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bettystonewell · 29 days ago

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What Happened Last Night? - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After burning the Book of the Damned and escaping the Styne's, you all have a night of harmless celebrations back at the bunker. At least, it was harmless until Charlie suggested a game of Never Have I Ever, and the rest of your night became a blur. Friends to Lovers 18+ only

Word Count: 6,400

Tags/Warnings: Language, Dubious Consent (implied drunk sex), SMUT —————————————————————Part 2 || Read on AO3 || Mastierlist

After some bacon, toast, painkillers, and more coffee to wash it all down with, you escaped the common area of the bunker to the confines of your room. With no white sheets, no clothes on the floor and nothing to remind you of Dean, it was a perfect, cosy haven to mull things over in.

Last night was still a blur, but his face at the table was not and the confusion and disappointment you’d seen in his eyes left you feeling less hungover and more sick.

A lump had formed in your throat and your stomach churned as you fought your memories to remember some order of events. What was said? Who’d instigated things, and how far did you get?

You couldn’t remember if you had slept with him or not, but it was something you’d wanted for a long time. Not just sex, but to be closer to him. And if that became a permanent arrangement, well, you wouldn’t be upset by that.

Would you go as far as to say you wanted a relationship with him? Probably not, but then again…

Oh god.

You had it bad. And now you’d fucked things up.

Fuck. What if you’d fucked things up?

What if he wanted nothing more to do with you or it had all been a onetime thing? Something to let off steam because of the mark or any other crappy thing in his life.

He had quite a lot of things…

But if it had been a one-off, and you didn’t even get to remember it? Well, that was crappy too.

Maybe you should move? Hah. That was a bit extreme. The bunker was your home too and had been for over a year. You wouldn’t move out for something like this, but maybe you could take a few days away? That’s all that was needed for the whole thing to blow over and for you to pretend nothing had happened, right?

Right?

No, you couldn’t do that. Not without talking to him first, anyway. You owed yourself that much, and you owed him that much, too. Especially after the look he’d given you and what he’d said to Charlie about sorting out your shit.

So, after giving yourself a few hours of mulling, you decided there was no time like the present - to sort out some shit.

You left your room and walked down the cold and sterile corridor. You stepped right up to his door square in front of it and reached your arm out to knock. But as your fist touched the wood below the brass-plated Aquarian star at the ready, you hesitated and withdrew.

Why were you doing this again? ‘Cause it seemed like a bad idea now. His door was closed and you assumed that meant he didn’t want to be disturbed.

Yeah. He didn’t want to be disturbed.

This could wait til later when his door was open. Later that night, or maybe tomorrow.

‘Definitely tomorrow.’

And once again, you were on the move. You spun back around on your heel in the direction you’d come from and took a step forward, just when room 11’s door clicked open and Dean called out to you.

“What’re you doing?”

Shit.

You’d stood there in the hall waiting too long. Damn hunter senses. He must’ve seen your shadow under the gap between the wood and the floor. Or heard the soft thud on his door from your knuckles.

He was leaning against it with his arms folded and his legs crossed beneath him when you turned back and it took your breath away. His flannel was missing and the form under his simple, black t-shirt was solid and defined.

“I um… Thought we could have a do-over,” you said. “Talk about last night.”

Last night…

Of all the things you recalled about last night, images of his bare chest showed up the most. Your fingers and tongue had been very up close and personal with it. Tasting the salt from his skin along with the alcohol he held on his breath.

You had it bad alright.

He must’ve known it, too. You saw the grimace on his face turn into a smirk when he saw how your eyes roamed. “But you changed your mind?”

This was great. Just great... Although at least he was open to talking with you.

He flicked his head to the room behind him without another word and that’s how you found your way back to his bed, sitting side by side at the foot-end of it with a safe distance between you.

His room was now neat. The white sheets you’d found covering you earlier that morning were folded and tucked in over the blanket, with no creases in sight. While the floor surrounding the bed was no longer scattered with clothes.

There was no evidence whatsoever of whatever had transpired last night. All gone like the words you’d spoken to him had from your memories.

“So,” you said.

“So?” Dean said back.

You noticed the way he slouched his shoulders and drooped his head. A far cry from the confidence he’d just displayed in the hall. Now his arms rested on his thighs and his hands clenched into fists. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was just as uncomfortable as you were, but why?

He hadn’t woken up in your bed. He hadn’t worn your clothes. (Not that he’d fit them.) And he had forgotten nothing - apparently. Yet he looked as uncertain as you felt when he turned to look at you again.

He was waiting for you to say something and by the right you should’ve. You came to him, after all. But through all the brooding you’d done, you hadn’t decided what to say. You had been so focused on trying to remember last night’s activities that you had forgotten yet another important thing.

Having no idea how to start, you did what you always did when you were clueless about what to do and apologised. “Ah. Sorry for bolting on you earlier,” you said. “I kind of freaked out a little when I woke up and I, well, I panicked.”

While it may not have been appropriate or the perfect solution, it seemed to work because he unclenched his fists and sat upright. “You really don’t remember?”

“Well… Bits of it. I know we started something. I just don’t know how far we got.”

And there it was. That disappointed look in his eyes you had seen back at the table had resurfaced, this time accompanied by regret.

What else could you say besides, “Sorry,” again? Your own screwed-up expression making an appearance.

“You think saying sorry makes it better?” he spat.

“Why are you so pissy?” you spat right back.

You knew it was the wrong thing to say, but you couldn’t help the words that spewed from your mouth. You’d apologised against your better judgement. The least he could do was say something kind in return.

“Pissy?” He sprung off the bed and spun around to tower over you.

Oh hell no!

He still had a height advantage, but you weren’t going to take his attitude sitting down and you stood up too. “You’re getting all offended because I don’t remember what happened. But newsflash, I was drunk. What do you expect?”

“Newsflash. You were drunk, and we almost had sex! It was lucky you passed out before anything really started.”

To say relief washed over you in that moment was an understatement.

You’d almost had sex, not had.

If that were the case, then that meant you hadn’t fucked up completely and your friendship with Dean was still salvageable (you hoped). There was also no longer any need to worry about asking awkward questions such as whether he had come inside of you or had used protection…

Nope. You were good in that department.

You’d passed out.

No wonder you remembered nothing. You’d been drunker than you realised and it was a wonder you’d recalled anything at all. ‘Stupid Charlie and her stupid drinking game.’ Though you knew when you saw her again, you’d be all smiles.

Nothing could get you down except for the look that marred Dean’s face. His eyes pierced through your short-lived happiness like a pin to a balloon and as it deflated, you muttered yet another, “Sorry. I don’t normally pass out like that.”

“Would you stop saying you’re sorry? Do you think I’d wanna continue when you were that drunk? And after what you told me.”

Shit. What did you tell him?

Oh no. No, no, no. That’s it. If you’d told him you had feelings for him, then you were moving out. Whether he reciprocated them or not, the sheer embarrassment was enough of an excuse to leave for good.

Just after you asked, “Dean. What happened last night?”

His eyes softened and his stance relaxed. “We continued the game. Where Charlie left off… Her last turn.”

Her last turn. Your mind scrambled through its cracks and corners, pulling the face of a drunken Charlie to its forefront. Her flushed cheeks and her words, “Never have I ever gone down on a guy,” replayed over and over in your head.

That’s when Sam had had enough and called it a night. Cas had been confused and followed him while Charlie, who found the whole thing hilarious, had made the excuse to use the bathroom and never returned.

Did you down the shot for that? Yes. Yes, you did.

And you asked Dean if he wanted to keep playing after, turning the tables on him when he’d said yes. He’d taken a swig to, “Never have I ever gone down on a girl,” and it had only gotten raunchier after that.

“It started flirty,” Dean said, confirming your memory. “But then it got more, I dunno, personal, and it stopped being a game. And then you said something about risking friendships and when I asked you what you meant, you kissed me.”

Nuh-uh. You called bullshit. “I was on the other side of the table.”

“You came around to me,” he retorted. “Sat yourself in my lap and grinded your hips a little.”

You didn’t miss the small pull of his lips and the flash of ardour in his eyes that betrayed his tone, yet, still you were quick to be defensive. “I did not.”

You had it bad, but you would never just act on it like that, would you?

Though as you strained your hardest to think back, your brain brought forward an image of your legs on either side of his and a twinge between them and the pit of your stomach that you’d felt then…

And now.

“Okay, maybe I did,” you said as you lowered your eyes, sweeping over what had been your denim seat.

Fuck. You horny little minx.

“Hey. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” Without even looking, you heard his grin. “Why do you think I offered for you to come in here with me in the first place?”

Because he’d wanted this too, you realised. And he must’ve been enjoying himself just as much as you had until you’d passed out on him.

“So, when did I pass out?” you asked.

Rather than answering, Dean walked around to the nightstand on the back wall next to his bed and picked up something small enough to fit in his hand. It crinkled under his touch, sounding more like the soft plastic of a candy bar than anything else.

Your suspicions told you otherwise though, and when he came back around and took your hand to place the object in your palm, you didn’t need to look at it to recognise the feel and shape of a condom still inside its wrapper.

There was the definite answer to your question about protection.

You tore your eyes away from the colourful package to see him looking uneasy. His hands were stuck deep in his pockets. “We hadn’t got that far,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle.

“I was getting prepared. I leaned over to grab that and when I came back to, you know, continue, you’d passed out… You woke up still wearing your panties, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Cause we didn’t take ‘em off.”

“But you dressed me? I was wearing your shirt when I woke up.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Nothing happened, though. I uh… We didn’t get past second base. Though we were getting there… I might’ve run my hand over you, and you know, you rubbed yourself over my leg, but nothin’ more than that.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He’d painted the picture well enough, and it explained why you were struggling to remember more than you had. “Uh… Thanks,” you said, giving him a meek smile that his face screwed up over.

“Yeah... Of course...”

Still holding the condom in your hand, you sat down on the bed, running your finger over the sharp edge and staring anywhere but at him. Embarrassment washed over you, and he appeared to share the same sentiment. Hah. The ever flirtatious Dean Winchester, confident around every other woman but you.

So why didn’t it make things easier? You were on a level playing field and yet tension still filled the air.

“So what now?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

Dammit. Why’d he have to answer your question with another one?

“I dunno. We almost had sex and I can’t remember any of it, but you do… Do you wanna pretend nothing happened or…?”

“Do you?”

There was a definite hitch in his voice that had you raising your head to meet his eyes. “No. You might regret what almost happened, but I don’t.”

“What makes you think I regret it?”

You raised your brow and shrugged. “Look at you. You’re not exactly screaming confidence right now.”

“Doesn’t mean I regret it.” His body language still said otherwise.

“Really? Cause that’s not what I’m getting from all this.” You sighed and hung your head again. This tension. All this movement back and forth was putting a strain on your neck. It was bad enough there was one in your heart.

“Hey.” He stooped down to crouch before you and placed a hand on your knee. His touch was as soothing and gentle as his next words tried to be. “Really. I regret nothing. I just don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

Taking advantage of? “You can’t take advantage of someone if it’s what they want, Dean.”

How could he not know it’s what you’d wanted? According to him, you’d been the one to start things off. Was that not obvious enough for him?

Of course it was.

Which meant this wasn’t something he wanted after all, and you had embarrassed yourself more than you’d thought. Fuck. You were so fucking stupid. What had you done?

You’d said and done way too much. That’s what you’d done.

“I need to go.”

Without hesitation, you brushed his hand off your leg and picked yourself up so you could make your way to the door, but a newfound grip on your wrist held you in your tracks. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I did. And now we have,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”

But he refused.

His free hand pried the condom packet out of yours and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. He then stepped up to you, chest to chest and angled his head down to yours, watching you through an intense gaze. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

What did you want? You wanted him. How was that not obvious by now? Did you really have to say it?

“I…” you stuttered.

He leaned in close, captivating every piece of you. From his mouth and the warmth of his breath that escaped it to brush against your cheeks and lashes. To your beating heart that raced above a stomach that was bubbling with butterflies.

“Don’t forget you told me things last night. You might not remember ‘em but I do and I’m pretty sure you’ve been wanting something from me for a while… Now, what do you want?” he asked again before speaking lower. “Cause maybe I want it too.”

Maybe he wanted it too?

His words were a switch, and they forced you into action.

“You, I want you,” you breathed, closing the gap between you to press your lips to his.

Your eyes closed and his hands started roaming over your body. Fingers brushed over your cheek and combed through your hair up top. While lower, they smoothed over your clothes, sending shockwaves of need to the skin beneath them.

Dean’s bicep contracted under your palm while the muscles of his stomach and chest rose and fell below the other.

What a kiss. What a delicious, indescribable kiss.

So familiar, yet oh so new.

Every touch was pleasurable. Every nip and graze was precise. His taste, his scent, the small, inaudible sounds he made. It was all there in what brief memory you had from last night and it continued to keep you entranced as you allowed yourself to experience it again for the first time.

He placed kiss after sensuous kiss over your mouth, your neck and your collarbone, eliciting a quiet hum when he moved to that spot below your ear. Your hands raked through the tufts of his hair, from the short and spiky ones on the back of his neck, to the finer ones he kept longer at the sides.

His grin was huge when you pulled apart to catch your breaths but he still sounded sincere when he asked, “You sure you want this?”

Did he really need to ask you that now? At this moment, when you could be doing plenty of other things?

Yes, you wanted him. You’d wanted him last night and days, weeks, months, years before that. Since the moment you’d met, it was all you ever wanted and while you knew you may regret things tomorrow or the next day, you couldn’t deny yourself from the moment because it was right in front of you now.

“Yeah.” You smiled in earnest, watching his features as your arms snaked their way around his back to press yourself into him further. His chest was hard against yours and his groin, impressive. There was a distinguishable shape beneath the layer of denim and whatever he wore underneath it.

You couldn’t help the fresh round of warmth that spread across your cheeks and matched the yearning in the pit of your stomach below as his tongue invaded your mouth again. Running over every crevice it could reach as his hands came to the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingers up to knead any piece of skin they could.

With practised hands, they traced their path over the bruises from last night, gliding past your navel and manoeuvring under your bra, just as you recalled. Only this time, you felt the moment he’d unclasped it to give himself easier access to your breasts.

He pulled away from you only to remove your shirt and fully expose your chest to him. His eyes wandered over the marks below your collarbone and on the side of your hips with pride. “Never have I ever done that,” he said with a satisfied hum.

Huh?

He chuckled at your confusion. “You took charge of the clothes we lost last night, including mine.”

You groaned and buried your face in his shirt, feeling him shake against you. Fucking hell. Last-night’s-you was overzealous and needy. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s chuckle grew into a burst of laughter. His hands gripped your shoulder and forced your head to look up at him before he placed a simple kiss over your mouth. “No more sorries, alright? Never have I ever apologised during sex.”

“What?” You could see the humour in his statement, but why the fuck was he saying it like that?

“Just playing the game.”

He stepped back and removed his shirt in one fluid motion.

Well, hello Dean.

Until last night, you only saw him with his shirt off when you were helping him dress a wound, and half the time he had blood all over him - that was never attractive on anyone - but now you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Now. You apologised. You gotta take your bra off for that.”

“So, why did you remove your shirt?”

He shrugged and his muscles rippled through the motion. “My game, my rules. Bra off.” He nodded his head at the offending item.

That was enough for you and you did as you were asked. One strap, then you had it off with the next, and the second it hit the floor, Dean pounced on you.

Wrapping one arm around your waist, the other brought its hand up to cup your newly exposed breasts, while his head lowered so his mouth could wrap around the other, flicking his tongue over your hardening nipple and suckling with a tender pressure when it formed into a bud.

Boy, what a tongue. There was no way he’d done this last night. And If he had, you didn’t deserve to reap the rewards from it now.

The sensations he gave you were intoxicating.

His scent, even more so.

The gel from his hair that whisked under your nose, the motor oil on his fingers that danced over your skin and the whiskey that still seeped from his pores - vanilla and spice. It all added to the smell of gunpowder that always lingered in his room.

Releasing you with a pop, he raised his head to glance at you through half-lidded eyes. His expression had a carnal look to it and when he opened his mouth to speak again, confidence oozed from deep within him. “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever?”

He nodded.

“Ah…” You had no fucking clue what to say, but those green eyes stared at you with such anticipation that rather than taking your ‘turn,’ you flung yourself at him instead.

Your hands caressed either side of his neck and just bare of planting your lips on his own, Dean’s arms swooped around your waist and thigh to lift you off the floor.

He carried you back to his bed with a hurried step and had you caged beneath him in the blink of an eye.

It was exactly where you wanted to be. Screw his game. Screw last night. You were sober and more than ready for him.

Arousal pooled at your entrance, separated by mere layers of fabric from his thigh. Without the heavy denim, he surely would have felt the wetness seeping through. The thick muscle pushed against you, encouraging your legs to spread further apart.

He might not have been able to feel you, but you felt him. His length was a solid bulge against the lower part of your pelvis.

He had to be thick. Long too. And you wondered how you managed to pass out when Dean’s ‘monster’ was well within your hand’s reach.

They now trailed over the smooth skin of his toned back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he pulled air into his lungs.

“You know last night you asked me to fuck you?”

Oh god. How eloquent of you. “I’m never drinking again,” you muttered under your breath.

“But drunk-you was so fun and honest… She told me she gets jealous when I hook up with other girls I meet at the bar, and d’you know what I told her?”

‘Hopefully to shut up.’ Drunk-you needed to learn how to filter better. As well as when to stop drinking.

“I told her I hate watching her flirt with all the douchebags she talks to...”

And with that last sentence, he had you captivated again. His body, his face. Those green eyes watched you with reverence and shined brighter than they ever had before with you. “Cause I want her just as much as she wants me”

Dean pulled away from you with a smirk and brought his hands to the fly of your jeans, helping you with them and the panties underneath. “I’m not just gonna fuck you, baby, I’m gonna take such good care of you too... And then when I’m done, I ain’t letting you leave this bed.”

Fuck.

It was finally happening.

Here you were and there he was, towering above you. A knee on either side of your leg and hand over your hip, gripping the extra flesh there with a welcomed pressure.

Dean was sex on a stick, and right at that moment, he was yours.

Before you knew it, a finger swiped through your centre and the calloused pad of another was on your clit.

“Fuck,” you inhaled with a hiss through your teeth.

It was finally happening.

“You’re so wet for me already. Bet you’ve been like that the entire time. Since last night? Or maybe just at my door?… I saw the way you looked at me.”

“Don’t get so full of yourself,” you jeered, and he chuckled. The sound reverberated through his chest and travelled to his fingers and brought out such delicious sensations to your core and further beyond it.

“You’ll be full of something soon enough,” he said with promise.

And you couldn’t wait.

Your skin was on fire. Your cunt was on fire, too. Attempting to clamp on something or draw Dean’s fingers in, and whether he knew it, that’s the next thing he did, pushing one thick digit up into you.

It curled over, skimming over the cushioned walls that lined your entrance with come hither motions.

You cried out his name when he found your sweet spot and grabbed hold of his wrist when he inserted a second finger to join it. All the while, he watched you with interest and a feverous gaze as his fingers worked you into a frenzy.

Expectations met with reality. No one, not even you, had touched yourself in this way in such a long while and the sounds he had you making were proof enough. Dean was skilled and every rumour you’d ever heard of him was true.

“There?” he asked when your back arched off the bed.

“There.” Fuck. Right there.

He flashed you a cocksure grin before shuffling backwards and lowering his head to join his hands.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Dean was down there and you weren’t prepared for that. You hadn’t shaved or paid particular attention to yourself to be ready for this. Drunk-you might not have cared but sober-you sure fucking did.

Your hands scrambled to pull him away from you and when that didn’t work, you attempted a retreat.

But he gripped firmer on your hip, never faltering with the other hand that continued to work on you. “I told you I’m takin’ care of you tonight.”

His warm breath passed over your folds and it had your legs trembling.

“You’re so close, baby girl. So tight around my fingers… Wonder what will happen when I taste you,” he murmured.

Soon his soft, succulent lips surrounded your clit, and that’s all it took for the pressure boiling within to release. Your slicked cunt clamped on Dean’s fingers like a vice around wood as you cried out his name again.

He continued to guide you through it, even as he rose to face you. The same grin from earlier spread across his face and a newfound glisten surrounded it.

“How’re we doing up here?” he asked.

How were you doing? You were “Fan-fucking-tastic,” and struggling to regain a regular breath.

Your hands wrapped around his head, pulling him down to capture his lips with yours, awarding you a taste of yourself, but better still, another taste of him.

Despite being thoroughly taken care of, you still desired more. You needed to touch him, taste him and have him inside of you. So your hands trailed lower, running across his heaving chest and abdomen, to the rough denim that constrained him, palming him with one hand and attempting to move his belt with the other.

“Never have I ever gotten in here,” you said, earning you a chuckle and a swat of your hand.

“I’m taking care of you, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do the same for you.”

He considered you for a moment, but shook his head. “Maybe next time.” With a peck of your lips, he withdrew back, stepping off the bed to unbuckle his belt. “I wanna feel you wrapped around me now.”

You could get used to this. And you were going to hold him to that next time, but for now, how could you say no to those green eyes?

They stared down at you, travelling the length of your body with a hungry gaze. Your own doing the same to him.

You heard the clink as his belt hit the floor and you heard the shuffle as his feet stepped out of his pants. But your eyes? You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way his erection sprang up against his stomach. It was standing unashamed.

“Like what you see?”

Fuck yeah, you did.

Genius Charlie and her genius game.

It was impressive, just as you’d thought, with a slight curve and a thick bulbous head.

You watched as he pumped himself and replied by sitting up and crawling over to him to replace his hand with yours. He was warm and heavy, and he grunted when your fingers curled around his girth to find the pressure he liked most.

‘There we go.’ You grinned when you were awarded with a soft moan and a thrust of his hips.

“I thought I was going to take care of you?”

“So did I. But you weren’t moving fast enough.”

Another moan escaped him - a deep growl from somewhere within his chest.

You wanted to see if he’d do that again, but his fingers pried yours away from him and he pulled you to stand with him on the floor. Your chest met his and his length met your stomach, while those same hands came round to grab your rear and pushed your pelvis into his.

The sharp edge of the condom wrapper dug into the thick flesh of your rump and you reached around to take it.

Dean released you to step back, watching as you got down on a bent knee to see him up close. His hand took one large clump of your hair and tugged, gentle but firm.

‘Never have I ever gone down on Dean Winchester,’ you thought. But there was a first time for everything.

You played your game in earnest, unbeknownst to him, opening wide to take the now-reddened tip into your mouth with one gulp.

“Fuck,” he said above you.

Your tongue flicked over the small slit, tasting the first drops of pre cum that had collected there. Not salty, or sour, or bitter, but something you couldn’t describe. To say it was unpleasant was a lie because it was Dean, and because it was Dean. Any doubt or reserve you’d had before last night went out the window.

And you went to town.

You sucked, licked and stroked him up, down and all over, listening to his sounds and any cues he gave you. When his hand gripped your hair tighter, you doubled your efforts of the current manoeuvre until he could take no more.

“Woah.” His hand pulled you back. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I was hoping to get past third and hit home… I don’t think I can wait another night to be inside ya.”

Neither could you, and you stood up again, handing over the small foil packages still held onto. “Then take care of me, Dean.”

He flicked his head towards his bed and you moved without question, sitting in the middle with your legs crossed. Unsure of where else to go or how else to sit. Should you lie back? Did he want you up on your hands and knees? Would he let you ride him?

Yes, your thoughts were fleeting, but your mind was a whirlwind of anxiety.

The kind that made you feel alive.

You were cold without his touch but heated with a need for him that only grew stronger as you watched him calm himself enough to put the rubber on.

Then his eyes met yours and he was over you within seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Never have I ever apologised during sex?”

He answered you with a kiss and you knew this was it. The main event that you’d been building to.

Finally.

Your hands took on a will of their own and moved to roam where they saw fit. A set of fingers traced his tattoo as you knew they’d done last night. The other moved further north, tracing over an arm and shoulder to wrap around his neck. It kept him in place for the time being, scratching fingernails through his dark blonde hair and over his scalp.

Both of his knees sat between your thighs while an arm kept you caged below him. Not that you planned on going anywhere.

His weight stayed off of you as a hand moved below to cup you above the tuft of curls that covered your entrance. He pushed a finger between the folds beneath and stopped to grace your clit with a few small circles before dipping further into your centre.

As much as you wanted things to move further along, you appreciated him making sure you were more than ready. He was big and while you weren’t inexperienced to think he wouldn’t fit, you knew there was a satisfying stretch waiting for you.

“Dean.”

“Mmm.” He hummed into your lips. His tongue mimicking his finger below. “You want something?” he asked when he pulled away to give you his full attention.

“Yeah. You.”

Your hand reached to grip him, being careful to not shift the condom that fit him snugly, and encouraged him closer.

His head dipped to nibble at the spot he’d discovered last night by your ear as the tip of his thick length caught at your entrance.

Your cunt fluttered in desperation, trying to clamp onto it or anything else. He was so damn close. And you hoped your impending orgasm was closer.

“Dean,” you breathed. Your body, gasping to fill the air into your lungs to calm you the fuck down.

“You think you’re ready for me huh?” He muttered against the crook of your neck. The coolness of his breath created a pleasant contrast against the heat radiating from your skin, and you bucked your hips in response.

The man was skilled, yes, you’d already established that, but the way he hit home in one swift stride had you reeling.

There he was, in all his glory. Thick, hard, and throbbing deep inside you.

The stretch, the fullness and the completion you had not been prepared for. ‘Fuck me.’

Or rather, thank drunk-you.

Thanks to drunk-you and Charlie. Because if it hadn’t been for the copious amounts of alcohol you drank last night, you would not be here right now. High on cloud nine, with Dean Winchester between your legs.

Finally.

His fervent kisses covered your mouth, and a hand splayed over your hair, intertwining thick fingers through thicker chunks of locks.

He still hovered over your tingling form and you had to wiggle your hips to get his attention. Your body was well adjusted, and you just needed him to move.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said as he took the hint and set a pace you so desperately tried to match.

Fuck indeed.

Everything was right in the world. Stars aligned (and all those other fancy words you couldn’t think of in the moment happened too) as his hands wandered over your body and your legs glided up and down his. Any attempt to feel him on every part of your being, and encourage him to keep going. That was your ultimate goal.

Dean pounded into you and you taking it like a trooper. Whispering encouraging words and praises into his ears as he continued to fill you repeatedly.

“So good.”

“Harder.”

“Just like that.”

And of course his name. “Dean.” It came off your tongue with ease, as your own name did from him when he flipped you both over and pulled you back down.

This new angle had him deeper within you and once again, your legs trembled.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby?” he drawled.

But you couldn’t respond. The way he did that. And then that again? Man. He told you he was going to take care of you and damn well, he was.

The heat was rising, and you were trying to stave it off. You wanted to hold out as long as you could but it was proving difficult when a firm pressure began circling your clit.

Your head buried itself in his shoulder, attempting to distract your body and return the pleasure he was giving you but it was all too much.

“Dean,” you breathed. Shit. “Oh shit.”

Your movements stilled but your body did not.

It shuddered over and around him. Gripping his length and attempting to draw it in further.

“So beautiful. Coming all over my cock,” he said with a snap of his hips, never relenting, not even once as he chased his own orgasm.

He thrust again and again. Sweet, unrelenting friction that only extended your high.

And then it happened.

You felt the moment he spilled himself into the condom, the throb of his shaft, the tightening in his stomach and legs, and the groan that escaped him. “Fuck.”

Your sentiments exactly. The man was talented, and you were the luckiest girl alive to have experienced it almost last night, and again just now.

You had no regrets, and you looked into his eyes to see none from him either.

“How you doing down there?” you asked with a chortle to go along with your teasing tone.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said.

With still trembling legs and a shit-eating grin to match his, you lifted yourself up and somehow managed to bring yourself to flop onto the bed next to him. You snuggled into his side and he welcomed you with an open arm and another lingering kiss.

What happened last night? Who fucking cared. What happened after this was far more important, and you made a mental note to thank Charlie (with as little detail as possible) when you saw her later.

Nah, tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

Part 1 || Read on AO3 || Masterlist—————————————————————Thank you so much for reading! I’ll be slowly bringing my other stories over in the coming weeks 😚

Coming Soon! - Another Notch on His Belt - 17/01

(Dean’s POV - 18+ only - 1.2k words) Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night. A delve into Dean replacing intimacy with sex. If you’d like to be tagged, lmk.