weary_head | (no subject)

Entry tags:

angua,
naughty

(no subject)

Midnight found Dean wandering, this time with a bottle of booze. Its quality was as dubious as its color (somewhere between pink and a watery melon), but it did the trick, and Dean thanked the life that had enabled him to sneak so easily into the Hub and steal it away with every burning swallow.

He didn't go to the waterfall this time. Sam had found him there too easily. Strange, that it should be harder than ever to talk to Sam about the deal now that he knew. No burden had been lifted, only another settled on top of the first, and the weight of Sam's disappointment and grief was more than Dean could bear most evenings. Gulping down another awful swallow, he wondered if he'd ever sleep a night through again.

And so it was that he found himself at Angua's hut. He told himself that he wanted to see her new digs, which was true. Why he needed to see them at this time of night, he didn't bother making excuses for. He was too busy making a hell of a lot of noise tripping over her front step.

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He shrugged again. "I was five. You want some more of this?"

Angua did, but she shook her head. "No thanks. And still..." But she didn't know what to say, how could she? Dean was so closed off, and she could hardly commiserate. If her own mother died in a fire, Angua wasn't sure she would feel much of anything at all.

"Still what?" asked Dean, in a tone that suggested she might not want to continue that sentence. He seemed to realize it, and smiled up at her through his lashes.

"Didn't know you were lonely."

"Still, I'm sorry," Angua said, refusing to be cowed by any look or tone Dean wanted to throw at her.

His sudden 180 hardly worked. "I came here after being in a long, serious relationship only to find out that my boyfriend disappeared right before I got here," she said, shifting on the bed, staring down at her knees. She probably wouldn't have said a thing if he hadn't been drunk. It was easier knowing he likely wouldn't even think about whatever she was saying the next day. "Now my only roomie is Gavin, and he snores."

"I snore, too," allowed Dean. He leaned in, raising a deliberate hand to her shoulder to poke at a freckle there. "Ought let me share your bed instead."

"Oh, like Gavin?" Angua teased, and half-heartedly raised a hand to swat his away. "I suppose it would be alright if you slept at the end. You can warm my feet."

Dean followed one freckle to the next before getting distracted by her collarbone, tracing along it with his fingertips to a freckle on the other side. "Pretty kinky," he observed. "You want me to wear a collar, too?"

Angua didn't move. She knew she should have moved, but she didn't. Instead, she let out the breath she'd been holding and smirked, looking unaffected.

"I'm the dog, aren't I? I think we have things backwards."

Her skin was soft - really soft, the way that girl skin always was. As much as he craved it, Dean never really remembered how great it was until he was touching it again.

"Don't look like a dog," he murmured, fanning his fingers out to touch more.

"A Ramptops Wolfhound," Angua murmured, leaning toward Dean's hand. She watched his face. "You're drunk."

"Ramp tops," repeated Dean, looking down with a grin. "Those're some speedbumps, all right." He shifted away belatedly in case she smacked him, but in truth he'd have welcomed even that. "I'm not drunk."

Angua didn't smack him, but rolled her eyes. "Really? How did you drink all that, and end up sober?"

She held up three fingers. "How many do you see?"

He nuzzled at them. "Three. I'm drunk, not blind."

"I thought you just said you weren't drunk," Angua pointed out, giving his cheek a gentle pat.

Edited 2008-04-03 03:10 (UTC)

Dean turned his face into her touch. That felt good, too, even if its gentleness made a part of him ache in a distant sort of way, and he leaned forward as naturally as breathing to touch his mouth to hers.

It wasn't exactly unexpected with how friendly Dean had been getting, so Angua had plenty of time to register what was happening and pull away. To get off the bed. To put on a robe or something. But Dean's mouth was soft and warm, and maybe she'd wanted it all along. The fact that he was drunk made it better, easier. She was in control, she knew what she was doing. She had no one to blame but herself.

Angua's eyes slipped closed as she kissed back, urging more than his gentle touch, her fingers curling around his jaw, his neck.

Dean only seemed to realize what he'd done when she kissed him back. "Oops," he murmured with a tiny smile, tugging her bottom lip between his own. He sank the fingers of his free hand into her hair to tilt her head towards him.

"Shut up," Angua whispered, nearly lifting off the bed at the pull on her lip. She kissed Dean again, lightly, waiting for him to deepen it.

"Mmkay," Dean agreed, shifting his weight until their faces were level. He nuzzled her nose with his before kissing her again, bearing her back against the pillows with the weight of his body. He figured if she wasn't okay with that, he'd know in a hurry, but for the time being it sure felt nice.

Angua stiffened up at first. Kissing was one thing, but laying on the bed underneath him in something that barely constituted for clothing was something entirely different. Her hands found his shirt and she held on, unsure if she should push him back or pull him closer.

Her fingers twisting in his shirt earned a soft sound from Dean, and he stayed where he was, his knee finding its way between hers. He did lift his mouth from Angua's, however, but only to bite gently at her throat.

Angua gasped and her head fell back of its own accord. How did he know? Her eyes opened halfway and her hands reached under his shirt, his skin was over-warm and soft and almost too personal. He was well-built, but soft in places Carrot wasn't, and he smelled like alcohol and sweat.*

*Not soap. Which wasn't to say he didn't bathe, but with Carrot it was almost unnatural.

She liked that, did she? Dean chuckled to himself and bit again, right there where her neck met her shoulder. She felt impossibly smooth, even against his tongue, and he pondered if it was kinky to wonder what her fur was like.

Angua moaned softly and moved under him, shifting her hips. It felt so good, and new, she couldn't think past it to even feel guilty.

It might not have been an outright invitation, but Dean took it as permission to touch her just the same. He let his fingers drag lazily against her side, rucking her camisole up until he reached the soft curve of her breast.