fic: Opposition Research (Supernatural; Dean/Bela; adult)
Opposition Research
Supernatural; Dean/Bela; adult; 1,080 words
"You know, when this is over, we should really have some angry sex."
Thanks to amberlynne for looking it over. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Opposition Research
Bela will never tell him, but she's actually quite impressed with how quickly Dean disarmed the alarm and brought back the hand of glory. It's almost a shame she's going to steal it from him. She has a fleeting image of working with him as a partner, like Cary Grant and Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief, or Peter O'Toole and Audrey Hepburn in How to Steal a Million, but she knows it would never work out--he already has a partner, and she doesn't need or want one.
Nonetheless, she can see the advantages, clearly outlined by the broad sweep of his shoulders, the slim strength of his hips. Really, getting him into a tux is one of the cleverest things she's ever done, though getting him out of it might top the list. She could say she's only doing it to get the hand away from him, but the wet rush of heat between her thighs would prove she was lying.
She presses up close behind him, her hand settling on his hip, and he turns, mouth curled in a sneer she'd like to wipe off his face. She leans in and bites his lower lip. She's been wanting to do that for a while.
He pulls back, and she can see he's intrigued beneath the wariness. "What the hell?"
"Working a job always gets me...tingly." She takes his hand, slides it up along her thigh to brush against the wet lace of her knickers.
"We should get downstairs." He doesn't remove his hand, though; he pushes aside the lace and rubs his fingers along her slick flesh, and she has to close her eyes and swallow hard before she can speak again.
"Why should Gert have all the fun?" Her voice is low and teasing. She shifts her hips, presses down against his hand.
He's still stroking her as he protests, "Sam--"
"Is a big boy. He can handle a tipsy old dear who just wants to have a good time."
She cuts off his next objection with her mouth, and he lets her, brings his other hand up to tangle in her hair, tip her head back so he can take control of the kiss. She walks him back into the door, her hands yanking his shirt out of his waistband so she can slide them up beneath to touch the warm skin and firm muscle of his stomach and chest. His breath hitches into her mouth and his muscles jump beneath her touch. She laughs, pleased, and lets him swing her around so her back is against the door.
"I still don't like you," he says, his voice a low rumble that makes her cunt clench in anticipation.
"I'm sure I'd be heartbroken if I cared."
He mutters something that might be bitch, but since his lips are pressed against hers, she pays it no attention. She tips her head to the side and his mouth is hot and wet against her neck, brief skim of his teeth making her shiver. He draws her leg around his hip, other hand still working her cunt, two fingers dipping in and out while his thumb teases at her clit.
She rocks down against his hand, a little desperate to get off now, and says, "Harder, you bastard."
He laughs and leans in to suck at her neck, and she lets out a breathless little moan that's completely genuine.
He's better at this than she expected; given his personality and reputation, she'd thought he'd rut into her like a drunk and horny fratboy getting laid for the first time.
She bites his earlobe, whispers, "Come on, Dean. I want you to fuck me." She gets him unzipped and manages to get a condom out of her purse.
"Fuck." He mutters it into her mouth, hoarse and turned on, and she really likes being able to do that to him, feels it slick and hot between her legs. She licks at the curl of his lip, the roof of his mouth, enjoying the little shiver he can't hide.
She rolls the condom onto him and pushes aside her underwear to guide him inside. "Yes," she says. "Glad to see you're keeping up with the program."
He bites her lip this time, in retaliation, and she gasps in surprise, slides her tongue against his to soothe away the sting. His hands cup her ass and she wraps her other leg around his hip, heels pressing into his ass to urge him on. They don't have that much time.
She clutches at his shoulders, hips bucking against his as he fucks into her, hard and deep, rattling the door on its hinges. He covers her mouth with his, sucks on her tongue, and swallows down her moan as she comes, clenching tight around him, pleasure pulsing through her in waves. She keeps her wits about her, though, and when he shudders and comes with a low grunt, his face pressed to the crook of her neck, she slides a hand into his jacket and grabs the hand, replacing it with the ship in a bottle she'd stashed in her purse earlier. He's breathing heavily, slumped against her. He doesn't even notice.
Just like a man to be distracted by sex. They're all the same. She doesn't know why she had expectations this time. She tamps down the faint sense of disappointment. She usually knows better.
They break apart with minimal fuss, straighten their clothes and hair with businesslike aplomb.
"For once, I can say it was actually a pleasure doing business with you," he says.
She rolls her eyes at his attempt at witty repartee. "It was all right," she allows, smirking at his annoyed look. "I wouldn't be averse to repeating the experience. Let you put that pretty mouth to better use." It's the truth, though she's fairly certain that once he discovers she's played him again, that won't happen. It's a shame, really, because she could definitely go for a second round. If only they'd had more time.
He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it, shaking his head. He opens the door but doesn't hold it for her. She follows after him, enjoying the view.
"The pleasure was all mine," she murmurs, thinking about the money she's going to make.
Dean walks ahead of her, oblivious. She tells herself she likes him better that way.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Supernatural; Dean/Bela; adult; 1,080 words
"You know, when this is over, we should really have some angry sex."
Thanks to amberlynne for looking it over. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Opposition Research
Bela will never tell him, but she's actually quite impressed with how quickly Dean disarmed the alarm and brought back the hand of glory. It's almost a shame she's going to steal it from him. She has a fleeting image of working with him as a partner, like Cary Grant and Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief, or Peter O'Toole and Audrey Hepburn in How to Steal a Million, but she knows it would never work out--he already has a partner, and she doesn't need or want one.
Nonetheless, she can see the advantages, clearly outlined by the broad sweep of his shoulders, the slim strength of his hips. Really, getting him into a tux is one of the cleverest things she's ever done, though getting him out of it might top the list. She could say she's only doing it to get the hand away from him, but the wet rush of heat between her thighs would prove she was lying.
She presses up close behind him, her hand settling on his hip, and he turns, mouth curled in a sneer she'd like to wipe off his face. She leans in and bites his lower lip. She's been wanting to do that for a while.
He pulls back, and she can see he's intrigued beneath the wariness. "What the hell?"
"Working a job always gets me...tingly." She takes his hand, slides it up along her thigh to brush against the wet lace of her knickers.
"We should get downstairs." He doesn't remove his hand, though; he pushes aside the lace and rubs his fingers along her slick flesh, and she has to close her eyes and swallow hard before she can speak again.
"Why should Gert have all the fun?" Her voice is low and teasing. She shifts her hips, presses down against his hand.
He's still stroking her as he protests, "Sam--"
"Is a big boy. He can handle a tipsy old dear who just wants to have a good time."
She cuts off his next objection with her mouth, and he lets her, brings his other hand up to tangle in her hair, tip her head back so he can take control of the kiss. She walks him back into the door, her hands yanking his shirt out of his waistband so she can slide them up beneath to touch the warm skin and firm muscle of his stomach and chest. His breath hitches into her mouth and his muscles jump beneath her touch. She laughs, pleased, and lets him swing her around so her back is against the door.
"I still don't like you," he says, his voice a low rumble that makes her cunt clench in anticipation.
"I'm sure I'd be heartbroken if I cared."
He mutters something that might be bitch, but since his lips are pressed against hers, she pays it no attention. She tips her head to the side and his mouth is hot and wet against her neck, brief skim of his teeth making her shiver. He draws her leg around his hip, other hand still working her cunt, two fingers dipping in and out while his thumb teases at her clit.
She rocks down against his hand, a little desperate to get off now, and says, "Harder, you bastard."
He laughs and leans in to suck at her neck, and she lets out a breathless little moan that's completely genuine.
He's better at this than she expected; given his personality and reputation, she'd thought he'd rut into her like a drunk and horny fratboy getting laid for the first time.
She bites his earlobe, whispers, "Come on, Dean. I want you to fuck me." She gets him unzipped and manages to get a condom out of her purse.
"Fuck." He mutters it into her mouth, hoarse and turned on, and she really likes being able to do that to him, feels it slick and hot between her legs. She licks at the curl of his lip, the roof of his mouth, enjoying the little shiver he can't hide.
She rolls the condom onto him and pushes aside her underwear to guide him inside. "Yes," she says. "Glad to see you're keeping up with the program."
He bites her lip this time, in retaliation, and she gasps in surprise, slides her tongue against his to soothe away the sting. His hands cup her ass and she wraps her other leg around his hip, heels pressing into his ass to urge him on. They don't have that much time.
She clutches at his shoulders, hips bucking against his as he fucks into her, hard and deep, rattling the door on its hinges. He covers her mouth with his, sucks on her tongue, and swallows down her moan as she comes, clenching tight around him, pleasure pulsing through her in waves. She keeps her wits about her, though, and when he shudders and comes with a low grunt, his face pressed to the crook of her neck, she slides a hand into his jacket and grabs the hand, replacing it with the ship in a bottle she'd stashed in her purse earlier. He's breathing heavily, slumped against her. He doesn't even notice.
Just like a man to be distracted by sex. They're all the same. She doesn't know why she had expectations this time. She tamps down the faint sense of disappointment. She usually knows better.
They break apart with minimal fuss, straighten their clothes and hair with businesslike aplomb.
"For once, I can say it was actually a pleasure doing business with you," he says.
She rolls her eyes at his attempt at witty repartee. "It was all right," she allows, smirking at his annoyed look. "I wouldn't be averse to repeating the experience. Let you put that pretty mouth to better use." It's the truth, though she's fairly certain that once he discovers she's played him again, that won't happen. It's a shame, really, because she could definitely go for a second round. If only they'd had more time.
He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it, shaking his head. He opens the door but doesn't hold it for her. She follows after him, enjoying the view.
"The pleasure was all mine," she murmurs, thinking about the money she's going to make.
Dean walks ahead of her, oblivious. She tells herself she likes him better that way.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~