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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 6 years

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Leather, Bit Of Whiskey And... Me

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: I can’t explain to you how much fluff is in this, honestly. Also nakedness. Also implied smut Word Count: 2.9k A/N: Heavily inspired by THIS but also I’m so proud of this like I can’t even explain to you how much time and effort went into this and I’d honestly and genuinely LOVE your honest opinion. Be kind and be brutal I have no real life experience of all of this –PSH I wish-. Enjoy! @deanssweetheart23 this is for you

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Sunlight peaks through cheap, orange curtains, creating an artificial hue of fire. Soft rays of dawn start poking her closed eyelids in an attempt to get her to acknowledge reality. Sugary surroundings not quite registering yet, still in that unconscious state of barely waking from slumber. Tugging scratchy, thin covers that don’t do much for warmth, she stretches her spine with a small moan.

A heavy, consuming aura of ease and warmth settled deep under her skin, sneaking its way in her bones. She can’t quite put a finger on the lightness she’s feeling, can’t quite comprehend the soft, full emotion she’s experiencing but, even stuck between the realms of reality and dreams, she’s certain of one thing. She’s happy.

Demeanor still soft, she dares to fall back into darkness, dreamy wonderlands promising a cushioned landing. Curiosity only slightly peaked as to how much longer she can enjoy this rare state, her eyelids flutter. She expects the wood of her nightstand, the lamp that must be decades old but she still kept. She expects gray walls and bold red numbers that tell her the time.

Barely an inch further from the gracious sleepdom she’s starting to climb out of, brain activating just enough for her to comprehend why there’s a tacky, dark red wall where her nightstand should be. Her body aches a pleasant soreness that goes along with the rush of heat that just flowed through every fiber of her being.

Warm. She’s just so warm.

Gentle fingertips draw lines on her bare skin, traveling softly over her ribcage. Soft lips fall on the top of her spine like feathers, nose nuzzled in the nape of her neck. Tender touch memorizing every curve and edge, every dip and plain of her limp body, as silent, steady and calm breaths huff out into nothingness.

No unpleasant memories. No dark red horror and abusive forces of pain. No gazing far away, wondering if she’ll see the light of day again. It’s all him. All warmth and comfort and light heaviness. Last night really happened, they really happened.

Smooth realization falls upon her as the heated covers move. They’re not covers, that’s a living, breathing existence, inhaling in her skin. A gentle palm falls on her hip, gripping her securely, his chest expanding against hers. She licks her lips.

He’s so close. Sweaty forehead against the bird’s nest that she’s sure is her hair, nose nuzzling further into her back, leaving rippling waves of shivers in its wake, just like his touch. His hair is a little damp still- from the shower he had or from the events that followed it, she’s not quite sure.

She blinks lazily, disbelief dancing through her organs like cold water. She’s never experienced this and it’s odd but oh so very welcomed. She’d love to get used to this, she prays she can, she prays that destiny will spare her this once, will give her what she wants.

Ever living in sync, Dean, the handsome beyond comprehension, green-eyed devil she has fallen in love with, yes, love – and gosh it’s so foreign-, makes a few small, cute, sleepy sounds. The press of his palm slips from her hip and falls in front of her abdomen, ever so gently pulling her to him. She blushes at the stark nakedness she finds herself in and bites her lip.

A tired, happy smile stretches across her lips, despite her best efforts to stop it. Another wave of realization falls on her, as she discovers she is most certainly not the only one naked. She doesn’t know how to feel about it. It’s all so new and strange and exciting.

Air brushes past his parted lips, another trail of goosebumps following it, body expanding loosely. Experimentally, she dares to scoot further into his embrace, closer, trying her best to not interrupt his dreamland but needing to live this moment, to live him to his fullest. After this, she’s sure she will not be able to withstand a full day alone. A full day without him. She moves, calculated, mustering up all the hunter’s agility she can, to not disturb his tranquil slumber, wishing endlessly for this moment to stretch to eternity.

Wet lips position themselves right there, on the top of her spine, light, barely any movement having been done, hot and lazy. “Sweetheart.” Her toes curl.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up” She sighs dejectedly, grasping any kind of composure she can find.

“No, no.” His voice is thick and vibrating by her ear and on her back through his chest. He makes a sound that resembles a failed attempt at clearing his throat, but it’s no use. He’s too deep in fatigue to even make a difference. “How are you feelin’, kid?”

“Sore” A soft giggle, much too broken to be a giggle really but she’s tired and she’ll take what she can get from her body that’s almost still sleeping. “A little shocked” She licks her lips “But overall really happy”

“Well that’s…” his fingers swirl less than two inches under her belly button, only just realizing how close they really are. Like everything just came back to him, like last night just snapped into focus. “Me too.” he settles for, mouth falling back on her skin, dragging along her spine as if there’s no better place he could be, and for the first time she actually believes that she can have this. That she’s allowed to.

She arches her back, words lost on her tongue. The arm draped over her pushes her flush against him, but she twists, breaking any contact before she tangles her limbs with his again, chest to chest, lips capturing his.

They’re intertwined. There’s truly no other way to describe it. Her legs are trapped under and in between both of his, both arms somehow bent between their naked bodies, small palm softly placed on his scruffy cheek, while her other hand is tracing his collarbone with feather light touches. His arms are around her, one cushioning her head, the other pulling her tightly, securely, flush against him.

She can feel everything. Tight chest muscles, ribs, firm stomach with just enough pudge for her to not be intimidated. Strong legs and tight arms that –Christ- feel so good around her. Fingers trailing up and down her spine slow, equally as slow as their kiss, shiver-inducing and light as an August breeze, occasionally dipping in her side but, ever the respectful man he is, never provoking. Doesn’t make it a steamy session, doesn’t make a move to deepen it. Simply admiring the woman in his arms.

Humming, she pulls back slightly. She trails a meticulous paw down the crevices of his chest. She traces his tattoo first, black lines of a symbol she’s seen one too many times. Touch tender and almost hesitant, she moves to the scar right next to it, and then to the next one, and the next one, studying and drinking in every molecule, every edge, ever dip and plain she can, mapping it out, turning it into a world she can get lost into as easily as breathing. And he lets her. Studying her, himself.

Red tints the tips of her ears, pictures of the previous night falling in her vision. She bites her lip and unknowingly stops, because, yes, they did that and she’s just now experiencing the afterglow of it all. Beyond happy.

Affectionate and gentle, his thumb frees her caged lip and her eyes fall in his foresty green ones. They’re intense and dark, and she, just now, notices the glow of sunlight that caresses his skin. She notices how the orange curtains affect the color of the light that makes his eyes intensify and pop. She notices his scruff and perfectly straight bridge of his nose. She notices the freckles and his eyebrows and somehow the fact that he’s looking her with the same amount of love in his eyes, completely escapes her.

Somewhere she reads the same disbelief she’s experiencing.

His hand moves, cradling her jaw, thumb brushing the top of her cheekbone, which is, yet again, turning red, and the faintest ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

She tucks into his chest, shyly, as if the realization that they’re both stark naked has just hit her and the smile widens. He falls on his back willingly, pulling her tight against him as their legs entangle together. This feels so weird, so domestic and brand new.

He shakes his head slightly and nuzzles with an indescribable sigh. Her palm is flat against his torso muscles. She begins peppering small kisses on his exposed, caramel tanned skin and snakes a closer hold on him because he can honestly never be close enough after this.

This is a turning point in their relationship. They know it. They’ll have to talk all about it later on, but right now they’re content in just being next to each other, in entangling heavy limbs and showing their affection with actions rather than words, because that has always been their communication system. Ghost touches and comfortable silences. Only now, their actions are loud and no longer ghosts. They’re beaming and inviting and calm. They’re acknowledged.

She stretches once more, joints popping their soreness away, before she slacks in his arms, a little higher than she was, now almost at eye level with him. He smiles faintly, features calm, and softly rubs the tip of his nose with the bridge of hers, cute and barely flirtatious. She makes an effort to memorize this, eyes fluttering shut. The lightness, the comfort, the feel of his strong arms around her, the look in his eyes and the beat of his heart. She’s floating.

She mentally squirms when his lips graze her forehead, right over her brow, tenderly. Her arm snuggles tightly between her chest and his and she can feel and hear his smile. The hand that had been around her waist lifts and he’s brushing stray hairs from her face gently.

“I’m so damn lucky” He rumbles quietly and for some reason, her immediate reaction is no. That is not true at all; she’s the lucky one here. Her sleep-deprived mind does no good to form and string sentences together though, so she settles for the next best thing. She opens her eyes, the weight of his arm falling back into its previous position around her waist, and leans, pressing her lips to his. His plump, curved lips tug into a smile that sparks a fire in her. She moves her hand, swiping her thumb at the edge of his jaw, feeling the days old scruff tickle the pad of her fingertip.

“Insinuating that somehow you’re the one cheating the system? You’re wrong,” She whispers, breath fanning his lips. “Very, very wrong.” Somehow that comes out breathier but there’s not a single care in her. He presses her lips to hers, brief but sweet, and falls back on his pillow. He arches his back in a stretch, not having had the time to wake his body up till now. She watches in wonder as light outlines perfect, powerful muscles, eyeing him up shyly. He relaxes on the bed, once again, before turning his head to her.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

Well, she did have something, but all thoughts have fled at the sound of that word. It clutters her brain and leaves her breathless because, sure, he’s called her that before, but right now it’s laced in a tone so deep and meaningful, her mind becomes speckled with stars. Cheeks heat up and he obviously notices, the new appearance of his dimple only living proof of that. A twisted, tired grin. “uh… y-yeah. I- Would it be weird if I took a quick shower? It- J-just to feel clean” She stumbles.

He pulls her close and noses her temple, dipping to nip her ear playfully, humming. “Whatever you want,” His voice is a hot feather’s touch of air and she shudders, nerves tingling like never before, straight to the core of her being. Then he pulls away, a cocky smirk on his lips that makes her want to kiss him until it’s off of him.

She does.

And when they’re both breathless, pawing at each other and clinging to the last remaining time they have left, they pull away, gazing endlessly at one another’s eyes.

Twisting away from him with much hesitation, she’s not sure if she should just walk across the room naked or-? Then Dean is there, an encouraging hand on her back, as he wraps the thin sheet around her, covering her comfortably. Saving her from embarrassment. Even though… well… last night.

She smiles that shy smile of hers that makes him grow weak in the knees, irises piercing his soul with flowery gratitude. He nods his welcome and kisses her temple. Warm hands urge her to shuffle along to the room and come back to his inviting embrace.

By the time she reaches the door, she leans on the frame, sheet still tucked around her burrito style. He’s there, all the important parts of him covered by the thin fabric of his tight black boxers that don’t do much to cover him, seeing as she’s still blushing like a crazy tomato. She briefly wonders when in hell he had the time to pull them on.

“Would you… uh,” she gulps thickly “would you like to join me?” She’s earned herself a blushing Winchester, the red tint crawling on his freckled, sun-kissed cheeks, almost foreign. He considers the invitation for a moment.

“I would, but you should have your space,” He pauses. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll be here when you come out” She nods in understanding and bites her lip, before entering the room and shutting the door behind her.

Under the steaming hot water, she realizes she’s sore. A good—great kind of sore. She makes it as quick as possible, barely shampooing her hair before she’s drying herself off. She takes the mental leap and she pulls Dean’s flannel and boxers on. It’s a cliché but such a rewarding one that she doesn’t mind.

Purple marks painted on the skin of her neck make her halt and trace over them with a light graze of her hand. Involuntarily smiling, she calls out a ‘come in’ at the knock on the door. Warm, secure arms wrap around her and a pair of lips retraces its steps. His hair is still sticking up in all sorts of directions, certainly looking adorable on him and he’s put on some sweatpants.

“You left me some marks of your own, you know” his voice is rumbling through her back. Eyebrows shoot halfway up her forehead. He turns her around, hands on her sides. Dean spins around and there’s nothing she can do but gasp.

Red marks etched on his skin, long scratches that look painful to the touch, decorate his upper back, around his broad shoulders. She starts to reach for him but hesitates, afraid she’ll hurt him.

“I-a- I-“ gulp “I’m so sorry, Dean, that looks…”

“Hot, sweetheart. That looks hot.” He turns to her again, arms snaking around her but she’s still much too scared to touch him now. He smiles, because he just can’t help it, and dips down to kiss her lightly, playfully, nibbling on her bottom lip. Her small hands make contact with the muscles of his chest and he sucks in a silent breath. “That shirt looks really good on you by the way,” he’s talking slowly, voice still gravelly. “Might as well let you have it, yeah?” His nose nudges hers.

“I’d much rather have you.” He’s grinning, unable to hold it back, though he buries it in the crevices of her neck, scratching her with his scruff, kisses playful and short, nipping here and there. Her fingers bury in his thick hair, messing it up even more.

“You smell really good.” He notes, pushing her against the sink with light pressure. She giggles, nails scratching his scalp and making shivers run down his skin. He goes lax, practically falling on her, arms loosely around her. She hums.

“You smell… like leather, bit of whiskey and… me” She lets her lips rest on the side of his head.

“Gotta admit, I like the you part on me best.” And then he’s kissing her, lazy and cute, exhaling a content sigh. His palms flatten against the small of her back, pulling her against him tightly and she goes willingly, without second thought.

Long, skillful fingers travel up her body to curl on her jaw, a gesture of tenderness. Lips part and he leans back in with no hesitation, instinctively. Dean rests flusher between her legs, heavy weight against her, lighting up the hot coals in her stomach. She could get used to this.

He pulls away from her mouth, traveling south to her jaw and she sighs deep and meaningful.

“Deean” She whines, lightly, reality crashing in the moment. He hums in acknowledgment. “Sam will probably be waiting for us.” He groans. She regrets even mentioning it. She couldn’t care less about the world, right now.

“Sam can wait”

Indeed, she decides, as Dean hauls her up against him, legs wrapped around his torso. Sam can wait. She can spare all the time in the world for Dean. She’s his, now, tomorrow and every day after that.

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