A/N: ****Okay as promised, the 18+ version of this chapter
The chapter title is a Led Zeppelin song from Led Zeppelin I (1969).
Thanks to my beta reader isugirl!
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"So, what's the lead?" Dean asked as he rifled through the Impala's trunk, pausing to pass a pistol and extra clip to his brother.
"Lead?" Buffy asked in a puzzled voice.
"Yeah," Dean replied, tucking his pistol back in his waistband before turning to face her. "If we're hunting vamps, don't we need a lead? Mysterious deaths? Freaky accounts of people being attacked by their own barbeque forks? A general idea of where the hell we're going?"
The Slayers exchanged glances and Faith barked a laugh. "You've obviously never hunted on a Hellmouth before champ," she said sarcastically.
Buffy met the hunter's irritated gaze and linked her arm through his attempting to smooth over Faith's harsh approach. "I was thinking we'd take a walk around the block," she said, smiling up at him.
"Nice try, beautiful," Dean nodded, "but your sweet and innocent act ain't gonna cut it this time. I know a snipe hunt when I see one."
Sam nodded as well, clearly backing his brother's play.
"We don't have snipe demons," Buffy replied with a crinkled brow. "At least I don't think we do… Faith?"
Faith snorted. "There's no such thing as a snipe, B. Your boy here thinks we're yankin' his chain. Ya know – sending 'em on a wild goose chase?"
"We're really not," she promised. "No geese… cross my heart."
Dean cocked his head and looked down at Buffy with a smug smirk on his features; he didn't appear at all convinced. "So you expect us to believe that we can just take a random stroll around the block and run into some fangs? I know there are more of them these days, but not that many more."
"Vampires are like the cockroaches of the Hellmouth," Buffy explained. "You can't flip on a light switch without them scurrying everywhere. Things are really different here. You'll just have to trust me."
"Okay," he replied, obviously still doubtful, "Vamp hunt it is." He then pulled two large machetes out of the trunk and handed one to Sam. "You ladies set for weapons?" he asked.
"I've got Mr. Pointy," Buffy said, holding up a stake she'd pulled out of her purse. "What about you, Faith?"
"Nah, I don't exactly have anywhere to keep one," she said, holding out her arms to emphasize the lack of hiding places on her tight leather outfit. "I'll improvise… unless you've got an extra in there?" she asked with a point to the Impala's trunk.
"Yeah right," Dean snorted as he shared an eye-roll with his brother. "I'm fresh out of stakes. Meant to pick some up last time I went on a garlic run, but Wal-Mart just can't keep 'em in stock."
"Fine by me," Faith stated, throwing up her hands in a 'so what' gesture. "Stakes just aren't macho enough for ya, huh? Guess you feel more comfortable with those giant phallic symbols you've got there," she remarked, pointing to the machetes the brothers were holding. "That's cool, whatever stokes your fire."
The Winchester's smiled at each other before turning their attention back to the women. "Fine," Dean said, speaking for the both of them, "We'll play along. We're always up for a good laugh." He raised his brow, his lips curving in a mischievous smirk. "Are you going hunting in that outfit?" he asked Buffy.
"I was planning on it," she replied. "I mean, it's not like this is the most slay-ee thing I own, but I thought it would be too much trouble to go home and change. Why? Do you think I should?"
"Oh God no," he replied quickly. "Please don't. If I'm going on a snipe hunt, I at least want to enjoy the view."
"Oh, you will," Buffy promised with a wink and a grin, pulling Dean along with her by the hand. It sounded like the Winchester brothers were in for a surprise. She couldn't wait to say a big fat 'I told you so'.
The four strolled around to the back of the club where Faith found a few wooden loading pallets. She smashed one with her boot and picked out a stake-sized splinter, which she began twirling in her hand. Sam watched with amusement, enjoying Faith's impressive display. These girls were really playing this con to the hilt.
They walked silently for about a minute, giving Dean a chance to enjoy the 'view'. There was no doubt it was a good one, but he was beginning to wonder just how much further they were going to push this little charade. He was starting to get a little anxious, because he had other plans for the night that didn't include Sam and Faith. Then he spotted a couple ducking into an alley a few yards ahead. The twenty-something blond girl was unsteady on her feet, most likely drunk off her ass. The guy she had with her, however, didn't appear to have the same issue and there was definitely something predatory about the way he was carrying himself. He was probably human, but Dean still thought it was best to make sure the girl was willingly going along with him. Just because the guy wasn't a monster, it didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.
"Looks like we have a winner," Buffy remarked cheerily beside him.
"You take this one," Faith offered. "I'll get the next."
The four followed the couple into the alleyway to see them apparently making out against the side of a building. Buffy walked up behind the two and casually pecked on the guy's shoulder. He turned with a savage growl, his full game-face illuminated by a nearby streetlamp.
"Eww," Buffy said, wrinkling her nose in disgust before switching her focus to the vamp's prey. "You are seriously wearing the beer goggles tonight," she remarked to the terrified girl.
The vampire roughly pushed the girl away and turned to fully face the Slayer. He lashed out with a sweeping kick, which Buffy simply jumped up to avoid. The moment she landed back on her feet, she quickly thrust her stake into the vamp's chest and then took a couple of steps backward to avoid the shower of dust.
"See," she said, beaming a gloating smile at Dean. "I told ya so."
He didn't reply, but instead rushed forward with his brother to check on the drunk girl. She appeared to be unharmed aside from a small bleeding graze on her neck where the creature had apparently attempted to bite her.
"Did you come from The Hanger?" Sam asked her.
She nodded mutely, too shocked for a verbal reply.
"Do you have friends in there?" Buffy asked, pressing for more information.
The girl nodded again, she was trembling violently, her eyes jumping back and forth between the men who were carrying what looked like huge knives. "I think that joint I smoked earlier had something else in it," she remarked, her voice shaking with panic. "I'm seeing things."
"I don't know about that, but I can assure you that you're not seeing things," Buffy stated, placing a comforting arm around the girl's shoulder and beginning to steer her back towards the club. "A little tip - don't let any strange guys take you outside… especially if their wardrobe is ten years out-of-date, and it wouldn't hurt to invest in a nice crucifix. They're more than just a fashion statement."
The Winchesters remained quiet during the short walk back to the club, where Buffy dropped the girl off at the entrance with a stern warning not to leave with anyone other than the people she'd arrived with.
"What the hell was that?" Dean asked after the girl had re-entered the bar.
"I was making sure she got back inside safely," Buffy replied, obviously confused by the question.
"Not that. I mean that freak you turned into dust back there."
Now both of the Slayers looked puzzled.
"You're kidding, right?" Faith asked with a half laugh.
"No," Sam began, "not kidding. That thing was a first for us."
"So, you two have never actually hunted a vampire before?" Buffy asked in disbelief.
"We've hunted plenty of vampires," Dean corrected her, "but that wasn't a vampire."
Buffy frowned. "Okay, confused now. Just what exactly do you think that was if it wasn't a vampire?"
Dean started laughing. This whole thing was obviously part of the con. Whatever Buffy had killed was apparently some sort of rare monster that only hung out on the Hellmouth. For some reason, she and Faith thought it was funny to pretend it was a vampire. This must be hazing for Hellmouth virgins.
"Good one," he said. "So, what was it really? Some sorta freaky Hellmouth demon? Me and Sam might be in unknown territory, but we sure as hell know you can't kill a real vampire with a wooden stake."
"Wait a minute," Faith said, a look of realization suddenly dawning on her face. "The vamps you guys are used to - can they go out in the sun?"
"Well, yeah, obviously," Sam answered. "There's no such thing as Dracula."
"Not anymore," Buffy agreed.
"Those are the vamps I went up against a few weeks ago!" Faith exclaimed. "According to Giles they're super freakin' rare. He didn't think they existed anymore, actually."
"Oh yeah," Buffy replied, "I heard you telling Xander about that. Weird."
Dean was still gazing at the two Slayers suspiciously. "So, you're telling me there's a type of vampire that can actually be killed with a wooden stake and is allergic to sunlight… all the standard B-movie crap."
Buffy nodded in an exaggerated manner. "Yep, I just staked one."
Dean shrugged. Clearly, these things were some sort of monster that got off on biting people. As far as he was concerned, the girls could call them whatever they felt like calling them. It didn't make much difference because, obviously, they deserved to get ganked.
"Will beheading do the trick?" he asked, holding up his machete.
"It's a time honored method," Buffy confirmed with a smile.
"Then, what the hell, let's see if we can find some more. I'd like to get a crack at one."
"That was the general idea," Faith agreed dryly.
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The Winchesters were standing back watching Buffy and Faith take on two creatures at once. So far, they'd come across a half-dozen more of these things. Buffy was right, they were definitely the cockroaches of the Hellmouth. Both of the brothers had gotten their chance to dust one and had fought with the two that the Slayers had ended up staking. These 'vampires' were uglier and stronger than the ones they were used to, but they'd both managed to get the job done with only a few minor cuts and bruises. Sam had a large knot coming up on his cheekbone and the skin above Dean's right eye had been split open. Unfortunately, Dean didn't get the pleasure of cutting off that particular bastard's head, because Buffy had quickly staked it after cursing it for trying to mess up his face. Sam had rolled his eyes at that one, remarking that his brother didn't need to be encouraged in his delusional dreams of becoming a male model.
While watching the scene in front of him, Dean couldn't think of words to express how hot Buffy looked fighting in that outfit. What made it even better was the fact that he was starting to feel very confident that he was going to get to help her out of it before the night was over. It was simply amazing how she managed to be so athletic in those high heel shoes. With all the jumping around, there were several times when he was convinced that she was on the verge of a major Janet Jackson-esque wardrobe malfunction. Part of him was hoping for it, but that new jealous part of him didn't want her displayed in front of Sam. It wasn't that he didn't trust his brother. Truth was, he still felt like a giant ass for the way he'd treated him the day before, but he was jealous, that much he had to admit. He didn't like the thought of any another man touching her or even seeing too much of her. It was a weird feeling since he'd never considered himself to be the jealous type. At the moment, he was hoping this fight would be over soon, because as much as he enjoyed a good hunt, he was more than ready to move things indoors for the rest of the evening.
The girls finished off the two remaining vamps almost simultaneously. Faith dusted off her hands and rolled her shoulders, making a cracking sound before strolling silkily over to where Sam was standing. She grabbed a handful of the front of his shirt in one fist and pulled him against her.
"I don't know about you two," she said, "but I think we're calling it a night."
"You think you can handle that Sam?" his brother asked in an amused tone.
Sam ignored his brother's teasing and kept his eyes focused on Faith, who seemed to be promising him all sorts of interesting things with her dark eyes.
"Where are you guys going?" Buffy asked as she watched Faith tugging Dean's brother along by the arm.
"I flew in this time, remember? My hotel's only a couple blocks from here," she replied, her tone clearly implying that the answer should have been obvious.
"Don't get too rough with him," Dean called after the retreating couple. "He's kinda delicate. Make sure she knows your safe-word Sammy."
"Bite me," his brother called back.
Faith laughed as she continued to lead Sam away. "Don't worry big bro," she replied. "I won't leave any visible bruises… not unless he asks me to."
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Somehow, Buffy finally managed to get her key to unlock the door to her apartment (well, technically, it was a townhouse, but she'd never been entirely clear on what the difference was and right now she didn't care). Both of them had trouble keeping their hands off of one another long enough for her to get the door open. The drive over had been filled with similar distractions. Buffy was very impressed with Dean's ability to kiss, grope, and drive simultaneously.
The pair almost fell through the front door, neither of them paying much attention to where they were walking. Buffy quickly pushed Dean down on the sofa, which was the nearest soft surface available. She straddled his hips and immediately began pushing his button-down shirt off his shoulders.
"You expecting company?" he asked her between kisses.
Buffy smiled and tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans. "No," she answered, as she nibbled on the base of his neck. "I'm my own roomie and you don't have to worry about Willow, because she wouldn't dare… not even if the entire world was on fire."
"Where's the bed?"
"It's all the way upstairs," she answered distractedly as she pulled off her blouse.
"All the way upstairs, huh?" Dean asked, admiring the sight of Buffy's lacy, black bra.
"Yeah," she said as she unhooked the bra and let it fall to the floor, "and you have to walk to the end of the hall once you get up there."
"We better get started then, it sounds like a freakin' hike," he teased.
Anxious as he was to get to the bedroom, Dean decided to take some time to savor this moment. She'd been killing him all night with that top she was wearing and now that it was all gone, he just had to sample the goods.
"I'm happy here," Buffy said breathlessly, running her hands through his hair, pressing him against her breasts. "We don't need a bed."
Dean stopped what he was doing and looked up. "Oh, we need a bed," he replied, gripping her around the waist, easily lifting her and setting her back on her feet.
"Says who?" she protested, hands on her hips.
"Says me," Dean smiled, draping her over his shoulder as he stood. He quickly headed for the steps, ignoring her empty threats. "Don't argue," he said, giving her a playful swat on the rear. "I've thought about this every single night for over two solid months. We're gonna need a bed. We can do the couch later."
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Soon, Buffy was reclining on the mattress, her hair falling loosely across the pillows, with nothing between the two of them but Dean's boxer shorts. She gasped as she felt his hand move down her body and between her legs, rubbing very gently at first, then slipping first one and then two fingers inside of her as he increased the friction. It wasn't long before she felt a burst of pleasure and her muscles began clenching around his fingers. She felt the wave beginning to subside when the deep, gravelly sound of his voice caused her to peak once more. She was almost convinced that he didn't even need to touch her, that it was enough to just listen to the sound of his voice encouraging her and telling her how beautiful she was. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his features unguarded, pupils dilated with desire.
"I want you inside of me," she half-whispered, reaching a hand behind his neck and drawing him closer to her.
He smiled a lazy, half-grin and kissed her. "Oh God baby, I will be," he promised thickly, "just as soon as you do that for me again… but this time, I want to taste you."
Buffy lost all sense of the world around her when she felt his mouth closing over her. Her entire being was focused on the moment and what Dean was doing to her. A part of her was vaguely aware that she had lost control of herself and had begun thrashing and moaning beneath him. This time the peak hit her even stronger than before and seemed to last indefinitely. When she finally felt herself returning to earth, she found him leaning over her, looking extremely satisfied with himself.
"How's it goin' up here?" he asked.
Buffy managed to force her lips into a semblance of a smile. She felt like her entire body had gone limp and the slightest movement seemed to take a great deal of effort. "My bones have melted," she replied. "I'm noodle-girl now."
"Noodle-girl, huh?" he asked, somehow managing to look even more pleased with himself.
"Yep, I'm completely useless," Buffy admitted as she lifted one of her arms in demonstration, allowing it to flop limply back onto the mattress.
"Oh please," he said. "You're supposed to be super-girl. You can't be finished yet."
She reached up and rubbed her fingers lightly across his cheekbone and through his hair. "I didn't say I was finished… I just said I was useless. You'll have to do all the work. Noodle-girl is not helpful," she added with a shake of her head.
"That's just disappointing," he replied with a grin as he kicked off his boxers. "I really expected you to have more stamina than that."
Buffy drew in a sharp breath when she felt him begin to slide into her. He did so slowly until he was fully within her and then held himself still, his breathing ragged against her throat. He remained that way for a few moments, as if silently willing himself to maintain control. Finally, his breathing became more even and he began to move above her. She quickly felt the tension begin to build inside of her once again and soon she was answering each thrust with one of her own.
She couldn't recall ever being so aware of the simple details that marked a man as mortal. Ordinary things like the sheen of sweat on his body, the pounding of his heart, and the sound of his breathing suddenly seemed highly erotic and almost painfully intimate. It was as if she'd never noticed these things before with a human lover. She felt an almost primal need to get even closer to him.
She gripped his hips tightly with her thigh muscles and switched their positions without allowing them to break contact. Grabbing onto the headboard with both hands she used the leverage to slam her body into his. When he reached between her legs to caress her with his thumb, she felt a burst of intense pleasure as she climaxed with him deep inside of her. After a long moment, she finally collapsed against his chest, struggling to catch her breath. He pressed kisses into her hair, mumbling things that were unintelligible to Buffy's fogged brain. She felt nearly hypnotized by the rumble of his chest as he spoke. She had once again lost all ability to be helpful. Dean didn't seem to mind though; he wrapped his arms around her and gently rolled her until she was beneath him again. After several hard thrusts, she felt him stiffen above her, his breath catching in his throat. He softly moaned her name as he finally allowed himself to let go.
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In the back of his mind, Dean was wondering why he was so comfortable. He sure as hell wasn't in a cheap motel bed and this wasn't Bobby's saggy old couch either. As he became more fully awake, he remembered where he was and opened his eyes to see the clock on the bedside table showing him that it was almost ten in the morning. He was pretty sure he'd slept for at least seven hours straight (a definite post-hell record), of course, he'd been absolutely exhausted. In fact, after round three he may have technically passed out, although he'd deny that until his dying day.
He rolled over to see Buffy still asleep beside him. She was lying on her side facing him, looking tiny and defenseless. He couldn't help but find it comically bizarre that she could easily snap his neck with the small, perfectly-manicured hand lying on the pillow beside her. This girl was going to be the death of him. He was either going to die in the sack of a massive cardiac implosion or he was going to worry himself to death (obviously, he preferred door number one). After seeing how crazy the Hellmouth really is, he knew that not a night would go by that he wouldn't be scared shitless, thinking something horrible was going to happen to her. According to all of the Slayer lore he'd read, she shouldn't even be alive now. If a Slayer made it past eighteen, it was almost a miracle, especially since it sounded like the Watcher's Council pretty much tried to kill off any that did manage to live that long. He wondered if she'd been through that twisted eighteenth-birthday ritual and if Mr. Giles, the man she seemed to trust so much, had played his role in it. The idea made him sick to his stomach.
He knew that Buffy would probably find his overprotective streak to be extremely annoying. That was too bad really, because there wasn't much of a chance he could do anything to stop himself. He figured that once a man got past thirty, he was pretty well set in his ways and worrying about people he cared about was one of his most deeply ingrained habits. He definitely cared about this girl, that much he was certain of. It was strange because he'd never felt exactly this way about any other woman and he wasn't really sure what to make of it. He'd loved Lisa and he still cared about her deeply. Without her, he probably would've never survived the past year. She'd taken him in when he was totally broken and he would always be grateful to her for that. However, he knew his feelings for Lisa had been completely tied up in grief and in his need for comfort and a sense of peace and normalcy. He'd never actually been happy when he was with her, not that it was her fault. He knew she had tried, but doubted there was anything she or anyone else could've done to make things better for him. All he could think about during that year with her was that his brother was in hell and he'd, once again, failed to protect him. In fact, he'd given Sam his blessing to throw himself into the pit.
With Buffy, however, he felt a sense of hope and just being beside her made him happy. He desperately wanted to believe that Sam was right about it being okay for him to want this, that he wasn't just bringing more danger into her already extremely dangerous life. The only thing he could imagine being worse than something happening to her, was the idea that he could end up being the cause for it. He and Sam knew way more people who were below ground than above it and that was an undisputable fact. It was also a fact that they had been to blame for more than a couple of those deaths. Ellen and Jo stood out foremost in his mind. Looking back, he couldn't remember ever doing anything more stupid than making that raid on Satan, unless it was taking those two along for the ride. That entire mess was just an epic fail and he should have known better. He just hoped that the blast killed them before the hellhounds could. He didn't know if being killed by a hellhound automatically damned you to hell, but it was a fear that had kept him awake at night. He was determined not to make the same mistakes where Buffy was concerned. If he was in trouble, no matter how desperate the situation seemed, he vowed to keep her out of it. That was the best he could do, because after last night, he didn't see himself having the strength of character to stay away from her.
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Buffy had the sense that she was being watched and as she came awake, she remembered that she wasn't alone. Still, she was almost afraid to open her eyes. She'd had some rather memorable experiences with 'the morning after' and she wasn't anxious to repeat any of them. Realizing that she couldn't lie there forever, pretending to sleep, she went ahead and took a cautious peek.
She found that Dean was indeed watching her and he appeared to have a concerned expression on his face, but when he saw that she was awake he smiled at her.
"So," she began, returning his smile shyly, "What is it that has you so fascinated? The smudgy raccoon eyes or the dead cat on my head?"
"Don't be stupid," he replied, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. "It's obviously the giant puddle of drool you've got goin' there. I think you may have broken a world record with that one."
"Yay," she said while self-consciously wiping the corner of her mouth, "that's attractive. I always suspected that deep-down you were highly romantic."
"Of course I am."
Buffy slid in closer to him and laid her head on his chest so that she could listen to the steady sound of his heart beating. That was her new second favorite sound, his voice being the first.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Definitely," he replied, but neither of them made a move to actually do anything about trying to obtain some.
After a few minutes of lying there, just enjoying the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, Buffy reached out and curiously traced the tattoo on his chest with her fingernail.
"What does this symbol mean?" she asked.
"It's an anti-possession charm," he replied, sounding a little alarmed at her ignorance. "I can't believe you don't have one."
"I'm afraid tattoos aren't really my thing."
"But you own a tattoo parlor," he teased.
"I had to give it up. Too many sexy, bearded Harley-men. I was having a hard time controlling myself."
"I bet. One of those beer-bellied bastards wouldn't last two minutes with you before they keeled over of a massive heart attack. Giving it up was probably the decent thing to do."
"I'm a humanitarian," Buffy agreed.
"Seriously though," he continued. "I'm really surprised you don't have any protection against demon possession. I woulda thought this place would be crawling with those douche bags."
"Well yeah, we do have more than our share of demons, but all of them have really disgusting puss-filled bodies of their own. They don't need to possess anyone."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, it's never really been an issue. There was this one time… but that was years ago, when I still lived in Sunnydale. Other than that, I think demon possession is probably the one and only problem the Hellmouth doesn't have."
"But I still think you should get a tattoo, just in case," he said, grabbing a handful of her ass and squeezing. "You could get it here, nobody would see it… almost nobody anyway."
"I'll think about it," she replied, not sounding very convincing. "Anyway, if I can ever manage to get up and make us a pot of coffee, what do you think we should do today?"
"Well, I guess I need to check-in on Sam - make sure he's still breathing air. Then food, cause I'm starving. After that, I think it'll be about time to go back to bed… or the couch, if you're still dyin' to go that route," he added with a grin.
Buffy frowned in disappointment. "Unfortunately, that may have to wait until later this evening. I have to work. I've been off for two nights already. I really need to run the patrol tonight."
"That's cool," Dean replied. "I'll go with you. I could go in for killing a few more fake vampires."
"What makes you so sure that my vampires are fake? Maybe the ones you're used to are actually the posers. Did you ever think of that?"
"No, not really," he replied smugly. "The way I see it, I'm older and I've been on the job longer. That makes me the expert."
She lifted her head to look at him. "You're really going to pull that card with me? You do realize that my more formal title is 'Vampire Slayer'. Obviously, that makes me the expert and you the guy who runs his mouth too much. You're unbelievable."
"You're not bad yourself," he teased, hugging her closer.
"We'll ask Giles then," she replied, ignoring his not-so-subtle sex reference.
"Please. What makes him the expert?"
"He's the head of the International Watcher's Council AND he's British, which makes everything he says sound much more official. There's a reason advertisers go for British spokespeople, they sound a whole lot smarter than we do. We must accept their authority on everything from laundry detergent to demon identification. Plus, he's older and he's been on the job way longer than you… So there."
"Yeah, well I can call my friend Bobby. He knows pretty much everything there is to know about demons. He's just as old, he's been on the job for years, AND he's a cranky old bastard. That tops British-guy any day."