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She chucks a punch to his shoulder at the wink -- she likes this. Faith likes the ease of talking shop to someone who knows. She's...got a friend. And that's actually nice. Shit, those shrinks in the pen really did a number on her, didn't they?

"So, like, how many evil suckers you think you've killed, total?"

Faith reaches forward for her drink again, intent on moving to a third soon.

Dean thinks about it a long time and then shakes his head. "No idea. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand by now. It used to be really important." When he was trying to impress his Dad.

"At some point...it just wasn't." He takes a long drink of his beer. "You?"

"Shit, well, usually get at least two vamps a day. Toss in like, all the ones from the Hellmouth, I dunno. Five...six large, maybe?"

Now Dean gets the wink, while Faith shrugs. "Around here, been a lot more. Just ... figure it's almost pointless, you know?"

Dean raises an eyebrow, frowns a bit and nods. "Nice."

He watches her a moment and then nods. "Yeah. They just keep coming here. It's not like you ever make much difference."

"At least it still feels good killing 'em, though. Can't imagine the miles of wound up and stir crazy I'd hit if it didn't."

Something's still missing though, and even though she can feel it, Faith doesn't really know what it actually might be. Which means of course that she should fill it with boos, death and sex. Good thing there are like-minded individuals in the City.

"Ever wonder if anything'll actually change around here? I mean, a good one. Permanently."

Dean chuckles a bit. he may not be a slayer but he still gets that. "Yeah, sort of helps work out the crazies."

Always valid ways to fill up those holes inside that never really get filled up. Dean's been doing that since forever.

"I don't know. Shit just seems to stay shit 'round here. Can't really hate the place though."

Not that she can't. He's got his own personalized reasons for liking the City.

"Could be worse."

And to illustrate her point, Faith turns to plant a hand on Dean's chest and lean in to attack his mouth. They'd done enough talking, he's done enough drinking and she's tired of just sitting there.

Dean is absolutely okay with this turn of events. His hands go to her hips and he leans back against the couch, willing to let her take over. It's how things with them go and it's a relief really. He doesn't have to think with Faith, just go with the flow.

That's a definite go, and she takes the opportunity to climb fully into Dean's lap. He's the right amount of pliant and cocky to make this work; plus the lack of expecting anything more than a roll in the sheets doesn't hurt.

She presses his hands into her hips harder even as she rolls her own and gives a quick bite at his lip. For her, it's never the right kind of satisfying without a little pain in the mix.

Since his trip to Hell, things can get a whole lot darker for Dean and he's okay with that. It's one of the appeals of sex with Faith. He never gets worried looks from her for enjoying the little bit of pain with it. He groans when she bites his lip and grips her hips hard enough to bruise most girls. He knows she probably won't bruise. In the middle of returning the kiss, he bites back, just a bit too hard for most people.

That's the green light she's looking for, prompting her to grab at the bottom of his shirt and pull. Whether it comes off over his head or rips off entirely, she doesn't care; the point here is skin on skin.

Once it's removed, her nails dig into Dean's chest like the Earth is going to shake them off and he's the only thing she's got to hang onto.

"C'mon Winchester. Not gonna break." It had stung a little, but there was fun in challenging him.

Dean isn't really particular how it's coming off. He doesn't even notice at this point. He's busy fumbling with her shirt to get it off. He gasps a little in pain at first and then groans with pleasure. As much as he's hating himself and life today, this is exactly what he needed. He'll have bruises and scratches later but he doesn't care.

If she wanted some pain, Dean was entirely capable of dealing it out and there was something in him that even enjoyed it. People didn't spend forty years in hell and come out fluffy and shiny. He dips his head, biting the meaty curve of her neck hard enough to draw a little blood. He licks at it more with frenzy and need then with apology.

She gasps, not willing to give him the satisfaction of actually crying out in pain, and reacts with instinct. It's not a particularly soft hit, but it's less than full and Dean's taken enough beatings that it likely barely registers as purposeful.

It's a good release, the mixture of pleasure and the contrast of letting someone hurt her deliberately but not having to actually fight for her life. Dean's good at providing her a different sort of adrenaline than she's used to.

Sure, maybe it's a bit of a cliche but it's not school girl uniforms and bull whips. Where most men had to try to be darker and deeper than they really were, Dean tried to hide it most of the time. But here, he could match hers, toe to toe. Another pretty face was one thing, and it wasn't like she was looking to buy a house and pop a few out.

Faith laughs, maybe a little awkwardly, as equal parts apology and challenge. She grabs at his belt buckle and leans back in order to work it off of him. It's more work than the fastening on his pants, which she finds no trouble in getting undone.

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