"You're a difficult man to reach, Tiger. I tried calling you all evening, but you wouldn't even respond to me. Really hurts a girl's feelings."
Dean whirled, facing Mara. He couldn't prevent his eyes from widening and his cock from hardening when he saw her. She looked exactly as she had the first time he'd met her, tall and brunette, wearing a skimpy waitress uniform. Her nipples threatened to make and appearance if she so much as leaned forward slightly. "You like?" she asked coyly as she strutted toward him with her hands on her hips. "I wore it just for you, Sugar. I know how much it turns you on." Mara reached out and caressed Dean's package, gently using her long fingernails for extra stimulation through the denim of his jeans.
"Get away from me, you freaky bitch!" Dean growled, going for threatening but his arousal and fear let a slight tremor creep into his voice. He backpedaled, unable to stop himself, cursing under his breath. He didn't recognize his surroundings. It was like some impressionist painter had jammed half a lifetime's worth of shabby hotel rooms together. Bits and pieces from one and knickknacks from another were tossed together in a way that only made sense if he didn't focus on it.
"Now Dean, that's not a very nice way to greet me, and after I spent so long trying to get in touch with you. I made you strong, baby. Irresistible. Don't you even want to say thank you?"
"You made me a freaking monster! You don't get anything from me!" Dean reached for the Colt he kept tucked against the small of his back, only to find nothing but bare flesh. What the hell? He was always armed, but here, now, there was nothing. No guns, no knives, nothing but him and her, standing in a half-formed room of a no-tell motel.
"This is my world, Tiger. We might be in your head, in your dreams, but I rule here. Best remember that. You can't do anything here that I don't allow to happen." She looked around in…admiration? A satisfied smirk flitted across her gorgeous features. "Oh, the things I could find in here, Dean. Dreams have been my playground for millennia. I can torture you here, until you're nothing but a broken husk of a living thing…but I won't. Do you see how merciful I am? All I ask is for you to come to me."
"Oh, hell no," he retorted. Yeah okay, prose it wasn't, but it got his point across, and right now Dean was pissed. His forehead and back itched like maybe his horns and wings wanted to come out and play, but those sensations paled in comparison to the heat in his gut. It felt…shit, it just felt like power, and he clutched at it like he would the grip of his beautiful ivory-inlaid Cold 1911. This was a weapon, one he suspected the succubitch had no idea he had. The power felt heavy in his belly, pulsing and aching to be unleashed. He wondered briefly if that was what Sammy's freaky demon powers felt like. "You don't own me. Trust me, sweetheart, I've killed nastier freaks than you on my worst day."
She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, Dean. You do amuse. You honestly have no idea who I am yet, do you? Don't worry though, you wi—"
Dean didn't give her a chance to finish monologuing; he just hurled the energy at her with all the force of his anger behind it. Mara's shocked expression right before she vanished was almost enough to put a grin on his face. That'd teach her. No one fucked with Dean Winchester in his own head.
With Mara gone, the itching in his forehead and shoulder blades eased, and his arousal ebbed to more normal levels. But he was still lucid dreaming, caught inside his own subconscious. Now that he was aware of his surroundings, he found that they altered themselves around his mood and desires. He wondered if, like Mara, he could also enter the dreams of other people. He hoped not. He never wanted to end up trapped inside someone else's head ever again, especially without their permission. Dean had enough twisted shit in his own mind to deal with, and speaking from past experience, he was his own worst enemy here.
Speaking of twisted, the hotel room was bleeding as guilty memories crept to the forefront of his thoughts. Thick crimson rivulets streamed down the wood-paneled/wallpapered/painted walls, pooling on the beige/green/orange carpeting. The blood brought up memories of Hell that Dean tried desperately and often without success to keep buried. Meat hooks with bits of flesh still skewered on them appeared, dangling from the ceiling, just as he had dangled in the Pit. He could almost hear the screams of the damned echoing in his ears, screams that he had induced. Screams that he had enjoyed. Shit. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to hear—
"Ah Dean, my prized pupil," wheezed a voice behind is right shoulder. Dean spun, recognizing the timbre immediately. The demon looked just as he had right before Sam had snuffed him from existence. He was a constant fixture in Dean's nightmares; why should that change now that he was aware he was dreaming?
"You aren't here Alastair. You're dead. Sammy snuffed your ass out of existence. You are nothing to me." He denied everything his senses told him was real. He knew this wasn't real, and yet he smelled the iron of shed blood and tasted the pain of those he tortured on the rack thick on his tongue all the same.
"Dean, Dean, Dean…I can't be killed. I live inside you, Grasshopper. I made you. I twisted you into my sharp little instrument and you did my bidding so well. You started the apocalypse for me. Your daddy would be so disappointed in you. The great John Winchester, the man who wouldn't break. The one who got away. But don't worry, I still have you, Dean. Make no mistake about that. And you could never disappoint me."
No! The force of Dean's mental negation threw him from his dreamspace and back into the waking world. He looked around, not recognizing his surroundings for long seconds. Then he remembered Buffy. This was her house. Alastair was still dead and he wasn't in Hell…well, not literally, anyway. The situation he was trapped in though….
He had been turned into a mara, a creature that caused uncontrollable arousal and fed on sex. Said uncontrollable arousal had forced his little brother to have sex with him. Also, he was pretty sure that being what he was would forever prevent him from having a normal relationship with another person again (way more so than being a hunter ever had) and there was no cure. To top it all off, the skank who made him this way had just made it clear she wanted him back for something. So yeah, pretty damn hellish. He had escaped Hell before, albeit with angelic assistance. Maybe those dicks with wings would come through again and deus ex machina him out of his current situation.
There was no way he was getting back to sleep after that bought of nightmares. Dean sighed and reached over to where he'd set one of Buffy's reference books. He might as well get some more research time in while he was focused. Anything to stave off memories of Hell.
Buffy stared at the amulet perched atop the romance book on her nightstand. If it had eyes it would be staring her down, and winning. She had been locked in a debate with herself for the past hour or so. She knew she should put it on and keep it on at all times, at least until the situation with Dean could be resolved one way or another. Knowledge was one thing though, and feelings were another. Buffy had a strong premonition that if she went to sleep without the shielding of the amulet, she would dream of Dean again. If she were completely honest with herself, she wanted to dream of Dean again, wanted to know what it would have been like between them if he hadn't stopped himself tonight. Men could be such idiots sometimes.
Idly, her fingers crawled down her taut stomach to the damp thatch of curls between her legs. God, she groaned. She was so wet. He'd gotten her all hot and bothered and had just walked away from her when she knew he wanted it just as much. She hoped he got blue balls. She hoped he was still sore and regretting his decision in the morning. She hoped he changed his mind and came upstairs…no! That would be bad news for all parties involved. So whatever, but she wasn't wearing the amulet tonight.
She traced the edges of her clit, shuddering slightly at the shockingly pleasurable sensation. Her legs widened of their own accord, allowing her dancing fingers easier access to her most sensitive area. Buffy languidly stroked herself as she slipped the index and middle fingers of her other hand up her sopping pussy. She pumped them slowly, taking her time. She couldn't help but imagine it was Dean's cock instead. It had been a long time since she'd last taken a lover. Based on just the way he kissed, the elder Winchester would make one hell of a good lover.
Buffy could almost feel his mouth on her breast, licking and gently nibbling first one nipple, then its twin. Her breathing roughened, and she increased her pace. She wondered how Dean kissed when he fucked. Was he tender, like before? Or would he lose all control when he thrust inside her, when she milked him for all he was worth? Would he bite, mark up her body and claim her for his own? Sooner or later, she was pretty sure she'd find out.
She was close now, her nimble fingers working her body into a frenzied state. Every time a finger grazed her button tremors coursed through her muscles. Buffy's legs were spread wide, her hips canted upwards. Her nipples were hard spikes capable of cutting diamond. She added a third finger to the pair still pistoning inside her, biting down on a cry of pleasure.
Close, so close. All she could think about was chasing her orgasm, and the man she wished was giving it to her. Buffy wondered how Dean would look when he came. His eyes would light up the room with their amber-green glow. Would he finally seem at peace afterward, if only for a few moments? She imagined that he would have a pair of spiraled horns, like the book described the mara. The thought of Dean looking like that, a marble god with shining eyes, set her off. Buffy convulsed around her fingers, riding out her orgasm as long as possible. She came harder than she had in years, and collapsed on the bed in a boneless heap when the last wave finally subsided.
God. That had been incredible. Buffy remembered again what she had told her houseguest only a few days ago. Trust me Dean, I'm more than you can handle right now. Yeah well, she was about ready to put her earlier assumption to the test. She would just have to find a way to get him to capitulate. He'd seemed really freaked out earlier, when he'd pulled away from her after she had stiffened in his arms. She couldn't help her reaction then, but he hadn't known to stay away from her neck. At least she had finally admitted her herself that she wanted the elder Winchester. She just had to find a way to do it safely. Slayer-strength might protect her from his energy-draining capabilities, but it would be best not to put it to the test.
Buffy sighed. It was something to think about another time. For now, she was exhausted. That night, she welcomed her dreams.