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You listened to the rumble of the elevator as it slowly made its way up to your floor. You could’ve walked up the five flights faster, but it’d been a long day and you had your weekly grocery shopping in several bags at your feet.
Just like you did every time you had to take the elevator, you had a brief moment of wishing you lived on the ground floor. And just like always, you squashed that feeling almost immediately as you thought of what that would mean – clomping and stomping of the people above you. More of a chance of always having people in the adjacent apartments. You shuddered.
You brought a hand up to scratch at your cheek, feeling the scruff on your cheek from where you hadn’t shaved that morning. A yawn cracked your face as you leaned back in the corner of the slow moving elevator.
The choice between possibly dying of old age in the elevator versus taking the stairs all the time really was a worthwhile sacrifice for the apartment you had, though. Top floor, so no upstairs neighbors. And the top floor, thanks to the way the building was built, only had 4 apartments – fairly spacious ones that took advantage of the architecture with high ceilings and nice windows. And for the last six months, because of the extra cost of the apartment and people not wanting to climb the stairs, the other 3 apartments on the floor had been empty, so it’d been like living alone and it had been glorious. You really owed Larry, the landlord, a beer for allowing you to switch out your lease when one of the top floor apartments had come open.
As the elevator finally slid to a halt and the door creaked open, you bent to grab your grocery bags, your boots thudding heavily onto the tile in the hallway. And then you stopped. The hallway was cluttered with boxes and garbage bags.
“Fuck,” you muttered. Someone had moved in. “Fuck,” you said a little louder as you realized that whoever had moved in was moving into the apartment right next to you as opposed to any of the other ones. All generous thoughts to Larry the Landlord fled away. The sounds of classic rock poured out of the slightly open door. At least whoever it was had good taste in music, you thought, before stepping further into the hall.
Just then, the new tenant came out into the hall to grab another box and you froze. To say he was good looking would be an insult. Short cropped brown hair, a broad chest and muscled arms barely contained by a black tee and plaid overshirt, long, lean legs and when he looked up and saw you – Lord have mercy, those green eyes.
“Oh, hey,” the man said, his voice smooth, like blended whiskey. “Sorry for the mess.” He dropped the box and held out a hand. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.” You shook your head to focus and shifted the grocery bags so that you could shake his hand.
“I’m Y/N,” you responded, adding your last name almost as an afterthought. Dean’s hands were strong and warm, the hint of calluses on his palm. “I live just there,” you gestured to the door at the corner, just past Dean’s belongings.
“Nice to meet you,” Dean said, shoving boxes off to the edge with his foot so you could walk past. You smiled, trying to keep from eyeing the slight scruff of five-o-clock shadow on Dean’s jaw. “Sorry to move right into your space,” Dean continued. “Landlord said the other two apartments weren’t move in ready and I needed the place today, so…” You nodded as you put down a sack to reach for your keys.
“Do you sing sea shanties at 3 am?” you asked, looking over to see him raise an eyebrow in surprise.
“Sea shanties?” he repeated.
“Yeah – I had a neighbor who did that once. Sang ‘em all night long. There’s only so many times you can hear “What would you do with a drunken sailor?” before you feel the urge to do something drastic, you know?”
Dean snorted. “No sea shanties. I might do a bad Bon Jovi impression in the shower, but…” he trailed off with a smile.
“That I can deal with,” you said, getting your door open. “You’re not into feng shui are you?”
“Fung what?” he asked with another eyebrow raise. It shouldn’t be so attractive that he could raise only one eyebrow like that.
“Moving your furniture around all the time, banging into the walls while trying to make your space harmonious.”
“I don’t own that much,” he answered. “And if I can’t say it, I don’t believe in it.”
“Ok,” you said, setting your bags own inside the door before facing him. “Last but definitely not least…” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and you paused to lick your lips. “You’re not into hentai tentacle porn, are you?” This time both eyebrows went high up on his forehead and he raised his hands up as if in defense.
“Whoa!”
“Not judging,” you said quickly. “Porn is great. But the walls are thin and well… if you feel the need to watch animated aliens use their tentacles on big-eyed schoolgirls, I just ask that you use headphones.” There were a few seconds of silence and you added, “I had a neighbor once – liked to watch it through his surround-sound home theater system. It could get… uncomfortable.”
“I bet,” Dean said, eyeing you. Then he smirked. “What about any other porn?” You paused. Was this flirting? Your dick twitched. It really hoped this was flirting. You silently gave it a command to stand down.
“As long as it doesn’t sound like high-pitched dolphin screams, feel free to share away.”
Dean leaned against his door.
“I don’t think there’ll be too many high-pitched voices involved,” he said. He let his eyes quickly travel down your body.
“Fantastic,” you said, bringing a hand up to rub at your bottom lip. Dean’s green eyes tracked that, too. You paused, your dick reminding you that you liked men. A lot. You especially liked gorgeous green-eyed men who looked like they could pin you to the wall very easily. You blinked and hooked your thumbs into your pockets, mentally doing anything but imagining what it’d feel like to have Dean’s hands in your pockets instead.
Dean grinned again and nodded once before leaning down to pick up a box again.
“Awesome,” he said, turning to go back inside. “Good to meet you, Y/N,” he said again and disappeared. You walked into your apartment and closed the door, leaning back against it. Your dick twitched again in interest, your jeans growing tight around you as it expressed just how much it wanted to go back and talk to Dean some more. You carefully arranged yourself in your jeans, trying not to get too involved.
“Shut up,” you said at your crotch before shaking your head and picking up your groceries. After only one meeting, you were already having to talk to you dick about inappropriate behavior. You were going to kill Larry for this.
***
After a few weeks, you had mostly settled into having someone else sharing your space. You’d moved beyond planning to kill Larry and instead merely just wanting to maybe maim him. Perhaps accidentally drop a brick on his head from the window.
Dean didn’t lie about singing classic rock ballads in the shower, but you were ok with that. Because, of course, the man was not only fucking gorgeous, but that whiskey voice of his burned through you, beautiful and hot. And once, just once, when you’d both happened to be in the shower at the same time, you’d joined in, singing the chorus with him as he belted out Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man.” When the song had finished, Dean had banged on the wall and you banged right back, which led to smiles in the hallway and you humming all day long as you went to work.
And there’d been a few occasions of you turning up your TV to drown out the suspiciously rhythmic thumping of a headboard. You had tried to see someone coming or going – yes, you’d been ashamed a little bit, but you were sort of desperate to know what Dean’s type was – but no one had. So either the person was very stealthy, they stayed the night, or Dean had been alone. You secretly hoped it was the latter, told your dick to stop being petty, and then bit your lip as you jerked off quickly and as quietly as possible on those nights.
Not that having someone on the apartment floor was all bad, even if you were feeling pretty stupid about having to have conversations with your dick all the time. Dean had signed for a package once, saving you from having to truck all the way to the post office. And one night when you’d been watching Fellowship of the Ring he’d knocked with a pizza and a six-pack of beers and the other two movies of the trilogy on Blu-Ray with a smile. That’d been a good night, especially when you found Dean quoting some of the lines and called him out on it.
Your dick had been pretty certain that counted as a date, but you were loathe to call it so. After all, Dean had stayed on his end of the couch and hadn’t really made any attempt to catch your eye or touch your hand or fuck you into next week, so…
And then there was today. You’d purchased a new California King mattress a few weeks ago and it was finally here after a week of being back-ordered. You’d already gotten rid of your old one and had been sleeping on the couch for the last few days, so you were ecstatic to finally have a bed again. But apparently, the delivery fee you’d paid only covered delivery to the apartment building, not your apartment itself. You walked in to see it leaning against the wall near Larry’s door with a post-it note on it. An hour later, Dean came upon you on the second floor landing as he was walking up, long having learned that the elevator just wasn’t worth it unless absolutely necessary.
“Hey Y/N,” he said, stopping beside where you had propped the mattress up against the landing wall. You waved a hand in reply, too pissed off about the delivery guys and too tired from manhandling the mattress up the stairs to actually form words at the moment.
“Having a good day?” Dean asked, his lips turning up in a smart-ass grin. You slowly turned your eyes up to stare at him before responding by flipping him off. Dean laughed. “Dude. Is that going up or down?” You extend a thumb up, jerking your arm to further indicate the direction. At this point, you were kind of curious as to how long you could go without actually speaking.
“Damn,” Dean said. “I was sort of hoping you were almost all the way done.” You shook your head and sighed. Dean looked at you, then moved to press a hand into the mattress. “Comfy.” Dean leaned into the mattress then and your mind helpfully flipped the image ninety degrees to make him horizontal. You firmly commanded your dick to just shut the fuck up as it tried to stand and cheer at the image.
“It better be,” you said, finally using your words. Dean huffed out a laugh and turned to look at you.
“What’ll you bribe me with to help you get it up?” he asked and you knew your eyes went wide as your dick helpfully informed you that just his presence is all that’s needed to get it up, thank you very much. Dean took a half second before he pushed away from the mattress. “I mean, not get it up as in get it up,” he stumbled over the words. “I mean help with the mattress. Get it up, the mattress up. Get the mattress up the stairs.” Finally, Dean fell silent, and you couldn’t help it. Your laughter rung throughout the stairwell.
“Shut up,” Dean muttered.
“Sorry,” you said, controlling yourself. “I blame exhaustion for not being able to control my inner 12 year old.” After a few more seconds, you stood up away from the wall. “Bribery, huh? My undying gratitude and devotion wouldn’t be enough?”
Dean walked to the other end of the mattress and grabbed at the plastic sheeting it was wrapped in.
“You’ve got 3 more flights to think of something awesome,” he said, giving a tug on the mattress. You moved to your end and pushed, feeling it start to slide up the stairs.
“Guess I’ll just have to get creative, then,” you offered and nearly fell flat on your face as Dean pulled again, then paused and winked at you.
“I’m good with creative.” And if the grunt you gave as you shoved against the mattress was partly because your dick was pushing up against the firm bedding and not a manly cry of muscled effort, well, no one had to know.
With Dean’s help, it wasn’t long before you had the mattress not only up on the fifth floor, but in your apartment and laid out on the frame you’d purchased earlier in the week (the one with the delivery men who actually did their fucking job and brought it, carried it up, and installed it – you’d given them a hearty tip for their good work, but now you felt the need to find them and buy them a drink, too).
“Thanks,” Dean said as he took the beer you offered him. The cap was taken off with a twist of his wrist.
“Thank you,” you say, raising your own bottle. “If you hadn’t come along, I might’ve just decided to leave it there and live on the stairs.” Dean waved off your thanks and took a pull from the beer in his hand, using his tongue to catch the few drops that spilled over the bottle lip and tried to run down the glass surface. You cleared your throat and ticked your head to the side, trying not to pant.
“I’ll think of some way to pay you back,” you said finally, clearing your throat again.
“You’re off to a good start,” Dean said, taking another drink. “Add in a pizza, and we might be square.”
“Oh good, you’re a cheap date,” you said0 and then made an attempt to bite your lips shut as Dean threw his head back to laugh, his whole body going into it, back bending and hips thrusting forward. Your dick promptly told you that Dean’s laugh is #104 on the list of things it’s been keeping about why it would love to get him into bed.
“Oh shut up,” you said, talking both to Dean and your dick as you picked up the phone to call the local pizza place and order a pie.
You even tipped the delivery guy an extra $10 for actually walking up the stairs to deliver it to your door.
***
Seeing as the next day was Saturday, you refused to set an alarm before going to bed and, as such, slept until half past ten. When the light from the windows became too much to ignore, you opened your eyes and rolled onto your back, enjoying a full body stretch on your new bed. God, it felt good. You kicked the comforter off and spread yourself across every inch of the mattress, reveling in the fact that you still had several inches before any part of you was close to coming off the mattress.
You heard Dean singing in the shower and closed your eyes to listen. Your dick took full advantage of your sleepy state to helpfully supply you with an image of Dean, soap-slick and naked under a steamy shower spray. You reached down and palmed yourself through the loose fabric of your boxers, listening as the water shut off next door and Dean stopped singing. You lightly stroked your length as you imagined Dean, dropping his towel as he began to get dressed. Then, your brain got on board and brought back the image from yesterday of Dean leaning against the mattress and you arched off the bed, heels and shoulders digging into the firm mattress.
“Dean,” you crooned as you dug your hand under the waistband of your boxers, rubbing your palm over the head of your cock. You felt it slick with pre-cum; it was almost weeping with it after finally being allowed to run rampant with your imagination. You paused for a moment to hitch your hips and pull your underwear off.
“God, this is so fucked up,” you muttered quietly as you easily fucked up into your closed fist, your other hand going down to cup your balls, warming them in your palm. You pictured Dean on your large bed, acres and acres of skin for you to touch. You gripped your cock tightly, just this side of too tight, and imagined it was his. You pictured what it would look like, swollen and erect. You moaned again as you thought of how his whiskey voice would sound in sex – calling out curse words as you stroked him. It’d probably get rough, his voice. A blend of whiskey and smoke – slightly bitter but still so sweet in your mouth.
“Fuck it,” you said, scooting over to the edge of the bed to reach into your drawer for a bottle of lube. You got up on your knees so that you could reach behind you. You allowed your cock to slide into your fist while you fumbled with the lube, finally getting it open and getting some on your fingers. You added some to your hand on your cock, slowly stroking as you pictured Dean’s hands – those strong hands, on your cock. You imagined that silver ring he sometimes wore, how it would feel – warm and smooth – adding just a little extra bit of pressure as he gripped right under the head.
“Yes,” you moaned, “yes.” You raised up and reached underneath you, back, further back, until you could press one slick finger against your hole.
“Son of a bitch,” you moaned again, louder than you meant to. You thought you heard a bang from next door, but you couldn’t stop now if you wanted to. Your bed creaked slightly with the movement. You began to bounce against your hands, forward into your grip and backwards onto your fingers. Teasing, imagining Dean moving his hands over your body, his tongue. Imagining him spearing into you. Your moans grew louder and louder until finally, your body clenched. You felt it pull in your stomach, fire burning inside you before you began to shake and cum over your fist.
You collapsed back onto the bed, breathing through the last shudders. You grabbed your boxers and used them to wipe yourself clean before getting up and checking the bed to see if you needed to change the sheets. When that was done, you walked on shaky legs to the bathroom to shower, vaguely listening to the thump of Dean dropping something next door as you turned on the hot water.
***
You spent the rest of the day lounging, not really having any plans and not really feeling like facing the outside world after you’d jerked off to thoughts of your neighbor wet, naked and wanting in your bed. That had to be breaking some kind of neighbor code. The kind that officially made you a creeper or something. You’d heard Dean leave once or twice, and once you thought he’d walked up to your door to knock, but nothing happened, so you figured your dick was now making you hallucinate.
Later that evening, you were drinking beer and laughing at some reality show that had people going out in search of ghosts – “Ghost Bracers” or “Ghost Searchers,” some stupid shit like that. It was really bad, but pretty funny. One of the main investigators had a deep southern accent and was explaining what it was that made him get into ghost hunting to begin with.
“I was standing there,” the man said, his accent making his words slow, “and I heard it. A voice in my ear that said, ‘I am Beezel-bub.’ And that’s when I knew…”
You couldn’t hear anymore because you were laughing too hard. Just then, you heard Dean’s door shut and then there was a knock at the door. You turned off the TV, heading over to door, wondering what you’d do if it was him. You paused to look through the peephole and took a deep breath as you saw Dean standing in the hall. You waited for a second before flipping the lock and opening it up.
“Hey neighbor,” you said, mentally smacking yourself in the head for such a stupid greeting. Dean smiled at you and gestured into your living room. You backed away and allowed him room to pass. Dean stepped inside, perhaps a little closer to you than was necessary to pass through the door. You breathed in the scent of him, trying not to do so too deeply so as to be obvious. He smelled clean – fresh and with a hint of natural male musk. You briefly thought about having that smell all over you, over your sheets, and had to bite your inner cheek to keep from doing something embarrassing.
‘Get a grip, dude’ you mentally chastised yourself as you closed the door behind Dean and turned to find him standing at the end of your kitchen island, one hip leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. All the times you’d seen him, he had basically the same outfit on – a dark tee with an overshirt, jeans and boots. Today, the tee was black and the overshirt was a green that made his eyes stand out even more than usual.
“You sounded like you were having a good time,” Dean said.
“Sorry,” you said. “Some stupid show – wasn’t really that funny.” Dean hummed and looked at your bare feet. You put one hand in your pocket, a physical reinforcement of a mental command to your dick to calm the fuck down. “Didn’t mean to be so loud.”
“That’s alright. I like it when you’re loud,” Dean said, flicking his eyes up towards yours before looking back at your feet. You froze, the mental ‘oh shit,’ coming from both your brain and your dick. “Like this morning,” Dean continued, clearing his throat, “this morning. That was… good.”
“Oh shit,” you said out loud this time, feeling the blood simultaneously rush both to and from your face as you blushed in embarrassment and paled at the thought of him having heard you. “God, I’m sorry –” you started, but Dean interrupted you.
“No, I’m sorry. I…” he stopped and cleared his throat, then looked at you. “Look, this morning, I… I heard you. And you sounded so…” He stopped again. “I heard you say my name.”
“Oh shit. Oh shit,” you turned around in a circle. “I am so sorry – ” you said, rapidly, but Dean cut you off.
“Look, it’s ok. We’ve been sort of dancing around this thing for a while,” Dean said, and his voice made it all but impossible to look away from that green gaze.
“Thing?” you repeated, your brain trying to figure out a way to make yourself disappear.
“This wanting to fuck each other thing,” Dean said.
“Oh… that thing.” Your voice was low and your dick was totally ignoring all commands now. Apparently, Dean had a thing. A thing where in he wanted to fuck you.
“Fuck,” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “I meant for this to be smoother.” He looked away and then back at you. “This morning, when I heard you, I… I kinda got off on it.” You stared at him, eyes wide as your dick did a metaphorical happy dance in your pants. “This sounds so wrong, but – fuck,” he said, low. “It was hot. You were hot. Moaning and I could hear the bedframe on the wall. I… when you were finished, I…” He stopped again and looked at you. “Forget it,” he said sharply. “This was a stupid idea.”
Your downstairs brain was thankfully running faster than your upstairs brain because it moved you in front of the door, blocking his path.
“Not stupid,” you said, licking your lips. “This morning, when I… I heard you in the shower. And I was in my bed, which you helped me move,” you paused to add, seeing Dean’s eyes darken. “And my dick put you in the shower together in my mind with bed and, well… If it makes you feel better, I felt guilty about imaginarily sexing up my next door neighbor without his consent.”
Dean smiled and stepped closer to where you stood against the door.
“And if you had my consent?” he asked, putting one hand up on the door by your head, half-way bracketing you in while still leaving you an out. You had never really appreciated the fact that you were almost the same height until just now. He had a few inches on you, so you still had to look up slightly, but it put his face right up next to yours.
“I have your consent to jerk off to mental images of you wet and naked in my bed?” you asked, not even trying to stop your dick from controlling the conversation now. Dean nodded. “Well hell,” you said, voice quiet and deep in your throat, “I’d ask what else I had your consent to do.”
“I like how you think,” Dean said with a smirk, leaning forward and closing the distance between you. You tried to keep your eyes open, watching as he came closer. He had a dusting a freckles over his nose and cheeks – how had you never noticed that before? And then he was kissing you, slow and easy, his tongue barely tracing over your lips. You reached out to grab his shoulders, appreciating the broad width of them, imagining them beneath your hands as you used them for leverage to pump yourself up and down in his lap on the couch.
“Son of a bitch,” you said, breaking the kiss. Dean licked his lips, chasing the taste of your mouth with his tongue. Then he slowly took you by the shoulders and pulled you away from the door, pushing you back and away toward the kitchen.
“What?” you mumbled, unsure, but stopped as Dean simply turned back to the door and flipped the lock before turning back to you with a feral grin that made your toes curl against the cool tile of the floor. Dean walked toward you, slow, steady steps that brought him into your space. He kept walking, forcing you to back up until you felt the counter Dean had been leaning on behind you. Dean put his arms on either side of you, gripping the countertop tightly as he leaned in to kiss you again. Your hands grabbed at his waist, bunching in the fabric of his shirts.
Dean pressed you up against the counter and pushed one leg in between yours. You felt the slide of his thigh against your cock and allowed yourself a few moments of shameless rutting as Dean’s lips ghosted over yours before realizing that his body was mirroring your own actions. You smiled and hooked your fingers in his belt loops, pulling his hips tighter against you as you bent your knee and raised your leg, putting more pressure up against the bulge in his jeans.
“Fuck.” The word shot out of him. You both stayed there, hips pushing against each other as you swapped air and kisses.
“Fuck,” he said again, trailing one hand down your chest and letting it rest just atop the waistband of your jeans. “That feels good.” His fingers eased under the hem of your shirt, running trails of fire across your belly. You released his shoulders to grab the back of your shirt and pull it over your head. Dean smiled.
“Yeah. That’s it. Thought about what you’d look like while I listened to you. Knew you’d look so good.”
You let your head fall back as he licked a stripe up your neck from your collarbone to the base of your jaw.
“Wanna see you, too,” you said, voice hitching as he pushed his thigh into you while mouthing at your shoulder. You reached out and pulled at his shirt. Dean quickly got with the program and shrugged his shoulders to help you push the green overshirt off before grabbing the hem of his black t-shirt and pulling it off as well.
“Damn,” you said, hands instantly falling to rest on his chest. He had a small tattoo on his left peck, just below the shoulder. You traced the lines of it with your finger before leaning down to lick at it. You’d always had a bit of a thing for guys with tats. As your tongue followed the simple lines of black on his skin, Dean’s breath hitched in his chest and one of his hands came up to tighten in your hair. You smiled as you laved the decorated skin. Apparently, you weren’t the only one with an ink kink.
You dipped your head further to flick at his nipples with your tongue, biting at his firmly muscled chest before allowing him to drag your head back up, hand still tight in your hair. Dean kissed you, lips firm and unyielding as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue licking inside and across your teeth. You moaned loudly and he pulled back.
“There it is,” he whispered. “That’s what got me. I could hear the bed springs, the sound of the headboard as you moved.” He put his hand back down at your waist, dragging his thumb in slow circles just above your hipbone. “I was gonna turn on some music, not listen… And then that moan. Fuck that’s hot. Love it when a guy is loud.”
You moaned again, just for good measure as Dean continued, leaning into you so that your chests were flush together and his breath tickled your ear from where he whispered.
“Goes straight to my cock, that moan. I couldn’t help but think about what you were doing – were you stroking yourself? Cupping your balls? All splayed out in that big bed, hot and slick.” Dean moved his hands to flick open the button of your jeans and pull the zipper down. He eased his hand inside, feeling your cock through your boxers. You moaned again and Dean all but growled in your hear as he stroked you. “Or maybe you were on your knees, jerking yourself off with one hand while the other… did you use your fingers?” This time, your moan was even louder, head falling back between your shoulders.
“Oh fuck, you did, didn’t you?” Dean said, nipping at your neck.
“Please,” you murmured, hips stuttering as you tried to find that perfect friction, either from his hand (which was still outside your boxers, goddamnit) or by riding his firm, muscled thigh. You could feel the sweat forming on your skin, making your arms slide over his shoulders.
“And even thinking on all that, picturing it,” Dean said, pulling away to look at you, “hearing you moan… You wanna know what made me fucking lose it and cum all over myself after you were done?” You nodded, staring at him, pupils blown wide with lust.
“What?” you asked, trying desperately to get your bearings. Your voice was hard and low.
Dean leaned in close again, painting the shell of your ear with his tongue before saying, “The thought of you screaming my name when you came.”
“Oh fuck,” you said, quickly reaching down to push his hand away from your cock, eyes squeezing shut as you fought off your orgasm. You weren’t sure if coming simply from listening to Dean talk would be incredibly hot or incredibly embarrassing – maybe a bit of both? What you did know was that there was no way in hell you were passing up the opportunity to have Dean spread out in your bed.
“Bedroom,” you panted, opening your eyes to stare at him. “Now.” Dean’s eyes went almost completely black, the green barely a visible ring as you grabbed his wrist and pulled towards your bed. He stopped in the doorway, staring at the bed. The sheets were still rucked up and disheveled from where you’d thrashed about on them this morning.
“If you don’t want this,” you said, trying to breathe normally as you let go of his wrist, uncertain about his sudden stop. Dean flashed you a look and smiled before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a kiss. You nibbled at his lips as he turned and began backing toward the bed. When his knees hit the mattress, he fell back easily.
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “I knew helping you move this monster in was a good call on my part.” He arched his back, pressing hips and shoulders into the mattress. You paused for a moment to take stock of what you saw. Dean, half naked, hair disheveled, legs spread wide in invitation, laying out over the pale green of your sheets in your giant, California King.
“Damn,” you whistled and when Dean raised an eyebrow, you gestured at him on the bed. “If they used this picture as an advertisement, they’d be out of stock in an hour.” Dean grinned and winked at you. You held his eyes as you pushed your jeans off your hips, shimmying a little to get them to slide down so you could step out. His gaze flicked up and down your body, lingering on the obvious bulge at your crotch.
“I’ve got a pretty nice picture, myself,” he said, tucking his arms behind his head as you laughed.
“Well, I think my view could be improved,” you replied, putting one knee on the bed. Dean watched as you crawled up beside him.
“Oh really?” he challenged. In response, you leaned down to lick at the line of his rib cage, causing him to suck in his stomach. You trailed your tongue down into the flat of it before flicking your tongue over his belly button. You tilted your head so that the scruff on your chin scratched slightly at his stomach. One of Dean’s hands came to rest on your head, fingers pushing through your hair. You looked up and smiled as your hands came to rest on the fastenings of his jeans before raising your eyebrows in a question.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Dean said, raising his hips up to help as you undid the button and zipper and pulled the denim down his thighs. When you were done, you came back down to lick a stripe just above the black band of his red jockey shorts.
“See,” you said. “Improvement.” Dean chuckled, breaking off in a low growl as you began mouthing at his length through his underwear. After a few moments, you hooked your fingers in the elastic and pulled, humming in appreciation as Dean again helpfully raised his hips. You sat back on your hips, one hand palming your own erection as you looked at Dean, naked and hard, before you.
He wasn’t quite what you’d imagined, but there wasn’t even a trace of disappointment in this. The head was a little bigger; the vein on the underside a bit less prominent; he was cut, which was somewhat of a surprise – you’d just figured a guy like Dean wouldn’t be. He was thick and heavy, his cock naturally curving up and to the left a little. You reached out a hand and cupped his balls, running one finger lightly over the small part of skin that separated them, feeling the small hairs prickle your fingers. Dean sucked in a breath.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” you said, leaning down to breathe over Dean’s erection. Dean squirmed slightly, one hand fisting in the sheets. You twisted your head and licked up from where his cock disappeared into a light brown nest of curls to just under the swollen head. Then you popped up to lick at the head like a lollipop, bringing the taste of Dean’s pre-cum into your mouth.
“Shit!” Dean grunted. “Shit, yeah,.. yeah.” You continued to explore him, seeing what made him thrash and moan. Small kitten licks to the head of his cock made him twitch, whereas putting the flat of your tongue across the head made him reach up to run his fingers through his hair. Sucking down and curling your tongue just under the head made him swear. Giving a slight scratch of your whiskers across his inner thighs made his shoulders tense and quake. And when you pushed your fingers behind his balls and rubbed the tip of one just across his taint, Dean all but flew off the bed.
“So tell me Dean,” you said, licking the taste of him off your lips as your hand slowly stroked his length. “When you were listening to me moan, thinking about me on this bed…” You moved your body up, still gripping his cock but spreading yourself out beside him. “When you thought about me screaming your name…” You flicked a kiss to his nipples before leaning on an elbow to kiss his tattoo again.
“Fuck, yeah,” Dean groaned, bringing a hand up to your hair, using the pull of it to guide you to his mouth. You pulled back from the kiss to nudge his chin up, running your mouth along his jawline, tongue catching on the shadow of his beard.
“What were you thinking made me scream?” you continued. “Did you imagine fucking me?” Dean tensed, his ankles digging into the mattress as his hips stuttered. “Imagine me on my knees, you draped over my back as you fucked into me?” You add a little twist of your wrist on the upstroke now, so that your palm swiped the head of his cock every time. “Or was I riding you, screaming while you drove yourself up into me?”
“Yeah,” he muttered above you. “Yeah, fuck.”
“Or,” you said, as if he hadn’t interrupted. You moved your mouth to his ear and whispered, almost too quietly, “was I screaming your name because you felt so good around my cock, taking it nice and deep, laying back just like this while I fucked you?”
Dean’s eyes snapped open as he gasped. This time he was the one having to reach down and grab his cock, pushing your hand away as he fought to control his body.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Exactly my suggestion,” you added, rolling your body so he could feel your hardness against his hip. “I’m just curious as to which way you want it. Because me? I’m good with either.”
Dean quickly rolled you over and made short work of removing your boxers so you were laid out naked beneath him. He rubbed his cock over yours, listening to you moan as he sucked a small mark into your chest.
“Never been on the receiving end,” he said quietly, not looking at you. Some of the heat went out of your lust as you pushed at him until he raised his head to meet your eyes.
“Not a problem,” you told him. You rolled your hips to put more friction against him and ran a hand through his hair – as many times as he’d done it to you, you figured that was probably something he liked. Dean pushed his head up into your hand like a cat, his eyes snapping closed as you grabbed his hair and gave a small tug. “Like I said,” you continued, pulling his gaze back to you, “I’m good with either.” You pulled him up to kiss you, reveling in the feeling when he finally allowed his full weight to press you down into the mattress.
The two of you stayed there for a few minutes, moaning and moving, your back arching as he dropped a thigh between yours again to rut against you. It was too much, and you didn’t want to cum like this. You wanted Dean, needed him, on you, in you.
“Fuck,” you growled. “Fuck me. Come on, Dean…”
“Do you have any…” he started and you cut him off by pointing to the nightstand. Dean’s body left yours for a moment and then he was back, tossing a condom packet near your shoulder and holding the bottle of lube.
“How do you want me?” you asked, legs spread wide in invitation. Dean’s voice was a growl as he reached for your hip.
“On your stomach.” You happily complied, rolling over and pushing your hips up so that you could get on your knees. You kept your head and shoulders tilted down on the mattress at Dean’s insistence, feeling his hand rub up and down your spine. Dean shifted behind you, sitting back on his knees to admire the view as he brought his hand up to grip your waist. You reached down to slowly pull at your own cock where it hung between your legs. You could just see him over your shoulder, tilting his head as he watched you touch yourself.
“Dean,” you moaned, “please.” Dean shuttered and you heard the *snick* of the cap being taken off the lube. Dean shifted on the bed and you waited for the first touch, squirming slightly when it didn’t come. And then you felt it – the heat of his breath just above the base of your spine. You froze as the hot trail of air focused right there, at the dip of your back, before Dean slowly started to move downwards. Every inch, he paused, letting his breath fan out over your skin. Every so often, the slow drag of his tongue as he touched your skin. The hand at your waist moved slightly, his thumb digging into the flesh of your buttocks as he pulled you open to his mouth.
“Son of a bitch,” you moaned, squirming slightly. You felt yourself clenching in anticipation as the breath got closer and closer. Until finally, it was there. Right there. Dean breathed against you, in and out, hot and damp, before pressing forward and placing a small kiss at your center. Your hips bucked forward and his grip tightened.
Dean brought one slick finger to your hole and rubbed the lube into the puckered skin. Slow, firm circles as he kissed your spine. When he finally pressed the tip of one finger inside you, you thought you might die. When he was steadily working one finger in and out, you were sure you had. And then he added a second. And then he scissored them inside you, stretching your body. Surely you had died. Surely it couldn’t feel this good.
You were moaning loudly, your body wanton and open, by the time Dean pressed three fingers inside you. His fingers were long and thick, and they easily reached that spot inside that made the room go white and your body ache with pleasure.
“Fuck, I’m ready,” you all but shouted into the sheets. “Dean, I’m ready. Please. Please.” Dean gave a few more thrusts, being sure to hit your prostate each time before pulling back. You moaned at the loss, your body clenching on nothing and wanting everything.
Dean leaned over you to reach the condom near your shoulder, letting you feel the hot length of him against your skin. You turned your head to watch as he used his teeth to open the packet one handed. He grunted as he rolled the condom down his cock, before stroking himself. You heard the slick glide of more lube. Then, he shuffled forward on his knees, nudging yours farther apart so your hips sat a little lower on the bed.
“Now remember, Y/N,” he said, leaning down and pressing his chin into your shoulder. You felt the head of his cock push against your opening and tried to relax. “I want to hear you scream.”
“Oh, fuck,” you breathed as he pushed inside. The stretch was incredible, even with Dean moving slow to give you time to get used to him. He did a slow, steady push until his hips met your body, fully seating himself inside. You could feel him tensing, trying not to move until you were ready.
After a few seconds of stillness, you rocked your hips back into him and he grunted. Then he began to move, pulling back a few inches before pushing back in. Dean’s pace was slow and controlled, dragging the pleasure out of your body.
You moved so that you were up on your elbows, back bowed, and pushed a little harder back into his thrust. You moaned.
“That’s it,” Dean said. “Fuck.” One hand ran up your side to slide over your shoulder. He gripped you tight, using it as a place to pull from and added more power to his thrusts. Your head dropped to hang between your arms.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, the words punched out of your body as Dean began to push his hips forward in earnest. You desperately wanted to touch your cock, but knew if you moved one of your arms, you’d face plant into the mattress.
“Touch me,” your voice almost cracked with need. “Dean, I can’t...” Dean’s hand left your waist and reached around, trying to grip your cock, but he couldn’t quite get it.
“Fuck,” you moaned. “Dean…”
Dean pushed himself full inside you and stayed there, his breath falling out of him in waves across your shoulders as he gained control. Then he sat back, widening his knees, and pulled you with him by your shoulder so that he was sitting back on his bent legs, with you pressed up against his chest in his lap.
“Oh, God.” Dean slid even deeper inside you, and the head of his dick pressed firmly against your prostate. As you shuttered, Dean reached around to stroke your cock. Lightning seemed to dance across your skin, jolting you with every touch and breath.
“Come on, Y/N,” he said against the nape of your neck. “Come on.” The two of you began to move then, pushing and pulling in rhythm. Dean’s hand worked fast and sure on your cock, his thumb swiping over the head every now and then. You felt that tell-tale pull behind your navel, your body tightening up in anticipation of release.
“Fuck, Dean,” you moaned. “I’m close. I’m gonna…” Dean squeezed his hand tight around you and sped up his strokes, his hips slapping against you.
“Yeah,” Dean said, teeth biting into your shoulder. “Yeah, come on.”
“Dean, fuck, Dean…” You felt your body seize around him, felt that explosion begin just below your belly. “Fuck,” you screamed, “Dean!” You reached back and grabbed his hips, one hand reaching behind to tangle in his hair as you held him to you. You felt his hand continue to pump, milking you through your orgasm as hot ropes of cum splattered on your chest.
“Fuck,” Dean said, shifting behind you. Your body twitched at the feel of his hard cock still balls deep inside you. You tried to move, but your muscles were lazy and sluggish. You shifted as much as you could, tightening the grip of your hand that still rested in his hair.
“Come on,” you murmured, “come on. Keep going. Feels so good – wanna feel you.” Dean bit your shoulder again and wrapped his arm under your armpit and around your chest, holding you to him. He widened his knees, sitting back further on his haunches, and began to piston in and out of your body.
“So good,” you said, feeling the tingle of your orgasm continue to zing through your body as Dean’s cock hit your prostate again and again. “So good, Dean. Come on… want to hear you scream, too,” you add, clenching your muscles around him as tight as you can.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean cried out before slamming up into your body and holding you to him as he roared your name. You felt his release, felt him shutter with the power of it, before his body relaxed and the two of you fell to the side, panting and groaning. Dean slowly let go of you, pulling his hips back and you gasped as he finally left your body.
After a few false starts, you managed to roll off the bed and stand, taking a moment to make sure you wouldn’t just drop face first to the floor before heading to the bathroom. Dean watched as you disappeared and then returned with a few warm, wet washcloths. You used one to wipe the cum from your chest and groin, before coming back and helping Dean remove and dispose of the condom. The second cloth wiped the drying sweat and cum from the rest of your bodies before being tossed in the laundry. The top sheet was a lost cause, but the comforter, which had been kicked to the floor, was good, so you threw the sheet in the laundry bin and settled down in the bed to pull the comforter up over you.
Dean lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. You pulled yourself in close to his side, ducking under the arm to lay your head on his chest, breathing in deep. He still smelled of musk, but now there was a lingering scent of salt and sweat, of sex. You knew it was in your sheets, and you hoped that smell was in the very fibers of your mattress.
“Fuck, that was awesome,” Dean said with a sleepy grin. You chuckled and hooked your calf over his knee.
“Damn skippy,” you murmured. “And we are doing this again when I wake up.” Dean huffed a laugh.
“You bet your ass we are,” he agreed. “I know you like to scream,” Dean added as he dropped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you to lay atop him. “Now I wanna know what it takes to make you speechless.”
You felt your dick twitch with interest, Dean’s body valiantly trying to respond as well. You let your head rest on his chest.
“Sleep, then more sex,” you mumbled into his skin, as a compromise to your dick and a promise to Dean. One of Dean’s hands fell to your shoulder, holding you firmly to his chest as he hummed an affirmative. Your eyes slid closed as your body demanded sleep.
As you drifted off, you made a mental note to buy your landlord a really good case of beer.
END