Without knowing how he had gotten there, Dean was standing outside a motel door. It was old and worn, the brown paint peeling off in chunks. He wasn't sure why this particular door was the sole focus of his attention. It looked like all the other doors; the only difference was the number on it. With a deep breath, and because he knew he couldn't leave without doing it, he knocked on the door. As he waited to see what would happen, he put his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, and started to look around warily. The sun was just starting to set, painting the world in red. Across the parking lot there was a small group of what could only be described as thugs. He was eyeing them warily, worried about his Baby. Just as he was trying to decide if he should knock again or leave, thinking he had finally lost it being drawn to a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere, he heard the door creak open. He turned, with an arrogant smirk on his lips and froze, his mouth going dry.
The most stunning creature he had even seen was standing in the doorway. Every thought he had ever had vanished. All he could do was stare and then his mind was flooded by a whole string of images that would make Crowley blush, and that were currently making his jeans rather uncomfortable.
"Yes?" She asked, eyes full of confusion. "May I help you?" Dean had been standing there gaping at her so long that she was starting to fidget nervously.
Trying to think of something to say so she wouldn't slam the door in his face and immediately call the cops about the freak at her door, he cast about for a topic but all that came out was a very inarticulate "uh…." One of her perfectly shaped, raven black brows rose. Taking a deep breath, Dean swallowed and tried again, "Dean, my name is Dean."
Smiling the most innocent and, yet somehow incredibly suggestive smile he had ever seen, she held out a delicate hand for him to shake. "Devyn." The second his hand touched hers electricity shot through his body igniting small fires under his skin. Throwing the door wide, she invited him in. "Can I offer you a drink?" Turning, she strolled back into the small but clean motel room with Dean right on her heels. The more he watched her, the more convinced he became that he knew her from somewhere. That he had seen these graceful movements before. And that a woman like that was definately not safe in a neigborhood like this.
"I'm sorry but, have we met before?" He asked as he watched her make him a Jack on the rocks. How did she know that was his drink of choice? Sitting in the oddly comfortable, oversized chair he studied her as she brought him his drink and then tidied up the makeshift bar. Every move she made exuded an intoxicating mixture of sexuality and innocence.
"I'm pretty sure I would remember if we had Dean. I don't think I could forget someone like you," she purred in a voice slightly huskier than it had been before.
"What'd'ya mean someone like me," he asked, intrigued, watching her as she pondered his question. He let his eyes rove over her face from her mesmerizing, violet eyes, to her full, lush lips and high cheekbones. Her neck was graceful and slender and he very much envied the lock of raven hair that was resting there. The rest of her hair spilled to her waist in loose curls that looked satiny to the touch. His hands itched with the desire to run through it and see if it was as soft as it looked. He would wager it was, and that those curls would wrap around his wrist as if trying to pull him closer. Her waist was so small he could probably wrap his hands all the way around it. She was wearing one of those obscenely short summer dressed that showed more of her shapely legs than it covered. The neck swooped so low it made her full, creamy breasts look as though they would pop out at the slightest movement and, Dean had to admit, he really, really wished they would. With his hands starting to tremble he continued his perusal of her body. Her arms were toned but not overly muscular and her hands were delicate looking with long slender fingers. Just as he was admiring her shapely legs that looked like they had been made to wrap around a man, he realized she had said something to him and was waiting on a response.
"Uh. Sorry, what?" He stammered, trying to get his brain switched back into conversation mode.
The look on his face was adorable. His ever-changing, moss colored eyes were both cloudy with confusion and glassy with lust. She had stood there watching as his eyes wandered her body. Everywhere they touched felt like a caress. Her body temperature had risen and she felt tongues of flame curling under her skin. She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. With a husky laugh she looked into those eyes and said, once again, "sex on a stick."
At that his pupils dilated and those sexy as sin, made for kissing, lips parted, "excuse me," he rasped.
"You haven't touched your drink."
He could swear that damn dress was getting tinier. The white lace covering even less than before. He threw back his Jack in one shot. It was easy since all the ice had been melted by his temperature spike. He cleared his throat, " Are you gonna sit or are you just gonna stand there staring at me like that?"
At that, she smirked and sashayed toward him settling herself right on his lap. The bulge in his jeans expressed its excitement by twitching and swelling even more. As she shifted around to get more comfortable a moan escaped his lips and his eyes drifted shut. Before he had a chance to force them back open he heard a silver, tinkling laugh and felt warm, moist air on his ear.
"You asked what I meant by 'someone like you'? I meant I would remember if I had run into sex on a stick before." She wrapped her arm around his neck and ran her fingers though his hair. With a sigh she slid her tongue along his jaw, pulling another moan from his gorgeous lips. Pressing herself even closer to him she slid her free hand into the open collar of his shirt and slowly stroked the warm, silky skin she found there.