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And, the kill was easier than they could have imagined. Apparently exhausted from her day's spree, the witch lay in plain sight, spread out on her couch and snoring, blood and dirt caking one of her arms and splattered over her dated dress. There was no question that she was the woman from the surveillance videos that had caught her in the act. Dean took his shot through the window at the same moment that Sammy broke through the front door and did what more needed to be done up close—he'd offered, switching what would have been their normal spots and taking the responsibility of the deathblow so that Dean could more easily ignore the fact that she looked so much like her daughter.
* * * * *
By the time Dean made it back to Calla's for the third night's dosage, her apartment was dark; it was past one, and as he'd expected, she was sleeping. Sneaking in and sprinkling the powder over her pillow took only a minute, and he left quickly, knowing he'd see her the next day, when he'd promised he'd be at her place in time for an early dinner.
Meanwhile, Sam had waited in the car for him, and most of the drive back to the hotel was silent. Dean was wrapped up in his own thoughts, wondering what he should do about the witch he'd just left sleeping, when Sam interrupted him.
"Third night tonight, right? Four to go?"
"Yeah," Dean said simply, his eyes on the road.
"You still good with this?"
Dean gave a barely perceptible shrug. "No choice. You saw what her mom turned into."
"You think Calla's capable?"
"I think we would have asked the same question of her mom thirty years ago; that's the problem."
Sam didn't respond; he'd meant to let his brother have his space, having seen in his face for the whole of the day that the case was getting to him. "If you like her..."
"Doesn't matter if I like her," Dean cut him off. "We have a job and we're doing it. Four more days and we're outta here. If you don't want to wait around, you don't have to."
"I'm in no hurry to leave, man. I'll take the time and go over the journals we grabbed today, see what we learn. Never know what'll come in handy later on." He took a solid breath before speaking again, expecting an outburst. "Dean, if you like her, there's no rule against seeing her after this week..."
Dean slammed on the brakes, swerving the Impala to the side of the road and turning to his brother with his hands still clenched around the wheel. "Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?"
"Dean, listen..."
"No, seriously, Sammy—what the fuck? We just killed her mother, and you think I should start a relationship with her?"
Sam shook his head, staring at his brother's face. "Look at you, Dean; you're already in a relationship. I could see the way you reacted today, and you can't tell me that you wanted to give her that dose of powder tonight."
"You're wrong there," Dean said flatly. "That powder will keep her from needing us to hunt her down later on, so yeah, I want her to get every dose and I want it to work."
What he didn't say was that he wished it wasn't him giving it to her; in fact, he wished he'd never met her.
* * * * *
Calla let herself sleep late, luxuriating in the comfort of her bed when she finally woke up, and in thoughts of the man who she expected would be sharing it with her that night. Rising, she changed the sheets before running herself a bath. She planned on being as smooth and clean-shaven as she'd ever been, and a long soak in the tub would help her relax better than anything else could. Her mind made up about the night, and about Dean, there was nothing left for her to do but primp in preparation, and she planned on taking advantage of every minute before her prince charming arrived.
By 4 PM, she'd started dinner to cooking and dressed herself in a light summer dress that came just to mid-thigh, showing off both her legs and her curves. For the occasion, she was wearing wedge heels to make sure they were shown to their best advantage, as well, though she normally went barefoot around her home. When the door's bell rang, she nearly tripped over herself getting to it, and had to stop to take a breath before she undid the latch and welcomed in the man she'd been waiting for all day.
She let herself take him in as his own gaze raked up and down her form, from her legs to her breasts to her face. He was dressed semi-casually, in nice jeans and a button-down, and he looked like he'd just shaved. He had two bottles of wine in his hands, one red and one white, and he put the white one in the crook of his other arm so that he could reach out to her and draw her to him with his fingers resting on the nape of her neck. Suddenly, she was glad that the slow-roasting dinner she'd planned still had a few hours to go. She closed her eyes as she tilted her head further back, meeting his lips with hers and letting her free hands come to rest on his waist. She didn't care that they were still in the entrance to her apartment and that anyone could see them—she just wanted to taste him, and she let her tongue push past his lips, tentatively at first, until she felt him sucking harder at her, pulling her into him.
Dean stepped her backward, fumbling the wine bottles from his arm to the small standing table inside her apartment's entrance. He'd planned on keeping his distance for a while—at least, on not greeting her with a kiss before even speaking—but seeing her had undone all of his planning. The green dress she wore set off her blue eyes as if they were glowing, and the way she'd looked when he opened the door, like she was half off-balance with waiting for him, had been so wanton that there was nothing to do but kiss her.
"I missed you," she whispered, a huff of a nervous laugh coming out after the words as she pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she echoed, sighing, and thinking he probably thought she was the neediest girl in the world after that welcome, and what she'd just said. "I was... afraid you wouldn't come, actually."
Dean shook his head, letting himself look her up and down again as he held her jokingly at arms' length. "You dressed up for me, right? I had to show up."
Seeing the embarrassment in her face, he suddenly felt his own set of nerves and pulled away to pick up the wine bottles. Taking them into the kitchen, he inhaled the scents of bread and roasting chicken, and what he guessed had to be carrots and potatoes along with, before he even noticed the covered dish on the counter. He glanced up at her and she shrugged, and he put the bottle of red down on the counter to take a glance. "You made bread? Fresh?" he asked, starting at the twisted mini-loaves in the dish and forgetting everything else that had been in his head a moment ago.
"Don't tell me you don't eat bread," she said, stepping up to the island and leaning forward.
"You just... no, that's just a lot of trouble," he said quietly. Dean looked up to her, noticing that her eyes were wide, waiting for some reaction from him. "It smells amazing," he said honestly, and turned from her look to put the bottle of white wine he'd bought in her fridge, making himself stand in front of the cool air for a moment longer than necessary, trying to center himself.
"I wanted to cook you a nice dinner," she said simply, and came around the island to land in front of him, just as he'd closed the fridge door. "It's still warm, if you want to taste it. I hadn't done it in a while, but it smells like it came out okay."
Dean grinned—the only thing he wanted more than to kiss her again was to taste the bread he now couldn't stop smelling. At the stove, he tore off two pieces, taking one for himself and handing one to her. Tasting it, he closed his eyes—it was warm, sweet, and better than any he'd had in ages. Nothing like what he would have expected a girl in her 20s could create. "Jesus, Calla—fuck, that's good."
Calla watched Dean's face and tried to keep from laughing out loud. It was really good, it was true, but the way he was acting, she'd have thought it was more magic than dough if she didn't know better. "It's just sweet bread, Dean."
"Fresh made," he commented, leaning into her so that she swallowed the piece in her mouth in a hurry and found her back resting against the counter.
"Yeah," she said roughly just as his lips came down to hers. This kiss was slower, as if he was searching her for something, and she let herself melt back against the hard surface behind her, his body melding to hers as he pressed her backward, one of his hands suddenly in her hair and the other holding loosely to her hip. When he took a breath, she took advantage to slide sideways from his lips and rest her forehead against his shoulder to catch her breath before she spoke. "I've got dinner on low—it'll be a while, unless you want... unless you're hungry now, I can speed things up."
"Or we can speed something else up?" he whispered into her ear.
Her heart beat suddenly faster, matching her breath to the rasp she heard in his voice. "Yeah... yeah," she repeated, and then she caught her breath as his hands landed on her waist and he lifted her up in one easy motion, so that she sat on the edge of the island, her knees suddenly straddling his hips as he pressed closer, his arms around her with his hands clasped behind her back, trapping her against him. Breath caught, she leaned forward and breathed in his kiss, tasting a hint of whiskey and what had to have been a breath mint or gum, the freshness of his breath was still so fresh against hers.
She felt his hands inching up her back, caressing her through her dress, and let her own wander along his muscles, over his shoulders and up to his neck, until she felt his hands slip beneath her thighs and pull her up and into him, until the island was gone and her legs were wrapped around his waist, holding to him while he held her up and against him like she weighed nothing. How had she ended up here so quickly, she wondered, with his hands gripping her naked thighs beneath her dress, holding her against him. Then she stopped thinking, clasping her hands behind his neck so that she could simply enjoy the taste of his lips and his neck.
Dean hadn't meant to go this quickly, but it was too much to ask of his body at this point, to wait. He'd been able to see the hardness of her nipples through her dress after he'd kissed her at the door, and felt her desire from the second he'd touched her. The stress of the week had caught up to both of them, and he let himself enjoy the feel of her nervous shakes as he held her, both of his hands on her smooth thighs, perfectly rounded and full in his grip. He heard her shoes fall to the ground behind them, and shifted one of his hands so that it was cupping her ass through what felt like lace. She was totally relaxed against him, helpless, and he could feel her heart pounding, wanting him just as much as he wanted her.
Finally coming up for air from kissing her, he looked around and maneuvered them out of her kitchen and down the hall, trying to focus on getting them to her bedroom even as he felt her lips nuzzling at the base of his neck, one of her hands having inched into the neck of his shirt to rub along his shoulder.
He laid her down on her bedspread and stood up, taking a deep breath as he watched her. She'd let herself be put down easily, as if she wanted to pose for him, and he just wanted to take her in for a moment. Her dress had ridden up so that most of her thighs showed, and she'd let one of her hands come to rest on her stomach, the other laying on the bedspread beside her, just extending out toward him. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were already hooded with desire. He knew just from looking at her that she had to be wet and ready for him, but he wanted to take his time, even though his dick was already throbbing.
He undid his button-up and then reached down to the hem of her crocheted dress, letting his fingers play along her upper thighs before he grasped it. Her eyes were wide now, watching him as he finally gathered the fabric in his grip and lifted it up to reveal what it had hidden. She raised her hips for him as he pulled it upward slowly, teasing himself with the reveal. She wore white lace beneath it, and it was perfect. It took him back to how innocent she'd seemed when they'd first met, and it was so white against her cream-colored skin that it took his breath away. He pulled the dress up and over her head as she sat up to allow him to remove it, and saw more white lace cupping her breasts forward, no padding there to hide how hard and how pink her nipples already were.
Calla watched him taking her in, suddenly as scared as she was excited. The square line of his jaw had seemed to re-set as he'd pulled her dress away and taken a real look at her body, his expression becoming set, and incredibly serious. The desire in his eyes was clear, but there was such a solemnness to the way he was looking at her, it was as if he felt the gravity she'd been feeling all day, and been trying to get rid of from moment to moment. His lips were slightly parted, though, his tongue flickering out to lick his lips as he finally reclined on the bed next to her and she felt his hand along her abdomen, and then her stomach, before it came to rest on the waist of her panties, his fingers tracing the lace while his eyes held hers. She let her eyes close when she felt his hand inch beneath the fabric, and kept them shut as she felt his lips on hers, parting so his tongue slipped forward, insistently, and he lifted just enough that he was partially raised beside her and his hand could truly explore.
She gasped against his lips and let one of her fists clench the bedspread beside her as she felt one of his rough fingers sliding against her, and then into her center, before he breathed into her ear, "God, you're wet. You're gorgeous, Calla, you know that?"
She wanted to melt into him, and reached for his side as he leaned further into her, and she felt his dick pulsing through his jeans, against her leg, one of his fingers still toying with her slit, spreading the moisture that she'd begun feeling at the moment he'd kissed her. He was all she'd been thinking about all day, waiting for this.
Dean leaned in and breathed into her neck, holding himself in check. She was all but naked before him, and he was practically fully dressed, and he relished the vulnerability of her, and how open she was to him. Her pussy was slick, wet, and he could feel it pulsing against his fingers, asking to be filled, and he hadn't even taken her panties off of her yet, for fuck's sake. Moving suddenly, he kissed her hard against her neck once so that she gasped, and then he was sliding down to let himself land between her legs. In one quick pull, he had his t-shirt off, and he took a moment to watch her gaze move along his torso and over his 6-pack while he was kneeling in front of her. He saw her eyes get stuck on his tattoo then, and that her eyes looked like she was doubting things for just a moment.
Calla was so distracted by Dean's muscles, she at first hadn't even noticed the anti-possession mark on his chest, near his collarbone where it couldn't be missed. But then she did. "You... your tattoo," she started, trying to focus her thoughts for at least a moment, fighting the arousal that was threatening to drive every thought away from her. Part of her knew that this, like his readiness to fight and his easy confidence, was yet another thing that didn't quite fit with the persona of a legal consultant or businessman.
Dean looked to it himself, for just a moment—he hadn't thought about having to explain it. "Just a symbol I found when I wanted something different," he brushed it off, letting his hands rest on her thighs and begin roaming her curves again, hoping to distract her. She had to know what it was, he realized, suddenly thinking that taking his shirt off could tell her exactly who, and what, he was.
"You don't know... what," she gasped, fighting to keep her mind straight as he suddenly leaned down and licked along her abdomen, where he dipped his tongue into her naval before kissing his way up toward her breasts. "What, what it is?" she finished, hoping the question made sense.
"Something other than a tribal tattoo, right?" he murmured, his lips now at one of her nipples, his hands lower, one cupping her ass and one her left thigh.
Dean kept his attentions on her, relishing the gasps she was emitting and praying she'd forget about the tattoo in another moment; he didn't want to stop. He took one of her nipples in his lips and tugged lightly, having pushed the lace lower so that he had more access. He let the hand he'd had holding her thigh come back between them, and thrummed one of his fingers up and down her slit in time with his tongue on her nipple, enjoying the whimpering sounds of pleasure that were coming now in time to everything he did. She was soaked with want.
Suddenly he lifted up over her, his hands frozen and his face just above hers, searching her face for any sign that she'd changed her mind. Her eyes were closed, her mouth just parted, and one of her hands was wrapped around his bicep as if holding on for life.
"Calla?" he asked, his lips just beside hers.
She opened her eyes, seeing him staring down at her, and nodded at him, sensing that he wanted her to reassure him that this was what she wanted; she didn't think she could find words at the moment to say anything aloud, she was so wrecked by his presence, and how desperately she just wanted him inside of her. All other thoughts were long gone.
And then Dean had leaned back and grabbed a hold of her calves, pulling them up so that her legs were bent and to one side of him, and he slipped her panties off with one long move before bodily lifting one leg again and landing it so that he was once again between her legs, but now with no fabric to keep her from him. He felt her gasp more than he heard her as he lowered his lips onto her and let his tongue duck into her folds. She was so sweet, and so wet, it was easy to lose himself in tasting her, and he gripped her thighs hard as he angled her towards his mouth. He half heard her scream his name when her body began trembling a minute later, and moved one of his hands so that his fingers could find her clit and press into it rhythmically, until he felt her spasm beneath his lips and he finally looked up, breathing heavily and watching her as he let one of his fingers push in and out of her, thrumming along her wet passage; she was tight even on his finger, insanely tight and warm, and he couldn't wait to feel her stretching around him.
Her eyes were closed, clenched shut, and her lips were open and gasping, repeating, "Oh my God, Dean, Jesus... Dean, oh..." He grinned, kneeling up above her and watching her response; she was shaking with the orgasm he'd given her, and he could feel his dick in his jeans, throbbing and demanding, hard as he'd ever been to get at the girl before him. She still had her eyes closed, and he leaned forward to land at her neck, knowing she could feel her own moisture on his jaw as he let his lips trail along her neck and then around, down, and over her collarbone as one of his hands raised her, his other snaking beneath her to finally release her bra and slip it from her limbs.
"You're still dressed," she breathed into his ear, her hands on his waist, and then on his belt as he licked along her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat.
"Want me to fix that, darlin'?" he asked. He felt her nod against him, and straddled her, leaned up above her body with his crotch above hers as one of his hands snaked down to release his belt and pull it away, dropping it to the floor beside her bed. He enjoyed the wideness of her eyes, and let one of his hands come down over one of her breasts as his other slipped beneath them to cup her ass and he pressed the bulge of his dick into her, and grinned at the shudder he felt run through her body in response. Naked beneath him, she was practically vibrating with want, and he loved it.
