Seven Sins - NC17 - Chloe/Dean
Title: Seven Sins
Series: sarcastic_fina's Seven Sinful Ships
Category: Smallville/Supernatural
Word Count: 2,700
Ship: Chloe/Dean
Sin: Lust
Summary: He watched from afar...
Previous: Lust - Clois, Lust - Chlollie, Lust - Chruce,
Chloe/Dean - Lust
He watched from afar, his lips firmed in a line of disapproval. For himself or her, he couldn’t be sure. This had been going on far too long. Like a game of cat and mouse, they’d been circling each other, waiting for the other’s next move. Scathing banter, back and forth, mouths moving, lips forming the next jab, knowing their next taunt before it left them, fluid; sex through snark.
Just her knowing grin had him hard beneath his jeans, his hands flexing, wanting to take it further. Usually, he’d have had her and moved on by now; just another blonde in the grand scheme. But she was different. She was along for the ride and enjoying each hunt like it was her next big foray in journalism. But this was no headline and that only pissed him off further; because he’d been like that once, loving the high of chasing down the latest baddie and knowing he took it out and put it down.
She was practically screaming with adrenaline each time they finished, pacing the broken down motel rooms like she wanted to ravage something, to let it loose. He knew that feeling well, missed it these last few years until he saw that yearning in her. But he didn’t want just any passive high, he wanted her.
Sammy was off somewhere else; schooling, hunting, Dean could never be sure. His brother was a loose cannon with no direction he wanted to take any more than the other. Sometimes he was working his ass off in law school, others he was calling to say he’d taken out some demon three states over without calling for backup. Dean could only hope the calls would keep coming, because as long as they did, wherever Sammy was at least he was alive. Reigning him in wasn’t possible anymore; not with him and his powers running rampant. So Dean went back to his old ways, working the road like a never-ending home front. On the way, he met a spitfire of a woman; Chloe Sullivan was a former journalist with danger always close on her trail and a heroic nature that was half natural and half thrust upon her. She picked up the sawed off and challenged him to let her play sidekick awhile. He never turned down a dare.
Now eight months later, he was learning why saying no was sometimes smarter. She leaned across the pool table, her round bottom up in the air, attracting her opponent’s eyes as she sunk three balls in one hit. He’d taught her well when it came to pool sharking but her sexual appeal was all her own and he could only salivate like all the rest as they got lost in her rather than the game, tossing down money more to watch her bend, lean and jump with triumph than to see if they might beat her.
As they’d agreed before, he’d drop a quarter in the jukebox and pick a certain classic song to signal pool was over and it was time to move on. He was hesitant to end it, if only because from his seat he had a better view than anybody up close. She aimed her cue, took her shot and stared right at him as she finished the game and won her money. With a wink, she turned and grinned at the gruff guy standing awed by her. “Bad luck, Chuck. That’ll be fifty bucks. Pleasure playing!”
He grumbled but even as he tugged out the cash, he was half-smiling at the snarky pixie.
Chloe glanced at the juke and then back at Dean, as if waiting to see if this was it or if she should go on. He showed her the quarter and she took the short of the cue. It was probably best if he didn’t stand up anyway, his jeans were to tight for comfort and despite just how attentive she was at pool she kept a close eye on him too.
Sauntering over, she grinned widely. “Ready to head back to the motel, Cowboy?”
He wanted that to mean more than it did, and that was a problem.
The ride home was silent on his part, he half-listened to her boast about her winnings while he tried to sing a Metallica song inside his head to calm himself. The anger and resentment built to hide what he knew was happening. If he pretended not to really like her, he didn’t have to think over the feelings that had him waking up every morning with a hard-on reminiscent of puberty. Don’t get him started on the dreams…
He shifted in his seat, already his mind was drifting and he couldn’t stop it. She sat next to him without any idea the effect she was having as she fanned her money out and playfully used them to mock cool herself down. The movement drew his eyes to her hands, small, delicate, the complete opposite of his own, even if he’d seen them take down a demon, dirty and dangerous. From her hands were her arms, long and graceful, the same that wrapped around him during those near-death experiences that neither of them were new to. She gave the kind of hugs he imagined a mom might; tight, consoling, reassuring both him and her that they were there, alive, and solid. The slope of her shoulders, the arch of her neck, the length of her small curvy body and the weight of her breasts beneath her top would draw his eyes from the road too easy. He furrowed his brow for concentration, kept his eyes on the road and forced his foot down a little heavier on the gas.
When the Motel sign appeared, he nearly sighed with relief. All of this building, the tension, the want that plagued him each and every day was tiresome. If Sammy were around, he’d laugh, shake his head and say it was about time. Without that kick in the ass and the dare behind his little brother’s knowing grin, he’d been lagging behind, ignoring, pretending the obvious wasn’t there.
She was out of the car and stepping inside the room without glancing back, so carefree and used to this lifestyle she didn’t even blink at the faded green wallpaper that reminded him of puke.
She tugged her coat off, her arms bent behind her, thrusting her chest out and drawing his eyes down. “I’m still buzzing. What do you wanna do?” she asked, her gaze nearly challenging. He had to be imagining it. There was no way…
Her lips curled seductively as she undid her jeans and shimmied out of them. He told himself that after months of seeing her shuck her pants and sleep in nothing but a thin tanktop and her panties, he should be used to this. But his throat dried out and he felt the weight of the sight heavy on his body, from top to bottom and middle especially.
“Shower?” she asked, lifting a suggestive brow.
He chose to believe she was asking if he wanted it first, not if he’d like to join her. But as he jerked his head no, she yanked her top off and left him near panting. In eight months, he’d seen more of her in her panties and bra than he thought he could handle, but the sight of her bared to him entirely was downright mouthwatering. His hands shook, wanting to cup and mold, caress and massage the pale peaks, rosy tips calling out to him.
“Chlo?” he rasped.
“When have I ever been subtle?” she asked, hands falling to her hips.
That was all he needed, he wasn’t going to question what was plainly offered. He slammed the door behind him, kicking his boots off as he crossed the room while he tried to yank his shirt off all the same.
She laughed lightly when he stopped in front of her, bent slightly at the waist, his plaid over-shirt tossed but his t-shirt released of only one arm and stuck on his shoulder. He could feel her breasts against his chest and he told himself that the shaking of his body was in his head. With those small, delicate hands of hers she rid him of his t-shirt and explored the expanse of his chest with torturously slow fingers. Her eyes were on his the entire time, watching, taking in the way his breath ran short, how his jaw tightened whenever her nails scraped anywhere specifically erogenous.
As her hands fell to the waist of his low-slung jeans, she lifted up onto the tips of her toes, her body sliding against his; warm, soft, perfect. Her nose brushed his, her lips a breath away. “Give in,” she murmured, staring at him, daring him.
He sucked in air deeply, filling his lungs to near bursting and then he caught her mouth, ravaged it with all those months of pent up frustration and need. His arms wrapped around her waist, clenched, tight, drew her up against him and off the floor with such ease she might’ve been as weightless as a feather. Her legs wound around his waist, ankles locking, digging into his lower-back.
He crossed the room, stumbled over a boot and propelled toward the bed, landing on top of her hard, heavy. She grunted but didn’t force him off, instead pushing at his jeans with her hands, tilting her hips up to rub against his already hard lower half. Her tongue was fiercely dancing with his, twisting and taunting him. He somehow had both his and her pants off without detaching from her mouth. She tasted like the unexplored, like an expanse of road he hadn’t yet seen, like the high he no longer lived off of. Washed up hunter, he’d felt like; rookie with a desire to seek, he was now.
She rolled them over, bent her knees back and spread his legs until she was straddling him, rubbing her wet sex against him but not yet letting him inside. It was almost too much. Her hands pressed down on his chest, forcing him to endure, to enjoy until he was moaning gutturally, nearly begging for more. In all his years, he’d been the one to shower his partner with pleasure, to make sure that even if he forgot them, there was no way in hell they’d ever forget him. But now, here, he couldn’t imagine anybody overshadowing her.
She rubbed herself off against him, rocking her hips, her clit pressing hard against him until she came, her wet heat drowning him. He nearly finished off right then, just watching her head thrown back, her throat tight as she panted his name. He became impossibly harder, straining. Her hands slid from his chest, scraped down his waist and then planted on his thighs as she held her self up in the air. Forcing her head up, she stared at him with glazed green eyes, biting her lower lip.
He could see her glistening in the dim hotel lamp light and suddenly life on the road didn’t seem like the worst kind of existence. If he hadn’t pushed on he’d have never had this moment. Chloe Sullivan, the woman of his dark and animalist dreams, offering herself up while simultaneously taking without really asking.
Her thighs quivered and he felt her fingers dig into his legs as she waited impatiently. There’d been few woman between the time he picked her up and now; for a second, he actually worried he might not last as long as he wanted to. For the first time in his long and hassled life, he worried she might never let this happen again; a one-off between partners, friends. He wasn’t sure he could take that; he’d wanted her for so long and already, while this was happening, he was thinking of all the ways and places he could have her, take her.
Suddenly, with the resolve he’d always been proud of, he vowed she’d never consider this as a one time only deal. She’d be begging him next time and he’d only be too happy to reward. He sat up, catching her off guard and wrapping an arm around her waist, he picked her up and plunged deep. Her body arched, her breasts thrust forward, nipples perfectly mouth-level. He took it, suckled and bit her until she was quivering around him without even having him thrust deeper.
She dug her fingers into his hair, tilted her hips, moaning desperately. He could feel her all around him; the heat, the tight soft depths of her were intoxicating. Each breath was filled with her sweetness, her sweat and her tangy sex lifting all around. He could almost taste her.
He squeezed her waist, lifting her up and off of him, shuddering at how she clenched, as if wanting to hold on to every solid inch as it left her, reaching out to keep him imbedded deep. Three thrusts and she was nearly sobbing her orgasm, shaking her head. She pushed him back but he wasn’t to be budged, until she dug her fingers into his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him. Distracted, powerless, he fell back to the bed. She took over then.
Hovering over him, her breasts rubbing against his chest, she rocked and thrust, taking him in as far as she wanted and then drawing herself away until he was clutching at her ass, forcing her back. The ceiling went out of focus, the room spun; all he could see was blonde hair, green eyes and red, wanting lips. His heels dug into the bed, pushing sheets and blankets away as he tried to find purchase, tried to lift up into her and stay there.
Her pace picked up and he could feel her harsh, panting breaths against his lips, his chin. He rolled them over, buried his face in her neck and put her pace to shame. Her legs shifted back and forth between wrapping tight and falling far apart. He gripped the underside of one of her thighs, lifted it high on his side while he slid his other arm beneath her shoulder, cupping her neck and holding her head up, his thumb stroking behind her ear, encouraging her to kiss him as he bent to capture her mouth, even as air was ignored.
He could already feel her coming, her legs shaking, her insides clenching, building. Her lips firmed against his, her tongue stilled and a moan escaped her throat to fill his mouth, reverberating through him. He pushed on, stroking deep inside her, taking her orgasm to new heights, forcing her body to arch and strain, her lungs to empty as her mouth opened wide, her breath escaped and her head fell back, weightless. Her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy as she rode unfathomably high.
As her hand slid down her back, forefinger tracing his spine, his entire body went ramrod straight, his head thrown back as he welcomed euphoria as he’d never known it. Better than hunting, than revenge, than anything else he’d ever known. Sex had always been good; great even. Mind-blowing was one to describe his skills, but to have them met and forced further hadn’t happened until now.
The fires of hell hadn’t seared him this deep.
They fell back to the bed in a heap of limp limbs, aching lungs and thrumming bodies. He slid sideways, rolling so she was sprawled on top of him. She panted, eyes half-closed, climax still present in the twitch and shake of her. Pride swelled and a lusty smirk curved his mouth. Knowing without having to look, she shook her head. “Shuddup.”
He laughed deeply, his arm squeezing along her waist.
He knew they’d ignore this even as he was planning the next encounter. They’d shower and she’d shrug as if she didn’t want to talk about it. Not one for sharing, he’d let it go like he always did. But it would build again, he knew that. He could already feel the tension, the need, creeping up like a shadow. He only hoped it wouldn’t take as long for them to get a clue.
[ Next: Lust - Chlart.]