FANFIC: Clear the Area, Ch 7: Preaching to the Choir
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC, Castiel, Kevin
Rating: R
Chapter Word Count: 3,683
Total Word Count: 18,050 (Complete)
Genre: Romance/Humor
Summary: This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OFC's shoes. Sorta set end of S8. AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker; everyone is healthy, and Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact. (Story title from appropriate Imogen Heap song.)
Author's Note: Not beta'd, any and all mistakes belong solely to me. This is the first Supernatural fanfic I've posted, so please let me know what you think! :)
Dean lifts you up and guides you to wrap your legs around his hips. (Not that you needed any encouragement, for the record.) For a moment, he just lets his eyes pass over your face, taking in every detail. You wonder if he's doing what you often do - saving the memory for a rainy day.
There's a softness in his eyes that you realize you've never seen before, and you take the time to appreciate its significance. He's opening up to you, letting you see the side he hides behind all the flirting and joking around. In essence, you're meeting the man you just agreed to date for the first time.
You smile at that and trace your fingertips along his right brow and down beside his eye, to the now-smooth place where the skin is usually creased in doubt or anger or laughter. He looks younger when he's not holding onto his mask.
Placing your hands on either side of his face, you bring your lips to his gently. He inhales deeply and leans into your kiss, but doesn't deepen it just yet. When you pull away, you press your forehead to his and run your fingers through his hair.
"There just aren't even words to describe how bad I want you," you assure breathlessly.
Dean smirks. "Preaching to the choir, babe. Been waiting a damned year for you to come to your senses."
You laugh at that and nod before wriggling free of his grasp and sliding down onto your feet. He makes a disappointed little sound in his throat and you arch a brow.
"You're wearing way too many layers," you explain. "Not fair when I'm wearing so little."
You slide his open-as-always button-down shirt over his shoulders and down his arms before letting it fall to the floor. You can't help but bite your bottom lip when you grab the bottom of his t-shirt. He holds up his arms as you pull it up the length of his torso. He chucks the shirt over his shoulder once he's free of it.
"God..." you groan when faced with his shirtless chest and stomach.
Dean chuckles and puts his hands on your hips, drawing you closer. "Sounds like I pass inspection."
"Uh-huh," you breathe. You trace your fingers along a still-pink scar on his chest, just a few inches below his ward tattoo. "I've been daydreaming about taking your shirt off ever since I dug the bullet outta here and stitched you up."
"Thought you took an awful long time working on that," he teases.
"Can't blame a girl for prolonging the view," you offer with a shrug.
You lean forward and press your lips to the scar. Dean reaches up and slides his hand into your hair, holding the back of your head and inhaling shakily - presumably at the restraint it's taking for him not to just throw your happy little ass on the bed already.
"Your turn," he urges as you pull away.
He inches your shirt up slowly, watching each new bit of skin as it is revealed to him. By the time your stomach is exposed, his expression is almost pained in its appreciation of your body.
"So worth the wait," he mutters before sliding your shirt the rest of the way off. He sucks in a deep breath between his teeth and chucks your shirt aside. "Ooh, red lace. And it's not even my birthday," he purrs, running his finger down the center of your bra, between your breasts. "This is new."
"How would you know?" You laugh.
"'Cause you wear white cotton bras. Panties, too. Even the thongs," he answers as if it's common knowledge.
You arch a brow, your expression thoroughly amused, but clearly conveying that you expect an explanation. When he tears his eyes away from your breasts long enough to notice you're staring at him, he shrugs and gives you a sly smile.
"What? I pay attention. Caught enough glimpses to paint a very graphic mental image," he assures. He licks his lips at the way your breath hitches when he teases your nipple through the lace. "Got a lot of miles outta that image, too. Believe me." After puckering his damnably sexy lips thoughtfully and considering it, he adds, "In fact, go with a white cotton set tomorrow. I got some long overdue plans for them."
"Whatever you want," you reply with a light laugh.
Leaning forward, he kisses his way across the tops of your breasts. Your mouth falls open slightly as you watch him work.
"Very sexy, baby. You buy this for me?" He asks before ducking his head to suck on each of your nipples through the lace.
Your head rolls back and you run your nails over his scalp while trying to maintain your powers of speech.
"Well... I... unngg... did buy it... because of you," you offer in a daze, cradling his head closer.
"That so?" He mutters against your skin before kissing his way back up your throat, bringing his lips to hover close to yours. "Why because of me?" He whispers as his eyes search yours intently.
"Picked it up after that night in the Poconos. Got me so damned hot for you, figured I'd need to wear it for somebody soon," you tease as he nips at your mouth.
(Pinned down by a Wendigo in the middle of a snow storm. Dean doing his best to convince you that there was only one way to beat hypothermia. It had been a loonnng night.)
"Hey, I was just trying to share body heat," he insists with a sly smile. He quickly pulls your body flush against his and says roughly into your ear, "And it'd never have been for anybody but me. Wouldn't have allowed it."
"It's all yours now," you assure breathlessly as he starts backing you towards the bed.
"Damned straight," he agrees, guiding you back to lay on the mattress. "All mine..." he whispers as he looks down at you.
You watch the subtly flexing muscles of his arms and chest as he leans down over your body and slides his hands down your sides. The roughness of his hands on your bare skin sends your heart racing. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and peels them off just as slowly as he did your shirt, pausing to nip at your calf before dropping them on the floor.
His eyes are practically smoldering as he stands upright. He bites his bottom lip and pauses briefly to take in the sight of you spread out before him in only a bra and panties.
"Baby, I hope you didn't have any plans for tomorrow," he says with a sexy smirk. "'Cause you are damned sure not getting out of this bed."
His hands go for his belt, seeking to keep you both in equal states of undress, but you reach out and stop him.
"Wait. Leave them on for now," you urge with a smile. In reply to his questioning look, you add, "Been dying to make out with you like this pretty much since the day we met."
Truth. The man can rock shirtless with a pair of jeans. About a week after the Brothers Winchester came crashing into your life, you walked into the garage and found Dean changing his shirt after an oil change. You'd nearly swallowed your own tongue.
"Oh, really?" He purrs in intrigue as he crawls onto the bed, settling his knees between your legs. He kisses you hungrily before pulling back and whispering against your lips, "Like this?"
"Mmm... exactly like this," you assure.
He takes his time kissing you, testing out every angle and depth, nipping playfully at your lips and chuckling as he dodges your attempts to nip back.
The feeling of him is as addictive as you anticipated it to be. His bare chest and back and arms are right above you, free for you to greedily explore with your roving hands. His warm, bare stomach is brushing against yours. His denim-clad hips are nestled perfectly in between your thighs. His hard-on is straining against his jeans, pressing into you through your red lace each time he rolls his hips.
As time passes and you memorize the taste of his lips, your need for him grows immeasurably stronger. When it gets to the point where the only lucid thought thundering through your mind on repeat is 'MORE,' you let your body do the talking.
You run your fingertips down his sides and over his ribs roughly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and draw his body down against you. You squeeze your legs tighter around his hips, grinding up against him as your kiss becomes starved.
Dean groans desperately into your mouth in reply. He gets the message loud and clear.
Somehow, he manages to unbuckle his belt, peel off his jeans, and shuck your bra, all while you're busy nibbling and sucking on his earlobe and throat. He grinds down against you and you moan his name at the increased intensity of the sensation. With his jeans now gone, only the thin cotton of his boxers and a scrap of lace stand between you.
He kisses his way roughly along your jaw, pausing to whisper into your ear, "Gotta taste you, baby. Gotta get my mouth on you..."
You give a quintessentially feminine breathy-moan in reply and nod eagerly. You think you might have managed to say "Okay" in a daze, too. No telling for sure, though, because your brain is locked on: Dean. Taste. Mouth. On. You.
Your trembling hands are still struggling to continue their explanation of his warm, soft skin as he begins his descent. You stroke and rake your nails lightly over his shoulders as he leaves a trail of hot, wet, biting kisses down your chest. He takes his time on each of your breasts, thoroughly teasing and sucking at each nipple as if becoming formally acquainted with them. ("Hi. I'm Dean. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together, trust me.")
You prop yourself up when he reaches your stomach, not wanting to miss a second of this show. Your hands are on his neck now, kneading the muscle and struggling not to urge him on.
Dean pauses at your side, chuckling victoriously when he discovers that you're ticklish. He rolls his tongue against your skin, apparently pleased with the squirming you give in response.
He looks up at you, keeping your gazes locked. His green eyes are bright with need as he kisses his way down your hip and the inside of your thigh. Each hot, open-mouthed kiss brings him steadily closer to where his touch is so urgently needed, but he stays just beyond the red lace border.
You grip the covers beside you and pant, pupils blown wide with want. Your knees are quaking in anticipation. When you finally groan in impatience, finally let your head roll back and eyes close, you feel his fingers slide beneath the lace.
You moan and squeeze your eyes closed as he strokes you lightly.
"Already soaked for me," he groans against your thigh.
You somehow manage to open your eyes and look down at him again. His full lips are locked on the flesh of your inner thigh as he sucks hard enough to leave one hell of a mark. A brand. A tag that clearly reads: 'Dean was here.'
His gaze is locked between your legs on the spectacle of slow, stroking torture that he's currently administering. You watch his now red, kiss-swollen lips release their hold on your skin to form a silent, 'Ooohh...' as he slowly presses two fingers inside of you.
The whimper you give in response is just about as desperate-sounding as a whimper can be.
"Yeah, baby girl. That feel good?" He growls, pressing deeper and crooking his fingers, hitting your G-spot as if he'd been given GPS coordinates in advance.
"Mmm-hmm. Oh God," you moan.
He smiles and licks his lips, stroking slowly and exactly the way your body needs him to. He's attentive, patient, and precise - much the same way he is when cleaning his weapons... And now you'll never be able to watch him do that again without getting turned on.
"Come on, baby," he coaxes as your body tenses.
"Dean," you whimper and grab his shoulder, squeezing it gradually tighter as the pleasure low in your belly builds stronger and stronger.
How... No, rather, WHY in the hell did you put this off for so long?
"Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean..." you pant incoherently and finally trail off in a long moan as your orgasm hits, slow and strong.
"That's it. Come for me," he growls.
You lose your self in the moment. All of your senses are drowned out by the wave of pleasure he just unleashed. You're only vaguely aware of your surroundings, of the fact that you're moaning into the pillow that you pulled over to you at some point.
Gradually, you start to come back to reality.
You pry your eyes open and look down to find Dean grinning up at you triumphantly.
"Hey," he greets. "So... three years, huh?"
You laugh and nod, knowing better than to even attempt to speak.
"Then we got a lot of time to make up for. Now, where was I?" He teases before leaning forward and pressing his mouth against the soaked red lace of your panties.
You groan and writhe appreciatively.
He hooks his fingers beneath the sides of your panties and slides them down over your thighs, guiding you to raise your legs up so he won't have to move away to get them off. He tosses them over his shoulder without a second glance.
After a year of chasing you, he finally has you completely naked, wet, eager, and ready for him.
"God damn, girl," he groans and grinds his hips down against the mattress, reflexively seeking any kind of friction. His mouth is on you as soon as the words have left his lips.
You are fairly certain that everyone in the bunker must think you're being murdered in that moment. You just don't give a damn.
Dean grabs your hips and pulls you closer, crushing his mouth against you as if he's starving for it. He urges you to wrap your legs around his head, and hell if you're gonna argue. His tongue delves inside of you, swirling and thrusting.
You throw your head back, crying out as you grip his hair with both hands. When he moves up and latches onto your clit, it's all over. Less than a minute of his rhythmic sucking and you're done.
You come screaming Dean's name, the Lord Almighty's name, babbling incoherently about how good he is, and God only knows what else. There may have been some Latin in there. It's a good thing you don't know any state secrets because you'd totally have spilled it all.
When you open your eyes, Dean is kicking off his boxers. He's breathing heavily, his eyes wild with need as he crawls up the length of your body.
You reach out and press a hand to his chest. He already got you off twice and you haven't had a chance to return the favor. When you try to slide your hand down his stomach toward his cock, he snatches your wrist and hisses.
"Don't. Next time," he grinds out.
You take another look at the ravenous need in his gaze and nod. He's trying too hard to hold back as it is. If you start using your hands and mouth on him now, he's not gonna last.
As if suddenly remembering something, he starts to climb off of the bed. You grab his hand. He smirks and says, "Condom," so you grudgingly relent.
Since you two are going to be exclusive moving forward, you'll have to talk about that. If you can play werewolf bait, you can damned well have sex with Dean Winchester without a condom. So not the most dangerous thing you'll have ever done. Especially as cautious as he is (and has undoubtedly always been about sex.)
But that's a discussion for later.
He's back in a flash. You can't help but let your eyes rake over his naked body hungrily while he tears open the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom down his length.
"God, just get inside me already," you moan.
Dean laughs and nods. "Read my mind."
He leans down and kisses you deeply, growling into your mouth as he begins slowly sliding into you. You grip his shoulders and kiss him back frantically, maddened by the feeling of him filling you up.
"So fuckin' tight," he mutters against your mouth breathlessly and it's the sexiest thing you've ever heard.
You wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, trying to hurry him along, but he takes it nice and slow until finally, he's bottomed out. He stops and presses his forehead to your lips, giving himself a moment to calm down and slow his breathing before moving.
"You feel so good, babe," you moan against his brow. "I am never getting out of this bed with you."
The sensation of having him buried inside of you is sinfully exquisite. You've never felt something so perfect. You could literally do nothing but have sex with him for the rest of your life and you'd die a perfectly happy woman.
"Deal," Dean chuckles before pulling away enough to look down into your eyes. He keeps your gazes locked as he slides out slowly. He bites his bottom lip before thrusting back into you.
"Ung..." you manage, and when he pulls out again, almost completely, you move with him. You find a rhythm quickly - not too fast, not too slow - the two of you watching the building pleasure in each other's features as you move together.
Dean is even sexier than ever (if that's possible) when he's on the verge of coming. His mouth hangs open slightly. His brows are drawn together and features are twisted in an almost pained expression. His eyelids are heavy. His cheeks are flushed. He keeps breathing your name in barely more than a whisper. His face and body are covered in a sheen of sweat - just enough to make it hot and slippery as you clutch at one another.
He reaches up and slides his hand into your hair, getting a firm grip and pulling back slightly, just enough to tilt your head and offer your lips up to him. His pace quickens as he ravishes your mouth with his. Every muscle in his body is tensed and trembling as he gets close to the edge.
"Come on, Dean. Come inside me, babe," you purr as you gaze up into those wild green eyes. "Harder. Give it to me, Dean."
The growl of approval he gives, as well as the way he completely abandons all attempts to hold back, tell you that those were the magic words.
His body slams against yours, and you meet him thrust for thrust, desperate to feel him lose control. More desperate for him to finish than you are for your own release. He's groaning and panting in your ear, kissing and biting your mouth and your jaw and your throat, telling you how good it feels, how hot and wet and tight and perfect, telling you that he's close... that he's gonna...
He wraps his arms around you, gripping you tightly to his chest and burying himself inside of you as his entire body goes rigid. You get off just from the sounds he makes as he comes. The feeling of him throbbing deep inside of you is just the icing on the cake.
You're glad you're not the only one who blacks out for this round. When you finally open your eyes, you realize that Dean's still got you wrapped up in his arms. He's still panting and moaning and kissing the side of your neck. You smile contentedly at that and close your eyes, reveling in the moment.
It takes him another minute or two before he rolls over onto his side, but he drags you along with him. With the absolute bare minimum of movement and space between you, he pulls out and tosses the condom in the trash. You're thankful he's able to do so without getting out of bed, because you're not planning on letting him go any time soon.
Dean nuzzles his nose into your hair and kisses your temple. "At least a day in this bed. You in?"
"All in," you answer with a smile before kissing him sweetly.
A/N: Happy Holidays! Consider this my gift for you lovely reviewers and readers :) Let me know what you think! Reviews are the only gifts I request in return. LOL
This is currently the end of the story. I might be persuaded to return to this verse for an epilogue or another story if there is enough interest from readers. So, if you want more, be sure to review!
Sorry for the delay, BTW. Started a new job and Dean was being extremely chatty when I tried to lay this chapter out. LOL I was doing the 'Now Kiss!' thing, but he just wanted to joke and flirt. Wanted to wait until I could see the scene before I wrote it. Hope it paid off and you were able to imagine it all clearly!
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC, Castiel, Kevin
Rating: R
Chapter Word Count: 3,683
Total Word Count: 18,050 (Complete)
Genre: Romance/Humor
Summary: This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OFC's shoes. Sorta set end of S8. AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker; everyone is healthy, and Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact. (Story title from appropriate Imogen Heap song.)
Author's Note: Not beta'd, any and all mistakes belong solely to me. This is the first Supernatural fanfic I've posted, so please let me know what you think! :)
Dean lifts you up and guides you to wrap your legs around his hips. (Not that you needed any encouragement, for the record.) For a moment, he just lets his eyes pass over your face, taking in every detail. You wonder if he's doing what you often do - saving the memory for a rainy day.
There's a softness in his eyes that you realize you've never seen before, and you take the time to appreciate its significance. He's opening up to you, letting you see the side he hides behind all the flirting and joking around. In essence, you're meeting the man you just agreed to date for the first time.
You smile at that and trace your fingertips along his right brow and down beside his eye, to the now-smooth place where the skin is usually creased in doubt or anger or laughter. He looks younger when he's not holding onto his mask.
Placing your hands on either side of his face, you bring your lips to his gently. He inhales deeply and leans into your kiss, but doesn't deepen it just yet. When you pull away, you press your forehead to his and run your fingers through his hair.
"There just aren't even words to describe how bad I want you," you assure breathlessly.
Dean smirks. "Preaching to the choir, babe. Been waiting a damned year for you to come to your senses."
You laugh at that and nod before wriggling free of his grasp and sliding down onto your feet. He makes a disappointed little sound in his throat and you arch a brow.
"You're wearing way too many layers," you explain. "Not fair when I'm wearing so little."
You slide his open-as-always button-down shirt over his shoulders and down his arms before letting it fall to the floor. You can't help but bite your bottom lip when you grab the bottom of his t-shirt. He holds up his arms as you pull it up the length of his torso. He chucks the shirt over his shoulder once he's free of it.
"God..." you groan when faced with his shirtless chest and stomach.
Dean chuckles and puts his hands on your hips, drawing you closer. "Sounds like I pass inspection."
"Uh-huh," you breathe. You trace your fingers along a still-pink scar on his chest, just a few inches below his ward tattoo. "I've been daydreaming about taking your shirt off ever since I dug the bullet outta here and stitched you up."
"Thought you took an awful long time working on that," he teases.
"Can't blame a girl for prolonging the view," you offer with a shrug.
You lean forward and press your lips to the scar. Dean reaches up and slides his hand into your hair, holding the back of your head and inhaling shakily - presumably at the restraint it's taking for him not to just throw your happy little ass on the bed already.
"Your turn," he urges as you pull away.
He inches your shirt up slowly, watching each new bit of skin as it is revealed to him. By the time your stomach is exposed, his expression is almost pained in its appreciation of your body.
"So worth the wait," he mutters before sliding your shirt the rest of the way off. He sucks in a deep breath between his teeth and chucks your shirt aside. "Ooh, red lace. And it's not even my birthday," he purrs, running his finger down the center of your bra, between your breasts. "This is new."
"How would you know?" You laugh.
"'Cause you wear white cotton bras. Panties, too. Even the thongs," he answers as if it's common knowledge.
You arch a brow, your expression thoroughly amused, but clearly conveying that you expect an explanation. When he tears his eyes away from your breasts long enough to notice you're staring at him, he shrugs and gives you a sly smile.
"What? I pay attention. Caught enough glimpses to paint a very graphic mental image," he assures. He licks his lips at the way your breath hitches when he teases your nipple through the lace. "Got a lot of miles outta that image, too. Believe me." After puckering his damnably sexy lips thoughtfully and considering it, he adds, "In fact, go with a white cotton set tomorrow. I got some long overdue plans for them."
"Whatever you want," you reply with a light laugh.
Leaning forward, he kisses his way across the tops of your breasts. Your mouth falls open slightly as you watch him work.
"Very sexy, baby. You buy this for me?" He asks before ducking his head to suck on each of your nipples through the lace.
Your head rolls back and you run your nails over his scalp while trying to maintain your powers of speech.
"Well... I... unngg... did buy it... because of you," you offer in a daze, cradling his head closer.
"That so?" He mutters against your skin before kissing his way back up your throat, bringing his lips to hover close to yours. "Why because of me?" He whispers as his eyes search yours intently.
"Picked it up after that night in the Poconos. Got me so damned hot for you, figured I'd need to wear it for somebody soon," you tease as he nips at your mouth.
(Pinned down by a Wendigo in the middle of a snow storm. Dean doing his best to convince you that there was only one way to beat hypothermia. It had been a loonnng night.)
"Hey, I was just trying to share body heat," he insists with a sly smile. He quickly pulls your body flush against his and says roughly into your ear, "And it'd never have been for anybody but me. Wouldn't have allowed it."
"It's all yours now," you assure breathlessly as he starts backing you towards the bed.
"Damned straight," he agrees, guiding you back to lay on the mattress. "All mine..." he whispers as he looks down at you.
You watch the subtly flexing muscles of his arms and chest as he leans down over your body and slides his hands down your sides. The roughness of his hands on your bare skin sends your heart racing. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and peels them off just as slowly as he did your shirt, pausing to nip at your calf before dropping them on the floor.
His eyes are practically smoldering as he stands upright. He bites his bottom lip and pauses briefly to take in the sight of you spread out before him in only a bra and panties.
"Baby, I hope you didn't have any plans for tomorrow," he says with a sexy smirk. "'Cause you are damned sure not getting out of this bed."
His hands go for his belt, seeking to keep you both in equal states of undress, but you reach out and stop him.
"Wait. Leave them on for now," you urge with a smile. In reply to his questioning look, you add, "Been dying to make out with you like this pretty much since the day we met."
Truth. The man can rock shirtless with a pair of jeans. About a week after the Brothers Winchester came crashing into your life, you walked into the garage and found Dean changing his shirt after an oil change. You'd nearly swallowed your own tongue.
"Oh, really?" He purrs in intrigue as he crawls onto the bed, settling his knees between your legs. He kisses you hungrily before pulling back and whispering against your lips, "Like this?"
"Mmm... exactly like this," you assure.
He takes his time kissing you, testing out every angle and depth, nipping playfully at your lips and chuckling as he dodges your attempts to nip back.
The feeling of him is as addictive as you anticipated it to be. His bare chest and back and arms are right above you, free for you to greedily explore with your roving hands. His warm, bare stomach is brushing against yours. His denim-clad hips are nestled perfectly in between your thighs. His hard-on is straining against his jeans, pressing into you through your red lace each time he rolls his hips.
As time passes and you memorize the taste of his lips, your need for him grows immeasurably stronger. When it gets to the point where the only lucid thought thundering through your mind on repeat is 'MORE,' you let your body do the talking.
You run your fingertips down his sides and over his ribs roughly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and draw his body down against you. You squeeze your legs tighter around his hips, grinding up against him as your kiss becomes starved.
Dean groans desperately into your mouth in reply. He gets the message loud and clear.
Somehow, he manages to unbuckle his belt, peel off his jeans, and shuck your bra, all while you're busy nibbling and sucking on his earlobe and throat. He grinds down against you and you moan his name at the increased intensity of the sensation. With his jeans now gone, only the thin cotton of his boxers and a scrap of lace stand between you.
He kisses his way roughly along your jaw, pausing to whisper into your ear, "Gotta taste you, baby. Gotta get my mouth on you..."
You give a quintessentially feminine breathy-moan in reply and nod eagerly. You think you might have managed to say "Okay" in a daze, too. No telling for sure, though, because your brain is locked on: Dean. Taste. Mouth. On. You.
Your trembling hands are still struggling to continue their explanation of his warm, soft skin as he begins his descent. You stroke and rake your nails lightly over his shoulders as he leaves a trail of hot, wet, biting kisses down your chest. He takes his time on each of your breasts, thoroughly teasing and sucking at each nipple as if becoming formally acquainted with them. ("Hi. I'm Dean. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together, trust me.")
You prop yourself up when he reaches your stomach, not wanting to miss a second of this show. Your hands are on his neck now, kneading the muscle and struggling not to urge him on.
Dean pauses at your side, chuckling victoriously when he discovers that you're ticklish. He rolls his tongue against your skin, apparently pleased with the squirming you give in response.
He looks up at you, keeping your gazes locked. His green eyes are bright with need as he kisses his way down your hip and the inside of your thigh. Each hot, open-mouthed kiss brings him steadily closer to where his touch is so urgently needed, but he stays just beyond the red lace border.
You grip the covers beside you and pant, pupils blown wide with want. Your knees are quaking in anticipation. When you finally groan in impatience, finally let your head roll back and eyes close, you feel his fingers slide beneath the lace.
You moan and squeeze your eyes closed as he strokes you lightly.
"Already soaked for me," he groans against your thigh.
You somehow manage to open your eyes and look down at him again. His full lips are locked on the flesh of your inner thigh as he sucks hard enough to leave one hell of a mark. A brand. A tag that clearly reads: 'Dean was here.'
His gaze is locked between your legs on the spectacle of slow, stroking torture that he's currently administering. You watch his now red, kiss-swollen lips release their hold on your skin to form a silent, 'Ooohh...' as he slowly presses two fingers inside of you.
The whimper you give in response is just about as desperate-sounding as a whimper can be.
"Yeah, baby girl. That feel good?" He growls, pressing deeper and crooking his fingers, hitting your G-spot as if he'd been given GPS coordinates in advance.
"Mmm-hmm. Oh God," you moan.
He smiles and licks his lips, stroking slowly and exactly the way your body needs him to. He's attentive, patient, and precise - much the same way he is when cleaning his weapons... And now you'll never be able to watch him do that again without getting turned on.
"Come on, baby," he coaxes as your body tenses.
"Dean," you whimper and grab his shoulder, squeezing it gradually tighter as the pleasure low in your belly builds stronger and stronger.
How... No, rather, WHY in the hell did you put this off for so long?
"Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean..." you pant incoherently and finally trail off in a long moan as your orgasm hits, slow and strong.
"That's it. Come for me," he growls.
You lose your self in the moment. All of your senses are drowned out by the wave of pleasure he just unleashed. You're only vaguely aware of your surroundings, of the fact that you're moaning into the pillow that you pulled over to you at some point.
Gradually, you start to come back to reality.
You pry your eyes open and look down to find Dean grinning up at you triumphantly.
"Hey," he greets. "So... three years, huh?"
You laugh and nod, knowing better than to even attempt to speak.
"Then we got a lot of time to make up for. Now, where was I?" He teases before leaning forward and pressing his mouth against the soaked red lace of your panties.
You groan and writhe appreciatively.
He hooks his fingers beneath the sides of your panties and slides them down over your thighs, guiding you to raise your legs up so he won't have to move away to get them off. He tosses them over his shoulder without a second glance.
After a year of chasing you, he finally has you completely naked, wet, eager, and ready for him.
"God damn, girl," he groans and grinds his hips down against the mattress, reflexively seeking any kind of friction. His mouth is on you as soon as the words have left his lips.
You are fairly certain that everyone in the bunker must think you're being murdered in that moment. You just don't give a damn.
Dean grabs your hips and pulls you closer, crushing his mouth against you as if he's starving for it. He urges you to wrap your legs around his head, and hell if you're gonna argue. His tongue delves inside of you, swirling and thrusting.
You throw your head back, crying out as you grip his hair with both hands. When he moves up and latches onto your clit, it's all over. Less than a minute of his rhythmic sucking and you're done.
You come screaming Dean's name, the Lord Almighty's name, babbling incoherently about how good he is, and God only knows what else. There may have been some Latin in there. It's a good thing you don't know any state secrets because you'd totally have spilled it all.
When you open your eyes, Dean is kicking off his boxers. He's breathing heavily, his eyes wild with need as he crawls up the length of your body.
You reach out and press a hand to his chest. He already got you off twice and you haven't had a chance to return the favor. When you try to slide your hand down his stomach toward his cock, he snatches your wrist and hisses.
"Don't. Next time," he grinds out.
You take another look at the ravenous need in his gaze and nod. He's trying too hard to hold back as it is. If you start using your hands and mouth on him now, he's not gonna last.
As if suddenly remembering something, he starts to climb off of the bed. You grab his hand. He smirks and says, "Condom," so you grudgingly relent.
Since you two are going to be exclusive moving forward, you'll have to talk about that. If you can play werewolf bait, you can damned well have sex with Dean Winchester without a condom. So not the most dangerous thing you'll have ever done. Especially as cautious as he is (and has undoubtedly always been about sex.)
But that's a discussion for later.
He's back in a flash. You can't help but let your eyes rake over his naked body hungrily while he tears open the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom down his length.
"God, just get inside me already," you moan.
Dean laughs and nods. "Read my mind."
He leans down and kisses you deeply, growling into your mouth as he begins slowly sliding into you. You grip his shoulders and kiss him back frantically, maddened by the feeling of him filling you up.
"So fuckin' tight," he mutters against your mouth breathlessly and it's the sexiest thing you've ever heard.
You wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, trying to hurry him along, but he takes it nice and slow until finally, he's bottomed out. He stops and presses his forehead to your lips, giving himself a moment to calm down and slow his breathing before moving.
"You feel so good, babe," you moan against his brow. "I am never getting out of this bed with you."
The sensation of having him buried inside of you is sinfully exquisite. You've never felt something so perfect. You could literally do nothing but have sex with him for the rest of your life and you'd die a perfectly happy woman.
"Deal," Dean chuckles before pulling away enough to look down into your eyes. He keeps your gazes locked as he slides out slowly. He bites his bottom lip before thrusting back into you.
"Ung..." you manage, and when he pulls out again, almost completely, you move with him. You find a rhythm quickly - not too fast, not too slow - the two of you watching the building pleasure in each other's features as you move together.
Dean is even sexier than ever (if that's possible) when he's on the verge of coming. His mouth hangs open slightly. His brows are drawn together and features are twisted in an almost pained expression. His eyelids are heavy. His cheeks are flushed. He keeps breathing your name in barely more than a whisper. His face and body are covered in a sheen of sweat - just enough to make it hot and slippery as you clutch at one another.
He reaches up and slides his hand into your hair, getting a firm grip and pulling back slightly, just enough to tilt your head and offer your lips up to him. His pace quickens as he ravishes your mouth with his. Every muscle in his body is tensed and trembling as he gets close to the edge.
"Come on, Dean. Come inside me, babe," you purr as you gaze up into those wild green eyes. "Harder. Give it to me, Dean."
The growl of approval he gives, as well as the way he completely abandons all attempts to hold back, tell you that those were the magic words.
His body slams against yours, and you meet him thrust for thrust, desperate to feel him lose control. More desperate for him to finish than you are for your own release. He's groaning and panting in your ear, kissing and biting your mouth and your jaw and your throat, telling you how good it feels, how hot and wet and tight and perfect, telling you that he's close... that he's gonna...
He wraps his arms around you, gripping you tightly to his chest and burying himself inside of you as his entire body goes rigid. You get off just from the sounds he makes as he comes. The feeling of him throbbing deep inside of you is just the icing on the cake.
You're glad you're not the only one who blacks out for this round. When you finally open your eyes, you realize that Dean's still got you wrapped up in his arms. He's still panting and moaning and kissing the side of your neck. You smile contentedly at that and close your eyes, reveling in the moment.
It takes him another minute or two before he rolls over onto his side, but he drags you along with him. With the absolute bare minimum of movement and space between you, he pulls out and tosses the condom in the trash. You're thankful he's able to do so without getting out of bed, because you're not planning on letting him go any time soon.
Dean nuzzles his nose into your hair and kisses your temple. "At least a day in this bed. You in?"
"All in," you answer with a smile before kissing him sweetly.
A/N: Happy Holidays! Consider this my gift for you lovely reviewers and readers :) Let me know what you think! Reviews are the only gifts I request in return. LOL
This is currently the end of the story. I might be persuaded to return to this verse for an epilogue or another story if there is enough interest from readers. So, if you want more, be sure to review!
Sorry for the delay, BTW. Started a new job and Dean was being extremely chatty when I tried to lay this chapter out. LOL I was doing the 'Now Kiss!' thing, but he just wanted to joke and flirt. Wanted to wait until I could see the scene before I wrote it. Hope it paid off and you were able to imagine it all clearly!