You mean Dean can send owls first? :0

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

(Similarly backdated to pre-mass marriage annulments! Just after this.)



Rachel,

Being FORCED to write

how's Peter

Heard you died?

Uh. Long time no speak?

Kinda wanted to meet up. Less you hate me. Whatever. \o/


-Dean.

P.S. can I have my machete back

Comments

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

Humfguh?

It was hard, and bad choice of adjective for right now when, hi, her hand was right there and grabbing and what the, but, yes, being coherent when... well, again. Back to the hand thing. Dean's knees did that momentary buckling thing again, as he let out an odd, grunting sort of sound in his throat, grabbing at the counter and dear lord. Maybe 'been a while' was a bit of an understatement.

That smile might have had something to do with it too, yes.

But... beg? She was making... Oh, no. Dean let his eyes flicker after her to the bed, and... that was... weird. Her movements. They were... different. Like... fluid. It sounded weird, but he'd spent enough of his life around the baddies and the what have you that hid in the dark to... study what was around him. And Rachel was definitely acting strange. Thinking with the downstairs brain, it was always something Sam made fun of him for. Damn.

Not possessed. Was she... Hmm. Wasn't much that had that weird kind of grace like that. Almost cat-like. ...Vampires, maybe, but she... couldn't be... Dean arched a brow, crossing slowly to the bed and leaning onto his fists by the foot. "Beg," he repeated blankly, fixing her with a steely sort of glare and pausing for a few long seconds. Didn't look like a vampire, but none of them did until they let the fangs loose. He started crawling a little forward, eyes still locked onto Rachel's, on all fours and looming over the woman. "Why."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Why? The cookie was asking me why? Something flared in my eyes - annoyance, arrogance, hunger - and I leaned forward, one eyebrow arching. That thing I could never do normally, one thin line of red sliding up in vague anger, yet another sign of my lovely transformation.

"Because you should," I answered after a moment, pushing forward, closer to him, unafraid and powerful. He should beg. He'd put me through hell, the piece of shit human, and he should beg.

With a snarl and a movement made of fluid grace I couldn't even begin to touch normally, with a strength that was beyond my regular bounds, I flipped him over onto the bed so he was flat on his back, straddling him. Leaning over him, hair tumbling down around us, I raked my nails lightly down his chest, grinding my hips into his. "Beg," I ordered again. "Tell me how much you want this. Tell me how much you want me. You can only connect when it's fucking, when you can thrust into me and make me feel you, so tell me." Another sharp roll of my hips on him. "This is all I'm good for, isn't it?" My teeth flashed in a feral grin. "So why don't we make sure you enjoy it."