Title: Truth Beneath His Hands
Characters: Dean, OFC, Sam, Sarah
Pairing: Dean/OFC, mentions of Sam/Sarah
Warnings: Some sexual content although nothing extremely explicit
Summary: Dean would have liked to have held on to how she was when he first met her but time has a habit of changing things whether you like it or not and he comes to realise that’s not all bad.
It struck him one night as, in the privacy of their own motel room for once, she moved on top of him, eyes closed as she concentrated hard on making them both feel good.
She looks incredible, he can’t deny that as his hands glide up her thighs and onto her waist, helping her keep rhythm as he groans in approval. He loves this body just as much as he loves the rest of her. He loves how it looks - the light tan skin and the sweep of curves in that womanly way that always sets his blood pumping if he stares at it too long. He loves how it feels - soft, smooth skin beneath his own calloused palms, always cooler than him for some reason. He sometimes truly can’t get enough of the taste and smell of her whether it’s sweet and spicy perfume, bonfire smoke, flowery shampoo, salt, her own skin or something even more intimate that always makes him near lose his mind with deep desire. When he’s with her like this, drinking her in in a way he thought was just a cliché, only his duty towards the family business ever hauls him out of bed and back on the road again.
But as he looked as her now, illuminated by moonlight seeping through the thin curtains, he realised that it’s not quite what he first fell for. Part of what had originally weakened his walls of vehement indifference for anything that lasted beyond dawn – soft femininity and a body untouched by hunting - is gone. She has scars now. It’s a sacrifice she’s had to make in order to be with him.
Her stomach is flatter than it’s ever been, the curves of her waist and hips a bit shallower than they once were and her arms are stronger and more toned. Theirs is an active life and it has kept her in shape even if she didn’t realise it. She has muscle definition now and the body of someone who spent too much of their time fighting. She’s almost like freaking Lara Croft but without the hot accent.
He loves her and he wouldn’t change that fact for the world, knowing he’s never felt anything as strong as the need to be with her. He couldn’t believe however that he would have ever allowed himself to fall for her so hard if he’d met her when she was like this. It would have been so much easier to not let this woman get to him. She’d been so refreshing in his life back then, she herself already existing in a halfway house between the world of hunting and the normal world everyone else lived in. It seemed almost as if she’d been made for him – not the clueless, normal, everyday girl who he wouldn’t dare bring into his world, nor the hard, cold hunter too used to spending her life killing things to feel much else. Maybe if she had been a hunter he would have found it easier to keep their relationship professional and maybe she would have rejected him on the grounds of it having the potential to interfere in their work. But she had been very much ‘just a girl’ in many ways and he somehow couldn’t resist that tantalising glimpse of a normal life that she offered him. That steely, determined demeanour of someone who wanted to do what was right all wrapped up in the body of a sweet, normal girl had completely done him in.
He easily sat himself up, pushing himself up into her with a heady, old rhythm, shivering in heat at the feel of his chest and stomach pressing against hers. He looked intently into her eyes, whilst his hands roamed her back and his mouth gave her gasping kisses. Those eyes hadn’t changed at all and that was somehow a comfort to him. Whatever was happening to them, whatever trouble they were in, sex was always a release in more ways than one. He could forget everything when he was with her like this. He could abandon himself to the comfort and desire of making love, living only for the next thrust of his hips or the next whisper of his name from her lips. When he was with her the rest of the world could wait for a while.
Holding her tight, he pushed her back down to the bed, rocking himself into her deep and slow, taking his time, savouring the moment for as long as he could. He pressed down onto her heavily, shielding her body from the world with his, wanting to protect it.
When he couldn’t hold on any longer he pushed every inch of skin he could against hers. After he was spent he lay, still buried inside her, tracing lazy patterns onto her body as her own trembling slowly subsided.
Later, lying in a tangle of perspiration and sheets, he allowed himself to more slowly explore this new body that he’d barely realised existed before, fingers and palms and lips all reverently mapping out the skin they found beneath them. She smiled at him, asking him what he was doing but he just hushed her to silence with a kiss. He needed to do this. Needed to know her.
In fact he was destined to spend many nights like that. He would spend the rest of his life watching that body change beside him.
He greets every new scar or bruise with his tongue, learning how it fits with the rest of her, comforting and soothing it with the lightest touch. He always promised it would be the last but it never was.
He smiles when he sees the slight pale line that has formed around her finger where her wedding band now sits during the day. He sucks the finger gently into his mouth, running his tongue over it and she laughs a little at his new form of foreplay whilst he waggles his eyebrows at her.
When she cuts four inches off her hair, leaving it just over her shoulders, he learns the exact new length as he runs his fingers through it, his tumbling words begging her not to stop as she slides her mouth up and down him. He continues to become acquainted with it as he kisses her hard, tasting himself on her tongue, his senses not having yet recovered from their overload of sight and touch and sound.
When her uncle dies she gets a tiny little tattoo, a mark of respect for a man she barely knew but who had saved her life regardless. She doesn’t really like tattoos but she says she doesn’t want to ever forget his sacrifice and so she marks herself permanently with the smallest, simplest little cross on her hip that only she and Dean will ever see. He fingers it lightly as his tongue presses inside her before sweeping back up to where her writhing body tells him she needs it most. He can feel the raised ridge of the cross beneath the pads of his fingers. For him it will be a constant reminder of how close he came to never being able to touch her again and it makes him almost desperate to make the most of every moment.
It’s when she’s pregnant that she changes the most and he studies her with a fascination that sometimes makes her laugh. He watches as her breasts and belly grow with each passing week, tracing their curves with increasingly worn palms, getting to know her all over again and yet not quite believing what’s happening to them. Somehow her body has never been more wonderful to him. She’s lucky and gets little in the way of problems, just looking glowing and radiant to his eyes. When he first feels their child moving inside her it freaks him out for a while, but he soon discovers that a pregnant and horny woman is insistent. She quickly settles any doubts he has and he finds himself learning a whole new way to touch her body, reverent and adoring as he carefully makes love to her. He learns new ways to comfort her too, finding just the right spot to knead his fingers to ease the aching in her back and just the right way to kiss her in order to make her smile no matter how weary she’s feeling.
She scoffs at him when he finds her one night, breast feeding their tiny son. He smiles smoothly and says that she looks beautiful. She just says that she feels like she hasn’t slept in years and knows she looks a mess but thanks him for being kind anyway. Instead of bothering to argue with her, he sits himself in the arm chair, taking her to his lap and watching in contented silence as his son nestles against her, his feeding gradually giving way to sleep once more. Dean jokingly points out that those breasts are just on loan to him and that he wants them back when the kid’s done. Izzy laughs whilst Dean just wraps protective arms around his family, pressing kisses into his wife’s hair and adoring the way her body curls against his, needing him as much as he did her. For the first time he truly appreciates what his dad must have gone through when their mom had died because he knows that to lose this would rip a hole in him so big that he’d never be able to fill it. He really doesn’t know how his dad managed to carry on, how he had the strength, and in that realisation he finds a whole new level of respect for the man.
He knows too that the demon is dead and so is the threat along with it, but on the night exactly six months after he’s born Dean brings little Daniel into bed with them. Izzy clearly understands but says nothing. Sam offers to come over for the night, knowing it was fast approaching, but Dean turns him down, saying that Sam should stay with his own family. His boys are only eighteen months apart, aged 3 and 5 and a bit of a handful. Sarah wouldn’t appreciate him abandoning her for the night no matter what the cause. And it’s not like Dean really expects a problem, it’s just something he has to do and in a way he prefers to do it alone.
Exhausted, Izzy can’t keep awake but it doesn’t matter because Dean keeps vigil until morning, lying propped up on his side, watching his wife and son sleep whilst feeling both at peace and apprehensive at the same time. No, nothing should happen but in their line of business there were no certainties. There’s a gun just in reach on the table by the bed and a short silver knife nestled beneath his pillow. As the hours tick by he muses on how sick this really is - his baby son sleeping surrounded by weaponry. He knows however that theirs will never be a totally normal life and that someday he’s going to have to teach his kid to handle those weapons even if it’s just intended for his own protection. It would simply be too dangerous to pretend like nothing was out there.
By now Izzy is almost back into the shape she was before Dan was born and Dean’s not sure if she’s lucky or she’s joined a gym or something without telling him. He keeps insisting that he doesn’t care what she looks like – she’s gone through pretty much the biggest change a body could and it was hardly surprising if things weren’t immediately as they once were. It clearly bothered her though and she seems much more at ease with herself now she’s returning to her old shape. She sleeps peacefully for once and he can’t help but rest a hand on her hip, his thumb gliding over the bare skin he finds there.
At dawn his boy is awake and he looks up at Dean, almost curious, tiny fingers grabbing at the amulet that hangs near him whilst the other hand whacks a little at his father’s chest. Dean realises for the first time that his son has her eyes and that makes him smile.
Even after two children – the second being the first Winchester born girl in three generations - and her complaints that some muscles were never going to go back to where they used to be, he loves her body. He doesn’t notice much difference to be honest. He knows every curve and every inch of skin better than he knows himself. Over time she seems to learn his game, knowing just what he’s doing and sometimes she copies, her hands exploring him with intense purpose. She can do that for near an hour and it’s the most erotic, wonderful and humbling thing he’s ever felt.
Over the years he comes to realise that the changes don’t matter at all in the long run. He always seems to fit with her no matter what. It’s that more than anything convinces him that they were meant to be. That body is the thing that grounds him – it reminds him simply that she’s there and sometimes that’s all he needs to know, the truth of life beneath his hands.