A/N: Thank you to Moxie Steele and lilasskickersmom for the reviews, favorites, and follows ;-)
They finished their dinner in companionable silence and Dean cleared the dishes away. When he came back, he was carrying two dishes of strawberry ice cream.
"This needed to be liberated from your freezer," he said.
"Oh is that so," Hannah laughed, taking one of the dishes from him.
"It is," Dean replied, watching Hannah lick some of the soft pink treat off the spoon.
She caught him staring and questioned him. "What?"
"I forgot how beautiful you are."
His blunt answer caught Hannah off guard. "Oh."
She stared at her dish and quickly spooned another bite into her mouth. In an instant the couch shifted, her dish was gone, and Dean's lips were pressed against hers, his tongue seeking entrance. She yielded immediately, sighing into his kiss. This. This moment. It was all she'd been dreaming of for months. It was all she'd dreamt of, but been too afraid to actually hope for. Dean had come back for her. And he might not come back again. But he was here now, and in this moment he was hers.
Hannah tangled her hands into his hair, trying to pull him closer. She lifted herself into him, forgetting about her injury, and was rewarded with a stabbing pain in her thigh.
"OUCH! Fuck."
Dean immediately pulled back. "What? Are you ok?"
Hannah ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "Yeah, it's just my fucking leg."
Dean let out a pent-up sigh, then smiled softly. "Ok. We'll deal with it. Let's move this to your bed, so we have more room to work."
He grabbed Hannah's hand to help her off the couch, then picked her up under the legs and headed toward her bedroom.
"I can walk," she pointed out.
Dean stared down at her, exasperated, "Could you let it go, for one night?"
Hannah's face softened, "Yeah, ok. I'll try."
He kissed her forehead before laying her down gently on the bed. He looked her over, top to bottom, then shook his head. "This won't do. You're wearing way too many clothes."
Dean straddled her waist and slid his hands under her shirt, pulling the hem up, skirting his palms up her sides, fingers tickling sensitive skin as he went. Up and over her head, then off to the corner the shirt went. Fingers trailed back down her arms, tickling over collar bones and breasts. Dean's light blue eyes began to turn stormy and glaze over. Hannah watched quietly. Sometimes he went inside his own head during sex, lost in world of a lust, but he always took her with him, so she let him drift off, and moaned quietly as those talented fingers quickly rid her of her bra and began playing with her nipples. He rolled them, pinched them, licked them, caressed the soft globes that surrounded them as if they were priceless treasures. Then suddenly, he was back, blue eyes clear again. Dean leaned down to kiss Hannah, his tongue dancing with hers, then shifted his body lower to finish ridding her of the offending clothing.
Dean hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants, pulling them down slowly, trailing small kisses down her belly as he went. When he got just below her belly button, Dean looked up at Hannah with a raised eyebrow.
"Commando?"
Hannah shrugged. "It's too hot for that shit."
A devious grin spread across Dean's face. "Naughty girl." With that he pulled her pants the rest of the way off and threw them somewhere across the room. He knelt at the bottom of the bed, staring at her body, taking her in from head to toe, lust playing across his face, mixed with tenderness when he took in the angry knot on her thigh. He sat like that for what felt like ages, starting to get lost again, deciding what to do first.
"Stop." Hannah's quite voice pulled him out of his reverie.
"What?"
"Stop looking at me like that. It makes me uncomfortable. If I looked like a Diva it'd be fine, but I don't, so just fuck me already."
Most of the time Hannah was fine with her body, but this man was too perfect, an Adonis, and she couldn't bear for him to stare at her flaws. She needed him on top of her, inside her, where she knew he wouldn't be thinking about extra tummy padding or a stray batch of cellulite.
Dean continued to stare, but this time it was directly into her eyes. Well, now, this was even more uncomfortable, wasn't it? Hannah refused to look away though. Refused to give him the satisfaction. He was a stubborn bastard, but so was she. Slowly he crawled up her body, never breaking eye contact. He lowered himself down above her until his body was flush with hers, his weight supported by his arms, his lips right above hers, his eyes boring into her hers.
"Why," Dean began, "would I want to fuck a self-absorbed, conniving, been-around-the-block, spray-tanned, bleach-blonde, spackled, plastic Barbie, when I could fuck you?"
Hannah stared back, unsure what to say.
"Have you ever fucked a plastic Barbie, Hannah," Dean continued. "It's unpleasant."
The corners of his mouth began to turn up until finally his dimples showed. He nuzzled his face into her neck and whispered into her ear, "If you bring it up again, I might have to punish you."
With that he crushed him mouth to hers, done with pleasantries, done with teasing, ready to get down to business. Hannah wrapped her arms and legs around him, trying to get as close as possible to him. Instead of being met with glorious skin however, she was met with cotton and denim. With a frustrated groan she began tearing at his clothes, trying to get both his shirt and his jeans off at once. Dean laughed, batting her hands away.
"Impatient," he asked, as he pulled his shirt over his head.
Hannah glared at him as he got off the bed and began undoing his jeans. 5 minutes ago, she'd been fine, completely in control of herself. Now, she was ready to devour him, and she was more than willing to tear him to shreds in order to do it.
Dean saw the look in her eyes as he slid his pants and boxers down his legs, knew she was coming unglued. He smirked at her.
"Nuh-uh, Precious. You might as well relax. It's been 3 fucking months. 3 months to think about everything I was going to do to you, how I was going to do it, where I was going to do it. You're not ruining that for me just because you can't fucking control yourself."
Dean crawled on top of Hannah, careful not to hurt her injured leg, and quickly pinned her arms above her head. He leaned down and breathed in her scent, relishing having his woman underneath him again. He ran his tongue in a long line across her jaw line up to her ear, then whispered softly, "So lay back, relax, and fucking enjoy yourself. If I need to tie you down I will, but you know I prefer to have your scatchmarks."
He leaned up enough to look into Hannah's eyes, to see if she understood. He saw longing, desire, long-held pain. Leaning down, he kissed the tip of her nose, both her eyelids, both corners of her lips. "I'll give you what you need. I always do. Right?" The butterfly kisses continued across her face, down her neck, until she relented and nodded. Fighting would no good anyhow, Dean always got his way. And he was right, he always gave her what she needed.
