Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or parts of this storyline. They belong to the brains of The Whedon and The Kripke.
Feedback: Always appreciated! :)
Author's Notes: A lovely little LJ community (50_Smutlets) that hasn't been active for a long time has awesome prompts. 100 of them. 'Nuff said. So, I'll be writing smutty ficlets based on those prompts because, IMO, sex can get in the way of my other stories because I have a tendency to go overboard. So when Buffy and Dean start doing something that doesn't help the plot in any way, I'll post something smutty to get it out of my system. I literally can't stop writing Buffy/Dean fics so I apologize to those who are damn sick of seeing me. :P
Author's Notes 2: All Buffy/Dean and anything and everything is open to fair game (i.e. timeline, alternate 'verses and realities, OCC-tendencies, etc). I don't want to flood the boards so I'll be posting this as one story but each ficlet will stand alone unless otherwise noted (i.e. some might be sequels, some might be prequels, some might continue from previous ficlets... etc). So, eventually, a plot might or will start appearing. Some will be dark, some will be light and fluffy, some will be disturbing… all open game. I will post warnings if a ficlet is dark. Starting out light with this one...
Author's Notes 3: This ficlet is a very belated birthday gift to queenofcamelot. I promise smut, I deliver some smut.
Author's Notes 4: For the sake of this story, Buffy was just a Potential, never called in L.A., never made it to Sunnydale, and Sam and Dean knew Ellen when John was still alive. Set in SPN S2 somewhere.
Prompt: 47 Rushed
Summary: A busy night at Harvelle's leads to a cranky Buffy and she only gets crankier when more people arrive...
"Anne, honey, can you go get another case of beer? These boys are thirsty tonight."
"Yeah," Buffy Summers replied distractedly, her nose full of the nasty, moldy smell that was her dishrag as she sopped up the remnants of one of those precious beers. She glared at the three men standing on the other side of the bar, her eyes drilling into the asshole who had an elbow the size of an elephant's ass and who had no idea how to walk around without knocking crap over. They barely acknowledged her except for a smarmy wink before turning back to talking about Chisnas.
Chisnas. Ugly, hairy and far too much like walking hyenas for her tastes.
She heard Ellen walking back behind her, grabbing a bottle from the row of liquor along the back wall, her mouth strangled together in a tight smile as she whipped back to making drinks.
Harvelle's was unnaturally freaking busy that night. It was like a hunter's reunion or something because it seemed every single damn hunter that had ever hunted anything ever was in that bar. Drinking, yelling, sitting and talking about the "good ol' days" or "this one hunt" or playing poker or cleaning guns or just sitting in a corner, smoking some cigar that smelled like a rat's asshole...
This was not a good night to be a waitress to hunters. For some reason, the more that gathered, the more obnoxious they allowed themselves to get. Like a bunch of frat boys who really loved drinking and really loved throwing their dicks on the table to see who had a better story about killing vampires or collecting a werewolf's teeth.
And ever since Jo had taken off, it had just been that much more fun. And that sure didn't include Ellen's crappy attitude that was slowly - slowly but surely - starting to thaw the longer Jo stayed away, like she was finally coming to terms or something. Ha.
Yeah right, people don't just get over loved ones disappearing, running away, turning away, dodging out, dying... that whole circle of life thing was complete crap.
"I'm going!" she said back loudly, her voice carrying across the bar as she wiped the tendrils falling from her ponytail off her sweaty neck, heading towards the back. She didn't miss the lewd glance she received from one not-such-a-gentleman wearing what probably used to be a baseball cap and she raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to play along. They all knew better than to start anything with her but that didn't mean she escaped completely.
She knew what she looked like and they all knew pretty damn well what she did when she wasn't working at the bar and what she was capable of and, for a hunter, that was apparently one hell of a turn on. Being an ex-Slayer potential who has been training for the day that would never come since she was 16 kind of did that. Having trained constantly and somehow falling into a hunter-esque lifestyle for the last 10 years?
Gave her a little edge.
Normally, the flirting was the fun part, talking them into playing some poker, into trying a hand at some arm wrestling, some pool... all with the interest of making a little extra cash on the side. But tonight? Tonight she was tired, cranky and she wanted nothing to do with anything. She wanted to go home, ignore Merrick and just go to sleep.
Her hand grazed the slightly sticky door that would lead back to the supply room when she heard the front door of the bar bang open and she glanced over her shoulder to see what other jerk was walking in when she felt her mouth go dry, her heart stop and a thousand and one butterflies suddenly attack her stomach so viciously, her arms felt weak from the rush of adrenaline.
Dean and Sam Winchester walked in, their faces tight as they nodded at a few people before grabbing two empty seats at the bar. She saw more than heard Ellen talking to them as she melted into the shadows by the door, peeking around a corner to get a look at him.
It had been exactly three months, two weeks and one day since she saw him last and... and somehow the guy had gotten hotter. He looked shaggier, more tired and she noticed he was wearing a different leather jacket this time. No longer his father's jacket...
"Is Ash here?" she heard Dean ask and Buffy frowned, clenching her jaw before biting her lip and rolling her eyes at herself. She didn't like the way the butterflies that had started swarming inside her suddenly rolled into a gigantic butterfly ball that started thumping inside her chest as she watched him look around the bar, his eyes tense but curious and she realized she had hoped he was looking for her.
Which he obviously wasn't, she realized sourly.
"Whatcha need with Ash, sweetie?" Ellen replied and Buffy rolled her shoulders, ducking her head before turning swiftly and banging through the door into the nice, cool storage area. The stale but entirely cool air hit her sweaty skin, making her shiver a bit as she headed to the corner to grab one of the crates they kept there for easy reach from the basement.
She knew the irrational anger and annoyance that had replaced the rush of anticipation was... well, it was irrational. But she also found she didn't care. She was in a crappy mood so why not spread the crappy mood?
And she sure as hell was not in the mood for any crap tonight. Dean Winchester had chosen the wrong night to walk into Harvelle's and she would be damned if she would let that jerk get to her.
She would be damn... damned.
Buffy didn't realize she was manhandling the stupid wooden crates until one bit her in the finger, a large splinter stabbing right into her middle finger and she hissed, cradling her hand.
"Real smooth, Summers," she whispered to herself, sucking her finger into her mouth before tilting her head to get a better look in the dim light. It was big. And it was angry and her skin was already swelling and she shook it out before bending over to check which beer she was grabbing.
No, full up on that one. The one she needed, she saw, was on a shelf against the wall. Of course the guys in the bar liked to drink the one that was entirely inaccessible to her. How generous of them to turn her crappy night into a full-blown... crappier night.
"Come on," she groaned, reaching up just enough to graze the crate with her fingertips and she braced her upper body as she inched it out, waiting for the heavy weight of the bottles inside to fall into her hands when she felt someone behind her and then a hard, chilled chest pressed against her back, hands reaching above her head to grab the case for her and before she could get a word in, he was pressing the crate back into its spot as his body pressed her tightly against the shelf.
Buffy let out a gasp, his hands suddenly holding her hands in place above their heads as he ground his hips against hers, the heavy bulge in his pants fitting perfectly against her ass and she absently thought how great it was that she had chosen that skirt that was so thin, it was tissue paper. Well, it was damn summer and it got hot in that stupid bar and...
His hot breath tickled her ear as her breasts pressed painfully against the shelf and she closed her eyes, the cool air in the storage space instantly feeling like a sauna as his hands covered hers before dragging down her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps. They grazed her shoulders as her heart rate picked up quickly, her body becoming super intensely aware of every single millimeter of her skin being touched as his hands pressed against her, following her curves.
Buffy's mouth gaped open, her breathing getting heavy as one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against his body as the other dipped down, touching her bare thigh before moving up, underneath her skirt. She could have sworn her skin was already as hot as it could get inside the hot bar but his hands felt hotter on her, his palms like fire as he moved up swiftly, his fingers grazing the edge of her thong.
"Did you miss me?" she heard him mumble behind her, his face in her hair, breathing her in and she shivered against him, his fingers dancing along the surface of her panties, grazing her where she already felt wetness pooling as he pulled her tighter against him.
"No," she breathed in response with a lilt of amusement and she felt his head duck down, his stubble scratching her as he leaned down, his lips on the back of her neck. They felt dry and hot and his breath felt cool and painful as the two collided and she stiffened against him as he dragged his face up along the column of her neck, making her shiver with a mixture of pleasure and pain before his lips found her ear.
"Liar," he said, his voice gravely. His fingers pressed hard against her mound, causing Buffy to open her mouth in a cry. He moved swiftly, pressing his hand against her mouth as he rubbed her clit through the material, her juices already wetting everything, making everything feel silky as he moved quickly, his tongue caressing her ear as he worked her.
His fingers smelled like dirt and car oil, like gunpowder and beer... all Dean and she inhaled sharply as he moved his fingers underneath the material. She felt her fingers aching with the pressure with which she was holding onto the shelf and she thrust her hips back, rubbing herself against him. He grunted as he leaned into her, his hips moving to meet her, pressing her further against the shelves as his fingers played with her wet clit as he rubbed himself against her ass cheeks.
She gasped his name against his hand, her cries muffled by his fingers as he rubbed her clit faster, her orgasm building, her body tightening. Thrusting against his hand, Buffy felt ready to explode when his hand suddenly disappeared, her body left thrumming with the need for release. She closed her eyes at the loss, groaning his name and she vaguely felt him moving as she fought through the fog in her brain, heard his zipper, felt his hands before he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her.
Buffy let out a squeak of surprise as he turned her, pressing her against what used to be a workbench, his hands on her hips as he shoved her skirt up. His finger grabbed the flimsy material of her thong, lifting it out of the way, not bothering with pleasantries like actually removing it before pushing her farther down and she felt him pressing against her entrance, teasing her slightly and she moved to brace herself on her elbows, about to turn and tell him to move his ass when he thrust into her.
Buffy's back arched in response, his hand still on her back as he moved it up along her spine before gripping her shoulder, pulling out and thrusting back in just as quickly, just as harshly. And it felt amazing as he started a rough rhythm, pressing her against the workbench with intensity, her hips digging into the smooth wood as her fingers clawed at it.
"Dean," she whimpered as quietly as she could, gritting her teeth to keep her mouth shut, remembering where they were. They were in the back of Harvelle's, outside a room full of hunters, where anyone could walk in and catch them. It made everything hotter, more erotic, and the thought alone of having to hurry, having to rush in case someone wanted to come back there had Buffy gasping out her pleasure, her eyes on the door, on the bright light illuminating it, knowing that so many people were right there while Dean took her back here.
The sound of her name falling from Dean's lips made Buffy's limbs tingle and she felt herself building, her pleasure mounting, the sound of his skin slapping hers filling the room, his pace quickening. And then he pulled her off the bench slightly, his pace not relenting as he shoved his fingers inside her panties again, his fingers finding her hard clit, so ready, so tender...
"Oh god, oh god," she gasped, her hips taking on a life of their own as she thrust back against him, his fingers rubbing as he slammed into her, going deeper, and she felt everything getting hot, tight, bright...
Buffy came hard, her hips moving frantically against him, her body exploding as she let out a loud cry before digging her face into the workbench. Her body jerked with each wave, every inch of her feeling electrified and it felt like he was touching her everywhere, setting her skin on fire.
She felt Dean's hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he thrust into her and Buffy couldn't help the moans falling from her throat as he thrust into her one last time, burying himself, coming with a loud groan.
Buffy forgot how to breathe. Breathing was suddenly very hard as he relaxed behind her, his hands moving up her back, making her shiver, making her bite her lip as he slipped out of her. But he didn't go anywhere. Instead, he leaned forward, draping himself across her back and she felt a light kiss on her shoulder. She let out a content sigh.
She didn't even feel his hand moving until he snapped her thong back in place and she jumped at the sharp pain.
"Hey," she said in protest and he chuckled, his hand massaging her ass cheek before slipping around to touch her through her panties again and she jerked against his hand.
"Just something for you to remember me by until I get your little ass into a proper bed," he said with far too much amusement and mockery. "Since you didn't miss me or anything."
Buffy giggled as he stood and she turned slowly, lazily, her skirt falling back down as he pulled his pants up. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to her.
"Nope," she said, smiling up at him, grazing his lips with her own. "Didn't you miss you at all."
Dean snorted against her lips, pulling her in, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She responded just as eagerly, wrapping her arms around him. She breathed him in, tasting him, tasting the beer he had had before finding her...
"And next time," he continued, zipping his pants as Buffy pushed her skirt back down. He backed up. "I'm not telling you when I'm coming back. That's just not fair."
"Fair shcmair," Buffy replied, pulling her hair down to put it back up since it felt like she had rolled around on the floor instead of having seriously hot sex in the back of the bar where she worked. She blushed, watching Dean lick his lips as he watched before he glanced back at the shelf.
"Now, which one were you getting so it doesn't look like I just came back here to molest the hell out of you..."