Lightning strobes through the room, making even the cheap, rubber-coated drapes at the drafty windows seem almost transparent, and the thunder that follows immediately after shakes the building, fading very gradually to a distant rumbling. You crawl out of bed, now fully awake, and trudge barefoot to the window, pulling a corner of the curtain back to peer out into the darkness. The lights outside the rooms and in the parking lot are dark, victims of the electrical storm, and the only illumination comes from the flickering, haphazard streaks of pure energy slashing through the absolute black of the night.
The storm is violent, the wind picking up steadily as you hear the loud spattering of the first huge raindrops hitting the roof, the windows, the walls. You hug your arms tight around your middle, wondering just how bad this thing will get, and whether you're safe, and if there's even a shelter nearby.
You find your way back to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, picking up your phone to check for weather alerts, wondering if the guys are sleeping through this. A second later, a tap at the door connecting the two rooms startles you into dropping the phone, and you shake your head at yourself. You pick it up, using its light to guide you to the door, and you open it to find Dean standing there, his phone lighting his way. "You okay?" he asks softly, and you back up as he comes into the room, his black sleep pants sagging low on his hips, and you remember that you're wearing only a tank top and panties. Good thing it's dark. And good thing he can't see that you're blushing from the sight of him like that, even in the dim light of your cell phones.
He waits for an answer, and you shrug. "I'm fine, Dean. It's just a storm."
"Right. I know. But I know they kind of freak you out sometimes."
You feel a little foolish that he felt the need to check on you. "I said I'm fine, Dean. I don't need a babysitter. I'm a hunter, for shit's sake." He's standing directly in front of you, and you look up at him, a little defiant. And then a brilliant, blinding glare lights up the room, almost simultaneous with the deafening roar of the thunder accompanying it, and you let out a small cry, grabbing onto Dean's arm.
"Yeah, you're fine," he says under his breath, and you force yourself to step back, pulling carefully away from him, squaring your shoulders. "Startled me, that's all," you mumble, and Dean looks at you skeptically. A harsh, blinding flash and crash of rolling, rumbling thunder frightens another little noise from you as your phone hits the floor once again, and Dean bends to pick it up.
He lights his way to the bedside table and lays your phone down, then turns towards you. "Just sit with me until it quiets down," he urges quietly, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs up as he props himself against the headboard. "Come on, we can talk or something, we're awake anyway." He pats the bed beside him, and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, reluctant to admit that you're glad he's insisting on staying with you, but you finally crawl up onto the bed, sitting next to him and putting a pillow behind your back.
"So… is this a childhood thing? I mean, have you always had a problem with storms?" he asks, no judgement or derision in his voice, just curiosity.
"I've always been afraid of them. Ever since I was little. It makes me feel like… Well, there's just nothing you can do, you know? You're completely at its mercy. At least when we're hunting something, we can shoot it, stab it, exorcise it - something." Every muscle in your body tenses as another round of lightning and thunder shake the room, and Dean slips an arm around you, his fingers gently squeezing your shoulder. You sit there silently for a few seconds, then whisper, "I feel like an idiot." You turn your face towards him, even though you can't see each other in the dark, other than in flashes of light from the storm. "You aren't afraid of anything, are you?" you say, almost more of a statement than a question, and he chuckles.
"You've never seen me on a plane."
"Really? You're afraid to fly?"
"Scared shitless. Not even kidding." His fingers are moving slightly now, rubbing little circles on your upper arm, and you feel yourself longing to lean into him, but you keep yourself sitting upright and tense beside him. He clears his throat a little, and his voice is a little raspy as he says softly, "You know, there are much better ways for us to distract ourselves. Just sayin'." You sit, stiff and silent beside him, and after an uncomfortable few seconds passes, he takes a breath. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
You take his arm and duck beneath it, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. "Oh, I know you didn't. I'm not exactly in a league with your usual one-nighters, Dean."
You can picture in your mind the exact look he has on his face, the confusion and anger clouding the forest green of his eyes, the deep furrow of a frown between his brows. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He sounds almost angry, and you let your head hang as you answer, your words muffled in the cacophony of the storm.
"I mean, I'm your hunting buddy. Your partner, your medic, the pain in the ass that never does things the way you tell her to. Not some gorgeous bimbo with a rack that you can't take your eyes off of like in every bar we've ever been to. I can't hold a candle to the kind of women you go after, Dean. And I'm not looking for a mercy fuck, thanks." You hate the bitter tone in your voice and you start to rise, but Dean's strong grip on your shoulder stops you, and to your surprise, you find tears stinging at your eyes.
"Is that what you really think? That's how you think I see you?" He waits, but your silence is his answer, and you hear him take a deep breath. "Jesus, do you know how many times I've wanted to knock on your door?" You feel him shift on the bed, and you can feel him close behind you. "You've put yourself on the line for Sam and for me, I can't even count the times. You've stuck by us, even when we're dicks, you've sewn us together, you've gotten drunk with us after a hunt, shared shitty hotel rooms with us, lived with us. I see you every day, the way you smile at Sammy sometimes like he's an adorable little boy, the way you fire back at us when we give you grief, the way you rub the back of your neck when you sit at the laptop too long, the way your eyes light up when you laugh." He moves closer, leaning over to place a soft kiss at the spot where your neck curves down to meet your shoulder, and you shiver. "The way your hair looks when you take it out of that damn ponytail. The way you look in those jeans."
Another kiss lands a little farther up your neck, and you're holding your breath as his voice lowers to a whisper, and he is turning you slowly as he leans closer. "I can't stop thinking about how soft your lips must be, how they taste." He lowers his head, his lips a breath away from yours. "The only one asking for mercy around here is me." He hesitates for a split second longer, then kisses you softly, his hand on your face, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low rumble as he murmurs, "Tell me to stop, and I will."
You shiver again as one hand glides down your arm, then back up, his fingers trailing against your skin. You whisper in reply, your lips barely brushing against his as you speak. "I don't want you to stop." And then your lips claim his, your arms raising to clasp around his neck, your fingers drifting through his soft, short hair, a sigh of surrender swallowed by your kiss. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip, and the part of your mind that is telling you things can never be the same after this is silenced as you open to him, gripping him tighter as a roll of thunder surrounds you.
He's finished with being tentative now, and he stops kissing you, putting his arms around you and pulling you over onto the bed, laying you back against the pillows as he straddles your legs. Lightning flashes and gives his eyes a fierce glow as he watches his hands move down the length of your arms, then up your sides, lightly brushing the curve of your breasts. He lowers himself down over you, crushing his lips to yours, propping himself up on an elbow as his other hand claims your breast, his thumb teasing at the nipple. His very talented lips travel down to your throat, and he nips you lightly as he plucks at your nipple, causing you to arch up a little beneath him, forcing a low moan from his throat as you brush against his erection, hard and hot against you.
He raises to his knees again, a hand gliding over the soft skin of your thigh, and he moves one leg between yours as he reaches for your hands, helping you sit up. His fingers barely graze your skin as he finds the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, then he lays you back and you whimper a little as he bends to suck a nipple into his mouth while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. "Dean…" you whine softly, which only serves to intensify his attentions, and you actually cry out as his other hand moves to the apex of your thighs and he moans as he raises his head a little, rubbing his fingers over the damp, silky fabric.
You see him in flashes of light from the wailing storm, his face stark and hungered as he slips his thumbs under the edge of your panties and drags them slowly down, then sheds his pants. Your abdominal muscles jump as he touches his lips to your belly, then gently sucks a mark into your skin there before moving his way down. He's humming as he nips at the tender skin at the very top of your thigh, his fingers gliding between your folds. "I've wanted to do this for a long time, sweetheart," murmurs against your skin, then lowers himself down to sweep his tongue over you, groaning in approval, before burying his face between your thighs, and you heave wantonly beneath him. He plants a hand firmly at your hip and holds you in place, ravaging you with his tongue, the thumb of his other hand firmly circling your clit, and you find yourself incoherently praising and cursing him. A blinding white strobe of lightning seems to explode into the room, thunder detonating, echoing all around you, and your entire body clenches, then shatters into the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced, almost sending you into oblivion for a few long seconds. Soft sobbing sounds are escaping your lips as you come back to yourself, Dean's tongue gently stroking over your sensitive flesh, and he moves back up your body slowly, pulling you close as he kisses your forehead, your hair, your eyes, kissing away tears you didn't even know you'd shed.
"Hey, I've got you, baby. I've got you," he whispers as he cradles you in his arms, his hand caressing your back, letting your heart slow a little and your breathing even out before pulling back to kiss you. He smooths the hair back from your face, then kisses you again, more needy and desperate, and your body responds to him like a well-tuned instrument that he plays without effort, as if it were custom made for him. "God, I need you," he says between insatiable little kisses, his hands roaming, grasping at you, and you let your hands slip down between you until you can stroke over his velvety length, causing him to throw his head back and gasp harshly. You move away, climbing off the bed and grabbing the bag you have nearby, fumbling through the contents until you find the foil packet you were seeking. You crawl back to him, tearing it open and smoothing it over him as he bares his teeth in a hiss at the contact. You lie down close to him, raising your leg to drape over his hip, and he trembles as he reaches between you to guide himself home.
"Fuck," he whispers, then thrusts hard, and you grind against him, your body craving to be taken, owned by him. You move together, frantic, desperate for each other, voracious, as tempestuous as the storm you almost feel a part of now. He turns, moving you to your back, and you wrap your legs tight around him as he drives himself into you, grunting, harsh little whispers of your name and curse words as you strain to meet each stroke. You come before he does, and the violent spasms in your core end him as you feel him swell and pulse into you, tremors moving through you at the sheer, blazing beauty of it all.
He lets his head rest in the crook of your neck for a time as you both catch your breath and regain enough strength to move. You let your hands glide over the smooth, sweat-slicked muscles on his back, caressing him and marveling at what just happened. He finally lifts his head enough to kiss your shoulder, touching his tongue lightly to your skin before pulling himself slowly from you, sending a forceful shudder through you, and he discards the condom, then pulls you into his arms, your head on his chest. The storm outside is quieting as well, and you lie, completely relaxed, in his arms. You place a soft kiss on his chest, and he hugs you tight, replying with one to the top of your head. "Did this really just happen?" you ask quietly, your finger trailing over his skin, and he shivers as you brush over his nipple.
"Yeah. Finally." He puts a hand to your face and gently tilts your head back, staring into your eyes, and you realize that the lights have come back on, the nightlight near the bathroom faintly illuminating his features. His thumb traces over your lips before he bends to kiss you, long and tender, before drawing back and scraping his teeth over his bottom lip. "I've waited a long time for this."
You look into his eyes, almost holding your breath as you speak. "Question is, will it ever happen again?"
A barely-there little smirk curves his lips, and he leans in to kiss you again as he lets his fingers drift over your hip. "I think I can pretty much guarantee that," he answers, and then his lips put an end to the conversation.