The Big 3-0
Ξ February 4th, 2008 | → | ∇ Imitating Angels, Supernatural, fanfic, het, nc17 |
Title: The Big 3-0
Author: astrothsknot
Fandom: Buffy/Supernatural
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Dean/Faith
Disclaimer: I don’t own a TV show.
Dean’s made it to 30. Faith spoils her man. <lj-user=“pheebs1”> welcome home present. Even though she had to beta it. Now, woman, more Petrafic!
“Jesus, Faith! This place…you didn’t have to,” Dean gasps when he pulls up the Impala in front of the hotel steps.
“Sure I did,” she replies, grinning at Dean’s face. He looks like he’s catching flies. A uniformed valet rushes to open Faith’s door and another waits to open the trunk for their bags. She smiles as she gives the man her hand, getting out the car like she’s a lady.
Dean eyes the guy suspiciously as he holds out his hand for the keys.
“Is this all Sir requires moving to his room?” Asks the valet, there’s an emphasis in his voice. He’s accidentally knocked the weapons shelf open.
Faith destroys her lady-like demeanour by doubling over in hysterics at Dean’s face paling when he realises what the guy means. “N-no, the bags you see are fine. Be careful with my baby.” His voice becomes gruffer as he recovers himself. “One scratch on her…”
“Sir, we’ll treat her like the Queen that she is. She’ll be perfectly safe and so will any valuables left in her.” Dean reluctantly passes the keys to the valet.
“You can tell it’s a real up market hotel,” he says to Faith as they go to check in.
“The staff are really polite without being superior,” she agrees. “Reservation for Wilkins.”
“I could walk in there dragging a corpse, drenched in blood and the worst they’d say to me is to enquire how much plastic I’ll require for my victim‘s disposal.” Dean’s stuffing his face with the mints in saucers on the counter, winking at the girl behind the desk.
“If sir’s hobbies include homicide, the night desk will be happy to assist you,” she says, straight faced. “If sir prefers other pursuits, I’ve a brochure of theatre, cinema and the arts.”
“Thanks, but we’re fine for tonight,” Faith replies, making to walk away. “C’mon, we’ll get changed and go get something to eat.”
“Yeah, ok,” mumbles Dean through another mouthful of mints as he follows her. They don’t get far before he runs back to the counter, smiles at the girl and runs off with a full saucer of the sweets.
“Fuck knows how Sam’s not killed you yet,” snorts Faith.
***
The band’s on a break so Dean’s using the gap in the music to go to the bar. It’s really busy tonight as the band playing are building up quite a rep. People are getting jostled and the doormen are quick to help settle any fraying tempers.
Faith watches him, not jealous, merely observing as he flirts with the bar girl and she with him. Notes Dean’s easy smile, the eyes undressing her as they speak. He’s leaning over the bar, playing with the bottle that she’s put in front of him, invitation in every line of his body. She sees his lips move as he speaks to the girl, endearments, innuendo, it doesn’t matter. The words don’t matter, it’s the way his lips shape the sounds that count.
If she really wanted to hear, she could. It wouldn’t take much to tune out the rest of the bar, home in on the voice she knows in all its guises.
The bar girl says something outrageous that has Dean blushing and bobbing his head a little, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’ll have laugh lines, eventually. He leans further over the bar, his shoulders forming a little enclosure around himself and the girl, blotting the rest of the world out.
Dean changes position slightly, resting one foot behind the other. He’s dressed much the same as the other guys in here tonight, jeans, t-shirt, shirt, boots, but he wears it better. It’s funny, you can’t really see his body under his clothes, just impressions where sleeves wrap around biceps or drape across his back. Even his ass is hidden under the long shirt.
Doesn’t matter, Faith knows it’s there. It’s like a secret that only she knows about.
The bar tender has put another beer down in front of Dean and she’s writing on a napkin. Dean takes a moment to turn round to Faith and wink.
Faith’s never jealous. She never needs to be.
The band’s got a bluesy vibe to them, all long summer days and smoky, boozy nights. Faith’s really here for Dean, she prefers something that she can dance to and blues isn’t really her thing. But the band’s not that bad and it’s worth every cent of the cover price for Dean’s birthday. He’d seen them when he was working a job and hadn’t shut up about them so, here they are.
Thirty. Fuck, neither of them thought they’d see it.
Faith can’t see Dean; he’s pressed up against her back with his arms around her waist and her shoulders, swaying them both gently in time to the music. Even through his tank and his shirt, she’s aware of the outlines of his body, knows it’s wide enough to shield her from view. Faith cranes her neck a little to see the bartender glaring at her. She gives a contented sigh that draws a kiss from Dean as she settles back against him.
***
It’s late when they get back to the hotel, too pleasantly tipsy to notice the cold or the marks they’re leaving on the cream hotel carpet.
“Hey, tickets wasn‘t all I got you” says Faith, pulling a slim package out from their duffle bags. “I know it looks like Ricky’s had a go at wrapping it.”
“Something else? Killer, you’ve already…” His voice trails off. “It’s not sexy lingerie, is it? Cos, I was hoping you’d be in that.”
“Lingerie? Wouldn’t suit you. Take your damn present; it’s taken me six months to find it.”
Dean takes the proffered parcel, opening it carefully. It’s a CD of rarities by Muddy Waters.
“I was going to get you the cassette tape, but I figured that this way you can put it on your phone.” Faith smiles up at him and tosses her hair back, squaring her shoulders. “Or make your own cassette for the car.”
“It’s perfect.” Dean cups her face and kisses her gently. “Today’s been perfect. Only thing that could make it better is you in that corset and nothing else.”
“Soon fix that.” Faith’s hands go to her waistband.
“No.” Dean’s hands over hers stop her. “Not like that. Put the CD on. I want to dance.”
“You want me to strip for you?” Faith murmurs against his lips. She twists her hands in his so that their fingers are intertwined, hands held like they’re about to start dancing.
“Not this time.” Dean replies, dropping one of her hands to put the CD on the player. He turns back to Faith as the music slinks out of the speakers. It hugs the floor and the dark corners of the room, like it’s something dangerous.
She moves into him as his arms slide around her waist, pulling her close to him. “Dance with me,” Dean murmurs into her hair. His voice is throaty after the smoke of the bar and it makes her breath stutter. They sway gently together at first as they find their rhythm, hips swivelling, as they begin to catch the riffs, bodies dipping in time to the music as it soaks through their skin.
Faith’s hands are free to run over Dean’s shirt, tracing the muscles underneath. She smiles a little as he shivers when she hits the overly sensitive skin of his stomach. Her hand slides up to the nape of his neck and plays with the hair there. He’s growing it out slightly and it’s soft around her fingers.
“Stop fucking teasing, Faith,” he growls a little. She knows he’s impatient, wants her to touch him fully. He’s been hard since they began dancing. Tough shit, she thinks. He’ll just have to wait.
She grinds into his hips as he tightens his grip on her waist. “Different story when you’re makin’ me beg,” and her other hand drops to his ass, squeezing the hard muscle there.
“Yeah, but I’m the guy,” he says, Texas accent coming to the fore. “I’m supposed to drive you wild,” and the smirk on is lips is positively wicked. “Why else do chicks have pleasure buttons?”
“So we can test out the batteries on our vibrators.” Faith begins kissing up Dean’s throat and snorts as she feels him try to control his reaction. She glances at him as she sucks his lower lip briefly, seeing the crinkle around his eyes even as she feels his dick twitch through two layers of denim.
She kisses down the other side, moving out to his collarbone, swivelling her hips against his. Dean’s tense, but still keeping hold of himself as she writhes her body against his like he’s the pole and she’s the dancer.
Dean breathes deep and it stutters out of him as she traces her hands over his ass. One of his hands leaves her waist and he pulls out his wallet. One handed, he flips it open and pulls out ten bucks, stuffing the paper down Faith’s bra. “You getting undressed anytime soon?”
“Magic fingers and I’m still dressed?” Faith tuts as she drops to her knees in front Dean. She runs her hands slow and firm down the back of his legs. “Besides Sweet Lips, it’s your birthday. Now shut up and let me work.”
“If you’re sure,” grins Dean.
Faith stabs a fingertip into a pressure point in his thigh and his leg nearly goes from under him. “Oh fuck…” His dick’s got harder against his thigh and he’s tightening his fingers in her hair. She bites gently along its length as she keeps kneading the backs of his legs; rocking into her too-tight jeans, trying to get the seam just right against her clit before it burns a hole right through the fabric.
The litany of filth Dean’s murmuring above her isn’t helping her cool the fire any. It’s almost as bad as if he’d a rough finger rubbing there, the way it hits her sending shivers down her spine. Scratch that…shivers over her whole fucking skin. She’s desperate to get him on that bed or against that wall and feel all of him against her, up tight against her skin, all big and wanting…
And it’s in that damn cowboy accent…“Faith…yeah, there…Faith…”
The way he says her name in bed - never an endearment, not baby or sweetheart or honey - always Faith, like she’s a whole person, complete in herself, always hits her right in her stomach. She’s all she’s got to offer.
She stops nipping his dick and takes hold of his belt in her teeth, pulling it free of the buckle. Dean moves to help her and tries to smile when she bats his hands away. He settles for pulling off his shirt, “Just movin’…things along here,” he says, voice stuttering. From the look on his face, he nearly lost it for a moment.
Faith leans back to pull the pin free of the leather and that’s when her seam catches right…hhnnn…she’s so gone that it just explodes, fingers cutting into Dean’s hips as she comes with that stupid high - pitched noise she hates making, but he seems to love. Dimly, through the heat racing over her skin she feels Dean kneel in front of her, one hand in her hair, the other sliding between her legs, pressing the seam right into her, up into her oversensitive clit.
Faith yelps and tries to stay his hand, but her limbs feel like jello. They won’t fucking move right. Dean presses harder and it’s almost hurting, but her hips have a life of their own as her head drops onto his shoulder and his voice growls in her ear. “C’mon Faith…grind down, down on my hand, you wanna feel that again, right Faith? Let’s feel you move, you’re gonna come, Faith. Not gonna let you touch me again till you come harder.”
“Birthday…” She manages to whisper, but Dean shushes her as she’s doing what he’s commanding her to do. “Then give me what I want, let’s feel you move, feel you come. Do it, Faith. Come for me.”
This time it’s harder, blotting out everything but Dean as she grips his wrist so hard she’s doesn’t know how she doesn’t break it. She’s got no control as her vision shorts out and her body spasms against his. Just as well she’s already down, cos there’s no way she’s standing any time soon as the waves flood over her and her heart pounds in her ears.
Shit, she’s floating. She’s got to be. Another tight wave hits right through and Faith gives out that moaning sigh as she slumps against him. She can feel Dean brushing the hair from her face and he’s looking at her like he does sometimes, when he thinks she’s not looking. Like she’s a statue in a church or something.
He takes his hand away from her jeans and pulls her up over his lap. He moves slightly and it catches her painful clit, making her sob, for fuck’s sake. Dean grins slightly as he holds her close, grinding his hips up into her. It’s an effort for him, she can tell, because his jaw’s set, with a muscle working in it. It must be terrible, watching her come and he’s got to wait. Because he’s the boss, cos he’s got a dick.
Yeah, right.
It takes Faith a superhuman effort to push strength into her crumpled limbs and find her voice between Dean’s hard, desperate kisses. He’s trying too hard, she thinks as his tongue rubs the roof of her mouth, before sliding under her tongue. He can’t settle in one place and work on it. He breaks off every so often, kisses over her face and throat as his hands work her back. There’s a shake in them, she’d stake her life on it.
Jesus God, he’s working her back up. She’s not coming again until she’s undressed, she’s decided. It’s supposed to be his birthday, not hers. Somehow she takes her weight back on her knees, taking some of the pressure off her poor, besieged little clit. Her hands work open the rest of his belt and his fly, fumbling so much she’s surprised she actually does get his dick out his boxers without breaking it.
Things are connecting up again over her body as Dean’s kisses get even harder, raw, messy desperation behind them. Faith’s hand strokes his dick, once, twice and then he’s shooting between them, slicking their movements. He grunts into her mouth, biting her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Neither really notice.
It’s Dean’s turn to slump against her, panting hard. “So…think you’ll…new…batteries in…your vibrator?”
“Rechargeables,” Faith giggles. “You’re…all crashed out…rechargeables don‘t crash out on a girl.”
“I got more in me yet,” Dean smiles into her ear, voice rumbling through her body. “Get on that bed, woman!”
Faith gives a brief laugh, before admitting, “I don’t think I can get up. I can’t get my legs to work.”
“Means I’m doing my job then,” he replies as he gets to his feet, before bending down and picking her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him slowly and sensuously as he carries them to the bed. Dean lays her down gently, covering her as they kiss. They haul off their clothes quickly, resenting anything that keeps them apart. He hesitates a moment when it comes to Faith’s corset, taking a moment to drink her in as she lies in his arms. “Off,” he murmurs, fumbling with the hooks and eyes. “I need to feel all of you.”
It takes them longer than it should, because they’re still pretty drunk and they won’t stop kissing or giggling or swearing. Faith sits up, trying to unhook it from behind her with Dean reaching round, but she’s in his lap and she’s pressed up tight to him and he’s breathing and cursing against her neck. She squirms against him, feeling Dean’s breath catch and quicken as the lace scratches over his skin. Faith can’t get enough of him and there’s suddenly just this aching space between her legs that needs him there because there’s just some things that hands on skin and breasts bound in lace can’t match.
Faith didn’t think she’d be ready to go again this soon, Slayer or not, but it’s Dean, around her and against her and they were always something special, one of the great ones. That last orgasm’s kicked her into some weird plateau where she’s ramped up and desperate to be fucked, but not sure she could take coming again from her clit.
She tries to guide his hands there and press his fingers up into her, but he always pulls away at the last minute, skimming his hands back up her body and over the lace as his tongue swirls along her collarbone. Oh, my fucking God…no human should be able to get someone that worked up with just his mouth and his hands. Even that beautiful, dirty, mouth licking lightly over her jaw, sucking her lips till they feel too swollen for their skin. They’re throbbing like a second heartbeat, in time to her empty cunt. Faith drops a hand down, pushing her fingers deep inside, scrabbling for the place that makes her sob-sigh.
Her own fingers feel wrong, just don’t cut it and she’d plead for his rough fingers teasing her, but her pride stops her tongue; even when her skin wants to crawl off her bones, it’s so fucking sensitive to his touch. And Dean won’t let up touching her.
“Christ, Dean how many hands have you got?” Faith doesn’t realise she’s spoken until Dean pulls his head back slightly, watching her with that damn statue-in-church look as she gasps and grinds down on his lap, onto his half-hard dick. His hands don’t settle anywhere, constantly tracing patterns as they travel over her back and ass, making her squirm against him. He’s not even touching her tits, but they’re heavy and swollen as they crush into Dean’s chest as she writhes.
There’s something else behind that look in Dean’s eyes as Faith moves against him, something dark, speculating, and predatory. She’s seen it before, when they’re hunting and it trips all her switches as it hits the hunter inside her. God knows how she does it, but there’s purpose behind the way she’s grinding down onto his cock.
The way Dean has them sitting, he’s forced her legs apart, holding her cunt open as she moves, soaking wet along his spent dick. Except he’s not spent now as each stroke and slide of her pussy along his cock gets him harder. He’s not fully erect yet, but he’s on his way and Faith’s desperate now to get off this fucking plateau.
She grinds down on him, slipping her inner lips along his length as he gets firmer. Dean could help, by holding her ass down so she could get more pressure where it’s needed, but he seems to settle for doing what he was already doing, all restless hands and sucking mouth.
Christ, he’s driving her nuts and it’s not helping that every now and then her clit hits off his dick, making her jump and squeak with the shock of it. She almost thanks God that she never really came with many other guys and demons because she really doesn’t need it common knowledge that the Dark Slayer squeaks when she comes.
She feels it slightly after Dean does, that he’s hard enough again; ready to fuck her through the mattress. Dean makes a small motion, like he’s trying to push her down on the bed, but Faith resists. “It’s your birthday,” she murmurs when he glances at her. “Let me do this.”
Dean smiles as he kisses her like he’s been doing. “Not broke, don’t fix it?”
“Something….ohhh!” Dean flexes his hips, just a little, but just enough to nudge at the opening of her cunt and hell yeah! if that’s just what her throbbing pussy’s been begging for.
“Dance for me,” Dean says and it’s only then that Faith realises that the CD is still playing. She’d been aware of it, but it had got lost in all the sensations shorting out her brain. Maybe they’ve been moving to Muddy’s beat all along.
Faith begins to gyrate slowly, more like a belly dancer than a stripper. She’s careful to keep the head of his prick inside her as she circles her hips for a minute, first one way, and then the other.
Dean holds her close, like he’s reluctant to lie back and watch her, losing that contact with her. “I want to look at you,” Faith says, voice cracking, but she really, really wants to be able to dip down over that sculpted torso and drop kisses on it as she glides up to his mouth.
He slowly lies down and Faith feels cold and lost as he moves away from her. She covers by dropping her pelvis slightly, more driving into her as Dean jerks up, hands convulsing sharply into her hipbones. “Shit, Faith…” he breathes as she recovers the motion, moving into a body wave that juts her breasts out as her hair brushes his fingers before her hips push his dick deeper inside of her. She moves as slowly, dragging out this first entry into her for as long as she can.
Dean tries, she knows he tried simply because she asked him to, but he sits up as she gyrates against him. His hands are resting where the movements of her body are greatest, as she switches from a body roll to a figure eight when Dean’s finally all the way into her. The shift draws a grunt from Dean as Faith shimmies up and down his dick, using the verses and choruses to time her movements. Faith smiles against Dean’s mouth when her hip bumps make his kisses pause, even though he’s bitten her lip again.
She jumps every time her clit bumps Dean’s pubic bone. Having him inside’s getting off that fucking plateau and back climbing again as she feels her pussy catching back alight - not that it was ever out, but someone’s turned that heat up from burning to molten.
Faith’s lost track of time, even judging by the songs, but she thinks she’s managed to get round the album twice. She pulls her head away to drink Dean in when he’s this far gone and on a day neither thought they’d see, no matter what deals they made or powers they entreated. He’s got that church look again and it’s making her lose her rhythm. She can’t keep up the deliberate movements much longer.
Dean picks her up, hands under her ass and somehow gets them both up against the wall at the top of the bed as Faith once again wraps her legs around his waist. It’s either fate or sheer talent that he gets them there without slipping out of her. A roll of his hips to get her in all the right places - including her still-sensitive clit - and Dean begins hammering into her, that damn look on his face all the while. His breath’s hot on her face as their gasps get louder and faster as they move closer to coming together.
They can’t take their eyes from each other and there’s nothing there that isn’t pure Faith and Dean, with all the jokes and games and competition washed away by the feel of their bodies together.
Muddy’s forgotten now as that molten wave crashes through her, over her skin. Dean’s all she can hear and feel and see as she cries out his name; that’s all it takes for him to explode deep inside her. He comes so hard, he knocks her head off the wall.
They sit there, wrapped up tight in each other as the pulses fade away. Their breath comes in great, shuddering gasps, like they’ve fought the mother of all battles. Faith pulls away first, not enough to really make a difference, just enough so she can run a hand over his face and through his hair, like she’s checking him for injury, not really believing they’ve made it.
Dean kisses her palm as it passes her lips. “We’re here,” he says, waiting for her to complete the bond.
“And that’s enough.”
