This is My Desperation in Action

Yasmine32068

Summary: This is the first in a series of one shot little drabbles… I found a challenge board that I am trying to fill up! 1 down 49 to go! LOL Anyway you’ll get bits of Andy’s (Andrea Singer) POV and Dean’s POV… Hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: Muse, did you check the couch? How about the bottom of my purse? Nope, no money found. Supernatural characters were not harmed in the writing of this piece of fiction. Sorry guys, no money made in using these characters either. Supernatural and the CW are still raking it in. Thanks for asking.

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Most of the time he makes me feel like I’m too big for my skin. There isn’t enough air in the room. Then he catches my eyes and all of the sudden everything races in with sharp clarity.

He swaggers across a bar and I try to tell myself that he doesn’t notice the open admiration in the women’s eyes. Occasionally there are even a few men that can’t help but to watch his bowlegged strut. He acts like he’s oblivious but I walked in his shadow. I knew better. He knows who was packing and who to hustle. A steady check doesn’t mean that he doesn’t need to keep his skills sharp or at least that’s the line he feeds me with a quick grin. It doesn’t happen very often is my only consolation.

So I play the game and Sam plays it with me. Turning a blind eye to his cons, his lies but it eats at me. Twisting inside me thick and dark until I can’t take it. Then he looks up and his green eyes are so bright with the game. His wink is meant to be an assurance. Nights like that I chase Sam off to find his own amusement.

He never leaves. He just cocks his head with a knowing look and walks me back to the room. He never tries to give me excuses but his shoulders are tight when he stalks back to the bar to watch his brother’s back.

Dean crawls into bed with me with the stench of another woman’s perfume on his skin, another part of the con, part of the game. Heavy arms wrapped tightly around me dragging me into the almost feverish heat of his body. He always comes to bed fully dressed on nights like this. Waiting for me to banish him to the other room with his brother.

It boils out of me. The anger. The hurt. It colors the way that I touch him. Tearing at his belt buckle with frantic fingers. My control is an illusion. Nothing remains but the need to mark him. Leave bits of me imprinted on his skin.

He wears the welts that I leave behind. Sam doesn’t comment but I have caught him staring at the bruises bitten into the skin of Dean’s neck. He doesn’t see the scratches marks on his back or the perfect imprint of my teeth on his inner thigh.

I know what Sam sees when he glances at me. My dirty blonde hair streaked by the sun, twisted into a knot at the base of my neck. My cool brown eyes, he knows that lurks behind my dark sunglasses. He sees the business suit, the cool professional that carries a gun, the Agent. Dean has seen different side of me, the real side.

Sam doesn’t know that I cry after I’m done. Sobbing my apology against his chest. Sam’s never heard the soft words that he gives me. He doesn’t see how Dean holds me, touches me with reverent hands. My name his prayer. His tenderness is my salvation and his repentance.