chosenfreedom | Bruce Wayne didn't build his lair overnight either.

Bruce Wayne didn't build his lair overnight either.

Dean was still in the luxurious room. It was neater this time. Relatively. Less food particles and drink scattered around, and more blueprints and dimensions on scrawled paper. His shirt was tucked in, and he was wearing a belt around his jeans as he walked around pacing.

He was currently on the phone, speaking with someone on the other line, "Yeah? Listen I got some plans here that I need some guys to get started on pronto. Yeah. I'll have the plans faxed over to you, but this has got to be made top priority. Also what've you got lying around the armory? Uh-huh. What about ammo? All right. Listen, bring some of that up here, plus 50 pounds of rock salt. Yeah you heard me. Rock salt. Like the crap you put down in the winter."

More pacing as he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I told you what I need, what's the problem? Or should I tell your boss about what a hard time you're giving me? Yeah I didn't think so either. All right, thanks." He cut the connection, and set the phone down with a sigh.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lara sipped her own drink, letting the bourbon trip over her tongue as she watched expressions play over Dean's face. It had been hard to judge just how absorbed the buck had gotten in his project, but his answer told her enough. Focused but still susceptible to distraction. To small delays that would let her ensure he couldn't turn against hers before she let him loose.

She set the half-empty glass of bourbon back on the counter and ran her hand up Dean's arm, fingernails scraping. "You haven't seen enough, pet?"

Dean had been very focused before, he's the kind of guy who works hard and plays hard in turn. He swallowed more of the bourbon. Hard to not down it all in one shot like he usually did. As it was, he drained 2/3rds of his tumbler quickly. A brief shiver ran down his spine, and his voice was deeper with lust as well as alcohol.

"Feel like I'm only getting started. Take things out to the highway and see the sights you know?"

"Mmm, I do like the way you think." One hand remained on Dean's arm while the other traced up the curve of his spine, the touch warm and soft but beneath it holding the promise of scraping nails, of pain and pleasure. "No doubt you'll be terribly distracting to the other women on set."

He smirked a little, "Hey, I can be a good boy, I'll just watch. Ain't like you got audience participation there anyway."

Dean hissed, and his back twitched, "Oh shit, speaking of distractions." Yeah everything was liking those nails a little too much right now, and he had to fight to the urge to adjust himself as he stood there.

"Are you sure about that?" Despite the laughter that gilded her words, there was something in Lara's voice, some subtle confidence that made it seem like everything she said was true, available for the taking, if only a price was paid.

She purred, pleased, at Dean's hiss. "We wouldn't want you too distracted. Especially since I can't help but wonder what you want fifty pounds of rock salt for."

Dean turned to her, catching the hint in her voice, and chasing after it, "Hey, if you're offering something for special guests...won't say no."

He nodded fervently, and shifted his stance to be more comfortable. Though her next question made him sharpen up, clicking back to his hunter training.

"Works against ghosts and hurts demons. Can use it for a barrier to keep them out. Also you can put it in bullets to use against them. Slows them down, but gives you time to gank them."

She hummed thoughtfully at the answer. It wasn't so much the words themselves that intrigued her, but the way Dean's attention had sharpened into focus at the question. It was almost instinctive, pushing through the haze of physical distraction. A good thing to know, and with knowing came wanting to know just how far it could be pushed.

"So you weren't just hoping to bunker down for the winter." She leaned into him, soft curves pressing against his back while her arm snaked around his waist, fingernails trailing along his front. "It does beg the question of how you kill a ghost, pet."

Instinctive, absolutely. Years upon years of hunting training being drilled into his head by his father. He didn't react as much this time to her touches, only marginally physical. But the tension, the battle alertness was in him again. When he was on a hunt, he threw himself into it. He only would drink in between hunts, he learned that lesson the hard way. Distractions meant death when you lost your focus.

He shook his head, and gave a brief chuckle, "No. You gotta dig up the bones, or when they're not there, usually there's something else tieing the spirit to our realm. You salt the remains, and burn them."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully at his response, both physical and verbal. She could feel the tension beneath her hands, practically taste the practiced mental focus that shrugged off the lightest touch of desire. A cold, calculating smile played at the corner of her lips at the change. The difference between the pup and the hound.

The question then, of course, became how to turn from one to the other, and back again. She broke contact and leaned back against the counter as she picked up the half-empty glass of bourbon, scrutinizing Dean with intelligent grey eyes. "And then it's over?"

Brief disappointment as she leaned away from him, but it made things easier. He was still tense, and didn't touch the glass further for now.

Dean turned his head toward her, and nodded, "You got it. Ghost goes bye bye, and there's one less spook killing people again. They're usually the easier hunts."

She listened, and the cool smile grew warm with predatory instinct. It was more than a game now, it was knowledge, information, learning about how the buck ticked, how his mind worked. "And then you'll come back, won't you?" It sounded like a question, but there was steel in her words, the memory of a promise.

"You hunt, but then you come back for rest, for peace."

Some mild puzzlement crossed his face as he peered back at her, the tension easing out of his form again. Why wouldn't he come back? Everything he needed was here.

Not the open road though, blaring his tunes with the window down on his Impala. He missed that, missed her.

Missed... L..Lara, was there another name? Dark hair, began with L, and a boy. But there was no boy here. Just Lara. All he needed.

"I'll come back, no reason to bother with those crappy motels anymore than I need to."

Something like triumph flitted across Lara's face as she watched Dean's expression, as tension drained out of him and puzzled confusion took its place. So there was some nobility buried deep beneath all that brokenness after all. Something that remembered promises made and repaid debts.

That always helped. But there was still far too much independence to let him loose yet. "Good." The single word was velvet smooth, filled with approval, and Lara offered him the half-filled glass of bourbon. Her eyes swept over him with a slow, smoldering look, as much to confuse as to evoke desire. "I'd miss you if you stayed away too long, love."

It's one of the reasons he didn't follow his brother into hell, or just killed himself after the dark events six months ago. The promise made to his brother. Even as he could only deliver a shell of a man containing a shattered soul and heart.

Dean blinked slowly, keeping eye contact. He was needed here, she needed him. Something felt very reassuring to him. To feel wanted. He was also surprised because he wasn't worthy of such attention, never have been.

"I can just start on quick ones. Get in, get out, and come right back here. Got nowhere else to go," he agreed as he took the offered glass, and finished it in one long pull.

Edited 2011-03-30 04:40 (UTC)

Much better. She closed the distance again as Dean took the glass from her fingers, soft curves pressing against him. Subtle gestures, tiny wordless acts that played on the affection-starved part of Dean's mind, that physically reinforced the planted mental suggestion that he was desired, wanted, needed. Given time it would be all but impossible to separate one from the other.

Her hand ran up his spine again, the same promise of pleasure and pain that had made him his so well before. "Mmm... I like that plan."

Dean relaxed further even as her hand alighted his nerves, quickened his breath. He was hunting again, but there was a place for his weary soul. She needed him which meant she won't walk away. He didn't have to be alone now. His thoughts were filled with peace, want, and contentment.

"Figured you would. Once I got those supplies ready.. I can show some of your boys how it gets done too. No sense in them getting caught with their pants down against a Black Dog or a Rawhead."

Her every seemingly thoughtless, seemingly accidental touch only served to reinforce that belief. She reveled in this, in the game for the heart and mind. It was easy too, to build on that need. "You're helping keep them safe, love." Her voice was a warm silken whisper against his skin, promising purpose, camaraderie, security. "I'm sure they'd appreciate it almost as much as I do."

Dean soaked up the praise, another aspect that he lacked in his life. His father for all his faults, offering to berate his sons more than praise was one of many. The only time his father said otherwise was when he was possessed.

He slowly nodded, his forehead leaning gently against hers now.

"Hope so. Part of my job."

It would never cease to amaze her how little it took to soothe him, how he soaked up careless affection and praise like water on parched ground. And it would be fertile ground indeed, once she was through.

She leaned back against him, fingers trailing lightly over his jawline, lips a hairsbreadth away. "And you do it so well, but it's time we stop talking shop, hm?"

There were many things that he'd been deprived of, many that he come to think of unnecessary. Things buried down a deep well over the years, and that he tried to forget. Only keeping what was needed to protect Sam, to Hunt.

Dean slowly nodded, not wanting to speak this time. He closed the distance, his hands coming up to touch her cheeks as he kissed her.

She smiled against Dean's lips, pleased at the initiative he took. The Hunger sank into Dean with practiced ease, not actively feeding, simply sliding through his mind with all its whispers of desire and pleasure, of peace and contentment. Pleasure. Reward. Reinforcement.

There is a place for you here. Where you belong, where you're wanted. Needed. And where you can someday lay down all your burdens...

Lara kissed him back lazily, patiently exploring. The smoldering desire that lurked beneath the surface remained nothing more than a waiting promise as her hand cupped the back of Dean's head, drawing him closer.

His mind hadn't had much fight to start with, and what little remained was fading out into background white noise. It eagerly latched on and clinged to the whispers like old friends. Tired, so tired, but he could take out a few evil sons of bitches before he sputters out. His hands moved down to her arms to hold her as he embraced her.

Dean was eager for more, but he found the attention and kisses satisfying as well. There was no rush, no race here. She was not some one night stand to be used for quick comfort and forgotten. Not with her. He kissed back, letting her take the lead once again.

There was eternity in a touch, or at least the lie of eternity, of oblivion in a kiss. Lara sighed softly in approval as she felt Dean embrace what was offered, mind and body.

She could taste desire unfurling on his tongue, twining with the everpresent shadow of self-destruction, and the Hunger purred deep within her in response. She might not need to feed, but she could always play, bind his mind in ways subtle and intangible. The hand that cradled the back of Dean's head remained as she deepened the kiss, letting her demon touch lightly against his mind, sending skitters of desire like sparks through his thoughts. Her free hand moved slowly down his front, untucking his shirt, nails tracing along sensitive nerves and sculpted muscle.

Despite the fact her lips were still pressed to his, Lara smiled, cold and predatory.

Dean responded more to her touch, and his kisses became fervent. His groans were muffled and his hands clenched, sliding up and down her arms. He wasn't sure how, but when she was close to him, bodies molding together, and his blood heated with lust, it's like what he had been seeking in all those women. Those other hunts where he was free, doing what was right. There was no hole in his soul, and he felt more alive than he had in years. Not since hell, not since the Apocalypse, and he wanted to drink it all down like the smoothest whiskey. He wanted her, wanted to take her, and give her everything.

Lust was a series of little intimacies, a thousand opportunities to surrender, to lay oneself bare, and every one of them was a drop of life, a little sip of liquid light. Lara wondered if Dean knew that, somewhere deep in that mind piled high with hurt. It seemed likely, given how readily he gave in time and time again.

Or maybe it was just the quiet, the promise of fulfillment, of oblivion, that that brought the little buck back for more.

Either way, his mind opened to her and the Hunger danced, weaving its way through his thoughts, whispering calm reassurances against silent insecurities, leaving behind memories of a touch that felt whole, that filled and left dark thoughts quiet.

A liquid laugh of pleasure began low in her throat and she arched against Dean. She let go momentarily, just long enough to catch his wrists in a firm grip and guide his hands behind her back, where the laces of her corset all but begged to be undone.

Whether she spoke or not was hard to say. It could have been a whisper on a laugh or simple body language, or even the succubus Hunger's suggestion. "Be a good boy and undo me, won't you?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject