fic: One Way Ride
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Impala, vague Dean/Cas undertones
Rating: R-ish?
Warnings: ambiguous consent. being weird as hell. unbeta-ed
Word count: ~400
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Because sgmajorshipper and ohmiya_sg are enablers, and Ian Somerhalder's face. Title from Highway to Hell, ACDC.
I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THIS TO BE DARKISH I SWEAR XD
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He shows up to the motel, sleek jacket painting his torso, hair matte black and tossed over his eyes, says, "I'm Baby," like he's been walking a while, waiting even longer to growl out the words.
Says, "I'm Baby," like there's anyone anything else in Dean's life he could confuse him for, nothing left who would stumble across back-roads and hot pavement for him, show up with a face so earnest and innocent and wanting to help.
So of course, Dean must be crazy too.
He lets him in, because, why the hell not, Sam's out cold on the bed closest to the window because the kid was afraid of his own (Lucifer's too, is the sharp whisper,) reflection in the bathroom mirror. So Dean's in his pajamas, letting strangers in past the salt line and licking the perspiration at the end of his flask. Over at the door, the man is still lingering.
He says, "Dean," walks in so he's in Dean's air, breathing his exhaust. He's all hopeful and blue-eyed and yeah, isn't this just his own private nightmare, personal down to the tight details, says, "Dean" and moves Dean's hands to the shiny leather that's tight around the man's skin, puts his own on Dean's face, thumbs brushing his lips, and Dean thinks, "yeah."
Yeah.
He pulls their faces together and the man makes a high whine, something kind of feral and eager, tugging at Dean's shirt and boxers and leading him back--back out the open door to the empty parking lot.
It all starts to swim. Black and gravel and a dirty sky, shadows of somebody's limbs under the streetlamp. He's thrust back against the rough wall, lets his mouth fall against the shoulder that keeps him there. A thick hand wraps around his dick, soft and jacking him with only greasy spit and a little bit of jizz, and his own hips are rolling forward with every other stroke, but it's not Dean who's in charge here. He's just along for the ride.
He says, "Dean," and Dean says, "yeah, Baby. Yeah."
He comes.
And wakes up still wrapped in warm leather.
Pairing: Dean/Impala, vague Dean/Cas undertones
Rating: R-ish?
Warnings: ambiguous consent. being weird as hell. unbeta-ed
Word count: ~400
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Because sgmajorshipper and ohmiya_sg are enablers, and Ian Somerhalder's face. Title from Highway to Hell, ACDC.
I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THIS TO BE DARKISH I SWEAR XD
+++
He shows up to the motel, sleek jacket painting his torso, hair matte black and tossed over his eyes, says, "I'm Baby," like he's been walking a while, waiting even longer to growl out the words.
Says, "I'm Baby," like there's anyone anything else in Dean's life he could confuse him for, nothing left who would stumble across back-roads and hot pavement for him, show up with a face so earnest and innocent and wanting to help.
So of course, Dean must be crazy too.
He lets him in, because, why the hell not, Sam's out cold on the bed closest to the window because the kid was afraid of his own (Lucifer's too, is the sharp whisper,) reflection in the bathroom mirror. So Dean's in his pajamas, letting strangers in past the salt line and licking the perspiration at the end of his flask. Over at the door, the man is still lingering.
He says, "Dean," walks in so he's in Dean's air, breathing his exhaust. He's all hopeful and blue-eyed and yeah, isn't this just his own private nightmare, personal down to the tight details, says, "Dean" and moves Dean's hands to the shiny leather that's tight around the man's skin, puts his own on Dean's face, thumbs brushing his lips, and Dean thinks, "yeah."
Yeah.
He pulls their faces together and the man makes a high whine, something kind of feral and eager, tugging at Dean's shirt and boxers and leading him back--back out the open door to the empty parking lot.
It all starts to swim. Black and gravel and a dirty sky, shadows of somebody's limbs under the streetlamp. He's thrust back against the rough wall, lets his mouth fall against the shoulder that keeps him there. A thick hand wraps around his dick, soft and jacking him with only greasy spit and a little bit of jizz, and his own hips are rolling forward with every other stroke, but it's not Dean who's in charge here. He's just along for the ride.
He says, "Dean," and Dean says, "yeah, Baby. Yeah."
He comes.
And wakes up still wrapped in warm leather.