A/N: Another one of those "it just came to me" sort of scenes. The more of these I write, the more I find Dean likes to talk...in bed at least. And some of the things he says make be blush! As always, many thanks and much love to my partner in crime, MaliBearsBuddy for her support and beta assistance. If you're not reading her stuff, you should go check her out!
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, like I own I anything related to Supernatural.
Silence
Sophia wakes early. Dawn is just breaking, barely lighting the room. While they had started on complete opposite sides of the bed, somehow they've ended up pressed against each other, back to back. She slips from the bed, pulling on her robe with a weary sigh.
They haven't spoken since yesterday morning. It hadn't been any kind of knockdown, drag out fight. It was worse. Quiet and fierce, they'd argued in nearly sibilant whispers. And then they'd stopped speaking at all.
Drifting through the house like ghosts, they'd tried not to be in the same room for any length time. At bedtime, though, they both seemed reluctant to spend the night away from each other. They had, however, curled up on their respective sides of the bed.
She makes her way downstairs to the kitchen to start coffee. She's going to need the caffeine to get through the day given how poorly she slept. Standing in front of the coffee maker, she can't help the tears welling in her eyes. Fighting with him is miserable. But she doesn't know what else to do. She's sure she's right this time. Sure enough to allow this to go on.
She swipes the tears from her eyes and pours a cup of the fresh brew. She reaches into the fridge for the creamer. Looking at it provokes a fresh round of tears. He'd bought the creamer for her: caramel macchiato, her favorite.
She takes her drink out onto the porch. Taking a deep breath, she tries to let the morning stillness ease her weary mind.
~~~SPN~~~
Dean feels her leave the bed, hears the sigh as she puts on her robe. When she's gone, he rolls over onto his back, arm over his face. He wonders how long this is going to go on. They'd spent all day yesterday avoiding each other. Going to bed last night, they'd lain on their respective edges of the bed.
He'd slept like shit, but had tried to be still for her sake. He could tell by her breathing she hadn't sleep much either. God, could two people be any more stubborn? He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.
Fighting with her made him miserable. It's worse than fighting with Sam ever was. And this one had been tougher than usual. He could take her shouting and jumping all over him. But this was quiet, strange. To be honest, it worries him.
He smacks his hands on the bed in frustration and gets up. He pulls on a pair of jeans and heads downstairs. He peeks into the kitchen, feeling stupid for being so childish, but he doesn't see her.
Pouring a cup of the hot coffee, he looks out the window. She's sitting on the porch. He watches as one hand traces circles around the rim of her cup and the other twists in the tie on her robe. The fidgeting is a dead giveaway she's bothered. Her face raises to look out over the pond and he can see her eyes are red and a little swollen.
She's been crying. Damn it. He closes his eyes and mentally kicks himself. If he wasn't sure he was right about this, he'd be out there on his knees, apologizing. Making it up to her.
But he is right. And he's sure enough to allow this to go on.
~~~SPN~~~
The day drags by for both of them. Still no words between them. There are longing glances when they think the other isn't looking. But no words.
When the house phone rings in the late afternoon, Sophia answers. It's Sam, checking in. He picks up on her mood almost instantly and demands to know what's going on.
Taking the phone outside, out of Dean's earshot, she spills her guts with some relief. Talking to Sam is comforting, although she generally tries to keep him out of her and Dean's personal spats.
While Sam wisely refuses to take sides on this one, he does give her a lot to think about, both on the subject of the argument and their relationship in general. And of course, he's an amazing source of insight into Dean's thoughts.
After her chat with Sam, she curls up on her bench near the pond. As she promised Sam, she gives considerable thought to her position. He had gently reminded her of her own stubbornness, which could be epic when faced with Dean's. And while she may be convinced she's right on this score, is it worth what's happening between them? Is it worth this endless silence? Is it worth being separated from him, even if only metaphorically?
Unable to sit still any longer, she decides to take a walk, again hoping for clarity from the stillness and solitude.
~~~SPN~~~
It's nearly dark when Sophia returns to the house. She swings open the kitchen door, only to be confronted almost immediately by a furious Dean.
"Where the hell have you been?"
She stops, eyes wide with surprise. He's in her face before she can take a breath to reply.
"I was worried sick," he bites. "Where the hell were you? You've been gone for hours!"
She frowns, feeling the frustration she'd mostly abated with her walk return with a vengeance. "I went for a walk," she says, trying to step around him. He steps with her. "Get out of my way," she hisses.
"You couldn't leave a note?" he asks, grabbing her arms, shaking her gently. "I found the phone outside on the bench, but you were gone." His voice lowers, roughens and she sees the worry in his eyes. "I thought..." He cuts off the rest with a grimace.
She drops her head. "Sorry. I didn't think of that."
With a rough curse, he pulls her into his arms, hugging her to him. She feels him tremble slightly.
She leans into him for a moment, allowing herself just a little bit of his warmth. Then she pulls away, keeping her eyes from his. "Excuse me," she mumbles. "I'm going to bed."
He releases her with clear reluctance. Obviously nothing's changed. They both have another sleepless night ahead.
~~~SPN~~~
In a replay of the previous night, they're arranged carefully on each side of the bed. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. It's a long time before a restless sleep finds them.
It's still dark when she awakens. Moonlight fills the room with a soft glow. Blinking, she realizes she's no longer perched on the edge of the bed, but rather she's tucked in Dean's arms. His leg is thrown over hers, his arm wrapped around her. Her cheek rests on his hand.
She almost laughs. Apparently their unconscious selves have something different to say about the sleeping arrangements. Tears well unexpectedly. Before she can stop them, they spill over her cheeks and drip down onto Dean's hand.
She feels him awaken. Waits as he processes the situation. She tries to rein in the offending tears, but it's impossible. Two days of silence and tension have worn her down. She doesn't resist when he turns her into his embrace.
She slips her arm around his waist, melting into him, tears flowing freely but silently. His hands stroke soothingly over her hair, her back, her arms as his voice croons softly in her ear.
When the tears are done, they both fall into an exhausted sleep, still wrapped in each others arms. There'll be time for words tomorrow.
~~~SPN~~~
The sun is high in the sky when she awakens the next time. The bedroom is full of light. Blinking her eyes to adjust, the events of last night come back to her. She knows she should move away, that nothing's changed, but there's truly no place on this earth she'd rather be than in his arms.
She knows he's awake as well when his arms tighten around her. He's apparently not any more interested in letting her go than she is in going.
His voice is rough with sleep and barely controlled emotion when he breaks the silence. "I don't want to fight with you anymore."
She nods. "Me either," she whispers against his chest.
He sweeps the hair back from her face, tilting it up to his. His eyes are dark green this morning. His gaze is tender and for a moment she thinks she's drowning. She's lost and she knows it. For some reason, she doesn't really mind.
She strokes his cheek, the stubble of his beard rasping under her palm. She drops her gaze to his mouth. Her lips part in anticipation. She wonders if she should ask for a kiss or just take it.
He makes the decision for her, kissing her softly. His tongue smooths over her bottom lip and she sighs. His hand slides over her jaw to tangle in her hair as his tongue explores her mouth. Slowly. Tenderly.
He loves kissing her. He loves the way she tastes, the feel of her lips against his. How she completely gives herself over to the kiss, holding nothing back.
He rolls her under him, pressing warm kisses over her face. His fingers tease under her sleep shirt wanting to feel her skin. "I hate it when we fight," he murmurs, kissing over her jaw.
She sighs softly, tipping her head to give him better access. "Me too." She strokes the back of his neck. "Maybe we need a new rule..."
His mouth slides back up to brush hers. "One that says we don't go days without kissing?"
She giggles breathlessly. "No, silly," she says, her voice muffled as he pulls the sleep shirt over her head. She moans quietly as their skin comes together.
His hands slide deliciously over her skin. Her hips, her waist, her ribs, the edges of her breasts. "What's the rule?" he asks, mouth on her throat. His tongue flicks over her pulse point, almost making her forget what she was saying.
"Mmmm," she purrs, arching into his warm hands, "no going to bed angry. And no not talking." Her hands slick over his arms, down his back.
"That's two rules," he mumbles. He slides down over her, kissing across her collarbone, her chest. His mouth closes over her nipple, sucking hotly.
"Ahhhh, Dean," she sighs. "Ok, two rules..."
He makes his way to her other breast, lavishing equal attention on it. "I love the way you taste," he murmurs against her flushed skin. "I love the feel of your skin on mine." His tongue draws a path down over her belly. "Is that the kind of talking you want to do?"
She moves restlessly beneath him. She rubs her leg on his, wanting to be closer, never able to get close enough. "Not exactly," she says with a moan. "But don't stop."
He chuckles, his hot breath on her hotter skin making her shiver. "Don't you have anything you want to say?" he asks, teasing her through the thin cotton of her panties.
She whimpers, her fingers tightening on the sheets as she lifts toward him. "I...I love the feel of your stubble on my thigh. It makes me want..."
He rubs his face against her inner thigh, growling lightly. "Mmmm, yeah..." he rasps. "What does it make you want, baby?"
The dark, sinful tone of his voice makes her shudder. Turns the heat within her up another hundred degrees.
He slowly drags her panties down and off before settling back between her thighs. His eyes rake a scorching path over her body as he waits for her answer.
She closes her eyes, trying to gather the thoughts his voice scattered. "Makes me want to feel your tongue...on me..." she whispers, flushing. She feels him kiss the inside of her thigh and shudders in anticipation.
"Open your eyes," he murmurs. "I want you to see..."
"Dean..." she whines, blushing again.
"Please..." he says. He kisses everywhere but where she wants. "I want you to see how much I love giving you pleasure." He pauses, his voice growing husky. "I want you to see how much I love you..."
Her eyes flutter open to meet his. Her breath catches at the desire she sees there. The love behind it disintegrates her.
Holding her gaze, he leans into her, tongue flicking against her center. She sucks in a gasp, but manages to keep her eyes on his.
His hands slip under her bottom, lifting her to him. Moving slow, he swipes a long stroke with his tongue, feels her shudder against him. He lets his eyes drift closed, focusing on pleasing her.
"Oh God," she whimpers, voice choked. Watching him is whole other kind of experience. Disconcerting. Intoxicating. Wanton. Arousing.
And the sounds he makes. If she quiets her own mews of pleasure, she can hear him. The way he purrs and hums.
She hitches one leg over his shoulder and feels him stroke her thigh. She's getting close, her hips rolling rhythmically. "Dean...please..." she moans.
"That's right, baby," he murmurs, mouth and tongue continuing their teasing, "come for me. Yes..."
With a hoarse cry, she arches off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets. As she floats back down, she feels him kiss her hip before he moves up over her.
He pushes the hair from her face gently. When she opens her eyes and smiles at him, he grins back. "You like to watch, don't you?" he teases, snickering as the blush creeps up her neck.
Eyes glittering, she pulls him down to her, kissing him soundly. "I like to watch you," she answers.
Pulling her leg around his waist, he slides inside her, eyes drifting closed as she tightens around him. "Oh yeah?" he mutters breathlessly, rocking against her, eyes seeking hers.
Another devilish twinkle. "Maybe we need some more rules..."