Smile an' change your mind.
R. Het. Dean/ofc.
Strange litle Dean in space AU. Written for spn-het-love's Beginnings challenge over at LJ.
Dean Winchester had a voice that could make toes curl. She's positive he knows it, too, doesn't matter whether her toes are curling from anger or fear or arousal, s'long as he's getting some kinda reaction outta her that she has to struggle to keep from showing all over her face. He's a cocky son of a bitch, but it's not like that ain't a warranted attitude, bastard knows he's the best pilot she has here.
"I cannot believe I'm hearing this, Winchester. You wanna explain to me what the fuck you were thinking." She does her best not to yell at him, usually. She's pretty sure he likes it when she loses it, so tries not to indulge him, especially not this time, seeing as he's neck deep in serious trouble. Kid can follow orders, she knows he can, wouldn't have gotten this far if he couldn't, but he's got this heroic streak that the academy couldn't beat or train or scare out of him and it makes him disregard the rule book when he feels the need to.
Hell, it's actually the reason he's here, playing in her sandbox, but she ain't never telling him that, his ego don't need inflating anymore.
"I was thinkin', 'Hey, there're a hundred innocent civilians down there and not one good reason they should have to die'," Dean informs her, one eyebrow arched, challenging.
The security lieutenant in the brigg with them shifts on his feet, uncomfortable with the insubordination. Everyone knows Dean's got a mouth on him, most of his mark-downs are for contradictory comments that he just had to voice out loud in front of a superior. He knows better than to talk to her like that in front of security, though. The last thing he needs are tutors visiting him during the night to help school the insolence out of his mouth.
She lowers her voice to something warning so Dean has the opportunity to really get the message when she starts talking again.
"I don't remember giving you permission to speak just yet, son. Shut your mouth and don't be a fucking smartass, you're lookin' at serious discipline this time, you are in no position act so foolish right now."
He really isn't. Any other guy with a record as pock-marked as his would've been out on his sorry ass a long time ago. Dean nods, looks at the floor, understanding. Finally getting it through his thick skull that she might not be able to get him out of the hot water this time.
"So, you saved the lives of a hundred civilians. Well done, give yourself a pat on the back," she says, getting in his face a little, tilting his jaw to better her view of the graze across his cheekbone. He hasn't shaved today either, there's another broken rule that she can add to the list. "But the demon got away, Dean. It's out there, fuck knows where and doing fuck knows what...Now, remind me, what was the objective of the mission? Speak."
"But the people are safe, we can -"
"Just answer the fucking question!" Goddamn him. Three guesses what it is about him that's got her toes curling right now.
He startles a little, hates to be interrupted almost as much as she does and it makes him slip up, letting his irritation flicker across his face. Then he's looking her dead in the eye, barest hint of a proud smirk to his mouth while he obediently says what he's supposed to.
"The objective of the mission was to obliterate the demon, ma'am." Good boy. She goes ahead and wishes he'd remembered that before he'd fucked the whole thing up, though.
"The mission was unsuccessful, Winchester. That's a black mark on all our records, and we only got you to blame." She punctuates her statement with a stiff finger prod to his chest. They glare at each other for a few more seconds before she breaks eye contact to address their lone lieutenant audience.
"Go down to bay seven and get everybody off The Impala, she's going into secure storage 'til we can get back to base and make some decisions." She feels Dean bristle beside her, has to stick an arm out to stop him when he starts towards the exit.
"What the fuck! Storage? No. She'll just be left to rot in there, you can't--"
"That's enough, Dean. You'll be lucky if she isn't decommissioned all together, The Gods know we wont be able to recycle that one, she wont fly for anyone else, and you know it," she says, hard, before turning back to the lieutenant, "Go. Now." He goes.
"You fuckin' bitch," Dean hisses at her, soon as the exit is sealed again.
"Don't even start. Anchoring your ship is mild punishment for all the shit you pulled today," she reminds him. "Now, gimmie your hands."
He hesitates, stubborn, might rather stay cuffed than turn towards the woman who's taking away his flying privileges. He offers his wrists eventually, common sense winning out, wanders to the far corner and plants his ass on a console once he's free of the restraints, jaw working minutely where he's grinding his molars. She hates to do it, especially to him, but it's her ass that's grass if it looks like he doesn't receive the same treatment as everybody else with his rank.
He breaks the rules too frequently. Yeah, sure, more often than not, it's for a good cause, and if she's honest she admires him for it, but it gets him noticed by the brass, gets him him a reputation. W-reckless Winchester doesn't have the same ring to it when you're the one who has to punish his ass. She follows him after a few seconds, leans against the wall next to him.
"If it's gonna cost the lives of a hundred people then I hope we never catch the fuckin' thing," he spits at her, eyes flaring, firey and upset, before he looks back at his boots. It's blasphemy to say shit like that, makes her heart speeds up in her chest. She has to quell the urge to shush him, 'cause he'd only repeat it louder if she did, and fuck if doesn't mean it with all his heart when he says it, too.
"You knew there'd be consequences, Dean," she tells him instead, and lets a hand drift up his spine, feels his muscles jumping under his t-shirt when it tickles, clamps onto the back of his neck when she reaches it and gets a good grip so she can drag his head towards hers.
He's angry, he kisses her like it's her fault, aggressive, all teeth. Sends the breath out of her lungs when he forces her back against the wall.
"Careful," she has to growl at him when he jams his leg between hers, pushes it higher and higher against her crotch 'til she's as good as riding his thigh. Pulls her ass in and pushes his dick low into her belly, anywhere he can reach. God, he's always been so good at this, a pro when it's urgent. Doesn't want to get caught anymore than she does, 'cause he's breaking the rules just the same as she is. Fucking his superior officer. Has been from practically his first day.
"Shuddup," he mutters against her mouth, one hand jerking her belt open and the other slapping at the console by his side, blindly trying to engage the locks for the door. Fuck, nobody talks to her like that. Nobody. She wonders sometimes what kind of pervert she is, for liking when he orders her around, for liking it that deep down he doesn't give a shit what her rank is, or his own. He's not like the rest of them, he's not here to get promoted, he's here solely 'cause he loves to fly and he loves to save people. And she can't get enough of him.
She knocks his hand away eventually, undoes her own pants, fingers shaking treacherously on the buttons under his scrutiny, the pants slip down on their own, pooling atop her boots and no way have they got time for the removal of shoes.
It's awkward, but Dean's got it down to an art form, wriggling and stepping between her legs, hitching her roughly up off the ground and against the wall again. She tightens her legs around his waist, arms around his neck, well practiced. Ain't the first time she's done this with her ankles hobbled. He's already taking care of his own belt, jangling it loose, groans a little into her neck once his zipper's down and he's as good home free, inching his shorts down, just enough, always economical with time.
He presses himself into her panties, and shit. Shit. She feels herself just giving inside, everything that isn't already liquid heat between her legs surges for him and she can't stop a moan, tips her head back and enjoys the the thick, hot feel of him through her panties, rubbing just right, doesn't care how it makes her look. Hell, she is a slut for him, it's no secret by now.
He huffs out a shaky breath against her collar and she tips her face forward again, perfect angle to suck the shell of his ear into her mouth as he fingers her panties out of the way. He's inside in one stretching hot, delicious drag, and she holds her breath to keep from moaning again, feels herself tremble allover, pleased with the perfect fit. She's almost empty then almost too full again before she has a chance to get used to it. Then again and again, fuck, jolting warm floods through her pelvis and up her spine each time. Every time.
He doesn't let her down when he's done. Holds her up even though she's pretty sure it's a great effort, all her bones are jelly so his muscles can't possibly be at full capacity. He holds her up anyway, wipes his sweaty forehead on the shoulder of her t-shirt, takes him less than half a minute to catch his breath.
"Are you gonna let'em put me to sleep?" he asks, muffled against her throat. She closes her eyes, rubs her cheek against his hair. It's longer than it's supposed to be, another rule that he can't help but test the boundries of.
"I have to," she sighs. Another thing she hates to do. She hates doing that to anybody, but she knows Dean doesn't like the kind of dreams he has while he's under. "Just until we get back to base."
He pulls back, spends some time lookin' at her face before he lowers her legs back down and carefully steps out of their entanglement. She wonders what the fuck he's thinking about. Hoping despite herself that he doesn't hate her for being such a slave to her own orders.
Goddamn him for not following the fucking rules, she hasn't mentioned it, and wont, but there was comm silence for four an' a half minutes while he was off being a hero and her toes were curled in her boots for the entire duration.
He looks right at her over the medic's shoulder when they come to put the IV in, give him the drugs that'll put him to sleep. He lays down on his bunk obediently and smirks at her when she's about to leave the room, his eyelids already getting heavier.
"I'd do it again tomorrow if I had the chance," he says. The medic shakes his head, disapproving, and the two security men murmur to each other, offended.
"I know you would," she tells him, tries to keep it from showing on her face that she's glad he means it. He's nothing but fucking trouble and she wouldn't have him any other way.