A/N: For stephaniew...

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Adrenaline Rush

It was a whirlwind two and a half weeks. They hunted - fighting over research and who would take the lead. They made love - hot and passionate, a tangle of limbs as they each struggled to wrench control from the other. Warming each other's bodies and watching each other's backs. It was a new experience for both of them - not only hunting with someone that wasn't family but, more than that, having a lover that was one of their own kind.

After the ghouls came a coven of witches. But today's hunt was a water demon. A crash of lips, Dean's hand digging into Kait's sopping hair as he hauls her against his body, a shiver races up his spine and not because he's cold. Having someone - having another hunter - to burn away the adrenaline of a hunt thrills him. It's something he'd never thought about. Something he never knew he wanted.

The denim of her jacket slops to the floor of her motel room with a dull thud. His hands sneak beneath her soaked t-shirt, thumbs stroking up her abdomen as he pushes it upward. Teeth score her lower lip as his mouth curls upward in a playful smile. Voice a low growl, he hushes against her mouth, "Kait..."

She responds by peeling his t-shirt off. It's too intimate. It feels too right. She needs to escape his mouth. Force things to be slightly impersonal. Otherwise, she'll run. Things are just this side of messy. It wasn't supposed to get messy. That's why she's with him and not someone else.

She gasps as he forces the cup of her bra down and sucks a taut nipple into the heat of his mouth. Her hands attack his belt, dragging it from the loops and dropping it before tugging at his pants.

Dean's eyes slam shut and he moans as Kait's lips drift over his chest. It burns like a good shot of whiskey, making his chest ache and his fingers tingle for the next round. He swallows as she draws his jeans down, her breath flirting with his swollen arousal before she slinks her way back up his body with a throaty chuckle.

"Really, Dean?" she teases, "Commando?"

Slowly stripping off her own pants, carefully bending to expose herself to his view and further distract him, she leaves him trapped in his bunched up jeans and boots. Flopping on the bed, she bites her lip and wiggles until she's reclined against the pillows.

Dean watches the flex of her curves, his hand unconsciously wrapping around his length and tugging roughly. "Gotta watch laughing, sweetheart. A man might get the wrong idea."

Parting her thighs, Kait strokes her fingers along her naked skin. With a saucy grin, she tells him, "I'm sure I could put you back in the right mood pretty quick..."

He toes out of his boots and finishes stripping off his wet jeans, leaving them in a soggy heap on the cheap carpeting. His body throbbing with need, his instinct is to jump on top of her and sate both their needs. But he waits, staring even as she moans when her digits dance across her heat.

"You just wanna watch?" she provokes. With a mock pout, she adds, "I was hoping for a little help here..."

That does it. It pushes him over the edge. Playtime is over.

Diving in, Dean devours her. Tongue searching, hands wandering. He can't get enough. Knows he'll never get enough of this. Of her. What he thought he felt for Cassie Robinson was nothing in comparison to what he feels in this moment.

Kait senses the change in him. His rough hands are featherlight in their ministrations. She doesn't want the slow heat he's building. She wants release - hot, heavy release. The kind that builds quickly in your belly and rips through your extremities, leaving you lightheaded and weightless. They're good at it. He's good at it.

Changing the game, she turns her back to him and wraps her hands around the spindles of the headboard. She grinds her hips back into his and feels the bite of his fingers digging into her flesh. She's sure she's won when he glides into her with a sure stroke.

Though his lower body gives her what she wants - fast, deep strokes - his mouth drifts lazily on her throat as his hands cup her breasts. The headboard slams into the wall in time with the heft of her breathing.

"Come on, Dean," she challenges, trying to hold back. Her body rebels and she gulps back a scream. The contrast of his powerful thrusts with the relaxed way her works her neck and teases her nipples threatens to be her undoing. "Let go."

He smirks. Knows he's the best kind of bad. The kind that doesn't leave a woman hanging. He's only done it once - 9th grade, Amanda Peterman, and only because he didn't know better - and he sure as hell won't do it to Kait. "No," he says, suckling softly on her earlobe and slowing the pace of his hips. "You first."

Kait knows he's a stubborn ass. Knows she'll have to cheat herself of a real thrill to make a clean break. Suddenly, she's beneath him. Their hands twined together, he forces her to arch against him as he assaults her mouth.

The words are on the tip of her tongue. She sees her feelings mirrored in the swirling, emerald depths of his eyes and panics. It can't be. It's not real. I'm seeing what I want to see.

"Look at me," he growls sensually. "I wanna see you when you come."

A tear escapes and slides down her cheek, his tongue quickly lapping up the salty trail it leaves behind before he drops a kiss to each of her eyelids. "Can't," she murmurs breathlessly, tossing her head against the pillow case. "Too much..."

Dean swivels slightly, angling her - anchoring her - beneath him. "What is, Kait?" he asks, teasing her with measured movements. "This?" He nibbles her ear before mapping his way to her clavicle and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Sliding deeply - sinking himself fully within the inferno of her body - he gives her everything. Tone husky with lust, he asks, "Or this?"

"Oh, God..." she keens as he continues, hips moving rapidly. "Dean!"

She shatters. Biting the inside of her cheek, she holds back the words and keeps him from knowing the truth. Tasting the iron of her own blood, she hides the part of her self she gave him that first night.

It's over.

She's done for.

Without meaning to, she's fallen in love.