Venom

009

On Wednesday, Dean was wasted. With twenty minutes of sleep behind, his eyes hardly stayed open as he tried to focus on the meeting.

He hadn't been listening to anything, simply chucking down gallons of coffee. His colleagues seemed fresh and ready to run a marathon, while the only marathon he was ready to undertake was the second phase of Marvel movies.

After ending the call with Helen - who'd told him to go to sleep - he'd stayed awake two more hours to finish Avengers. Being the CEO meant he could go in at nine instead of seven, and no one would complain.

"So, Mr. Warren, what do you think?" a man said. What do I think about what? "Mr. Warren?" he insisted.

Dean looked up. "I will... have to think about it." AKA, he would check the security cameras and listen to the whole meeting again. "The meeting is over. Gentlemen," he dismissed them and left the room, going back to his office, where he landed on his couch and closed his eyes. He could sleep for a couple minutes.

~~~

At ten o'clock, Helen was knocking on Dean's office's doors. Chris wasn't on the floor, so she had no idea what to do when Dean didn't answer.

She knocked again. Nothing.

Sighing, she opened one door and walked inside.

Dean was on his stomach sleeping on the black leather couch, his breaths the only sound in the room.

He seemed so peaceful. So vulnerable and innocent. He almost looked like a child, weren't it for his broad shoulders shifting as he turned his head. His jacket had been thrown on the floor and his tie was on the back of the couch.

Helen didn't know what to do. She knew they had a call with an Italian client in about thirty minutes, but he seemed so calm, and she knew he was tired.
Derek used to tell Helen she didn't have a heart, and she wondered if that was still true even as she smiled at the sight of Dean deeply asleep.

She took a step towards the couch, her boots muffling the sound of the soles clapping on the floor. "Mr. Warren?" she called him in a whisper. He didn't move. "Mr. Warren?" she repeated, taking a few more steps. Now she was standing above him, towering his massive body with her petit one.

Dean stayed still, sleeping like a baby. Helen licked her lips and swallowed. "Dean." She lifted her hand, gently shaking his shoulder. He hummed, turning his head towards the back of the couch, but didn't wake up. She brathed a laugh. "Dean, wake up," she called him again, crouching in front of him, facing his nape. She bit her lip, stopping her hand before doing something stupid. But she wanted to do it so bad. Oh, fuck it.

She lifted her hand again, briefly brushing her fingers through Dean's soft hair. The dark strands caressed her skin like paintbrushes, and she loved how it felt to have her hand buried in his hair. It was so soft and silky she could keep touching it for eternity and never get tired of it. "Dean," she said again, still stroking his hair.

He hummed. "Five minutes," he muttered on the cushions. Helen stopped her hand as she chuckled. "No, don't stop," he said, reaching for her. "Don't stop," he repeated. He never wanted her to stop. He wanted to feel her touch on him for the rest of his miserable life. He wanted this moment to last years and years and years.

Helen kept caressing his hair, tracing small circles on his scalp. "We have work to do." She hated saying this, but she had to.

He didn't want to hear about it. Not in a lifetime. Work could wait. "Later. Keep going."

"Dean," she laughed. He was being a child.

"Keep going and be a good girl for me."

Yeah, no longer a child. Her hand stilled, then started moving again. "I told you to sleep yesterday."