Title: Hunted to Hunter
Spoilers: "Monster Movie"
Type: het *g*
Hunted to Hunter
The room is small and cozy, not pretentiously drafty like Dracula’s fake tower chamber. Dean’s hands, on her back, in her hair, are warm and distracting. Other parts of him--mmm--are even more distracting.
But not distracting enough. The silver silk clings to her--she hadn’t taken time to change, and they’d come straight to her place. Jamie pulls back, suddenly antsy. “Get this dress off me, okay?”
Dean looks down at her, his gorgeous (confident, sexy) mouth smirking a little. “I gotta admit the bastard had good taste in clothes,” he says, and the way he looks at her, wandering from hem to hairline with a considerable pause in the middle, almost makes wearing the damn dress worthwhile.
It would have, if the monster hadn’t looked at her, too.
“Off,” she demands, turning so Dean can at least have the fun of helping her unfasten. “I’m burning it later.”
His hands find the zipper at the small of her back, tug it down slowly, then rest against her skin. He leans over her shoulder. “You should keep it.” Jamie tenses; she wants to shrug him away. He clearly doesn’t get it, doesn’t get that it makes her feel . . . wrong. Like prey. Like food. Dean doesn’t move, just stays put, his breath warm in her ear. “You should keep it,” he says again. “Makes you look like a goddess, and anyway, it’s spoils of war.”
She turns in his arms, not sure she heard that right. “What?”
“You know. Like pirate booty.” He grins, well aware of the very bad pun. “You killed the monster. You should get to keep the dress.”
Jamie can still feel the weight of the gun in her hands, hear the shots, smell the powder. She takes a deep breath, and lets herself smile back. Because he’s right, isn’t he? She’s not the prey, she’s the hunter. “Maybe I will,” she tells Dean. “But right now? Off.”
This time he doesn’t argue.
Happy birthday, my friend! May God shower his blessings on you this day, this week, this year. I miss you! *hugs*