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“Get back in the car, goddamnit,” Dean shouted, his words rumbling out of his throat. The two of you started bickering in the middle of a hunt, so now, he’s pacing you in the Imapla on a dead road in the middle of the night.
“No. You’re being an ass.” You shout back at him.
“And you’re being stubborn. Gonna get yourself killed out here.” He groans back at you, hand loosely wrapped around the steering wheel. He’s getting angrier—worried, since you insisted this demon was hiding out on this stretch of road. Hence the bickering. He’s not one to doubt your intuition, but he was getting antsy driving up and down this road for an hour.
Did you love this? Yeah. But did you also wanna punch him in the face? Yeah. And was it because he’s so damn delicious when he’s angry? Yeah. And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t that mad at him. The two of you often indulge in a little fake fighting between friends—just to keep the blood pumping—but this one was real. Real frustration lingered between you, like whatever else always does. And his frustration started a few hours ago, when this hunt interrupted his hand wrapped around his cock.
“Ya love me?” He asks softly, slowing the car like he’s getting ready to put it in park.
“Not right now, Winchester.”
He cocks his head and puts the car in park. “Fair enough.”
His movements are swift, out of the car in seconds—aching cock and all. You’re standing there, pretending like his walk over to you isn’t making your heart race. His voice is low, deep in his throat. “Get your pretty ass back in the car right now.”
“No, you’re pissing me off.”
“You’re pissing me off too!” His voice is louder, his body shifting forward, but all you can focus on is the softness in his eyes—the concern in his eyes. And all he can focus on is the tiny pout you’re wearing and how adorable you look when you’re mad. You drop your head, groaning because he’s got you. Before your throat can muster up the word “Fine.”, you both snap your heads toward the sound of a man walking out of the trees.
“You two love birds are something else.” He clicks his tongue, finger waving in the air. Dean moves within a second, standing in front of you with his gun already in his hand. “So much passion between you two…” he says, smile widening. “So much need.”
Dean stays put, gun pointed right at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The demon only responds with a laugh, standing below the trees. Neither of you knew what you’d been hunting for all night, just that some demon was hiding out around here—and now you’ve got him. Dean doesn’t even know if a gun will do anything against this guy, but he is sure willing to find out.
He points at you, a smirk growing on his face. “Can I borrow her for the night, since you guys are fighting and all?” He tilts his head, slow and deliberate, causing Dean to shift forward slightly, jaw tight.
“Oh, bite me,” you spit, shifting your stance. A flicker of a smile tugs at Dean’s mouth, one he wasn’t expecting. He’s supposed to be mad at you, but how can he be when you’ve got a tongue like his?
He gestures toward you, fingers loose like he’s mapping something only he can sense. “Mind if I get a taste of her?” His smile widened. “She’s fertile right now. So warm.”
Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the demon, even if he wants to. The feeling of your hand pressed against his back nearly makes him crumble. “You keep her outta your mouth.”
“See? There it is. That love.” He drags it out, pushing off the tree. You’re both quiet, watching the way he tilts his head like he’s listening to something under the noise between you. A second passes, and he lets out a fake gasp. “Got both your hearts racing with that one.”
Dean’s quick to bite back, ”Nah. That's just me deciding where to shoot first.”
The conversation only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like hours. The woods are quiet, the pavement is damp, and Dean’s back is heavy pressed against you. He’s guarding you with his damn life. The demon shifts his attention toward you, brows high, and arms crossed. “Now tell me, sweetheart, do you always make him this protective?”
Then he takes one step towards you—
Bang.
The sound rings out before dying quickly in the trees. Dean’s body stays pressed to yours. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t shift. He just sighs softly, “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Silence settles again, but you’re focused on the way you can feel Dean’s pulse slow—as he can feel yours. Maybe he’s trying to feel what that demon could, or maybe he’s too comfortable feeling you pressed to his back. He almost hopes you’ll touch him. That your lips will meet the back of his neck. Your fingers will run down his spine, or your arms will wrap around him—just because you need him close. He’s aching again, even if he doesn’t wanna give that demon the satisfaction of being right—for saying what he swallows.
“Sorry, I was being a bitch.” You mumble, breaking him out of his minor-spiral. He turns, eyes scanning your face to check up on you. He’ll never stop worrying about you, even when he’s dead.
He chuckles, “S’okay, I was being an ass.” He pauses, looking back toward the demon, then back at you. “Would you get in the car now, or do I gotta throw you in?”
You don’t even respond, throwing him a smile before opening the car door and sliding into the seat. He’s twirling his gun as he walks in front of the car, and you feel it. That tingle up your spine, that throb between your thighs. All your frustration was masking the absolute state he puts you in—and it doesn’t help that you are ovulating.
His brows ease once he gets in the car, turning up the radio and sinking into the seat. The motel isn’t far away, but it feels like it once he starts driving. He’s thinking about you, and you’re thinking about him. Both of you are hoping the other doesn’t feel it penetrating the air. You wanna touch him. You wanna slide closer, place your hand on the back of his neck, and run your fingers through the side of his hair. Your stomach flips just thinking about it. Fuck.
You let a minute pass and then another.
And then, there you are, right next to him. He acts like he doesn’t notice, but hell, does he ever. You wait a second, pondering the outcome if he hates it. But if he likes it…
You move your hand up, running it through the side of his hair before letting it linger at the back of his head. And he melts into it, blinking slowly and relaxing underneath your touch. Then, you move your hand back into his hair, lightly running your fingers through it. He almost moans at the feeling, but he keeps his composure, or he’ll crash the car. His arm is touching your chest, your thighs are pressing into each other, and your hearts are beating at the same pace.
His head tilts toward you, and you can feel your heart jump. It only lasts a few seconds, but those eyes—those damn eyes. He looks back at the road, and your lips go right for his jawline, kissing him softly. You trace his entire jawline in kisses before moving down to his neck, which you turn into sloppy ones. He doesn’t know what’s come over you, but he’s sure as fuck glad about it. He lets out a tiny groan when your tongue begins running over his jaw.
“You tryna murder me?” He mutters, eyes still forward, cock throbbing in his jeans, and his greatest weakness by his side. You give him another kiss, but this time further up.
“Maybe,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear.
Another groan leaves him. Fuller, deeper. He can feel your smile against his skin, and it’s driving him crazy. And so does the feeling of your hand sliding around his bicep. He’s pissed. Not because of you, but because the motel isn’t right in front of him. “Hold on,” he mumbles, pressing his foot to the pedal, while you’re still kissing him all over. All he wants to do is grab your face and kiss your soft lips, the ones that are making him a throbbing, sticky mess.
“Need you,” you whine into his ear, and he practically sees stars. You needing him—in any way—is enough to keep him set for the rest of his life. And right now, he’s exactly where he wants to be. You start whispering in his ear. “When we get back to the hotel, I want you to fuck me so deep that I can barely breathe.” He throws his head back, clenching his jaw through a groan.
“Stop,” he whispers.
You smile softly against him, “Throbbing, aren’t you, pretty boy?” Your fingers start to trail over his thigh near the painful hard-on trapped in his jeans. “Hm?” You question, and he still doesn’t answer. His mind is spinning, and he’s angry that ten minutes feels like a lifetime. He doesn’t wanna take you in the car—no, he can’t. He needs you sprawled out, he needs the space to fuck you senseless. “Answer me.” Your voice is still as soft as ever, and he’s on the verge of drooling. He swallows, his neck caving in a little as he chokes out, “Yeah.”
A soft moan leaves him once your palm reaches his buried cock, and all he can do is drive even faster and say your name like he’s angry at you. “Been wanting you all night,” he says as your palm still sits on him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, before the hunt.” He clears his throat, “Nearly came thinking of you.” He pauses, feeling your weight shift to crawl on top of him as you hum in response. You’re doing your best to make it as smooth as possible, not to block his view of the road. “And then thought about shutting you up—Fuck.” He stops, groaning at the feeling of you sitting in his lap, giving his cock something more to feel.
“You should’ve.” You whisper, hands grasping his face while your lips start dancing over his face. He says your name through gritted teeth once he feels your hips grinding against him. His right hand ends up on your ass, holding you tight.
“You’re gonna make me crash, sweetheart.”
“Then drive faster.”
To which he obeys. All he can think about is your soft lips, the ones that haven’t left a single spot on his face untouched. They’ve been on his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, his eyebrow—everywhere. Somewhere in those kisses, he feels safe, like maybe someone can take care of him for once. He’s never wanted anyone more than he does right now.
His cock is aching in a way he hasn’t felt before. Maybe because he’s always wanted you, even though he tries not to entertain that feeling much—mostly because he’s come close to knocking out a few guys who’ve flirted with you. And he can’t even bring himself to think what would happen if he lost you.
Once you make it into the motel parking lot, he finally gets to face you. He’s been feeling you for the past ten minutes, and now he gets to see you. Quite frankly, he missed your face. His hands are pressed to your ass while yours are on his face. After a few seconds of sitting in anticipation, he hums, “Let’s go.”
The second you make it into the motel room, he has you pressed against the door, but he doesn’t kiss you yet. He waits, savoring the seconds before he can no longer kiss you for the first time. One hand sits on your side, the other on your face, and he’s wearing a hung smile. He tries to hold out for as long as he can, but his patience is thin. And one small whine from you sets him off. His lips are on yours. They’re slow, deep kisses like the sounds sitting in the base of his throat.
You moan against him, moving your hands into his hair. The kiss goes deeper, and soon your tongues begin dancing, with his practically down your throat. You can feel flutters throughout your body, along with his bulge pressing into you. He sucks your tongue once he comes off of you, picking you up and moving you to the bed. He’s waited all night for this—and the entire time you’ve known each other.
He doesn’t waste any time removing your pants while you remove your shirt. “Goddamn.” He exhales, looking down at your bra and panties. “Been hidin’ this from me?” His fingers run over the wet spot that’s been there all night, pressing a little into your pussy lips. He does it for a few seconds, up and down, just to see you squirm.
“Please.” You whine, and he shakes his head, a smile curving. “Nah baby, not yet. Gonna take my time with you.”
And he does. He grabs you by your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. His lips start kissing you over your underwear, then onto your inner thighs. He’s slow, enjoying every second of this. Soft noises leave your lips, and your body is jolting, so he holds your legs down, still kissing you through your panties. Your hand makes its way into his hair, tugging just enough that he groans through you. His fingers snake up the sides of your thighs, hooking around the fabric and letting your pussy breathe.
He doesn’t do anything with you; he just gets closer to your pussy. You can feel his breath on you as he takes in the sight of you, glistening in the dim light of the motel. He hums, hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place. “Please, Dean,” you whine again, more desperate this time, more impatient. A smirk comes across his face, and he waits another second before finally putting his tongue to you. The sound of your whine was too decadent that he couldn’t resist not hearing more. And he gets more, more whines, more whimpers, and a plethora of moans from you. He’s hungry, and you’re sitting pretty on a plate.
He starts devouring you, licking, sucking, kissing—he’s doing everything. Anytime a different sound leaves your lips, he smiles against you, moaning into your pussy because he’s found a new spot you like. And it doesn’t take him very long to get you close, especially when his fingers come into play. They’re hitting you deep that you can’t help but scream his name in pleasure. Your moans are broken up and breathy as he gets you even closer. Your back is arching, and his hand is trailing up to grab one of your tits.
Soon, your orgasm is heard throughout the motel.
Once he comes up from between your thighs, he tears his clothes off and comes on top of you. You’re still panting, but his lips meet yours. “Need to fuck you.” He mumbles in your neck, kissing you softly. You planned on sucking him off, but he can’t wait any longer. His arm moves underneath your head so he can see your face, just as your hand grabs his cock, moving up and down slowly. A grunt leaves him, and he doesn’t waste any time burying himself inside you. His eyes don’t look away from you; he needs to see the way your face changes once you feel him inside—he needs to see the way your mouth opens in a gasp.
“Shit,” he drags out, taking in the feeling of his cock swimming in you. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to feel you, taken him this long to enter heaven.
He pulled you closer with his arm as he started thrusting inside you. “Fuck, Dean.” You choke out, your moans becoming a mess as he continues going deeper and deeper. But then, you flop out your tongue, a tiny crease sits between your brows, and he lets out a breath. He couldn’t even believe his eyes right now, but he obliged, spitting into your mouth. He watched as you swallowed it, and he couldn’t contain the shaky breath that left him.
“Wanted you for so long, handsome.” You mumble, mouth parting with another moan. He’s so focused right now, but he’s also on the edge of losing his mind.
“Me too—” He groans. “Fuck.”
He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and immediately flipping you over. The sight of you like that almost takes what little air he has left away. His hand runs down your back, following the arch up to your ass that is right in front of his face. His hand immediately slaps your ass, muttering, “God, you’re perfect.”
You’re drenched, but he spits on your pussy anyway, which makes you whimper into the pillow. He doesn’t warn, he just slides right in. All he knows is that he wants to fuck you until the end of time—he wants your sounds on loop in his brain forever.
After a few thrusts, his arm snakes around you so his hand can pull you up by your neck. You’re a mess, making noises you haven’t heard yourself make before. All you can focus on is how deep he is and the sounds he’s spilling into your ear. Breathy, broken, rugged. He’s pounding into you now, sending mounds of pleasure through you. And if you could see him right now, it would send you over the edge: bouncing necklace, open mouth, and furrowed brows.
“Dean…” you cry out. “You’re in my—“
“I know, baby,” he says between breaths. “Fuck, I know.”
His lips find the side of your neck, kissing you before biting you ever so softly. His thrusts are slow, so he can hit you deep. You cry out, and all he can do is moan in your ear at the sound. He fucks you like that for a while, or at least it feels like it. Moans melding together until his hand eases on your throat, letting you go back down to your elbows. His grip on your sides is tight like he can’t risk letting you go. “Baby,” you choked out, feeling his cock hit you so damn good. “Need you, Dean.” You panted, and he let out a deep moan, his smirk proud and strong like his cock in you. Your knuckles were turning white, and he was getting close to losing it.
“I need you,” you whine into the pillow, then you repeat it two more times.
“Fuck!” He groaned, ending it with your name like he’s pissed at you for getting him so wrapped around your finger. You need him? Fine. He’ll give you what you need. His thrusts pick up even more. He’s giving you everything he’s got right now, and you’re loving every second of it. He doesn’t think he’s heard his name this much before. It keeps coming out of your mouth mixed with moans and constant repetitions of how much you love his cock. He’s barely holding on.
“Love how you fuck me, Dean.” He swallows hard, but you don’t even give him the chance to respond before you’re spitting out more. “Love how thick you are,” you pant, and he moans. “Baby,” he cries out, he’s close, and you can tell. Pounding a few more times before a loud, low moan fills the air—your name following it.
He stays for a second before flopping down next to you on the bed. You’re both panting, his legs are shaking, but a smile still finds its way onto his face once you look at him. His smile softens after a minute of not taking your eyes off each other. You expect his sharp tongue to come out, but instead he just looks at you. Really looks at you.
“What?”
He huffs out a laugh, “Nothin.”
“Liar.”
“Yeah,” he admits quietly.