#editor!dean au

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance - V

Summary:  Donna tortures Dean.  

Author:  (A)HumanFemale

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings:  Smutty language, smutty thoughts.  

Notes:  Donna’s messages are in italics and Dean’s are in bold italics.  

Don’t know what’s going on?  Catch up here:

Part I 

Part II 

Part III

Part IV

Professional Distance

V

When the sun rose the next day, Dean woke up with the itch of anticipation under his skin.  It was palpable in every breath he took and every thought in his head.  It was perfect and it was torture.  Euphoria and sweet agony, twined around every thought until he couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

Donna was coming back today.

Euphoria.

They had a date.

Ecstasy.

He wouldn’t see her until that night.

Agony.

The day crawled by at a snail’s pace, the sinking sun teasing him as the afternoon wore on.  He tried to work, tried to think, but it wouldn’t happen.  His brain wasn’t capable of processing anything other than Donna’s face behind his eyes and the memory of her skin under his fingers.  The knowledge that he would see her in a few hours only made the anticipation worse until it was all he could do to keep from running out of his office and across the city to her hotel.  He’d run through the halls, screaming her name until he found her room and she had no choice but to let him in.  It was a good way to get a restraining order but he couldn't help but entertain the thought.

Finally his alarm went off, telling him it was time to go home and get ready.

Dean had laid out his suit that morning, pressing the wrinkles out of the deep black fabric and starching his white shirt.  His best black tie was set aside.  He’d stopped just short of picking every individual piece of lint off the damn thing, but only just.  The nervous energy made him very detail-oriented, apparently.  Now, he smoothed the jacket down and looked in the mirror for the dozenth time in the last half hour.  It fit him the same as it always did, tight across his shoulders but otherwise fine.  His hair had smoothed into place evenly and he’d shaved, trying very hard to look like someone who belonged with Donna.  He’d even gone so far as to dress in neutral black, not knowing what she was wearing and not wanting to clash with her.  Even if he hadn’t quite realized his motivations, subconsciously he wanted it too look like they belonged together.

He was ready too soon, he realized with a groan when he was ready and putting on his watch.  He wouldn’t have to leave for another hour.  Sighing and loosening his tie, Dean headed to the kitchen.  He’d drink a beer, eat some leftovers.  Pretend this wouldn’t be the longest damn hour of his life, dragging on and on until he felt like screaming.  Luckily the beer was cold and smooth on his tongue, sliding easily down his throat.  It settled warm in his stomach and he sighed again, this time in satisfaction.  He tossed a tupperware container in the microwave and took another long pull from the bottle.  

Only fifty-three minutes left to go.

The microwave dinged to let him know his food was edible and at his phone beeped simultaneously, his inbox letting him know that a new message had popped up.  Faced with very little else to do, he opened his email to find that the new message was from Donna.  He frowned first in confusion, then in concern that she was cancelling, only to find that it was a work email.  The message contained the next three chapters in the saga of Chloe and Dan.  

Dean pored over it, reading in between bites of leftover lasagna.  Chloe and Dan managed to kill the wendigo and make it out of the forest, although only barely.  Chloe was sporting some cracked ribs and Dan was spiking a fever, weak enough now that Chloe was almost carrying him down the trail.  She was able to radio for help as they got closer to civilization, the ambulance meeting them at the entrance to the forest just as she was ready to collapse.  They both got loaded up and taken in, Dan jokingly telling her not to run off before the pain pills kicked in and he passed out.

Chloe stayed.

Even after they taped up her ribs and she was cleared to leave, even after she learned that Dan would be fine, she stayed.  

This was a new MO for Chloe, who prided herself on her ability to avoid attachments.  She had her dad and her sister - everyone else was optional.  Except, suddenly, for Dan.  For Dan she stayed in that waiting room and worried herself sick, imagining the swollen and angry red edges of the wound as the EMTs ripped his shirt apart to treat him.  

A nurse came out and asked for her, shaking Chloe out of her brooding and down to something deeper than bone.  Maybe to her soul.  She hadn’t realized how scared she was that she might not see him again until the moment it was a possibility.  

“Detective Ransom?”

She nodded.  “That’s me.”

Ahem.  Sort of.

“He wants you.”

The words struck her completely mute.  She realized that the nurse meant he wanted to see her, but Chloe had been scared philosophical and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.  

“Do you need a minute?” the nurse asked, clearly making an effort to be accommodating.  In reality, she had a whole other wing of patients to worry about and mopping Chloe up off the waiting room floor was not a priority.  

“I’m good,” Chloe said, easing her sore torso up out of the chair.  “Lead the way.”

He wasn’t in the ICU, which she considered a good sign.  She was led to his room and then abandoned as the nurse took off for the next room, the next tower of paperwork.  Fine by her.  Dan was staring out the window, watching the sun as it sank behind dark storm clouds building on the horizon.  The light filtered through as a dark, bloody red that splashed over the floor and the blanket on his bed.  A reminder of what could have happened.  It made bile rise up in Chloe’s throat even as she studied him, appreciating the strong jaw and the half-week of beard growth.  He was gorgeous.  And smart.  And kind.  And resourceful.  Maybe even perfect, even if her logical brain balked at the word.

The nurse’s words rang in her ears.

He wants you.

She wanted him, too.

Finally Dan noticed her there and turned to face her with a big dopey grin, taking ten years off his face while still making those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appear.  Damn him.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Chloe was supposed to show up, kill the monster, and leave.  Maybe have a few laughs and a roll in the hay if a pretty face was in the area.  She wasn’t supposed to let herself get tied into a knot over some park ranger, even one with glittering emerald eyes and a voice that made every cell in her body hum.  

He was going to hurt her.

“Hey, detective,” he greeted, speech slurred by morphine, and patted the bed next to him.  “Come sit with me.”

And goddamn it, she was going to let him.  

Dean closed the document and looked at the wall in front of him, his dinner forgotten next to him.  His beer sat neglected on the counter.

This was the closest he’d gotten to a window into Donna’s thoughts, he realized.  

She was a master of deflection, avoiding topics like Doug with ease.  A bright smile and a quick shift of the conversation was all it took to put the unpleasantness in the rearview mirror.  She may have narrated her adventures with Jody and opinions on bobby pins, may have confessed to having thoughts about him that made his heart race, but she’d never told him much more than that.  Certainly had never hinted on what all this was about, even with Chloe and Dan racing inevitably toward each other.

Now he knew.  

Now he knew that she was just as torn up over him as he was over her.  Dean could relate - he craved her like sunlight, like air, even as he held himself back from initiating anything for fear of rejection.  It might have killed him, he realized now, and she must be feeling something close to that if Chloe’s inner dialogue was to be trusted.  He knew now that Donna was opening herself up to him, to whatever it was they were cultivating between them.  Even after a divorce, even after being hurt.  

She was giving him a chance.

And goddamn it, he was going to take it.

-- X --

Donna’s release party was in one of the big executive’s penthouses, an entire two floors perched atop a skyscraper in the densest part of the city.  Deciding against taking the chance that someone would scratch Baby in a public parking lot, Dean called for a cab and anxiously kept an eye on his phone the entire ride.  He’d started a new message roughly a dozen times, only to erase it and groan in frustration.  Even now he stared at his phone, willing himself to find the perfect words to convince her that she was safe with him.

She was perfect.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

She drove him crazy.

He wanted her so much that it was a physical presence in his veins, incinerating him with every beat of his heart.

As always, Donna beat him to the punch.  Her message popped up a block from the party, simple and somehow managing to convey every bit of her anxiety.  He could feel her tensing up from his place in the cab, worrying about speaking in front of people and then worrying about how personal she’d gotten with Chloe and Dan.

You still gonna make it?

Dean sent his reply and tucked the phone into his breast pocket, hoping he’d said enough to put her at ease.

Wouldn’t miss this for the world.

The cab dropped him off and the doorman checked his name against the guest list, letting him in with a smile and a general encouragement to have a nice time.  Dean smiled in thanks and headed for the elevator, pleased when it was occupied with people he knew.  Making polite small talk spared him from getting himself worked up over this going well.  It was all he could do to keep his head in the conversation instead of wondering where Donna would be when they got to the penthouse.  Would she be mingling?  Would she be waiting for him at the elevator?  Would she be cornered by another agent, pitching the newest movie deal?

The elevator opened and they all exited, greeted by catering staff with pressed white shirts and slim flutes of champagne.  Dean turned his down, wishing instead for another beer.  Hell, maybe whiskey. His eyes scanned the party, looking for Donna and coming up empty.  She was probably hyperventilating in a spare bedroom.  The thought made him grimace.  He wanted to help if she was nervous, which she almost certainly was.  He kept half of his attention on his phone in case she needed him, doing his best to stay at the edges of the crowd to keep a better eye out for her.

She didn’t show.

He didn’t catch a hint of her blonde hair or the fabric of her undoubtedly bright dress against the dark formal wear everyone else had donned.  Her bubbly laughter never rose above the murmur of the crowd or the faint beat of the music.  Dean circled the main room one more time, exchanged words with a few people he knew, and made his way back to the kitchen to peek inside.  The food was all vampire-themed to match Chloe’s latest baddie and while he was interested in the fang-marked cupcakes, they weren’t what he was looking for.  His mind turned traitor, suggesting that maybe Donna had changed her mind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed for it a little too quickly, leaning against a bookshelf to keep anyone from reading over his shoulder.  His first thought was to go into interrogation mode - where are you? - but her message stopped him.  

Donna watched Dean move through the throng of people, stone-faced and single-minded in his pursuit.  At first she thought he might have been looking for something a little stronger than champagne, she couldn’t blame him for that, but then she noticed that his eyes popped up whenever a blonde head passed by.  Was he looking for her?

Dean scowled.   You know I am.

Waiting was torture, Donna thought to herself as she readjusted her dress for the hundredth time in the last hour.  She’d spent the day agonizing over seeing him, counting down the seconds until she could get an eyeful of the man who made her feel like an idiot teenager with hormonal problems.

You and me both.   He sighed, looking around the room again in hopes of catching a glance.  If she could see him, he could undoubtedly find her.   You know we could skip this, right?  Just get out of here?

God, how she wanted to.  She wanted to climb down the fire escape and get a taxi out of there, especially if Dean was offering to escape with her.  But she made a commitment and had every intention of sticking to it, even if it meant waiting that much longer to touch him.  Donna stared at him, the pouting jut of his lower lip as he frowned at his phone, and remembered dragging her tongue over that plump swell of flesh.  She wanted another taste more than she wanted her next breath.  

Dean didn’t know what she’d been doing all day, in between makeup and hair appointments and looking longingly at food that she wasn’t allowed to have.  Devoid of all other human satisfaction she’d been forced to write, pushing Chloe and Dan ever further toward completion.  Narrative completion as well as physical, she thought as she recalled scribbling filthy words on a hotel notepad.  Her skin had superheated in minutes, thinking less of the Dan’s character than she had the man who inspired him.

Dean’s brow furrowed and he snuck glances over his shoulders, making sure no one was behind him to read his phone.  

There was only so much you could do with your imagination but Donna did her best, imagining planes of muscle covered in lightly tanned skin.  She suspected the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones might appear elsewhere along the length of his body, a constellation to guide her intrepid fingers as they committed him to memory.  She would read him like braille before letting herself have a taste, Donna thought to herself.  If it took her all night, she would memorize every inch of muscle and bone and skin that made him whole.  Dean was an oasis and she’d been stranded in the desert a very long time - she would drink him in as though her life depended on it.

Dean’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath in through his nose, only barely holding it together.  The air passed back through his slightly parted lips but did nothing to calm his pounding heart.  

Maybe her life did depend on it, she mused to herself.  She’d spent the day fantasizing about what she’d do to him once they were in the same room and now it felt like she would die if she didn’t touch him.  Her imagination supplied all the details, from the fabric of his suit to the softness of his hair as it carded through her fingers.  The smell of his aftershave.  It was hell.  Sweet hell that made her every breath sizzle in her lungs.  They were a few scant feet away and heat had pooled mercilessly between her thighs, the slick flesh desperate for attention she couldn’t give.  Even if she could, her own fingers would only be a disappointment knowing Dean’s were in reach.

Jesus, Donna.   They were the only words his overwrought brain could process, most of his blood in the process of rushing elsewhere.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Dean was experiencing his own personal hell in that suit, flesh hardening against his zipper as Donna’s words scrolled across his mind.  Could he feel how much she wanted him through the phone?  She felt like everyone who passed her could tell that she was burning up, aching and wet.  How he was tolerating all this she would never know.

I’m going crazy here, he told her honestly.   I need to see you.  Please.

He never got the chance to plead his case.  The executive responsible for the party - Gabriel something or other - had stepped into the middle of the room, tapping his fork on his glass to get everyone’s attention.  He gave a charismatic introduction that got plenty of laughs and applause, smiling smugly at the attention even as he was talking up Donna’s success and the work she’d put into it.  Goddamn it, this was lasting forever.  Dean was considering giving up his place at the back of the room in favor of searching every room for his date but then he heard Donna’s pseudonym and he stood at attention again.  

The healthy smattering of applause faded into the roar of blood in his ears as Donna emerged from a dark hallway onto the landing above them, overlooking the party.  Her hair was pulled into an intricate knot at the base of her neck and her eyes had been lined in dark makeup, turning her warm eyes into something closer to sultry.  Gold earrings dangled from her ears, drawing his eyes to the smooth line of her neck and then to the bare expanse of her collarbones.  Gold bracelets dangled on her wrists as she grasped the banister, grounding herself.  

She was wearing the tightest dress he’d ever seen, the smooth black leather stretching over her waist and hips before transforming into dense black lace that brushed against the floor.  It was strapless, the neckline dipping low between her breasts before converging into a solid gold zipper that trailed down her front to stop at the apex of her thighs.   Dean felt like his every daydream had been picked apart and put on display, exposing the depth of his desire to a room full of people.  He watched helplessly as Donna’s eyes surveyed the crowd and found his.  Her gaze hit him like a crack of lightning, shooting straight down his spine to the insistent throb of his erection.

Wanting her was going to kill him.

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance IV

Summary:  Dean and Donna pass a week of separation.

Author:  (A)HumanFemale

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warning:  Slightly adult themes.

IV

Donna texted him just before midnight, letting him know that they’d made it back to the hotel.  Her sister-in-law was wasted and had to be poured into bed, so Donna was going to stick around in case she got sick.  She was a good friend - kind and caring.  Dean couldn’t fault her for that.  The downside was that her plane was leaving early the next morning to take them back to Minnesota - she was dropping off her sister-in-law and hanging out with family for a week before she came back to the city for her release party.  

Dean told her to get some rest - he’d see her next week.

He dragged himself into bed late that night but couldn’t force himself to go to sleep.  His head was still buzzing, drunk with the memories of Donna pressed so close to him.  He thought of their kiss and his head spun, taking him right back to the moment he’d first tasted the sweetness of her lips and felt her hands on him.  She’d never done anything but shake his hand before that moment but kissed him like she’d been thinking about it for years.

Donna wanted him.

The thought was a drug and he was hooked, riding the high.  

At this rate he’d never sleep again.

-- X --

Work was harder than he thought it would be the next morning, which wasn't improved by the fact that it was a Saturday.  Dean still forced himself to sit down with his laptop, making peace with his lot.  An alarming number of chapters had piled up in his queue while he was pining over Donna the last few weeks.  None of his authors were making a fuss but he felt bad about it anyway, knowing they were too polite to give him hell.  It was his only task of the morning to try and get to his longest-neglected works.  

Dean worked through the morning and ate lunch at his computer, straining his eyes until he had a roaring headache.  He once again contemplated the need for reading glasses.  The thought made him grimace - he was too young for that, damn it.  He wasn’t even forty yet.

He was popping some painkillers and bemoaning his age when his phone buzzed from his desk.  Distracted, he perked up only when he realized that it was a message from Donna.  He pulled up the message and one eyebrow quirked up in confusion.  

It was a short excerpt of prose but it wasn’t Chloe or Dan.  

Donna dragged herself across the airport, tired to the point of falling over.  The early morning flight had seemed like a good idea until her idiot sister-in-law decided to go clubbing and fall off the wagon.  Donna was up holding her hair out of the toilet until two in the morning.  Their flight left at seven.  There was a chance she was in Hell.  The real one - not that vegan bakery she found in California.

Dean smirked and another message appeared.

The only thing propelling her tired behind through the crowd was her memories of the night before, her brain occupied with thoughts of candy apple green eyes and long legs.  Scruff the color of cinnamon, flecked with gold.  Mmm, cinnamon sounded good.  Every airport had a Cinnabon, right?  Hold on.

This time he laughed aloud, collapsing back into his chair and looking at the ceiling.  It was a few minutes before another message appeared.  

They totally had a Cinnabon.  

Donna was pleased at this turn of events.  With enough carbs she would be able to refrain from strangling the walking hangover next to her.  She had no intention of going down for murder - not today, anyway - so she ate the doughy roll of sugar in a few bites.  If she got an extra one in a to-go box it was a public service, thank you very much.  

Dean snorted.

Anyway, Donna was thinking about Dean.  About the way his full lips caressed the rim of his coffee cup and the way his tongue darted out in concentration while they spoke.  Watching him think was nothing short of pornographic.  Brows drawn, bottom lip between his teeth.  She was a few seconds away from fanning herself even now, with just the memory to keep her company.  Watching those lips in action was a burlesque show - feeling them on hers was another matter entirely.  The taste of him on her tongue turned her inside out.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his chair.  

Leaving was the last thing she’d wanted to do that night.  What she wanted was to pay the check, drag him out of there, and pin him against the side of that shiny black car in the parking lot.  She’d kiss him silly, until she couldn’t breathe and her head spun.  If her hands happened to wander, who could blame her?  And if the two of them happened to fall into the backseat, everyone would understand.  Really, just look at the guy.

She had no idea what he would have given for that.  Even now his hands itched to touch her again.  The image of Donna getting handsy with him against his beloved Baby was a daydream he would have to file away for future use.

When her phone rang she wanted to chuck it across the restaurant because she knew what it meant.  It meant walking away from the hunk of beefcake she’d been lusting after for years, just when she got her first taste.  The injustice of it all rendered her breathless.  Surely the universe wasn’t so cruel as to deprive her of him completely.  

Like hell, he thought to himself.  He typed a quick reply, not worrying about interrupting her train of thought.  

The next time I see you, you’re mine.  Hell or high water, sweetheart.

It was several long minutes before Donna replied, making him sweat.  Maybe he should have thought of something better.  He dove as soon as her name popped up on the screen.  

Donna read Dean’s message, the words making her swoon.  She had no choice but to collapse into a puddle in the middle of the airport.  Maintenance en route.  

Dean chuckled and put the phone aside, mouth stretched into a bright smile.  Donna wanted him.  Donna had wanted him for years, apparently.  The knowledge felt miraculous - too good to be true.  Chest tight, he read over her messages again.  Laughed harder, smile hurting his cheeks, wishing he could live in that moment for just a little while longer.  Then reality seeped back in the cracks and it was okay.  His headache had lessened and his work no longer seemed so oppressive.  Things were good.  

His world was better with Donna in it.  

-- X --

Donna sent more of the same messages over the next few days, all in the same narrative format.  They told him about her day, what she was thinking at any particular time.  She didn’t seem to require responses from him, which was good because he rarely knew what to say.  He would comment every so often just so she would keep going.  Mostly he was afraid that he would break the spell that had wound around him, keeping him walking on air.  Those texts had gone from amusing to a lifeline in a matter of days.  If he couldn’t have Donna, they were the next best thing.  

Donna woke with a smile on her face and the smell of breakfast in her nose.  The former because of a certain editor, and the latter because… wait.  Who was in her house?!

...

It was fine.  Donna’s mother had snuck in through the back door to surprise her with food.  Which was normal.  Mothers did that.  Right?

Not mine, Dean thought.  Though she did pick the lock on his front door once when she left her cell phone in his couch.

Donna told herself she wasn’t going to go hang out with Jody this trip.  It was a short one and she didn’t have time to do a five-day hangover recovery program.  But gosh, did she miss Jody.  They’d been best friends since middle school and Jody had a taste for trouble that Donna didn’t.  Drinking and getting matching tattoos kind of trouble.  She’d barely escaped last time, just before she’d drunkenly inked “party girl” into her thigh.  

Dean couldn’t imagine her with a tattoo.  At all.  But then he really wondered if she had one and filed that question away for later.  

The next day Donna was determined to work.

The blank page stared, mocking.  Chloe and Dan were in serious need of resolution but their creator was distracted.  Something to do with her editor, but they didn’t know that.  They only knew that Dan’s wound was infected and they needed to kill the monster and get him to a hospital. He might get sepsis and die at this point.

Poor Dan, he thought.  Tough break.

This was all Dean’s fault.  It might be his fault that Dan existed at all, so when her characters came to life as vengeful fictional spirits they could haunt him first.  

Dean scoffed and replied, Is that a confession?  

A few minutes later she replied, Donna had to go sorry bye.

They spent the week that way, Donna sending prose and Dean sending back snarky comments to keep her going.  He read her messages in between edits, using them as rewards for getting actual work done.  Donna bought books with her mother.  Cooked with her dad.  Got caught texting him under the dinner table, after which her phone was taken away because they didn't buy her telling them it was for work.  It didn’t seem to matter that she was in her thirties.  

She did, in fact, go out with Jody.  

She was, in fact, hung over afterwards.  

It must have been pretty bad because the only thing she sent him the next day was:

Diagnosis: Acute alcohol poisoning.

Cause: Jody effing Mills.

Prognosis: Leave me here to die.

She must have been down for the count because he didn't hear anything else until the next afternoon, when she narrated making travel plans to come back for her release party.  Chloe Ransom’s fifth adventure had hit the shelves the week before and was already a success, leading her publisher to throw her a party to celebrate.  Any other author would have basked and preened but not Donna.  Donna had to take good news and turn it into a death sentence.

Donna finished an email to her stylist and sighed, nerves already mounting.  Her skin prickled in anxiety and all her worst nightmares started springing up in her mind, all in excruciating detail.  Writing was one thing but those people might want her to talk. Out loud. In front of an audience.  What the heck was that about?  

Her fear of public speaking wasn't news to him. Donna had been actively avoiding speaking engagements for years.  She personally felt as though they should just hire an actress to be Chloe so she could come and speak in character, leaving Donna out of it completely.

What if she stuttered?  Or passed out?  Or got sick!  Mary and Joseph, she'd never live that down.  It would wind up on YouTube and that would be it.  End of story.  There goes that writer lady - she tossed her cookies all over her publishers and never wrote again.  

Dean smirked as he walked to his car, finally done for the night.  He replied, That's not going to happen.

Dean didn't know.  He wasn't psychic, but the gesture was appreciated.  

I could be psychic.  You never know.

She did know.  If Dean were psychic all these years it wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures to get his attention.  He would have heard her every depraved thought through a megaphone, straight into his brain.  Donna would have seen the smoke coming from his ears, because she really did have a terrific imagination.

Dean’s eyes crinkled as he smirked. Were you having unprofessional thoughts about me?

Donna would confess to nothing, but the images sprouted up behind her eyes anyway.  Would he ever know the kinds of thoughts she’s had about him over the years?  The sheer number would probably horrify him.  Climbing into his lap on the couch along the back wall of his office, praying no one walked in as she ran her fingers through his tousled hair.  Or looking up at him through her lashes from under his desk as her fingers found the clasp of his belt.

He cleared his throat.  Those are definitely not professional.

You asked, she replied, dispensing with the narration for the first time since they started texting a few days ago.  Dean laughed and sent his reply before putting his phone down and pulling into traffic.

I did.  

Are you coming to the release party?

I always do.  

Maybe don’t bring a date tomorrow?

Dean stopped at a light, smile threatening to break across his face.  If he didn’t know any better Donna was asking him out.  What she didn’t know was that he’d never brought a date to one of her events.  He’d always been afraid that whatever woman he brought would take one look at him near her and figure it out.  The fact that he was crazy about her would have been written across his face.

Maybe I don’t.  What if I find one there?

That’s the idea, handsome.

Dean drove the rest of the way home with a smile on his face and happy anticipation buzzing in his ears.  

He wanted Donna.

Donna wanted him.

They had a date tomorrow night.  

He whistled through dinner, sang while he did the dishes, and still couldn’t bring himself to go to sleep until after midnight.  

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance - II

Summary:  Dean Winchester is an editor known for his critical eye and keen insight, finding himself a famed name in the world of romance novels. No matter the material that crosses his desk Dean has always been able to maintain his professional distance. Until Donna Hanscum. As if his crush on the effervescent blonde weren't incapacitating enough, now she's introduced a love interest to her latest novel that seems suspiciously like... him.

Author: (A)Human Female

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings:  Explicit material.  General smuttiness.  

Professional Distance

II

The next chapters came and went, offering him nothing new.  

The writing was good.  It was Donna, so it was always going to be.  The story was progressing at a good pace, drawing the reader in and imploring them to worry for Chloe and Dan as they stomped around in the dark forest.  He laughed when Chloe had put her foot down on starting her own fire and not needing Dan thank you very much, imagining Donna’s face of pure consternation as she screamed at a pile of branches that refused to light.  Dan was happy to sit back and watch because the show was too good to miss.  

They shared their first kiss against a massive aspen tree, surrounded by darkness.  The stiff bark dug into Chloe’s back as she canted her hips up into Dan, his big hands mapping the contours of her waist.  The moment progressed no further, interrupted by the wendigo taking a swipe at them faster than either of them could anticipate.  After that it devolved into Dan demanding explanations and Chloe begrudgingly giving them.  

Dean read that scene roughly a thousand times, imagining his own hands on Donna as she gasped and tightened her grip on the short hairs at the back of his neck.  Not even a wendigo could have distracted him from her, he thought as he glanced over the chapter at his desk.  Not a tornado or a nuclear blast could have pulled him away.  Dan, this fictional version of himself, was clearly a lesser man than the real thing.

He imagined their real first kiss on the way home from work, gripping the buttery leather of his steering wheel as he drove.  

Donna would wear that same candy pink lipstick that seemed to be her favorite, he mused at a red light.  She would come rushing into his office like a rogue wind, breathless and smiling brighter than the sun.  Dropping her purse into her usual spot in front of his desk, she wouldn’t notice him standing from his chair to walk to her.  She’d look up in surprise, her dark eyes widening to find him so close.  Those eyes would drift to his mouth involuntarily, her tongue coming out to lick that pink bottom lip so that it glistened in the sunlight from his windows.  He’d move forward and take her lips like he owned them, surprising them both with the intensity of feeling as he knotted his fingers in her hair and tasted the sweetness of bubblegum on her tongue.

An angry honk sounded from behind him, knocking him out of his reverie and back to the present.  He held a hand up in apology and sped forward, trying not to get pissed off at the minivan behind him as it veered to his left and sped past.  The passenger may have even flipped him the bird.  Distracted, mood headed south, he almost missed the chime from his phone in the seat next to him that signaled a new email.  A few seconds later his text alert went off, drawing his attention.

Donna.

He flicked his screen open so fast he nearly sent his phone flying into the floorboard.  Ignoring the email alert, he opened her text and scanned it.

Two new chapters, handsome!  Let me know what you think.  :)

Dean sent off a noncommittal thank-you message, going for nonchalant to downplay his impatience.  He clicked on his email icon and sought out her message, finding at the top with the flag to mark an attachment.  Her message was brief, saying hello and letting him know there were documents attached.  The first was labeled with the number of the chapter, which was par for the course.  The second was labeled with the chapter number and four letters that made his breath draw short.

NSFW.

Donna used the designation to alert him to explicit material.  She found it funny as hell, considering that explicit material was literally his job.  No one was going to be walking up behind him at work and judging him for what he was reading.  Usually he’d grin a little and download it, adding to the queue requiring his attention.  Now, only able to imagine what could be in it, he swallowed hard and gently put the phone back down.

His foot hit the gas.

He needed to get home - now .  

-- X --

Dean ignored his neighbor’s attempt at small talk, shoved his key into the lock, and threw the door open with a crash.  Someone watching might have been suspecting a mental illness at this point.  He locked the door behind him and flicked on the lights, all too happy to toss his bag in the general direction of his couch and snatch his laptop up from the coffee table.  He didn’t bother to grab himself a beer.  Once in his bedroom he shucked his tie and jacket, his watch, and kicked off his shoes.  

When he settled against his pillows he was in for the long haul.  

The first chapter she’d sent gave him the details of the wendigo attack, complete with a bloody injury for Dan.  Not one on any major organ, of course, but just enough to wing him and make him look like the rugged adventurer he’d turned out to be.  Wendigos didn’t faze Dan, apparently.  Nothing paranormal did.  His mother was psychic, as it turned out, so he’d made peace with a lot of things at this point in his life.  

The second chapter, however.

The second chapter awoke Chloe in the middle of the night, sensitive ears tuned in to the sounds outside their tent.  She’d brought her own but felt it necessary to sleep in Dan’s tent that night.  You know, with his injury and all.  It was pitch black outside and silent save for the wind.  Her lamp was spotty and fading, doing little other than illuminating their tent and maybe five feet in front of her.   Once she’d assured herself that they were safe, she returned to the tent to find Dan’s eyes studying her in the dim light.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“Yeah.  Of course, obviously,” she said, shaking her head to ward off the last of the creepy-crawlies skittering over her skin.  

“Funny.  You don’t look it,” he commented, trying to prop himself up on his injured arm before wincing and sinking down again.  She sat on her sleeping bag, crossing her legs under her.

“You’re one to talk, buddy.”

“I’m speaking from experience on this one,” he groused and for a moment she could see his Marine background in his set jaw and the harsh line of his shoulders.  “Something out there I need to worry about?”

“In general?  Yeah.  Immediately?  Doesn’t look like it.”

“Then come back to bed,” he said and neither of them missed the flash of something else that had been plaguing them since they met a few days ago.  

“I bet you say that to all the girls who come here looking to fight monsters,” she quipped but her mouth had gone dry.  

“Only one of those recently,” he admitted, “But I’d be willing to say it to that one every goddamn day.”

Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh.  She tried to ignore the flare of heat between her thighs and the jump of her heart but it was impossible.  Ignoring Dan Wesson had become impossible, even for someone who was reigning queen over Repressing Shit, Incorporated.

Dean paused.  Had ignoring him become impossible?

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, cursing her traitorous mouth for spouting off before she’d had a chance to think about it.  

“The hell I don’t.  Come here and I’ll show you.”

There it is, she told herself.  An invitation on a silver plate.

She leaned forward, sweeping her lips over his gently enough that he grunted in frustration.  He tried to reach out and pull her closer but his stitches pulled and he hissed in pain, gritting his teeth against it.  Chloe huffed out a laugh.

“That’s a lot of tough talk for someone currently benched,” she joked, kissing him again.  

He grunted.  “Goddamn wendigo.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” she told him, pushing his shoulders gently until he was flat on his back again.  She swung a leg over him and sat her generous ass down on the muscle of his thighs.  “I got you.”

Dan opened his mouth in protest and she just had to shut him up with another kiss, taking those scrumptious lips mid-complaint.  He tasted like heaven; the sweetness of his granola trail mix and the lingering bite of whiskey.  Chloe swept her tongue against the seam of his lips, requesting access and getting it instantly as he opened his mouth to her.  She felt his hands run over her shoulders and down her arms.  One of his thumbs glanced the side of her breast and she sighed into his mouth.  

Dean’s heart sped up as he read.  He undid the top button of his shirt, inhaling deeply.

Chloe turned her attention from his full lips to his chiseled jaw and sculpted chin, humming excitedly as she kissed and nipped intermittently.  Dan sighed and his chest worked under her like a bellows.  Just when she thought she was playing a one-sided game she felt his hand creep under her flannel shirt, toying with the skin covering her ribs.  Usually she was ticklish but when it was him lighting them nerves up like the Fourth of July the last thing she felt like doing was laughing.  

“Getting handsy, are we?” she breathed against his neck as she followed the pounding pulse in his throat with the tip of her tongue.  

She could hear the grin in his voice.  “You gonna stop me?”

“Not a chance,” she answered, moaning as he tilted his hips up to meet hers.  The hardness pressing against her for that fleeting moment was perfect, at least until Dan’s voice went from aroused to pained and her eyes jerked up.  

“Sorry,” he answered, “Stitches.”

Chloe grimaced.  “Sweet pea, I’m pretty sure that means we’re going to have to raincheck this.”

“Like hell.  I’ve been wanting my hands on you since you walked into the station.”

“You’re aren’t the only one.  But don’t worry, I’m not giving you up just yet.”

His eyebrows raised in question but she was already moving, her sensitive nipples dragging against him through her shirt as she slid down the length of his body.  She tasted every inch of him she could get, sliding her hands up the front of his t-shirt and flicking her tongue against the dip of muscle at his hips.  The salt of his skin was divine, and she could only imagine how much better he’d taste when she got where she was going.

Dean forced his eyes away from the laptop and looked at the ceiling, doing his best to calm himself.  Or prolong the torture, he wasn’t sure.  The images running through his mind were never something he would have let himself think about an author he worked with - not ever - but here he was, in this fantasy deep enough to feel Donna’s lips on his and the smell of her sweet perfume in his nose.  He had stopped imagining Chloe as the the charming Oklahoman and had started hearing Donna’s Minnesota slant on all her character’s dialogue.  

Groaning, Dean opened the fly of his slacks.  

“Chloe, you don’t have to-”

“The hell I don’t,” she murmured back at him, using his own words to shut him up.  He looked blissfully torn, the poor man.  Trying to be the gentleman she knew him to be and struggling because blowjobs were hard to pass up.  It would have been even harder if he’d known what her quick tongue was capable of, but he’d find out for himself in a minute.  

Her nimble fingers danced along the waist of his sweats, feathering his skin with light touches that made his abs bunch and jump.  She dipped her chin to lick him over the fabric that confined him, making his hips jerk up to meet her.  The motion was immediately followed by a grunt of pain.

“Easy, sugar,” she told him with a wink, “Better let me handle this.”

He growled.  An honest to God growl that shot straight to her clit and singed very nerve ending along the way.  There was a chance her ears were smoking.  Her imagination ran back to those sharpened canines in his mouth and she shivered.  Next time, she promised herself.  Provided they didn’t turn into wendigo chow before then.

In the end, Chloe wasn’t a patient woman.  She may be brave, she may be friendly to a fault and incapable of saying no when someone was in need, but she sure as hell didn’t sit and hang around waiting for what she wanted.  And what she wanted right now was the hardness beneath her chin resting its weight on her tongue.  She wanted to watch Dan come apart at the seams as she sucked him down.

The waistband of his sweats gave way to her demanding hands and then she had him, the thickness of his cock nestled against the her palm.  Dan drew in a ragged breath as she lightly kissed the crown, his earthy taste exploding into her senses like dynamite.  She licked her lips and stretched her jaw, settling in.  In a few minutes he’d be incapable of saying anything but her name.  

“Oh, Jesus,” Dean moaned into the still air of his bedroom, his hand gliding up his shaft and twisting.    

He wasn’t going to touch himself, he’d insisted internally as he’d moved the computer on his lap to sit next to him.  But that was before he’d had the image of Donna on her knees in front of him, his dick in her hand and her lips taking him in.  In Dan’s place he would fist his hand in the bright gold of her hair, stitches be damned.  He could feel those locks between his fingers, could feel the warmth of her tongue on him.

Dean bucked into his hand, imagining he was bucking into Donna.

Chloe tasted him once or twice before going for the kill, accepting that plump head as it passed through her lips and over the top of her tongue.  Dan did his level best to hold still but she could feel him fighting the urge to thrust into her; to fuck her mouth like she suspected he wanted to fuck her, had injuries not put him on the sidelines.  She rewarded his restraint with a quick bob of her head, accepting his precum as it welled up to meet her questing tongue.  

“God, Chloe,” he groaned, fisting his hands in the sleeping bag beneath him.  

Normally she would have snarked something back at him but she was busy, laving and worshipping the flesh in her mouth with a fervor that might have worried her if she weren’t so far gone.  Instead she hummed her approval, forcing herself down his length until that deliciously thick head caressed the back of her throat.  She hummed some more to keep herself from gagging.  Hummed a few Led Zeppelin songs, one Def Leppard classic, and her favorite Styx song before he felt him tightening beneath her.  She reached up to roll his heavy sac between her fingers, smiling around him as it drew up closer to his body.

“Oh, God.  Oh fuck.”

Dean blinked hard, tried to refocus.  

The words just kept blurring as he jerked himself off, dragging his cock through his tightened fist and wrenching his hips up off the bed.  The pressure built and built, threatening to consume him.  

“Chloe,” Dan rasped, reaching down with his good arm to touch her shoulder.  He was warning her, the sweet man.  He didn’t know she intended to take everything he gave her and then some.

She took him in faster, bobbing her head and bringing up a hand to grip him in time with her mouth.  Dan moaned, sounding like he was barely hanging on.  Chloe took that as her cue to let him go.  Sucking heavily, she pulled him to the back of her mouth and swallowed repeatedly.  The muscles of her throat worked at that sensitive head of his until he had no choice but to come on her tongue.  He cried her name into the night air, filling and then overflowing her mouth with the searing heat of his release.

“Fuck!”

Dean’s haggard voice rent the silence around him as he came, spurting thick ropes over his hand and onto his dark shirt.  His hips rocked up uncontrollably, still believing it was Donna’s hot mouth on him rather than his own fist.  He came until there was nothing left of him.  No breath in his lungs and no thoughts in his head.  There was only Donna’s face behind his eyes, her voice in his ears.

It took him several minutes to open his eyes again, the endorphin high wearing off as he realized that he’d turned Donna’s work into masturbatory material.  The guilt sprang up then and he let his head fall back to the pillows, more than slightly disappointed to have come back to reality.  Reality came with the knowledge that it was Chloe and Dan getting their fill of each other.  Not him and Donna.  Not really, even if he had been aroused to the point of pain with her voice in his head.

His eyes drifted back to the laptop and he realized there were some words left on the page.  Words that he’d missed when he’d been coming his brains out.

Chloe sat up, swallowing him down and wiping her mouth on the arm of her shirt.  She looked down at her handiwork, thrilling at the sight of his flushed face and rapid breathing.  His cock was still twitching against his stomach.  Dan’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling of the tent, blinking slowly.  He looked like he’d just gotten blindsided by a Mack truck and damn if that didn’t fill her with a sweet sense of accomplishment that warmed her from the inside out.  

If there was one thing she was sure of, she’d never get enough of Dean.  

He jerked, his eyes going back to the last line over and over.

His name.  Dean, not Dan.

Typo?  Intentional?

Typo.  Had to be a typo.  It was one letter off, for Christ’s sake.

But she would have done at least a little of her own proofreading before sending it and it would have been an easy catch.  Or maybe… maybe she wanted him to catch it.  Maybe she wanted him to know that she’d written this chapter with him in mind, imagining like he had that she was the one sucking him off.

Fucking hell.  He was right back where he started.  

[ahumanfemale]

Professional Distance - I

So AU it’s an alternate galaxy.

Summary:  Dean Winchester is an editor known for his critical eye and keen insight, finding himself a famed name in the world of romance novels. No matter the material that crosses his desk Dean has always been able to maintain his professional distance. Until Donna Hanscum. As if his crush on the effervescent blonde weren't incapacitating enough, now she's introduced a love interest to her latest novel that seems suspiciously like... him.

Author:  (A)HumanFemale

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

I

Dean Winchester had been an editor for going on twelve years, since graduating college with his degree in literature. A quick study with a critical eye, he’d come with a slew of recommendations from professors and the assurance he’d have a bestseller in his first year. He’d gone into the field hoping to land a position in fantasy or science fiction - dragons and space battles. You want to know where he’d ended up instead?

Romance.

Sweet inspirational love stories and depraved erotica all came across his desk, demanding his careful eye and effortless marketing. It turned out that selling romances was a lot easier when the man selling it was quick with a smile and easy on the eyes. So they told him, anyway. In just over a decade he’d climbed from untested newbie to a big name - someone in demand, who got to be picky about what he took on. There were a few people who had balked at a man editing chick lit but he brushed them off. Oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Romance wasn’t something he’d normally read and that gave him the ability to distance himself enough from the work to be critical of it. To find errors and plot holes that needed to be addressed. The racier stuff didn’t bother him - he was able to maintain his professional distance. It didn’t hurt that all the authors to take the chair across from his desk tended to look and sound like his mother.

Until Donna Hanscum.

That wasn’t the name on her book covers - no, for that she’d chosen something so obviously fake it made him cringe - but it was the one he’d written in his calendar for that afternoon at three o’clock. Donna reminded him exactly nothing of his mother. Where Mary Winchester was sharp lines and wry grins, Donna was all curves and boisterous laughter. She had an accent that constantly made his mouth twitch up in a smile that stayed with him for the rest of the day. She also wrote things that made him loosen his tie and clear his throat when he edited late at night, in bed with his laptop and a beer.

Donna wrote paranormal romance. More specifically, she wrote about a voluptuous blonde whose job was to hunt down and kill the paranormal. Usually with a male partner who was different in every installment, all of whom found themselves enamored with her by the end of the book. After a long hunt and a bloody kill she took her fill of the guy, typically on the hood of her muscle car before driving off into the sunset with a wink and a smile. Unless, of course, they died.

Her work fit the market trend toward this kind of thing perfectly and she wrote it well, keeping her heroine just this side of relatable and worthy of cheering on. Readers ate it up and she was writing full time now, having quit her job as a small town sheriff back in Minnesota.

Which was why they had this meeting set up, discussing the sixth installment of her series. Her first ten chapters were due today and she’d insisted on bringing them in on paper, as she was running behind and hadn’t had a chance to transcribe them to a word document. Fine with him. He thought better when he could scribble notes and refer back to them later.

He checked his clock.

3:12.

“I’m here!” she crowed as though reading his mind, throwing open the door to his office so that the potted plant next to it shook and threatened to topple over. “Sorry! So sorry, Dean, I’m here.”

“I can see that,” he smirked, waiting for her to orient herself as she shut the door and smoothed her wavy hair away from her face. “Make it into the city okay?”

“Oh, yah, always,” she said, facing him with a bright smile as she sashayed her way to him. He did his best to avoid following the sway of her hips as she walked. “How are ya doing, handsome? Working hard?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, always.” She threw herself down into the chair opposite his desk and exhaled loudly. She was dressed in leggings the color of cotton candy with lipstick to match, covered in a bright white poncho with what looked like owls patterned across it. Why in God’s name did this drive him crazy? It wasn’t exactly leather and lace. Still, the thought of peeling it off gave him just as much of a thrill.

He needed to put a lid on it.

“So, uh… you got something for me?”

“Anytime ya want it, sugar,” she said with a lascivious wink that she followed up with a full laugh. Just in case his blood pressure wasn’t high enough. “Just kidding. Yeah, I’ve got it here. Hold on.”

She handed him a leaf of wide-ruled notebook paper, bent and tattered and covered with the flamboyant whirls and loops of her now-familiar handwriting. There were more than a few coffee stains and doodles on the margins, the most common theme being what looked like a unicorn chasing a robber. It was held together with a thick clamp at the top, making it almost impossible to flip through the pages.

“That’s… um. That’s original,” he said lamely, looking over it.

“I know! I’m so sorry. If ya don’t mind waiting a few days I’ll transcribe it but I know they’re holding us to a pretty strict deadline so I didn’t want them to come for your head.”

“I appreciate that,” he said, nodding before gently placing her manuscript to the side. “So, who is Chloe Ransom killing these days? Shapeshifters or ghosts?”

“Tracking a wendigo through the deep dark woods, actually,” she said, beaming. “With a sweet hunk of forest ranger to keep her company, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Well, I have some cover art to go over with you and there have been a few changes in your contract for the next three books…”

-- X --

It was after seven before Dean made it back to his townhouse, yawning and swinging a big bag of takeout along with his briefcase. Donna’s manuscript - such as it was - was like a lead weight on his arm, begging to be hauled up and read to death. He’d told himself that if he got through the other chapters vying for his attention he could read all of Donna’s tonight over dinner. He’d chosen a greasy burger and fries - Chloe Random’s main staple as she flitted from bar to bar, looking for cases and any excuse to pull out the armory in her trunk.

Dean tossed his jacket and tie as he situated himself on one end of his couch, turning to stretch his legs over the cushions. He’d placed a cold beer on the coffee table next to him and kicked his shoes off. Burger in one hand and Donna’s manuscript in the other, he dug in. The handwriting baffled him occasionally but he was able to decipher it if he tilted it far enough to the side.

The first few chapters were easy to fly through. Chloe was back in the saddle after a nest of vampires tried to turn her into lunch in the last book - they’d succeeded with her partner. Poor Sam. But now she was coming out of mourning and out of her recovery, looking to kick some ass. He scribbled a few notes on the sides but Dean didn’t slow down until close to chapter nine, when something like suspicion prickled over his skin.

Chloe stepped into the office, grateful for the air conditioning after the sauna that was the inside her car. Appalachia in the dead heat of summer wasn’t a picnic. She could only hope her deodorant was up to the job, because the man behind the desk ahead of her was more likely to have her sweating than the blazing sun outside.

Dark blond hair cut short and tousled to look like he’d just run his fingers through it, a sharp jaw, and lethally green eyes. A few shallow crow’s feet that turned his face from pretty to something closer to devastating. It was the eyes that held her attention the longest, at least until he smiled. Then her eyes snapped to the ever so slightly elongated canines nestled into his otherwise straight white teeth. A hint of the primal, hidden among the mundane. She couldn’t help her mind wandering to which part of her anatomy he’d sink those teeth into first.

Dean paused, looking up and away from the words on the page.

He fought the urge to run for a mirror, checking his own reflection against the description in the story. Unconsciously his tongue drew up to rub against his top teeth, the ever so slight edge on his canines now roaring to the forefront of his attention. Were they longer? Certainly not longer than average. No one had ever called them out to him, anyway, but there it was... a bare millimeter jutting out from the line of the rest of his teeth.  

His attention went back to the story.

“You must be Detective Ransom,” the supermodel-turned-park ranger said, standing from his chair to offer his hand. Cripes, he was even tall. Just tall enough to make her look up at him through her lashes like the hussy she was.

“That’s me,” she affirmed, taking his hand in her own. Calluses, she noticed. The man did real work. “Sorry, they didn’t give me your name when I left the precinct. I was out the door like a flash.”

“Daniel,” he told her, “Daniel Wesson. But just Dan is fine.”

Son of a bitch.

Dean put the manuscript down to run his hand over his face. Was he crazy? Was he imagining all this? He wasn’t any more or less self-absorbed than the next guy, but come on. There’s seeing yourself in everything and then there’s seeing yourself when someone has obviously written about you.

He finished the remainder of the portion in record time, not even bothering to pick up his pen to make notes. Dan and Chloe sat and talked about the case - a slew of missing hikers, remains never found. Chloe didn’t mention her added knowledge of a pattern just like this one going back forty years, and then another set of disappearances forty years before that. Dan was forthcoming and Chloe was invested, eager to put down the monster and get back to her hometown in Minnesota with enough time for her sister’s wedding. Chapter ten finished with Chloe packing her gear and heading to the mouth of the forest, a flask on her hip and Dan at her side.

His burger had grown cold and his beer had fallen flat at some point but it didn’t matter. The pages in his hand had captivated him to such an extent that he doubted he’d notice if someone kicked in his front door. Before he knew what he was doing he had grabbed his cell phone off the coffee table and flipped to Donna’s number. It was there… inviting him to press on it. A text, even. She was probably still in the city.

Dean closed the application and set the phone back down.

He was getting a little worked up. Overreacting because of his… preoccupation with her. Authors were known to take people and places from their real lives and put them into their fictional ones. That wasn’t so unusual, although he’d never seen a suspiciously similar version of himself in anyone else’s work. The only way to solve this, of course, was more data.

He needed more chapters.