Fic: I Know You Can't Save Me
Sep. 3rd, 2010 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sunspotTitle: I Know You Can't Save Me
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Bela
Rating: adults only
Word Count: 2780
Warnings: language, alcohol, allusions to time spent in hell
Summary: Bela is back and this time she doesn't have any schemes, ploys or games.
Author's Notes: Set sometimes early season 4, general spoilers for season 3 and 4x01. Beta'd byepiphanyx7. <3 Written for round one of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_hetexchange.
"Be careful," Sam said, for the third time.
Dean rolled his eyes again and flicked Sam's fingers from the car door. "It's just a few games of pool. I'll get the money and be back before midnight." His little brother was such a mother hen, fussing and worrying over Dean like he wasn't old enough to go out alone at night. Sam looks at Dean with big, sad eyes, and Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes -- again -- before he drove off.
The bar was noisy, just the right kind of loud, and clearly the patrons had never about the smoke-free laws. Dean cleared his throat loudly and glared at a man who was flicking cigarette ash onto the bar. He ordered a Budweiser and moved away so he could find a group of bikers to bilk out of enough money to put gas in the car and buy breakfast. Real breakfast this time, not the shitty McDonald's breakfast -- Dean wanted real bacon. And homefries. And maybe a stack of pancakes.
Halfway through the fifth game, while Dean was leaned over lining up a shot when one of his opponents grinned and motioned towards a table in one of the darker corners of the bar. "I think you've got something that little lady is after, man."
Dean smirked and made his shot (easy, number thirteen into the corner pocket) before motioning for the waitress. He'd won enough already in those five games that he could afford to order a drink for the girl as well as one for himself. If she was kind enough to stare, it was the least he could do to buy her a drink for her troubles.
"What do you say... you wanna raise the stakes a little higher?" he asked the men he was playing. Dean would just clean them out now, find out if the girl was pretty enough to take for a spin, and then be back to the motel and his brother before Sam got too antsy.
--
Dean finished his game, collected his winnings and then bought a round of drinks for all of them, the easiest way to make sure there were no hard feelings between himself and the men he'd just swindled. They didn't seem to realize they'd been swindled, but Dean had been careful to lose the first couple of games by a thin margin, so at least they knew he was a decent player.
"Hello," Dean said, sliding into the chair next to the redhead at the bar. He'd already bought a drink for her, and he placed it on the coaster in front of her. "You've been eyeing me all night, baby, don't tell me you're too shy to say hello."
"You haven't changed at all, have you, Dean?" The redhead smirked at him.
He choked on his beer and nearly fell of his chair, recovering at the last second. Dean glared at her.
The red hair was new, the outfit was much more modest than ever before, and even the accent was subtly different, but the smirk was unmistakable.
Dean's hands clenched on his beer bottle. "How the hell are you still alive, Bela?"
Bela smiled sweetly, but her eyes were cold. "Not thanks at all to you, that's for certain. And I could ask you the same question." She toyed with the swizzle stick in her drink before downing it, licking her lips obscenely afterwards.
"I mean it," he hissed, leaning towards her so his words would not be lost in the noise of the bar. "If this is Lilith's idea of a joke or if you've been sent to kill me--"
"What, don't have any tests for this sort of thing?" she laughed, mockingly, and then took the cherry out of her finished cocktail, tongue swirling obscenely around the stem. "How about you give me a little nick with your silver knife, then you can dose me with holy water. After we get out of here, you can even have me hop back and forth over a salt line." She motioned for another drink and reached into her purse, rolling her eyes when Dean tensed up. "First, why don't you pass a test or two, hellboy?"
"It's holy water," she said, tipping the flask towards him to show him. It had a silver crucifix rattling in the bottom. She took a sip from the bottle and swallowed, then handed it to him.
Dean drank too, still watching her suspiciously. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grimacing at the faint odour. They hadn't hit up a laundromat in more than two weeks...
They eyed each other from across the table. Dean had a thousand things to say -- most of them cruel or angry -- and instead he just stared. There was something strange in her eyes, something new, that he couldn't quite place.
In Dean's memories, Bela was cool and independent and nothing ever seemed to faze her. The intelligent sort of bitch, out for herself and making the best of what she could get. She rolled with punches; always found a way to manipulate her way into or out of any situation. If he was being honest and not saying it out loud, Dean had always respected that.
But now, looking at Bela, he could tell there was something different, something a little more broken. She looked brittle, too tense, like she was about to snap, and Dean wasn't in the mood to sort through mind games and subterfuge. He decided to just ask her. "Bela, what is it that--"
She turned away from him suddenly. "Don't."
Dean shrugged. "Just tell me what you want."
When Bela didn't answer right away, Dean pushed himself away from the table and walked out.
--
The next morning at breakfast he told Sam to get started on the research without him. Dean had gathered up every stitch of clothing in their motel room and was took it to the laundromat to wash it before he woke up one morning to jeans that could actually stand up on their own.
He had forty minutes before the washer finished and he had to flip the clothes, so he wandered out into the parking lot with the idea to maybe drive around town for a bit. Maybe there was another bar or somewhere equally entertaining he could use to kill some time. He stopped short when he saw Bela perched on the hood of his car in a tight blue dress that did not scream 'modest afternoon of washing clothes'. It might have screamed ‘tramp out to get what she can' or maybe even ‘can be had for twenty bucks'. Fortunately, clothing didn't speak.
"Dammit," he hissed, rushing towards the car. "If you dent my baby--" He knew she couldn't, not if years of him and Sam sitting there hadn't had any effect. He just wanted to be vicious about something. Seeing Bela again made him tense and he wasn't willing to put his finger on why. It might have had something to do with the fact that he always ended up in mortal danger whenever she showed up.
She slid off the car gracefully, folding her cardigan over her arm. "Like I would hurt something so pretty. Come on then, we have work to do."
Dean felt his muscle under his eye twitch ever so slightly. "Come on... What? Bela, no, leave me alone."
She didn't hear him; she was already in the car.
"Why would I want to help you with anything?" Dean asked, climbing behind the wheel and firing up the engine. He briefly considered driving the car off a bridge or into the side of a building just to be rid of her, but he didn't think that was fair to his baby. And, knowing his luck, she'd be fine and he'd end up in full body traction and then Bela and Sam would hang around his hospital room being girly and obnoxious together. And then Castiel would show up in his stupid coat and then, oh, and then--
Dean cut himself off before that thought got any further. He was developing a sudden pounding headache, and he just knew it was all Bela's fault. The faster he got rid of her, the better.
"I have an itch," she announced. "And I need your help to scratch it."
He looked at her sidelong for a moment, not fully taking his eyes off the road. "You better be talking about your most recent dose of poison ivy, Bela. Are you seriously suggesting...?"
"Not suggesting so much as stating." She raised an eyebrow at him, pointedly staring at his crotch as if to get her point across.
"I am not having sex with you."
Bela raised a ladylike hand to cover her unladylike laugh. "You will," she said easily. "You will because I'm the only woman who understands you. Maybe the only person who does. Besides your brother, of course." She watched the tress pass as they drove on, letting Dean absorb her words. "Oh, unless you and Sam have --"
"Hah hah," Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. "Hilarious. Bela, I don't know what you think you know, but I've never had, and never will have, a problem picking up women so I don't need your... charity. Thanks for your interest, but no thanks."
Neither one of them said anything for another six blocks. Bela just smiled softly while Dean tried to pretend said smile wasn't getting to him. Finally, Dean broke. "Tell me where I'm dropping you off or I'm gonna leave you on the side of the road."
"Oh, anywhere is fine. Your place, my place, right here in the car... I suppose even the side of the road would work. Up to you, really." Bela shifted in the passenger seat and the hem of her skirt rode up a few inches past decent.
"I'm --"
"Wasting time with feeble arguments? I noticed."
Dean pulled off to the side of the road, maybe a little faster than he should have. "I am seriously not amused anymore, so either tell me what you actually want or leave me alone."
Bela slid across the seat and halfway into Dean's lap before he knew what was happening.
"You've seen the darkness too," she breathed against his skin.
"That's a shitty pick-up line," Dean snapped back, but Bela didn't back off, just sunk down into his lap, head dropping onto his shoulder. Dean considered punching her in the face, girl or not, but then her shoulders shook and he realized she was crying. Like, actual tears, the kind that messed up her perfectly applied mascara and soaked into his not-all-that-clean shirt, and she was sobbing against his shoulder, messy and unrestrained.
Dean had never been good at crying women, or any display of emotion besides frustration. Also, he still wasn't completely sure this wasn't some kind of trick, like she was going to make him feel bad for her then steal his car or his kidney or something. Dean patted her arm where it pressed across his chest, half trying to console her, and half reminding her that he was still there and feeling very awkward.
"Hey," he said. His voice came out a little rough. "Stop that."
She took a long, shuddering breath and pulled away from him, eyes fixed on something beyond the windshield. "It's been so long since I felt anything," she whispered.
Dean didn't have any reply for that, but he knew what she meant. "Okay," he said, "okay," because he knew exactly what this situation needed. It needed some god damned Jack Daniels, and he was so not getting shitfaced drunk behind the wheel of his car, not with Bela in the passenger seat (or half in the passenger seat, half sitting on his goddamn dick which really needed to stop) so Dean picked her up, a warm and tearful, armful of girl, dumping her back on Sam's side of the car.
"Okay," he said once more. "Right, this is what we're gonna do," and he tapped the steering wheel anxiously before he put his baby into gear and turned around, heading back to the laundromat. "First, I'm gonna get my goddamn laundry," he said, harsher than he probably needed to, "And then we're gonna go back to my hotel room and drink. But first, we're gonna absolutely fucking not talk about our feelings, and you're going to swear not to fuck me over again."
Bela nodded, staying on her side of the car with the skirt of her dress hitched up way too high on her thighs, mascara smeared and somehow making her look sluttier, but in a good way. She opened her purse, digging around in it before she reapplied her lipstick, and Dean had a sudden worry like what if she poisoned the lipstick with rattlesnake venom or some shit, but then Bela started trying to wipe the ruined mascara from her cheeks with a bar napkin, and Dean decided to stop being paranoid.
He shoved the wet laundry into the dryer, paying for it and then sending Sam a text that reads 'pick up laundry in dryr 3 & 4 gone to hotel rm with Bela knock first don't ask' which Sam should be able to decode if he really sets his mind to it, and then he stomped outside to where Bela was patiently waiting in his still-unstolen car.
"Right," Dean grunted, slamming the driver's side door as hard as he could and then glaring at Bela.
She looked at him, serenely, her makeup immaculate, nothing but the red in her eyes and the slight flush on her cheeks to indicate she'd ever shown an emotion. "Back to the hotel room?" she suggested, voice low and seductive.
"I'm still not going to have sex with you," Dean huffed, but he peeled out of the parking lot and sped on the way back to the room anyway.
--
Bela's smile didn't reach her eyes, and she looked at Dean like she wanted to take him apart. Like she could, if she wanted to. Like she'd sort of like to try.
And that, more than anything else, is why Dean cracked open the first bottle of Jack and poured her a glass, keeping the rest of the bottle for himself. And if there was anything that would have convinced him that Bela was more fucked up than she was willing to show it was the way she took the first glass, hands steady, and she downed the whole thing like it was the only thing that kept her alive, and the soft exhalation after she swallowed, like her world had gotten just a tiny bit better.
Dean remembered that, remembered being unable to keep his shit together, and that was the reason he dug out the second bottle buried in his duffel.
--
The alcohol burned, but it was the scorching burn of feeling something, so neither one of them complained. They drank in silence, which was fine because talking seemed like it would lead down a dangerous road. As long as they both kept quiet, they could both pretend there wasn't anything dark and painful in their immediate pasts that they shared. If they weren't speaking, then they weren't remembering. That was bullshit, of course, but this sort of pretending was borne from years of practice and came naturally.
Bela was splayed out on his bed, shoes kicked over by the door, licking the last drops of whiskey from the bottle. Dean watched, amused, because she was so trashed she was fucked up -- it was hilarious the difference in their tolerances, even though he'd had more to drink. He put the cap back on the second bottle, half full (half empty) now, and set it down on the night table.
Bela smirked and dropped the bottle, propping herself up on one elbow, spreading her legs a little bit, fabulously slutty. "Still don't want to fuck me, Dean?" she murmured, clearly an invitation.
"Never said I didn't want to," Dean shrugged, eyes watching the hem of her dress inch up again. He could see the lacy, hardly-there thong she was wearing underneath, dark blue. He wanted to know if her bra matched. "I said I wasn't gonna."
"Mmm," Bela nodded in acknowledgment. "Well, let me know if you change your mind," and then she hiked up the skirt a little bit more, hand slipping between her thighs to rub at herself.
"Okay, yeah, fuck it," Dean said, and then he climbed on the bed, shoving her hand away so he could replace it with his own.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Bela
Rating: adults only
Word Count: 2780
Warnings: language, alcohol, allusions to time spent in hell
Summary: Bela is back and this time she doesn't have any schemes, ploys or games.
Author's Notes: Set sometimes early season 4, general spoilers for season 3 and 4x01. Beta'd by
epiphanyx7. <3 Written for round one of spn_hetexchange."Be careful," Sam said, for the third time.
Dean rolled his eyes again and flicked Sam's fingers from the car door. "It's just a few games of pool. I'll get the money and be back before midnight." His little brother was such a mother hen, fussing and worrying over Dean like he wasn't old enough to go out alone at night. Sam looks at Dean with big, sad eyes, and Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes -- again -- before he drove off.
The bar was noisy, just the right kind of loud, and clearly the patrons had never about the smoke-free laws. Dean cleared his throat loudly and glared at a man who was flicking cigarette ash onto the bar. He ordered a Budweiser and moved away so he could find a group of bikers to bilk out of enough money to put gas in the car and buy breakfast. Real breakfast this time, not the shitty McDonald's breakfast -- Dean wanted real bacon. And homefries. And maybe a stack of pancakes.
Halfway through the fifth game, while Dean was leaned over lining up a shot when one of his opponents grinned and motioned towards a table in one of the darker corners of the bar. "I think you've got something that little lady is after, man."
Dean smirked and made his shot (easy, number thirteen into the corner pocket) before motioning for the waitress. He'd won enough already in those five games that he could afford to order a drink for the girl as well as one for himself. If she was kind enough to stare, it was the least he could do to buy her a drink for her troubles.
"What do you say... you wanna raise the stakes a little higher?" he asked the men he was playing. Dean would just clean them out now, find out if the girl was pretty enough to take for a spin, and then be back to the motel and his brother before Sam got too antsy.
--
Dean finished his game, collected his winnings and then bought a round of drinks for all of them, the easiest way to make sure there were no hard feelings between himself and the men he'd just swindled. They didn't seem to realize they'd been swindled, but Dean had been careful to lose the first couple of games by a thin margin, so at least they knew he was a decent player.
"Hello," Dean said, sliding into the chair next to the redhead at the bar. He'd already bought a drink for her, and he placed it on the coaster in front of her. "You've been eyeing me all night, baby, don't tell me you're too shy to say hello."
"You haven't changed at all, have you, Dean?" The redhead smirked at him.
He choked on his beer and nearly fell of his chair, recovering at the last second. Dean glared at her.
The red hair was new, the outfit was much more modest than ever before, and even the accent was subtly different, but the smirk was unmistakable.
Dean's hands clenched on his beer bottle. "How the hell are you still alive, Bela?"
Bela smiled sweetly, but her eyes were cold. "Not thanks at all to you, that's for certain. And I could ask you the same question." She toyed with the swizzle stick in her drink before downing it, licking her lips obscenely afterwards.
"I mean it," he hissed, leaning towards her so his words would not be lost in the noise of the bar. "If this is Lilith's idea of a joke or if you've been sent to kill me--"
"What, don't have any tests for this sort of thing?" she laughed, mockingly, and then took the cherry out of her finished cocktail, tongue swirling obscenely around the stem. "How about you give me a little nick with your silver knife, then you can dose me with holy water. After we get out of here, you can even have me hop back and forth over a salt line." She motioned for another drink and reached into her purse, rolling her eyes when Dean tensed up. "First, why don't you pass a test or two, hellboy?"
"It's holy water," she said, tipping the flask towards him to show him. It had a silver crucifix rattling in the bottom. She took a sip from the bottle and swallowed, then handed it to him.
Dean drank too, still watching her suspiciously. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grimacing at the faint odour. They hadn't hit up a laundromat in more than two weeks...
They eyed each other from across the table. Dean had a thousand things to say -- most of them cruel or angry -- and instead he just stared. There was something strange in her eyes, something new, that he couldn't quite place.
In Dean's memories, Bela was cool and independent and nothing ever seemed to faze her. The intelligent sort of bitch, out for herself and making the best of what she could get. She rolled with punches; always found a way to manipulate her way into or out of any situation. If he was being honest and not saying it out loud, Dean had always respected that.
But now, looking at Bela, he could tell there was something different, something a little more broken. She looked brittle, too tense, like she was about to snap, and Dean wasn't in the mood to sort through mind games and subterfuge. He decided to just ask her. "Bela, what is it that--"
She turned away from him suddenly. "Don't."
Dean shrugged. "Just tell me what you want."
When Bela didn't answer right away, Dean pushed himself away from the table and walked out.
--
The next morning at breakfast he told Sam to get started on the research without him. Dean had gathered up every stitch of clothing in their motel room and was took it to the laundromat to wash it before he woke up one morning to jeans that could actually stand up on their own.
He had forty minutes before the washer finished and he had to flip the clothes, so he wandered out into the parking lot with the idea to maybe drive around town for a bit. Maybe there was another bar or somewhere equally entertaining he could use to kill some time. He stopped short when he saw Bela perched on the hood of his car in a tight blue dress that did not scream 'modest afternoon of washing clothes'. It might have screamed ‘tramp out to get what she can' or maybe even ‘can be had for twenty bucks'. Fortunately, clothing didn't speak.
"Dammit," he hissed, rushing towards the car. "If you dent my baby--" He knew she couldn't, not if years of him and Sam sitting there hadn't had any effect. He just wanted to be vicious about something. Seeing Bela again made him tense and he wasn't willing to put his finger on why. It might have had something to do with the fact that he always ended up in mortal danger whenever she showed up.
She slid off the car gracefully, folding her cardigan over her arm. "Like I would hurt something so pretty. Come on then, we have work to do."
Dean felt his muscle under his eye twitch ever so slightly. "Come on... What? Bela, no, leave me alone."
She didn't hear him; she was already in the car.
"Why would I want to help you with anything?" Dean asked, climbing behind the wheel and firing up the engine. He briefly considered driving the car off a bridge or into the side of a building just to be rid of her, but he didn't think that was fair to his baby. And, knowing his luck, she'd be fine and he'd end up in full body traction and then Bela and Sam would hang around his hospital room being girly and obnoxious together. And then Castiel would show up in his stupid coat and then, oh, and then--
Dean cut himself off before that thought got any further. He was developing a sudden pounding headache, and he just knew it was all Bela's fault. The faster he got rid of her, the better.
"I have an itch," she announced. "And I need your help to scratch it."
He looked at her sidelong for a moment, not fully taking his eyes off the road. "You better be talking about your most recent dose of poison ivy, Bela. Are you seriously suggesting...?"
"Not suggesting so much as stating." She raised an eyebrow at him, pointedly staring at his crotch as if to get her point across.
"I am not having sex with you."
Bela raised a ladylike hand to cover her unladylike laugh. "You will," she said easily. "You will because I'm the only woman who understands you. Maybe the only person who does. Besides your brother, of course." She watched the tress pass as they drove on, letting Dean absorb her words. "Oh, unless you and Sam have --"
"Hah hah," Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. "Hilarious. Bela, I don't know what you think you know, but I've never had, and never will have, a problem picking up women so I don't need your... charity. Thanks for your interest, but no thanks."
Neither one of them said anything for another six blocks. Bela just smiled softly while Dean tried to pretend said smile wasn't getting to him. Finally, Dean broke. "Tell me where I'm dropping you off or I'm gonna leave you on the side of the road."
"Oh, anywhere is fine. Your place, my place, right here in the car... I suppose even the side of the road would work. Up to you, really." Bela shifted in the passenger seat and the hem of her skirt rode up a few inches past decent.
"I'm --"
"Wasting time with feeble arguments? I noticed."
Dean pulled off to the side of the road, maybe a little faster than he should have. "I am seriously not amused anymore, so either tell me what you actually want or leave me alone."
Bela slid across the seat and halfway into Dean's lap before he knew what was happening.
"You've seen the darkness too," she breathed against his skin.
"That's a shitty pick-up line," Dean snapped back, but Bela didn't back off, just sunk down into his lap, head dropping onto his shoulder. Dean considered punching her in the face, girl or not, but then her shoulders shook and he realized she was crying. Like, actual tears, the kind that messed up her perfectly applied mascara and soaked into his not-all-that-clean shirt, and she was sobbing against his shoulder, messy and unrestrained.
Dean had never been good at crying women, or any display of emotion besides frustration. Also, he still wasn't completely sure this wasn't some kind of trick, like she was going to make him feel bad for her then steal his car or his kidney or something. Dean patted her arm where it pressed across his chest, half trying to console her, and half reminding her that he was still there and feeling very awkward.
"Hey," he said. His voice came out a little rough. "Stop that."
She took a long, shuddering breath and pulled away from him, eyes fixed on something beyond the windshield. "It's been so long since I felt anything," she whispered.
Dean didn't have any reply for that, but he knew what she meant. "Okay," he said, "okay," because he knew exactly what this situation needed. It needed some god damned Jack Daniels, and he was so not getting shitfaced drunk behind the wheel of his car, not with Bela in the passenger seat (or half in the passenger seat, half sitting on his goddamn dick which really needed to stop) so Dean picked her up, a warm and tearful, armful of girl, dumping her back on Sam's side of the car.
"Okay," he said once more. "Right, this is what we're gonna do," and he tapped the steering wheel anxiously before he put his baby into gear and turned around, heading back to the laundromat. "First, I'm gonna get my goddamn laundry," he said, harsher than he probably needed to, "And then we're gonna go back to my hotel room and drink. But first, we're gonna absolutely fucking not talk about our feelings, and you're going to swear not to fuck me over again."
Bela nodded, staying on her side of the car with the skirt of her dress hitched up way too high on her thighs, mascara smeared and somehow making her look sluttier, but in a good way. She opened her purse, digging around in it before she reapplied her lipstick, and Dean had a sudden worry like what if she poisoned the lipstick with rattlesnake venom or some shit, but then Bela started trying to wipe the ruined mascara from her cheeks with a bar napkin, and Dean decided to stop being paranoid.
He shoved the wet laundry into the dryer, paying for it and then sending Sam a text that reads 'pick up laundry in dryr 3 & 4 gone to hotel rm with Bela knock first don't ask' which Sam should be able to decode if he really sets his mind to it, and then he stomped outside to where Bela was patiently waiting in his still-unstolen car.
"Right," Dean grunted, slamming the driver's side door as hard as he could and then glaring at Bela.
She looked at him, serenely, her makeup immaculate, nothing but the red in her eyes and the slight flush on her cheeks to indicate she'd ever shown an emotion. "Back to the hotel room?" she suggested, voice low and seductive.
"I'm still not going to have sex with you," Dean huffed, but he peeled out of the parking lot and sped on the way back to the room anyway.
--
Bela's smile didn't reach her eyes, and she looked at Dean like she wanted to take him apart. Like she could, if she wanted to. Like she'd sort of like to try.
And that, more than anything else, is why Dean cracked open the first bottle of Jack and poured her a glass, keeping the rest of the bottle for himself. And if there was anything that would have convinced him that Bela was more fucked up than she was willing to show it was the way she took the first glass, hands steady, and she downed the whole thing like it was the only thing that kept her alive, and the soft exhalation after she swallowed, like her world had gotten just a tiny bit better.
Dean remembered that, remembered being unable to keep his shit together, and that was the reason he dug out the second bottle buried in his duffel.
--
The alcohol burned, but it was the scorching burn of feeling something, so neither one of them complained. They drank in silence, which was fine because talking seemed like it would lead down a dangerous road. As long as they both kept quiet, they could both pretend there wasn't anything dark and painful in their immediate pasts that they shared. If they weren't speaking, then they weren't remembering. That was bullshit, of course, but this sort of pretending was borne from years of practice and came naturally.
Bela was splayed out on his bed, shoes kicked over by the door, licking the last drops of whiskey from the bottle. Dean watched, amused, because she was so trashed she was fucked up -- it was hilarious the difference in their tolerances, even though he'd had more to drink. He put the cap back on the second bottle, half full (half empty) now, and set it down on the night table.
Bela smirked and dropped the bottle, propping herself up on one elbow, spreading her legs a little bit, fabulously slutty. "Still don't want to fuck me, Dean?" she murmured, clearly an invitation.
"Never said I didn't want to," Dean shrugged, eyes watching the hem of her dress inch up again. He could see the lacy, hardly-there thong she was wearing underneath, dark blue. He wanted to know if her bra matched. "I said I wasn't gonna."
"Mmm," Bela nodded in acknowledgment. "Well, let me know if you change your mind," and then she hiked up the skirt a little bit more, hand slipping between her thighs to rub at herself.
"Okay, yeah, fuck it," Dean said, and then he climbed on the bed, shoving her hand away so he could replace it with his own.
