fic: The Dover Test (Supernatural; Dean/Risa; adult)
The Dover Test
Supernatural; Dean/Risa; adult; warnings policy; spoilers through 5.04; 1,606 words
If she doesn't laugh, she'll cry.
Thanks to snacky for looking it over. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
The Dover Test
Risa's life is a series of befores and afters--she's not the same woman she was before her fiancé's eyes turned black and he tried to choke the life out of her without ever lifting a finger. That Risa didn't know how to handle a gun, how to chant an exorcism, how to draw a devil's trap. But she'd still take that life over what she's got now. The world will never be what it was before the Croatoan virus, and she's not sure there is an after for her. For anyone.
She joins Winchester's crew because they seem to be the only ones doing more than just surviving. She'd known his name before the virus--every hunter did; even newbies like her heard about it when he clawed his way out of his own grave, when he and his brother set Lucifer free--and rumor had it he was the only one who could beat the devil. She laughs at that now. Beat the devil, like it really was as simple as playing with matches.
They don't trust her at first, and she doesn't trust them, but she knows her shit--knows more than the civilians, anyway--and she's good in a fight. She works her way up into Winchester's inner circle--once Bobby's gone, it's her and the stoner angel, Chuck and Yaeger--and she does it on the soundness of her strategy and her ability to shoot straight under pressure, not on her back, despite what some people in camp seem to think.
The first time she and Dean fuck, it's a freak adrenaline thing. They've just come back from patrol. They killed six Croats and didn't lose any of their own people, so it's what passes for a good day now. She can feel the energy buzzing under her skin, humming in her veins and pulsing between her thighs. She hangs back, and Dean keeps pace with her, letting the other go ahead. Once they've turned the corner and are out of sight, she shoves Dean against the side of one of the vans and kisses him, tongue pushing hard into his mouth. He grabs her shoulder with one hand and her ass with the other and swings them around so her back is to the van.
His hands are rough on her tits, but it feels good through the worn cotton of her bra. The way he sucks on her tongue makes her pussy clench with need and anticipation. It's been a long time since she felt like that. They don't undress, though he gets her jeans and underwear shoved down to her boots and steps over them into the vee of her thighs as she unzips his jeans and curls a hand around his dick, which is hard and hot against her palm. She wraps her legs around his hips and tips her head back as he fucks into her, his mouth wet and hot against her throat. He doesn't say much, so she bites back the moans rising in her throat, mindful of the fact that there are people all around and they're outside, even if the van hides them from view.
She comes with a stuttering gasp, the world falling away for a few blissful seconds. She's still riding out the aftershocks when she feels him come, warm and wet inside her, and she has a moment of panic before she remembers she probably isn't going to live long enough for pregnancy or herpes to become an issue.
Dean pulls away and gives her a small half-smile, and she wonders what he was like before all of this, before he went to hell and got pulled out. He cleans himself up and leaves her standing there on unsteady legs, naked from the waist down and sticky with come.
Risa pulls up her pants, leans back against the van, and laughs. She has to cover her mouth and breathe deeply through her nose, or her laugh might just turn into a sob.
She's not really surprised when he shows up at her cabin two nights later. He kicks the door closed behind him and gives her a wet, sloppy kiss. He doesn't let up as he walks her back to the musty old cot she's been sleeping on. It squeaks in protest when they drop down onto it, and continues to creak and squeal while they fuck. He laughs against her mouth at the sound, eyes bright in a way she doesn't think she's ever seen before, and she touches his face gently, surprised at the warmth filling her chest.
He doesn't stay when he's done, but he gives her a full smile this time, one that reaches his eyes, and she tries not to show how stunned she is by how different it makes him look, younger and more hopeful, like the world hasn't gone in the crapper and they're all just marking time until they follow it down.
After that, he shows up a couple nights a week and she tries not to think about what it means, tries not to treat it like she would have before, when she'd have examined his every word and action in minute detail with her girlfriends, trying to figure out if he was sending her some kind of coded messages. Now, she thinks if he is, they're nothing she wants to know.
Nothing changes. He doesn't open up or tell her anything more than he tells the others. He doesn't seek out her advice or act like she's special. He runs things on a need-to-know basis, and clearly he doesn't think she needs to know. She's okay with that.
They go on like this for a couple of months. She doesn't know if he's sleeping with anyone else, and she tells herself she doesn't care.
Then comes the supply raid where they lose half the patrol. Dean leads out a second patrol to bring some demons in, get some intel. He locks them in the makeshift prison, and Risa makes herself scarce when she hears the screaming. The days of trying to save hosts are long gone. She kind of hates herself for thinking it's easier this way.
She wakes to the sound of someone entering her cabin, has a gun pointed at him even as she's blinking sleep out of her eyes.
"Hey," he says, holding up a half-empty bottle of whisky. "It's me." He doesn't offer her any, but she can taste it in his mouth when she licks her way in.
He's never been what she would call gentle, but this time it's rough enough that she feels a slight thrill of fear as they fuck, his hands gripping hard enough to bruise her hips and his teeth sharp against her neck. There's a look on his face she can't identify when he breaks the skin, and she can taste the warm copper tang of her blood on his tongue when he kisses her.
"It'll all be over soon," he tells her when they're done, the bottle back in his hand like he can't bear to be separated from it.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got a line on the Colt."
She's still not sure the mythical gun that can kill anything actually exists, but he swears he used it to kill Azazel and that it should work on Lucifer. They don't talk about whether he'll actually be able to kill the devil, who's wearing his brother like a suit.
"What makes this time different from the last five times?"
He shrugs. "I've got a feeling." He leans in and gives her a hard kiss. "Don't say anything, though. Don't want to get anybody's hopes up." She wonders if he was always this broken, or if he's another casualty of the apocalypse. Sometimes she thinks the only difference between them and the Croats is that they're clinging to their humanity by their fingertips, but it's getting harder every day.
She snorts a laugh that's more bitter than amused. "I don't think there's any danger of that."
He gives a bark of laughter in response. "That's what I like about you, Risa." He gives her a lazy smile that she imagines used to get him laid frequently back before the virus. "I feel like we have a connection, don't you?" He gestures with the hand holding the bottle and she takes it from him, puts it down on the floor, and pushes him back against the pillows, trying to ignore the burst of warmth she feels at his words, which, she reminds herself as she sinks into the wet heat of his mouth, sound like a cheesy pickup line.
She's not wrong. Three days later, she finds out he spent the night in Jane's cabin, and she's angry--at herself for thinking this was something more than sex. At him, for letting her. She likes to think she's smarter than the people they rescue, the civilian survivors who believe the things he tells them about winning this war, the ones who think he's a hero, but she fell for him, the same as everyone else.
She looks at Dean from 2009, the same and yet so different, and she wonders what will happen when he goes back to his own time, what he'll change. If she'll remember any of this, or if everything will be different. She wonders if it matters.
When their Dean tells them the plan, Risa knows it's a suicide mission. She wishes he respected them enough to tell them the truth. She's glad she's not going to live long enough to see him fail.
end
~*~
Note: In January 2000, the then-chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Hugh Shelton, gave us a standard by which to determine whether this nation ought to send its sons and daughters into combat. That decision "must be subjected to what I call 'the Dover test.' Is the American public prepared for the sight of our most precious resource coming home in flag-draped caskets into Dover Air Force Base in Delaware - which is a point of entry for our armed forces? This is an issue, I think, that should be raised early on. It should be discussed, and it should be decided by our political leadership before any operation begins." (source)
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/77278.html.
people have commented there.
Supernatural; Dean/Risa; adult; warnings policy; spoilers through 5.04; 1,606 words
If she doesn't laugh, she'll cry.
Thanks to snacky for looking it over. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
The Dover Test
Risa's life is a series of befores and afters--she's not the same woman she was before her fiancé's eyes turned black and he tried to choke the life out of her without ever lifting a finger. That Risa didn't know how to handle a gun, how to chant an exorcism, how to draw a devil's trap. But she'd still take that life over what she's got now. The world will never be what it was before the Croatoan virus, and she's not sure there is an after for her. For anyone.
She joins Winchester's crew because they seem to be the only ones doing more than just surviving. She'd known his name before the virus--every hunter did; even newbies like her heard about it when he clawed his way out of his own grave, when he and his brother set Lucifer free--and rumor had it he was the only one who could beat the devil. She laughs at that now. Beat the devil, like it really was as simple as playing with matches.
They don't trust her at first, and she doesn't trust them, but she knows her shit--knows more than the civilians, anyway--and she's good in a fight. She works her way up into Winchester's inner circle--once Bobby's gone, it's her and the stoner angel, Chuck and Yaeger--and she does it on the soundness of her strategy and her ability to shoot straight under pressure, not on her back, despite what some people in camp seem to think.
The first time she and Dean fuck, it's a freak adrenaline thing. They've just come back from patrol. They killed six Croats and didn't lose any of their own people, so it's what passes for a good day now. She can feel the energy buzzing under her skin, humming in her veins and pulsing between her thighs. She hangs back, and Dean keeps pace with her, letting the other go ahead. Once they've turned the corner and are out of sight, she shoves Dean against the side of one of the vans and kisses him, tongue pushing hard into his mouth. He grabs her shoulder with one hand and her ass with the other and swings them around so her back is to the van.
His hands are rough on her tits, but it feels good through the worn cotton of her bra. The way he sucks on her tongue makes her pussy clench with need and anticipation. It's been a long time since she felt like that. They don't undress, though he gets her jeans and underwear shoved down to her boots and steps over them into the vee of her thighs as she unzips his jeans and curls a hand around his dick, which is hard and hot against her palm. She wraps her legs around his hips and tips her head back as he fucks into her, his mouth wet and hot against her throat. He doesn't say much, so she bites back the moans rising in her throat, mindful of the fact that there are people all around and they're outside, even if the van hides them from view.
She comes with a stuttering gasp, the world falling away for a few blissful seconds. She's still riding out the aftershocks when she feels him come, warm and wet inside her, and she has a moment of panic before she remembers she probably isn't going to live long enough for pregnancy or herpes to become an issue.
Dean pulls away and gives her a small half-smile, and she wonders what he was like before all of this, before he went to hell and got pulled out. He cleans himself up and leaves her standing there on unsteady legs, naked from the waist down and sticky with come.
Risa pulls up her pants, leans back against the van, and laughs. She has to cover her mouth and breathe deeply through her nose, or her laugh might just turn into a sob.
She's not really surprised when he shows up at her cabin two nights later. He kicks the door closed behind him and gives her a wet, sloppy kiss. He doesn't let up as he walks her back to the musty old cot she's been sleeping on. It squeaks in protest when they drop down onto it, and continues to creak and squeal while they fuck. He laughs against her mouth at the sound, eyes bright in a way she doesn't think she's ever seen before, and she touches his face gently, surprised at the warmth filling her chest.
He doesn't stay when he's done, but he gives her a full smile this time, one that reaches his eyes, and she tries not to show how stunned she is by how different it makes him look, younger and more hopeful, like the world hasn't gone in the crapper and they're all just marking time until they follow it down.
After that, he shows up a couple nights a week and she tries not to think about what it means, tries not to treat it like she would have before, when she'd have examined his every word and action in minute detail with her girlfriends, trying to figure out if he was sending her some kind of coded messages. Now, she thinks if he is, they're nothing she wants to know.
Nothing changes. He doesn't open up or tell her anything more than he tells the others. He doesn't seek out her advice or act like she's special. He runs things on a need-to-know basis, and clearly he doesn't think she needs to know. She's okay with that.
They go on like this for a couple of months. She doesn't know if he's sleeping with anyone else, and she tells herself she doesn't care.
Then comes the supply raid where they lose half the patrol. Dean leads out a second patrol to bring some demons in, get some intel. He locks them in the makeshift prison, and Risa makes herself scarce when she hears the screaming. The days of trying to save hosts are long gone. She kind of hates herself for thinking it's easier this way.
She wakes to the sound of someone entering her cabin, has a gun pointed at him even as she's blinking sleep out of her eyes.
"Hey," he says, holding up a half-empty bottle of whisky. "It's me." He doesn't offer her any, but she can taste it in his mouth when she licks her way in.
He's never been what she would call gentle, but this time it's rough enough that she feels a slight thrill of fear as they fuck, his hands gripping hard enough to bruise her hips and his teeth sharp against her neck. There's a look on his face she can't identify when he breaks the skin, and she can taste the warm copper tang of her blood on his tongue when he kisses her.
"It'll all be over soon," he tells her when they're done, the bottle back in his hand like he can't bear to be separated from it.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got a line on the Colt."
She's still not sure the mythical gun that can kill anything actually exists, but he swears he used it to kill Azazel and that it should work on Lucifer. They don't talk about whether he'll actually be able to kill the devil, who's wearing his brother like a suit.
"What makes this time different from the last five times?"
He shrugs. "I've got a feeling." He leans in and gives her a hard kiss. "Don't say anything, though. Don't want to get anybody's hopes up." She wonders if he was always this broken, or if he's another casualty of the apocalypse. Sometimes she thinks the only difference between them and the Croats is that they're clinging to their humanity by their fingertips, but it's getting harder every day.
She snorts a laugh that's more bitter than amused. "I don't think there's any danger of that."
He gives a bark of laughter in response. "That's what I like about you, Risa." He gives her a lazy smile that she imagines used to get him laid frequently back before the virus. "I feel like we have a connection, don't you?" He gestures with the hand holding the bottle and she takes it from him, puts it down on the floor, and pushes him back against the pillows, trying to ignore the burst of warmth she feels at his words, which, she reminds herself as she sinks into the wet heat of his mouth, sound like a cheesy pickup line.
She's not wrong. Three days later, she finds out he spent the night in Jane's cabin, and she's angry--at herself for thinking this was something more than sex. At him, for letting her. She likes to think she's smarter than the people they rescue, the civilian survivors who believe the things he tells them about winning this war, the ones who think he's a hero, but she fell for him, the same as everyone else.
She looks at Dean from 2009, the same and yet so different, and she wonders what will happen when he goes back to his own time, what he'll change. If she'll remember any of this, or if everything will be different. She wonders if it matters.
When their Dean tells them the plan, Risa knows it's a suicide mission. She wishes he respected them enough to tell them the truth. She's glad she's not going to live long enough to see him fail.
end
~*~
Note: In January 2000, the then-chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Hugh Shelton, gave us a standard by which to determine whether this nation ought to send its sons and daughters into combat. That decision "must be subjected to what I call 'the Dover test.' Is the American public prepared for the sight of our most precious resource coming home in flag-draped caskets into Dover Air Force Base in Delaware - which is a point of entry for our armed forces? This is an issue, I think, that should be raised early on. It should be discussed, and it should be decided by our political leadership before any operation begins." (source)
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/77278.html.
people have commented there.