Supernatural: Dean's Witch Ch. 02

"What about the other tattoo, the one in the center?" he prompted her after a few moments more.

"Oh, that's a bond..." she whispered, and groaned as his fingers kneaded once again into the area around her neck and shoulders. His hands were so large, so powerful above her, that she was having a hard time thinking of anything else. "It's like... like a promise I've made... to do good," she added belatedly, her mind far more focused on Dean's fingers and the cock pressing into her ass.

Dean froze for a moment above her, his muscles tightening in recognition. He knew where he'd seen it before now. Realizing Calla would know in a moment that something was wrong if he didn't regain control of himself, he forced himself to keep going even as his mind spun. Like the other symbols that were built to guard against angels and demons, this was something else, but just as old. It was meant as a promise to God and to oneself, that a soul would be automatically damned if the person who'd accepted the bond ever actively made a choice to do evil, or anything they knew to be immoral; it meant that the bearer's talents or powers had to be directed toward goodness, or at least toward acts that would offer no wrong.

Without having to ask, Dean knew it as surely as he knew that the girl beneath him was wholly in his power at the moment -- Calla had adopted the symbol because she wanted to guard against ever becoming her mother, and to promise herself, God, and whoever might see it that she wouldn't use her powers for ill, or out of ill-will.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply, his fingers still working Calla's muscles. Suddenly, he was so angry at himself that he couldn't even speak. It was too late to turn back with the formula now, he knew, and there were only two nights left to go... and of course, that bond could be removed, should she want to. But he felt it in his bones that this girl beneath him was good, and that he and Sammy never should have come into her life. Some of the anger escaped into his movements, and she grunted in pain below him when his fingers dug in too deeply, so that he whispered an apology and lowered himself down above her, kissing the nape of her neck in a gentle mea culpa and attempting to loosen his mind from its sudden regret.

Instead of letting himself get lost in the meaning of her tattoo, and what he couldn't change about the path he and Sammy had chosen, he took a breath and whispered into her ear. "I want you."

She twisted beneath him as if to turn over, and he held her still with his body for a moment more. "You trust me, Calla?" he asked, cringing at the question even as he did. Maybe he was punishing himself now, turning the blade in his gut to repay himself for what he'd done to her.

"Yeah," she breathed out, turning her head further sideways so that she could crane her eyes up to him. She held his gaze for a moment, noting that it was dark again, like it had been a few days ago, and she felt herself shiver again below him, liking the way he was holding her still beneath him and feeling her pussy clench beneath his body's pressure, wet and waiting, wanting him.

"Good," he told her, and kissed her forehead before he leaned forward to snag the backpack he'd brought inside with his duffel and dropped by her bed.

She turned her eyes to watch his hand slip into one of the pockets, from which he pulled a piece of fabric. Sighing, she felt him raise up enough so that she could turn over, and then she let him take both of her hands in his and gently wrap the cloth around each of her wrists, twisting and tying it. She tugged experimentally, biting her lip and smiling as she watched him watch her reaction when she realized she couldn't get loose without his help.

Dean watched her test the cloth, and then open her eyes wider at him, looking up to him. Instead of saying anything, he grabbed the ends of the fabric in his hands and stretched her arms above her head, tying the ends around a leg of her bed so that her arms would remain above her head, and she'd be helpless before him. Then, he dripped more oil into his hands before taking her breasts in his hands, massaging them and playing with her nipples until she moaned out loud beneath him and he felt her hips jerk with want. Then he leaned down, ignoring her whimpers of frustrated desire, and took one of her nipples between his lips, sucking at her as he played with her other breast and his one hand kept on kneading the breast feeding into his lips so that she was mewling with need below him, her body squirming beneath his.

Calla gasped, her mouth wide with want and her hips aching upward, wanting the man above her to just take her already as her hands clenched helplessly, wanting desperately to be able to touch him, everywhere. "Dean, I want you inside me," she insisted, her voice high with desire, and breathy with wanting him and needing more air. "You're driving me crazy," she whined when he gave no indication of hearing her.

He was listening, of course, and nipped at her nipple with his teeth so that she cried out with surprise above him as he moved over to her other breast and one of his hands snaked up one of her arms and down the other, his nails trailing against her skin so that he could tickle her, just slightly. He wanted to drive her wild, and make it so neither of them could think about anything but the physical.

"You're mine, Calla," he whispered into her mouth before nibbling at her lip gently and then moving back down her body, back to her breasts.

Calla breathed out, wiggling under his fingers and lips. "I'm never going to give you a massage again, Winchester," she threatened, and thrilled when she felt him cough out a laugh against her abdomen.

"Oh, you gotta take that back," Dean said, grinning and raising himself up above her so that he was straddling her, letting her catch her breath.

"Or what?" Calla asked, jutting her chin up and meeting his eyes.

"I guess I'll just keep going then," Dean challenged her gruffly, and brought his fingers to the waist of her shorts, where he played along the rim before he jerked open the button so that she gasped below him with the suddenness of it, and then he pulled down her zipper.

Dean rolled sideways, and watched her hips move instinctively with his touch as he hooked his fingers beneath her shorts and panties and pulled them down, so that she was finally laying totally naked before him, squirming with want and smiling up at him with swollen lips, above and below. Every inch of her was oiled and ready, wanting him, and he took a minute to freeze beside her, just watching, and treasuring the moment while he had it in front of him.

"Now you," she told him, breaking into his thought and prodding at his jeans with one of her feet. Grinning, everything but lust gone from his mind, he'd removed his belt and jeans in another minute, and then sunk his body over her legs so that his lips could reach her pussy. Roughly, he pressed her thighs apart and darted his tongue into her so that she whimpered above him and he felt her thighs press inward instinctively against his hands.

Ignoring her whimpers of desire, Dean took his time teasing her, letting his oiled fingers play along her folds and breathing onto her most private morsels of skin, ducking his tongue out occasionally and relishing the squirms he could elicit in response. Having not dipped more than his tongue into her, he pressed two of his fingers into the skin above her clit, right through to where he knew her g-spot was beneath the skin, and moved his fingers rhythmically against her, pressing his dick into her leg so that she could feel his length waiting for her as he did so. "Still don't plan on giving me another massage?" he teased, dipping his face down to run his tongue up the center of her abdomen, from her navel toward her breasts.

"Dean, God, I take it back, I take it back! Just come into me already," she begged him, her breath catching as she spoke, and finally he inched upward over her and nodded into her neck as he began kissing her once again, and her body bucked against his fingers, fighting for release.

Watching her catch her breath, Dean reached for a condom and put it on while Calla gazed up at him, her eyes hooded and waiting. "You don't play fair," she breathed out into his neck as he finally pressed the head of his cock into her center.

"Nope," he answered, lunging into her, and having to catch his own breath at how tight and warm she was, all over again. He forced himself to still as he felt her pussy clenching around him, trying to get used to him, and he kissed her deeply as she whimpered in response to the sudden pleasure and tightness. "Right on that pain-pleasure line, huh?" he asked gently, raising just enough so that he could meet her eyes.

Hers had been closed, but she opened them with the pressure of his gaze and nodded. "Right on it... just, give me a moment," she breathed out, and gasped in response to his dick shifting within her, pressing forward instinctively.

"Moment's yours, darlin'," he answered, leaning forward then so that he could suck her earlobe between his lips. "Tell me when you're ready," he told her, his lips on her ear as his hands explored her torso beneath him, and then he reached up with one to her hands, releasing the tie to the bed so that she could bring her still bound hands down over his neck and hold him to her like she'd been trying to do practically since he'd removed the last of her clothing.

Calla closed her eyes as her breath hitched again at the pressure of Dean's cock pressing into her, demanding more of her. He was so big, so hard, and if anything it seemed like she was tighter and more tender than she'd been before. She was wet, too, though, and desperately wanted the pleasure she knew was coming, so that she forced herself to press further into him and welcomed the pain that came along with the last bit of depth he gained inside of her, and then the pressure of his movement as he began gliding back and forth slowly.

Dean let his lips come to rest on her shoulder as he pressed back and forth, concentrating on the way her nails dug into his shoulder to make sure he lasted longer, and took his time. She was so tight that he wanted to explode, to speed up and thrust into her with everything he had, shaking her into the floor and coming as hard as he'd ever come in the past, but he made himself wait. He could still feel her adjusting to him, pulsing around him and whimpering on that pain-pleasure line with every other move they made.

And then they crossed the line.

Suddenly, Calla's body was centered on her pussy, lost in the pleasure of Dean's movements and his slick skin moving along hers, pushing her and pressuring her in all the right places, the way she'd been craving all day. She ground her hips upward, holding her body to his even as he pulled back slightly to plunge back into her so that she gasped against him and lurched with the pleasure of it. She was kissing him, his tongue in her mouth when suddenly she felt one of his fingers press into her there, putting pressure both on her clit and on that space beneath the skin that seemed to be the center of her want, and she gasped with the sudden bliss of it as his tongue pressed harder into her mouth, his lips devouring her as his hips sped up and his finger pressed in harder so that she screamed and her back arched, her nails digging into his skin as one of his hands found one of her breasts and squeezed hard, gripping her as he began pounding into her harder and faster than before, gasping against her neck and then calling out as he came above her, her body already spasming beneath his.

"Jesus," Dean gasped for breath, his dick still jerking within Calla's body and finding further release as he clenched her body to his own, feeling her heart beat and her skin shiver with the remnants of her own pleasure. "Jesus," he said again, into her lips this time as he kissed her and they both sought to catch their breath, still connected. Holding himself above her, taking part of his weight on his forearms, he leaned over her and licked some of the sweat from her neck, up to her ear, still breathing heavily and enjoying her body beneath him. "I'll untie you in a second," he told her when he recognized the edge of the scarf hanging along his neck, still binding her wrists. He just wanted one more minute of laying tangled with her, as they were.

Calla shivered beneath him, opening her eyes at this comment and looking into his face. Here, beneath Dean, she felt at peace, sated and happy and content to lie there forever if that's what he wanted. "You can do whatever you want with me, Dean Winchester, tied up or otherwise," she told him, and flexed her muscles around his still hard dick so that he groaned, his eyes meeting hers again.

Feeling her body flexing, her hands wholly relaxed, Dean grinned down at her and pressed further into her as he kissed her. They weren't done yet.

* * * * *

Hours later, far into the night, Dean paused in his movement, crouched in bed beside the girl he'd spent the night with. He had the powder in his hand, and she was sound asleep.

He knew the arguments for and against, and he knew them backwards and forwards. Each time he'd been alone as the night had passed, even if for only a moment, he'd thought about them, and run them ragged in trying to figure out what his move should be right now. Sammy had been right, that he'd gotten too close to this, to her. And Sammy would also tell him there was just the one choice -- that one of them had to do this, whichever brother it was. They were far enough in now, they had to know if it would work. And how would he feel ten or twenty years from now, to know (even if looking on from heaven or hell, he thought to himself) that she was in the process of deciding to remove the bond so that she was no longer bound to do good, and had the power of a witch's blood at her disposal. To know that some hunter -- if not him or his brother -- needed to starting looking for her, to hunt her down and hurt her or kill her before she could hurt someone else worse?

She might hate him for it, but he steeled himself, knowing that there was only one choice he could live with. It was why he was still here in town, and here in bed with her, after all. Not giving himself anymore time to think, he dusted the pillow in front of her nose with the second to last dose of powder. Keeping his mind blank, he then reached the vial backward and tucked it carefully into the side pocket of his backpack, which he'd left lying by the bed for just this reason.

The errand done, he spooned himself behind Calla, wrapping his arm again around her middle and pulling her further into his body, relishing her warmth and letting his hand come lightly to rest just beneath her breast. She snuggled backward into him, and he pressured himself back against her, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent deeply when she sighed against him and breathed deeply herself. Resting his head behind hers, holding her still against him, he knew she was already breathing in the mixture he'd left in front of her, just as much as he knew the stress he'd felt in her body that day had probably, partly, been due to her worrying over her lessening magic, and that she'd feel it shrinking even further into her marrow as the next day dawned. It was what it was, but he was exhausted enough from the day and from the worry to sleep anyway.

* * * * *

Calla woke up with Dean's arm still wrapped overtop of her, the weight of it feeling so comfortable that it practically took her breath away. It was as if the stress of everything else could just disappear beneath it, simply because he was there with her.

Turning sideways so that her back could snuggle further into his side, she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and pulled it harder against her chest, smiling when she felt him respond by pulling her even further in, his other hand sliding under her pillow so that her head rested on both his arm and the cushioning. She knew that, sooner than later, they'd have to get up and leave her apartment, going back to what counted for real life at the moment, but for now, she just wanted to close her eyes and hold onto him. Consciously, she pushed down thoughts of her mother, and of her struggling magic and of school and of what would happen after he left the next day. None of that mattered in comparison to the contentment she felt at the moment, and it was easy enough to go back to sleep. She'd wake up when she had to.

Hours later, stationed behind her desk in the department's graduate student office, Calla let herself lean forward over her desk and stare at her phone, willing her mother to call her back. How many messages had she left her now? When had they last been out of contact for this long?

When it finally rang, though, it was Judith, one of her mother's friends.

"Have you seen your mom?" the witch on the other end of the line asked, and Calla's heart fell. If Judith was calling her instead of scrying, it could only mean that she'd already tried to reach her via other means and failed, and it also meant that she was desperate to find her mother.

"I've been trying to get in touch with her," Calla answered, standing and walking out of the office so that she could go outside for some relative privacy. She didn't like mixing school and witchcraft, and that extended so far as her not even wanting to talk to a coven member while in her office.

"You and me both. I've been trying to reach you all week, too, and it took me getting to your mother's to get your phone number! What have you been up to?"

"You're at Mom's house?" Calla replied rather than answering the question.

"I am, and she's not. Is she with you?"

Calla shook her head at the phone and slipped out of her office building, heading toward a nearby bench. "No. I've been trying to reach her also... I was going to drive over there on Saturday."

"You spoke to her when?" Judith asked, her voice tight.

"Saturday. There's no sign of her there?" Calla asked.

Judith sighed, and was silent for a moment before answering. "There's a lot of blood here, but I don't know... some of it's hers, but some of it's not, and the place is such a mess... I don't know," she repeated, mumbling to herself. "Given what she's been up to... it's hard to tell what's what here, how much of the blood is hers and how much just walked in on her clothing. With everything dry... I don't think anyone's been here since Sunday, at least, the air is so still. It could have been hunters; it could also be she's just wandering, Calla. I hoped you'd know."

Calla stayed silent, forcing herself to remain calm. Hadn't she suspected this was coming? Hadn't this been part of the reason she'd allowed herself to sink into Dean's presence and deny what it meant, that she wasn't hearing from her?

"And what of you, Calla? When you spoke to your mother, were you on the phone?"

Calla could practically hear the snarl in the other witch's voice. "We were... my... my magic has been... uh, weaker, I guess. Stress, maybe?" she suggested more softly, knowing it was a lousy excuse. "It's why I've been trying to get in touch with her, among... other things," she finished, knowing Judith would understand what her reference meant.

"Weaker how?" Judith pushed.

"Just... weaker. As if I can't feel it as easily as usual. I've been distracted, though, too," Calla said quickly.

"School, or a man?"

Calla paused, not sure how much she wanted to tell the other woman. Of the members of her mother's coven, she might have said that Judith was the closest to being someone she could trust, but that didn't mean she actually did trust her. "Both," she answered finally, annoyed with herself for feeling her heart fluttering faster with nerves.