Fic: It's In Our Blood - (Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam) Chapter Eight.
Title: It's In Our Blood
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter Eight:
The smell of some sweet fruit filled his lungs, and it's what ultimately woke him up. His face was nestled in blonde hair when he opened his eyes. Subconsciously, during the middle of the night he must have had this need to cuddle something because he was wrapped around her like his life depended on it. Not that he was really complaining much. Her warm naked perfectly toned body was against him. His arms were wrapped around her, right underneath her breasts. Their legs were tangled together, and he could feel her sex against his thigh. It was comfortable, and Dean was already hard and wanting more. It surprised him that she hadn’t noticed, that she was still dead asleep. The smell of her hair and the feel of her skin on his had him in a state of need, and he hadn't yet even thought about the amazing sex that they'd had just a few hours before.
Ama-zing. Sex.
The woman had stamina. The woman had strength. That wasn't even it. She was good. She knew what she was doing. But that's not what made the sex amazing. It was her eyes. Her face, the way she looked at him. Like he was her world. And for once, he saw Buffy Summers with her guard, her mask completely down. It was a side of her he’d yet to see, and while he liked Buffy as strong and independent as she was, it comforted him to know that she could rely on another. She wasn't just a slayer last night. She was human, and she'd let him see that; She'd let him see that she could be hurt. She was completely naked; he could see her body struggling underneath him, keeping in perfect rhythm. When it tensed, when she buried her face between where his neck and shoulder blade met and let herself go, the vulnerability, the way she let him in.... it was both touching and terrifying. Of all the women he'd been with, it was Buffy Summers that got more than just a rise out of him.
That was just the first time. The first of many that night, and he’d be damned if he could even count them. They all merged together in a perfect mess of the most amazing night of his life.
Every movement, every kiss, touch, caress. It was like something that he wanted to remember forever. He made a point to pay attention to everything that his mind could last night. To remember every little detail about her, every scar, every freckle that he could see...The way she looked at him, about the rhythm she was breathing, about her voice, her cries, what made her cry louder than others, and each gasp of breath. Everything. He set his head back on the pillow in her hair, too tired and sore in the good way to care. He laid there with a smile on his face reminiscing about the night before; some part of him quietly hoping that she’d awake with his arousal. She remained still, save for her slow and steady breathing. She was still in slumber, her hand gently wrapped around his wrist. Dean felt his leg start to cramp and swore to himself as he took in another breath, determined to get in one last whiff of her hair before he gently lifted the arm that wasn't underneath her. Buffy’s hand which was loosely attached to his wrist fell to the bed. It was obvious that Buffy was tired. She usually slept like Dean did; any kind of noise had him reaching for his weapon. Depending on the location, it usually resulted in a restless night. The thought that Buffy would trust him enough fall asleep deeply like that seeped into his head, and as quickly as the thought was in there, he pushed it back out again. His leg lifted off of hers and he swung himself over onto his back, with one of his arms still positioned under her breast, her light body over it.
As his arm straightened out, he could feel the blood flowing back into it. For the first time, he felt how asleep his right arm was.
And for the first time, he wondered how long he held her that night like he was trying to protect her from the world, and how long she had let him.
He was still exhausted, and the delayed pain from the fight the night before was making itself known on his back. He needed to stretch it out, but his arm was still trapped. He took the chance to tug at it a little bit to see how sound asleep she was, and to see how much room he had to work with. Luckily, with the first tug, she moved with him just enough so he could get it free, turning herself enough so she lay flat on her stomach, settling her head back on the pillow. It wasn’t a conscious move, Dean was sure of it. He stared at her for a full minute in stillness to triple check. His arm was no longer confined, and he could feel the needle tingling from the lack of blood flow for God only knew how long. Slowly and carefully, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He was taking baby steps to get off the bed so he wouldn’t disturb her. He flexed his arm a few times, the needle prickling still very dominant. He swung his legs off of the bed, and stood up slowly and carefully, avoiding every possible creak. As soon as he was off the bed, he grabbed his jeans which had been thrown to the end of the bed a few hours before and slipped them on. He made sure to keep a close eye on her to make sure she wasn’t getting disturbed, and the view - it was fantastic.
Her bare back was perfection, save from a few nicks and bruises. He was sure that a few of them were from him, but a few had to be from the fight the night before. She was facing him, a subtle smile playing at her swollen lips, her eyes closed, and her hair over her face. The scrape on her chin was still there, almost completely healed. Under her rib cage was the darkest bruise, the bruise that reminded him she’d been kicked brutally into a car. As he took in the sight of her, half covered by motel sheets, it was nothing short of adorable as her small body sprawled out on the bed, her tiny figure not even covering close to half. The sheets that had once covered them had moved with his body and opened her back completely to the room. They had been crumpled right at the cusp of her bottom, he could just see a faint part of it… and every single nerve in him wanted to get back in that bed, wake her up with a sexual advance and start the battle all over again. Instead, Dean moved the cheap hotel covers slowly over her back, watching her breathing evenly, watching the sleeping satisfied smile on her face. He let his knuckles gently scrape her back like a feather.
The hotel room was a mess. There were pieces of clothing left everywhere. Buffy’s shirt was on the other side of the room, and they’d managed to break a lamp that was secured to the counter. The morning sun had just started to show its face, the clock reading about 5:30 A.M. It would be showing its full face by six. Logically, he should have shined a light on the floor, so he could make it to the bathroom, but he came up with that idea too late as he almost sprained his ankle on one of the heels to her boots. It would have completely blown his cover if he hadn’t bit his tongue and rushed even faster to the door of his destination.
The small soft click of the latch to the door sounded. The bathroom was small; quaint, and thank God he hit the light switch instead of the obnoxiously loud fan. Dean focused his eyes to the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom before he turned, placed his palms on the sink, and stared at himself in the mirror. He had nibble marks along his neck, there was a small bruise forming on the left of his jawbone from the night before. He had similar nibble marks on his chest. Dean couldn't tell how long he stood there, just staring at himself. It was just thought after thought rolling in like a flood that couldn't be stopped. Buffy was right. The stunning woman lying naked in the low-grade bed that he’d snuck out of was right. Dean Winchester, the one man who could easily just sleep with whoever he wanted to without repercussions opened up to her more than he'd opened up to anyone in his life. He'd touched her last night knowing that if he’d let himself, he could fall in love with her.
And she knew it.
Even if it was just a small part of her that did, that was enough. He understood Buffy almost as much as she understood him. More so than he even understood himself it seemed. The blonde slayer would have never opened herself up to him, would never have even kissed him if she didn’t feel that connection that he was trying so hard to ignore. Damn that girl for bringing it up last night. Damn her for wanting to talk about anything, and damn her for convincing him it was alright. He’d been a complete ass to her after their conversation that lasted a good hour a few days ago. She’d bared herself to him, for God only knew why, but she did. That in turn caused him to talk about his own life, which was a topic that he’d rather have just avoided altogether. It’s what started their fight before the attack. She wanted him to talk about who he’d lost, like it would help him. Then he’d told her he was leaving, and she countered with stating that the only reason he was leaving was because he’d found something that he wasn’t used to.
The familiar whooshing sound came in the bathroom with an echo that had Dean jump enough to verify that his heart was still existent. He saw Cas appear behind him as he was looking through the mirror.
Forward to: Chapter Nine!
Backward to:
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter Eight:
The smell of some sweet fruit filled his lungs, and it's what ultimately woke him up. His face was nestled in blonde hair when he opened his eyes. Subconsciously, during the middle of the night he must have had this need to cuddle something because he was wrapped around her like his life depended on it. Not that he was really complaining much. Her warm naked perfectly toned body was against him. His arms were wrapped around her, right underneath her breasts. Their legs were tangled together, and he could feel her sex against his thigh. It was comfortable, and Dean was already hard and wanting more. It surprised him that she hadn’t noticed, that she was still dead asleep. The smell of her hair and the feel of her skin on his had him in a state of need, and he hadn't yet even thought about the amazing sex that they'd had just a few hours before.
Ama-zing. Sex.
The woman had stamina. The woman had strength. That wasn't even it. She was good. She knew what she was doing. But that's not what made the sex amazing. It was her eyes. Her face, the way she looked at him. Like he was her world. And for once, he saw Buffy Summers with her guard, her mask completely down. It was a side of her he’d yet to see, and while he liked Buffy as strong and independent as she was, it comforted him to know that she could rely on another. She wasn't just a slayer last night. She was human, and she'd let him see that; She'd let him see that she could be hurt. She was completely naked; he could see her body struggling underneath him, keeping in perfect rhythm. When it tensed, when she buried her face between where his neck and shoulder blade met and let herself go, the vulnerability, the way she let him in.... it was both touching and terrifying. Of all the women he'd been with, it was Buffy Summers that got more than just a rise out of him.
That was just the first time. The first of many that night, and he’d be damned if he could even count them. They all merged together in a perfect mess of the most amazing night of his life.
Every movement, every kiss, touch, caress. It was like something that he wanted to remember forever. He made a point to pay attention to everything that his mind could last night. To remember every little detail about her, every scar, every freckle that he could see...The way she looked at him, about the rhythm she was breathing, about her voice, her cries, what made her cry louder than others, and each gasp of breath. Everything. He set his head back on the pillow in her hair, too tired and sore in the good way to care. He laid there with a smile on his face reminiscing about the night before; some part of him quietly hoping that she’d awake with his arousal. She remained still, save for her slow and steady breathing. She was still in slumber, her hand gently wrapped around his wrist. Dean felt his leg start to cramp and swore to himself as he took in another breath, determined to get in one last whiff of her hair before he gently lifted the arm that wasn't underneath her. Buffy’s hand which was loosely attached to his wrist fell to the bed. It was obvious that Buffy was tired. She usually slept like Dean did; any kind of noise had him reaching for his weapon. Depending on the location, it usually resulted in a restless night. The thought that Buffy would trust him enough fall asleep deeply like that seeped into his head, and as quickly as the thought was in there, he pushed it back out again. His leg lifted off of hers and he swung himself over onto his back, with one of his arms still positioned under her breast, her light body over it.
As his arm straightened out, he could feel the blood flowing back into it. For the first time, he felt how asleep his right arm was.
And for the first time, he wondered how long he held her that night like he was trying to protect her from the world, and how long she had let him.
He was still exhausted, and the delayed pain from the fight the night before was making itself known on his back. He needed to stretch it out, but his arm was still trapped. He took the chance to tug at it a little bit to see how sound asleep she was, and to see how much room he had to work with. Luckily, with the first tug, she moved with him just enough so he could get it free, turning herself enough so she lay flat on her stomach, settling her head back on the pillow. It wasn’t a conscious move, Dean was sure of it. He stared at her for a full minute in stillness to triple check. His arm was no longer confined, and he could feel the needle tingling from the lack of blood flow for God only knew how long. Slowly and carefully, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He was taking baby steps to get off the bed so he wouldn’t disturb her. He flexed his arm a few times, the needle prickling still very dominant. He swung his legs off of the bed, and stood up slowly and carefully, avoiding every possible creak. As soon as he was off the bed, he grabbed his jeans which had been thrown to the end of the bed a few hours before and slipped them on. He made sure to keep a close eye on her to make sure she wasn’t getting disturbed, and the view - it was fantastic.
Her bare back was perfection, save from a few nicks and bruises. He was sure that a few of them were from him, but a few had to be from the fight the night before. She was facing him, a subtle smile playing at her swollen lips, her eyes closed, and her hair over her face. The scrape on her chin was still there, almost completely healed. Under her rib cage was the darkest bruise, the bruise that reminded him she’d been kicked brutally into a car. As he took in the sight of her, half covered by motel sheets, it was nothing short of adorable as her small body sprawled out on the bed, her tiny figure not even covering close to half. The sheets that had once covered them had moved with his body and opened her back completely to the room. They had been crumpled right at the cusp of her bottom, he could just see a faint part of it… and every single nerve in him wanted to get back in that bed, wake her up with a sexual advance and start the battle all over again. Instead, Dean moved the cheap hotel covers slowly over her back, watching her breathing evenly, watching the sleeping satisfied smile on her face. He let his knuckles gently scrape her back like a feather.
The hotel room was a mess. There were pieces of clothing left everywhere. Buffy’s shirt was on the other side of the room, and they’d managed to break a lamp that was secured to the counter. The morning sun had just started to show its face, the clock reading about 5:30 A.M. It would be showing its full face by six. Logically, he should have shined a light on the floor, so he could make it to the bathroom, but he came up with that idea too late as he almost sprained his ankle on one of the heels to her boots. It would have completely blown his cover if he hadn’t bit his tongue and rushed even faster to the door of his destination.
The small soft click of the latch to the door sounded. The bathroom was small; quaint, and thank God he hit the light switch instead of the obnoxiously loud fan. Dean focused his eyes to the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom before he turned, placed his palms on the sink, and stared at himself in the mirror. He had nibble marks along his neck, there was a small bruise forming on the left of his jawbone from the night before. He had similar nibble marks on his chest. Dean couldn't tell how long he stood there, just staring at himself. It was just thought after thought rolling in like a flood that couldn't be stopped. Buffy was right. The stunning woman lying naked in the low-grade bed that he’d snuck out of was right. Dean Winchester, the one man who could easily just sleep with whoever he wanted to without repercussions opened up to her more than he'd opened up to anyone in his life. He'd touched her last night knowing that if he’d let himself, he could fall in love with her.
And she knew it.
Even if it was just a small part of her that did, that was enough. He understood Buffy almost as much as she understood him. More so than he even understood himself it seemed. The blonde slayer would have never opened herself up to him, would never have even kissed him if she didn’t feel that connection that he was trying so hard to ignore. Damn that girl for bringing it up last night. Damn her for wanting to talk about anything, and damn her for convincing him it was alright. He’d been a complete ass to her after their conversation that lasted a good hour a few days ago. She’d bared herself to him, for God only knew why, but she did. That in turn caused him to talk about his own life, which was a topic that he’d rather have just avoided altogether. It’s what started their fight before the attack. She wanted him to talk about who he’d lost, like it would help him. Then he’d told her he was leaving, and she countered with stating that the only reason he was leaving was because he’d found something that he wasn’t used to.
The familiar whooshing sound came in the bathroom with an echo that had Dean jump enough to verify that his heart was still existent. He saw Cas appear behind him as he was looking through the mirror.
Forward to: Chapter Nine!
Backward to:
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.