han_solo | (no subject)

(no subject)

The Impala purrs into the farm, barely making a sound. It's easily the best-running of any of the vehicles there - since Sam's Porsche isn't here, anyway.

Dean stays in the drivers' seat for a moment or two before getting out, shoving his hands into his pockets and striding out for the kitchen. That's the only reason he's here.

The only.

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"Hell, yes," Dean agrees comfortably, wriggling his shoulders happily. "Or maybe you're just extra-satisfying."

Grin becomes a smirk, only very slightly mocking him.

"Smooth."

Her hands stay against his head. Not pulling him down, but he's definitely drawn closer to her face, and she no longer needs to look at his hair.

Dean grins back at her, lifting one big-in-comparison hand to settle at her waist.

"I try."

Hell, that hand's big in comparison to her waist.

Mel laughs softly again, and resumes hair combing, for about a second.

Then she does pull his head down, catching his mouth in hers.

Edited 2009-01-31 14:22 (UTC)

That means Dean kisses her messily instead of carefully like he was planning, but that's OK too - that means he doesn't have to be careful of her feelings or anything, he can just kiss her like he wants to.

She's so tiny! Both of his hands have somehow accidentally ended up on her backside so he can lift her up to kiss her properly. >> HOW DID THAT HAPPEN, GOSH.

She's tiny and light, and when her legs wrap around his waist he can get an idea of how strong she is - no need for those hands to be doing any lifting up now.

Anyway, kissing Mel carefully might result in her suddenly backing out, but hey, now she can just enjoy herself. Because what with his hair, that still needs sorting out, and his mouth, that's warm and wet and really really good at this. Damn.

Now it's Dean's turn to slide a hand into her hair, up the nape of her neck so he can run fingers through bright pink and green and grin into her mouth.

They don't have to talk now, right? It's OK just to enjoy holding her and kissing her?

Oh yes. Yes, talking if definitely off the agenda, because talking might mean Mel gives up and starts thinking.

Because right now Mel's just realising it's been far too long since she did this, far far too long, and like a starving person who doesn't realise how hungry they are until she eats something, Mel's appetite is being awakened and she's really hungry.

Thinking is definitely overrated, when he has Mel-who-runs-the-farm-and-has-two-kids-and-is-basically-awesome all soft and strong and warm against him. Thinking is for later. Kissing is for now.

Also, exploring hands are for now - although her shirt is still on and Dean would like it not to be. Maybe they should move out of the kitchen so he can fix that for her.

... in a second. When kissing is done.

Maybe they could interrupt kissing, briefly?

Mel doesn't appear to want to be the one volunteers that idea. Her hands move down his head and pinky fingers hook in his shirt collar and - oh hey, this fabric just tore a little. Lucky she pulled in a way that didn't actually choke him.

Her back arches into his hands as they move up under her own shirt. Someone's gone back to bralessness after breastfeeding stopped.

Dean laughs at the tearing, hands moving a little more insistently over her skin. Shirts are definitely not a problem.

... ooh, braless. Oh. Oh, hello. Oh yes please.

"maybe... outta th'kitchen?" he mutters, without paying much attention to words - he doesn't actually mind if they stay in the kitchen either, but she might. "Got a sofa?"

Put it this way: the only people she gives a dame about walking in on her are definitely right now asleep.

But Sokka might come in here post - post for snacks. So she pulls back, taking his lip with him at least part of the way. One hand draws down his arm to take his, and point towards the door into the rest of the house.

"Living room," she replies, breathless. It's still a public area, but she's not going in the bunker where her bed is next to her daughters.

But that hand was really happy right where it was! Still. Living room, sofa, he likes that idea more than the kitchen bench.

Not that even the kitchen bench isn't tempting with Mel, but ...

"Sure," he agrees, and grins suddenly, moving to hoist her up so he can carry her. 'Cause he's Manly.

Yes, he's very manly, and The fact that Mel hardly weighs anything probaly helps.

Though when she returns her full attention to him, it might be distracting. His shirt really is going to tear.

S'okay, he's got lots of shirts. More important right now is getting them both to the conveniently deserted living room and finding the sofa, and then suggesting (through pulling at it) that her shirt ought to tear too.

Also, kissing her some more, because mmmmf that's good.

It doesn't tear quite as easily - must be tougher fabric and nothing to do with the person tearing it - but it does half tear, and half come off over her head.

There are scars, low over her belly, one clean and surgical if too low to be a Casearian, and another couple more ragged, across the belly more fully and stretched by a later pregnancy.

Otherwise, except for the line on her cheek, she might never have been in a fight.

Dean's hands find those, brush over them briefly, and move on. He has his share of scars too - no big deal. More of a big deal right now is rolling to his back on the sofa with her on top of him, grinning up at her, and letting one hand fall to start unbuttoning her jeans. "You're fucking gorgeous," he tells her breathlessly, in between kissing. "Jesus, yeah."

Mel straightens up a little bit, letting Dean have better access to the jeans. Her claves have moved from being wrapped around his waist to lying either side of his hips on the couch.

And she doesn't take verbal compliments well. He says that, and she rolls her eyes and arches forward, pushing her mouth into his.

"Yeah, yeah."

Shut up with crap like that.

Okay. Shutting up. He can do that, too. He'll just tell her with hands and hips and body instead.

Especially once he gets her pants off. 'Cause, mmmmm. It's been way too long.

Pants are always a stickler, aren't they? It takes some maneuvring. And Mel takes the opportunity to send his the same way.

And oh jesu, far too long.

Ohhhh yes.

Nobody comes into the living room - at least nobody who interrupts them, or nobody that they notice.

Which is probably lucky for the occupants of the farm.

Almost certainly, considering quite how much energy was expended - Mel had a few frustrations to work through.

She's sweating and beginning to be out of breath when they've finally had enough, having ended up away from the couch on the floor. Tapping her fingers against his chest, she breathes a couple of times befgore a massive grin breaks onto her face.

Dean is still grinning, if n an exhausted head-flopped-back sort of way, an arm flopped loosely over her waist and his head tilted back against the floor.

"I gotta come by th'farm more'n once a year," he mumbles happily. He is out of breath, shining with sweat to match her.

"Wouldn't turn you away," Mel admits, before laughing and dropping a kiss doen onto his mouth again.

Dean likes her laugh. He grins up at her, kissing back before breaking into an enormous yawn and rolling a little to the side to start the complicated process of sitting up. "Just make sure y'lemme know when you're free," he says cheerfully, with a tone that indicates he won't be either hurt or surprised if she doesn't - this was just fun. "Wouldn't miss out on that again. Hey, y'think anyone'll mind if I stay here th'night - I c'n kip on th'couch."

Nobody else would probably want it, anyway, not now.