She'd gotten the message almost two months to the day since she'd departed company with the Winchester brothers, thanking them quietly but profusely for their hospitality and for saving her life. Their good-natured acceptance, along with a few blushed cheeks, back-of-the-neck rubs, and crooked little smiles had touched her amusement, and she'd headed back to her own abode still a little sore, a bit stiff, but more than ready to get back to work.
And she had. Natasha had returned "home" to seven contracts waiting in her inbox and on her answering machine. As she'd earlier promised Dean during her brief stay, she triaged the work and bounced a few on to the brothers--legitimate work that she would ensure they were compensated for, and wasted little time getting herself back on the job.
Weeks passed, and Dean actually surprised her by keeping in touch, as he'd told her he would. It was a little...disconcerting at first; she was too used to operating solo and holding 'radio silence' unless breaking it was absolutely necessary, but Dean Winchester apparently didn't have many friends to talk with, either. Texts soon evolved into actual phone calls, provided neither of them were working, and almost without realizing it, Natasha found herself looking forward to those hours of seemingly meaningless conversation, often lying away until sunrise with her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she just listened to Dean's wonderful voice. The inherent growl in his tone seemed to vanish the miles between them and Natasha often imagined him lying right beside her, purring words right against her skin.
More than once she had to haul out of bed and take a cold goddamned shower after hanging up the phone.
Returning home after a particularly difficult hunt, Natasha headed straight for a hot bath and leftover pizza afterwards, scarfing down the remainder before turning off all the lights in her flat and slipped into bed--satin sheets, note--checking the time on her phone. Ten-fifteen. She had a quarter hour before it would chime with a familiar ringtone (Eye of the Tiger; he'd insisted) and the rest of the night would be considerably better spent than the day had been. Sighing softly, Natasha reclined against her nest of pillows, the satin feeling heavenly against her bare skin. A slow churning had been lurking in the pit of her stomach for a few days now; a pestersome happenstance whenever one was alone, damnit.
But long fingers slipped over her skin regardless, closing her eyes and shamelessly imagining another's hands doing the same thing, instead.
( this wasn't the sort of thing dean often kept up with. other hunters'd hear from him at times, sure, and maybe even with some sort of consistency should there be some sort of mutual benefit; while he'd told himself for long enough keeping in contact with red was merely for the fact that she was a damn good source of both intel and cases whenever their own stretch of land fell quiet, he wasn't blind enough to recognize the way it developed into more.
'more' was another thing that the winchester's weren't great at upholding. he doesn't dare let it tread into anything romantic, no, because he's got no right tangling up another woman in his fucked up life, even if it's a life strikingly similar to his own. he's got too many problems, too eager to push away what's too close, and he guesses that's why this works. this... whatever it is they're doing, a soft, velvet voice on the other end of that phone sometimes the lone thing that kept him sane.
him and sammy had just gotten back from a nasty case of shifters, a few fresh cuts left behind, but nothing he couldn't handle. skin is left almost supple save for perpetually calloused hands after a hot shower, losing himself beneath rhythmic droplets and letting the night's events whir through his mind again and again, as they so often did after a hunt. he recounts everything, and as he stands before the mirror in that bathroom he drags a single hand across it, almost letting out a pitiable laugh at the hollow shell staring back.
by the time he lets himself plop down at the edge of his bed, touch dragging across his features, his phone glows with a notification from sam. 10:28 PM. heading out to manchester, eileen needs another set of eyes. a small grunt, normally he'd be up for any sort of distraction, any case to wear himself out into, but instead he's damn foolish enough to lay back against his own mattress with the one thing at mind that stills everything else. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she'd walked into that bunker's kitchen in the loose drape of his shirt.
She answered on the second ring, since the phone had been held in a light, loose grip as she ran through a by-now familiar fantasy behind her closed eyes, a soft sigh leaving parted lips before answering.
"...hey, handsome." Her customary greeting by now, punctuated with a tiny smile as she envisioned the grin that no doubt curved Dean's own kissable mouth at the label. Another sigh, a bare expression of breath, escaped as she shifted slightly beneath the cool sheet, her bedroom dark save for the gleam of light from the phone. Which she extinguished with a single touch.
"I'm glad I made it home before you called." The following noise was a bit of a groan, disguising a brief muscle twinge as events of the day tried to catch up. "...been a long day. But definitely better now."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cont. (or something)
And she had. Natasha had returned "home" to seven contracts waiting in her inbox and on her answering machine. As she'd earlier promised Dean during her brief stay, she triaged the work and bounced a few on to the brothers--legitimate work that she would ensure they were compensated for, and wasted little time getting herself back on the job.
Weeks passed, and Dean actually surprised her by keeping in touch, as he'd told her he would. It was a little...disconcerting at first; she was too used to operating solo and holding 'radio silence' unless breaking it was absolutely necessary, but Dean Winchester apparently didn't have many friends to talk with, either. Texts soon evolved into actual phone calls, provided neither of them were working, and almost without realizing it, Natasha found herself looking forward to those hours of seemingly meaningless conversation, often lying away until sunrise with her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she just listened to Dean's wonderful voice. The inherent growl in his tone seemed to vanish the miles between them and Natasha often imagined him lying right beside her, purring words right against her skin.
More than once she had to haul out of bed and take a cold goddamned shower after hanging up the phone.
Returning home after a particularly difficult hunt, Natasha headed straight for a hot bath and leftover pizza afterwards, scarfing down the remainder before turning off all the lights in her flat and slipped into bed--satin sheets, note--checking the time on her phone. Ten-fifteen. She had a quarter hour before it would chime with a familiar ringtone (Eye of the Tiger; he'd insisted) and the rest of the night would be considerably better spent than the day had been. Sighing softly, Natasha reclined against her nest of pillows, the satin feeling heavenly against her bare skin. A slow churning had been lurking in the pit of her stomach for a few days now; a pestersome happenstance whenever one was alone, damnit.
But long fingers slipped over her skin regardless, closing her eyes and shamelessly imagining another's hands doing the same thing, instead.
Ten minutes. An eternity, alas.
no subject
'more' was another thing that the winchester's weren't great at upholding. he doesn't dare let it tread into anything romantic, no, because he's got no right tangling up another woman in his fucked up life, even if it's a life strikingly similar to his own. he's got too many problems, too eager to push away what's too close, and he guesses that's why this works. this... whatever it is they're doing, a soft, velvet voice on the other end of that phone sometimes the lone thing that kept him sane.
him and sammy had just gotten back from a nasty case of shifters, a few fresh cuts left behind, but nothing he couldn't handle. skin is left almost supple save for perpetually calloused hands after a hot shower, losing himself beneath rhythmic droplets and letting the night's events whir through his mind again and again, as they so often did after a hunt. he recounts everything, and as he stands before the mirror in that bathroom he drags a single hand across it, almost letting out a pitiable laugh at the hollow shell staring back.
by the time he lets himself plop down at the edge of his bed, touch dragging across his features, his phone glows with a notification from sam. 10:28 PM. heading out to manchester, eileen needs another set of eyes. a small grunt, normally he'd be up for any sort of distraction, any case to wear himself out into, but instead he's damn foolish enough to lay back against his own mattress with the one thing at mind that stills everything else. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she'd walked into that bunker's kitchen in the loose drape of his shirt.
ring ring, nat. he's right on time. )
no subject
"...hey, handsome." Her customary greeting by now, punctuated with a tiny smile as she envisioned the grin that no doubt curved Dean's own kissable mouth at the label. Another sigh, a bare expression of breath, escaped as she shifted slightly beneath the cool sheet, her bedroom dark save for the gleam of light from the phone. Which she extinguished with a single touch.
"I'm glad I made it home before you called." The following noise was a bit of a groan, disguising a brief muscle twinge as events of the day tried to catch up. "...been a long day. But definitely better now."