Venom

016

She took one out, using the back of her toothbrush as a lever to pop it out of the frame. Catching it before it could fall in the sink and break in tinier pieces, she cut her palm. Dean had been smart, but not smart enough, apparently.

There wasn't any time to waste. She ran to the bedroom, the sharp glass in her bloody hand, and slipped on her shoes, forgetting to put on socks as well. Whatever.

She heard footsteps outside the apartment. It was time. She had to be fast. Helen ran to the front door and hid on its left, so that when it opened she'd be hidden. The footsteps were quick. He was running.

The door slammed open and then shut close. "Helen-" he shouted, his hand still on the door handle, when he felt it. His breath caught in his throat, his chin lifted up, the cold blade pressed against his neck, the sharp end brushing his jugular. Dean swallowed, and a little cut slashed on his neck, a drop of blood running down the column of his throat. Shit. He hadn't been fast enough. He sighed through his nose, angry at himself.

He'd been at the grocery store when it'd occured to him, walking around the house supplies and he saw they were selling mirrors. At first it didn't hit him. Then, he realized. He'd sprinted out and hit the gas of his car so hard it was almost flat against the concrete of the street. But he hadn't been as fast as she'd been. And now she had a piece of his mirror threatening to slice into his flesh and spill his blood. Great.

Helen had to be on her toes to speak to him in the ear. "Give me your gun," she ordered, pressing the glass harder. Dean hesitated, and she repeated the demand, "Give me your gun, now."

Well, as if it weren't messed up enough already, Dean found himself actually enjoying her superiority. He hadn't hesitated because he didn't want to give her his gun. He'd hesitated because his other "gun" was hard in his pants. And that freaked him out.

Eventually, he slowly took out the weapon and gave it to her. Weren't it the Viper holding the blade, he would have easily disarmed her. But she wasn't that easy to defeat, he knew that, so he didn't even try. Plus, disarming someone under normal circumstances was one thing. Disarming someone with a boner in your pants...well, that's not easy, okay?

Helen took the weapon and pressed it against his temple, without although removing the glass. Not because she needed it, but because she liked having it there. And she also had an excuse to be skin-to-skin with him. Double win.

"Good boy," she purred against his ear, purposely pressing her chest against his back.

Dean groaned. As usual, he wanted to kill her and fuck her at the same time. What the actual fuck. "Piss off," he grunted, and the blade pressed again on him. Another small cut on his neck, this time a little deeper.

"That's not the good boy I fancied," she joked. "Walk," she then said, her tone flat and the gun pointed at his spine, pushing him towards the kitchen.

"Easy," he says, hitting the table with his chest.

Helen rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Was I not delicate enough?" she said with rough voice. "Cuff yourself to the table," she added then.

Dean smirked, looking at her over his shoulder. "Kinky." When the blade pressed deeper, he said, "Okay, okay, fine!" and picked up the handcuffs.

"Quickly, pretty boy. I don't have all day," she pressed him, reminding him that the gun was still ready to shoot his back.

When he was cuffed to the table, he had a scowl on his face. He hated this. This impotence he had. It made him fucking furious. The look she had made him even angrier. She was grinning, looking at him from the front, not even threatening him anymore, silently insulting him by saying that he wasn't that dangerous after all. Bitch. "So, what now? You're gonna kill me?" he pushed, keeping his eyes in her. There was barely any humanity left in there.