Dean's first thought was about her hair: it was short, but damn did it look good. Long hair could get caught or grabbed by something. She was a smart hunter. It was the color of crow feathers and was straight and even as a razor.
"You must be ze infamous Winchester duo," her voice sounded foreign but he couldn't place it. Maybe Swedish or Norwegian? it was low, sexy, and sharp as knives. She was lean, pale, and tall. The denim of her jeans was thick, but seemed to embrace her body like a second skin. She had a motorcycle that was equally heavy duty and incredibly attractive. Dean instinctually wondered how hard it would be to get the pants off.
"You must be Marya," He gave her another once over, he face screamed 'ice queen' to Dean, he winked anyways. She regarded him with a look of distaste and disdain.
"I'm going to be upfront. I'm not into working wis others," She looked the brothers over again, she was clearly unpleased, "But Ellen wouldn't let me leave The Roadhouse without agreeing to partners for this job."
"She said something about a large nest of vamps," Sam offered.
"About thurty holed up in an old theater. They're all very old. Strong."
"You look like a tough girl, I'm sure you could have handled it yourself," Dean couldn't stop staring at the ring clad hand balancing a motorcycle helmet on her hip.
"I could have. Ellen is my godmother. And she threatened to trash my bike."
The brothers scoffed and she shot them a look that stung like a salt round.
She produced a manila envelope from inside her jacket and threw it on the table. Dean couldn't figure out how she'd concealed it in something so tight. He reached out quickly, he could feel her heat on its surface still.
"Here are maps of the building and profiles of ze so called 'top-dog' and his second and third in command."
"You've done your research," Sam sounded surprised.
"You didn't," she noted dryly. "We're booked in ze same motel. If you have any questions, find me. Ozerwise, see you at dawn."
"Wait, what's the plan?"
"We torch ze theater," she left without another word.
Dean admired her straightforward approach. And the way her hips swung as she walked. The edge of her jacket didn't meet the top of her pants. He saw the telltale pearled skin of a scar in the shape of a vicious looking bite mark. Damn. His mouth watered and his cock twitched. Oh, this woman was life changing.
Sam had made a copy of the information they got from Marya for Dean. He sat in his room studying it; memorizing the marks the woman had made showing the plan. He was waiting for Cas. It was the second night he said he'd be there, but hadn't shown. He tried to not be bothered by it, but it wasn't easy now that he was used to it. The clock read 2:37. Sun rise was at 5:13. He had a while, but he was antsy. He dressed, and slipped quietly out into the hall. He'd sneaked a look at the guest registry earlier when they checked in. He betted she was in the room bearing the name "Selene Beckinsale," #115.
He knocked quietly.
She opened the door a crack to see who it was. A sliver of cigarette smoke slid out of the door. She unlatched the lock and let him in. He noticed still in the impossibly tight jeans and a white tank top. She wasn't wearing a bra; he could see the shadow of her nipples under it. He tried not to stare, but his mouth watered again at the thought of tasting her skin.
"Vat do you want," it was a command, not a question. He noticed wires, and short lengths of pipe and other odds and ends on the table behind her.
"Are you making fucking pipe bombs?"
"Do you have any better ideas on how to blow open ze side of a concrete building and set fire to the interior wisout collapsing ze structure?"
He didn't, "Should you be smoking while doing that?"
"You clearly know nozing about C4," she turned back to the table and sat down, continuing her task. "Ellen said you were supposed to be good at zis," she mumbled.
"Hey now, we're plenty good at our job! I've been hunting since I was 15," he sat down opposite of her. He watched her slim fingers place wires and fiddle with timers. She put on an end cap and set it with an already finished bomb on one side of the table. Dean watched her make another one before either of them spoke.
"Iz zer a reason you're still here?"
"Oh. Sorry. I'm just…Came to ask if you had any booze," he lied.
"No."
"Weird. Okay," he stood up to leave. As he passed her, her hand reached out and landed flat on his hip. He stopped dead in his tracks. She didn't look up from the table, her hand was barely touching him, he didn't even let out a breath.
"No drinking, we have work to do," she pulled her hand back and continued on her task.
"Right."
He went back to his room to get a nap before the raid. He dreamed of the hand sliding over his hip to his fly, unzipping and snaking in. There was a deadly smirk on the sharp face, her lips looked wet and full. He was shaken from his dream by Sam pounding on the door, time to go already.
"Did you see her with that fucking katana? Who even has one of those in real life!"
"Seriously. What a woman," Dean was flabbergasted by her. He had just watched her slay ten vamps single handedly after blowing ten straight to hell with her handy work. He was sure that she could have easily done the job herself.
Sam was cleaning a wound on his arm, it wasn't bad but there was no reason to risk infection.
"Did you see how she just kept going after that dude sliced her? She's fucking super woman."
"Yeah. I'm going to go see if she needs someone to stitch that up," Dean left his brother, his head was foggy. Left over adrenaline and amazement. This woman was seriously deadly. Probably the only human that could kill him without a fight, he thought. That shouldn't have turned him on like it did; he tried to ignore the thought of her slim body shaking with adrenaline after the raid.
He knocked, the door opened sharply. She looked angry.
"Vat do you vant? We're done here." She was standing in a t shirt and sensible panties. There was a deep slice on her thigh bleeding heavily where a vamp had got her earlier, and a bottle of vodka in her hand.
"Uh, do you need help with that?" He'd had stitches on his thigh before. It was not pleasant.
"No," but she motioned him to come in. She took a swig and sat down on the bed, a towel already stained with fresh blood beneath her. She held out a suture already threaded to him.
He carefully knelt between her legs, looking up at her after a moment's hesitation. She tipped the bottle and let vodka splash on the open wound and trickle down her leg. She hissed and winced. Her eyes remained close and her jaw set. She nodded for Dean to begin. He couldn't stop watching the lines of stained alcohol dripping down her thigh and soaking into the towel.
Focus. She could kill me if I fuck up.
The curved needle sunk and rose. Repeat. The slick black stitching her flesh closed. She didn't even twitch. But by the end of the long cut, her breath was coming in pants, and she would tremble ever time the needle exited her flesh. He gently placed a hand on the top of her thigh.
"It's okay. I'm done," his voice was soft. He didn't move, his eyes couldn't tear away from the fact he was inches away from her. He could smell her musk. His jeans felt tight. "Sorry I don't have a lollypop," he licked his lips, thinking clearly of something else. He looked up at her face, her eyes we closed still, but she looked more relaxed.
Fuck it, he thought.
He kissed her thigh at the end of the cut. He nuzzled the other thigh, rough cheek and chin juxtaposing with gentle lips. A thin hand reached down and carded through his hair. He placed a small nip on the unmarred thigh. His hands parted her legs, and reached to her hips to pull down the underwear. He was careful to not let the fabric rub the stitches. He gave one long tentative lick up her slit. She was wet, he could get lost in the taste and smell. Her body twitched when the flat of his tongue glided over her clit. Good, he thought. His tongue worked well practiced techniques. He was determined to make her beg for more. His mouth vacuumed over her nub and a thick finger slid into wet heat.
"fuck," she breathed out, her hips involuntary moved into him. They found a rhythm quickly. The hand in his hair suddenly tightened its grip, her nails dug into his scalp. "Up."
He obeyed.
"get your fucking clothes off," she said standing up and went and dug through a bag. He stripped in record time, and stood next to the bed, waiting and hard. She came back and gave him a once over. She pushed him down on the bed, he scrambled to regain composure. So she wasn't begging, this was almost better. She slid a condom on him, and mounted him. He slid in, she was so tight and it had been awhile. He wasn't going to last long. God it felt good. His hands gripped her small frame to steady her as she rode him. She swiveled her hips as he pistoned into her, she was gasping now. He'd found her spot. He thrust harder. He closed his eyes, taking in the sensation of her gasps and keens, the feeling of her. He was almost there. He felt her tighten and she let out a loud moan as her body shook with pleasure.
"Fuck! Oh god, Cas!" he thrust one more time, coming into the writhing woman. It took a moment to register what had just happened, he was hazy with endorphins. Oh fuck, Cas. She slid off him and smiled a wicked grin.
"Cas? Hm," she paused, "It wasn't all bad hunting wis you. See you around Winchester." She lit a cigarette and effectively forgot about Dean.
Oh fuck. Oh shit.
Cas.
He pulled on his pants numbly, gathered his things, and left without a word.
What had he just done?
Cas.
How could he do that to Cas?
He hated himself.
He walked into his room without turning on the light.
"Dean," the angel on the bed said in his dark monotone voice.
Oh, fuck.