Dean And The Dryad Pt 02

Back in the kitchen, Bobby was steaming. He pounced before Dean was fully in the room, slinging the discarded Henley at his chest.

"I can think of only two reasons you let her slide without passing the smell test, and they both start with Double-D."

"Jesus, Bobby. She was hurt in the line of work. It was a professional courtesy."

"Professional courtesy, my ass," Bobby scoffed. He shot a disgusted look at Dean's crotch. "Will you uncock the hammer on that thing?"

Dean blushed fire-red and tied the shirt around his waist.

"And where the hell is Sam?"

"Right here," Sam said, pushing the screen door open with a dozen grocery bags in hand. He muscled his way to the counter and began unpacking fruit, vegetables and lean meat. Bobby looked over the bounty with a scowl. First Dean, the besotted sonofabitch, risking the whole operation, and now even Sam was acting like a love-sick teenager.

"So she's got you playing nursemaid too?"

"She did us a solid killing the dryad. Now we're helping her out. Simple," Sam said.

"Did you dose her before she crossed the threshold?" Bobby gestured at the cabinet where he kept holy water and colloidal silver.

Sam shrugged. "There wasn't time."

"Dean-o here lets his bone do the thinking, but you're usually more thorough than that, Sam!" Bobby stormed. "One mistake is all it takes for me to come home and have to mop up your guts!"

"Hey," Dean yelled, "I told you she's Team Human."

"Guess you gave her a thorough check-up, huh?"

Sam froze, eyeing his brother's naked chest. He prayed Zena hadn't been "Deaned" while he was out. It wouldn't be the first time.

Bobby was still going. "Did you know to look for a pair of nymphs? Dryads never roll solo."

"The cops were close. We had to get outta there," Sam said. "If there were some around, they didn't step up to help the dryad. I don't think anything followed us."

Bobby sucked his teeth. "Well, they're wood creatures, and they've got a hell of a lot of cover around here if they did. Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Resigned, the old man washed his hands and started a pot to boil. "Dean, you're on chop duty. Get to it."

Dean zoned out prepping vegetables, barely answering while Bobby or Sam talked. He needed to get away, clear his head. Zena made him crazy; he wanted to fight her and fuck her and hold her, not necessarily in that order. She was worse than Viagra; he hadn't gone down a bit. He knew he had a problem when Sam went to feed her. On reflex, he nearly knocked the bowl to the floor.

"No one touches her but me," he snarled. Luckily, Sam didn't understand him.

"What the hell, Dean?" his brother yelled, looking worried.

"Forget it. M'going out."

**

Zena awoke to gentle shaking. Sam held a bowl of soup in his hand. It smelled wonderful.

"This is mainly broth, but if you can handle it I'll bring you some meat and veggies for seconds," he said softly. He held out a spoon to her lips and she sipped, then pushed off the quilt and sat up stiffly.

"Thank you," she said, gesturing for the bowl, "I can feed myself." She took it in both hands and slurped from it like a cup. "What took you so long?"

Sam chuckled. "I've been home for two hours, you were just out the whole time. We thought it was better to let you sleep. Bobby made the stew."

The broth warmed her insides and calmed the pangs in her belly. She'd gotten so good at ignoring discomfort that sometimes she plain forgot to eat. She finished the bowl, then noticed the biscuit Sam had brought and used it to sop up the remains. She was so focused on eating, she didn't see him leave and return with another bowl; this one with beef, carrots and potatoes. When she reached for it, she got a better look at his face.

"There's plenty more if you want it," he said. "Bobby always cooks for an army. Mainly because we eat like one," he grinned. One eye half-closed with the effort.

Zena dipped her head. "I'm sorry about that," she gestured toward his puffy yellow nose.

"Don't worry about it. I think it adds character, myself."

Zena liked Sam. He had an innocence that Dean lacked. When Dean looked at her, he was mentally fucking her against the wall. Not that she minded. She thought of the afternoon and a shiver ran through her. He made her want to cream before he even touched her. She wondered briefly if that was how others had felt all these years. With him, she would always be prey. Sam, on the other hand, put her at ease. He didn't get the crazy eyes. He could sit in a chair, next to her bed, just chilling until she cleaned her bowl. It was something of a relief.

"So," she started, "does your Uncle Bobby always go ballistic when guests turn down his crap beer?"

Sam snorted a laugh. "Ah, Zena. You broke of one of his 'safety protocols.' He doses the beer with holy water to make sure nobody brings anything foul home from work."

"Ohhh. I heard him and Dean fighting about it, but it didn't make any sense to me. Speaking of, where's Dean?"

Sam's gaze narrowed. "He skipped dinner. Said he was going for a drive. Look, Zena, I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life or anything, but Dean...Don't... Did anything happen with you two while I was gone?"

Zena reclined back into the shadows. "I blacked out again. He put me to bed."

Sam gave a sigh of relief. "Just asking. I'll let you get some rest now, OK? The bathroom's right across the hall if you need it and I'm right next door. Sleep tight."

***

Dean downed the last of his draft and signaled the bartender for another. The dive-chic décor irritated him. Everything was reclaimed wood and rustic farm equipment, but there wasn't even any writing on the bathroom walls. Still, it was on the outskirts of town with dollar beers, and that was good enough for him.

Now he was in a bar, and the blonde in the corner was trying to catch his eye, flipping her hair and crossing her legs every ten seconds. A little obvious, but he didn't mind. Early 40s, tight jeans, not a bad body from what he could see. She looked like she knew her way around a zipper. He turned a grin on her as she laughed loudly at a joke from a neighboring table. That's all it took for her to make her way to the bar.

"Hiya stranger, this seat taken?"

In the Impala, her head bobbed noisily in Dean's lap. Sherry? Sarah? Whatever her name was, she was enthusiastic about her work. He leaned back in the driver seat, closing his eyes and imagining Deena's sensual pout. She would go slower. He bunched a handful of the woman's crisp curls and weighed his hand heavily on the back of her crown, but she wouldn't tap the brakes. He hated when chicks tried too hard.

She had been at it close to ten minutes and he was starting to feel like an asshole. Her jaw had to be tired, but he may as well have been wood for real down there. It wasn't happening tonight. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't have some fun. He pulled her up, fitting a condom over his width and sliding his seat all the way back.

"Hop on, cowgirl."

She peeled down her jeans and seated her bottom on his lap.

"This is probably the closest I'll ever come to driving this thing," she tossed over her shoulder with a wink.

She rubbed her smallish breasts on the steering wheel, which he found strangely exciting. Dean used her slim hips as handles, positioned himself at her entrance and pushed. Deena's ass would fill his whole lap and clap on each downstroke, sending reverb through his entire body. He would put those big titties on the dash and twist her nipples until she...

"Oh my God, cowboy!"

For the next 10 minutes, the vintage cherry rocked and bounced in place, and didn't stop moving until a series of yips emanated from inside the tinted windows. When they eased apart, Shay pulled up her jeans and panties.

"I can't speak on your conscience, but least now you can go home with a clear head."

Dean was taken aback. "I'm single!"

"Sure, cowboy. Whatever her name is, thank her for me. But do come back and see me sometimes, OK?" She shot him a sweet smile and jumped cutely when he smacked her ass as she exited the car.

She's an all right lady, Dean thought as he motored home. He fiddled with the radio until he found Metallica on a classic rock station and hummed along. He could face Zena now and act like a normal human being. When he got back to the house, it was dark. He gently closed the front door so it wouldn't squeak too loudly, and for a brief instant, considered checking in on their patient. No, that would undo everything. Better to kick up his feet on the couch and watch TV till he dropped off.

Two hours later, Dean couldn't sleep. The TV was watching him more than the other way around. He flipped channels continually, tired as hell, but oblivion wouldn't come. His mind was racing, going over and over the day's events in an incessant loop. Finally, he cut off the box and lay there in the dark. He rolled over on his side to face the back of the couch and froze. Something was there.

It wasn't an audible noise, more a tremor in the atmosphere. Something was moving through the room. Then the refrigerator door cracked open, and his heart seized up in his chest. Zena's panty-clad, heart-shaped ass was bent over, backlit by the cold fridge bulb as she foraged the shelves for a snack. Dean was on his feet before he knew it. He stepped lightly like a cat, nearly soundless, until he was just a foot behind her.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Zena remarked without turning around. She straightened up with a piece of chicken in hand, his t-shirt ruched up around her waist. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

"Guess I'm hungry, too." She could take that any way she wanted. Dean didn't move from his spot, forcing her to brush against him as she closed the refrigerator.

"What do you want, Dean?" Her voice was brusque but it wavered on his name, and she looked chagrined.

He paused, caught between lust and honesty. "If I said to talk, would you believe me?"

Zena smiled in spite of herself. "No."

"Then why lie?"

He grasped her chin and tilted her head to his preferred angle, taking a kiss as brazenly as a husband of a dozen years. His pressure on her lips brooked no resistance, and Zena offered none. The chicken dropped to the counter, forgotten. Zena had known he would be on the couch; she'd known he could be awake. She'd worn the easiest access clothing imaginable. Well, her plan had worked, she'd soon see how well.

He half-pushed, half-carried her to the sofa, feverishly stripping. Her titties were soft and perfect in his hands. As soon as she laid back, he flattened his tongue and drew a wide, steaming lick from her panties to her throat. She tugged down her underwear so he could repeat the process unimpeded.

Dean's cock raged in his shorts, thumping his abdomen in time with his heartbeat. She was so warm, so soft. Her moans goaded him as he nibbled on her big, tasty clit. It made a delightfully sensitive target, but this time he would do more than taste her. Condoms were in the car but he had no intention of stopping. The thought of sliding raw into this black goddess made him groan.

"Zena baby, if I don't get inside you soon I'm gonna die."

He pushed into her plump mound like a baseman sliding home. She was so wet, her warm juices splashed onto his crotch and ran down his thighs. He knew something was wrong when it started getting cold.

Shit! Dean silently cursed himself. He groggily came to, alone on the couch and his jeans a sloppy mess. This hadn't happened since he was 14 years old. What the fuck is this girl doing to me, he asked the bathroom mirror, scrubbing at the swiftly stiffening stain. He couldn't go in his room for another pair of pants; she was in there. He grabbed the afghan off the couch and headed outside.

The Impala's back seat had held him plenty of nights over the years, but he longed for his own bed and the woman in it. He clenched his fists and kicked his feet against the locked door. Despite the bottle he found under the seat, the knot in his stomach wouldn't unwind.

But he couldn't go back to the cabin. Not tonight. It was too fresh, the call of her body too clear. No way could he be that close and ignore it. He climbed behind the wheel and started to drive. What he needed was a few hours at the lake.

***