Supernatural: Dean's Witch Ch. 03

"Yeah?" he asked, not making any other move.

"Yeah." Calla had heard her voice crack—she'd actually heard it, and she could see from the twitch in his lips that he'd heard it, too. Still, he crossed his arms more firmly over his chest as if daring her to come closer, or make any move at all, and she knew she wouldn't. Instead, she stood by the door, her hand resting on the wall for purchase and her other buried in her jeans pocket.

"Look, I need to get a shower," he said after a moment. "And then I think maybe I need to get some shut-eye. Sam's here if you need to talk to someone now. The two of us can talk later," he finished, jutting his chin toward the door in a clear signal for her to get out.

Calla closed her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself. She needed the little bit of liquor in her system for the bit of bravery required to be here, and she didn't want to let herself back down now. "I didn't tell you what happened that first night you stayed over," she said instead of leaving, and was marginally gratified to see Dean lean slightly backward, taking a firmer seat against his chair back by the desk. He didn't say anything, but he didn't tell her to get out, either.

"I know you tucked me in, and then you passed out on the couch," she added, pausing when he looked like he was about to say something. When he didn't, she turned away and moved across the room, turning her back to his short dresser so that she could perch there, opposite him. "I woke up after a nightmare. I'd been dreaming about that... the guy at the bar, who came after me after I left the bathroom. I was yelling your name in the dream, and woke up when... when you didn't show up," she finished, finally glancing up to him. He was scowling openly now, though she didn't know if that was directed at her or her dream.

"I woke up... and I was terrified you'd left. I mean, it's not like we were even dating really, right? I knew it was crazy, Dean, but I just... I was terrified you'd left. The way I felt... I couldn't imagine never seeing you again, or even just... just not having you there. There was... something between us, I thought. I'd been scared before, but I'd never felt like that. I went out in the hall and found you sleeping on the couch, and, Dean, I swear to God... I've never been more relieved in my life."

Her hands on her knees as she leaned on his dresser, she noticed she was trembling. She'd told herself he needed to know this, though, so here she was.

"I knew you might be gone the next day, or the day after that—I mean, I thought you were a traveling lawyer, for Christ's sake, so it's not like that even sounds like the most trustworthy thing in the world. And the way you fought that guy off didn't exactly jibe with you being a suit either, so yeah, I guess I knew something wasn't right... but you made me feel safe."

He interrupted her there. "Calla, you don't have to—"

"No, Dean, I do," she cut him off. "You have to understand that... me not telling you about the spell, the spell thing in whole... it wasn't about you. It was about me. You made me feel safe, and I needed to feel safe for a while, so I made a choice. Doesn't that make sense?"

Dean had been watching her stumbling over her words, still half buzzed, and a mess and beautiful anyway. She was leaning back on his dresser now, unsteady, and he could tell she wanted nothing more than to flee—from him or from the bunker or from both, he wasn't sure. Part of him worried this was a goodbye, all things considered. Even as she'd finished and asked him if she made sense, though, she'd barely glanced up at him.

Instead of answering her, he moved across the room, walking slowly so that she could split if she wanted to. When she didn't, and when he reached her, he turned and leaned on his own desk beside her, both their backs to the wall. His hand was grazing hers, and gently he placed it overtop of hers and pressed down onto it, into the wood. He'd known everything she'd said, mostly—everything but how she'd felt, and why she'd felt it. He'd woken when she called out in her sleep, and been about to get up and check on her when he'd heard her bed creak. And then he'd kept his eyes closed as she came down the hall and stood over him for two moments too long. God, how he'd wanted to open his eyes and see the look on her face, but he hadn't.

Now, he just left his hand over hers, and stayed still until he felt her lean sideways slightly, and rest her head sideways against his bicep. He placed his other hand on the top of her head, gentling down her hair before he turned sideways and laid a kiss on the top of her head. Feeling her shiver, though, he straightened up and took a breath, reminding himself that they were in very different places at the moment. He just had to make sure he didn't push her away so roughly that she made more of it than he meant her to.

"Calla," he said quietly, "you are safe with me. And with Sam. What we did wasn't fair to you, and I'm not saying it was right, but I never meant to hurt you. I wanted to kill that guy for laying his hands on you; you have to know that. And that had nothing to do with spells or your mom or anything but you and me."

Calla nodded against his arm. "I know. I shouldn't have said what I did... I just... it was hard not to wonder, you know?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"I'll let you get a shower," she said softly, although she didn't make a move to leave.

"What about you—did you sleep last night?" Dean asked before he could think about what he was saying. She was still there beside him, though, making no move to leave.

"I tried... I think I was too drunk, I guess. I'm still coming down."

"Buzz wearing off, bleeding into hangover."

"Yeah," she agreed with a sigh. "My own fault."

"But you felt safe in the room, here in the bunker?" Dean waited, and it took her a moment too long to nod against his arm; he didn't know what that meant. "Look, Calla... Fuck, I shouldn't be saying this, but... well, I don't know how the spell's treating you, whether you want to be around me or not. I don't have any fucking idea and I guess we have to talk about that at some point. But I just want you to feel... like you're safe here. I don't want you to run—that's what I'm saying, I guess. But I'm gonna get a shower and then lay down. And you're welcome to join me," he said quietly, half expecting that she'd bolt, or hit him.

Calla froze, her breath hitching. God, but it would feel good to feel so safe again, as she'd felt when laying beside this man. Her pride hurt at the thought of it, but then, hadn't he told her a little bit before that he'd fallen for her also? The words had felt true, and that meant he'd left some of his dignity at the door also, maybe. "No conditions?" she finally asked.

"No conditions."

"And you don't mind?" she pressed.

"Hell, I'll sleep better with you here—knowing you're not leaving the bunker or in trouble, I mean," he added, perhaps too quickly. He swallowed, hard. He wasn't sure he'd sleep with her beside him at all, truth be told, but he wanted to.

"Okay then," Calla answered. "Okay."

"I'm gonna shower, then," he said, lifting his hands from her head and her hand, and slipping sideways to grab a change of clothes. "I'll be back soon, alright?"

Calla nodded, and then watched him grab some clothes from a drawer, and a towel and a bathrobe from the back of his door, before he stepped into the hall, gently shutting the door behind him. Sighing, she looked around her—weapons on the wall, and barely any other personality in the room to speak of. It felt like it belonged to a hunter... and yet, it also felt weirdly natural, strangely safe. Before she could stop herself, she slipped off her shoes and sat down on Dean's bed, and then after another moment she pulled down the military-cornered blanket and folded it at the bottom of the bed before laying down, to the side of where Dean's pillow was, her head cushioned on her arm. The bed smelled like him.

She was asleep in moments.

In the bathroom, Dean hurried through a shower and a shave, telling himself he wasn't crazy. After putting on fresh underwear, sweats, and a t-shirt, he texted Sam, "Calla's with me. We're getting some sleep. No worries. Talk later." Then he turned his phone off and headed back to his room. Sleep would help. Sleep always helped. And if it didn't, there was bourbon... and maybe there was Calla, too.

* * * * *

Dean's hand was tucked beneath Calla's top when he woke, resting against her stomach and holding her body spooned into his, and it took him a moment to place where he was, who he was with. When he'd lain down, he'd given her as much space as he could, and there'd been inches between them when he fell asleep—he on his back, his arms crossed, Calla sleeping beside him on her side, facing away. In their slumber, though, they'd knotted themselves together.

Now she lay spooned against him, her smaller body tucked into his, one of her ankles just behind her other and slipped between his calves, her head and one hand on top of his arm, now her pillow. Her other hand was resting on his forearm, against the fabric his hand had pressed beneath to find her skin. This close, he could feel how much more fragile she was, with the weight she'd lost—the way her ribs were closer to her skin, her thighs and arms slimmer. She'd been fading away into herself before Sam had gone to get her.

Taking stock of her even breath and his own increasing heartbeat, he whispered her name, but got no response. Gently as possible, he disentangled himself and slid from the bed, hearing her murmur a groggy protest in response, but his bladder wouldn't wait.

In the bathroom, he noted that they'd already been asleep for a few hours, but he didn't let himself wonder what he was doing, allowing her to crawl into bed with him. Hell... inviting her to crawl into bed with him, when he knew it was the last thing either of them likely needed.

Still, he hurried back to his room. Before getting in bed, he took off the t-shirt he'd been wearing—her heat was more than enough to counteract the chill in the air when paired with the bed's blanket. Slipping in behind her and bringing the blanket back up, he wrapped one arm around her once again and breathed in her perfume when she snuggled back into his body, her head landing again on his bicep as he let his fingers slip beneath her shirt once again, feeling her small ankle wrap backward around his calf, instinctively fitting the whole of her body to his own. He was asleep again within a minute.

* * * * *

When Calla came to, her first awareness was of the plains of Dean's chest against her body, felt clearly through the light linen blouse she was wearing. She could feel him breathing against her, and his hand resting on her stomach, beneath her shirt so that her skin was tingling with awareness. His body was just as she'd been remembering it—muscled and comforting, larger than hers by half, and firm where she was soft. She could smell his soap and his aftershave, and the line of his chin against her shoulder, her hair pulled sideways—by his fingers or her own, she wasn't sure.

She let him sleep, though, appreciating his even breath, and how safe she felt, shutting out what he and his brother had done. Maybe it was the remnants of the alcohol, or the lack of sleep accumulating to weigh down her reason, but this was really all she'd been wanting... for days, if not weeks... and the hard-on she felt pressed into her from behind was nothing if not a reminder of everything they'd shared before things went wrong. Or at least, before she'd realized things had gone wrong.

When he woke, the first sign was his hand on her stomach, his fingers stretching and then circling gently along her ribs, languid and exploring as he woke up. She'd meant to let him think her asleep, and just enjoy the sensations, but then she gasped when his touch tickled her for a moment, and she felt him shift, his bicep tensing beneath her head.

"You're awake?" Dean whispered, his breath right on Calla's ear, and she nodded against him.

"Just... just enjoying being here," she answered quietly.

Dean's hand froze for a moment at her words, but between the heat of Calla's skin and the hardness of his dick, it wasn't an easy thing to tell himself that this was a bad idea. So he didn't. Instead, he let his hand shift back and forth over her ribs, his nails playing along her skin and enjoying the trembles he felt coming from her as he put his lips to her neck. "I missed you," he said simply. Everything else could wait.

"Me, too, Dean. Can we..." Calla turned toward him, angling so that she could look backward, her leg slipping further between his as she did. "Can we just... forget everything else? For a little while?"

Dean felt his dick jump in response, and he was still staring at her a moment later when she began blushing and faced her eyes to the ceiling, shaking her head as her hand went to his hip, resting there as if for purchase. "What?" he asked.

"You—you grin like a wolf," she told him, her eyes darting back to his.

Calla watched his grin falter and then re-set, and she moved her head to kiss him, running her tongue along his lips. "It's okay—as long as you don't actually turn into one, I like it," she whispered, surrendering for the moment to how much her body wanted him, and hoping he wanted her, still, even half as much.

Dean waited a moment before he kissed her back, holding himself back. He didn't want her to think of him as a wolf, a predator—not if he could help it. He'd pushed her, in that week when they'd been together—too much, he thought now, if only because he'd seen an expiration date on their time together and wanted to experience everything he could while he had her. Now, he wanted to take his time, and make sure she knew he wasn't just a wolf. Not for her, anyway.

Instinctively, he reached down to the hem of her top and pulled it up, over her head, tossing it from the bed and returning his lips to hers as he wrapped himself overtop of her, one of his hands finding a breast to play with as he nudged aside her bra—gently this time, he reminded himself—and as his lips kissed along her neck and he wrapped his other arm beneath her, simply holding her body to his. When his lips found hers again, there were mews of pleasure coming from her, one of her legs wrapped around his thigh and pulling his hardness against her. With her in yoga pants and him in sweats, there was more than enough fabric to keep them apart, but nowhere near enough to hide how much he wanted her.

He pressed himself into her as he kissed her, slipping his tongue between her lips and then accepting hers, sucking lightly before he moved to suck her lower lip between his teeth, and then he moved down, lowering his lips to one of her nipples as his hands explored, discarding her bra before one of his hands reached up to wander along her mouth, and he gasped against her nipple as he felt her suck his middle finger deep between her lips, holding it and playing around it with her tongue while her hands ran along his arms and his shoulders as if memorizing him all over again.

"God, I missed you," he muttered, taking back his hands so that he could dip two fingers into her yoga pants and pull them from her hips, sliding them down her body and away, pulling her underwear with them. At the foot of the bed now, he stood long enough to lose his own sweats while he looked her over—she wasn't embarrassed about the way she was looking at him now, wanton desire written across every inch of her, with one of her hands on her hip and the other on a breast, and her legs slightly spread. She was just waiting for him. The bruising he saw on her arms froze him for a moment—he hadn't meant to be that rough with her the day before—but she shrugged when she saw the train of his gaze. He'd ignore it for now, apologize later.

He moved onto his knees before her, but Calla leaned up, pushing on his shoulders to stop him and get his attention. She focused on his eyes when she spoke, willing him to listen. "You'll make me cum if you touch me there with your lips—I want to come with you inside me, Dean. I'm ready for you..." she finished, her voice finally faltering as she heard the need in her own words. But she wanted to cum with him, against him.

Dean let his hands play along her thigh and looked down—she looked wet, ready, and he realized he could have that part of her later; if she didn't want him to drive her crazy right now, and bring her to the brink and beyond it while he was still in control, he wouldn't disagree.

He rolled sideways, sitting up and heading to a bureau drawer to get a condom; he never had girls here in the bunker, so there'd never been a need for keeping them in the nightstand. He came back to the bed, and watched her watching him roll the condom on, her eyes big and her lips parted.

Calla pulled her eyes from his deft fingers and up to his face, catching him darting his tongue from between his lips, signaling all of the desire she remembered him exploding with. Even the tattoo on his chest, and the knowledge it shared and the connection between them that it signaled, didn't bother her now. Her whole body was aching for him, begging to be close to him again and to feel the hardness of his body pressed against hers—she could feel the desire, the need in her veins, and in her speeding heart.

Even before he'd fully lowered himself over her, his muscles bunched as he held himself just above her, she had her hands grasping the sheets.

"You wait for me if you can, okay?" he told her softly, seeing the way that her body was already trembling with sensations, his eyes on hers. Watching her, it had been impossible not to see that she'd been burning up for him, waiting for him to be back against her, inside of her. Maybe it was just the spell, but he wanted to believe it was more—after all, there'd been chemistry between them from the moment they'd met, even if he had tried his damnedest to ignore it.

"You'll have to be fast—I don't think..."

Dean cut her off by kissing her, his lips coming down on hers and taking away her breath, like she'd taken away his when he'd seen her here for the first time, sleeping in his bed and waiting for him, like she belonged to him. He knew she didn't, but for now, she was everything he wanted. He rested one hand behind her head, tangled in her hair, and let his other find her waist as he nudged his dick forward, groaning with the ecstasy of pushing into her.

"God, Dean," she gasped. Calla could feel herself opening for him, welcoming him—he filled her, almost too much, and she felt him going slowly, gently, so that she could get used to him again.

"I should have—" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"No... I just... I just wanted you inside of me, you," she breathed out as her body adjusted to his entry, and his size.

Dean made himself hold where he was, his hard dick half buried in her, the tight wetness of her cunt and the heat of her body feeding every instinct he had to push harder, but instead he held back, and just massaged one of her breasts, working her body as he brought his lips firmly to hers, exploring her lips until he felt her body relaxing beneath him, and then he moved to her neck, and kissed her, sucking lightly as he pressed in, just an inch further, and then a half inch, and then a half inch more, moving as gently as he could into her and using her gasps to gauge where he was, and what she needed. She was slick, and every nerve in his body wanted to experience all of it at once, to push her. God, but she was tight.

"I'm so full," she gasped, breathing heavily, her eyes wide against his. "You feel amazing," she told him then, her eyes jarring shut as he pressed in further, her lips suddenly pressing against his collarbone so that he could feel her gasping with the pleasure of it all as he kissed away sweat from her temple before coming back to her lips and nudging them apart with his tongue, kissing her and holding himself still, just enjoying the heat of her around him, holding onto him as her cunt got used to him all over again.