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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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.

Mel finds getting up a lot easier, despite that possible strain in her leg. She just rolls towards the couch and re-retrieves her pants from behind the cushions.

"If they whine, I'll shout right back at them," she says. There's an awkward second before she adds, "Probly best here. The girls wake up at the crack of dawn, without fail."

Oh also, she doesn't like him enough to break the habit of never sleeping with anyone.

Edited 2009-02-05 12:49 (UTC)

Dean nods, grinning at her as he stretches for his own clothes, looking slightly relieved that apparently she meant it about not wanting a relationship. "Hell yes. I'm not the gettin'-up-early type. Not with kids, anyway. You feel free t'wake me." This with a grin that leaves little to the imagination - if there was any imagination left after this.

He tosses her her torn shirt, looking slightly sheepish about it - but not sheepish enough to offer to buy her another. That'd be a little weird.

Mel catches the shirt in one hand, hardly looking for it, and uncrumples it out.

It'll cover the vitals for the trip to the bunker, that's all she cares about, so she pulls it on indifferently.

And grins. "Might just. Sleep good. Help yourself to anything in hte kitchen."

As it transpires, she does wake him in the morning, fresh from her shower. With coffee, even.

They end up both needing to take a second shower. Together.

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