?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
14 November 2010 @ 07:22 pm
Living at a Pace That Kills: Chapter Eleven - Buffy/Dean Fic  
Title: Living at a Pace That Kills: Chapter Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None so far
Warnings: Sex and language
Genre: Thriller
Summary: Buffy’s life after the fall of Sunnydale takes a tragic turn, turning her to a hunter.
Disclaimer: The only real major difference in the Buffy story is how things ended up after the last episode of the series. It doesn’t follow the comics.  All characters and storylines from Buffy and Supernatural belong to their original creators, not me.
SEE THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE

It had been days since I had seen him. Part of me wondered if I would ever see him again. After the death of his brother, he had dropped me off at the motel, picked up several of his guns and a bag of what I could only guess to be clothing, and had vanished. In truth, I missed him. It had been hard enough having to deal with the murders. I loathed not being able to fight that night. I had simply sat in the back hiding while innocent people were butchered.

Even I knew though that it was not that black and white. There were so many mediating factors. Sure, I was the girl to go to when you needed to destroy the monsters, and from what little I knew of the Winchesters, they were the same, but we had stepped into a gray area. I had slipped – drinking myself into a blurred stupor. Had I known how to defeat that thing, fighting it would have been a bad idea. I would have chanced getting myself seriously injured or possibly killed.

By the way Dean had acted after the killings, I knew he felt the same. Although I could see he had done the smart thing, keeping both himself and me out of harm’s way, he was certainly the type to go down fighting. Both of us felt lost. We had both lost our families to the same hideous creature that we had been unable to put so much as a dent in. It was sickening.

Since he had been gone, I had been patrolling manically. I had barely slept, spending my nights either in the subway tunnels or the graveyards. No matter how many vampires I staked, none would help lessen the feeling of worthlessness that haunted me. I spent the light hours in the hotel, eagerly awaiting the moment he would return to the motel. It was ridiculous, really. For all I knew, he was halfway across the country by then. Still, I pined for him.

The fourth day since his disappearance had come to a close as I watched the sun set in the distance. It was raining outside with enormous drops pounding against the cheap roof of the motel. I sat on the bed, staring at some of the rifles Dean had left behind as well as a stack of Sam’s books beside his laptop. It was still open, the way he had left it before we went out. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, ones that I didn’t bother to wipe away. Everyone around me had been killed. I had never felt so weak in my entire life.

~

The rain had picked up. Part of me worried that the area may begin to flood, but the other part of me didn’t care. I could no longer take comfort in my own company. The time around Dean and Sam had made my human side show itself for the first time in a year, something that was trying desperately to stick with me. All the sadness and mental torture was building up though, causing my humanity to disintegrate. I hated it. I couldn’t live that way anymore.

That was when I heard the key turn in the lock, opening the door. Although I knew who it had to be, I shot up on instinct. It was nearly pitch black dark due to the darkness of the night and the storm. Regardless, I could see Dean’s figure in the faint moonlight and lay back down quickly, not knowing what to say to him. He didn’t look in my direction and probably guessed I was asleep. I listened as he set a bag quietly on the floor and got undressed. I expected him to go to the second bed, but instead, he stood alongside mine, gazing down at me. There was a slight whiff of alcohol on his breath, something I had come to associate greatly with mourning. I felt the mattress dip slightly as he crawled under the covers just beside me. It was strange. His presence was immensely comforting and I felt an unspoken connection with him that I couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t until I felt his hand slide down the side of my face that I turned to him.

For a moment we were very still, just looking into each other’s eyes. There were so many things we could have said then, but we were silent. The pain that we shared remained unmentioned, but I could tell it was on the forefront of his mind as well. He leaned into me then, kissing my neck. Feeling warmth that I hadn’t experienced in longer than I could remember, I clutched him to me tightly. His lips moved up my neck, along my jaw line, and to my own lips. I kissed him hungrily then, doing the best I could to crush my own overpowering emotions as well as his. As he held the back of my head, he managed to undo the buttons of m y pajama top with one hand, stripping me of half my clothing. I wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him close to me, pressing his warm body to me.

I found it funny how human beings functioned. In times of colossal sadness, we found ourselves divulging in other emotions of the highest order. Knowing that shoved any guilt I had out of my head, as I imagined it did with him as well. He grasped my hand then and ran it over him. My need for him increased then and I kissed him a bit rougher, hardening him beneath my hand with every passing moment.

“God, I want you so fucking bad…” he whispered urgently in my ear.

The tone of his voice turned me on all the more. It was the need, the feeling of being wanted so much, even for that moment that helped erode the sting or regret and loss. He pulled my blue cotton pajama pants off then and I felt two of his fingers move inside of me. An involuntary moan escaped me as I arched my back suddenly. He took the opportunity to crawl atop me, running his lips down my neck and between my breasts to the small of my stomach. Looking up at me, he moved back and held my small face in his hands, kissing me again.

Somewhere amid then and me gripping him against me forcefully, I felt him push himself inside of me. There was a split second of pain brought on by my long stretch between sexual episodes, followed by a feeling of completion I hadn’t expected. For a small period, we sat with one another, taking each other in. Then our primal instincts kicked in, the ones craving satisfaction. My nails dug into his back deeply as we crashed together, both of us feeding off of the other. I felt him shudder just as I reached my own orgasm, one causing my legs to tremble fiercely. I sighed hard as he lay on me for a mere few seconds, only to roll over beside me afterwards.

Although we said nothing, once I turned on my side, he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my back, kissing it lightly a few times before lying still. My sadness had been momentarily subdued by his actions. Something told me he felt the same, as terrible as some may think that to be. I did my best to try to block out what he may have to say to me in the following hours. The idea that things may be changed between the two of us didn’t come up. The sex hadn’t felt like a loving thing, rather a necessity to keep us alive. More important, it was to keep us human.
 
 
I feel: awakeawake
I'm listening to: Boardwalk Empire