Can't Tell Which Way Is Down
He knew the job was dangerous when he took it.
This story is set in an AU where Dean is in college, Mary is alive and there are no demons; it was written for the lovely quirkies, who asked for a "missing scene" from the aforementioned AU. Given the POV, this is more Any Chance Collision than Always Falling – I flipped a coin for it.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine but I'd make Dean wear his boots all the time if they were.
Rating: M (Language, Sex)
Characters: Dean/OFC (Het)
A/N: Written for the Celebration challenge at spn-het-love on Livejournal.(I exceeded the word count by 17 words. I'm a terrible moderator...)
She rode him breathless, a tangle of arms and legs dropping her mouth down to his jaw line; inhaling the musk and the salt where their bodies met, the slap of skin against skin and the shuddering wet and the blunt-tipped fingers digging into her hips until she was a moan and he was the spasm rippling through her like a rock falling into a pond – until she fell as still as a stone, breathing in the sweat off the curve of his neck. Fingers curled into his while she listened to him breathe.
"Jesus, baby," he murmured, chuckling when Charlotte lifted herself up just enough to press a kiss onto his collarbone. "I've got a rug burn on my ass the size of Texas."
"You knew the job was dangerous when you took it."
"Like hell," Dean retorted, rolling onto his side. She smacked Dean's chin with her forehead, sliding onto the carpet with the same 'oof' that had gotten them there in the first place when her hip connected with the floor. "It's not like clumsy chicks come with warning labels," he added, working his jaw. "Might have been easier on both of us if you did."
"I still maintain that you're the one who tripped me." Charlotte touched his chest, feeling the heartbeat against her fingertips as he flashed her a shit-eating grin. "Your boots should come with a warning label."
"Made it up to you, didn't I?"
Dean's voice dropped into a growl, warmth fluttering between her thighs, and suddenly she was the one flat on the carpet; his hands twisting in her hair, his knees pressed on either side of hers – arching her back when he licked a stripe up her neck.
"Every single day," she whispered.
He snorted. "You're so fucking hinky."
But his breath hitched when her fingers encircled his length, still slick from the both of them.
The title of this piece is a lyric from the song "When You're Falling" by the Afro Celt Sound System – featuring Peter Gabriel. Hey, at least I'm consistent with my soundtrack for the character.
And, yes, the boots should come with a warning label. Just saying…