Work Text:
Donna knocks on the door of room 304, whole big thing of donuts balanced on her other hand. Cops and donuts. What a cliché.
The door swings open and there stands Dean, flippin’ gorgeous as ever. His eyebrow cocks up and he smiles. “Hey, Donna.”
“Hiya, Dean.” She licks her lips, nervous all of a sudden.
Dean’s eyes go narrow. “Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah youbetcha!” She perks up, offers the pastry box. “Just thought I’d drop off a little thank-you gift for the road. Nothing fancy, just donuts. Best in Hibbing, though, I promise ya.”
“Oh, man, you are speaking my language.” He grins appreciatively and takes the box. “Come in.” He jerks his head in invitation. “Sam just took off for his run,” he rolls his eyes, “but I know he’ll wanna see you before we blow town.”
Donna steps inside and turns to watch as Dean closes the door. He’s just in a t-shirt and jeans, and someone should really tell this guy to lay off with the layers. She can’t take her eyes off his shoulders where the muscles bunch and stretch with his movements.
“Take a load off,” Dean’s saying. “All we got is motel coffee but you’re welcome to some.” He lays the box on the table and opens it, scans the contents greedily.
“Sure, uh, thanks,” she replies. Settles into a chair. Dean appears with a steaming cup.
“Black okay? Sammy hogged all the sugar.”
“Oh yeah. Black’s fine.” She takes the cup and takes a sip.
Dean parks in the chair across from her, plucks a cruller from the box. He bites in and his eyelids flutter. He moans. “Ohhh, Donna, these are awesome.”
When he says her name like that, she can't suppress a little squeak.
He nudges the donuts her way. “C’mon. Have one.” His mouth curls up seductively. Her toes curl in kind. “Ain’t gonna make me eat alone are you?”
She really shouldn’t blow her diet. Still. Maybe just one. She takes a powdered sugar and holds it gingerly.
“Y’know, Dean. Me an’ Jody probably wouldn’ta made it out last night if it wasn’t for you.”
“Hey, you helped. Now eat.” He’s halfway through his cruller, licking crumbs off his lips and looking like sin on feet.
“How’s it feel, bagging your first vamp?”
“What’s that now?” She blushes. Hasn’t heard a word he’s said, too busy watching his mouth. She takes a little nibble off her donut, figures if she’s slow enough he won’t tempt her into a second.
“You sure everything’s okay?” Crows feet bloom where he scrunches his eyes.
She takes a deep breath. “Sure I’m sure!” She pastes on a smile. Giggles nervously. Eats more donut.
Dean grins. “Here.” He reaches out. “You got a little…” His thumb drags across her bottom lip.
She gasps. Feels her eyes pop wide. He’s giving her that smile again and all at once her skull feels too small.
His green eyes glitter. He knows what he’s doing. Takes back his thumb and sucks it clean. Donna barely breathes because it’s that or else pant like a horndog. She goes for her coffee, hot enough to burn but icy cold compared to --
Oh, geez, now he’s finished his cruller and he’s sucking all his fingers clean. Watching her. Watching him.
She goes back to nibbling. Nibbling’s safe. But Dean picks out a jelly-filled and stuffs about half in his mouth. Sugar and raspberry filling linger on his lips. His tongue pokes out, flash of glistening pink.
“Think I made a mess,” he rumbles. “Help a guy out here?”
She reaches for him, tentative. He grabs her wrist.
“Uh-uh.” He tugs her toward him, standing. She follows, can’t resist any more than she could gravity. He lowers his face toward hers, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
She licks her lips again, feels the wet warmth of his breath on her face, smells the tart raspberry. Her eyes fall closed as her tongue slips out and tastes Dean Winchester’s perfect mouth.
And in no time flat he’s kissing her, deep, smearing sugar and jelly and she hears herself whimper, feels herself melting against him. Licking and sucking ‘til they can’t taste anything besides each other anymore.
Then the silliness of it hits her. Standing there and making out and both of them holding a half-eaten donut and above all what in the name of Christmas is he doing with her? Shouldn’t he be out chasing one of those hard-bodied Sheriff Goodhill types? God rest her soul.
But when she draws back the look he gives her just about makes her spontaneously combust. He dips his finger in his donut and spreads jelly filling all over her mouth. Okaayy, she can do this. She holds up her powdered sugar and he grins, takes a bite, gets his own mouth messy. They drop their donuts and get to cleaning each other again.
Busy fingers start to open her uniform shirt, tug it free from her waistband and she’s gonna help him, by gum. She unbuckles her duty belt and lays it in a chair. He pushes her shirt to the floor and they wrestle a little, trying to strip each other’s t-shirts at the same time. She giggles and he crashes into her again, one arm pulling her bare middle tight against him, other hand working into her hair.
She reaches up to take out her ponytail. Dean draws back to watch and hums when her long blonde hair tumbles free. She bites her lower lip and blushes. Fingers, gentle as a mother’s, find her temple, brush loose strands behind her ear, slide down and around to her nape where they tangle and pull, drag her head back and ooh! Who’da thunk she’d be into the hair-pulling?
He must’ve got into the donut again ’cause he’s drawing a sticky line down her neck, from her chin to the top of her cleavage. He mouths along the trail of his finger, sucking, biting gently, and boy is she glad he’s got a hold of her ’cause her knees are going weak as water.
Then he’s moving them toward the unmade bed, never turning her loose. “This okay?” he asks as he slips a finger inside the front of her uniform pants.
She nods. “Youbetcha” she breathes and his smile is blinding, hungry and not just for donuts which she can’t believe.
Slow and gentle he opens the button, the zipper, and slips both hands inside, pushes her pants down, pauses to pull off her shoes and her socks. Leaves her shivering and not from cold in a sturdy bra and white cotton panties. She tries to cover herself with her hands, embarrassed by her underwear and soft belly and bumpy thighs. She’s in plenty good shape, the job sees to that, but --
“Stop that,” Dean whispers. Takes her wrists in his hands and drapes them over his shoulders. He rakes his eyes all over her. Winks. “God you're sexy.”
One arm behind her he lowers them both to the bed, one of his knees in between her thighs and he holds her, strokes her face and compliments her. “God, Donna, you don’t even know it do you? Always with that smile and those eyes and this hair and when you blush like that…?" He kisses her. “Jesus.”
She’s trembling. He gets a wicked look in his eyes and lifts up. “Don’t go anywhere,” he teases. He kicks off his shoes as he walks to the dresser. Digs in a duffle bag, comes up with a condom which he tosses on the bed. Then he goes back to the donut box. He passes her a fresh powdered sugar.
In one quick motion he strips himself naked, walks around the bed and plops down beside her. Nuzzles her ear. “Wanna get me dirty, Sheriff?” Cheeky grin across his face he whispers, “C’mon. Anything you want.”
Ohhh geez. “Okay,” and she barely recognizes her voice, all high and squeaky.
Dean rolls flat on his back, tucks his hands behind his head and of course he’s not ashamed of his body. Why would he be? Perfect curved shoulders and deep cut biceps, black tattoo and brown nipples and the tiniest pooch of a tummy. She reaches out and drags her fingers, feather-soft, along his breastbone. Stunned she’s allowed to.
“You go this easy on your suspects?” He cocks an eyebrow, eyes full of challenge.
Hmph. Gonna be like that, is it? Pique gives her the courage to swing a leg across and straddle him. Dean grins again, reaches out to pet and squeeze her thighs.
And she’s at a loss. Gives a long skeptical look at the donut he gave her, no idea what he’s expecting right here.
Gently, he takes her hands in his. Guides her fingers around the donut and breaks it in half. Crumbs and sugar rain down on his chest, his abs. He gives her half, takes the other, rubs the frosted curve across her lips and down her chin. Leaning forward she does the same, paints that incredible mouth of his icy white.
They feed each other. Lick each other clean. Lips and fingers and necks and chests and they’re sticky with sugar and spit and sweat and Donna’s losing it already, feeling him hard and insistent against her panties. He bucks up toward her, pressure in just the right spot and --
“Ooooh, my heck,” she pants and Dean bursts out laughing.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he teases.
“Among other things.” She tries to mirror back his sexy face but it feels ridiculous, must look ridiculous ’cause he’s laughing again but he’s pulling her close and he's kissing her, touching her, unhooking her bra. He rolls them over. Goes for the donuts.
Lemon cream, going by the smell when he holds one to her lips. She takes a nibble. Working off all of these calories anyway, she thinks with glee. He squeezes and sweet-sour filling flows out across her mouth. He holds up the donut and dives in, sucking her lips between his and moaning. And Donna can’t bother to care if it’s for her or the lemony goodness.
He sits up then, uses his finger to spread white sugar and yellow filling over her breasts. Draws circles on her nipples and makes her gasp and whine. His bottom lip between his teeth and his knee between her thighs and his dick bobs and leaks over her stomach and it’s all too much. She’s not this girl. She’s a missionary-lights-off-under-the-covers kind of girl and she starts to tense.
Dean’s on it immediately. He drops down, smearing himself with a fresh coat of sugar and cream. “Hey,” he whispers. “Hey.” He kisses her, long and slow and deep and he pets at her face, her neck. Grabs a handful of hair again. “Look at me.”
She does. Gazes up at his wide pupils barely rimmed in green and there’s heat there. Want. She smiles weakly, one fluttery hand drifting up to cover his rough fingers stroking her cheek.
“You’re so hot like this, Donna.”
She gasps a little. Dean doesn’t stop.
“So good so sexy letting me get you all messy.” He ducks his chin and licks at a spot of powdered sugar high on her chest. “Taste so good so sweet…” He sucks, and she’s gonna have the mother of all hickeys if he doesn’t stop but “Damn girl wanna taste you everywhere.”
And this sound, like Donna’s never heard herself make in her life, tears out of her. “Oooooh. Oh, gosh, yes. Please Dean please yes -- ”
He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and bites, once, barely hard enough to sting. Then his hands and his mouth and his teeth are all over her. Stroking up and down her sides, lapping at her collarbones, nipping at her pounding pulse. He takes a breast in each hand and devours one nipple, jaw working, tongue flicking. Thumb brushing circles around the other.
Her hands don’t quite know what to do with themselves. She tugs at her hair, grips at his shoulders, claws at the mattress. Her breath comes sharp and shallow, every muscle quivering. Dean keeps mouthing her, lower and lower, kisses her belly, the curves of her hips.
And just when she thinks she might die if he doesn’t get into her panties soon, he’s catching the waistband and raising his body away. She plants her feet and lifts and in one fluid tug she’s naked beneath him. Blushing furiously when he stops and just stares.
She pulls up a knee to hide her sex but he grabs her wrist when she goes for the sheet. “Uh-uh. Wanna look at you.”
“Dean,” she pleads.
“Your body’s fuckin’ perfect, don’t you get that?” He looks genuinely confused and it’s maybe the hottest thing she’s ever seen. “Soft and warm and so fuckin’ responsive you’re fuckin’ hot, Donna seriously.” He brushes his knuckles along the outside of her thigh. “C’mon. Lemme see.”
She takes a deep breath. Spreads her legs for him. And a surge of brazenness pushes her hands to her breasts. She lifts them up, displays herself.
Dean blows out his cheeks. “Atta girl.” He trails a finger up the inside of her thigh now, collecting a whole other flavor of sweetness and licking it clean. “Taste so good, Donna. So fuckin’ hot.”
When he puts his mouth on her she loses all coherence. Dean’s lips are skilled as they are pretty and she feels him licking, nipping, tracing every inch of every fold and finally. Finally he pulls her happy button between his lips and she starts to wail, bucking and flailing and begging when she’s making words again.
Rising to his hands and knees Dean sways his way back up her body. Presses his forehead to hers. “Fuckin’ hot when you’re comin’ too,” he breathes.
Donna feels herself flushing as Dean rolls off. He slaps around on the bed until he comes up with the condom, tears off the wrapper and rolls it on. She’s still catching her breath when he slips inside, thick and heavy and whoa she is full!
He’s not even thrusting, just rolling his hips against hers and it’s exquisite torture. “How ’bout you ride me, Sheriff? Wanna watch you get yourself off on my cock.”
Eyes wide, she nods. Doesn’t trust her voice. Dean pulls out and lies back and she climbs up on top of him. He grabs himself and lines up with her entrance. She sinks down, slowly, not used to this. Doug would never let her… You know what? Stuff Doug.
He’s still covered in donut. Rocking back oh-so-slightly she bends forward and starts to kiss him clean. The motion swirls him deep inside her and she’s finding spots she didn’t know she had. She squeaks and pants and he’s running his mouth again.
“That’s it, baby, take it, god you’re so wet got me all up in there…”
She sits back then and wow is he deep and she lifts up, experimentally at first and rocks back down and she’s seeing stars. It’s good. It’s so good and she’s riding him hard now, conscious of her bouncing boobs and for once in her life she just does not care.
Dean thrusts up to meet her, hands tight on her hips. His eyes are closed and his jaw is slack and the more she squeals the harder he rocks her and wham! Her inside muscles start to flex and jerk and she’s gone, slumps down over his chest bucking involuntarily.
“Oh god yes you are hot when you come!” and he’s shouting. Getting off on her getting off and if that doesn’t make her feel…
Beautiful.
She’s sprawled out on top of him when they come back to themselves. Chests and stomachs a sticky, terrifying mess. Donna starts to get up, figures she can sneak back down the hall to her room for a shower but Dean grabs her arm.
“Wait.”
She settles on the bed beside him. Watches as he strips the condom and ties it up to launch at the trash. He pushes up onto an elbow, brushes her hair back away from her face. Cocks that eyebrow.
“So…” he says.
Donna blushes. “So… Guess your brother’ll be back soon, huh?”
“What, Sammy? Pft. He won't walk in on us. Ain't even got a key.” He’s idly stroking between her breasts.
Oh that’s right. The boys took Sheriff Cuse’s room. Not like he was gonna need it. Poor guy.
Dean bends toward her and gives her the most sensuous kiss. She tenses when he rests his head on her shoulder, slings an arm around her middle. Throes of passion are one thing but now?
“Will you stop worrying?” He mumbles, sounding sleepy. “How many times I gotta say you’re sexy?”
Her anxiety bleeds away. Shifting, she roots an arm under his head and squeezes her fingers around his bicep.
He burrows closer. “Those’re some donuts, Sheriff.”
“Best in Hibbing, I told ya.” She stifles a giggle.
“I’ll fuckin’ say.” He yawns. Within minutes, he’s snoring.
Donna softly kisses the top of his head.