The drab motel room fell into silence, broken only by the deep, measured breathing of one brother and the restless shifting of the other. Abstract shadows danced now and again on the walls as the occasional car drove past.
Between one shadow dance and the next, a woman appeared and dropped soundlessly down on the bed next to the elder Winchester. Her fingers lightly stroked his cheek and trailed down his neck.
"My, oh my, you are a fine one. You'll do quite nicely."
The soft, breathy voice pulled Dean from sleep. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself staring at a gorgeous brunette. Her pearlescent complexion and topaz eyes contrasted nicely with her long, wavy hair that cascaded down her back. On some level her presence unsettled him, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
"Huh?" he muttered dazedly.
The woman placed a cool finger against Dean's suddenly chapped lips. He shifted uncomfortably; the room suddenly seemed to be 20 degrees hotter than it had been a few moments ago.
The brunette canted forward to whisper in his ear.
"You want me don't you," she purred, "You must want me. You need to want me. With every breath . . ."
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but before he managed to make a sound she turned her head so that her mouth hovered just over his.
"Shhh." She angled closer and inhaled as he exhaled. Long moments passed as she drank the very air passing across his lips.
A strange lethargy crept over Dean. His limbs grew heavy. When she pulled the sheet and blanket back, he did not—could not—move. He felt her hands slip under his shirt and explore his chest and shoulders.
"I don't . . . what are you . . ." his voice was no more than a whisper.
"Uh uh," she cooed, "no talking."
Dean stared into her eyes and the desire to speak faded away. Her hands felt impossibly, undeniably, good as they roamed over his upper body. He gasped when she dragged a long, pointed fingernail across his belly. A rare protest tumbled through his mind but remained unvoiced.
Again the brunette raked her fingernail across his stomach; this time harder, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She smiled and licked her lips.
Dean shuddered.
"I need more."
Without hesitation, her hands moved lower and slipped under the covers.
Dean wanted to call out, wanted to stop her—yet the words mysteriously refused to coalesce. The only sound he could make was a groan.
SN SN
TBC . . .