TITLE: A First Time for Everything
PAIRING: Dean/Other (Het)
WARNINGS: Dean is underage (2 months shy of his 16th birthday)
THANKS: Kelly (Paintchipped on Tumblr) - long-suffering beta reader.
SUMMARY: Dean Winchester walks into a bar a virgin. After this, that never happens again.
It was two months before his sixteenth birthday, and holy shit, he was beautiful.
Too beautiful, and he knew it. He'd heard "pretty boy" so often from his dad's friends that it changed the way he moved his face, the way he held his mouth when he talked, how he walked. He displayed his teeth more when he spoke, like he was ferocious. It was adorable and completely ineffective. Because the first thing anyone thought when they looked at Dean Winchester was: Damn, that boy's pretty.
Depending on their sexual orientation, people wanted to punch him in the mouth or fuck him until he passed out. Sometimes both. Dean knew when they were looking at him, and thinking about him that way. He would square his shoulders, thrust his chin out and scowl to look tougher.
"You take after your mom," John told him. "You'll man up."
"I don't need to man up," Dean grumbled from inside the bathroom, where he was shaving despite it being unnecessary. At least his voice had changed the way it was supposed to, and Dean knew from flipping through porno mags that his other parts were okay. Hell, maybe better than okay. It was just... his face.
They were heading out to a hunter bar that night. Dean had only been inside one a few times, but the last time he'd gone, months before, a drunken bear of a dude had sent over a drink like a smartass, winking at him. "Oh, shit, son, I thought you was a girl."
So Dean had just stared at the guy as he drank the beer, never letting his eyes shift, not blinking at all. He chugged the beer and slammed it down when he was done. And then he fucked up the dude's tires when they got outside. Dad chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, but the damage was done.
He looked back at his face in the mirror. Why did he have to take after Mom? He immediately felt awful for thinking it.
Dad was standing in the open door of their motel room, getting impatient. "If you wanna man up, Dean, you might want to stop primping in the damn mirror."
"I'm not primping!" Dean yelled back angrily, thankful that Sam was already in the car and hadn't heard that. He slammed the bathroom door and stalked out after his father.
It was about 7PM when the three of them walked into The Arsenal, before the rowdier element had gotten enough of their drink on to be much trouble.
The woman working the bar, Trish, elbowed the younger woman who was putting drinks on a tray. "Vicky, look."
Vicky did a casual glance over her shoulder that failed on the "casual" part when she did a double-take. "Oh. He looks like trouble. Not that there's anything wrong with that."
Trish laughed, incredulous, and checked again. "You're looking at their daddy, aren't you? I assume he's their daddy anyway. I'm looking at Angel Face over there."
"The kid?" She asked too loudly, causing some of the patrons to look over. Vicky dropped her voice. "For what? You wanna take him to the zoo? He looks like he might still be growing!"
Trish's eyes narrowed, looking him over. "Honey, look at his hands. He's not only fully grown, he's already taking care of business."
"Eh, I prefer my men with some miles on them."
"They gotta get the miles to have them." Trish was already pulling her wavy auburn hair out of its up-knot and combing it with her fingers, yanking her tank top down in the front to display her cleavage.
"You're basically a pedophile. You've got, what, twenty years on him?"
"Is that all?" She had twenty-five years on him, at minimum. But far be it for her to mention it. "That's the kind of person you want corrupting them, sweetie. Someone who knows exactly what they're doing."
"If Max finds out, he's gonna hunt that kid down and fill him with buckshot."
Trish frowned. "And who's gonna tell him? Bastard's been gone for two months. He could be dead for all I know."
She noticed that the kids' father had sent the two boys away. Probably because there were now two other hunters at the table, discussing grown-up business with grim expressions. Angel Face fondly ruffled the hair of the younger, darker-haired boy who was with them, dropping quarters into his hands for the arcade games. When he walked outside again, alone, Trish saw her chance, admiring the way he rolled his hips a little when he walked. "You can hold down the fort, Vicky?"
Vicky shook her head. "Yeah, I got it. When are you coming back?"
Trish just winked and made for the door. "When the kid's bowlegged."
The boy was leaning against an old black car when Trish found him outside. It was the only car with sense enough to park under the lone yellow light of The Arsenal's dirt lot, which put him right under it. As she walked up to him, he didn't uncross his arms, but stood up straighter.
She reached in to her back pocket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it as she looked him over. He had some height on him, and his shoulders were nice and broad. He was at least a head taller than she was. His green eyes and his mouth were too big for his face, and everything he seemed to be doing to toughen himself up as he looked back at her only drew attention to them. She wondered if he knew.
"Can I help you?" He asked stiffly, clenching his jaw at her.
"Good voice," she said aloud, mollified by it. If the kid had squeaked and crackled at her, she probably would've gone back inside. "Got a name to go with it?"
He hesitated for a moment, but relaxed back against the car. "Dean."
"I like it," she said. "Like James Dean in his leather jacket. Are you a bad boy, too, Dean?"
Miracle of miracles, his lips curved into a smile that only seemed to happen on one side of his face. His voice, which was already good enough, went a bit husky and got even better. "Who's askin'?"
"Me, sugar. Only me. My name's Trish."
It was his turn to look her over, but she wasn't worried. Trish prided herself on her figure and on the fact that no one had ever turned her down before. There was no reason to start batting less than a thousand now.
Regardless, his brows had furrowed with a bit of uncertainty. "What do you want with me?"
The stress in his question was on "me." She heard it and it almost made her take a step back. She tilted her head at him, curious, seeing if he was fishing for a compliment. He wasn't. "I'm just passing time, angel. How old are you?"
The way he clenched his jaw drew her eye to his very fine neck. "I'm seventeen."
She took a drag off her cigarette. "You're lying."
He dropped his shoulders a little, some of his smugness gone. "Sixteen."
She suspected he might still be lying, but shrugged it off, stepping closer. "Your daddy gonna be in there for awhile? You know… occupied?"
"We're gonna be here for the night, staying up at the —" His eyes, already too big, went wider then. She hadn't noticed before now, but he had ridiculously thick eyelashes. They made him look like more of a deer in the headlights than he already did. Had he never been hit on before?
His swallow was almost audible. "I guess so."
Trish crushed her half-smoked cigarette under her boot. "I live across the street. Let's go."
Dean's heart was hammering in his chest the whole walk over to her place, to the point where he was sure Trish was hearing it. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. It wasn't helping that he was behind her, watching her butt wiggle as she walked. Her jeans were so tight, not an ounce of space was available. There was no way she had underwear on. Maybe that thong underwear. Dean imagined sliding her jeans down her long legs and almost tripped over a tree root in her front yard.
He told himself to be calm. Hell, he knew what to do. He'd seen movies, he'd looked at magazines. And while he was pretty sure those Penthouse forum letters were bullshit, he'd learned lots of stuff. He made out well enough with lots of girls, but he hadn't sealed the deal. He'd gotten so far as fingering a girl named Melissa in the back of the Impala when she showed him she wasn't wearing anything under her mini-skirt. Dad had put a stop to that quickly, like he could sense from inside the motel room that Dean was up to no good. But he still got hard when he thought of the sound she made when he slowly stroked her with his thumb. If Dad had just stayed put for a couple minutes more…
Dean almost expected his dad to pop out now and haul him back to The Arsenal. He might've been hoping for it, a little.
Fishing her keys out of her shirt pocket, Trish stepped up onto her porch and opened the screen door. He followed her inside. She palmed the light by the front door. Everything inside her place was kind of worn-out, dark and threadbare, but looked nice enough. Trish shrugged off the shirt she wore over her tank-top and draped it over a chair.
She turned to face him and he froze, because now he was seeing her in full light, and she was gorgeous. He could tell from the laugh lines around her full mouth that she was older than he was, maybe quite a bit older, but he couldn't have given a guess as to how much. Her cat-like eyes were so pale that they might've been blue or green. Also, as she stepped closer, he noticed that her dark nipples were unhindered by anything resembling a bra. They poked insistently at the thin fabric, making him think of every wet-t-shirted centerfold that had ever helped him jerk off. He thought maybe he was supposed to kiss her, rip her clothes off, something… but he couldn't move at all. Smooth, Dean thought.
She laughed like she knew what he was thinking, running her palm down his bicep, trying to gauge muscle mass through his jacket. "Relax, angel." She winked. "I'm only gonna hurt you if you ask nicely."
That time she heard the swallow, he was sure of it.
"What do you drink?"
"Beer," Dean tried to say toughly.
She looked him up and down, obviously more amused by this declaration than impressed. "Well, I doubt that, but maybe it'll help you loosen up, huh?"
Dean waited until she disappeared into the kitchen, craning his neck around to watch her go and huffed into his hand quickly to smell his breath. At least he had passed on the onion rings, if only because he thought it was impossible to look intimidating while eating them.
She appeared again with a cold brown bottle and pushed it into his hand. "Drink up, I'll go get ready. If you need more than one, it's in the fridge."
"Okay," Dean said, a little numbly. He pried the top off with his ring and drank half of it before he'd even taken a breath.
Turning, she watched as the beer level went down. "You've never done this before."
Dean was offended. "I've had beer before."
"Sex. You've never had sex before."
He finished the rest of the beer in two gulps and rolled the empty bottle nervously between his hands, ring scraping against it, giving away his fidgeting. What was the use of lying now? He shrugged to himself. "No."
From around the edge of her bedroom door, her eyes were tracing the general outline of him as if she was going to eat him. Dean had been given the once- and twice-over plenty of times, but somehow her gaze made him feel like he was already naked.
She turned away, pulling the thin tank top over her head as she went. Dean rocked forward onto his toes and shyly peered into her bedroom from across the hall. She was standing in front of a stereo, jeans at the halfway point between her waist and the back of her thighs, a beautifully round ass partially on display. She pushed a button and the sound of Led Zeppelin rolled out into the hall just as she turned, naked breasts bouncing, and caught him looking.
In response, Dean's cock went so painfully rigid against the seam of his jeans that he had to suddenly change the way he was standing or risk injury.
It was certain now. He was in over his head. He was dressed enough for three people and had no fucking clue about what to do. He'd barely made it to third base.
"Maybe I should have another beer," he said, trying not to make direct eye contact with her breasts.
"Dean, you didn't even need the first one." She called out. "Relax!"
He couldn't figure out what exactly she was doing until she appeared again in the door. Her jeans were gone now, but she'd put her black cowboy boots back on. Completely naked and on display, except… not. She had a patch of soft red hair between her legs, and as she shifted her weight to one hip, her thighs parted and —
Dean felt his mouth stupidly drop open, a small startled sound coming out, before he clamped it shut again.
"Shhh." She walked up to him and grabbed his hand, prying the beer bottle out of the other hand. He was apparently holding on to it for dear life. Dean found he couldn't even look directly at her. She was just a blur of so much naked flesh, right there in his peripheral vision.
She pulled him across the hall into her bedroom. It smelled like flowers and vanilla, and so did she. She didn't close the door behind them, but stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He found himself kissing her back with his eyes wide open, before closing them and getting into it.
Her mouth tasted slightly smoky but good. So good. Dean felt himself returning the pressure of it as hard as he could as she thumbed open his belt buckle. At least she seemed to know what to do with her hands, he thought, realizing his own were just hanging stupidly at his sides. He reached out to rest them on the small of her back. The feel of her warm skin against his palms had made his whole body respond in shock. He was even harder now than he had been in her living room. Embarrassingly, as soon as she'd unzipped him, he sprung out into her hand (this just had to happen on laundry day, he thought) and she laughed. She had a great laugh, too, but it was the last thing he wanted to hear while his cock was basically in her hand. He felt himself blushing hard, and as a result, blushed even harder.
She pulled away from the kiss to look down. "Oh!"
Dean looked down too, suspicious of his dick for the first time in months. Without thinking, he scolded it. "Calm down, Deanis!"
Trish looked at him as if vaguely horrified. "Did you just call your dick 'Deanis'?"
He grinned proudly. "Get it? It's my name and it's my penis. It's Deanis."
She was frowning at him judgmentally. "You're lucky you're cute."
Despite the fact that he'd named his dick, Trish couldn't help but think that she had picked a winner.
Dean was still undressing, with her assisting when his muscles seemed to go frozen. His problem seemed to be nerves and the fact that he kept looking at her and forgetting where all of his buttons and zippers were. She was enjoying looking at him herself. There was something vaguely puppyish about his arms, which didn't yet match what the width of his shoulders and his big hands were promising. But everything below the hair at his navel was as man as it was going to get. His ass and thighs were muscular and thick. It was a good thing, too, because what he was sporting down there needed all the structural support it could get.
Adorably, he wasn't even aware of it. With every piece of his clothing that he peeled away, he seemed to be actually go more flush in the face. When she'd leaned in to kiss him, she noticed a spray of freckles that spanned his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. They became more pronounced with each awkward rush of blood to his face. If she hadn't felt like a pedophile before…
"Dean, the first time you have to change clothes in a locker room with a bunch of other guys, I want you to remember what I'm about to say to you."
He dipped his chin down and leaned forward earnestly.
"Stick your hips out and swing that thing," she said with a delighted smile, giving him a solid slap on the butt. "No one's going to give you any shit, ever."
If possible, he blushed harder than ever, looking down self-consciously. As he sat on the edge of her brass bed and untied his big boots, she saw similar freckling across his thighs and forearms. Freckles of all things, she thought. When his socks and boots were finally pushed aside, his jeans hit the floor with a solid thump. A gun, she was guessing, or a big knife. Well, if he wasn't too young for his daddy to make him hunt, he certainly wasn't too young for her to ride.
Still sitting, he turned toward her expectantly as the opening notes of "D'Yer Maker" poured out of the stereo, his hands on his knees. All he had on now was some jewelry: some kind of gold pendant on a makeshift black cord, a big black watch and a ring. And the way he was looking at her as she lounged next to him was far from boyish. Shifting to put his knees on the bed, he moved toward her.
"Not so fast," she scolded. "First-timers don't get to come in and makes moves. You'll get your chance soon enough."
He smirked, almost indulgently. "All right, then what?"
Oh, he'd be sorry for that little smirk later. She smiled, quickly counting twenty different acts that she'd like to commit with him. "Sit down on the bed, up by the pillows."
Dean did as he was directed, but not without giving her another of those crooked half-smiles and raising his eyebrow. When he had his legs stretched out in front of him, she crawled toward him, planting a knee in the mattress on either side of him, wiggling up his legs and onto his hips. She noticed that when he looked at her, his mouth opened a bit, like he was ready to take something in. It gave her an idea.
He arched up a little to meet her, waiting to shift into her, but she wasn't playing. She leaned forward, being sure to rub the head of his big cock between her legs, to show him she was slick and ready. He made another of those little surprised sounds he'd made when she caught him watching. Probably because of this, he wasn't paying attention when she reached under the pillows, or when she took his hand and moved it toward the headboard.
"Wh —?" He started, too late, as the handcuff snapped closed around his wrist.
She moved up onto his lap more. He was right where, if he could grab her hips, he could've fucked his way in. But that was the point. He was still staring, mouth open, as she claimed his other hand and, threading the handcuffs through the headboard, snapped the bracelet around it as well. Now his hands were secured, but not so high that he couldn't rest them on the top of his head. She didn't want him uncomfortable. Not yet, anyway.
"What are you —?"
But she had positioned her breasts in front of his face. "Put that pretty mouth of yours to work and I'll tell you."
Without taking his eyes away from hers, he shyly licked the underside of her nipple, as if curiously tasting it.
"It's not going to bite you, Dean. Lick it. Suck on it."
He moved forward, this time putting his whole mouth on it, sucking it between his lips. He saw her approving look before she remembered to hide it and smiled as his tongue darted out.
"You're awfully cocky for someone handcuffed to a bed."
He raised his eyebrows at her. "According to you, I'm awfully cocky for damn near anyone."
Divulging that to Dean was what a hunter would call "a tactical error." Or so she gathered from the smug way he ran his tongue over his teeth and grinned up at her.
He closed his lips over her nipple again, a little more sure of himself this time, as he lightly passed his tongue across it. He blinked his big eyes, but otherwise did nothing to break eye contact. He was watching her face for every reaction, seeing what worked and what didn't. He tentatively grazed her nipple with this teeth. It felt so good that she made a startled sound of her own. He smiled broadly in mid-lick. He was stiffening more and more between her legs, insistently, but he wasn't trying to move against her the way she would've anticipated. The look on his face told her that he was starting to understand this game, and he could play it, too.
So he was a quick study, then? Well, there were ways around that.
But there was something about the combination of him being restrained, and still looking so smug, that was doing a number on her concentration. Where did he get off? And why was she reacting to it this way?
She raised her hips from where she was straddling him so that her ass was in the air. Every part of her body was almost touching him. Her nipples were almost grazing his chest. She tucked her hand between her legs as if she was reaching for him to put him inside. He seemed to perk up then, spreading his knees even farther apart, pulling against the handcuffs as a reflex.
Instead, she reached down and, wetting her fingers inside herself, proceeded to rub herself hard against her own palm, but close enough to where his cock had jerked up that she knew he was feeling the heat and the damp between his own legs. She made sure to touch him, just a little, grazes, "accidents." His balls felt painfully hard when she dragged her fingers over them. Honestly, there was so much heat and his size was so promising that she wanted to sit down and ride him as hard as possible.
With each second that she touched herself and not him, his smug expression faded by an order of magnitude. He was back: the boy she'd left in the living room who couldn't let go of his beer bottle. She slipped her middle finger inside herself, watching him. His wrists were red and abraded from pulling against the restraints, his biceps pronounced as he struggled. His eyes were wide and shiny as he sucked his own lips in desperation. She slipped another finger inside, desperately riding her hand now. When she looked at him, his mouth opened suddenly and let his lips go. She watched as his lush mouth changed: from pale and bloodless to red and swollen from biting. He was making his open-mouthed "ready" face again, as if genuinely pained that he wasn't licking or fucking something. A low moan came out of her throat as her fingers quickened, in a hooked little "c'mere" motion against the perfect spot. How could someone's face, just their face, look as filthy as his did in that moment?
And when the climax broke over her, she was staring at his mouth, at the muscles standing out in his neck. She cried out and squirted all over him. There was so much of it and it just kept coming. Startled, he drew his knees up around her, roughly unseating her, which put his cock directly under her chin and made him look more decadent than any other sin she'd committed in her life.
"Whoa," Dean rasped. "I've read about that, but —"
She couldn't help it. She slumped forward between his knees and onto him, her ass still spread to the world while she tried to catch her breath. He chuckled low to himself, probably thinking the music would hide it. She felt the vibration of it through his chest.
He still had the nerve to be cocky, after all of this!
She raised her head and pushed back in a half-crouch in front of him. He hid the laugh on his lips now, with a furtive hand-in-the-cookies expression that made him look younger than he already was. With his knees still drawn up to him, his arms behind him, he was basically just a lewdly-arranged banquet in front of her. But more than that, the position had raised his ass off the bed. He, like the comforter around him, was completely soaked. Her juice was still dripping down his shaft and balls, too.
Sitting now, pulling her booted feet in front of her, she scooted close to him so that her knees touched his ankles. He shrank back a bit, probably without realizing he was doing it, which made every swollen, engorged inch of him more accessible. In fact, ten years later, hearing the word "swollen" would make her think of him and smile.
She dragged two fingers down his shaft and along the side of his balls, smearing her mess around in slow little circles. His stomach clenched as he grunted, trying to press himself more into her touch. For a minute, she feared that this alone would get him off, but he was just getting harder and harder. She collected more moisture from the inside of his thighs, taking a second to appreciate the hard muscle of his leg, right where it joined his ass. There was a vein there, twitching like mad.
At that, she leaned forward more, so that her knees were planted solidly against the inside of his calves. She was practically sitting on one of his feet. When her fingers were nice and wet, she smiled up at him. He smiled back, with something that looked like relief, his shoulders and jaw relaxing at the same time.
With that, she rubbed her wet fingers right against his exposed asshole.
"Jesus!" He called out, struggling more now, the handcuffs rattling loudly against the brass. With her other hand, she braced his free foot. She might've been smaller than him, but she was strong. There was nowhere for him to go.
"I've read about this," she told him playfully, drawing little designs in the wetness around his asshole, up to his balls and then back again. "There's a gland up there that feels so good when it's rubbed the right way. If you're nice, I'm going to try to find it."
"In there?" he asked, his voice coming out higher than she expected.
She laughed, but she didn't stop. "Where's that smirk now, huh, Dean? Where's that cocky little eyebrow?"
She wanted to slip her thumb inside him, just a little. She would've gone for the baby oil inside a drawer on the bedside table, but she liked him splayed out just the way she had him. She wanted him to have no chance to rearrange himself. Instead, she took a chance in letting go of his foot with her other hand and put it up to his mouth, but not so close that it would be easy to reach with him handcuffed. "Get 'em wet."
"What?" he asked shakily. Even this word he could barely get out, with her rubbing his asshole so slow and thorough, putting her thumb right against his opening, pressing.
"Get my fingers wet. And believe me, you'll want them as wet as you can get them."
His eyes widening, he leaned forward, straining. Breathing hard, he sucked her fingers into his mouth, running his tongue along her fingertips. If possible, this was the dirtiest thing she'd seen yet. As if he was picking up on this, exactly, he sucked harder on her fingers, biting her knuckles, making his tongue a hard little point.
"That's enough," she said, getting annoyed. If she didn't know better, she could've sworn he was smiling a little as her fingers slid out of his mouth.
Raising up to rock forward on her knees, she leaned in to kiss him hard right as the hand he'd just licked went straight for his asshole. He gasped into her mouth, biting her lip at little as her thumb slipped inside. She pulled it out again, kneading a tight little circle around it. "I've heard that men can come this way. You don't have to touch their cock at all."
The groan that came out of him was more like a whimper. "Come on…"
She slipped her thumb in again. A little more this time. "I don't think this moisture's going to hold for long. I need to oil you up, but it's over there. Are you going to be good and stay just the way you are? I'd hate to have to restrain you more. I can't tie your feet to anything from here, but I can duct tape your ankles together if I have to."
He shook his head. He looked legitimately afraid of losing any more control than he already had. Never taking her eyes off him, she opened the drawer and grabbed the bottle. She let some pool into her palm and slicked her hand all the way down from the head of his cock, back down to his ass again. The sounds that were coming out of him now were animalistic, low grunts and growls. This time she got her thumb all the way in, letting it slide in and out as his muscles tightened around her. It was killing her to not just take his cock into her mouth; he was probably the one man (if he was that) she'd been with that she wouldn't have been able to deep throat without injury. She looked up at his face. His teeth were bared at her, his lips drawn back.
She slipped her thumb out and put her index finger in its place, up to the first joint. He was pushing his hips forward into her fingers now. Taking the hint, she pushed up, one more digit, feeling a knot of nerves under her finger. She tentatively slipped another finger in to join it, being careful, but not so careful that he wouldn't be walking in a substantially different way tomorrow. Both fingers were pushing upward against the knot now, moving alternately into it. He actually spread his knees wider, his cock pointed at her accusingly.
"Why, Dean," she murmured. "You're making me wonder about you a little."
"Do it," he growled. "Do it!"
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. She slid her fingers all the way out and back in again as he wordlessly moaned. "Giving orders now? Someone's not learning how it works around here."
"Fuck!" He yelled angrily, like he was biting off the word.
She laughed, sliding her fingers out and in again, pressing against the hard little cluster with a little more pressure each time she re-entered. His breathing was to the pointing of gasping now, or hyperventilation. His face, shoulders and chest had gone red and sweaty with exertion. His wrists were scraping against the handcuffs, the first signs of broken skin showing under one of them where it was caught under the face of his wristwatch. None of this was slowing down the way his hips were bucking up against her hand. She wondered what would happen if she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth, right now…
She waited for the next spasm around her fingers and sucked down on him, running her tongue around a dark vein on the shaft that was sticking out a good quarter-inch from the rest of his cock.
She'd barely tasted him when Dean cried out, coming so hard against the back of her throat that she almost choked on it.
His whole body seemed to go slack with the release, including all of the muscles around her fingers. She slowly drew them out. He grunted, pulling against the handcuffs, making a little sound like a sob once she was all the way out.
"I shouldn't have done that," she said, amused, licking him off her lips so he could see it. She would've liked to kiss him, give him a big mouthful of it. "I really would've liked to have ridden you instead of letting you get off like that. I guess you'll still be something like a virgin when you walk out."
He could barely keep his eyes open. If any of his muscles worked, she was pretty sure he would be glaring at her right now. He yanked at the handcuffs again, hinting.
"Catch your breath first. I'm not 100% convinced I should let you go just yet. What do you think your daddy would say if you just… don't turn up for a couple more hours?"
He closed his eyes and groaned.
"I could leave you here for hours. I guess Vicky might eventually tell him where you got off to. What would he do if he found you just like this?"
His eyes snapped open.
"Too much?" she asked, smiling wide. "I don't know. You seem like the kind of boy who likes to get caught doing something awful. I'm not usually wrong about these things."
She reached into the drawer and pulled out a key on long chain. She let it hang for a minute before wrapping it up in her fingers. "Nope, still deciding. But there's something that would help me think…"
There was no smugness now, no eyebrow, just caution. Then again, she wasn't sure he could move any of his smaller muscles just yet.
"Here's the thing, Dean: it's been two months since I've gotten off as hard as I got off just now, just watching you squirm." She fidgeted pointedly with the key. "If your daddy wasn't a hunter, I think I'd chain you up in my basement."
"What would your husband say about that?" Dean managed.
She stared at him. He jerked his chin toward a big pair of boots next to her bathroom door. His own had landed over next to them.
"Do I look married to you, Dean? And if it's been two months' worth of frustration that I'm thinking of unleashing on you, how likely do you think it is he'll come back for those boots?" She let the chain hang in front of his face and got up onto the bed. Planting a cowboy booted foot on either side of him, she stood and braced herself against the headboard. He looked up her and, showing his teeth for just a moment, bit her on the inside of the thigh with what appeared to be some sharp incisors.
"All right," she said, making up her mind. "I think you know what the price is on those handcuffs." She pushed down into his big smug-lipped smile. "When your face is good and soaked, I'll let you go. This assumes that you know what you're doing."
She expected an argument, or some kind of backtalk. All he did was push her thighs a bit farther apart with his head, licking a slow path up to her. The smugness hadn't stayed gone for long, she noticed. She couldn't see the lower half of his face, but from where she was standing, his eyebrows had not learned a damn thing.
After a moment, she didn't even mind anymore. He was covering her slit with his entire mouth, running his tongue slowly from back to front, exploring and tasting. She put her hand under his chin to move him where she needed him. It was obvious that this was new for him, but better than that, it was also obvious that he was sincerely curious and enjoying it. She was revisiting her basement idea already.
He moved his mouth against her a little more insistently now, dragging his bottom lip behind it like a second tongue. Her knees went weak, spreading her wider for him, as she tightened her grip on the headboard. He was raising his face up into her now, searching. He knew where the nub was going to be, she had to give him that, and given the eagerness of his licking, he wasn't going to stop until he found it. He was almost…
With one broad, flat swipe of tongue, right as she opened a bit more for him, he had it. She felt him smile up into her, felt it in his jaw muscles against her thighs. She felt herself making the same, sympathetic movements with her tongue.
"There." She said. "There. Stay there. If you stop, I'll —" she gasped out.
His voice was muffled against her, but clear. "You'll what?"
She responded by grabbing a handful of his hair and forcing him into place. He plunged in again without hesitation. He was paying attention to her breathing, to the buckling of her legs, to everything. He also seemed to be paying attention to the opening drumbeat of "Good Times Bad Times" on the stereo, working his tongue flat from hole to nub and back again, perfectly in rhythm. When she tightened her thighs around his face, he attentively quickened his tongue in response, sucking her into his lips, just a little, just —
She called out, all of her muscles spasming, legs buckling completely as she drenched him. He didn't pull back when he felt it, either. He just forged on.
"Stop!" she said. "Just… stop!"
She felt him shaking his head between her legs. He kept licking, making it clear that when she stopped, he'd stop, too. With the force of all her weight on the headboard, she felt something crack and give way. She didn't care, she just kept grinding into his mouth. He was using her own moisture to move back and forth. She couldn't even keep her eyes open. She felt like she was going to pass out.
"Stop!" She cried out, more urgently this time.
"When I get a key," he mumbled between licks, "I'll stop."
Oh. She'd forgotten about the key. She pulled away from him, knees landing hard on either side of him. His face was wet and he was blinking it out of his lashes, but he was still grinning, proud. She opened her hand, almost dropping the chain. It seemed to take her a good two minutes to get her bearings, but she got one of the cuffs opened and, rolling sideways onto the bed next to him, handed it off to him so he could take care of the other.
He got free of the other one and rubbed his wrists, rolling his shoulders with a wince.
"I think we broke my bed," she muttered into the pillow, opening one eye to look at him.
He was gone.
"Hey —" she started, just as she felt fingertips digging into her hips, roughly dragging her ass into the air.
With one big hand, he pushed her face into the pillow. "I think we can break it a little bit more."
Dean hung the key around his neck, enjoying the feel of her round ass in his hands, finally. Gathering both of her wrists, he put the handcuffs on her. "Let's see how you like it, huh?"
Trish ignored this. "What are you even doing back there? Waiting to get hard again?"
He laughed. It was a low rumble that seemed to come right up from his belly. To answer her, he slid the full length of himself between her ass cheeks, something he'd been wanting to do since she first turned her back to him. "Oh, honey, I was hard again when you rubbed yourself on my face. You were just distracted I guess."
"Are you gonna run your mouth, or are you gonna fuck me?"
He yanked her into a standing position by the handcuffs, catching her by the elbow before she fell forward. He pulled closed to him and said into her ear, "You know what? Taking orders is cute and everything, but I do that enough. Now I'm gonna give you some."
She spun around and fought Dean, almost as a reflex, which turned him on more than he could've thought possible. All she could really do was move her head and shake her shoulders, trying to kick. Holding her tight around the waist, he ducked his head down, getting a good bite in on her nipple. When she shrieked (and that shriek didn't sound too put out, he thought), he grabbed her under her ass and forced her up against the wall like he'd seen on movies. She had no choice but to wrap her legs around him to support herself. He snarled a smile at her. To her obvious amusement, the angle took him a couple of tries to get right, but on the third attempt, he had it, thrusting in hard. The force knocked her head into the wall.
Dean was about to apologize, but she didn't seem to care. Her legs wrapped tighter around him. Dean's attention was split: first on not coming until she got off again, second on how she felt around his cock. Each of these made the other one impossible for concentration, so he gave up, just enjoying the sensation of being in and out of her, his balls drawing up as he pounded into her.
Dissatisfied with the lack of leverage, with gravity forcing her down on him, he pulled away from the wall, his cock still inside her. This was obviously one of those positions that looked better on television. Trish kept wiggling in his arms, not even playing coy with how turned on she was. He walked her around like that, one hand bracing her back, not being too subtle in showing off that he could carry her without effort. He looked at the bed, but he figured they might've done too much damage to that already. He walked her out into the rest of her house, gauging the height of her furniture.
"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.
"I'm looking for something that's a good height for bending you over."
"Not the couch," she said quickly. "It's right in front of the window. I don't have a curtain up."
Lifting her off his cock with a grunt, he put her back on her feet. Looking over at the couch, he raised his eyebrows, smiled at her crookedly and pushed her toward it.
She tried to move away, but he turned her around, wrapping his arm around her belly.
"No! I have neighbors that live over there!"
"Then I hope they enjoy the show."
She struggled against him again, so pissed off, so completely useless with the handcuffs on. He just had to laugh. Jesus, as long as she kept doing that, he was going to stay hard forever. He pushed her down so that her belly was across the back of the couch, ass in the air. The couch rocked under him a little when he braced himself against it. Finally, after struggling to get her still again, he drew his hips back and thrusted into her so hard that she had to scramble to hold on.
For someone who didn't want to be seen by her neighbors, she was thumping back into his balls pretty enthusiastically. If she really wanted him to stop, a swift backward kick with one of her cowboy boots would've done the job, and she seemed like the kind of woman who knew it. Realizing this, Dean laughed and put one hand on her neck, forcing her to look straight out the window, so that her breasts were visible over the back of the couch. "And you talked about me being watched, huh?" He fucked into her, harder and harder, punctuating each time with a thrust.
"I hope they're watching."
"I hope they come into your bar."
"I hope they go to your church."
"I hope they know your mother."
The small of her back was getting red, like she was all tensed up, ready to go. He reached around her waist to stroke the little nub he found earlier with his thumb. She moaned, desperately leaning into him, knees digging in hard, her cuffed hands making desperate grabbing motions.
A light came on in Trish's neighbor's house. She snapped back when she noticed it. Dean laughed so hard, his next thrust accidentally jabbed her in the butt.
"Ow! Dean, get me away from the window!" she hissed at him.
"Be good," he said, sliding his hand up her belly to play with her breasts. "If you complain again, I'm gonna carry you outside, knock on their door and fuck you on their front porch while they watch."
As if these were somehow the magic words, Trish buckled forward, seizing and gasping against him.
"Oh, you liked that!" Dean said, pleased with himself. "Maybe I should take you back to The Arsenal, huh? Probably still a big crowd of hunters there who'd want to stand around and watch you get fucked. What do you think? Over one of the tables? Or the bar?"
It was her turn to whimper now. Dean brought his hand back down to her pussy, letting her rub desperately against the heel of his calloused hand. "I think I saw some pool tables in the back. I bet you'd be fun to throw down on a pool table, right there in the middle of everything —"
All of her muscles clenched around him as she pitched forward against his arm. She didn't rain all over the couch like she had the bed and his face, but she went almost boneless against it. The part of her couch where he'd braced himself was bowing in the middle, kind of like her headboard. Dean couldn't hold on anymore. He grabbed her hard by the hips, panting, moving so fast he was sure they'd both be bruised and sore tomorrow. Right as Robert Plant wailed about wanting to be her "backdoor man", Dean came so hard that the force of it sent them both forward onto the couch. He rolled off of his knees and sat down hard, pulling her down onto his lap. He feverishly kissed her neck and pushed the damp hair away from her face.
She rattled the cuffs behind her. She could barely talk. "Get them off."
He smirked and licked his teeth. "Gee, I don't know…"
"Even you need a break after all that," she panted. "Come on, get them off."
He took the key from around his neck, smiling lazily at her while he unlocked them.
"Bed," she ordered sleepily, rubbing her wrists. Hers hadn't gotten as messed up and bloody like his. He walked her over to the bed, but he wasn't sure who was supporting who or how his legs were even working. They both fell in. She pulled a blanket over them. Dean felt into a coma-like sleep less than a minute later, his face buried in her hair and his arm possessively thrown over her.
Dean woke up to his shoulder being roughly shaken.
"What? What?" He put his hands over this face as a reflex, the same way he'd woken up ever since a wraith had gotten into their hotel room two years before. For a horrible moment, he thought Trish's boyfriend, or whatever he was, had gotten home.
It was worse. It was dad.
"Shit." Dean rubbed his eyes and put his head back down, like he could just make him go away.
His father leaned down to talk right in his ear, trying to not wake Trish. "Dean, if I have to shake you one more time, I'm dragging you out of here in whatever state you happen to be in. Since I almost tripped on your pants just now, I'm guessing —"
"Right," Dean said, sitting up suddenly, self-consciously gathering part of the blanket onto his lap and checking behind him to make sure that Trish was covered as well. His entire body felt uncomfortably sticky, but at the same time he found that his brain and muscles were both too wrung out to give a fuck about much of anything. What was horrifying was the thick sex smell in the room, and his dad no doubt smelling it.
John threw his pants at him. His other clothes followed. Dean sat slumped forward until he had them all.
"You pissed at me?" He stage-whispered to his dad, bracing himself for the answer.
John shrugged. "About time you manned up. Just let me know where you are next time."
Dean snorted. "That'll happen."
His boots landed in front of him with two loud thumps. "Dean, get dressed. If you're not out of here in five minutes —"
Dean felt an ill-advised smirk forming on his face.
"No, Dean, five minutes isn't long enough to get another shot in. Now come on!"
He pursed his lips and shrugged as dad stalked out, pulling his shirt over his head.
Trish rolled over. "Leavin'?"
He gestured at her living room. "My dad's here. He… I guess someone told him…"
"Probably Vicky," she said shortly. "It's okay. Is he pissed at you?"
"No, which is… weird." Dean leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. "But I had a good time."
"Oh, there aren't words to describe it, honey. Don't even try." She halfway propped herself up on one elbow and said. "You are sixteen, though, right?"
Dean opened his mouth and closed it again a couple of times. "Fifteen."
Trish pulled the blanket over her face, laughing into it. "Oh, Jesus, what am I doing?"
"I'll be sixteen in two months!"
"Oh, Dean, that doesn't make it better. Sixteen was bad enough."
"So you're saying that if we happen to come through here again…?"
She uncovered her face. He smiled down at her, pulling his jeans on, zipping carefully.
Dad cleared his throat pointedly in the next room.
"Go," Trish whispered with a grin, looking like she was about to doze off at any moment.
Dean pulled his boots on without tying them and grabbed his jacket, closing the door softly behind him.
When Dean walked out, dad was sitting there, looking suspicious. "What the hell happened to this couch?"
Dean shook his head and said nothing, overly fascinated in putting his jacket back on. Suddenly, as if his father's words from before had just now gotten through, Dean said, "Wait a minute. 'About time I manned up'? You chased me out of the car three separate times when I was trying to man up!"
"Excuse me for not wanting to sterilize my car, Dean."
"Oh." Yeah, he wouldn't want Sam riding around in a cloud of sex smell either.
They walked outside. Sam was in the backseat of the Impala, looking at his big brother curiously. Dean grinned at him, wincing a bit with each wide step.
"Why are you walking like — you know what? I don't wanna know."
"Okay," Dean said, smirking again.
"You shouldn't look quite so proud, Dean. And put your damn collar down."
Dean walked ahead of his father, ass pain and loose boot laces be damned. "Nah, I'm good."