Another night, another motel. The brothers had come to a decision that it would be easier to keep an eye on Tiffany if they all shared one room. They were really paranoid about her trying to run off.
Sam was taking the stitches out of Dean's back. It was agreed that he shouldn't be fully healed already, but he was, and nobody wanted to talk about why. The boys were hunched over a table by the window, because it had the best light. It was obvious they were used to playing nurse.
Tiffany wondered about sleeping arrangements. Since there were three of them and only two beds, would the guys be sharing? They were brothers, after all; only very large brothers to share such an average-sized bed.
When it finally dawned on her, she felt silly. "I'll sleep on the couch," she told Dean. He was headed to the bathroom after gathering a change of clothes.
"No, you won't," he looked insulted. "I take the couch. Lady gets the bed."
What a relief. "Thanks. Very chivalrous of you." Dean gave a bow before shutting himself in the bathroom. He had called dibs on first shower. To be fair, he hadn't washed up properly since before Black Forest and that whole mess. Sam sprawled out across the bed nearest the door, fully dressed but for his shoes.
Tiffany sat on the empty bed, her bed, and pulled off her shoes and socks. Her mind was exhausted, but her limbs were restless. She looked over at Sam, then grinned. He was already out cold.
She heard the spray of water from the bathroom as Dean turned on the shower. The memory sprang to mind of Dean in nothing but his boxer briefs, just before she stitched him up. He was muscular, but not like the men who lift weights at the gym because they want to look good. Dean was tightly drawn from his shoulders to his calves, like someone who never in his life had the luxury of not being in shape. At the time she'd been too focused on his injuries, and the work at hand, but the memory was hers to keep. Save it for a rainy day.
Hopping off the bed, she walked to the window. The sun was low, and the temperature outside was perfect. She could slip out for a quick walk, maybe even get back before she was noticed missing. On second thought, she scribbled a few words on motel stationery and left it in the center of her bed.
She found a walking trail just behind the motel, a dirt path leading away from the road. The fresh evening air was refreshing. She walked for five minutes before noticing she had forgotten her shoes. No matter, the ground was smooth and warm under her feet.
Tiffany had always found nature to be soothing, but now the effect seemed much more powerful. She heard cicadas, and further away, rushing water. All the worries that had been scratching at her mind were quiet now. She followed the winding path through tall grass.
"Tiffany..." Dean's voice made her jump. "What's going on?" She heard the concern in his voice, but she found herself annoyed. She knew he would make her go back indoors. "Tiff, come on!" It had been so peaceful, how dare he barge in like this? She took off at a sprint.
She heard him swear, then give chase. She didn't dare glance back. She could hear the steady huff of his breathing; he was gaining on her. She veered off the path. Dean was at a disadvantage here, the soft ground sucking at his boots. Tiffany's bare feet darted over the grass.
She only lost her lead when the ground began to slope downhill. The traction on his shoes allowed him to close the gap between them. She pushed herself into a dead run.
He tackled her; in one smooth motion he dove, wrapping his arms around her, heaving his weight to one side so when they landed he took most of the impact. They tumbled into the soft grass.
Catching her breath, Tiffany rolled to her hands and knees. "Son of a bitch," Dean panted. He scrambled after her. He managed to catch hold of her by the leg, and she let out a surprised grunt as she lost her balance. Dean climbed up over her. He twisted her elbow, pinning her arm against her back. "Are you done?" he asked gruffly. She struggled under him. Gripping her shoulder, he forced her over onto her back. Now he was straddling her waist. "Tiffany?" She was still searching for an escape. He gripped the back of her head, forcing her to look at him. "Please, it's me!"
She blinked, and confusion came across her face. "Dean?" she whispered.
He moved off of her and sat down in the grass. Tiffany stayed on her back for a moment. She couldn't remember why she had fled from him. Judging by the way he was staring at her, he was wondering the same thing.
She rolled over and pushed up to her feet. "I just needed some air. I'm sorry."
He frowned, not buying her explanation. Tiffany turned and went back the way they came, following their path of bent and trampled grass. When she got back to the trail, she stopped. "This way," said Dean, cutting around her. They turned away from the motel and continued on the path. Neither spoke.
Suddenly they were at a clearing. "Wow." Tiffany couldn't help it, the scene was inspiring. The sun hung low over the river. Large birds stood in the water and in the tall grass. Several picnic tables were placed around the edges of the open space. This was a man-made site, but everyone must have cleared out for the day.
She spotted a water pump and headed that direction. Her throat was dry after all the running. She tried raising and lowering the handle a few times, but all she got was a hollow creaking sound. "Must be broken," she said.
"You have to prime it," Dean offered. She held up her hands as he stepped in. He cranked the pump handle fast several times, then held it in the upward position. Clear water rushed out. Tiffany ducked her head and leaned her mouth into the stream of water. She could feel his eyes on her. After she drank, she rinsed the dirt off her feet. Then she wandered across the grass while Dean took a long drink.
The sky was showing hints of purple and orange. She hoisted herself up on a picnic table, dangling her legs off the edge. Dean came to stand beside her. They both gazed out over the water.
"Something's wrong with me," Tiffany said. He was silent. She wanted him to deny it, tell her it was nothing. His lack of response only made her feel worse. "Dean, I'm scared."
That got him. "Hey, you'll be alright," he said gently. He placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to comfort her, but his eyes betrayed him. "We're going to figure this out. Sam and Bobby are smart. We'll find a way to fix it. Promise."
"What if we can't?"
He stooped down to meet her eyes. "You listen to me." His hands cupped her face protectively. "I will protect you." He searched her face, wanting to ease the hurt. His gaze fell to her mouth. He tipped his head, eyes half shut as he brought his lips to hers. She closed her eyes. The kiss was soft, hesitant, much gentler than she expected. She curled her fingers in his shirt as his lips brushed across hers. She wanted more.
"Dean," she exhaled. He pulled back, his eyes troubled. Tiffany had an alarming thought; this might be the last time she'd ever be alone with him. Whatever was happening to her, there was a chance she wouldn't come out of it. Tomorrow they would be at Bobby's, and Sam was waiting back at the motel room. She made a decision. "Dean, do you want me?"
"Oh God, do I." Their mouths collided. He kissed her aggressively, making her shiver. His tongue brushed over hers. This was the kiss she'd been craving. His fingers tangled in her hair and he tipped his head to kiss her harder. Ragged breathing filled her ears.
As they kissed, his hands moved skillfully over her; one hand was under the back of her shirt, the other now wrapped around her thigh. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him closer until his thighs bumped the edge of the table. The heat from his body radiated through their clothes. Even through the denim, she could feel him pressing into her, hard and straining.
There were too many layers between them. She tugged his flannel shirt back over his shoulders, grateful he hadn't taken time to button it. He stepped back to pull it off his arms and toss it aside, then he stripped off his t-shirt as well.
He brought his lips to her throat and began to work his way down, sucking gently over her neck, licking under the fabric of her shirt. He paused with his chin between her breasts. His fingers tugged at the waist of her pants. She dropped back to her elbows on the table, allowing him to pull everything over her hips, down her legs, and off. The rush of cool air brought goosebumps to her skin.
Dean knelt before her, and the air caught in her throat. His lips trailed up her thigh, his stubble rubbing over her tender skin. Then his mouth reached her. She arched her body toward the contact, letting her head fall back. She heard herself pleading, praising his ability.
Tiffany realized she would not last much longer. She reached for him. "Dean," she panted, "wait!" He met her, apprehension on his face. "I don't want to be done yet," she smiled. Relief and gratification washed over him. He kissed her again, thoroughly. She could taste herself on his chin.
His nimble fingers worked the buttons on her shirt. She pushed her hand down the back of his jeans; he truly was firm all over. She opened his fly. Dean gave a pained gasp when her fingers brushed against him through the fabric. Easing back, he slipped a hand inside his briefs and pulled himself free. Tiffany took a peek... nice. His eyes squeezed shut as she curved her fingers around him.
"Hang on," he said shortly, catching her wrist. The want in his eyes made her stomach twist. He dug his wallet out of his pocket and fished through it. Then he triumphantly held up a little foil packet. Tiffany laughed. His eyes strayed to their surroundings, then back to her. "Come here," he said, scooping her up off the picnic table.
He lowered them both to the ground, then pushed the hair back from her face with his fingertips. His eyes swept up her body. Those damn green eyes. "Is this... are you ready?"
"Absolutely." Her heart was in her throat as he unwrapped the condom and expertly rolled it on. She put a hand against his chest. "Me first."
Dean reclined on the grass. He shoved his pants down his thighs as she climbed on top of him. She guided him into position with her hand, and his gaze fell to watch. He licked his lips. As she slid down onto him, he exhaled in a loud hiss, baring his teeth.
She rolled her hips, bringing low moans from his throat. His hands were everywhere.
Her hair trailed across his skin as she bent forward, playing her mouth over his chest, his neck. Occasionally his fingers would tighten on her. His body quivered. She pressed her tongue to the underside of his chin. "Tiffany," he growled. "Hold up." His back strained. "Tiff!" She continued to sway against him.
He twisted off the ground and rolled them both over. Tiffany gasped at the loss of contact. "Come here," she sighed. His body loomed above her as he shrugged his pants down past his knees. She desperately raised her hips up off the ground. He planted his forearms on either side of her head, then gently nudged into her and began to move.
Dean was all muscle and skill. His body swung in smooth rhythm like a piston. Before long she was gasping at every forge of his hips.
Soon his breathing became more erratic, he began to lose pace. They were both damp with sweat. He started to pull away. "Dean, please," she begged, wrapping her legs around him. He swallowed hard.
Tiffany clutched at him, digging her nails into his biceps, her back arching. He slowed his movements until she was whimpering beneath him. His body trembled as he tried to hold on. When she let out a high pitched cry and her hips thrashed against him, he threw his head back as a primitive sound escaped his lungs. He was done for.
For a while they stayed together on the grass, catching their breath. It was dark now, they had missed the sunset. Oh well. Tiffany's sweat-dampened body was quickly growing cool. She ran her fingers over Dean's hair. He placed a dry kiss on her forehead, then rolled to his back and hitched up his pants.
She pulled her shirt up over her shoulders and started on the buttons. He made a quick stop by the trash can, then began to gather their clothes. "Heads up," he said, tossing over her pants.
With all their clothes back in place, they stood looking at each other for a long moment. She wanted to say a thousand different things, but nothing quite fit. A mix of emotions crossed his face, too quickly for her to catch them all. "We should get back," he finally said, but made no move to go. His eyes crinkled in a slight smile. "Til next time?"