SPN fic: Come In, She Said
Genre: het flashfic
Characters: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 550
Author's Note: Pure self-indulgence on the Duckie's part.
Summary: Dean gets caught in a storm with a pretty girl.
Come In, She Said
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to climb a tree.”
The rain sheets down in heavy curtains of silver, and the air thickens with the hot, dark scent of ligustrums. Maria’s got him by the wrist, and she tugs him down the street at a run, stumbling and laughing and tossing wet hair out of her face. Dean smiles like an idiot and blesses her sweet heart for putting on a white blouse this morning.
Suddenly she yanks him sideways, and they go wading through leaves into the dim shelter of an oak. Upwind the trunk leans lazily against a grassy hill; downwind the branches grow thick to the ground.
Isn’t there some rule about trees and lightning?
Course not. The storm can’t touch them now. Dean can hear it moan in frustration, hiss through their sheaf of leaves.
“Come here, pretty girl.”
Maria steps into his arms, and she’s shivering in her fluttery summer clothes. Fingers skim his ribs, and he grins at the way she tries to climb into his jacket with him.
“You really are somethin’, Dean Winchester.” That voice comes from somewhere deep and contented in her chest.
He wraps her up tight. “Yeah? What am I?”
“Every other inch a gentleman.” She goes on tiptoe, slides slow up his body, and kisses raindrops from the hollow of his throat.
Lightning could totally set the tree on fire, and Dean wouldn’t open his eyes to watch it burn. Blindly he traps Maria’s hips against him, hands clasped behind her thighs so she’s hardly bearing her own weight.
That earns him a long drag of her instep up his calf. “You and me, we’d make a great story.”
“Couldn’t tell it at parties.” And he wraps that wandering leg around him and sweeps blunt fingertips up the back of her thigh. Back and back, expecting any second to find a seam…
Oh. Damn.
There was a time when he deeply appreciated a thong rising over a denim waistband. But this way, under a skirt? So only he knows about all the bare skin?
“New favorite thing.”
Maria hums a laugh. “You can borrow it sometime.”
“Brat.” He plays at dropping her, which earns him a yelp and a smack. Then he’s lowering them both, holding that one leg pressed around his hip. The carpet of leaves gives like bedding, and Dean is hit with the earthiness of moss and the vanilla body spray that makes Maria smell like a damn cookie.
He can count on one hand the number of times a woman has seen the bottom level of his trunk and still trusted him like this.
He must have a hell of an expression on his face, because when Maria looks him straight on, her pupils blow wide and disbelieving.
“Relax, baby girl. Lay back.”
She does as he asks, and the unconcealed affection in her smile is too much. He kisses her just to close her eyes.
But no such luck. She hums and sighs in time with his hand under her skirt, and she never looks away.
Characters: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 550
Author's Note: Pure self-indulgence on the Duckie's part.
Summary: Dean gets caught in a storm with a pretty girl.
Come In, She Said
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to climb a tree.”
The rain sheets down in heavy curtains of silver, and the air thickens with the hot, dark scent of ligustrums. Maria’s got him by the wrist, and she tugs him down the street at a run, stumbling and laughing and tossing wet hair out of her face. Dean smiles like an idiot and blesses her sweet heart for putting on a white blouse this morning.
Suddenly she yanks him sideways, and they go wading through leaves into the dim shelter of an oak. Upwind the trunk leans lazily against a grassy hill; downwind the branches grow thick to the ground.
Isn’t there some rule about trees and lightning?
Course not. The storm can’t touch them now. Dean can hear it moan in frustration, hiss through their sheaf of leaves.
“Come here, pretty girl.”
Maria steps into his arms, and she’s shivering in her fluttery summer clothes. Fingers skim his ribs, and he grins at the way she tries to climb into his jacket with him.
“You really are somethin’, Dean Winchester.” That voice comes from somewhere deep and contented in her chest.
He wraps her up tight. “Yeah? What am I?”
“Every other inch a gentleman.” She goes on tiptoe, slides slow up his body, and kisses raindrops from the hollow of his throat.
Lightning could totally set the tree on fire, and Dean wouldn’t open his eyes to watch it burn. Blindly he traps Maria’s hips against him, hands clasped behind her thighs so she’s hardly bearing her own weight.
That earns him a long drag of her instep up his calf. “You and me, we’d make a great story.”
“Couldn’t tell it at parties.” And he wraps that wandering leg around him and sweeps blunt fingertips up the back of her thigh. Back and back, expecting any second to find a seam…
Oh. Damn.
There was a time when he deeply appreciated a thong rising over a denim waistband. But this way, under a skirt? So only he knows about all the bare skin?
“New favorite thing.”
Maria hums a laugh. “You can borrow it sometime.”
“Brat.” He plays at dropping her, which earns him a yelp and a smack. Then he’s lowering them both, holding that one leg pressed around his hip. The carpet of leaves gives like bedding, and Dean is hit with the earthiness of moss and the vanilla body spray that makes Maria smell like a damn cookie.
He can count on one hand the number of times a woman has seen the bottom level of his trunk and still trusted him like this.
He must have a hell of an expression on his face, because when Maria looks him straight on, her pupils blow wide and disbelieving.
“Relax, baby girl. Lay back.”
She does as he asks, and the unconcealed affection in her smile is too much. He kisses her just to close her eyes.
But no such luck. She hums and sighs in time with his hand under her skirt, and she never looks away.