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.

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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?"

Dean knew, knew and understood better than most. Why his mind accepted that promise. In some ways, he had been afraid and yet intrigued with the idea for a long time. His focus that had been so sharp on the hunting was now relaxed and only thinking of Lara. How soft her lips were, how good she felt writhing and arcing like a cat against him.

His mind contined taking in the reassurances, bending more and more. He still had nightmares some nights, and his broken mind struggled to let go of them.

But now he let himself be guided, and readily agreeing with his lover, his Mistress's request, no her command. His fingers slipped on the strings, before starting to loosen the knots to peel the tight material away.

The corset parted easily under Dean's touch, revealing more pale, perfect skin, and Lara sighed with obvious satisfaction upon being freed from its confines. Her hands slid long Dean's arms and down his sides along sensitive nerves, each touch like the kiss of velvet over steel as she edged his shirt up inch by inch. At the same time, her old friend teased his mind with thoughts of lust and hunger, of pleasure and phantom heat, interested to see how much he could take.

And all the while, his mind bent before her like a willow. She didn't push hard enough to break, not when she still needed that fascinating little mind whole, but every whisper forged a link in an invisible chain of empty desire and twisted promise.

He bend his head down to kiss along her neck and collarbone, and tried to suck a few corners of skin into his mouth. Worrying the flesh gently with his lips and tongue, and a hint of teeth. Dean was hard and uncomfortable already in his jeans, and his hips starting rutting against her for needed friction.

Normally he kept his mind guarded, with several barriers and facades to keep people out. The angels could still see through it, and he hated it. But with Lara, he had accepted it, though he was still nervous about what she would find. Hoping she wouldn't pry too deep into what he buried of his darker memories of Hell, and his life. The reassurances quieted the worry, and cracked the barriers easily. It felt strange to not trust her now.

His yielding was another intimacy, another surrender, and she drank it in like sweet water, her Hunger touching lightly on dark thoughts, on deeply buried memories, each of them holding clues to desires. The demon sang its knowledge back to her. So we aren't the only ones who have been here. Broken before, taught to know pain, to love inflicting it. Beneath it all the need for order, for approval. To know his place in the order of the world and to rest at the end of a long weary road.

And the Hunger whispered back into the deepest recesses of Dean's mind, singing to the desires that were beyond mere lust. Ours now. No more than you're willing to give. Forgiven. Understood. Accepted. Content.

Lara gasped in pleasure, though whether it was at Dean's lips or at his mind's yielding it was hard to tell. Her hands slid up his back, pushing up his shirt as her nails dug deep into his skin. She felt him rock against her, seeking rhythm and friction, and she clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, silk and lace sliding against denim.

Dean paused in amidst his kisses, and his green eyes widened with surprise at the thoughts swirling in his mind. He didn't deserve forgiveness and acceptance. Never had. Had to be wrong. If she had seen what he was capable of, he was to be hated, and feared. He was a hunter, a killer. All he was capable of, just a weapon and a tool to be used and discarded.

He glanced back at to stare briefly at Lara as he made eye contact, and just held her close. Somehow he knew, what was found by her, and some of the burdens he had were slipping from his shoulders. She wasn't demanding, imploring him to greater duties and destiny. He still wanted to save people, but it could be by his rules again. The crimes he had committed in hell, the lives taken, forgiven?

His expression then softened with trust and caring before his mouth started to move along her neck and down to her breasts. His gestures were still earnest but tender also now, almost worshipful in the attention he laved upon her flesh. His hips moved against her again, but it was tempered, focusing less on his lust, and more on her wants.

Yours. His mind whispered back, and his voice echoed the affirmation against her skin.

Centuries of experience meant Lara knew her way around pleasure, around the desires and thoughts of a human mind. She knew how to phrase a single word to put in motion the fall of a city, how a caress could bring down an empire. But even centuries of experience didn't prepare her for the buck's reaction to the Hunger's touch.

Again and again he yielded, bending farther and faster than the others. And suddenly she could feel him surrender, the trust and devotion that came with a broken will hers without feeling him ever break. Her eyes were bright, metallic silver when they met his, and a delighted laugh bubbled from her dark pink lips as she arched into his touch.

Ours. The last link in the chain, in the lead, and she didn't even have to place the collar. Dean had slipped it on of his own volition and handed her the key. Another liquid laugh left her lips, falling like warm honey as she slid a hand between their bodies, skilled fingers undoing the belt. He was gentle now, almost worshipful, and it was only right that he got his reward.

Probably because another, a demon did most of the hard work for her. Dean's spirit had been shattering bit by bit over the years, more and more being asked of him, and more and more taken away. Somewhere he would often find the strength to fight back, but only when he felt compelled to.
Any other inclinations to do so here had fallen silent and still.

He'll save the fighting for the Hunts to come.

His hips moved encouragingly while his hands came up to caress where he was still kissing, his wet tongue sliding damp stripes across her skin. He wanted release but he still wanted to give her pleasure first. Many women would say how caring he would act in his lovemaking, much as he loved the sex. He had always been a tender, caring lover.

Now that she had everything she needed from Dean, there was a subtle shift in the way Lara toyed with him. It was in the Hunger's nature to take and there was no change in that. She was still demanding with every kiss, still velvet over blodes with every touch, but there was a methodical care to it now, a leisurely playfulness that seemed to make everything last.

She gasped and shuddered at his touch, every motion wordless encouragement. At the same time, Dean's belt and zipper parted beneath her hand and she reached to stroke him with a cool, calm hand. Supernatural strength and dexterity aside, physics were physics and there was no real way to continue without untangling her legs from around Dean's waist or finding another stable surface. Her voice was breathless as she brought her lips to trace the outer shell of Dean's ear, her whisper managing somehow to sound both wanting and commanding, "Let's move to the counter, pet."

Dean moaned, and his fingers clenched before returning to caressing her breasts, and her stomach. Paying careful attention to sensitive areas to draw more gasps from her.

He nodded, his voice husky in its reply, "Yes." He moved his hands away to bring them around her back to help hold her close against so they could move.

Bruce Wayne didn't build his lair overnight either.

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