He watches her. Body lithe and young and it's all good. A sip of his beer, a turn of his lips, that's it. She's staring, focusing her gaze on his eyes, mouth, chest, lower, lower, yes. He sees the moment she has decided, and he knows she is the one. The language of bedroom eyes and twisting hips amidst alcohol and rock is one he is fluent in and he knows she gets it too. To the left, he jerks his head, and she follows, sculpted legs strutting along a path straight towards him. She catches up and they latch onto one another.

She takes him home.


He is in her bedroom and he pulls off the whatever-variety-of-plaid shirt he is wearing. She stalks into the room, teasingly close to nude, and slides up against him. She spreads her palms across his cheeks, pulling him possessively closer, and then it is mouth molding to mouth. It is wet and caressing and pliable kissing, until she pulls away. Then her chest, plump and flushed, rubs down his torso and stomach and then. Then she is mouthing him and he struggles with jeans and taut pressure and don't stops. Soon, he can feel her on his bare, straining flesh. The wanting is saturated, hungry, and overwhelming.

He holds her curves in rough hands and she moans, throat pulsating. He holds himself up with strong arms that envelop hips and tilts his head down, nuzzling her cheek, neck, and chest with his face. He kisses her skin and she shivers against prickly stubble. He leans up for her lips, worrying his tongue onto hers and she is grabbing him. Hot breath mixes and then she is on top of him. Legs span across his torso, soft flesh rubbing against his sides. She weaves her body along his and lets him fill her. She stroke up and down his body and grabs at his shoulders.

Body upon body, hotness and moisture, breath and tongue, mingle. They smell of sex and alcohol and he grins, contented.


He is lying next to her as she sleeps when his phone rings. He picks up.

"Dean? Hey, there are some killings in the next state over. Get this. The reports are saying that all of the vics from the inside out… Dean?"

"Yeah, I hear ya Sammy. Sounds like our kind of thing." Dean slips off the mattress, quietly dressing and walks out of the house. He closes the front door behind him and smirks on his way to the motel. Time to go gank a nasty son of a bitch.