I'll just take your word for it. I'm Charlie," she said, extending her hand across the bar.
"Nice to meet you, Charlie. Now, how about those questions I've got?"
"How about those questions," Charlie cheekily responded before spreading her arms out and saying, "Ask away."
"Have you seen this woman recently?" he asked, sliding a picture of a sultry brunette towards her. "I have it on fairly good authority that she's been in here in the last few days."
"You know, we get a lot of pretty girls in here," Charlie said regrettably. "They all start to run together after a while…"
Dean smiled, coughed back a laugh and threw another bill onto the bar, a 20 this time.
Charlie picked up the bill, stuffing it next to the other, and grinned at him. "Damnedest thing, she just stood out. She was in here the night before last."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm. I remember because right after I poured her drink, I spilled sour mix all down the front of my shirt and I had to go change."
"Was she here with anyone? Or alone?" Dean asked nonchalantly, but Charlie could tell there was more. This was the question that he was betting the rodeo on.
"She came in alone and ordered one drink, vodka on the rocks. But a guy came in and met her at about the time I was heading back to change."
Dean drained the last of his beer. "Do you remember the guy?"
"I should. He charged right over to her and grabbed her arm."
"What did he look like?"
When Charlie said, "Really tall," Dean's eyes slammed shut and he muttered something that sounded like "Damnit Sam."
"Is she your girlfriend?" Charlie asked, pouring him something a little stronger than beer.
"Who?" Dean asked like this was the first time a girl had been mentioned in their conversation.
"The girl in the picture."
"Oh. No. Definitely not," he said adamantly, taking a strong sip of the whiskey in front of him.
"The guy, then?"
"My brother," Dean specified.
"Sorry," Charlie said sympathetically. "I didn't get a chance to talk to him."
Dean snorted. "Oh, I know that. Trust me, that would have been one memorable conversation."
"Really? How so?"
"Just would," he answered cryptically. "Listen, thanks for all your help, Charlie, but I gotta look into another couple of leads."
"No problem," Charlie smiled.
- - - - -
The next night Charlie tossed back a shot of Jim Beam. She counted to five as the warmth seeped down to her toes and then shot back up and settled in her head. Then she took another.
She yelled across the bar, "I'm out, Carl! See you tomorrow!" and without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her bag headed out the back.
Somehow, Charlie wasn't surprised one bit to see Dean waiting out back, leaning against a shiny black car, when she pushed open the door to the alley.
"Find your man?" she asked, tossing him a smile before lighting a cigarette.
He smiled back, but it was off, not quite reaching his eyes, sad. "Not exactly. But I think I'm close."
"Close is good," she drawled as she took three slow steps towards him, smoke billowing out from between her lips.
"I'm leaving town tomorrow," Dean said quietly. "Got some new leads to follow up on, and normally I'd just leave town now, but…"
"What's not normal about this time?" she asked with a smirk peeking out in the dark.
"I met a beautiful girl that I wanted to say goodbye to."
"Damn," she said, finishing the cigarette with a deep breath. "That's a nice line."
She moved to put the cigarette out on the hood of the car, and Dean said "Not on the car!" while she lifted her foot and stubbed it out on the sole of her shoe in a single fluid motion.
She smiled at him in the orange fluorescent light surrounding them, one full lip caught between her teeth before she said, "Do I look like an idiot? This car obviously means a lot to you."
"Do you maybe want a ride in it?" he asked with all of the pride and arrogance of a man who knew he was just that good.
Charlie shifted her bag on her shoulder and considered the options in front of her. All full of late-night and semi-drunk logic, she shrugged and decided, "Why the hell not. You can give me a ride home."
- - - - -
Dean was bombarded by the smell of vanilla and honey the moment he stepped over the threshold into Charlie's little studio apartment.
"Wow," he said, while a million memories of his very first home and goodnight kisses and feeling safe raced through his mind as he deeply inhaled the sweet air.
"Sorry," Charlie whispered before she pressed a kiss against his jaw and pulled the leather jacket off his shoulders. "I come home smelling like liquor and men's B.O. every night, so I go a little crazy with the air freshener," she said, smiling.
"I like it," he said, pulling her closer by the waistband of her blue jean miniskirt and kissing her on the lips, as deep, soft, and sweet as the air around them. He started backing her towards the unmade bed shoved in the corner, unbuttoning her shirt, one button for each step he took, until it fell open and the left side slipped off her shoulder.
"I like you," he said as he started to trace a line from her shoulder to her collarbone with his lips, his teeth, and his tongue and then repeating the process back up her neck to her swollen lips. "Now, let me help you with this," he said before he winked, popped open the button on her skirt, and slid his hands over her ass to push it off her hips.
Charlie chuckled huskily before pulling off her tank top to reveal a red lace bra that just barely covered her full breasts. Pushing Dean down onto the bed, she saucily whispered, "I like you, too, Stranger," before she kissed him with enough heat to make him forget when and where he was for just a second.
When she pulled back, her face caught in a beam of moonlight, she narrowed her eyes and playfully said, "You seem way more dressed than I am."
He hooked a finger into the right strap of her bra and slid it down over one perfect bare shoulder before kissing her back. "I'm okay with that," he smirked.
"I'll bet you are, but nothing else is coming off of me until you lose something of your own."
Dean pursed his lips and considered her ultimatum. "You know, that does seem fair," he said, dropping his boots to the floor with two heavy thuds, one after the other, and then tossing his button up at her head.
Charlie giggled and tossed the shirt on a chair in the corner. "I hope you don't think you're stopping there," she said before she grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head.
Then she gasped and took a small step away from him, the shirt limply falling to the floor, and it took Dean a minute to figure out why.
"The tattoo is…" he started before really figuring out a way to explain that it wasn't what it probably looked like to her.
"Creepy? Intense? Kinda hot?" she suggested.
"I guess…it's all of those things?" he shrugged.
"Why do you have something that looks borderline satanic tattooed on your chest?"
Dean took her hand and pulled her back to stand in between his legs. "In order for me to explain the tattoo, I'd have to tell you what I do," he told her honestly. "You didn't want to know."
"And I still don't," she said emphatically, pressing a hand to his cheek. "Just…promise me you're not gonna kill me in my sleep…"
Dean laughed. "Even of you don't wanna know what I do, you should trust in this…I'm one of the good guys, sweetheart."
Softly, she said, "I don't know why, but…I believe you." She kissed his lips then, smiling against them, and tugged playfully on his belt buckle. "We're nowhere near equal, cowboy."
Dean flipped her onto the bed, trading places with her easy as pie and stripped down to his boxer briefs. He threw his jeans blindly toward the corner before he turned back to her and asked "Satisfied?"
She smiled up at him from the pillow and said, "Not yet, but oh, I will be."
He laughed before he crawled up the bed, sliding over her body to kiss her collarbone. Lips and teeth for just long enough before her moved to work on the place where her perfect neck met a flawless slope of toned shoulder.
"Feels like we've done this before," she breathed in his ear. "You seem to know just what to do to drive me crazy."
Charlie pulled his head up so that she could look in his eyes before she shifted her legs, her hips now cradling his against her own. She ground her hips against his, telling him in a way that words simply couldn't that she wanted to take the controls.
Dean flopped back against the pillows and grinned at her. "Sure you can handle driving, sweetheart?"
She leaned in close and whispered, "This isn't the first time I've done this," before she closed the last fraction of an inch and kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth. She started kissing her way down his chest, and he groaned when she kissed the center of the pentagram over his heart.
He ran his hands across her back, undoing the catch on her bra before she continued her sensual assault by hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and shimmying her way down to the end of the bed to throw them on the floor. Dean smiled appreciatively at her when she dropped her bra next to them and lowered her own underwear.
Never more ready to go in his life, his skin was practically vibrating with anticipation and he could tell she felt the same by the way her breathing quickened every time their skin touched.
Dean pulled her closer, one hand on her hip and one cradling her cheek, to kiss her on those lips that he couldn't get enough of and to run a hand down her chest and stomach before he slipped his hand between their hips and pressed his fingers against her in a rhythm guaranteed to drive her out of her mind.
"Sure know how to heat a girl up," she panted.
"Know how to do more than that," he winked. Then, Dean threw a frenzied look at his pants balled up beside the chair in the corner and half-heartedly said, "I'm pretty sure I got a condom in my wallet somewhere."
But when Charlie said, "Don't worry about it," and pulled him into another long, heated kiss, he didn't.
He entered her, hard and bare, in one smooth motion and started in on long, slow thrusts. When she yelled "Harder," he went harder and when she yelled "Faster," he did that, too. Each time, she moaned and pressed her face into his neck.
In what seemed like forever and all at once at the same time, Dean felt her shake in his arms as her orgasm coursed through her body and she stilled for just a second, panting out a sigh of complete contentment as he followed her, spilling into her. He pulled out and eased himself down beside her, but they stayed like that for a moment, long legs a tangled mess above the sheets.
Their heated bodies started to cool, and Dean crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled up a blanket before settling in next to Charlie.
"Where are you from, Charlie?" he asked as he traced an idle pattern into her hip.
"Nowhere," she laughed softly. "Literally. I grew up in the middle of the desert, but I finally made it somewhere. I made it here, to a shitty apartment in a bad neighborhood."
Dean chuckled softly in response.
"What?" she asked, running her thumb along his jaw.
"Nothing, it's just…I used to know this guy. He was from nowhere, too, only his nowhere was everywhere. He wanted to make it out, get a different life for himself."
"Did he?" Charlie asked quietly, as if the answer was a secret.
Dean smiled proudly. "Got all the way to Stanford. He fell in love with a beautiful girl, too," he whispered, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. "But life has a way of catching up with people and he just…got sucked back into the madness."
"Back to nowhere," Charlie concluded quietly.
"Mm-hmm…" he sighed.
Charlie kissed his temple and shifted her body closer to his; resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart. "You should sleep for a few hours, and then I'll make you breakfast before leave town."
"You cook?" he asked, amused.
She smiled into the dark. "Bet your sweet ass I cook. I'm damn good at it, too, so you're in for a treat."
"I'll say. I don't get to eat home-cooked food very often."
"Well, you will tomorrow. For now, though, you should sleep."
Dean mumbled something in agreement, and a few minutes later Charlie heard his breathing become sleep heavy and slow.
The next morning Charlie fed her stranger pancakes, bacon and eggs, and lots of coffee. He left her all too quickly, with nothing but the imprint of a kiss on her full lips and a scrap of paper with a phone number to keep her company.
"You call me if you need anything, okay?"
In her mind Charlie wondered what she could possibly need from this handsome stranger that happened to stumble into her life. But, she decided to humor him and she said, "Sure. I'll call you."
And then he kissed her one last time before he sped away in his shiny black car.
- - - - -
Charlie looked at the three plastic sticks strewn across her bathroom counter, each proudly bearing two bright pink lines. One, two, three little tests…and the walls started closing in on her. She dropped to her knees and vomited, just barely making the toilet.
The next day, she found the scrap of paper with the phone number on it in her purse while she was looking for a pen at the bank. The thought of calling him crossed her mind for all of five seconds before she told herself that it wouldn't matter. She just wanted to make it all go away. Pretend like it never happened.
Three days after that, she ran out of a clinic with angry tears falling from her eyes and hate churning in her belly, right above the complication that she didn't give a shit about, yet couldn't seem to get rid of. And she didn't have a single fucking clue what she was gonna do next.
The End.
Begin LEGION.
- - - - -
Notes: I think this officially takes the place of the raciest thing I have ever written. I got SO STUCK on that part. I still really loved writing this, even though my muse was a pissy bitch to work with and I'm not super sure about the finished product...
My hope for this is that it reads as cohesively as it felt to me. There are things that I tried to highlight about the situation they were in; things like the level of spontaneity on both their parts, along with the feeling that their encounter was somehow "fate" or at the very least that it was a little out of the ordinary for them.
Thanks for reading!