Author's Note:
Found this and a few others in my files and decided to post them. I'm considering reviving this series.
Stitches - Orgy
He sat alone in the mostly vacant dive bar that he selected as his haunt for the time being. There was something liberating about his lack of responsibility. For as long as he could remember, he had been the caretaker, or the man in charge, or the hero. His life had been a massive blur of fighting and surviving and killing. Now, things have changed. Dean Winchester didn't do anything unless he wanted to.
Waking up as a demon should have been a shock to him, as it would have been to any sane person, but that wasn't the case. He had welcomed that darkness with open arms, grateful for the escape from his life as a hunter. He had slipped out of the bunker without a sound, no thought toward his brother or the life he was leaving behind. He just walked away.
In the months since his transformation, his most daunting task was sateing the ever-present blood lust from the Mark of Cain. He had lost track of the body-count, but he knew it could be worse. He had an unexplainable aversion to killing humans. It's not that he couldn't, he just didn't want to. He attributed that little fact to the old family motto of 'saving people and hunting things'.
Demons though, those he could kill. And, being the new knight of hell, they weren't in short supply. Of course, Crowley had come around a few times as well. Propositions for teaming up, or enlisting the hunter-turned-demon's help with some trivial squabble, was always the king's first thought. But, after numerous half-hearted death threats, the King of Hell had left well enough alone.
Of course, his lust for blood hadn't been the only thing Dean Winchester had been busy satisfying. There was a second body count that he had a much easier time keeping tabs on. Women were a subject that he never struggled with. The only down-side was that, as a human, he always felt obligated to care for them in some way. Now though, he felt nothing except the temporary release he sought from their flesh.
And that's how the new-and-improved Dean Winchester spent his time. He bounced from city to city, bar to bar, killing any demons that dared to get close enough to him and bedding any female that caught his eye. He would hang around until his boredom got the best of him, then he'd relocate to greener pastures. He never stayed anywhere too long. Old habits die hard.
He noticed her as soon as she swung open the door to the old bar. She was a pretty little thing, no older than twenty-five if he had to guess. Her ashen hair hung to her waist. She was much smaller than him, almost frail looking. He smirked to himself, dark eyes following her as he took another sip of the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
The baggy layers of her shirt hid her figure from his attentive gaze. His eyes traveled lower, taking in her long legs, wrapped snugly in black cotton. He suppressed a grin at the heavy combat boots on her feet. Wannabe badass. He watched her closely as she took a seat at the bar, ordering a beer.
His mind wandered, considering all the devious things he could do to her. His most prevalent thought was those long legs wrapped tightly around his waist. This one, he would take his time with. After watching her a moment longer, he snatched his bottle and glass from the table and soundlessly made his approach.
"I would offer to buy you a drink, but I see you beat me to it."
"Kat. If you hang around, I just might let you get the second round."
As introductions were exchanged, he noted that she didn't appear to be wary of him. Taking her extended hand, her cool fingers were fragile against his overheated palm. Her eyes were almost as black as his own, should he decide to reveal his true nature. He allowed a small grin, that he hoped didn't appear threatening, slide across his smooth features as he took a seat next to her.
"Well Kat, I'm Dean. I don't have anything better to do, so I may as well take you up on that."
As time dragged on, he tuned out most of their conversations, only acknowledging her with practiced lines and questions. His mind was too busy concocting all manner of immoral things he could do to her petite body. As she spoke, he could only imagine her full lips wrapped around his thick cock. As she sipped her beer, he envisioned his large hands squeezing her throat. When she turned her back to him to reach into her bag, all he could see was himself slamming into her from behind.
Of course, if he was being honest with himself, he could feel the scratching of his humanity in the back of his mind. Small whispers of his former self-expressing interest in something other than her flesh. That part of him noticed the Motörhead t-shirt she wore underneath the heavy flannel. That was the part of him that perked up as she spoke to him about music. He knew, deep down, that his human-self would have liked her.
He was pulled from his musings sooner than he would have liked by her standing gracefully from her barstool. She reached into her bag once more, a dainty hand placing a wad of cash on the bar. This wasn't the turn of events he was hoping for.
"Leaving already? We were just starting to have fun."
"Gotta hit the road early in the morning. My family is expecting me home."
She turned away from him then, heading toward the exit. He wasn't letting her get away that easily. Grateful for his forethought, he pulled out the phone he pick-pocketed from her. Standing to follow, he added his own number to her contacts. He made his approach just as she was opening the door to some high-end SUV.
"Left this at the bar. I took the liberty of adding my number. Just in case."
He flashed her a wink to emphasize his meaning. Her soft laugh reached his ears, and he once again felt that small scratch of his human-self. Standing next to her now, he realized just how small she was. The top of her head barely reached his chin, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes.
"Thanks. I swear I would lose my head…but adding your number will do you no good. A gentleman always makes the first call."
He smirked at her once more. Whether she knew it or not, he wasn't letting her get away. In a smooth motion, he pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it into her hand. He admired the soft smile that graced her full lips as her fingers quickly entered a number into the device. His grin widened. It was the invitation he didn't realize that he had been waiting for.
With a quick goodbye, he let her go. Of course, he hadn't lost this game just yet. He appeared to casually make his way back to the bar as she pulled out of the parking lot. Once he was sure that he wouldn't be noticed, he hopped into his stolen car and stealthy tailed her back to her motel.
Pulling into the lot, he couldn't help the flash of confusion as he watched her exit her vehicle and enter a dingy looking door. He took a moment to puzzle over why a girl driving some yuppie car would be staying at a dump like this. A flicker of a memory of his old life spent in hotels identical to this one crossed his mind. He should have felt something, but he didn't.
Waiting a few more minutes, he watched the room closely. No one else appeared. He strolled across the lot casually, like he was supposed to be there. He paused at her door, leaning against the old frame as he knocked quietly. He only had to wait a moment before she opened the door.
"Dean… Hi. What can I do for you?"
"Honestly, I was surprised to see your car once I got back to my room. I didn't picture you staying somewhere like this and wanted to make sure you got back alright."
"Yea, fine. Thank you. Look, uh… do you want to come in and have a drink?"
She smiled sweetly as she stepped back from the entry to allow him into the small room. He grinned at his victory. Apparently, all she needed was a little push in the right direction. His mind raced a mile a minute as he, once again, considered all the dirty things he could do to her. He wanted to see her beg. He wanted to see her sweet face contorted with blissful agony as he had his way with her.
As he entered the room fully, a tugging on his senses halted his train of thought. As the sensation intensified, he realized he couldn't move any farther. He felt like he had run into an imaginary wall. A vicious snarl ripped from his chest and his eyes flashed to their demonic black.
"Hunter! You're a hunter? Do you know what I am… who I am?"
"I know exactly who and what you are, Dean Winchester. Now, excuse me for a moment, I have to make a call."
A cool rage brewed inside as he realized exactly what was happening. She gracefully stepped around him, slipping out the door. He stood still in the empty room, his gaze wandering up to the black devil's trap painted on the white ceiling. Outside, he could hear one side of her muffled conversation.
"I have your brother, Dean. I believe it would be in everyone's best interest if I returned him to you immediately."
He winced slightly. The one person he had tried to banish from his thoughts raced to the forefront of his mind. So, she was somehow connected to his brother. That was a turn of events that he hadn't been expecting. He strained his sensitive hearing to understand as much of her conversation as possible.
"He's fine. I believe you've been in contact with my grandfather. I was only supposed to trail him, but things have changed."
As she rattled off coordinates to their location, he tuned out the conversation. For some reason, he didn't really want to ponder, his anger was subsiding. He took a seat on the floor, lounging back, grateful that the trap was large enough that it gave him some range of movement. It was at that moment that she re-entered the room. She ignored him completely as she climbed back into bed. He smirked to himself at her casual attitude, like it was a daily occurrence to have a knight of hell trapped at the foot of her bed.
"So, you're just going to leave me here?"
Again, her soft laugh echoed in his ears. He peeked an eye open at the rustling of sheets and the squeak of the old bed frame. He looked up at her as she peered over the end of the bed at him.
"Really, Dean? What? You think I'm just going to let you out of your trap to crawl into bed with me? I might be blonde, but I'm not stupid. You'll kill me and take off the moment I let you out."
She had him there. He might not kill her, even in their current situation, but he was sure that she would not consent to what he did have in mind. At that thought, the predatory grin spread across his face once more. Before he had time to say anything else, a soft pillow was thrown haphazardly in his direction. With a soft grunt, he took the offering and settled back on the floor, closing his eyes once more.
He lay in silence for a while, simply listening to her breathing. As the soft sound evened out, he could tell that she was asleep. Without making a sound, he rose to his feet. The light from the parking lot filtered through the crack in the curtains to slightly illuminate the darkened room. His eyes roamed her body, partially hidden beneath the thin sheet.
She lay on her stomach, her long hair spread across her back. Seeming to subconsciously feel his eyes on her, she turned fitfully. Now on her back, he could see her face completely. His hungry eyes raked over her features, his thoughts drifting back to the bar. She certainly was a specimen that he would have been drawn to immediately, had he been human. Lingering a bit longer on her delicate features, his eyes soon traveled down the long column of her throat. Again, he envisioned his hands wrapped tightly around it, but this time, his teeth were nipping against her jaw.
He could see it as if he were watching a film. He would have her beneath him, her dark eyes staring up at him. He would kiss her with bruising force, rolling her full lips between his teeth. He imagined what her whimpers and moans would sound like as he began his assault on her. Of course, in his twisted fantasy, she would be a willing participant in said assault.
He saw himself scraping his teeth across her jaw to bite her ear. She would arch up to him, silently begging for more. He would trail his lips over her throat, leading down to her chest. He would rip the cut-off tank-top from her, revealing her breasts that he knew would be bare. He would attach himself to them then, licking, nipping, sucking, and massaging his way across her flesh.
His dark eyes fixated on her chest as she squirmed restlessly. Even in the dim light, he could see the outline of her breasts underneath the thin shirt. A calloused hand rubbed firmly over the growing bulge in his jeans. He growled softly as she rustled the sheets, revealing a long leg to his hungry gaze. His eyes eagerly took in the exposed appendage, imaging it and its twin bare and wrapped firmly around his head as he devoured her.
With a quick flex of his fingers, his jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped. With practiced ease, he pulled his hard cock from the confines of his underwear to firmly stroke himself as he watched her. He imagined himself on top of her once more. This time, he was pounding into her wet heat as he gripped her hips with one hand and one of her breasts with the other.
He stroked himself faster as he pictured her above him. Her face would be contorted with pleasure as she rode him, grinding herself down on his length. He tightened his grip, twisting his wrist as he stroked over the head of his cock. He could almost hear the way she would call out to him as she approached her peak. He grunted softly at the images that flashed before him.
He would finish her from behind, gripping her hips as he ruthlessly slammed into her. He imagined the way she would arch her back against him, pressing her ass into him with every thrust. He would pull her long hair, tugging her up against his chest as he continued his assault. His teeth would clamp onto her shoulder as he came. He could feel the tell-tale tingle at the base of his spine as he continued his work, his cum finally spilling over his own hand.
Unable to reach anything to clean himself up, he settled for wiping his mess on his jeans. He watched her again, completely unsatisfied by his solo actions. He wanted to feel her, taste her, but he knew there was no way she would allow him near her. With that thought in mind, he settled for watching her closely as she slept.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest or the occasional shifts of her arms and legs, but his view of her was slowly improving as the sun began to rise. He could see the shine of her hair where it stretched across her pillow and the light freckles across the bridge of her nose. All too soon, she bolted straight up in bed, her eyes meeting his.
Once again, she ignored him as she stretched lazily. He watched her carefully as she checked her phone and climbed from bed, making her way to the counter where her bag lay. He observed as she slid a flimsy slip of fabric over her long legs and under her shirt. She seemed more fascinating that morning than she had the previous night for some reason. Once again, she passed him just out of reach as she made her way to the door.
"Leaving me again?"
He refused to acknowledge her now. He didn't even know why he had opened his mouth. He sat pensively waiting for her to say anything. No response. He heard the squeak of the door as she exited the room and he released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Now, he was agitated. He had already made the mistake of underestimating her, and look where that got him. He wouldn't let his desires get the better of him, so he decided to do the only thing he could. He would ignore her.
Even after she reentered the room, the tense silence stretched on for hours. He was restless, and it didn't help that the thoughts that raced around his mind centered around her naked body in some form or fashion. He couldn't look at her without wanting to reach out and touch her. Suddenly, pounding on the door ripped him from his internal battle. She leapt gracefully to answer the door, pulling it open to reveal his brother. Before either could react, he spoke up, eager to ease some of his own tension.
"Little brother, so nice that you're here to rescue me."
Without a word, his captor pushed his brother outside the room and followed behind him. He knew why Sam was there, but he had no idea what they planned to do to him. His silent rage was slowly building back up, displacing the lust he had been feeling. He listened closely to see if he could discern their plan, but he came up short. All too soon, the door swung open once more, revealing Sam standing alone.
"Ever think you'd be saving me from a pretty little thing like that?"
Sam let the question hang over them. Dean watched his brother carefully, unsure how to read him anymore. From nowhere, Sam produced a small pistol, leveling it with Dean's shoulder. With a muttered apology, he pulled the trigger. Dean barely felt the pain of the bullet. All he could focus on was the sudden sensation of being absolutely trapped. As he struggled to center himself, he felt Sam snap shackles to his wrists, fully restraining him.
After breaking the devil's trap, Sam hefted his bleeding demon of a brother over his shoulder to carry him out of the room. As Sam shifted to toss him in the trunk, Dean managed to catch a glimpse of the girl who had bested him. She looked at him almost apologetically, giving him a small nod before he was locked in. Soon after, the Impala roared to life and he was moving. He couldn't help the way his mind wandered back to the strange huntress.
As he thought more about the sweet little thing he'd never have, he paused. He remembered the fiery look in her eyes when he first revealed himself to her. He knew somewhere, deep down, that she wouldn't really be the sweet little thing he imagined. He knew that if he had played with that fire, she would have been the death of him. Maybe not literally as he was sure that he could snap her fragile neck with a flick of his wrist. No, she would have stitched up some part of him that he didn't know could be fixed.
And, in the dark, cramped space of the trunk, he could admit it to himself. The one thing he regretted most about meeting the strange huntress was that he didn't get the chance to hear her screaming his name. He was sick, and he was twisted, and he knew that he'd never be the same.
