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Dean was tapping his fingers impatiently on the library table as he watched you and Sam researching potential cases. It had been late when he’d come in from the garage, sweating and covered with grease, a beer in his hand, condensation running down the sides of the bottle. He’d stopped behind you, one hand on the back of the chair, and leaned down to kiss you. You hadn’t taken your eyes off the computer screen, just tilted your head to the side, presenting your cheek to him. He kissed it, the stubble on his chin scratching you, then he dropped to a chair at the end of the table with a loud grunt.
It had been a long couple of weeks. The hunt for the Darkness was taking a toll on everyone, Dean had been spending hours in the garage because Baby had gotten beat to shit on that hunt in Oregon, not to mention the concern over Sam’s visions. Everyone was tired and on edge.
You kept stealing glances at Dean from the corner of your eye, the hard set of his jaw, the flash of something indiscernible in his eyes. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you, watching every move you made, wearing that look he got, the one he always got when he needed a release. You had a feeling you knew where this night was going to end.
Dean cleared his throat as he pushed up to his feet, dropped his empty bottle in the trash, and gave you a pointed look. He turned and stalked out the door and down the hall toward his room. Ten minutes passed before your phone vibrated beside your elbow.
I’m waiting.
You had to close your eyes for a second and try to catch your breath, then you stood up, calmly pushed in your chair, and said goodnight to Sam. You were barely past the threshold between the library and the hall before you sped up, almost running. Dean’s room was at the end of the hall, the door open a few inches. You could hear AC/DC playing quietly inside as you skidded to a halt in front of it.
Dean was standing near the end of the bed in just his black boxer briefs, his back to the door. You paused for a minute to watch him, to remind yourself that the lithe hunter moving so assuredly around the room was waiting for you, that he’d chosen you. He must have taken a shower, because his hair was damp and tiny droplets of water littered his freckled back. He was opening and closing drawers, tossing the items he pulled from them to the bed.
It was going to be one of those nights.
You stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind you. Dean turned at the sound and you immediately dropped your head, hands behind your back, eyes down.
Dean circled you, dragging a finger down your arm, his touch feather light and gentle, for now. He stopped behind you, large hands on your waist, plush lips now pressed to your ear.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” he purred.
A tingle of anticipation ran through you and goosebumps broke out all over your skin. “Yes, sir,” you whispered.
“Get out of those clothes,” he ordered. “And get on the bed.”
You hurried to strip off your jeans and t-shirt, kicking them aside. You started toward the bed, only to be stopped by Dean’s hand on your arm.
“Everything, princess,” he said. He ran a finger down the curve of your back and into the waistband of your underwear, snapping the elastic lightly against your skin.
You nodded. This was new, usually he only wanted you to strip down to your undergarments and then he would do the rest. He liked peeling them off of you, his lips drifting over your skin alongside his hands. You couldn’t help but wonder what he had planned as you dropped your bra and panties to the floor, then climbed onto the bed, lying on your back.
Dean picked up one of the items he’d tossed on the bed, examining it. You couldn’t stop staring at his hands, the length of his fingers, the strength evident as he snapped the thick cotton rope.
“I want you on your hands and knees,” he whispered quietly, moving to your side.
You did as instructed, no hesitation. Dean bound your wrists and tied them to the headboard, testing it to be sure it wasn’t too tight, slipping two fingers between the rope and your wrists. Once he was satisfied that it wasn’t too tight, he pulled you up so you were kneeling on the bed, your ass in the air. Your heart was pounding; this was familiar, you knew what was coming.
Dean moved behind you, his hands moving over your skin, caressing you gently. Leaning over your back, his hands drifted up your stomach as he pressed kisses along your shoulders and up your neck. His hands now on your breasts, kneading them, his fingers plucking at the nipples, pinching and twisting.
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned loudly.
“Mm, get it all out, sweetheart,” he murmured. He sat up and you whined at the loss of his touch. “No safe word tonight. You need to stop, you’re gonna knock on the headboard three times.” He demonstrated, rapping his knuckles on the wooden headboard. “Understand?”
“Yes...yes, sir,” you nodded. Your stomach was twisting and you were already wet, anticipating what else Dean had planned.
He bit into the skin beneath your neck, drawing another moan from you, the sound now muffled. “I want to show you something, baby. Something new,” he murmured. He held out a black blindfold, silk, with an elastic band to hold it in place. “I got us this. Do you want to try it?”
You drew in a sharp breath, surprised. You’d been wanting to try blindfolds for a while, suggesting it on more than one occasion, but you’d been willing to wait until Dean was ready. “Yes, sir,” you said, barely holding back the excitement you felt.
He slid the blindfold over your eyes, everything going dark. You dragged in a stuttering breath, your body tensing. Having your vision suddenly gone was disconcerting, something you’d never tried before. You felt Dean’s hands on your body, felt the scruff on his chin scratching at your cheek. His touch instantly calmed you.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered. “Tell me where you’re at.”
“Green, sir, thank you,” you answered.
“Good girl. One more thing.” Dean reached past your shoulder, slipping something over your head. He tapped your chin and your mouth fell open, the ball gag sliding easily into your mouth. He adjusted it, tightening it around the back of your head, making sure it wasn’t pulling your hair. You adjusted your bite, getting comfortable. This was something you were accustomed to.
“Still green?” he asked.
You wanted to keep going, wanted to see where he was taking this. He needed this after the last two weeks of utter and complete crap he’d dealt with. You trusted Dean, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You nodded.
He climbed off the bed and you could hear him moving around behind you. It was strange not being able to look over your shoulder to see what he was doing, to watch him as he prepared. You found yourself trying to dissect every little sound, every footstep, every sound he made. He was humming under his breath and despite the trust you had in him, when the bed dipped behind you, you felt yourself tensing again.
Dean reached past you and you felt him checking the bindings, then he was pushing your hair away from your neck and asking you if you were okay. His hands were back on you, soothing you, caressing your naked body, his touch calming your tense muscles. Once your breathing evened out and your heart stopped pounding, you nodded twice, signalling Dean that you were ready. He pressed a kiss to the center of your back, between your shoulderblades, his lips soft, wet, like he’d been licking them.
The sound of the flogger whistling through the air and connecting with the sensitive skin on your buttocks startled a muffled yelp from you. Heat pooled deep in your gut and between your legs at the slight sting.
Dean’s flogger was made of heavy, thick suede, materials that made the blows more enticing and erotic than painful. The whistle of it moving through the air came again, the suede now hitting your back, one buttock, then the other. You were squirming, gasping as the long strands connected with your skin over and over, Dean alternating between hard blows and gentle feather light touches, followed by the brush of his hand over your ass.
Your breath was tearing in and out of your throat, your moans muffled by the ball gag in your mouth, your body on fire with need. You wanted, n eeded , Dean to touch you. Everywhere. You wanted to beg him to take you, to fuck you, but you weren’t able to speak, all you could do was whimper and mewl, your hands wrapped around the ropes binding you to the bed, writhing as he worked you over.
The bed shifted and Dean moved away from you. You strained to hear what he was doing, head down, staring at the inside of the blindfold, concentrating on his movements. He walked to the head of the bed and the next thing you knew, the ball gag was loose and falling to the bed. A second later, his mouth was against your ear.
“Are you good, princess?” he asked. “Still green?”
“Yes, sir,” you panted, licking your lips hungrily.
“Good. I’m gonna wanna hear you scream,” he said, nipping at your lobe. “Loud, baby.”
“Oh, god,” you moaned.
Dean’s hand connected sharply with your ass. “Try again,” he ordered. He rubbed circles over the spot he’d just spanked, before sliding his fingers between your legs and tracing over the lips of your pussy. “Y/N?”
“Y..ye...yes sir,” you whined, pushing back, seeking more.
“So anxious,” Dean chuckled. “But you know you don’t get to come until I say.”
“Yes, sir,” you said again.
One finger pressed at your entrance, circling, teasing, his mouth all over your backside. You felt the scratch of his stubble on the back of your calf, the bed shifting, the sting of a bite just above the back of your knee, then a trail of kisses moving along your inner thigh. His hair brushed against your legs, then he was pulling you down, his huge hands around your thighs, holding you against his mouth, tongue lapping at you, his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking. He groaned, the vibration shooting through you.
You gasped, your hips rocking forward, Dean’s tongue sinking deeper into you, his mouth closing over you. God, this was killing you; you wanted to wrap your hands in his hair and stare into those emerald green eyes as Dean fucked you into oblivion with just his tongue.
You were concentrating, focusing every ounce of yourself on what Dean was doing between your legs, listening to the wet and hungry sounds he was making, moaning at the feel of his hands tightly gripping your thighs as he devoured you like a starving man. Every sound, every dig of his fingers into your legs, every brush of his tongue across your sweet spot, had your moans growing louder and louder. You were trembling, your entire body shaking, Dean’s fingers pressed against your clit, circling it several times, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm.
Just as you were about to come, Dean released you, though you could still feel him between your legs, his lips gently kissing your inner thighs, then your stomach, moving up the bed and your body until you felt his hips nestled against yours, his cock now pressed against your cunt, the pressure deliciously perfect. You rutted against him, desperate for some kind of friction, but his hands clamped down on your waist, holding you in place, keeping you from moving. You groaned in frustration.
Dean’s hand wrapped in your hair, pulled you down until your chest was pressed to his, and you could feel his breath blowing against your cheek. He brushed a kiss across your lips.
“Not until I say, Y/N,” he scolded.
“Sorry, sir,” you sighed, dropping your chin to your chest.
He took your chin between his fingers, guiding you to his mouth, kissing you. A minute later, your hands went slack, the ties binding you to the bed now loose. Dean lifted you, pulling you with him as he moved, stopping when his back hit the headboard and you were straddling him, your thighs on either side of his hips, your bound wrists looped around his neck.
“I’m gonna take off the blindfold, princess,” he told you.
You squeezed your eyes closed as Dean pulled the silk cloth from your head. He pressed a kiss to each eye, his hands sliding up into your hair, holding you to him. He moved his hips, the head of his cock nestled between the lips of your pussy, your thick slick coating him. He reached between your bodies, lifted you and lowered you onto his length, easing you down, giving you time to adjust, dragging out the inevitable. He dragged his lips up and down your neck, finally catching your earlobe with his teeth and whispering, “Move.”
You pressed your knees into the bed, rocking forward, sinking onto Dean’s cock, groaning as he completely filled you. He slid his hands out of your hair to your shoulders, holding them as he bucked up into you, pulling you down at the same time.
You were gasping, panting, moaning, so fucking close, almost there, but you couldn’t come without Dean’s permission, so you waited, balanced on that edge, the pleasure so intense it was painful.
Dean wrapped an arm around your waist and snaked a hand between your bodies, his fingers pressing against your clit, drawing a gasp from you. Your head fell back, his lips on your neck, his fingers massaging the swollen nub of nerves, his hips rising up off the bed, his cock brushing your sweet spot with every thrust.
“I want you to come, baby,” he growled.
Those were the words you’d been waiting for. Your head dropped to rest against his, your arms tightened around his neck, despite the ropes binding your wrists, and you rocked forward one last time, the orgasm bursting through you like an explosion of light, your body alight with bliss as you came, the intensity of your climax making you lightheaded and dizzy.
Dean joined you seconds later, groaning as his own orgasm took over, his hand so tight on your waist you knew you’d have bruises there later, a mark of how intense the sex had been.
As the last vestiges of the orgasm dissipated, you found yourself curled against Dean’s chest, his hands moving in soothing circles over your back. He rolled to his side and carefully disengaged himself from you. He gently removed the ropes still around your wrists, his touch always soft and tender, occasional kisses brushed across your cheek as he took care of you.
It didn’t take him long to get you some water, clean you up and put all the toys away; he was always quick and efficient. When he was done, he slipped into the bed beside you and pulled you into his arms.
“You doing okay, sweetheart?” he murmured, his nose buried in your hair.
“I’m good,” you replied, snuggling against his chest. “What about you?”
“Yeah, I’m doing great.” he chuckled, kissing your temple. “Thank you, for everything.”
You smiled to yourself, knowing what Dean’s words really meant. You pressed a kiss to the tattoo on his chest and closed your eyes.
“You’re welcome.”