Good thing about insomnia is that you’re awake… and while awake, you must do something to keep you from waking up the roommate just to annoy her until you can get to sleep too.
With this interesting observation I set about doing something, a lot of things actually, but the one that proved to be productive was dusting my fic folder where I found this conveniently forgotten vignette that I thought wasn’t finished, until I read it and realized that I kinda like it like this.
Rating:R (just to be safe)
Word Count: 872
Disclaimer: I owe nothing. Also? I'm poor. There.
Summary: A Winchester’s look can be a powerful thing.
The thing about Dean Winchester was that he was way too much like his dad, he just didn’t know it. But Ellen did. She’d known it from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Oh they weren’t exact copies, you could see they were related, yes, but that’s not what she saw. No, what she saw was the way his eyes moved over the room, studying it, owning it, the set of his shoulders, the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt, the gruff look –something few man could master- and above all the weariness with which he approached everything.
Dean was a Winchester through and through, as far as she could tell. As far as John had told her. Weird thing was that he didn’t know that, Dean, he didn’t know how much of John had been ingrained in him, how much of his father survived in him. How much of her John shone through him every time she looked at him, every time he looked at her.
It made her remember the way John’s eyes followed her around when she was attending patrons in the Roadhouse, always so piercing, so intense she could feel them on her, even if she couldn’t see him watching her. It always got her all tingly when he did that, kind of on edge, like she was being stalked, hunted, and she liked it. Many men that came by looked at her with desire, some even had the nerve to come on to her; she was used to it, hell she was even used to some lustful glances being thrown in her daughter’s way, it was occupational hazard, so the point wasn’t that she was wanted, but that she was wanted by John Winchester.
John had his way of making her want him too. Those other guys? They had nothing to offer that would set them apart, earn her attentions, but John was another story. There was something to be said about a man who could get you all wet with a simple look. A predatory look at that.
And Dean had that look. She’d seen it few times, but she was sure as hell the boy had gotten that particular treat from his daddy. Sam never looked at her like that; he was far too respectful, too right for it. Dean’s respect and rightness was left to the outside, to what he said to her, to the way he behaved around her, to the times he knew she was looking. Ellen had caught him looking at her, watching her in a way that reminded her –painfully- of John once. After that Dean’s hunter instincts had kicked in and never again had she seen him let his guard down like that.
A shame, if you asked her; but it was okay because Ellen hadn’t managed to marry Bill and seduce John by being a bystander, she had played them so skillfully that they –at least Bill- thought that it was solely their efforts that had landed them on her bed. Ellen knew how to get that look from Dean, anytime she felt like it. Granted sometimes it was harder than others, but at the end, she always got what she wanted, more ammo for her nigth-time fantasies, when her hand went between her thighs and she saw heaven through predatory green eyes.
So whenever she was in the mood, she’d mother him. Dean did not like being bossed around; if you weren’t Sam, then you’d only get something from Dean if he wanted you to have it. If she prodded hard enough, he’d get annoyed and then the look would make its appearance, a stormy, slightly vengeful glare that he made quick work of schooling away, but that she drank greedily and stored in her memory for later use, when the moment was right, when there were no prying ears, nobody that could interrupt her.
Like now, when Jo was away and Ash was getting drunk somewhere else. Now that she was alone and could be as loud as she wanted to be, as she hadn’t been allowed to be in a long time. Like now that Dean had just left, after leaving his taste on her tongue and her hands aching for more than just his neck and shoulders, her body desperate for more than just a kiss, far more than just a kiss.
She had to come correct, Ellen hadn’t seen him look at her like John used to after that one time, until a few moments before, when she found his lips and he gave in to her, when he’d pulled back and just stared at her, waiting, wanting but not daring to take. She would have given him anything he didn’t ask but needed anyway, had it not been for Sammy’s phone call. Dean had rushed to his side, leaving her on her own.
Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t there with her in that room, in her bed. It only meant that she’d have to take her time, pick up where she left off until he went after her himself. Then she’d have all she wanted from him, but for now she’d have to make do with this.