[FIC]: She was a January Girl (Dean/Lisa, Adult)
[She was a January Girl]
SPN. Dean/Lisa. NC-17. PWP. ~1,800 words. Set in the time between 5.22 and 6.01. A little schmoopy pornlet that was written on the occasion of Dean's birthday. This is dedicated to the lovely smilla02. Title from Tori Amos.
. . .
Some nights Lisa watches Dean sleep. She'll curl up beside him in bed and watch his body ease into something resembling peace. She likes the way his face smooths over, how the worry lines disappear. How his breathing goes steady, soft and heavy-deep.
It's one of the only times she gets to see him let go, put down the burdens of the world and just live like any other man. On the good nights, there are no nightmares or terrors. No dreams of lost family members or roads without end. There's just Dean at his most honest, uncensored: curling his hands around her, reaching out to pull her into his arms, holding her close. There's just Dean's warm breath against her neck, rough hands slipping around her waist, hard erection tucking against her back.
There are nights she watches him simply because she can, wanting to protect his sleep as he protects her waking days. She'll stay up so late that the liquid dark of night will start to melt into the violet-blue of morning twilight. She'll watch how the fog mists across her bedroom window, how the soft morning chill sends gooseflesh across their bare arms. She'll cover them both with her grandma's old quilt, the only thing that will keep out the spill of tangerine sunrise, the only thing that will keep Dean in her arms for another couple of hours.
. . .
Some mornings Lisa bakes. It is a skill she learned from her grandma and given both Ben and Dean's insatiable appetites, she's been baking more these past few months than ever before. Next to yoga, it's one of the only things that centers her, reminds her of a childhood spent hiding in her grandma's kitchen.
On this particular Sunday morning in January, Lisa gets up early enough to finish an apple pie and two batches of cookies (oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip) before the sun even rises. She's glad the new house came with a double oven because today she plans to work it over time.
By seven o'clock, the kitchen is a culinary war zone. The stove is hot to the touch, having turned the entire room into a sauna. The countertops are covered with flour, egg shells, soiled rags and stacks of baking pans. Strands of Lisa's hair are slick with vegetable oil, and her face and clothes are coated in a thin layer of flour. On the bright side, the air is thick with the scents of freshly-baked pumpkin pie and banana-nut bread.
By nine o'clock, most of the dinner table is filled with an assortment of pies, cookies, cakes, and muffins. She's got Zeppelin on the radio and she's singing along to "Ramble On" as she attacks bread dough with her hands, massaging deep down into it, the way she sometimes works her hands into Dean's tension-laced back after he's spent a long day at the construction site.
When the music stops, Lisa looks up, smiling when she notices Dean standing in the doorway, bare-chested, his mouth gaping wide. His hair is sleep-mussed and sticking up everywhere, and his sweats are sagging low on his slim hips. He's just so damn fuckable in the mornings.
"You're up!" she greets with a smile.
Dean yawns wide, scratching his belly as he looks around the kitchen for a long moment, as if trying to figure something out. "Lisa, what in the world?" he finally asks, voice dubious.
"Um...surprise?" she offers, waving around the spoon she'd just been beating the cake mix with. Batter drips down onto the already-splattered kitchen floor.
Dean looks at her for a long moment and then bursts into sleep-rough laughter. "Baby, you didn't have to do all this," he says, shaking his head as he pokes at the four empty egg cartons on the center island.
"Maybe not," Lisa shrugs, putting down the mixing bowl and spoon. "Want to taste something anyway?"
Dean smirks and makes his way toward her, trying his best to avoid the mess of empty bowls and spilled food standing between them. When he reaches her, he pushes floury strands of her hair away from her face, her pony tail having wilted earlier in the steamy heat of the kitchen.
"Morning," she smiles, licking mix off her fingers.
"Morning," he grins, pulling her close. Lisa falls into his arms without complaint.
She's wearing one of his shirts, an oversized flannel that falls almost to her knees. Dean's hands run under the shirt, calloused fingers brushing the edge of her silk panties as she shifts up onto her toes to curl her arms around his neck. His palms are warm and rough on her thighs as he glides over them slowly to reach her ass. He grips her asscheeks and Lisa moans, wrapping her legs around his waist as he picks her up.
Dean sets her on the kitchen counter and his mouth closes over hers. The kiss is rough and greedy, her teeth catching on Dean's plump lower lip as he sighs into her mouth. She slides her mouth gently over his soft lips and starts sucking on his tongue because she's so hungry after all this baking. She licks the mint-flavor of their toothpaste right from his mouth.
When Dean pulls out of the kiss, he presses his face against her hair, then against her neck, sucking softly at the damp skin there. "Nutmeg," he whispers, licking down her neck. "Vanilla and cinnamon," he adds, his mouth sliding along her shoulder, his fingers unbuttoning the flannel shirt until it falls to the dirty floor.
She shivers as the cool air hits her bare breasts and back. Dean lowers his mouth and sucks a hickey along her collarbone, taking her tits into his palms and squeezing. Her breathing hitches, her cunt going hot and heavy and wet; she's so ready for him.
"Lemon meringue?" he asks against her skin.
"Yeah," she whispers, and Dean scoots her further back onto the counter. Lisa brings her knees up, letting him settle inside the cradle of her thighs.
"Ben?" Dean asks, breathing warm and moist against her neck, his hands running up and down her tits, tweaking her nipples.
"At Toby's for the weekend," Lisa grunts, and that's all the permission Dean needs, his hands yanking her panties down and off her legs.
Dean takes her right there on the counter, his sweatpants pooling around his thighs, his hands digging into her hips as he rocks into her so hard her ass lifts off the countertop. She gasps against his mouth, her own hands gripping his ass as he pushes into her over and over again.
They make a mess out of everything, knocking packages of flour, tubs of eggs, and melted butter onto the floor as Dean fucks her, moving so deep inside of her with every stroke Lisa feels like she's splitting in two. The heat of the oven is nothing compared to the heat they make together. She gets flour all over him, leaves handprints and fingerprints all up and down his back. There are patches of cookie dough on her own ass, rubbing into her skin as Dean's thrusts push her up and down the cool granite countertop.
"Yeah, like that. Fuck me harder," Lisa whispers into his ear. She wants him so damn bad, loves the feel of his cock pushing into her, filling her. Dean speeds up, letting out soft, desperate cries, breath punching out of his lungs as he pushes inside her to the hilt, his hips snapping forward powerfully.
"Oh god," she groans, biting down on his lips, drawing blood the moment she feels him come inside her, copious and sloppy-warm, filling her up. He's still riding out his orgasm when he reaches down between her legs, his fingers working her clit frantically as he continues to thrust his softening cock inside of her. She comes seconds later, head slamming back against the cabinets, body jerking up into Dean's arms.
They come down together, slowly, shaking and sucking in the sweet humid air. Lisa can only laugh at the way her ass sticks to the surface of the counter. Dean kisses her sweaty brow with lips flushed and swollen from her teeth. For a moment his fingers play in the wet heat of her cunt before he pulls them away, smiling cheekily as he sucks one finger clean and then the next. His thumb falls to her lips, swiping side to side. She opens her mouth and sucks it in, tasting the lingering bittersweetness of their mixed come, overlaid against the cloying taste of starch and sugar.
They're both slick with cooking oil, covered in flour, and when Dean shakes his head he sends a light white dusting over the bridge of his freckled nose. Lisa grins and kisses the tip of his nose quickly before hopping down from the counter and moving carefully across the room to the dinner table.
Dean follows her, stepping behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and rest his head against her shoulder as they take in the assortment of baked goods. She falls back into his sticky chest, smiling as she points to the display.
"All your favorites," she says, reaching down to uncover the two-layer chocolate cake in the center. "Ben helped me with this one yesterday," she adds, smiling at Ben's birthday wishes scrawled in red icing across the top.
"So you're both trying to put me in a sugar coma?" Dean huffs a laugh, lips pressing against the back of her neck. He pulls away to lean over the table, picking up a fork and digging into the chocolate cake. He turns to her as he takes the first big bite, moaning as he swallows it down. "Thank you, Lis," he whispers, lips smacking. "This is amazing."
"You're welcome, old man," Lisa grins, taking her own bite of the cake before kissing Dean with that deep forever kind of hunger she always feels when she's with him. He lets her lick his mouth clean, sharing chocolate and sugary sweetness.
"Happy birthday," she whispers into the kiss. "Let's make sure you have many, many more."
They're still sticky from earlier, and when Dean fucks her again, it's messy and clinging, filthy and lazy-slow. He fucks her until all she can taste is the saccharine tang of his mouth, until all she can smell is the delicious aroma of baking pie, until all she can feel is Dean's fingers gripping into her hips, his cock sliding deep inside her. He fucks her until everything she thinks she understands about him melts away in the simmering heat of the kitchen.
-fin-