“Y/N?” you hear from the corridor.
“Yeah?” you poke your head out your bedroom door. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Did you just go for a run?” Dean asks, following you as you turn back to your bed. You’ve got your towel ready for a shower, but if he wants to chat it can wait.
“Yeah,” you smile. “I was feeling good.” You toe off your running shoes and slip off the socks.
“Oh yeah,” he grins a little as he approaches. “What got you in that mood?”
“Dunno,” you say blithely, pulling out your hair elastic. “What could possibly have me in a good mood today?” you wonder emphatically and smile at the guy you woke up with for the first time this morning. Also the most handsome fucker you know.
Dean comes closer, but his smile slips into distraction as he approaches. He looks down at your neck and chest and you watch him as his fingers come up to stroke at the sweat on your bones.
“Dean?… What’s up?”
“Nothin'” he says numbly as he comes close, walking you back to the wall. Again. One hand reaches loosely for your waist as he paints your skin with the moisture around your throat.
Your hands have landed on his shoulders in comfort, not too intimately. “I’m all sweaty and yuck,” you remind him.
“Yeah,” he breathes and disappears into your neck to… inhale? He licks, tentatively, just a little taste in the dip, then another.
“What… What’s going on?”
“Nothin’,” he mumbles lightly. “You just… you look… hot.”
“Yeah, I’ve been running.” You’ve noticed that his inhales are through his nose so ask plainly “Are you sniffing me?”
“You smell really good,” he sighs in resignation, kind of melting onto you, curling his body to press everything against you and starts eating around your neck.
“What? You didn’t have heightened senses or anything,” you say, trying to think. “You couldn’t smell me down the hallway could you?”
“No, it’s just, now that you’re close,” he explains breathlessly, smearing himself against you and getting patches of your sweat on his t-shirt, grabbing anything soft and palm-sized. “Uh God you taste so good.”
“Hey, where was all this yesterday?” you ask, and push him back to make him answer you.
Neither of you notice you’ve got your hands on each others breasts.
“Buried,” he says woefully, “You remember how I went so slow-”
“No you didn’t.”
“I freaking tried, Y/N. I was really holding back!” he cries. His hands move up around your upper arms and pull on you gently, emphasising what he says. “We hadn’t been together before and I knew it wasn’t all me, so I pushed it away.”
His pleading face and tugging hands are enough for you to ease him in as he explains. “This was there I just squashed it way, way down, under manners and gratitude and wanting to not scare you.” His lips are back behind your ear and he’s pulling you against his chest - “Because it’s just a temporary thing,” - your hands are trapped between you, and he nuzzles your head - “pushed it deep, deep, down… fuck…” - before wrapping his arms around your body and seemingly trying to touch every bit of moisture on you.
He’s more than last time, eclipsing and smothering, and you’re trying so hard to be sensible before being overwhelmed, especially with the adrenaline you’ve used this morning on top of everything that happened yesterday. You say, almost to yourself, “Fuck. This shit is lasting a long time.”
“Yeah… Y/N,” he says, lapping something like kisses around the bolt of your jaw, his loose hold around your chin tilting you how he wants. “I don’t care about the curse. Y/N… Please…”
You’re distracted by your stinky clothes and lack of shower. “What? You want… Really? …Now?”
His fingers squeeze your ribs almost painfully. “Yes. Please?”
“Dean, I’m gross! I’m slippery with sweat from running-”
“I know," he whines, "it’s awesome." He pulls back to look at you and there it is: That hopeful, open face again, at your mercy. “Please, Y/N, I don’t care. Please change your mind.”
He kisses you, with growing hunger and urgency, pressing his groin against you so hard his erection slips side to side over your public bone, making your clitoris pulse with pleasure. Your gasp trips on it as you try to think clearly. Change my mind…? About what?
Then he starts grinding against you, as if he’s given up restraining himself, stopping the kiss to feel himself bump against you, a steady, hopeful beat that rubs up your groin and starts working the fabric of your panties between the lips.
“God, Dean, the door’s still open-”
“Please-” he pants and dives his hand into your shorts, sliding his middle finger directly between your folds and down to the hot softness beyond it. You punch out an ohGod in surprise, somewhat aware of him swearing something desperate before turning his hand around to pull your shorts and panties down, roughly dropping to his knees and flat out licking up your pussy.
He laps again, his tongue threading between the folds, over and over, and you’re gasping and Oh!-ing through fat, laving licks that are coming too fast. He moans Oh God and So good between motions, letting you lean on his shoulders as you slowly hyperventilate and collapse under relentless, shoving drags over your clit.
He pops up again, catching your head with his in some sort of pleasure-induced mouth-to-mouth rescue. “Y/N, please can I have you like that? Please, I know how good you feel now,” he puffs as he stands, kissing at you a mile a minute. His hold on your rib cage is so tight you have to breathe with your belly.
“You want me-” you rasp, almost hanging off his shoulders.
“Y/N I wanna take you from behind,” he runs his words together, mouth against yours and pushing you to the wall, “I wanna fuck you, fuck you hard and fast, fuck you from behind and watch your beautiful ass bounce off my cock, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-”
“Oh my God, you’re begging-”
“Yes, I am. I am begging. Please, Y/N,” he pauses for a moment. “Please.”
You pant, the two of you pretty much breathing in what the other’s breathing out. He leans slightly, just a bit, to reach out with his tongue and start a kiss. His lips brush against yours, hinting at drawing you in.
You hum a little in your throat, tipping a shallow kiss off his efforts. Then you realise: it's not that you're saying no, like you did yesterday, (you've no intention of saying no) but you haven't actually said yes since.
“If you don’t want to, like that,” he says quietly, carefully, “I’ll cope. I’m just-”
“I do,” you correct him. “I like it.”
“Yeah, we can. Let’s-”
“Yeah?” he repeats quickly, louder.
“Yeah-woahw!” Dean lifts you by your rib cage, standing on your shorts to leave them behind, and puts you next to your bed in one move. You watch him whip his t-shirt off with one hand, then disappear and pop up again, track pants apparently dealt with, and he steps out of them as he grabs your head to kiss you, practically sucking you onto his mouth. Then he’s gone again, leaving you swaying with imbalance, grabbing a condom from your bedside drawer, and concentrating furiously to get it on first go.
You think to take your tight singlet off, and even though you hurry your face is still covered in fabric when he gets his thumbs under your sports bra and pushes it up past your breasts. He reaches around to undo it, moaning at the salty musk he tastes under the curve, and once it’s off he’s straining his jaw to suck in a greedy mouthful of nipple and breast and moaning around it. Your hands finally make it back to his skin, if only they could function properly.
Dean straightens, almost taking your nipple with him, and smothers grateful kisses over your mouth and chin, grabbing and pulling you against him, running his hands over your body. You try to keep up and kiss back, settling on cupping his head and getting a firm hold in his hair. That makes him groan, a shuddering ache of anticipation. He squeezes whatever he’s got in his hands and starts to lead you both down, gripping you tightly as you kneel together.
Here he holds you a moment, but not against himself: he lets you turn yourself around, fingers brushing your curves as they go by. You move forward so your thighs are against the side of the bed and begin to lean over.
His hands slide down your back and over the rise of your cheeks and he holds them barely half a second, thumbs just inside your sitting bones and tweaking that nerve beside them before firmly moving lower, pushing along the crease under your butt and into the shadow, pressing the flesh beside your throbbing core and moving it back and forth a little.
He dips his thumbs to check the wetness and hums shortly at what he finds. You feel him gently pull you open, line himself up and pause just long enough to say “Okay?”
You’ve gotten your chest on the bed and turn your head to say “God yes – oh!” and he’s there, all the way, literally balls deep at the flag-fall, and you snatch the comforter into your fists.
“UuhJesusY/N,” he groans through clenched jaw, and holds your hip and ribs as he fucks you harder than you’ve ever experienced before. The bed shudders in time, rattling the bedside table opposite, and you use your whole body to hold fast and take him.
Dean looks down, drinking in the sight of your oscillating flesh and the way he disappears into you, over and over, your tightness and heat swallowing him, all pushing and pulling.
The root of him and his pelvic bone hit your ass deliciously, pushing your pussy apart before it’s truly had time to swell and relax, but it’s a perfect balance of demanding and giving and he’s going so fast your clit only gets a passing glance at his balls. “Oh God!” you manage to say, your voice bouncing because of him. “Uh, it’s so good Dean!”
That’s what he needed to hear.
He spreads his knees a little, spreading yours, and that drop presses you down against the mattress again, his thrust now running over your g-spot with some resistance. He moans achingly, now officially fighting to draw this out, but you’re pushing yourself up with your hands and the curve of you, your sweat-stuck hair and dropped jaw, the way you’re frowning and bearing down on the pleasure- there’s no hope.
Dean punches the next few thrusts into you and tries to catch your clit before he’s home. You grab onto his forearm as he reaches around to help his accuracy amongst all the movement. Three or four rough rubs is all it takes for you to straighten your supporting arm, drop your head and cry out at the chaotic smash happening between your legs.
You quake around him and he yells “Y/N! Ah! God!” holding on and thumping maybe five more times before pushing, so hard, bone to bone, pulling your hips that tightly you’re lifted off the ground as he pulses the last of it inside you.
You drop down to the comforter. Both of your chests heave and you gasp noisily, pleadingly, dry-tongued swallows breaking in open moans. Dean’s hold on your hip starts to lean, the other hand propped on the bed.
“Holy hell,” he puffs, still frowning.
“God,” you reply, fluffing wisps of hair from your face. “…damn.”
He eases himself down, resting on your back and you breathe together.
Enough time passes that Dean starts to get a bit cool. He’s softened but he’s still there, resting in you a little.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, his lips caught in the kiss he started on your shoulder some time ago. He peels himself off you a little and kisses your back, bitey, licking kisses that clean away the sweat.
“You’re a good boy,” you say slackly and reach behind yourself to pat him on the head.
Dean laughs a little and grunts as he moves away to clean himself up. You move up onto the bed with a flop and roll onto your back, waiting there until Dean lays beside you. He reaches down and collects your opposite knee, pulling it up and over his hip to turn you toward him. You feel manky as anything, all your skin coated with a layer of whatever used to be inside, making it catch rather than slide.
Dean doesn’t feel much cleaner, but he’s still keen to run his fingertips over your flushed body, tracing where he stroked before and the planes of breasts gone soft from the heat.
“We both need showers,” he says. “You wanna do that together?”
“Yes,” you answer, cupping his face with your hands to kiss him, properly, generously and thankfully and he matches you for it. It’s lovely.
”You feel better?” you ask.
“Yes,” he says heavily. “Yes.”
“Gave that itch a good scratch.”
“Hm-mm, I’m gonna wanna do that again,” he tells you, “cursed or not.”
“Mmm… Well, if I ever do get around to begging for a juicy bone, that’s what the fuck I’ll be talkin’ about.”
“Sweetheart, you ain’t ever gonna get the chance to beg.”