The whole thing started out the way that it usually did, with tequila and a pool table.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine but I'd make Dean wear his boots all the time if they were.
Overall Rating: M (Language, Sex and a Four-Poster Bed)
Warnings/Spoilers: No spoilers for the show. Light bondage.
A/N: Written for the Eating Out challenge on prompt was to incorporate food in some form or fashion in the story. Hey, there are chicken wings.
The whole thing started out the way that it usually did, with tequila and a pool table and a chick tapping her foot in time to some emo crap passing as music.
She kicked back a shot and set the glass down in front of her, not even blinking before she poured a second one and sent it home. Not even turning her head when the balls scattered across felt, smacking into each other and the sides of the pool table. She just rested her chin in her hand and drummed her fingers against her cheek and she smiled when the waiter dropped off a basket of spicy chicken wings.
He stood there rubbing blue chalk on his stick and watched, taking in deliberately slow licks across the pads of her fingers before she twisted her thumb between her lips – pulling it out with the same moist pop he'd been wanting to hear all night, his hands wrapped around the back of her head while that tongue of hers swirled circles around him.
He leaned in close when she started nibbling on another wing, balanced on his cue stick, and she shivered when his lips touched the edge of her ear.
"Darwin was a dick."
"Excuse me?" She glared at him over her shoulder.
"You heard me. A dick." Her eyes narrowed when he smirked. "All those people going to court just to teach his theory and you don't think he's a dick?"
She threw the chicken wing back into the basket and hopped off of the stool, sucking on her thumb one more time before stalking past him. She slammed the rack on the table and grinned up at him. "Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to pick up your balls, shotgun?"
Might as well have been a declaration of war, green eyes sizing him up and down until he returned her grin and pulled a quarter out of his jeans – flipping it to see who would break. She was still licking Tabasco sauce off of her fingers when she called 'heads' and sauntered around the table to set down the cue ball, mouth quirking up when George Washington glittered in his palm, and there was nothing left to do but wipe that smile off of her face.
She grabbed a stick of her own, testing its length by leaning against the edge of the pool table and taking aim before letting the balls fly.
The bet came later.
She sure as hell hated losing, tempting him with more tequila and her ass pushing up into his crotch whenever she asked him to check the freaking vector of her shot – like a tipsy college chick in a tight skirt could beat him at pool with a couple of cheap tricks, even when she looked up at him and bent over far enough to feel the strain against his zipper. Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that buttons would have been popping open if he'd been wearing a different pair of jeans.
And she talked a good game, breathy little promises about rope and her four-poster bed and how he was going to look spread-eagled on his back. How she was going to make him shudder with nothing but her mouth.
"I could make you come right now," she said, wriggling backwards into his hips.
"Hit me with your best shot, baby doll," he retorted, nipping at one flushed earlobe.
All it took to send her stick skidding across felt was a well-timed breath across the hairs prickling underneath her ear, hands slipping inside her shirt to brush his thumbs across the scratch of lace separating skin from skin – chuckling into the curve of her neck when a ball bounced right off the table. She was going to be the one bursting like a bottle rocket before he was done, pushing her hips off the bed just to get closer to his mouth.
It was her own damn fault for mentioning rope.
The girl was stubborn – he'd give her that, sucking on his lower lip and scratching slowly down his sides when he stretched out on top of her, one of those calculated distractions she loved so much. Licking a stripe up his chest after she tugged his shirt over his head or offering to go get some honey and chocolate with a sweet lilt to her voice that matched her down turned eyes.
Like he was falling for that trick again, the kiss catching him off-guard long enough for her to slip her hand into his boxer shorts instead of letting him tug her skirt down past her hips. But all she did was watch when he cut a coil of rope with the knife she kept in her nightstand, tilting her head and holding out her hands while he bound them together at the wrists; her mouth opening underneath his after he looped the rope around the freaking carving on her headboard, sucking on his lower lip like she was the one in charge.
A rough knot kept her ankles together, enough give in the length for squirming room; enough space to buck hips when pale skin flushed, when she was nothing but a flame burning against her ragged comforter.
He tugged on the rope, making sure the knot would hold, and took a step back. Nothing wrong with admiring the handiwork, getting hard just looking at those tiny nipples of hers, red and shiny from his mouth. Couldn't help himself, not when the lift of her arms pushed her tits up to the ceiling and they were begging to be sucked.
Even lying there tied up, her smile was a dare.
And that smile almost did him in, should have had him thrusting hard – especially when she shifted. Her eyes glittered as the smile widened, body hitching up as she breathed out slow. It wouldn't be long until she was moaning, screaming deep from her belly as her hips rocked; all curled toes and wild hair and hands clawing at nothing but air.
"You little tease."
Only thing to do was wipe that smirk off of her face, crawling up her body with his mouth leading the way; quick flicks of his tongue licking stripes in the crease where her leg met her hip, a trail between her breasts before settling into the back of her neck – lilac sweat warring with the musk whenever his thumb began whirling.
She groaned when he fucked her mouth, a slip and slide of tongues matching the rhythm of pushing through warm folds and brush against the slickness. The strain of the rope when her arms twitched did that goddamn thing to her tits, both of them groaning when he pulled a nipple into his mouth – taunting her with slow circles around the hard nub. She was biting her lower lip, arms bending backwards when he pushed into the swell, thighs opening wide and hips swaying up to drag him deeper inside even when he was pulling away.
"Not tonight, baby doll."
He lifted himself up by the arms, kissing a trail down to the swell of her abdomen with fingers tight on her hips, and she opened her mouth to say something. All that came out was a gasp, his hands sliding underneath her ass while he licked and dipped his tongue; soft thrusts that made her whimper, bucking up into his face when he added a finger before dragging his tongue flat across her.
Nothing he liked better than the smell, salt and earth tangled up with her own spice like a cauldron boiling over every time his tongue went still and she trembled against it; the way she would spill over every time a second finger slipped inside, rocking up into the flicker before he went still again.
Her arms jerked hard when she lifted her hips from the bed, rope scraped across wood and a crack like a shot echoed through the room instead of the soft sigh he expected as she sank back down against the mattress. Especially when the whole damn thing was followed by the thump of something heavy smacking into skin and a hiss that had nothing to do with the way she was undulating underneath him.
She blinked when he looked up at her, pupils blown wide. The carving from the headboard was lying next to her head and her hands were on her abdomen. "Jesus." He hitched up on his elbows. There was already a bruise turning purple on her forehead. "You okay?"
"Okay? We just broke my bed."
"It's nothing that some glue won't fix." He rested his chin on her stomach. "And at least the damn thing didn't land on your eye, because that would have been all kinds of sexy."
"You ass." But she was smiling.
"Guess I don't need to ask if it was good for you."
She sucked in a breath, eyes narrowing. Just as well that he was still holding her thighs down with his arms and there wasn't anything to do but turn that breath into a moan, thrusting his tongue into the warm cleft, curling two fingers. Her entire body quivered as he sucked, fingers clutching at his hair as best she could with her hands still tied up.
And he figured she accepted his apology when her back arched and she started speaking in tongues, convulsing around his knuckles while her pulse pounded against his mouth.
Girl was a goddamn firecracker.
That bruise of hers was only going to get worse.
Only fair to let her sleep, hooking a leg across her thighs and breathing the lilacs off of her hair – right behind her ear, the sweat mixed up together with the sweet. And it wasn't fucking spooning when he slid his arm around her waist and touched her belly, even if he let her think it was. Even if her fingers were resting between his and they shifted until he was curled around her, a shiver wherever their skin touched until her breathing went regular.
But damn if he wasn't pressing into the small of her back, as heavy as it had been when she was pushing her ass up into his hips and she didn't have to do a thing except smell like goddamn flowers.
He rolled away, staring up at the ceiling, and her breathing stayed easy. He couldn't get the taste of her out of his mouth, still felt her thighs trembling around his ears before she overflowed against his tongue and his fingers with a twitch to her hips and a soft cry that only made him work harder. As hard as his fingers clutching his length, jerking up and down in time to the hitch in his chest, and as soft as the hand touching his.
"Jesus, Penny." His ears were burning like he was sixteen because some chick caught him jacking off in her bed. "Fuck…"
She kissed his shoulder with a low chuckle, drawing it out as slow as her thumb sweeping across sensitive skin, and moved his hand. She pulled the sheets back, straddling his thighs with another laugh – but that didn't keep her from shuddering when she brushed against him. Didn't keep her from digging her fingers into his shoulders, nails leaving behind half-moons.
Didn't keep those eyes from staring down into his, her smile caught in the light filtering through her curtains.
"You should have let me win."
"Winchesters don't lose. It's a – "
Whatever the hell it was didn't matter when her tongue started darting against his in time to the warmth teasing his dick. Christ, she was breathing just as hard as he was, all stuttering hips and hot strokes thatkept him throbbing and, fuck, she wasn't slowing down. Rubbing against him with a groan and a spasm and her head falling forward, and he had to think. Think about something like, yeah, like freaking rainbows because he wasn't going to – son of a bitch. Not without screwing her. Had to slip inside of that smile and, oh fuck, he was going to –
She collapsed on top of him with a goddamn giggle, her hair a sweaty tangle that still smelled like lilacs.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, letting it end in a draw.
I did work on toning down the adult sections of this story. Please let me know if more work is needed in that regard and I will make additional changes.
The title of this story is a song by AC/DC. There were any number of titles that could have served – "Beating Around the Bush" made me snort and "Deep in the Hole" made me grin like a moron – but I fell out of my chair laughing when I remembered this one. My cubicle mate is now convinced that I am insane.
The story does take place in my Gobsmacked 'verse but I didn't think 'verse knowledge was necessary to enjoy it. Besides, I figured the pool table and the tequila would give it away if the 'baby doll' didn't do the job for those who follow the main storyline.
I did experiment a little with the voice in this one, even though it's a familiar 'verse. No point in not challenging myself, eh?
I love the word "knuckles" entirely too much for my own good.
And, yes… I couldn't resist breaking a little bit of the furniture.