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Little Red Riding Dean

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Dean could definitely suck a cock. He’s never done it before, but how hard can it be? He’s seen plenty of petite little things go down on him before, so it’s not like a cock wouldn’t fit in his mouth or anything. Really, is it much different than eating a chick out? It all tongue and mouth and wetness. Only difference is the size.

Because that’s what they say, right? Ass, gas, or grass. Dean’s got no money on him and he's fresh out of weed. That only leaves one option in his arsenal.

He pulls the hood of his red sweater up over his head and zips it the rest of the way, trying to keep the cool breeze from whipping at his face. Fuck. Why’d he have to get in a fight with Lisa tonight of all nights? If their on-again off-again relationship was gonna be off-again, she could have at least waited until it didn’t feel fifty-fucking-below to dump his ass on the side of the road.

He’s supposed to be warm and cozy at his brother’s house-warming party; instead he's walking along the side of the highway, trying to hitch a ride like a shiftless, wandering hobo.

Dean watches as another car whips past, not even slowing down when he sticks out his thumb. Fucking right they don’t stop. No one picks up hitchhikers anymore. No one sane, anyway. He’s either going to freeze to death along this highway or end up chopped to pieces in some psycho’s basement. Great end to a fucking spectacular life.

“Are you going to get in?” A gravelly voice asks him, and Dean is shocked to realize that a car has pulled to a stop directly beside him. He peeks a look through the opened window and sees wild, untamed hair that frames piercing, blue eyes - better to see him with - staring back at him through the darkness.

Dean looks to his right and left and backwards over his shoulder, just in case the dude is talking to someone else. All he sees is empty highway and ominous forest.

“You don’t mind giving me a lift?” Dean asks, suddenly wondering if whoring himself out in lieu of bus fare is really his smartest move.

“Not at all,” Blue Eyes purrs, and Dean’s right back on board with the suck-this-guy’s-dick plan.

Dean opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. He looks back over at his savior and realizes, that yes, he is definitely going to suck a cock tonight. Even if it wasn’t Hitcher’s Code, Dean would be volunteering to pop his oral cherry the second he got a proper eyeful of the gorgeous hunk of man sitting beside him.

"So how do you want to do this?" Dean reaches over to fumble at the driver's pants. "Do I just take these off and go to town or-?"

"Pardon me?"

"Um, unless you'd rather do me? I didn't think about that, but I mean, if that's your thing."

"I'm not interested in-"

"Cause my girlfriend drove off in my car, and my wallet was in there, and I don't have any weed, but I know where to get some if you just drive me to-"

"I don't have any need for-"

"And I can suck a cock. I know I can. I haven't, yet, but I would. I mean, for you. I mean, I was gonna anyway, but then, you. And, wow. So I'm definitely not, you know, opposed or anything."

"Stop. Please, will you stop? Calm down. Take a deep breath; hold it; out through your nose. Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

Dean takes a few gulping breaths.

"What's your name?"

"Dean." He answers before his brain can remind him that he's supposed to lie.

"OK, Dean. Well, first off, I don't want money or your weed. I have plenty of both already. Secondly, I'm all for expressing your physical desires, but sucking the dick of a guy you met ten seconds ago presses even my boundaries."

“But you would suck a dick?” Dean asks out of sheer curiosity and not because he’s thinking about the soft pink lips in front of him being wrapped tight and warm around his suddenly half-hard cock.

Hottie McDriver drops his eyes in an anything-but-subtle manner to oh-so-obviously check Dean out. He lifts his eyes back to Dean’s, raises one hell of a suggestive eyebrow, and answers, “Would, have, and will again.”

Then the bastard fucking winks and Dean’s at full mast.

Mr. Subtle’s lips pull in a downright lecherous grin and Dean’s pretty sure he learned the definition of that word so that he could recognize this very moment. “Is that something you’d like, Dean?”

Dean swallows a little too hard and thinks he might have trapped an air bubble in his throat; it’s the only reason to explain why he’s suddenly unable to speak. Actually, with the way Captain Bedhead is staring at him now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to speak again. The most he can muster in response is a vigorous nod - it’s a little late for acting coy.

“Then why don’t you tell me where we’re going?”

Dean fumbles in his pocket for his phone, pulling up the directions that Sammy had texted him. Through the type of miracle so often spurred by the prospect of impending sex, Dean finds his voice, “86 Maitland street. It’s in town, just off Kent. Blue house. Third on the right. Can’t miss it.”

Blue Eyes smirks and shifts into drive. “You just move in?”

“Nope. Brother. Visiting.” Dean shakes his head from side to side, willing himself not to come from the gravel of this sexy fucker’s low fucking voice rolling all over his goddam body. Who is this guy? Maybe Dean should ask for his name, but all the blood that would normally fuel the brain cells required for that type of CIA-level questioning is currently residing in his dick.

“Interesting,” the dude taps a long finger to his pursed lip. Dean wants to lick that fucking finger.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Dean whines.

“Excuse me?” The stranger rolls his head to the side to hit Dean with another wave of those fucking eyes and that fucking smile. He takes his hand away from his mouth and moves it to stroke slowly up Dean’s thigh, “Don’t tell me you’re not house broken.”

Dean doesn’t whimper. That would be weird. It would be so weird if the hottest stranger Dean’s ever seen was a dude driving him home to maybe swap blow jobs, who implies that Dean’s a puppy that needs potty training, and that somehow gets Dean even harder.

“Pull over,” Dean begs. What? He’ll beg; he’s not too proud. At this point, he’s never even heard of pride.

“I can’t pull over again, Dean,” Blue Eyes smirks, “I’ll be late for an appointment.”

Where the fuck could this asshole need to be right now? What needs prompt attention at ten-fucking-p.m. on a Saturday night? And how the fuck is any of that more important than Dean’s very hard, very leaking cock?

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters.

He reaches down and makes quick work of his belt and zipper. Just as he’s about to reach into his boxers, Blue Eyes grabs his wrist and pulls Dean’s left hand towards his mouth. Dean rubs the palm of his right hand into his crotch, kneading at his aching cock.

As he pulls Dean’s thumb into his mouth, the dude takes his eyes away from the road and locks them on Dean’s. He darts his tongue out to lick quick, wet strokes up and down Dean’s thumb, suckling the tip before sucking the whole thing back into his mouth. Turning his eyes back to the road, the dipshit licks Dean’s fingers one-by-fucking-one. He takes his time, lavishing wet, sloppy strokes all over Dean’s shaking hand. Then the bastard presses a deep, lingering kiss to Dean’s palm, and hums and Dean just fucking loses it.

Just like that, he’s coming, and he never even got to take his cock out of his pants.

Dean’s pretty sure he blacks out for minute, because when he comes back to himself there’s a soft laughing sound filling the air.

“That was beautiful,” the chuckling voice says.

Dean remembers that the voice is attached to the most gorgeous dude he’s ever seen, whose fucking tongue on Dean's fingers just made him come virtually untouched.

“I can, uh,” Dean waves a hand at the dude’s crotch, “You know.”

“You will,” Blue Eyes smirks again.

“Mmmmm.” Dean closes his eyes and sinks into his seat, enjoying the afterglow. A moment of blissful silence stretches between them as they roll down the road.

“I’m Cas, by the way.”

Dean’s eyes shoot open and he turns to the stranger, wide-eyed, “You’re-”

“Your brother’s new roommate and fellow resident of 86 Maitland street. Just off Kent.” The beautiful fucking dipsh- Cas; Cas grins so fucking big that Dean thinks he’s gonna pass out. "Can't miss it."