Fic: Losing At Poker, Dean/Castiel NC-17
Title: Losing At Poker
Author: dastiel_gal
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings Enticements: porn, panty kink.
Word Count: 1,306
Disclaimer: I don't own Dean Winchester or Castiel, more's the pity, this is all scurrilous lies, and I am not making money from this.
Summary: Dean needs to stop losing at poker to Sammy, cos his little brother turned into one sick puppy when he wasn't looking, and lately the forfeits are some fucked-up shit.
Author’s Notes: Written for setos_puppy here as part of the Five Acts kinky comment!fic meme hosted here by toestastegood. Prompts: intoxication, clothes still on, cross-dressing. Cross-posted to deancastiel and spn_smut.
Download from AO3
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The elastic is digging in a little. Dean squirms in his seat and hopes that if anyone notices the rosy blush on his cheeks, they'll put it down to a beer flush. It's not like they'd be entirely wrong; he's been drinking pretty consistently since they got into the damn bar. Hell, there's no way he could do this sober. He needs to stop losing at poker to Sammy, cos his little brother turned into one sick puppy when he wasn't looking, and lately the forfeits are some fucked-up shit.
The trouble with squirming is that he can feel the satin shifting against his skin, and it feels wonderful. Smooth and slippery, naughty and so delicious against his ass. Not to mention that the bit at the front has lace inserts, and these panties weren't made to contain the Winchester family jewels. Dean is blindingly aware of the texture of the lace pressing an imprint into his cock. He shifts again, unconsciously grinding his hips, then burns with embarrassment as Cas' eyes snap up to meet his across the booth, and he realizes he just moaned out loud.
And that, right there, is just more bad and wrong. First Sammy tells him he's gonna be going to the bar in panties, and has to keep 'em on till midnight, and then the evil fucker says that he's off downtown to see some foreign art flick, and tasks a freaking angel of the lord with ensuring that the terms of the forfeit are followed. That's just downright kinky, and apparently Dean's cock really, really likes it. On top of the satin and lace, and the brain-melting hotness of knowing they're there under his clothes and no-one else in the bar has a clue. Kill him now.
"Dean, it's quite late and your behaviour is beginning to attract attention here. I believe we should return to the motel."
No shit. Dean is out of his seat on the instant, and lurching for the exit as fast as he can move with a chubby and wobbly knees, and - thank fuck - Cas zaps them out of there the second the door of the bar closes behind them.
Luckily they touch down right next to the bed, and Dean collapses across it gratefully.
"Fuck, Sammy's a sadistic little shit. How long have we got to go, Cas?"
"A little over half an hour."
Cas sounds even deeper and gravellier than usual (hey, is that a word?), and Dean lifts his head from the mattress and blearily tries to focus on him. His expression is as unreadable as ever.
"Well, I may have to keep these frilly panties on till midnight, but Christ, I'm too damn hot."
Dean shrugs out of his coat, but gets tangled up in his flannel shirt. Cas huffs out a sigh and goes to help. They get him out of his shirt and t-shirt. He's flushed and a little sweaty, and the cooler air feels good on his skin.
"Boots, too."
Dean leans back on one elbow, cheekily lifts up one of his feet and waggles it at Cas, earning himself a glare. He takes it off, however, then kneels to get the other. Dean pops the buttons on his fly in one go, and heaves a sigh of relief as the pressure of denim against his stiff cock is lifted. He tries to wriggle his jeans down over his hips, but that requires more co-ordination than he currently has, and he only manages to push them down a couple of inches.
Even through the beer haze, he notices that the angel has gone completely still and silent. He looks up to find Cas kneeling at his feet like a statue, staring slack-jawed at the opening of Dean's jeans. A vee of purple lace is clearly visible, stretched tight around Dean's hard-on, which is even more impressively proportioned than usual. Cas looks simultanously scandalized and entranced. A wave of heat goes through Dean, and as he squirms under the scrutiny, the head of his cock slides out from the top of the panties, red and shiny. Cas licks his lips, and that, right there? Too freakin' hot.
The devil's in Dean now, he's drunk and horny and he wants to come. And he wants to shake the angel up a bit, because, well. About time somebody did. His hand creeps up over his hip, working its way across the denim, rubbing in little circles. Cas watches as if hypnotized. Further, and further over. Dean pushes at the fabric, wriggles again and manages to get the jeans down a couple more inches. He drops his voice to the come-and-get-it drawl that gets him laid every time.
"Such pretty purple panties. Don't tell Sam, but I kinda like 'em."
Cas's eyes fly up to meet Dean's, which stare back lazy and heavy-lidded. Dean swears he sees him tremble.
"Do you like 'em, Cas? Pretty, but too small. Look, my cock's barely staying in there."
His hand is cupping his balls now, sliding over the satin, God, so sensual. If he didn't have the beer dulling his arousal, he'd be nearly there already. He groans.
"Feel so nice against my skin."
His hand is moving upwards now, still circling, rubbing and sliding the satin over his cock. Cas can't tear his eyes away. Heat spirals through Dean, and he grabs his cock harder, jerking it properly. The panties are catching and pulling across his body and over his hips, squeezing against his balls in a way that's just short of too hard. It feels fucking amazing, so when he hears a desperate noise, it takes him a moment to register that it didn't come from him. The realization hits him like a thunderbolt; there's an angel kneeling at his feet, shaking and moaning out loud as he watches Dean jerk off in women's purple silky knickers. That pretty much breaks Dean on the spot; he hauls his dick out over the top of the panties, twists and pulls and goes off like a rocket, thrashing his hips and crying out heedlessly. He falls back on the bed, gasping and boneless, and lies there for long minutes while he gets his heart rate back under control.
When he manages to prop himself back up, he finds Cas still kneeling between his feet, forehead burrowing against one of Dean's thighs. Cas is moaning softly and shuddering, hand shoved into the open fly of his pants and gently stroking his junk as a wet patch spreads across his shirt-tails. Awwww, looks like his angel's a fast learner. One quick demonstration and he's ready to fly solo. Shame Dean was busy coming his brains out and missed the show.
"You okay down there, dude?"
Cas raises his head, and holy freaking fuck, there are white splatters of Dean's come across his mouth and chin. Cas's tongue slides out and licks at the drop on his lip, and Dean doesn't care that he instantly makes a face at the taste, that's just ten shades of filthy and dirty and hotter than fuck. He rolls forward, grabs the tie and uses it to reel Cas in. He licks his face clean, as Cas stares at him wide-eyed and shivers deliciously - then swoops in to claim his lips. The orgasm doesn't seem to have impaired Cas' faculties too much, and he's soon kissing Dean back with enthusiasm. Dean ups the ante and slips him a little tongue, and Cas groans and clutches Dean's shoulders. They're having so much fun that they completely miss the click of the door opening.
"Oh my God, Dean!"
Sam is standing in the doorway, looking shocked and appalled. Cas gasps, his face flaming, and disappears in a flutter. Dean smirks shamelessly.
"Dude, what? I'm still wearing the damn panties!"
Author: dastiel_gal
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings Enticements: porn, panty kink.
Word Count: 1,306
Disclaimer: I don't own Dean Winchester or Castiel, more's the pity, this is all scurrilous lies, and I am not making money from this.
Summary: Dean needs to stop losing at poker to Sammy, cos his little brother turned into one sick puppy when he wasn't looking, and lately the forfeits are some fucked-up shit.
Author’s Notes: Written for setos_puppy here as part of the Five Acts kinky comment!fic meme hosted here by toestastegood. Prompts: intoxication, clothes still on, cross-dressing. Cross-posted to deancastiel and spn_smut.
Download from AO3
--------------------------------------------
The elastic is digging in a little. Dean squirms in his seat and hopes that if anyone notices the rosy blush on his cheeks, they'll put it down to a beer flush. It's not like they'd be entirely wrong; he's been drinking pretty consistently since they got into the damn bar. Hell, there's no way he could do this sober. He needs to stop losing at poker to Sammy, cos his little brother turned into one sick puppy when he wasn't looking, and lately the forfeits are some fucked-up shit.
The trouble with squirming is that he can feel the satin shifting against his skin, and it feels wonderful. Smooth and slippery, naughty and so delicious against his ass. Not to mention that the bit at the front has lace inserts, and these panties weren't made to contain the Winchester family jewels. Dean is blindingly aware of the texture of the lace pressing an imprint into his cock. He shifts again, unconsciously grinding his hips, then burns with embarrassment as Cas' eyes snap up to meet his across the booth, and he realizes he just moaned out loud.
And that, right there, is just more bad and wrong. First Sammy tells him he's gonna be going to the bar in panties, and has to keep 'em on till midnight, and then the evil fucker says that he's off downtown to see some foreign art flick, and tasks a freaking angel of the lord with ensuring that the terms of the forfeit are followed. That's just downright kinky, and apparently Dean's cock really, really likes it. On top of the satin and lace, and the brain-melting hotness of knowing they're there under his clothes and no-one else in the bar has a clue. Kill him now.
"Dean, it's quite late and your behaviour is beginning to attract attention here. I believe we should return to the motel."
No shit. Dean is out of his seat on the instant, and lurching for the exit as fast as he can move with a chubby and wobbly knees, and - thank fuck - Cas zaps them out of there the second the door of the bar closes behind them.
Luckily they touch down right next to the bed, and Dean collapses across it gratefully.
"Fuck, Sammy's a sadistic little shit. How long have we got to go, Cas?"
"A little over half an hour."
Cas sounds even deeper and gravellier than usual (hey, is that a word?), and Dean lifts his head from the mattress and blearily tries to focus on him. His expression is as unreadable as ever.
"Well, I may have to keep these frilly panties on till midnight, but Christ, I'm too damn hot."
Dean shrugs out of his coat, but gets tangled up in his flannel shirt. Cas huffs out a sigh and goes to help. They get him out of his shirt and t-shirt. He's flushed and a little sweaty, and the cooler air feels good on his skin.
"Boots, too."
Dean leans back on one elbow, cheekily lifts up one of his feet and waggles it at Cas, earning himself a glare. He takes it off, however, then kneels to get the other. Dean pops the buttons on his fly in one go, and heaves a sigh of relief as the pressure of denim against his stiff cock is lifted. He tries to wriggle his jeans down over his hips, but that requires more co-ordination than he currently has, and he only manages to push them down a couple of inches.
Even through the beer haze, he notices that the angel has gone completely still and silent. He looks up to find Cas kneeling at his feet like a statue, staring slack-jawed at the opening of Dean's jeans. A vee of purple lace is clearly visible, stretched tight around Dean's hard-on, which is even more impressively proportioned than usual. Cas looks simultanously scandalized and entranced. A wave of heat goes through Dean, and as he squirms under the scrutiny, the head of his cock slides out from the top of the panties, red and shiny. Cas licks his lips, and that, right there? Too freakin' hot.
The devil's in Dean now, he's drunk and horny and he wants to come. And he wants to shake the angel up a bit, because, well. About time somebody did. His hand creeps up over his hip, working its way across the denim, rubbing in little circles. Cas watches as if hypnotized. Further, and further over. Dean pushes at the fabric, wriggles again and manages to get the jeans down a couple more inches. He drops his voice to the come-and-get-it drawl that gets him laid every time.
"Such pretty purple panties. Don't tell Sam, but I kinda like 'em."
Cas's eyes fly up to meet Dean's, which stare back lazy and heavy-lidded. Dean swears he sees him tremble.
"Do you like 'em, Cas? Pretty, but too small. Look, my cock's barely staying in there."
His hand is cupping his balls now, sliding over the satin, God, so sensual. If he didn't have the beer dulling his arousal, he'd be nearly there already. He groans.
"Feel so nice against my skin."
His hand is moving upwards now, still circling, rubbing and sliding the satin over his cock. Cas can't tear his eyes away. Heat spirals through Dean, and he grabs his cock harder, jerking it properly. The panties are catching and pulling across his body and over his hips, squeezing against his balls in a way that's just short of too hard. It feels fucking amazing, so when he hears a desperate noise, it takes him a moment to register that it didn't come from him. The realization hits him like a thunderbolt; there's an angel kneeling at his feet, shaking and moaning out loud as he watches Dean jerk off in women's purple silky knickers. That pretty much breaks Dean on the spot; he hauls his dick out over the top of the panties, twists and pulls and goes off like a rocket, thrashing his hips and crying out heedlessly. He falls back on the bed, gasping and boneless, and lies there for long minutes while he gets his heart rate back under control.
When he manages to prop himself back up, he finds Cas still kneeling between his feet, forehead burrowing against one of Dean's thighs. Cas is moaning softly and shuddering, hand shoved into the open fly of his pants and gently stroking his junk as a wet patch spreads across his shirt-tails. Awwww, looks like his angel's a fast learner. One quick demonstration and he's ready to fly solo. Shame Dean was busy coming his brains out and missed the show.
"You okay down there, dude?"
Cas raises his head, and holy freaking fuck, there are white splatters of Dean's come across his mouth and chin. Cas's tongue slides out and licks at the drop on his lip, and Dean doesn't care that he instantly makes a face at the taste, that's just ten shades of filthy and dirty and hotter than fuck. He rolls forward, grabs the tie and uses it to reel Cas in. He licks his face clean, as Cas stares at him wide-eyed and shivers deliciously - then swoops in to claim his lips. The orgasm doesn't seem to have impaired Cas' faculties too much, and he's soon kissing Dean back with enthusiasm. Dean ups the ante and slips him a little tongue, and Cas groans and clutches Dean's shoulders. They're having so much fun that they completely miss the click of the door opening.
"Oh my God, Dean!"
Sam is standing in the doorway, looking shocked and appalled. Cas gasps, his face flaming, and disappears in a flutter. Dean smirks shamelessly.
"Dude, what? I'm still wearing the damn panties!"