Those Two Boys - II
Title: Those Two Boys - II
Characters: Dean, Sam, You (Yes, you! Lucky girl!)
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Warnings: Het PWP There isn’t plot, but there is character development for those who like that too. Oh, there's a teeny reference near the end to rimming, but please don't let that turn you off, ok?
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean belong to people that are not me. You, well, you belong to you.
A/N: A companion piece to Those Two Boys - which is an outside POV of the Winchesters. You don’t need to read that to understand this, but it might entertain you at least.
You meet that boy in a bar three towns over. It’s a long weekend and you’re visiting your cousin. She dresses you up, plucks your eyebrows, does your makeup, loans you a dress and convinces you that this is a good idea.
You’re drinking your second, maybe third beer when you see him, bending over the pool table, black t-shirt stretching tight between his shoulders as he lines up a shot. He catches you looking at him and winks at you. You blush and look away.
Later, he is standing next to you. His arm brushes yours as he lifts his drink off the bar, and grins when you startle at his touch. He turns to face you, leans on the bar and takes a pull of his beer, never taking his gaze off you. His eyes travel up and down your body; he doesn’t even try to be subtle or coy about it. You feel the heat of his gaze, almost outraged at his blatant suggestiveness. He looks directly into your eyes, daring you to reprove him, but you say nothing.
Years from now, you will barely recall the details of the exchange between you, but somehow you end up kissing him against the side of the building, his body pressing against yours, his hands hot on your waist. You let him pull you back to his motel room, stopping to kiss every few steps. You are not smashed, yet you’re staggering, intoxicated by this stranger’s kiss.
Once you are inside his room, he pushes you up against the wall. You can feel his erection press against you. You feel hot, dazed and excited. You have never done this before. You tug his jacket off, yank his t-shirt over his head. His body is firm and muscular. He watches you as you look at him, running your fingers over his abs. He pushes back from you for a moment; he pulls his boots off, removes his belt. You bite your lip and try to remain calm.
When he moves forward again, he turns you, flips you away from him, his chest against your back. For a moment, you feel fear burst through you, your in a room with a stranger, pinned from behind. Then you feel him carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck and the anxiety melts away.
You feel his breath stir the little hairs at the nape of your neck as he stands behind you. It tickles, thrills you. He slowly pulls your zipper down and you feel cold as the air hits your bare skin, raising goosebumps. His fingers slip under the fabric, over your shoulders, grazing your arms as he draws the straps down your arms. The dress falls to the floor and you shiver slightly. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, warm and a little moist.
He lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bed. You feel shy, try to casually hide your exposed breasts. He shakes his head, pulls gently at your wrists. He doesn’t want you to cover yourself. He whispers that you are beautiful.
He lays on his side next to you, propped on his elbow. He drags his fingertips over your skin and traces his tongue over your breasts. He licks carefully around your areola, like a kitten lapping milk. He draws your nipple between his teeth and suckles softly. First the right, then the left.
His left hand slides between your breasts, over your belly, over your panties. His touch is gentle and soft. Slow and easy. He rubs at the heat between your legs. You bite your lip to stifle the noises you feel bubbling inside you. Your breath catches and he nuzzles your neck with his nose. Nips on your earlobe.
He rolls himself on top of you, one thigh between yours. He bends his knee, pushes down, pushing your groin against his leg. It feels good and you want more. You move to spread your legs a little wider. He takes it as an invitation to settle between your knees. He kisses you deeply and you can barely concentrate on what’s happening. You hear heavy breathing, but you can’t tell if it’s yours or his, maybe both.
He sits back, his hands gliding down your sides, thumbs hooking into your panties. You feel yourself blush as he pulls down, lifts your hips and moves to slide them off you. He settles back between your thighs and you let your hips roll up against him. He smiles against your mouth. Kisses you, moves down your body. He passes your navel and doesn’t stop. You know where this is going and you have no idea what to do. Should you stop this? You don’t want to. You want to know how it feels.
His tongue lays a wet stripe over you, flat and wide. You tense a little, but then relax as he begins to swirl and lave. He circles and licks and laps and nuzzles. Your hands move to his head, guiding him to where it feels good. You feel one finger, then two. He thrusts slow and twists, in and out gently. He knows what he’s doing, even if you don’t.
You watch as he opens the condom packet, rolls it over his length and then guides it towards your entrance. You feel your eyes widen with anticipation, and although you don’t know him, you trust him completely. You tilt your hips to help the angle and you feel everything as he pushes forward.
When he meets resistance, he says nothing. Simply smiles and kisses you, pulling back slightly. He nudges forward again and you dig your heels into his thighs, coaxing him forward. You feel a burn; not discomfort, not pleasure and then he is inside you. He starts slow, small rolls of his hips, but he begins to move faster, his pelvis rubs against your clit on each stroke. It feels good. Really good. You can feel the pressure mounting, but couldn’t describe what you need. You just hold tighter with your fingers, your feet, your moans.
His breathing gets ragged. You watch his face as it twists and contorts. It almost looks like he is in pain, like this hurts. He opens his eyes and catches your gaze. You nod at him, its okay. It’s okay. He comes with groan that is neither grunt nor whimper. His body tenses then shudders and you think you can feel his dick twitching inside you. He pulls out slowly, kisses you, rises from the bed.
He returns from the washroom, condom disposed, a warm washcloth in his hand. He rubs it over you gently, cleaning you, soothing the burn. If there is blood on the white material when he takes it back to the sink, he says nothing. He settles in bed on his back, opening is arm to pull you towards him. You lie on your side, tucked into him and doze for a while.
When you awake, hours later, you begin to trace the lines of his body. When your palm is dick, he opens his eyes and he grabs your wrist. He guides your hand around his length and moves your hand. Shows you the twistpull rhythm that you repeat until he comes. He wipes himself off on the sheets, then pulls you onto his wrist. The tip of this thumb teases your opening, your clit rubs against the part of his hand were it joins to his wrist. You writhe against him, harder and harder until you come with a gasp. He kisses your temple, strokes his fingers through your hair. He pulls you down to the bed with him and you doze again.
You leave while he is still asleep. Go back to your cousin, who asks you how it was. You tell her the truth, with a smile. She laughs and calls you a slut. You laugh too, and then it’s time to go home.
--
You meet this boy in school. You walk through the halls, feeling different, feeling the same. Nobody knows your secret, but you do. That’s all that matters. In Chemistry, your lab partner is sick, and you are paired up with him. He is sweet, a little shy with a beautiful smile that lights up a room.
He invites you to his house on the weekend, to work on the project. He’s home alone, his family is away. You spend hours working, discussing, drawing, writing. He orders in food and you watch TV. You watch him more than you watch the screen, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s tall and he’s thin. He walks with his shoulders curved over, hunching in on himself like he doesn’t want to be noticed. You think its sweet and sad. He talks to you like a person, not just boobs on a stick. You wonder if he’s interested in sex, if he masturbates every morning. What his face looks like when he comes.
At some point, between the movies and food and work, you kiss him. He is tentative at first, but he doesn’t pull away. You wonder if he’s doing what you did, pretending; faking his way through. His tongue is firm; he kisses like he’s hungry for you.
When you undress him, he’s not as skinny or scrawny as you thought. He has an amazing body - somewhere still between boy and man. His large hands cover your breasts, squeezing, not entirely sure what to do. When you press your breasts towards his face, he takes the whole areola into his mouth and sucks hard.
He tastes familiar, like that boy - you wonder if that is how all men taste. Time will tell, you think. You push him onto his back, twist and pull his cock until he comes, breathless and whimpering. You lay beside him, making out with messy kisses until he gets hard again.
You roll the condom on him and straddle him. You watch his face as you lower yourself on to him. You feel the stretch, but no burn this time. You like being on top. You control the movement, the friction.
He is breathing heavy, gasping. His eyes are blinking. He comes with an apology in his eyes. You let him know its okay with a smile and kiss. He holds you close, like he needs to cling to your for survival.
The next time is much better, he thrusts with a determination, more confidence. He lifts you up, pressing you against the wall; gets you off with his pointy and persistent tongue then pushes into you again. He pulls you down onto him, grinds against you with a desperation that is almost feral.
Lying in bed, you roll him onto his stomach and let your hands roam over his body. He seems nervous when you run you hand over his ass, drag your fingers through the crease. You tell him to relax as you lick your way down. You relish every mewl and shudder he gives as you lick around his asshole, drive your tongue inside. He tastes dark and earthy and you don’t mind. You feel naughty and dirty as you make him come again. You feel powerful and good.
The next day you shower together, he fingers you hard, twisting and pulling and rubbing his thumb in circles until you come, wringing desperate pleas from your lips. You dress, both go back to the project as if nothing happened.
His father and brother return while you are using the washroom. His father tells him he needs to get ready for tonight and tells his brother to drive you home. You say goodbye to this boy in his room, enjoying his blush as you give him a hug. His brother comes in to get you and you find yourself face to face with that boy. He acts as if he doesn’t know you, just smiles and lets Sam introduce you. He shakes your hand and tells you he’ll meet you at the car in a minute.
You go outside, wait in the car. You don’t know what they are saying, but you imagine Sam is telling Dean that he finally did it; made it with a girl. Maybe not, they could be talking about anything. In the car on the ride back, you say you didn’t know. He says he didn’t know either. He tells you they are moving. Sam won’t be at school on Monday. You don’t ask why or where, don’t know if you really care.
He asks if you are okay, and you say you are fine. You really are. As he drives away, you wonder if Dean will tell Sam, wonder if you care. You don’t think you do. You smile to yourself and go into the house.
--
You lay in bed sometimes later, thinking fondly about those two boys. That one made you a woman, this one, you made a man. You wonder, if they had stayed, which one of those boys you might have chosen. Neither or both, you think. You figure with those two, it would have to be all or nothing.