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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years ago

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Run to You ~ Chapter Twelve

Chapter Summary: The pair are a filthy, sweaty mess. Kasey surprises Dean with an unexpected gift.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Kasey Belmont (OFC)

Warnings: Language; Here, there be smut; and lots of it.

Rating: Mature 18+ NSFW

Word Count: 10,028

Series Master Post

Beta: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Movie Reference/Quote: Titanic

Song Reference: Love Will Keep Us Alive - Eagles

Author’s Notes: This is an AU. While there are several SPN characters mentioned, basically no one has the same connections as they did in the show, and Dean and Sam are not related.

Written for: @jay-and-dean -Jay’s 3K Celebration and @spnaubingo.

SPNAUBingoSquare Filled: Fugitive AU

Kasey’s chest rises with a deep inhale, legs sliding off him and fingers stilling in his hair. Rolling off her and onto his back, he scrubs a hand down his face and inwardly groans.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s as if she’s cast a spell over him. He hasn’t been able to contain any of the feelings he typically hides away from the world. All he’s done from the moment she asked him to tell her the truth is spout a fountain of thoughts and emotions that he never imagined he’d feel, let alone say aloud.

It’s astounding how everything fell so quickly into place. Alarming how easy it is to picture himself happy with her, building a life together. So the demons of his mind come calling to remind him that he’d tried for the apple pie life once before, and look how that turned out. Right now, there’s a big red target on his back, and the need to protect Kasey from any more of his crazy life looms heavy in his heart. The thought of harm coming to her as a consequence of simply knowing him causes his breath to catch in his throat and his muscles to tense.

Dammit, why couldn’t I have met her sooner? Before I got married. Before, my life ended up being a living nightmare.

Dean feels the mattress shift, and then her shoulder is pressed to his, fingers smoothing back a lock of hair from his face as she murmurs his name.

Turning his head to look at her, he’s greeted with a soft smile, and she confides, “We’ll figure it out. Right? We promised to trust each other, remember.”

It’s not a question. It’s a reminder, and just like that, the anxiety melts away.

How does she do that?

The grip on his heart eases, muscles loosen and flex, and his breath comes fast but easy. Placing his hand over hers, he kisses her palm, then pulls her on top of him. One arm securing her around the waist, the other wrapped around the back of her neck as he claims her mouth in a bruising kiss, teeth clacking together with the surge of emotion. He pours every bit of that emotion into the kiss because even though he’s been running off at the mouth, there are still words that wouldn’t make sense to say to someone he’s only known for three days.

She kisses him back with just as much passion, hands cradling the top of his head, thumbs massaging his temples. He doesn’t break the kiss until they’re both struggling for breath. Kasey immediately buries her face in his neck, bringing her elbows closer to his body. He hugs her tighter, caging her against him with both arms. Sweat coalesces between them—hot, slick, and admittedly a little gross, but neither moves to remedy the situation.

Until her stomach loudly growls in the weighted silence. Chest vibrating against his with a bubble of laughter, a smile is pressed against his flesh.

“Maybe I should have let you have a taste,” he husks into her ear.

Sharp teeth nip at his skin before she pushes off him with a small cry, “Shit, the food!”

Dean reluctantly releases her, each groaning at the squelching sound when their bodies slide apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was so damn hot in here?” she grumbles, slipping from the bed. “I would have found another fan for you, or we could have taken the plastic off the windows.”

“Honestly, it hasn’t been that hot until now. You brought the heat with you.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, earning an eye roll in response.

Hands ruffling through the twisted sheets, she tilts her head and lightly slaps the side of his thigh. “Lift your leg.” Arching an eyebrow, he obliges, bending his knee. Her eyes scan the space, the corner of her mouth curling up when she apparently finds what she is looking for. Blunt nails graze his flesh, causing his leg to jerk, and he grunts in surprise.

She holds up the hair band that had been stuck to the back of his shin with a triumphant smile, then quickly pulls her hair into a high ponytail before wiping her body down with a corner of the sheet.

Dean stares hungrily at the smooth, tanned skin covering lithe muscle, the curve of her ass as she bends to pull her dress up her body, the arch of her back as she glides the material over the swell of her breasts to retie the knot behind her neck.

Dick twitching in response, he drops his gaze, pulling the sheet over himself to wipe away the moisture dripping down his chest. She’s already down the hallway by the time he looks back up, calling out to him, “Are you coming?” He chuckles and shakes his head. He probably could come again just thinking about how good it felt to be sheathed inside her.

“Be there in a sec,” he hollers back. Closing his eyes, he commits it all to memory—the sultry air heavily scented with warm bread and cinnamon, the drag of nails over his flesh, the pull and slide of sweat-slicked skin, the softness and weight of her, the lust-filled, honeyed rasp of whispered words and pleading cries.

He’ll keep it securely tucked away in his heart and mind, a happy memory, so when he’s back in that godforsaken cement cage, he’ll have something to remind him there’s light, even hope, out there. Dean heaves himself out of bed and pulls on the discarded pajama bottoms, padding down the hallway after her.

When he enters the kitchen, he finds Kasey poking her fingers into a large round of dough. Leaning against the doorframe, he watches as she folds and reshapes the mass before placing it into a loaf pan next to the other three. She huffs a breath and swipes the back of her hand along her forehead, leaving a trail of flour behind.

“Saved it.” Brushing her hands together to clean them, she gives him a pleased grin which turns into a pout as she looks around the space. “Hmm, not so much the other stuff, though.”

Dean smiles and pushes off the frame. “What can I do?”

“Take care of what’s on the table?”

Feeling Kasey’s eyes boring into him, he asks without turning, “Like what you see?”

Her reply is swift, voice coated in adulation, “I most certainly do,” and further informs him, “especially since the thin cotton covering that perky ass and those beefy thighs is nearly transparent in the sun.”

Stopping at the end of the table, he widens his stance, hands on his hips, and stares out the large window for a moment, chuckling at the huff of breath and cute grunt he hears in response.

About forty minutes later, he places the last pan in the drying rack. Leaning back against the sink, he follows Kasey’s movement around the room as she hums along to the song on the radio, once again contemplating how ‘normal’ this all feels—the domesticity of it all—something he’s never experienced on this level before. It was never like this with his wife, and he starts to wonder why they ever got married.

Making a conscious effort not to spiral down that rabbit hole, he picks up a discarded towel from the counter as he makes his way over to her. She scrunches her face when he grips her chin, turning her head so he can brush the powdery streaks from her forehead and cheek. Kissing the tip of her nose, he tosses the towel back onto the marble, asking as he steps back, “It’s like Dante’s seventh circle outside. Why all the baking?”

“I was frustrated. Baking has always been a way to help me calm down. Besides, it wasn’t quite as hot when I started.”

“Must have been pretty frustrated,” he teases. “How’re you feelin’ now?”

Entirely unprepared for her response, he doesn’t have time to move before being covered in a mixture of flour and crumbs from the scrap pile on the island countertop. Blinking, he feels the silky powder drift from his lashes to float away on the sun-dappled air. “What the-” He shakes his limbs, trying to dislodge some of the dusty mix, but it clings to his damp skin like the mist of heavy fog.

Bent over laughing, she almost misses seeing him lunge for her, but she skirts out of his reach and tries to put the island between them. He’s quicker, though. Snagging his fingers in the back of her dress, he pulls her flush against his chest.

She squirms in his hold as he rubs the side of his face against hers, smearing the sticky mess across her skin, and growls, “That wasn’t very nice.”

Scooping up the remaining floury debris, he mashes the mess into the hair on top of her head. Kasey laughs louder, her ponytail loosening as she struggles fruitlessly against his hold. She shrieks when he spins her away from him, grasping her hand just before she’s out of reach.

A wispy halo of white surrounds her head, bits of dough are caked in her disheveled hair, and lumpy cream-colored streaks trail from her hairline to her chin. She looks beautiful. Eyes sparkling and a lighthearted smile.

Feeling his chest swell with his escalating heart rate, he tugs on her arm, and she falls into him, warm and pliant. He immediately captures her lips in a hungry kiss, running his hands up her arms to cradle her neck, thumbs gently stroking along her jawline.

Body trembling with the intensity of the kiss, he tries to ground himself in the feel of her. Kasey’s breath hitches as the tips of his middle fingers lightly brush down either side of her spine unhurried. When he reaches the small of her back, his hands fall to gently rest on her hips, and her entire body seems to sigh as she drapes her arms over his shoulders.

The song changes, and he sways them to the slower tempo. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to hers. “This is the song that was playing when the power came back on.”

“Hmm, one of my favorites.” She pecks his lips and then lays her head on his shoulder. He reaches back to take a hand in his, and her fingers wrap around his thumb, the other hand resting against his shoulder blade, letting him dance her around the kitchen. It’s easy and comfortable, intimate, and the same feeling of contentment that struck him when he agreed to stay settles in his soul.

Timothy B. Schmit’s high tenor comes around, and Kasey softly sings along. Dean’s heard the song hundreds of times, but as the low harmony of her voice fills the air, he latches onto a new meaning behind the words.

“I was standing, all alone against the world outside. You were searching for a place to hide.”

Kasey snuggles closer to him, and a sense of hope fills him as she slides her hand over his bare skin to wrap around the nape of his neck.

“Lost and lonely, now you've given me the will to survive.”

A lump forms in his throat at the realization of how closely their lives mirror the lyrics-

“When we're hungry, love will keep us alive.”

-and his pulse quickens over the last line of the chorus.

She met him at the worst possible time in his life, has seen him at his lowest, yet chose to trust him, is willing to face the consequences of helping him overcome the biggest challenge he’s ever faced, has given him hope, and has shown him kindness.

Time has lost all sense of meaning for him. It’s like she’s always been with him—in the back of his mind, his peripheral vision, his dreams—waiting for him to truly perceive her. The fact that he only saw her for the first time three days ago is incomprehensible. He wasn’t lying when he told her he had been hers the minute he stepped onto the porch. He hadn’t realized it then, too focused on the need to survive, but once he knew he was safe, he recognized the feeling for what it was—it had felt like coming home. She feels like home.

He promised no more running. He promised to trust her and told her this was where he felt he belonged. So he shoves down his insecurities and lingering misgivings and chooses her. Chooses to trust his heart. Chooses to stay with her and fight his demons in the same vein she has chosen to fight for his life.

Closing his eyes, he tightens his hold and brings their clasped hands to rest on his chest. “You know,” his voice is steady, further solidifying his resolve that this is where he is meant to be, “this sounds like us.”

Kasey pauses on the following line but doesn’t say anything right away, and he wonders if he should have kept his mouth shut. Then he feels her smile.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” She sighs, fingers playing with his hair while she goes back to singing.

The inevitable happens, and the song comes to a close, but even though the faster-paced strains of Traveling Riverside Blues begin to float through the space, he keeps her close, continuing to sway slowly in place, not wanting the moment to end.

If it were possible, it feels like she melts even further into him as he begins to sing. “Your voice is beautiful,” she whispers into his chest. “I could stay right here like this all day.” Squeezing her hand in agreement, he continues to serenade her as they drift around the room.

About halfway through the song, though, he feels her body shake just before her laughter reaches his ears. “As seductive as your voice is, I think we should finish cleaning the kitchen and then get cleaned up ourselves.”

Regretfully, he has to agree, feeling the tug on his skin as she pulls away, the flour having turned into a sticky paste between them.

Another twenty minutes later, the dishes have been put away, the countertops are gleaming, the floor has been swept and mopped, and the bread is in the oven.

Dean picks at a dried clump of goop on his chest as he leans against the counter, catching the flaky pieces and tossing them into the sink. Sitting next to him atop the surface, she bumps his shoulder.

“Go get in the shower. I’m going to wait for the bread. It’s almost done.”

He’d like nothing more than to wait for her so that they could shower together. However, his skin itches, and he feels gross, probably smells gross, too. Pushing off the counter, he kisses a clean spot on her forehead. “Yeah, okay. Feeling pretty disgusting right now,” he grimaces.

“Me too,” she laughs, pulling a chunk of dough from her hair.

He laughs with her as he heads out of the room, stopping to look back when she calls out to him.

“You can use the one in my room. It’s bigger. Has the fancy shower heads and everything.” She wiggles her eyebrows with a flashy little show of jazz hands.

She wasn’t kidding when she said it was bigger. The wide glass door opens into a walk-in stone slab and river-rock-lined space that should be located in a spa or some million-dollar mansion. It’s slightly larger than his jail cell had been and sports a stone bench, recessed niches for storage, a rain shower, and two multi-function shower heads.

Modern and sophisticated, not at all something original to the home. It appears that the only item left of the original bathroom is the cast iron claw-foot tub placed beneath the large window looking over the side yard.

The update is an interesting contrast to the way Kasey seems to have preserved the rest of the old farmhouse. A unique reflection of her refined yet down-to-earth personality. Perhaps, a piece of the city she couldn’t leave behind.

It takes him several minutes to figure out the controls, but when he finally does, he’s treated to a pulsing cascade of water from almost every angle. He’s just beginning to relax when Kasey surprises him by slipping her slender arms around him from behind, and he nearly elbows her in the side. She squeezes him tighter as he grips her forearms to keep her from slipping.

“Sorry,” she chuckles. “I couldn’t wait any longer to get this crap out of my hair. I hope you don’t mind.”

Gently tugging on her arm, he pulls her around to face him. “Not at all. Was actually hoping you’d join me.” The smoldering look she gives him as her hand slides over his hip to grope his ass makes his cock swell.

After helping each other remove the more tenacious gunk from their bodies and a round of satisfying and only slightly complicated shower sex, they head back downstairs to eat lunch. Opting to forego clothing, they’re each wrapped in only a large fluffy towel, which does nothing to diminish his hunger for her. Now that he’s tasted her, felt her around him, he craves more. He’d love to bend her over the counter and rail her.

Turning from putting the dishes away, her eyes spark, and the corner of her mouth twitches when she catches him staring. He feels the heat spread across his chest and neck, knowing that she knows precisely what he’s thinking, but then she covers her mouth to stifle a yawn, reminding him of how little sleep they have both gotten the past couple of days. Standing from the table, he holds a hand out to her, and they make their way back upstairs to her room.

“Is it always this hot around here?” Dean huffs as he plugs in the fan from downstairs to supplement the ceiling fan in Kasey’s room. Ensuring it’s set securely on the small side table, he momentarily stands in front of it, letting the forced breeze cool his skin.

Kasey laughs as he walks toward the bed to lie beside her. “Not this time of year. It appears you brought the heat with you when you obnoxiously collapsed on my porch.”

“Ha ha, funny,” he grouses, lifting his arm for Kasey to lay her head on his chest. “I could have died.”

“Not on my watch,” she states almost vehemently, causing him to smile at the protectiveness in her tone. He likes the feeling it gives him.

“It seems like this is healing nicely.” Her fingers drift down his body to trace the edges of the fresh bandage she insisted on applying after their shower, where she fussed over the fact that he got it wet. “It feels okay? Doesn’t hurt?”

“It’s fine,” he huffs in exasperation, then yelps and slaps her hand away when she pinches the skin about an inch above the wound. “Hey.”

“Don’t get testy with me,” she derides, but he can hear the humor lacing the edges of her retort. “I’d hate to see it get infected.”

“Seriously,” he grips her forearm and pulls it over his body, “it’s fine. It’s pretty much healed. I got the bullet out and cleaned the wound. I just didn’t have time to stitch it up. Having to constantly do a parkour routine to keep ahead of the law kept opening the wound. That’s the only reason it was still bleeding. I didn’t have time to rest and let it heal properly.”

“You know, you could have made it worse by taking the bullet out,” she sniffs.

“I couldn’t leave the slug in my gut. It definitely would have gotten infected or caused more damage.” Tears dampen his chest, and he tightens his hold, pulling her a fraction closer. “It wasn’t deep. The guy’s hand was shaking; it ricocheted off of a seat, slowed it down. Besides, it’s been over two weeks. If it was going to kill me, it would have already,” and runs a soothing hand over her hair.

Bringing her hand back to lightly rest over the bandage, she mumbles, “Not letting it happen ever again.”

He kisses the top of her head, relaxing into the soft bedding, fingers tracing random patterns on her arm. Moments later, the rhythm of her breathing lets him know she’s asleep, and he follows shortly after.

Dean wakes to a dimly lit room. The sun is low in the sky, deep, vibrant shades of purple and orange painting the view outside the window. Stretching lazily, he tries but fails to recall the last time he’s felt this relaxed. Rolling to his other side, he finds the space next to him empty and a slip of paper on the pillow. Sitting up, he turns on the small lamp on the nightstand. Not sure why he’s surprised to find that her handwriting is just as beautiful as she is, he chuckles.

Get dressed and meet me on the porch. ~K

He’s quick to obey and make his way downstairs to find her lying across the swing, a leg thrown over the side to keep it in motion.

“Finally,” she huffs, sitting up as he steps up next to her. “I was beginning to think I would have to drag you out of bed.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“You’ll see.”

Kasey holds out her hand for him to help her stand, and he tugs on her arm, making her wobble with the momentum.

“I’m not big on surprises,” he drolls, setting a hand at her hip to help steady her.

“Oh, I think you’re going to like this one,” she quips, reaching into the pocket of the Daisy Dukes she’s wearing. Coupled with a bikini top, the outfit leaves little to his imagination. “But hey, I can always just tuck these back in your jeans.”

She hooks a finger into his left front pocket, and he bites his lip as she runs it over the fabric against his skin. The jingle of metal draws his attention to her other hand, where she twirls the small ring that holds Baby’s ignition key around her finger. “Thought you might like to go for a drive.”

Stunned, mouth agape, his eyes repeatedly flick between her and the key as he absentmindedly pats down his pockets. A flick to his nose makes him focus, and he rubs a finger over the tip, remembering how she’d done the same thing that first night when they’d been drinking.

“Did I break you?”

“Phftt… No,” he hedges, rolling his eyes like it’s the most ridiculous concept to ever be voiced, then immediately implores, “Are you kidding? Please say you’re not kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.” Turning his hand, she drops the key in his palm and curls his fingers around the cool metal. “We have a track on the ‘back forty’. It’s dirt, but it’s well-maintained. There’s even a couple of areas where you can get a little heavy on the pedal.” She winks. “Come on, Winchester, take me for a ride.” Taking his hand, she pulls him off the porch and down the steps.

Son of a bitch.

Dean knows that her comment was about the Impala, but the image that springs to his mind of her moaning his name, tits bouncing and silky walls squeezing, as she comes undone while riding his dick again almost sends him to his knees. He stumbles on the last step, nearly knocking her down when he topples into her.

She holds her ground and manages to prevent him from falling in the process. “Hey, are you okay?”

Her eyes scan his body, and when they meet his once again, the tips of his ears burn bright. The coy smile lets him know she has seen the evidence of his wayward thoughts.

“Wow. Should I be jealous of the car?” Her lips twitch, the corner slowly curling up.

“I- What? No,” he splutters. The warmth of embarrassment spreads across his chest and into his cheeks. “That’s not- I-”

She’s full-on laughing now, and he huffs a breath.

Wait. Jealous?

Eyes narrowed, he scrutinizes her demeanor. “Why would you be jealous?” The thought of her being possessive in relation to him makes him simultaneously happy and intrigued. He truly believes that having sex with him is more than a convenience fuck for her, but he never dreamed that her feelings might be on the same level as his.

Kasey’s eyes widen, and the laughter immediately dies in her throat. “What?” She looks shocked, a little frightened, but quickly schools her features. Turning away, she calls over her shoulder, “Let’s go, or we’re going to miss it.”

“Hey, wait. Miss what?” He has to jog to catch up with her.

Once inside the building, she doesn’t give him a chance to bring up the subject again, practically sprinting to the back of the barn and disappearing into a room on the left. When he finally catches up, he finds her in a sizable office, leaning over a glass-topped wooden table. “Here, come and look.”

Dean steps up beside her to find what appears to be a large sheet of paper covered in geometric shapes in various shades of green and brown, sealed beneath the glass. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s a plat map of the farm. Golden-yellow lines mark the property lines of each acre. Pale blue squiggles and circles show the creek's path, tributaries, and what he assumes to be a couple of ponds or small lakes.

“This is where we are.” Her finger taps a small square near the bottom middle third of the area before gliding over the surface to a tan-colored line about a quarter-inch thick that splits in two. “See this?” Not waiting for a response, she continues. “Off to the left is the path we took to the creek the other day. It’s narrower and rougher. But here,” her slender finger moves to the right, tracing over what he assumes is the dirt trail she mentioned before, “see how it’s wider, less curvy? That’s the route we’re going to take.”

He follows the trail that cuts through the top third of the property before circling back to the fork in the road where she started. It’s almost like a long race track. If it’s as well maintained as she says it is, he could let Baby loose on that top stretch. The thought of feeling the power of her engine, the wheels eating up the dirt beneath them, sends his pulse racing like a freight train and blocks all other thoughts from his mind.

“Dean, let’s go!” The impatience in her tone and the light slap to his bicep bring his attention back to her. “That’s the second time you’ve spaced out on me. Maybe I’m the one that should be driving?”

“Oh, hell, no.” Bending, he flips her over his shoulder and heads out of the office door, not stopping until they are next to the Impala. Setting Kasey down on the trunk, he wedges himself between her legs, cradles her face in his hands, then plants a firm kiss on her lips.

When he breaks away, her confused eyes scan his face. “What was that for?”

“For… everything.” Emotions surge through him, but thankfully the tears remain at bay this time, replaced by the ramble of words that spill from his lips. “The bed, the clothes, the food, taking me in, helping me, this,” he waves his hand in the direction of the Impala, “for saving me… for- for being you.”

Kasey stares at him, stunned, lips parted around a word she can’t seem to voice. He shakes his head and adds, “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Her features morph into a provocative pout, eyes gleaming with mischief. Hooking her fingers into his belt loops, she tugs, sliding closer as she pulls him to her. “Oh, I can think of a way you could start to repay me.”

Licking his lips, he plants his palms on the cool metal on either side of her and arches a brow. “Oh?” The thin material of his t-shirt does nothing to hinder the scrape of her nails as she dances them up his torso while pressing her core against his still semi-hard cock. He leans into her and growls, “And what would that be?”

The hard shove to his chest is a surprise, throwing him off balance. Kasey’s laughter echoes around the space, “Show me what you can do behind the wheel of this car.” Sliding off the trunk, she ducks beneath his arm and is opening the barn’s large double doors before he even has a chance to comprehend what just happened.

Fuck. She’s going to be the death of me.

He knows there are much worse ways to go, though, so he shakes his head and smiles. Adjusting himself, he walks around the car and slides in behind the wheel, running a hand over the dash as he closes his eyes. The smell of leather and motor oil is tinged with a fresh sweetness that was never there before. He’d caught a hint of it last night, but hadn’t given it much thought, too overwhelmed and lost in memories.

He inhales deeply, trying to identify the not unpleasant scent. It doesn’t take long for him to realize the same scent surrounds him whenever he’s near Kasey. Unlike the murderous sentiments that usually fill every molecule of his body when thinking about someone else driving his Baby, there’s a strange calmness in knowing that she sat in this same seat and had taken such good care of his most prized possession.

A loud whistle breaks his reverie, and he looks up to find Kasey standing in the open doorway with her arms out and a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ expression etched on her features.

Smiling sheepishly, he turns the ignition key, and the engine roars to life. He maneuvers the car out of the garage, stopping just outside the entrance to allow Kasey to get in.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” she huffs before even closing the door.

“No, sorry. I’m fine. Just got caught up in some memories,” he shrugs.

She smiles warmly, getting comfortable in the seat and rolling down the window. “Alright then, let’s roll.”

When they hit the first long stretch, Kasey tells him to floor it, and they shoot down the trail doing eighty-five. It’s exhilarating. He’d missed this feeling—the adrenaline rush, the sense of freedom, of being one with his Baby and the road—missed it deep in his bones. Never imagined that he would ever experience it again.

The trail is better maintained than he could have imagined. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought they were traveling over freshly laid asphalt.

He sneaks a glance at Kasey. Her arm hangs out the window, hand riding the air currents, laughing as the wind whips her hair around her face. She’s carefree... captivating. He’d give anything to stay in this moment forever, but he needs to pay attention to the road. He’d prefer not to crash and possibly injure Kasey or Baby. Taking the curve at a more reasonable speed, he prompts, “You do this with your truck, don’t you? That’s why the trail’s so smooth.”

“Maybe,” she giggles, brushing the hair from her face. “We race the ATVs too.”

“We?”

“Oh. Yeah, uh, my friends, the farm workers, neighbors...” She waves a hand in the air like it’s no big deal. “We have a huge celebration after the harvest. Everyone brings food, and there’s a local band that does great rock covers. Usually lasts the entire weekend.”

“Where do all these people come from?” Worry churns in his gut, and his grip tightens on the wheel. A sudden influx of people on the property would not bode well for either of them. She brushes back the hair at his temple but quickly drops her hand when he jerks away.

“Hey. It’s alright.” Her voice is hushed, and he glances over to see a tender smile. “This is the lull before the storm. We still have a couple of weeks before the bunkhouses start to fill up. We’ll be well into your case to free you by then, and I have an idea about controlling exposure. But we’re not discussing that tonight. Tonight, we’re going to enjoy this beautiful evening and each other’s company.”

The luminescent smile she gives him when he looks her way again nearly forces his heart from his chest, and he almost misses the next curve, swerving at the last minute to keep them out of the field. Kasey grips the door frame to keep from sliding off the seat, her high-pitched squeal ringing in his ears.

“You know, I honestly thought you’d be a better driver.” she taunts.

He would have been offended, except there’s humor feathering her words, and when he looks, her eyes are shining with mischief and crinkled at the corners with glee. Gripping the hand flattened on the seat, he roughly pulls her across the leather and growls, “I’m the best damn driver you’ll ever meet.”

Putting his arm over her shoulder and hugging her close, he stomps on the gas pedal as they hit the bottom straightway of the makeshift race track, Kasey’s joyful shout urging him on.

After two more laps, she points to a side trail and asks him to take it. The sky is fully dark now. The car’s headlights cut through the eerie reddish glow of the waning gibbous moon as it rises. The path is narrower and rougher, too, so he slowly eases the Impala over the small ruts, not wanting to damage the suspension. A few minutes later, the tree-lined path ends at a clearing containing one of the small lakes he had seen on the map—a little oasis among the acres of corn.

Kasey exits the Impala from the driver’s side, sliding out behind him. Scanning the area, he hears a door of the car open and turns to find her ass in the air as she bends over the backseat to grab something from the floor on the opposite side. He’s really not sure how much more he can take. His dick strains against the soft, worn denim. It hasn’t fully softened since he found her stretched out on the porch swing. He’d love to take her right there on the back seat and have her ride him just like he imagined.

“Stop staring at my ass and come help me,” she laughs.

Shit. Busted again.

“I wasn’t- that’s not-,” he stutters.

Kasey stands, “Really?” handing him a lantern, then reaches back in to pull out a small green cooler she sets off to the side. “You weren’t just thinking about having sex on the backseat?”

Turning on the light, he places it on top of the cooler. Eyes dragging up her body as he straightens, he nearly bites off his tongue, seeing her tease her nipple through the bright purple fabric barely covering her plump, perfectly sized breasts.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“No? Nothing to say?” Gaze intent on the movement of her fingers, he startles when she palms his crotch and pouts, “Too bad because I was.”

Hips instinctively shifting, he presses into her hand with a moan, ready to lose his goddamn mind over the simple touch. It only takes a couple of seconds for the circuits in his brain to reconnect, though, when she starts to pull away. He flattens her hand along the firm line of his shaft with his own and grinds into it.

“Such a tease.” He wraps his other hand around the back of her neck, eyes scanning her form. “Wearing this skimpy little outfit,” he rolls his hips, “that pretty little mouth so full of sass.” Using his entire body, he pushes into her space, only stopping when her ass hits metal.

Laying his forearm on the roof of the car by Kasey’s head, he leans in until her back is flush with the vehicle, her hand trapped between their bodies. “Maybe I should fill it with something else.” He thumbs over her lips, hears the moan she tries to swallow, feels the rapid rise and fall of her chest, “Or maybe,” he snaps his hips forward, hard, the delicious friction nearly knocking him from his course of action, “you wanna ride this?”

“Yes.” One thing he’s learned about her is that she’s not one to back down easily, so it’s no surprise when she curls her fingers as best she can and defiantly replies with a squeeze to his sac. “I do.”

Her other hand pushes against his chest, and he doesn’t fight her, amused and turned on by her confidence. He shuffles back a couple of steps as she continues to grip him tight, eyes locked with his. “I want to ride this big beautiful cock,” she forces the heel of her palm against his shaft, making him choke down a groan, “in that glorious black beauty,” her fingers massage the denim covering his balls, and his hand tightens around her nape, “until I’m screaming your name.”

Jesus fucking christ!

There’s no containing the growl that rises from his chest. He has no explanation for how she seemingly knows precisely what he wants exactly when he needs it, but it’s a helluva turn-on. Kasey grips his forearm, the other slipping beneath his t-shirt, fingers popping the button and dipping into the waistband of his jeans.

With a low grunt, he pulls away. “In the car, now.” Turning her, he gently shoves her toward the open door.

Kasey’s laugh coasts on the breeze. Eyeing him over her shoulder, she croons, “Yes, Sir.”

The sultry voice, coupled with the innocent bat of eyelashes, is like a backdraft settling in his groin before being ignited by his sharp intake of breath to burn through his veins. He’s never before felt the level of desire she sparks in him and takes a moment to close his eyes and palm himself through the denim, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

The sight that greets him when he peels his lids open only makes him harder. The tiny shorts she’s wearing barely cover any flesh, the seam pressed into her crack, giving him a peek of the purple lace beneath as she crawls across the seat. When she stops and steps back out of the car, he challenges, “What are you doing?”

She leans back into the car without a response, and he follows the long line of her legs down to her bare feet. Catching sight of the cooler she’d set down earlier, he notices what appears to be a familiar dent. “Hey, this looks like my old cooler,” he states, the tension easing from his voice.

“Probably is. It was in the trunk when I bought her.”

Dean shakes his head, not even fazed that she has yet another cherished object that belongs to him. It’s like an unseen entity has been gathering them up and placing them in her care until he could come along and collect them again. Maybe there is something to all that destiny crap. But right now, he has far less philosophical matters to attend to.

Bracing a hand on the door, he bucks his groin against her backside, causing her to fall forward onto the blanket she is spreading over the backseat. “A little warm for that, isn’t it?”

Looking over her shoulder, she pushes back against him, stating matter of factly, “It’s this, or we’re going to be peeling our skin off the leather.”

Gritting his teeth against the pressure on his cock, he growls, “Have I told you how sexy that brain of yours is? And that it gets me really, really hard?”

“You may have mentioned it,” she wiggles her ass, “and I can certainly feel it, but why don’t you get those clothes off and show me?” she challenges, folding her arms over her chest as she straightens, leaning against the rear quarter panel.

“Seriously. The death of me,” he grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t hesitate to quickly rid himself of his clothing. As he steps out of the denim, he laughs to himself. Every time he thinks he has the upper hand, she pushes back and turns the tables, but he can’t deny that he’ll willingly dance this little dance with her for as long as she’ll let him.

“Your turn,” he taunts.

Kasey pushes off the car with her ass, eyes locked with his. Stepping up to his side, she ghosts a hand over his chest, letting her fingers trail down his arm as she walks around behind him. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and his breath quickens.

Like the stroke of a feather, the tips of her fingers trace the curve of his butt cheeks. His pulse jumps, and the muscles twitch beneath her caress. She comes round to his other side, her chin tucked, eyes roaming over his flesh. He attempts to make a smart-ass comment. The words lodge in his throat, breaths coming shallow and quick, heart pounding against his ribcage when those delicate fingers he’s obsessed with tickle the palm of his hand, and he watches in anticipation as they drift over his thigh only to stall.

The air is punched from his lungs, heartbeat arrested, the moment she drops to her knees in front of him and takes him in hand. His legs nearly give out, and a hand falls to rest on her shoulder for support when she flicks her tongue through his slit. He barely registers her comment over the rush of blood pulsing against his eardrums.

“You’ve already denied me once. I want a taste before anything else.”

Eyes dark with desire, peer at him through thick lashes, tongue continuing to tease before slipping him into her warm, wet mouth and sucking as her plush lips seal around his head.

“Shit.” The pressure builds. His fingers compress into the curve of her shoulder as she sucks him in further and moans. His sac tightens when her tongue massages the sensitive v near his tip. “Fuck.” He stumbles backward, dick releasing from her mouth with a pop.

Dean grunts, mouth agape as he holds her at arm’s length with one hand and squeezes his tip with the other.

“What?” Though her voice is laced with angelic innocence, her eyes harbor a wicked glint. “I just wanted a taste.” Kasey curls her fingers around his wrist at her shoulder and stands, licking her lips. “Yum.”

Roughly pulling her closer, he locks her against his body with one arm around her back and cradles her head with his other hand as he claims her mouth in a searing kiss. Kasey pushes up on her toes, fingers pressing into the flesh of his shoulder blades, the heat of her body fueling the fiery embrace. Dean lifts her and walks the short distance to the car. Once he reaches the open door, he releases her lips and sets her back on the ground, careful not to bump her head as he maneuvers her down onto the blanket-covered seat.

Kasey smiles at him and crooks her finger, summoning him to follow as she wriggles to the other side. He doesn’t need coaxing and scrambles inside, leaving the door open for air. It’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway.

As he situates himself in the middle of the seat, Kasey kneels against the bench, hunched over as she shimmies out of her shorts and underwear. Losing her balance as she kicks them off her ankle, her hand slaps down on his leg, nails digging into the tender flesh of his inner thigh.

His dick jumps, slapping against his stomach at her touch. “C’mere.” He’s done with the foreplay. He needs to be buried inside her, and he needs it now.

Kasey reaches behind her back to untie her top, but he grips around her waist and moves her until she’s straddling his lap. “Leave it.” She stares down at him, each searching the other’s face, a silent communication of their desire for each other. With a small whimper, she cups his face and smashes her lips against his as she rises to her knees.

Dean takes the hint. Gripping his dick, he runs the head through her wet folds, she’s practically dripping, and he strokes her slick over his shaft. “You ready?” he mumbles against her mouth. When she tilts her hips to catch the tip at her entrance, he lets go to grasp her waist and help ease her down his stiff cock. Kasey, however, isn’t waiting. She slams her ass down on his lap, taking him in completely.

Swallowing her moan, his fingers clutch at her flesh, holding her in place as she tries to rise again. She feels like tightly wrapped silk around him, and he struggles to keep from immediately blowing his load. “Shit. Give a guy some warning.”

“Hmm,” she nips at his earlobe, “what was it you said?” licks along the shell, and he shivers despite the heat, “Oh, yeah. ‘Why? It’s more fun this way.’” She bites the muscle in his neck, fighting his grip to roll her hips, and whines, “Let me ride you. Let me ride you hard and fast until we’re both screaming.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he growls. “Can’t argue with a request like that.” As soon as he loosens his hold, she’s up and quickly drops down on him again, rolling her hips.

He settles into the seat and runs his hands up her stomach to the soft flesh of her breasts, cupping them beneath the fabric and letting the weight of them nestle into his palms. If possible, the view is even more amazing than the first time she sat atop him.

Hands flattened against his chest, head tilted to the side, mouth parted around a moan, and body gracefully arched, she’s like a beautiful erotic painting, an image preserved in the throes of delight.

Her beauty should be captured and kept for a lifetime. Yet she’s flesh and blood, hunger and heat, sensual and supple within his grasp. The pace she sets is swift and steady, rougher than the first time, and he can’t help but wonder just how rough she’d be willing to get.

Within minutes he feels her walls fluttering, and he flicks his thumbs over her taut nipples and rasps sordid sentiments in her ear. She clenches around him, nails digging into his skin, lascivious words and broken pleas falling from her lips, juices coating his shaft.

He’s so ready to burst, it’s almost painful, and he sits up as she collapses against him, ready to flip her over and fuck her hard like he wanted to earlier. Kasey pushes against his shoulder, stopping him as she pants against his cheek, “I’m not done with you yet. I said we’d both be screaming.”

“Make it quick,” he begs. “I’m ‘bout to explode.” Dropping his hands to her waist, he sucks a mark into the top of her breast, right next to the one he left that morning, and she grinds her clit against his pelvic bone, tugging at his hair, pulling his mouth away from her flesh.

“Settle in, Sugar, ‘cause I’m about to break in a mustang.”

He can’t help but laugh at the over-the-top Texan drawl but howls in surprise with the forceful slap she applies to the side of his thigh. “Hey!” The contact makes his dick pulse in response, and her knowing smirk offers a little more insight into her proclivities. Her countenance turns questioning, and his fingers dent her flesh while giving her a nod.

Gripping his hair tighter, she rises until the very tip of his cock rests just inside her. If either of them moves the wrong way, he’ll slip free. Ever so slowly and with minimal movement, she lets go of his hair and removes her top. Tossing it out the door, she eases down an inch, smiling coyly as her fingers trace lazy circles around his nipple.

She winks, and in that space of a heartbeat, he finds freedom. Freedom to release his remaining doubts, to give Kasey the trust she seeks, lay bare his soul, and open his heart completely. He’d give her anything she asked for and more.

He bites his lip, teeth grazing the swollen flesh as she slides back over him in one smooth motion, reducing his existential contemplations to raw, primal lust.

He shifts lower in the seat, causing her to lean forward, and her breasts hang freely above his face, inciting his dick to twitch inside her.

She squeezes tight around him, rolls her hips, and then starts a frustratingly slow pace. Her hands roam his body, nails scratching, moist lips and heated breath teasing, every touch leaving his skin tingling like he gripped a live wire.

“Damn, you feel good.” He captures a hand in his, kissing her wrist before setting her palm on the curve of the seat next to his head, then does the same with her other hand. Using the seat as leverage, she speeds up her movements, arching into him, her pelvis tilts, taking him deeper. “That’s it. Shit. So tight.”

Her entire body shudders, followed by a whimpering sigh when he ghosts his fingers up her sides, and he does it again to hear the sweet sounds it elicits. Her breath hitches, “F- f- fuck,” when he palms each breast, kneading the soft flesh, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Sliding a hand down her stomach, he laves his tongue over pebbled flesh, and her pace falters. She quickly recovers, though.

“Guh… that feels good.” Fingers tangle in his hair, “...so f- fu- …big …shit …right there, right there, right there,” she whines as he massages her clit. Nails dig into his flesh when she braces her other hand on his shoulder as her walls ripple and contract.

On the next downward thrust, he latches onto her breast, teeth grazing over the taut bud. Warm slick coats his throbbing dick as she convulses around him, clenching hard enough to nearly push him out. Squeezing his fingers into the globes of her ass, he plants his feet on the floor and gives a hard thrust upward, staking his claim, burying himself and pulsing deep inside her, shouting her name to the heavens as she curses his.

When they’re both spent, he drops his hands to his sides, and Kasey falls against him, elbows set on his shoulders, chin resting on the top of his head as he presses his forehead to her chest, panting. When his softened cock slips from inside her, she slides off his lap to sit next to him, a knee cracking as she unfolds her legs.

“Ooof.” She rubs a hand over the joint before picking up his hand and holding it between hers, intertwining their fingers as she kisses his shoulder. “That was one helluva ride.” she breathes.

“Better than riding shotgun in Baby?” he goads.

“Oh, that’s a tough call,” she muses. “I may have to go another round or two on both to ensure I have thoroughly done my research and have all the evidence to make an informed and objective opinion.”

He stares at her in stunned silence, unsure how to take the seriousness of her face and matter-of-fact tone, but when she purses her lips, throwing him a kiss, he bursts out laughing, head tilted back and body shaking. Kasey joins in seconds later, laying her head on his arm and squeezing his hand.

When he’s recovered enough to speak, he kisses the top of her head and asks. “Hey, what were you afraid we were going to miss?”

“Oh.” She leans back to look out the rear window. “Perfect. Come on.” She scurries out of the car, tugging on his hand.

“Nooo,” he whines, playfully fighting her pull. “Wanna stay here.” Honestly, he’s not sure how she can even stand right now. After all, she did all the work. He feels like a blob of jello. The woman definitely has some stamina. He makes a mental note to test her limits at a later date. When she continues to yank on his arm, he falls to the side in a heap.

“Fine,” she drops his hand and huffs, “be an old man.”

After a few moments of silence, a low growl escapes him, and he shifts his head, peeling an eye open to see what she’s doing. She’s facing the lake, standing butt naked a couple of feet from the car, staring up at the sky. As quietly as he can, he scrambles from the vehicle, scooping her up in his arms just as she turns at the sound of his approach. He runs toward the lake as she squeals in his arms.

He knows the lake is deep; she had told him while they were driving how she would spend her summers here as a child, floating on a makeshift raft, acting out grand pirate adventures, pretending to be the lady of the lake, or jumping from the rope attached to the tree a few feet away. So he doesn’t slow as he nears the water’s edge. “Old man, my ass.”

Arms locking around his neck, Kasey shrieks his name over his shout to hold her breath as he leaps toward the center of the water. Letting go of her legs, he holds her chest to chest as they sink. Kasey presses her lips to his, arms still wrapped around him as they drift downward. It's a welcome relief when the water is warmer than he expected, and he gets momentarily lost in the otherworldly quality of it—the seductive silence, the pressure of the water buoying their bodies, the feel of her skin sliding against his as darkness encompasses them.

He jolts when she starts kicking her feet, fingers tapping on his spine, recognition sinking in that they will soon need air. Kicking out, he swiftly propels them upward, each gasping for breath as they break apart when they breach the surface.

Kasey swims to the far side of the lake, pushing herself up onto some kind of narrow platform. Lying on her stomach, she paddles back to him.

As she drifts closer, he notices the tattered tarp covering a row of slender logs that have been expertly lashed together. Assuming this is the raft she made, he bobs his head in admiration of her handiwork.

“Sorry, Jack, there’s not enough room for you,” she pouts, coming to a stop to float next to him.

“Oh, there was plenty of room for him,” Dean argues. “The issue came down to buoyancy. The added weight would have submerged the wood and made it unstable. Any movement would have made them slide off. Besides, Jack had to die.”

“Seriously?” Kasey stares at him like he just kicked her puppy.

Dean chuckles, gripping her hand between his he pretends to shiver. “...promise me you will survive....that you will never give up...no matter what happens...no matter how hopeless...promise me now, and never let go of that promise.”

“I promise,” Kasey replies, overly dramatic.

“Never let go,” Dean responds just as dramatically. She squeezes his hand and something shifts in her demeanor.

“I promise. I will never let go, Dean. I’ll never let go.”

The impassioned edge to her tone, the way she grasps his face, eyes boring into his as she says the words are gut-wrenching. He doesn’t miss the fact that she uses his name or that he can taste the salt from her tears when he kisses her.

“Dean, I-”

She tucks her chin, but he tilts it back up with a finger crooked beneath it. He’s close enough to see the multitude of emotions swirling in her anxious gaze. Just as she can read and decipher what he leaves unsaid, he understands her uncertainty, the hesitancy to voice the words that lie heavy in both their hearts.

“I know.” He thumbs the moisture from her cheek, and she gives him a brief nod before rolling onto her back with a sniff. He takes a moment to calm his heart and swipe away the tear that spills over his lashes. Stars shine brightly overhead, twinkling little dots in the water. Crickets chirp and frogs croak, lending a melodic soundtrack to the charged moment.

Struggling to find the right words, he falls back on humor to break the tension instead. “You know, for someone that doesn’t own a television or any way to stream, your movie quote game is pretty impressive,” he chuckles.

Kasey snorts. Stretching an arm over her head, she reaches for the back of his neck, fingers slipping as she attempts to tug him around to the side. He takes her hand and moves of his own accord, folding his arms on the edge of the raft, keeping her hand in his as he kicks lazily to stay afloat.

“I worked long hours, and aside from a handful of friends, I kept mostly to myself. Movies were my ‘thing’, plus I have a good memory.” She waves a hand in dismissal of his admiration. “You seem to have a pretty impressive knowledge of movies yourself. Curiously enough, ones that could be considered chick flicks in that repertoire. Titanic?”

He huffs, “There was a girl...”

The little boat rocks with her laughter. “Say no more.”

“Seriously. Made me go see that damn movie five times, but would never agree that there was enough room on that door. If they had just put Rose’s-”

Before he can finish his explanation, she cuts him off, pointing to the sky and exclaiming, “Look!”

Dean lifts his gaze to catch a thin strip of light streaking across the sky. Two more quickly follow, and then the sky is filled with shooting stars. “Perseids,” he whispers in awe.

He holds her hand as he rolls to lie back and float on the surface. When he starts to drift too far, Kasey pulls him back. Arms on the edge of the raft, chin sitting atop his crossed hands, he gently kicks them around the small lake as they watch the universe's light show. When she begins to card her fingers through his hair, he turns his head to watch her instead.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she whispers, still staring at the stars.

“Stunning.”

How the hell did I get so lucky to be pulled into her orbit?

Shifting her glance to him, she softly smiles. “I agree.”

As the meteor shower dwindles, they return to the car. Kasey pulls the blanket from the back seat, spreading it over the ground, while Dean grabs a beer for each of them from the cooler. Relaxed and sated, they let the warm summer air dry their skin as they spend the next couple of hours discussing the classics—music, cars, movies, and cheesy pick-up lines.

After polishing off the six-pack and the remainder of the pie, they get dressed, pack up, and head back to the house. The return drive is quieter, a comfortable calm permeating the air around them. Once Baby is back in her delegated space and the house is secured for the night, they crawl into bed.

Kasey falls asleep almost immediately, using his chest as a pillow, and Dean stares at the ceiling, stroking her hair. There’s a lot they need to talk about yet, but that’s a conversation for tomorrow. He still has to deal with what feels like a cosmic battle for his life, but the day was the break he needed to refuel and find hope, and he has her to thank for that.

Sated and content with Kasey tucked into his side, he kisses the top of her head and falls asleep feeling safe in the knowledge that he can survive anything that comes his way as long as she’s with him.

Love Me Some Pie

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#dw's witch writes #fugitive au #dean x ofc #au series #run to you chapter twelve #031523

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sematarygirls · 10 days ago

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FUGITIVE!RAFE x MOTELWORKER!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ fem!reader, unprotected p in v, choking, exhibitionism if you squint, murder, reader hates the cops, fucking a wanted criminal on a desk pretty much, seedy motel, passing mention of prostitution, drugs, and other illegal activities

NOTES .ᐟ when you're in an idgaf war and your opponent is motelworker!reader... my girl has seen shit, okay.

Sweat glistened on your exposed skin, a fitted top and pair of shorts barely covering your figure as you sat in the front office of your dad's motel. The heat was unbearable, and the humidity practically suffocating, causing your hair to stick to your forehead and your clothes to uncomfortably cling to you.

Leaning back in the office chair with your bare feet propped up on the desk—a fresh layer of nail polish drying on your toes—and a magazine in your hands, you sighed loudly, flipping to the next page. A bored expression was seemingly permanently etched into your features, purely disinterested in anything. Someone could come in and rob you with a gun to your head, and you'd barely blink.

The small square television in the corner was playing some sitcom at a low volume, the sounds of a couple fucking in a room a few doors down drowning out whatever stupid, corny jokes were being told under an ear piercing laugh track

The little motel, named Paradise Inn like this was some sort of really bad porno, was out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The nearest building was a gas station a mile or so up the road, and the sheriff's department which was about five miles in the opposite direction.

The secluded nature meant that you were always encountering the oddest people. You were sure half of them were serial killers and the other half prostitutes, if you had to guess, but you didn't actually care. Whatever the reason they came in to pay for a dirt cheap hotel room with no questions asked was their own business, and you genuinely couldn't care less.

The little bell above the door chimed, indicating that someone had entered, but you didn't even look up from your magazine, your eyes scanning some Hollywood drama about people you'd never even heard of. Footsteps thudded on the dirty linoleum floor, stopping right in front of you. When you still didn't look up, the man cleared his throat impatiently, clearly irritated and not in the mood for games.

"I'll be right with you," you hummed with disinterest, despite the fact that you were clearly not doing anything even remotely important. You just liked fucking with people, and you didn't like these kinds of people thinking they could walk over you, especially the occasional creepy old fucks that you encountered.

Rafe's jaw clenched at your blatant dismissal of him, the room falling silent—save for the TV and lewd acts echoing off the walls—for a moment as he fidgeted impatiently. "Customer service here is real nice," he said sarcastically, planting his palms on the desk and leaning forward.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the desk before settling back in the chair and looking him over. He was hotter than the usual patrons that frequented this establishment, his biceps glittering as the thin sheen of sweat on his skin caught the light.

"You want a room or not?" You asked, eyes boring into his sharp blue ones. He clearly thought his intimidating presence alone was enough to get you to bend to his every whim, but you'd dealt with guys like him, and worse, since you were like five years old. The whole macho routine was not new to you, and frankly, you were tired of it.

"Obviously," he said, his tone clipped with annoyance. "What the fuck else would I be here for? Your lovely personality?" His gaze raked over you, taking in the sight of your glistening skin, the thin fabric of your shirt that left little to the imagination—he was pretty sure you werent even wearing a bra underneath, and your bare legs on the desk, crossed at the ankle.

"How charming," you deadpanned, his attitude not phasing you in the slightest as you leaned back and retrieved a key dangling from one of the hooks behind you. "You paying by the hour or..." Your gaze flickered back to him, the question lingering in the air. He didn't look like the type that needed to pay for sex, but maybe his delightful personality drove most women away.

"By the night," he replied curtly, looking like he wanted to say something else but decided against it. He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a wad of cash. He peeled off some bills and tossed them onto the desk haphazardly. "Keep the change."

"Whatever, dude," you shrugged, pulling your legs off the desk to sit up properly and grab his money. In the process, something on the TV caught your eye, a breaking news report about a cop killer that was spotted a few towns over.

Rafe followed your gaze, his jaw clenching as he saw his picture flashed onto the screen. His mind started to run through every possible option. He couldn't let you call the cops and report him, but did he really want another body under his belt.

"Huh," you said, your brows furrowing as you looked between him and the man in front of you. "That guy kinda looks like you," you hummed before shrugging, brushing it off without a care in the world. You didn't care whether he killed a cop or the president. As long as he ran off to his room and left you alone, you wouldn't have a problem. "Anyway, here's your key," you tossed it onto the desk, getting up to put the money in the safe.

His brows furrowed, expression guarded as he glared at your figure. Were you playing dumb until he left, so you could call the cops, or were you genuinely an idiot? He watched you bend down, his gaze immediately falling to the way your shorts pulled up and revealed the underside of your ass to him—a fact you were either unaware of or indifferent to.

You punched in the code and put the money inside before closing it. You were surprised, and a little annoyed, to see him still standing there when you stood back up and turned around. "Did you need something else?" You asked, your tone indicating that you were clearly uninterested in helping him with anything else he may need.

He hesitated, staring intently at you for a long pause, as if he was trying to read you. Ultimately, he decided you were more trouble than you were worth, so he just turned on his heels and walked away without giving you an answer.

"I hate this fucking job," you muttered under your breath, plopping back down in the office chair and grabbing your magazine while you attempted to get comfortable for another five long hours until your dad came back and took over.

It wasn't but an hour later that the bell above the door chimed again, making you audibly groan. Could you not have a moment of peace? You look up from your spot, rolling your eyes when the sheriff walked in with his hoity toity, high and mighty attitude.

"Sheriff," you greeted flatly, watching him approach the desk with his thumbs hooked in his belt. He looked like an idiot.

He said your name in a low drawl, the two of you having become quite familiar. It was quite often that you ran into the sheriff and his deputies, considering the kind of no questions asked establishment your father was running here. "You seen the news lately?"

"Does it look like I watch the news?" You asked, your gaze unwavering and your voice dripping with apathy. Obviously, you had seen the news, but you weren't about to give a cop what he wanted, especially not when that cop was Sheriff Swanson—the biggest pain in your ass since your father.

Sheriff Swanson's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. He didn't like your attitude, he never had, but he knew better than to push his luck with you because you sat around all day, bored out of your mind. He knew you'd jump at the chance to pick a fight with anyone, especially him. Instead, he pulled out a photo from his pocket and slapped it down on the desk. "Recognize this guy?"

You hummed, glancing down at the photo briefly. It was the same guy from the news that was now residing in room 212. "Nah, never seen that man before in my life," you shrugged, completely disinterested. You weren't a snitch, and besides, your dad would have a conniption if he found out you went talking to the cops about one of the customers because it would 'ruin your reputation' as if the reputation of this place wasn't in the shitter already.

He searched your face, trying to detect any hint of a lie, but your expression was utterly blank, bored even. With a frustrated sigh, he snatched the photo back. "You sure about that? 'Cause I got a tip that he checked in not too long ago."

You laughed mockingly. "And you believe anything anyone here says? They'd frame their mamas for a packet of smokes and crumpled dollar bill," you scoffed, wondering who would have possibly called the cops. Half the people here were engaging in illegal activities, risking a police raid was a stupid fucking move.

"Well, if he does show up, you call me. Understand?" Sheriff Swanson ordered, stabbing a finger at you. He was clearly annoyed. Most of the people in this town bent to his will like he walked on water or something but not you or your dad. You two were considered outsiders because of your nonchalant attitude and seedy business dealings.

"Oh, so I'm doing your job for you now, Swanson?" You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You want me to put on a little shiny gold star and citizen's arrest him?" That stupid fucking gold badge really pissed you off for some reason. What did he think this was? An old western film? It was time to retire the glorified cowboy hat and supervillain mustache. It wasn't cool ten years ago when he became sheriff, and it's not cool now.

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," he growled, his voice low and threatening. "This ain't no joke. That man's dangerous."

"Oh my gosh, a bad guy... whatever will I do?" You deadpanned, kicking your feet back up and grabbing your magazine, already bored with the conversation. You were hoping he would tire of your oh-so-witty and charming banter and just leave, so you could go back to dying of heat stroke and boredom without his grating voice in your ear.

"I swear to god, girl," he growled, slamming his hands down on the desk to scare you, but you didn't even flinch. You just turned the page of your magazine calmly. "You're as infuriating as your old man." He glared at you, clearly wanting to reach across the desk and throttle you.

"Unless you got a warrant, you can go," you said impassively, your eyes scanning the fashion page and debating whether you could pull that skirt off or not, clearly expecting the sheriff to see himself out.

Sheriff Swanson clenched his fists, glaring at you for a long moment. It infuriated him how dismissive you always were, but there was nothing he could do about it since freedom of speech meant you weren't technically breaking the law. "This ain't over," he spat before turning on his heel and stalking out, the bell chiming angrily as he shoved the door open.

"Uh huh," you hummed as he slammed the door behind him aggressively. "Men," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. You hoped that no one else would bother you, but you could only be so lucky. Unfortunately, you seemed to be very popular today, and the heat was making you bitchier than usual—not that you were that much less bitchy on a normal day.

Not fifteen minutes later, the man from the news walked back into the office, and you were sure that you were going to be on the news next if people didn't stop waltzing in here and demanding your attention. It wasn't like you were doing anything that particularly interested you. You just hated drama, and that was all the people of this town ever seemed to bring here.

"Whatever you want, I don't have it," you said the moment the door flung open. Your father told you to work the desk, so that's what you intended to do. Catering to the sleazy whims of all the customers that came in was not your job description.

"Why didn't you rat me out to the cops?" He asked, cutting right to this chase, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made you shift a little in your seat. He ignored your attitude, and seemingly, the remarks you made earlier, now just curious.

You shrugged nonchalantly, placing the magazine down for what seemed to be the millionth time in the span of an hour. "Because I couldn't care less about you or whatever you did."

"You should," he said menacingly, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping forward, clearly trying to scare you. Your eyes caught the movement of his biceps flexing before flicking back up to his face.

"Oh, please, spare me," you rolled your eyes, not the least bit intimidated by him.

"I killed someone," he tried to get you to see the gravity of the situation. He didn't like that you weren't afraid, that you didn't seem to care at all. "And you're sitting here acting like this is a fucking game?"

"I killed a man once," you said sincerely, watching his brows shoot up in surprise. "Nah, I'm just fucking with you," you snorted, cracking a smile for the first time since he'd met you, not that he'd known you all that long.

"Funny," he replied dryly, taking another step closer. His tall frame loomed over you, and you had to crane your neck to look up at him.

"Whatever," you breathed out, clearly finding yourself hilarious, even if he didn't. "Listen, I'm not gonna tell Sheriff Shithead or anyone else that you're here," you reassured him, still having hope that maybe he would fuck off and leave you alone. "Now, go find someone else to bother," you waved him off, standing from your seat and walking over to the vending machine in the corner.

You were unbelievably hot, the sweat coating your skin making you uncomfortable and sticky, which wasn't helping. You also couldn't deny that your temperature had gone up significantly when the man—whose name was Rafe, if you recalled correctly from the news report—walked in. Just because you didn't want anything to do with the trouble Rafe clearly left in his wake, didn't mean you were blind.

"You're not gonna ask why I killed her?" He asked curiously, following you over to the vending machine. If a murderer had shown up on his doorstep, he'd be a little more inclined to ask what happened. He watched you intently as you pressed the button for a cold soda, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. He had to admit, you were hot as hell, even if you were insufferably annoying.

"How many times do I have to say 'I don't care' before people really start to get the message?" You huffed, stepping back and waiting for the soda to fall, but it never did. "Goddamn machine," you cursed, balling your hand into a fist and hitting the front of the machine hard. Almost instantly, the clanging of aluminum on metal rung out. "Aha," you rejoiced triumphantly, bending down to grab the can from the tray.

He watched as you grabbed the soda, then watched as you brought it to your lips and tilted your head back. His eyes dropped to your exposed neck, admiring the long column of your throat as you swallowed. This whole murderer thing had really taken its toll, and he hadn't got any in what felt like weeks, which felt like an eternity for someone like Rafe who loved sex.

You pulled the can away, looking over at him with furrowed brows as your tongue darted out to lick your lips. "You're really just gonna loom over me like a fucking weirdo while I work?" You asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'd hardly call sitting around and reading magazines all day 'working'," he scoffed, crossing his arms again. It's like he wanted to draw attention to his biceps, and damn, it was working.

"Fine, you really gonna loom over me like a fucking weirdo while I don't work?" You corrected, mirroring his actions and crossing your arms, the can dangling from your fingertips as you shot him a look.

"I'm not looming," he said defensively, taking a step back as if to prove that he wasn't. "I'm just standing here, talking to you. Why, is it bothering you?" He smirked mischievously, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes. You seemed to do that a lot, ever exasperated by every word that left everyone else's mouths.

"Yes, actually, it is," you said flatly, sitting on the edge of the desk and setting the half-consumed soda beside you. You stared at him, your annoyance evident in your gaze as you once again, crossed your arms. If he was gonna taunt you with his biceps and smart ass comments, you were gonna taunt him with your tits. Two could definitely play it that game.

His eyes immediately dropped to your chest, his gaze lingering on the way your arms pressed your boobs together, accentuating them. Your lack of a bra definitely wasn't helping, your nipples straining against the thin fabric. Damn, he loved a good pair of tits, and even through your shirt, he could tell you definitely had some of the best he'd ever seen.

"My eyes are up here, Rafe," you snapped, drawing his attention back to your face. He was a bit taken aback by you saying his name, seeing as he hadn't provided it to you, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't sound fucking hot coming from those pretty lips of yours.

"I know where your eyes are," he smirked, not looking the least bit ashamed as his gaze slowly dragged back up to your face, pausing at your lips before meeting your eyes.

"Perving on the girl who can send you to a federal penitentiary with one phone call isn't a wise move," you tsked, planting your palms on the desk behind you and leaning back casually, eyeing him. You didn't mind his eyes on you. In fact, you kind of liked it, but you liked being a pain in the ass more.

"And what're you gonna do, hmm?" He asked, taking a step forward, closing the distance between the two of you. He could practically feel the heat radiating from your body as he loomed over you. "Turn me in?" He scoffed, his smirk never wavering.

"You seemed pretty worried about it earlier," you pointed out, tilting your head to look up at him with a confident grin. You had a no getting involved rule, but you were quite literally hot and bothered right now, so maybe you could make an exception just this once.

"Well, that was before you made it clear that you 'don't care' as you so enthusiastically put it" he said, his voice dropping to a lower octave as he reached out, his fingertips trailing along your collarbone. "You're not gonna tell on me, are you, sweetheart?" He asked mockingly, knowing full well that you wouldn't, especially not after what he was about to do to you.

"Maybe I will," you said lowly, looking up at him with a challenging glint in your eye. "What are you gonna do about it, huh?"

He leaned down, his breath ghosting over your lips as he spoke. "I'm gonna shut you up," he said, his hand reaching up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your eyes widen. You looked up at him, still no trace of fear in your eyes as your lips parted at the feeling.

He leaned in, his mouth crashing against yours in a rough, needy kiss, his hand tightening slightly around your throat. He kissed you like he was starving, like he'd been deprived of oxygen, and he needed you more than he needed his next breath.

His other hand gripped your thigh tightly, pulling you to the edge of the desk, so he could press himself against you. You moaned into the kiss, the feeling of his tongue in your mouth and him manhandling you enough to make your head spin.

He swallowed your moan, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every inch of your mouth. The hand on your thigh slid upwards, his rough fingertips digging into your soft flesh. He was so hard it almost hurt, his cock straining against the denim as he ground against you.

"You should lock the door," you mumbled into his mouth, a little annoyed that his hair was buzzed, so you could run your fingers through it.

"Who cares?" He growled back, his teeth sinking into your neck as his hand slid up higher, brushing the hem of your little shorts. "You're letting a wanted fugitive fuck you. I'd be willing to bet you like the risk."

You let out a breathy moan, your head tilting to the side to allow him better access as your nails raked gently along his scalp. "Asshole," you muttered, not appreciating his rude, but accurate, assessment of you.

"Mhm," he hummed against your neck, his hand sliding higher to hook into the waistband of your shorts. "You like that, though, don't you?" You didn't reply, instead, shifting to help him slide off your shorts and underwear. You weren't really interested in small talk right now.

He groaned at your eagerness, his hand leaving you momentarily to quickly undo his belt and free himself from the confines of his jeans. If you didn't want to waste time with foreplay, he sure as hell wasn't going to fight you on that. After all, he was kind of on borrowed time. He didn't know how long it would be before the cops came back here looking for him.

He grabbed your thighs again, roughly spreading your legs apart and positioning himself between them. With one swift motion, he buried his hard length inside you, a loud groan escaping you as he felt your walls stretch to accommodate the intrusion. You let out a sound between a gasp and a moan, your hand gripping his big bicep for purchase as he thrust into you at a dizzying pace.

He set a brutal rhythm, pounding into you with no care for gentleness. He was too far gone, too desperate for the feeling of being inside you. His hand came up to wrap around your throat again, using it as leverage as he drove his hips forward, causing a needy whine to force it's way past your lips. The burn from him stretching your tight walls coupled with the pleasure of him fucking and choking you had you practically on cloud nine.

"Shit, look at you. This sweet little pussy was made for my dick," he groaned, seeing the look of pure ecstacy on your face as your walls seemed to pull him in with each thrust.

His own face was scrunched up in concentration, his jaw clenched as he fought to hold back. He wanted this to last. He wanted to brand himself into your memory so you'd think of him every time you sat in this office, every time you laid down to sleep, every time you touched yourself in the shower. He wanted you to remember how you let a murderer defile you.

You were a mess of moans and whines as his tip repeatedly hit your g-spot, knocking the breath from your lungs with each thrust. Sure, you'd been fucked before, but never like this, never with a guy that could probably put you in a headlock and choke you out—and you'd probably like it. He was good, and he knew it.

He smirked arrogantly, his hand around your throat tightening slightly. "I'm gonna fill this needy little pussy so full, gonna make you remember that you're a dirty fucking girl for letting me do this to you," he said lowly, his words holding a vaguely threatening edge, but you didn't care. They only served to turn you on more, pushing you closer to your peak as his thumb slid down to play with your sensitive clit.

He could tell you were close, your breath hitching every time he bottomed out inside of you. He groaned as his movements grew jerky, his own finish nearing. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel this greedy cunt squeeze my cock."

"Shit, Rafe," you moaned, your nails digging painfully into his bicep as your walls clamped down around him, your release washing over you. The feeling of your walls bearing down around him triggered his own orgasm, hitting him like a freight train. His vision practically blurred as he emptied himself deep inside of you, his cock pulsing with each spurt. He held you in place, his hand around your throat, as he rode out his climax, painting your insides with his cum.

"Fuck," you panted, your head tilting back and eyes fluttering closed as you caught your breath. Maybe this job had a certain... charm. Though, it was only just now occurring to you that you let this man cum inside you, and he didn't even know your name.

He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, his softening cock twitching with the aftershocks. Then, with a grunt, he pulled out and tucked himself away without another word, not that you expected much from a guy who was so eager to give you a quick fuck on a desk where anyone could have found you.

You hopped off the desk, retrieving your underwear and shorts to slip them back on, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum seeping out of you. You definitely needed a long shower and maybe a moment of silent reflection after what you just did.

He watched you dress with a critical eye, his gaze lingering on your body, as if committing it to memory. "Guess I should be going before the cops decide to come knocking again," he said casually, as if he hadn't just fucked you senseless.

"Guess so," you said, your seemingly apathetic attitude returning as you crossed your arms and regarded him with that same uninterested look that you'd given him when he first walked in here. You knew what you were getting into. You weren't an idiot. He was still on the run from the cops, and you were still just a motel worker in bumfuck nowhere.

He gave you a nod, his expression unreadable as he turned and strode to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, glancing back at you over his shoulder. "You didn't tell me your name," he commented, his voice low. He wasn't sure why he cared. The chances of seeing you again were abysmal, but he was curious.

"No, I didn't," you said flatly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, threatening to betray your nonchalant demeanor.

He studied your face for a moment, trying to decide if he should press the issue or just leave. Something about you, about this moment felt... important. He couldn't quite place the odd but distinctive feeling, but still, he found himself saying, "Next time you see me, I expect you to tell me your name."

You raised an eyebrow at his presumptuous words. You hardly expected to see him again, given the whole fugitive thing, but you decided to humor him. "If I see you again, I will."

He nodded, seeming to accept your response, before turning and leaving without another word, the door shutting a little harsher than he intended behind him. As he walked to the car he'd stolen to keep the cops off his ass, he couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter, this girl, meant something more than just a quick fuck in the office of a seedy motel.

tags .ᐟ @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed / @fallbhind

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