Title: Matter of Time
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: smut, smut and a little more smut.
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction, all similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental. I don't own the boys, the show, or even Tareena, but I do own the plot, what little there is of it.
Summary: Tareena meets another hunter and smuttiness ensues.
Pairing: Dean/Tareena
Archive: Please ask first
Feedback: as always, yes please but no nits or shreds thanks.
Written: 2008
Author's Notes: A smutty story for Monte's birthday. I kinda had no plan when I started writing this fic…I thought I'd wing it, write it as I go…To be posted on SNAT, LJ, BMR, WO and
oooOooo
Part One:-
Tuesday 7pm:-
Tareena grabbed the bag off the hall table and shot out of the front door just as the first explosion ripped through the kitchen and sent plumes of flames out into the hallway. She had the keys in the ignition and was starting the engine as the second, and larger of the two explosions took out the rest of the one story house.
Without a backward glance, she floored the accelerator of the '87 Montecarlo and screamed out onto the highway. The job had been more than easy; the only thing she hadn't planned for was that some nosey neighbor would report for breaking and entering. A small alteration to her original plan had been called for and the world was better off less one evil creepy-ass witch who had a soft spot for human organs to keep her young and yeah, right, beautiful.
Now, her latest plan was to hit the nearest motel and get cleaned up. She could smell smoke all over her favorite leather jacket, and she didn't even want to consider what the other stains were. They were gross no matter what they were.
The Montecarlo purred along the road, and she kept an eye out for a suitable place to stop. Her mind kept replaying the situation and how she'd come to be fighting a particularly crazy evil witch by herself. Moreover she hated witches the most – vindictive bitches. Plus, if she were honest, she was sick of fighting alone but what choice did she have?
Then, through the blur of the windscreen wipers which seemed to fighting a losing battle with the rain, she caught sight of a neon motel sign. Swinging the car into the parking lot, she dashed for the reception and booked herself a double for the night, paid in cash and snatched the room key, desperate to get out of the spiteful night.
The room was ok, nothing special but it was clean and dry and that was all she needed for the night. Though it looked like it had last been decorated in the early Seventies when Disco was enjoying its first spin. Tareena was just thankful the ceiling didn't hold a mirror-ball. That would have been cruel and unusual punishment. Slumping down on the mattress, she was pleasantly surprised to find it didn't sag drastically, which meant she'd get a decent night's sleep if nothing else.
And she was so dog-tired she was sure she'd be able to sleep for a week, as long as she wasn't disturbed.
In the bathroom, she peeled off her clothes and dropped them on the floor in a messy pile and turned on the shower faucet. As soon as the water heated up, she stepped under the spray and washed the hunt from her body. Blood and other stuff disappearing down the drain.
oooOooo
Dean growled as he swung the Impala into the parking lot of the first motel he came to. The rather cool '87 Montecarlo he parked next to caught his attention for a full eight seconds as he ran for shelter from the relentless rain. It kinda matched his mood: filthy, stinking and foul.
He was as pissed as hell at Sammy and he was not about to forgive him anytime soon. It was one thing to go against their dad's wishes, but to outright go against his own was something else altogether. Sammy'd not only nearly got himself killed, but Dean too. Then who'd protect his baby brother?
Dean'd lived his whole life in the shadow of his brother, thanks to the way their dad had raised them. Always take care of Sammy, Dean, always take care of your brother. Well, Dean was sick of taking care of his brother, sick of keeping him alive, sick of never getting to put his own needs first.
Well, two could play the disobedience game.
He signed the guest book under a false name and paid using a credit card in the same false name. The only thing that wasn't false about him tonight was the dull ache that coursed through his body. The same ache that he always got after a good fight.
Grabbing the proffered key, he stalked to the room with the matching number and let himself in. His duffle thumped onto one of the twin beds and he dropped onto the other.
Closing his eyes tightly, he did his best to block the outside world out but failed miserably. Sam was his entire world and now even that was gone. But he was damned if he was going to run after him after all that he'd said tonight, thrown back in Dean's face his father's words.
Sam could find out for himself what Dean had done his best to protect him from. He just hoped it was enough to bring him to his senses, and quickly. Though he hated to admit it, he needed Sam just as much as Sam needed him.
Dean tried his hardest to block out the sounds from outside, the sounds of the cars racing by the motel, the sounds of the night and the rain that seeped in through the thin curtains at the window until all he could hear was the soft hum of the person in the next cabin and the gentle sputtering of the shower.
What caught his attention, though, was what she was humming. Not many women could master 'Back in Black' quite as well as this chick had. And that was all it took to fire up his imagination.
He was half-way through his imaginary blow-job when he was suddenly aware of the fact that the shower had been shut off and she'd stopped humming… quite possibly around the same time he'd started moaning aloud. Though, to be fair, it wasn't his fault. He'd had a fucker of a day and he just needed some stress relief… and it was the sound of her shower and humming that had caused his current predicament. Mind you, he could be lucky in the fact that she hadn't actually heard him…
Though considering he could hear her cell phone ringing and her gentle curse of 'fuck' he rolled his eyes and made a point not to bump into her anytime soon.
oooOooo
Tareena had got out of the shower, and was in the process of roughly towel-drying her body when she heard the first of the low-keening moans from the cabin next door. She bit her lip in a bid to not laugh out loud.
Quietly, she sat on the bed and listened as the moans increased in volume and frequency…until nothing…silence…
Until her cell began ringing.
"Fuck," she muttered louder than she meant to. She scrabbled though her bag looking for it before the caller rang off. "Hello? Bobby? Yeah, it's me, sorry I was in the shower…yeah, a zombie? Tonight? Hell, I was hoping to…oh, okay then. Sure, I can manage a zombie…no, no, it's fine…Yeah, I'll call you later and tell you how it went. Bye."
Damn, she had been hoping for a little rest between hunts. Seems like lately the bad guys had upped the ante lately though, and there was barely time to shower and sleep between jobs.
She dropped the cell phone on the bed and reached for her bag, pulling out clean clothes and making a promise to herself that after this job she really would swing by a Laundromat and get her stuff clean before people thought she was a homeless bag lady who lived outta her car – which of course was basically what she was.
Having just gotten her underwear on, she sat on the bed to pull on her jeans when she heard the phone ring in the room next door, and then a smooth deep voice talking. It wasn't loud enough for her to actually hear what was being said, just loud enough for Tareena to remember how much she needed a man as well as a Laundromat.
The breath whooshed out of her lungs when he raised his voice and she heard the words 'Bobby', 'Sam' and 'zombie'.
Figuring she must be mistaken due to a severe lack of sleep, food, and sex, she stuffed the rest of her gear back into her bag and took a last look around the room before she opened the door…
…and walked smack into the man walking out of the room next door.
Even though he was cussing up a blue storm to whoever was still on his cell phone, he caught Tareena with one hand and righted her before she landed flat on her ass.
"Whoa. Hey, you ok?" His voice was even sexier up close and personal. He snapped the phone shut after grunting a hasty goodbye.
"Yeah, thanks," she stammered. His eyes were hypnotizing her. They were the kind of eyes that could get her into trouble, especially when they came attached to such a fine specimen of a man. They were green and crinkled at the corners in a way that should be considered illegal. Or at least regulated for safety reasons.
"Sorry, I just wasn't looking," he explained, waving the cell phone as if it held the answers.
Tareena found herself staring at her almost assailant with curiosity. "It's ok. Seriously. Don't worry 'bout it," she told him, bending down to retrieve her bag from the floor where she'd dropped it when he'd barged her.
Dean couldn't help checking her out as she bent over. He might be in a foul mood but that didn't alter the fact that the girl had great ass. That and he was intrigued at the conversation he had overheard.
It couldn't be possible that they had both been talking to the same Bobby about the same zombie…that would be, well…
"Okay then," he cocked his head and smiled at her, watching her swing by him and out onto the parking lot.
Tareena picked her way through the potted palms to her car, noting the impressive '67 Impala parked beside it. Quickly opening the trunk, she dropped in her bag and returned her attention to muscle car. Apart from needing a wash, it was in excellent condition. Whoever owned this car loved it almost as much as she loved hers.
Dean followed her, noting that her trunk was filled similarly to his, minus the dream catcher. Oh yeah, they had spoken to the same Bobby about the same zombie.
"Sweet ride," he smirked as he passed her and opened the Impala's trunk to drop in his own duffle.
"That's your car?" Tareena asked incredulously, eyeing the trunk's contents as he had hers.
"Yep. This is my baby," Dean told her proudly, patting the trunk lovingly. "So," he fished. "Off somewhere nice?"
Tareena flicked him a look over her shoulder. She pursed her lips as she studied him for a moment. "Maybe. Maybe not. What'sit got to do with you?"
"Nothing," he laughed, backing off, hands raised in a defensive gesture. "I was just thinking if we were heading in the same direction to do the same job that it might be better if we take the one car." God, he hoped he was right. He liked feisty women and if he played his cards right, this girl could turn out to be one very feisty little wildcat indeed.
"Come again?" Her face twisted from spirited to confused. "You were listening to my conversation?"
"Thin walls?" Dean shrugged, a cursory thought crossed his mind that she had to have heard him jerking off just minutes earlier, and damned if that didn't make him hard again. "Dean Winchester." He held out his hand to her and prayed to God she wasn't some judo champ ready to fling him on his back…but that could be fun in the right circumstances.
"Dean Winchester? As in Sam and Dean Winchester?"
Dean chuckled. "More like as in Dean and Sam Winchester."
Tareena weighed him for another long moment and then shook the offered hand. "Tareena."
"Just Tareena? Nothing else?"
"Nope. Just Tareena. If I tell you my other name, I'll have to kill you and even though it could be classed as self defense at this moment in time, I generally only tend to kill monsters, demons and such-like." She smiled and snatched her hand back as though his touch had burned her. "And you were listening to my conversation, weren't you?"
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," he shrugged, thinking about her humming to herself in the shower. "They really are thin walls. So what d'ya say? Double up and take my car? I'm guessing Bobby's sending us after the same zombie and I am running solo right now…"
"Your brother run out on you, then?" Tareena answered, non-committal. "I can't imagine why," she muttered more to herself than to him.
"He has issues," Dean grumbled. "So?"
"Issues? Well, okay then." A slow subtle grin spread across her face. "Do I get to drive? I've always wanted to get behind the wheel of one of these babies."
"Not even if your life depended on it," he smirked back at her. "Grab you gear and put it in the trunk."
"I haven't said yes yet," she argued.
"Yeah, but you will," he winked.
"You're a cocky son-of-a-gun ain'tcha? Does anybody ever say no to you?" she baited him.
"Only Sammy. And that's why he's walking now. C'mon, grab your stuff. Apparently there's some urgency involved here."
Tareena rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag out of her trunk, along with her weapons case and cross bow, and placed them gingerly in the Impala's trunk. Dean snapped the lid into place and they got inside the car.
Her first instinct was to reach out and switch the radio on but her hand was batted away with a deep throaty growl.
"Uh huh. Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts her cakehole," he grinned, slamming the car into gear and screeching out of the motel parking lot.
As the dulcet tones of Metallica filled the car, Tareena relaxed back in the seat with a mild 'harrumph.' It only occurred to her at that point that she had gotten into a car with a strange man. A very strange, but intriguing, man. She was just too physically exhausted to put up much of a fight.