Ok, danny, you dirty girl
young!Dean/OFC, NC17. Short and pointless. Also untitled and unbeta-ed because sometimes when you're tipsy your friends decide to take advantage by appearing on your LJ and saying, "WRITE ME HET ANAL BITCH." So you spend 20 minutes indulging them, all the while suspecting that they have powers of mind control. :P
*****
She says she wants him to put it there and Dean’s first reaction is, “Oh hell yeah,” and then, “Oh shit, what do I do now?”
Older girls though, they come with supplies and stuff. Little purple bottles of liquid in their purses crammed in there with wallets and tampons and who knows what else. She puts it on the bedside table and grins.
Then she wraps her lips around his cock and sucks, and for a minute or two, Dean forgets to be nervous. Almost.
“Okay,” she says once he’s good and hard and delirious. “Okay, let’s get on with this.”
She does most of the work, slicking herself, rubbing her own clit first with an extended finger and then slowly sliding it down the slippery pink path between holes. Dean stares, licks his lips and hopes there’s not something else he’s supposed to be doing right now because this is better than porn. Better than his imagination-and at sixteen Dean has a pretty vivid fantasy life. You know.
“C’mere,” she husks and arranges herself, knees digging down into the tattered sheets on his single bed, skirt flung up, her underwear already twenty minutes on the floor. Dean lines himself up behind her, shaking, but doesn’t move another muscle until she signals with a wiggle and says, “Just go slow - it’ll be fine.”
“Am I hurting you?” Dean asks anyway once he’s halfway in.
“A little, but it’s good.” One more feminine grunt and he’s all the way there.
Her ass is round in his hands. Dean counts the freckles on each cheek, observes the light brown mole above the pale white imprint of her bikini bottoms and thinks about the sounds the impact of his palms on her skin could make.
And he forgets. About the fact that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing yet. About the fucked up shit he saw last week, the freaky-ass monsters he’ll invariably see next week or the one after that.
He doesn’t forget that she’s Sammy’s babysitter though. Nope. And some day when he’s old enough, Dean’ll tell Sam about this, all right.
*****
Ahahahah! My icon is funny to me, in context. I go watch Farscape now.
*****
She says she wants him to put it there and Dean’s first reaction is, “Oh hell yeah,” and then, “Oh shit, what do I do now?”
Older girls though, they come with supplies and stuff. Little purple bottles of liquid in their purses crammed in there with wallets and tampons and who knows what else. She puts it on the bedside table and grins.
Then she wraps her lips around his cock and sucks, and for a minute or two, Dean forgets to be nervous. Almost.
“Okay,” she says once he’s good and hard and delirious. “Okay, let’s get on with this.”
She does most of the work, slicking herself, rubbing her own clit first with an extended finger and then slowly sliding it down the slippery pink path between holes. Dean stares, licks his lips and hopes there’s not something else he’s supposed to be doing right now because this is better than porn. Better than his imagination-and at sixteen Dean has a pretty vivid fantasy life. You know.
“C’mere,” she husks and arranges herself, knees digging down into the tattered sheets on his single bed, skirt flung up, her underwear already twenty minutes on the floor. Dean lines himself up behind her, shaking, but doesn’t move another muscle until she signals with a wiggle and says, “Just go slow - it’ll be fine.”
“Am I hurting you?” Dean asks anyway once he’s halfway in.
“A little, but it’s good.” One more feminine grunt and he’s all the way there.
Her ass is round in his hands. Dean counts the freckles on each cheek, observes the light brown mole above the pale white imprint of her bikini bottoms and thinks about the sounds the impact of his palms on her skin could make.
And he forgets. About the fact that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing yet. About the fucked up shit he saw last week, the freaky-ass monsters he’ll invariably see next week or the one after that.
He doesn’t forget that she’s Sammy’s babysitter though. Nope. And some day when he’s old enough, Dean’ll tell Sam about this, all right.
*****
Ahahahah! My icon is funny to me, in context. I go watch Farscape now.