Large PrintHandheldAudioRating
using
 paypal
Twisting The Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards - Results
Is your email address still valid?

Until Morning

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking
Ficlet(s)

Summary: Realize that now, in this moment of time, you are creating. You are creating your next moment. That is what's real. (A drabble and ficlet collection.)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Buffy-Centered > Pairing: Dean Winchester(Moderator)AvaFR1851,6770147,06118 Nov 066 Mar 12Yes

Until Morning (FR15)

Title :: Until Morning
Rating :: FR15
Disclaimer :: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. No infringement intended. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Synopsis :: "Realize that now, in this moment of time, you are creating. You are creating your next moment. That is what's real." Sara Paddison, The Hidden Power of the Heart

Author's Note :: This is blamed on Krystal over at Route 66 and based on the VAST song `Somewhere Else to Be.' Also special thanks to Jen, Meri, Pol and sita for their continuing support.



Until Morning


The wind picked up with a sudden burst of cold forcing a shiver from Buffy as she pulled her wool jacket tighter. Autumn was rolling into Cleveland, painting the broadleaf baring trees with streaks of reds, purples and crimson. The common yellows and gold stuck out in stark contrast within their color family as Buffy buttoned the front of her coat and redirected her hands to lined pockets.

She tilted her head back, welcoming the breeze that lifted the few hairs that had escaped the plastic clip that loosely held up honey colored locks. Leaves twisted around her in a widening pattern and the cold brought forth a flush to her cheeks as she smiled into the change of seasons.

The wind pressed along her form, curved over her exposed skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. She ignored the cold, ignored the ghosts that echoed her steps wherever they fell. Sniffing Buffy pushed her hands further into her pockets and ducked her head against the sudden bite of the wind. Slanted bangs shifted forward, protecting her forehead and she ducked her chin, hunched her shoulders around the thought of just letting it all go and leaving this place behind—if even for a little while.

The door at her back opened, filling the porch with muted light that fought against the dark and lost as the door slammed closed. Heavy footfalls strolled toward her and the sound of leather stretching as arms encircled her waist, brought a soft smile to her lips. Buffy relaxed into his strength and welcomed the warmth of a human embrace on a cold night. For a moment the ghosts vanished and the darkness receded as she let her head fall back to rest against a firm chest.

The arms around her waist tightened as he bent to brush a kiss and the harsh edge of an unshaved cheek across her temple. She inhaled the faint scent of suntan lotion and a line appeared between her brows, the center of her chest suddenly falling open as she remembered that was the scent of the car wax he used. The same scent that signaled an end to their time together. The time that was a mockery of normalcy and a real life, a life outside of the hunt, the kill.

When for a day, a week the world fell away and it was only them. Too wrapped up in each other to care about the outside. And in those brief shining moments she felt alive, like a real person. They lived each of those moments as if they were their last because they both knew one day she wouldn't be here, standing on the porch watching nightfall or he wouldn't be pulling the Impala into her drive, knocking on the door at 3 am with whipped cream and hooded eyes.

She pushed back the sudden cold filling her chest and turned in his arms, watched as Dean saw the understanding fill her gaze. The smile melting away, until only a sadness so deep it looked infinite filled her hazel eyes, darkened them. His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth against the urge to ask her to come with him, join him.

It wouldn't work. It couldn't work. Neither of them had a future, only now. This moment, this second and Dean released her waist to grasp thin shoulders and spin them, pinning Buffy against the white stucco and slanting his mouth over hers.

Teeth pulled at her lips, a tongue invaded the shallow crevice of her mouth as his hands worked at the buttons of her coat. Tears burned behind closed lids as Buffy reached up, slid her hands up his chest, under his coat and pushed the leather from his frame. He dropped his arms only long enough to allow the jacket to hit the wood beneath their feet and hers soon followed.

By morning he would be gone, lost to the back roads and sweeping hills of America's Midwest and she'd be alone with her friends. With a life that barely turned her head and an ache to give it all up and follow him. To wake up beside Dean and see his face, rather than his back each morning they had together.

She curled her fingers around his neck pulled him down and welcomed the heavy weight as it pushed her into the rough wall of an empty home. His tongue swirled around hers, chasing and leaving behind the faintest taste of beer as his hands slid into her hair and gave a sharp tug, pulling her back and exposing her throat to his wet tongue and sandpaper skin.

His lethargic mouth belied his urgent hands as Dean chased away the cold and pulled her from thoughts of the future. Pulled her back into the now and didn't let her go until morning.



The End.
Next Chapter
StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking