That was where she bumped into the man you had only heard stories about. Clark Kent, in a designer shirt and a hideous chunky gold ring with a ruby stone, stood at the bar with a beautiful girl on his arm, defying all of your expectations. The gentle-giant, farm boy image that Chloe droned on about was a far cry from the man before you.

Journalistic curiosity got the better of Chloe, keeping her distance and following Clark back to an apartment complex instead of confronting him for going AWOL on his family and friends.

Your kitten heels scraped against the tarmac, trying to keep up with Chloe as she yelled after him, “Clark! Clark?!”

Rolling his eyes, Clark turned to you and huffed a breath, “I should have known you’d be the one to find me.”

“Clark, what- do you live here?” Chloe blundered, her typical line of questioning and quick thinking evading her.

“Who’s your friend, Chloe?” Clark smirked, ignoring his supposed best friend and waltzing right past her. A dark glint in his eyes shone down at you in the night sky as his gaze roamed your exposed skin, your mini skirt and skimpy top leaving nothing to the imagination.

All summer Chloe complained about her unrequited love for her best friend; how he left her at the Spring formal, how she was always second choice to Lana Lang, how he made her feel like the only girl in the world in one breath and then a total stranger in the next.

Thank god she met Jimmy at the planet and forgot all about Clark Kent.

“Her friend isn’t interested in assholes,” You tilted your chin up at him, your nose wrinkling in disgust at his blatant disrespect and disregard of Chloe. Her brows knitted and her frown deepened.

“Baby you don’t even know me,” Clark flashed his sharp canines in a cheeky grin, “But we can change that.”

“Fuck off, Hillbilly Harry,” A faux sweet smile pinched at your cheeks, used to your fair share of arrogant assholes. Clark swiped his tongue across his lower lip and tugged it between his teeth, excited by the challenge you presented.

“Fiery little thing, aren’t ya?” He cupped your jaw, his blue eyes bore down on you, setting your skin alight under his attention. Slapping his hand away, you realised that everything Chloe told you was a very forgiving account of his character… he was a chauvinistic pig.

“Clark this isn’t you,” Chloe interrupted, pushing a healthy distance between you and him, his stare holding yours over her head, “You need to come home. Your parents are worried sick.”

“Go back to Hicksville. There's nothing for me there,” He turned on his heel and strutted towards the complex, disappearing into one of the apartments.

For the final week of the internship, Chloe was miles away, turning in her last articles with a distant and vacant smile. The encounter with Clark rattled her to the bone. Even Jimmy couldn't cheer her up.

With the success of your Metropolis stay, your parents made yet another decision that you had no say in. They wanted you to stay away from Gotham, hoping that your great aunt would put you up for your final year of high school in Metropolis.

At the farewell get-together, Chloe’s reporter nose sniffed out your sour mood and offered you a remedy, “Smallville might have a significantly lower crime rate and an even more significant lack of night clubs but there’s the Torch and the PG-13 stamp of approval that your parents are vying for.”

“Chloe-“

“There’s a spare room at my place. You'll have to get used to my dad's dry chicken but it’s yours if you want it,” and with that, she let you mull it over, turning back to the party.

Like you said, Smallville sucked but it was light years ahead of the misery that awaited you in a Metropolis high school and your great aunt’s frigid apartment.

Chloe’s dad was incredibly welcoming, thrilled at the opportunity to have an extra person in the house. The more the merrier, he repeated at every chance he had.

The Torch was the quaint and quirky live wire that Chloe described and the Wall of Weird was even weirder than you imagined. The high school was half the size of your school in Gotham, but it was in vastly better condition.

The adjustment wasn’t as drastic as you anticipated, small town life a lot more peaceful and joyous than the cut-throat, gritty days in Gotham.

But you were unmoving on one thing, Clark Kent. Returning to Smallville in flannel and light-wash denim, he was all rosy cheeks, deep dimples and soft-spoken smiles. No trace of the gaudy ring on his right hand, his eyes were bright and clear, the man of Chloe’s reminiscent tales now fitting together like the last missing puzzle piece.

The asshole in Metropolis was nowhere to be seen and you were hesitant to let your guard down. Chloe forgave him immediately, despite putting on a show of him having to earn her forgiveness, but you weren’t so easily swayed.

“Okay I’m gonna swing by the coroner’s office. I need to see that autopsy report and their security guard will do anything for a meatball sub and two minutes of batting my eyelashes,” Chloe announced, jumping to her feet and sending her chair flying behind her, “Play nice.”

Your eyes almost got stuck in the back of your head with how hard you rolled them. Playing nice with Clark Kent was easy… if he didn't open his mouth. He would be nice to you and the smug grin on his face that night in Metropolis flashed in your mind like a warning sign.

“Do you have the file on-?” Clark asked softly, his deep voice light and gentle in the silence, only the whir of the computers buzzing through the room.

Tossing a file across the desk, Clark blinked at you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, brows furrowing slightly, “Thanks.”

You mumbled a weak acknowledgment, focused on the article you were writing as your pen dangled from between your teeth.

“Hey I never got the chance to apologise to you,” Clark began, averting his eyes from you and licking his lips before continuing, “That night in Metropolis… that wasn’t me.”

“You got an evil twin we don’t know about?” You rebuked, your focus on your work unwavering.

“I just meant that your first impression of me was a terrible one. That’s not who I am,” He continued, shrinking in on himself a little, “So I’m sorry.”

“For eyeing me up like you could see through my clothes, or for displaying your remarkable grasp on friendship?” You finally met his eyes with stern disregard, “I know Chloe lets it slide but you’re an asshole to her, Clark. You wouldn’t deserve her friendship if you lived a thousand lifetimes.”

Clark sighed with no attempt to reply, taking in what you said and shrinking in on himself further. Ignoring his lamenting, you got back to the task at hand, saving your documents and gathering your notes into the top drawer of your desk.

“Okay, Kent, I’m locking up,” You grabbed your purse and the jangling set of keys, “Stay or go, you’ve been warned.”

Afraid of testing your patience, Clark hurried to grab his things and hurried out of the Torch office, walking in silence towards the school parking lot.

“Clark! Your mom called, said you were here,” An older man pulled into the parking lot, his red truck stopping in the road, “Son, I need your help with the feed. I can’t lug it all out of the truck by myself.”

His dad, you assumed, waited in the driver’s seat with sun-bleached curls and a dusty farmer’s tan, “Your friend need a ride anywhere?”

“No thanks, Mr Kent. I drove in today,” You flashed a sweet smile and jingled your car keys as Clark muttered under his breath, “She’s not my friend.”

“Well drive safe,” Mr Kent gave a warm smile. Rounding the car to the passenger side, you approached your car with Clark on your heels. Smiling over your shoulder, you couldn’t fight the urge to get one last dig at Clark, “You never mentioned how foxy your dad is, Clark. The apple fell very far from the tree.”

Clark stopped in his tracks and watched you, with clenched fists and a deep scowl, climb into your car. He knew he messed up in Metropolis but he apologised and you still wouldn’t drop it.

Run-ins with Clark became commonplace and the familiarity, although you would never admit it, was weirdly quite nice. Albeit you were bickering or making sly jabs at each other.

The school pep rally was a welcome delight. Clark Kent sat above the dunking tank, a big grin on his face as the non-athletic attempted to smack a football against the big DUNK mechanism.

"I, for one, would love to see Clark Kent in a wet t-shirt," Chloe giggled, dragging you to the front of the crowd. Clark waved dorkily as the two of you emerged from the spectators to the front row, his legs dangling off the board.

You couldn't fight the enticing chance to wipe that smug smile off his face... If only, you could just muster up a semblance of athleticism despite the watching crowd.

"I didn't peg you for a girl with stage fright," Clark called over to you, crossing his arms over his chest, his annoyingly big biceps flexing.

"I'm sure you're very familiar with performance anxiety, Clarkie," You countered, swallowing the urge to call him 'cherry'. Chloe told you all about Clark's supposed allergy to the opposite sex, even Lana sent him into a state of bumbling stutters.

Shaking his head as laughter jostled his body, Clark waved his arms over to the large DUNK button, inviting you to give it your best shot, "Did that Gotham Knights quarterback not teach you anything?"

Chloe.

Cringing in your peripherals, Chloe stared daggers at Clark. She told him about your ex, one of the reasons your parents wanted you to get away from Gotham. Great.

With a surprising amount of restraint, you took a deep breath and launched the football, smacking the DUNK mechanism right in the centre. The board swung out from under Clark and sent him into the tank of frigid water.

The crowd cheered and, despite bringing up your ex-boyfriend, a grin tugged at your lips. Clark emerged from the water, wiping his face and shaking droplets from his hair. Water splashed you as he laughed and climbed out of the tank, his white t-shirt now opaque and clinging to the ridges of his abdomen.

He was so annoying.

“Cut him some slack,” Chloe giggled, going through your closet as you lay on your bed, recounting the events after she left. Despite your different taste, Chloe could not resist the hoard of city boutique dresses in your closet. Another problem with Smallville, not enough places to shop.

“Only when he cuts you some,” You rifled through the pile of dresses now strewn across your duvet, lifting a satin and tulle powder blue dress, “What about this one?”

Chloe scrunched up her face, holding the dress against her in the mirror, “You don’t think it’s too… dressy?”

Giving her a lazy eyed stare, Chloe eventually crumbled and laughed, heading into your bathroom, “Fine, I’ll try it on!”

“Look, all I’m saying is,” Chloe called from inside the bathroom, the sounds of zips and ruffling material as a score, “Clark is a good guy. I know you don’t think so but just give him a chance to prove it. Okay, what do you think?”

Chloe stepped out of the bathroom in the dress, looking drop dead gorgeous. The colour complimented her complexion and the shaping suited her figure.

“That’s the one,” You nodded excitedly before she grinned at you, “Great, your turn!” Hanging your head, you resigned your fate to going to Smallville High's school formal despite your best efforts to stay at home.

With no boyfriends between you, you and Chloe went to the school formal together, taking pictures and interviewing reluctant teacher chaperones. Journalistic enthusiasm only lit a fire in your veins for so long so you dragged Chloe into an empty corner of the school and stole swigs of rum from your flask.

Chloe was tipsy and giddily dancing with one of her photography friends. Clark hadn’t said a word to you all night, a sheepish look in eye whenever he glanced in your direction. He looked annoyingly handsome in his tux. For Chloe’s sake, you approached him; maybe a little dutch courage helped.

"Dance with me," You slurred slightly, nodding to the crowd of students and stretching your hand to him, the live band playing an upbeat pop song. Clark knitted his brows at you, "Are you drunk?"

"Live a little, Kent," You laughed at him, rolling your eyes at his unmoving frown, "No, I'm not drunk. Just fresh. Are you gonna dance with me or not? See this, this is an olive branch." You waved your outstretched palm at him, the gesture registering to him as his brows softening.

"I- I can't," Clark stuttered, eyes darting around the school hall, streamers and balloons dotted around the room and hanging from the ceiling.

"Then I guess we're back to square one," You shrugged, stepping around him to grab a drink, trying to subtly tip a shot of rum into your punch. Clark, despite himself, rolled his eyes and turned to you, stealing the concoction from your hands and pocketing your flask, "Fine, I'll dance with you but no more drinking."

Maybe he just wanted to babysit you but Chloe would be happy that you made an effort to ease the awkwardness, for her sake.

Smiling up at him, albeit a little sarcastically, you took Clark's outstretched hand and dragged him onto the dance floor. Chloe giggled as she noticed your humiliation of Clark Kent. The tempo of the music slowed as you dragged Clark in front of you. He flushed and glanced at everyone around him, pairing off into couples.

Forcing his hands to your hips, you placed your hands on his shoulders and swayed to the music. Even that was a strain for the bumbling idiot as his foot caught your ankle and he collided with another couple in a tight embrace.

With a tight-lipped smile, he muttered apologies and pushed closer to you, avoiding any more collisions. His fingers twitched at your hips, tentative and delicate contact only.

"You weren't joking, were you?" You laughed, craning your neck to meet his eyes. Sharp canines peaked out as he gave an awkward laugh. The Clark in front of you versus the Clark you met in Metropolis were as different as night and day.

"Can I ask you something?" You continued with tipsy-loose lips, letting Clark guide you left to right in a slow circle. He wasn't so bad if you let him fully take the reins. With apprehension, Clark nodded.

“I still think you’re a jerk underneath the small-town boy-next-door thing you’ve got going on but Chloe’s a big girl,” You craned your neck to face him, giving up after your neck started to ache.

"Is there a question in there?" Clark pressed, the warmth of his hands seeping through the soft satin of your slip dress.

"I'm offering you a truce," You rolled your eyes before smashing into his chest as you collided with another couple. Clark grimaced and winced an apology at the other couple.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" Clark's grimace remained as his awkwardness grew, self-consciously looking around the room. Grabbing his sleeve, you dragged him from the crowd into the school hallway and continued into the parking lot.

"Truce, yes or no?" You turned to him and let go of his sleeve, crossing your arms over your chest. Clark cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket tugging the sleeve back into place. A warm breeze brushed over you as you leaned against Clark's truck.

“Truce,” He nodded, opening the truck door and grabbing a bottle of water from the glovebox, uncapping it and handing it to you, “Drink this."

"And wake up at a truck stop with no memory?" You jabbed at him, eyeing the bottle of water with suspicion. You didn't like Clark but you knew he wasn't that kind of bad. Still, it was fun to rile him up.

"It's a brand new bottle. You're drunk," Clark gritted his teeth, frustrated by the constant batting away of his attempts of friendship, "I’m sorry for… offending you. I don’t know how to prove it but I’m not that guy you met in Metropolis... I'll get you a water from the school instead.”

“Easy tiger, I'm messing with you,” A wicked smirk pulled at your lips as you took the water and chugged a few mouthfuls, “And you didn't offend me. I just think Chloe deserves better from her best friend. She was so hung up on you and I have no idea why. Thank god she met Jimmy.”

"Jimmy?" Clark asked and an evil part of your brain buzzed at the thought of the teasing you could inflict, but that was Chloe's secret to tell.

"So why are you here without a date?" You pushed off the truck and crawled into the front seats, your short dress riding up as you hauled yourself onto the leather. Blush bloomed across Clark's cheeks as he ripped his jacket from his shoulders and placed it over your lower half.

"It's a mini dress, Clark. I'll live," You twisted from your hands and knees into the chair, sitting in the passenger seat and throwing his jacket back at him.

"It's short. I could've seen-" Clark cut himself off with a thick swallow, glancing around the empty parking lot. Music blasted from inside the school. Rolling your eyes, you brought your heels towards you and unstrapped them, discarding them in the footwell.

"You're avoiding my question," You clicked your tongue, turning to him and bringing your feet up behind you. Clark sighed, folding his discarded tux jacket carefully and placing it on the dash, "Usually people who come without dates don't have any other options."

"You could've asked Chloe. As friends," You shrugged, fiddling with the radio stations. Clark swatted your hand away from the dials but ultimately gave in when you swatted back, leaving the quiet radio rumbling old rock ballads - the only clear channel.

"Yeah but then you wouldn't have had anyone to come with," Clark perched on the edge of the front seat, leaving the door open an inch and sitting as far from you as humanly possible. A loud scoff burst from you before you responded, "Charming. You sacrificed your night for me. Oh, Clarkie, however will I repay you."

Clark rolled his eyes at you, dropping his head against the leather seats behind him. Tugging at his bowtie, he tossed the scrap of fabric onto the dash, "I just meant that you and Chloe could have fun. I know you're not my biggest fan. I wasn't even going to come but my mom convinced me."

"Is your mom as hot as your dad?" You licked a stray droplet of water as it trickled down your bottom lip, giggling as Clark stared at you unamused, "Oh c'mon lighten up! It bodes well for you."

"Actually I'm adopted," Clark gave you a sarcastic smile, "And you said that the apple fell very far from the tree, anyway." The truck feel silence, bar the soft hum of the radio, until a loud giggle escaped you.

"That's funny, is it?" Clark glanced sidelong at you, fighting the twitch at the corner of his lips. To laugh would be to admit defeat. He watched you giggle until a group of students walked past the front of his truck, stumbling across the grass in front of the school. A few of them noticed you.

"Let the rumour mill begin," You muttered to yourself, furrowing your brows when Clark replied to your almost silent words, "What rumour?"

"I-" You wondered how he possibly heard you, "I just meant it's prom night and we're alone in your truck." Clark's features were still screwed in confusion.

"What usually happens on prom night?" You spoke slowly, spelling it out for him, "Involving sneaking off and parked cars."

"Are you talking about sex?" Clark's brows shot into his hairline, almost whispering the word like a scandalised Southern Belle.

"You said the s word," You teased him with a dramatic gasp. Clark shook his head, dropping his shoulders at your taunt.

"You're not going to burst into flames, Kent," You continued, "All I'm saying is people see us in a car alone on prom night, there's gonna be assumptions. So don't be surprised on Monday morning."

"Okay, can we please stop talking about it?" Clark forced between stutters. Jesus, the Clark in Metropolis was ready to take you against that alley wall but this Clark was a stuttering mess, tugging his collar loose at the mention of sex.

"What's the matter with you?" You furrowed your brows at him, squirming and flushed, "Are you thinking about it?"

It was supposed to be teasing. You may have called a truce between the two of you but the evil side of you loved watching him blush and stammer. So when Clark shot a doe-eyed look at you and swallowed, his pink parted lips glossy and plump, you knew he was.

"Aw Clarkie I didn't know you were so affected by me," You pouted at him, teasing him until he shook his head and replied stubbornly, "I'm not affected. You put the image in my head."

"What, of us having sex in your truck?" You questioned with knitted brows, prodding him with your foot when he ignored you, "Am I on top?"

Loud giggles erupted from you when Clark swatted at your foot and shifted in his seat to lean against the truck door, now closed. Staring out of the windshield, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl cemented across his features. He was so easy to wind up. You leaned against the passenger door, facing him as your feet rested beside his thigh.

"C'mon Clark I'm messing with you," Your laughter died down into a smile, the affects of the earlier alcohol now faded, "You don't have to be such a virgin about it."

Clark scoffed, stealing a glance at you, "Well I'm not a virgin so... there." He exaggerated his point with a shake of his head and stretch of his neck, like a bobblehead on a car dash.

"And who was the lucky lady?" You pressed, peeling the label from the water bottle which was now almost empty. Clark uncrossed his arms and rested his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel.

"Lana," He admitted, an overwhelming trace of sadness in his voice, "Please don't ask-"

"I'm not gonna ask what happened," You interjected and Clark bemoaned, "Do you always have to finish people's thoughts?!"

"I'm just saying, I don't want to hear all the horny details," You giggled at his outburst as he sighed heavily and winced, "Don't say that."

"Say what, horny?" You asked, swinging your legs into the footwell and shuffling closer to him to make room for your feet on the seat on the other side of you, as Clark grimaced at the word. "What, is it not lady-like enough for you?"

"It's not that," Clark brushed it off, adjusting his shirt at the new proximity. When he failed to explain, you replied, "We're teenagers, Clark. Sex is like the only thing we think about."

Clark gave you a narrow-eyed look. You were a lot closer to him than you realised. The cab of his truck was stuffy in the nighttime late spring air. Holding his gaze, you shrugged, "Maybe some more than others."

Then his lips were on yours.

With wide eyes, you stiffened at the contact. Clark's soft lips were on yours, pressing hard and intentional. He pulled away like the touch had burnt him.

"Sorry, gosh I'm sorry," He stared at you with wide eyes, like he'd shocked himself, as you stared back at him, your hands hanging between you in limbo, "I don't know why I did that."

"Don't apologise, Kent," You chuckled at his panic, swallowing your shock at his impulsiveness, "It's nice to see you relax for once."

Clark breathed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as he eyed you. Slowly, he leaned into you again, his gaze fluttering between your eyes and your lips until he captured your lips in a soft kiss.

He tasted like mint and his mother's apple pie. No doubt you tasted like sneaky swigs of rum and the fruit punch in the school hall. Clark didn't seem to mind as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and cupping your jaw.

Licking into his mouth, you shifted against him and Clark groaned at the heated mesh of your tongues, your hand resting on his chest, a finger slipping through the gap between two buttons to brush against his hot skin.

Tentative fingers trailed along the bare expanse of your thigh, toying with the hem of your dress, before smoothing down the fabric, his large palm resting over your hip. Your lips were locked in a mess of lips and tongues as you rose onto your knees and swung a leg over his hips, narrowly avoiding the steering wheel as you sat on his lap.

Groaning, Clark's brows knit as he continued to kiss you, his tentative hands now pawing at your hips. You gripped his shoulders, dropping your weight on his thighs and shifting against the half-hard bulge in his slacks.

Pulling away from his lips, you smiled at him and tugged your lip between your teeth. Clark stared with parted, kiss-bitten lips as he fiddled with the fabric of your dress, the material riding up your thighs.

Ducking your head, you pressed kisses to the column of Clark's throat, his adam's apple bobbing beneath your lips. Small noises tumbled from him as you littered open-mouthed kisses to his neck, his eyes fluttering with every tiny swipe of your tongue against the sensitive spots.

The bulge beneath you grew, hard against the apex of your thighs, and caged underneath his clothes. Clark was lax under your attention, caressing your back as you continued to love on him and unbutton his shirt.

Cupping the base of your skull, Clark lifted your head to meet his lips again, carding his fingers through your hair and pressing his palm to your lower back. He kissed you like he lived off the oxygen in your lungs, robbing you of your inhibitions. A manicured hand dropped between you and tugged his belt from the metal fastening.

"Wait," Clark panted, sucking in lungs of air as his hand closed over yours, engulfing your fist, "You're drunk. We shouldn't do this."

"Breathalyse me, Clark," You pushed your joined fists away, trapping his hand against the leather seat beside his shoulder, "I'm fine. I swear it." Clark exhaled a ragged breath and looked you over, assessing you in a way that you didn't really understand, like he was looking under your skin.

Nodding, Clark surrendered to your touch, "Okay, if you're sure." With a wicked smile, you released his hand and finished pulling his belt from his slacks, tossing it aside. Clark cupped your jaw with both hands as he drew you into another kiss, groaning into your mouth as you dragged your nails down his exposed torso.

His shirt lay open, exposing his muscular build and farm-tanned skin. Soft pink lines followed in the wake of your nails, scratching the memory of you into his skin.

Mewls and gasps between you as the exploration of your hands grew. Clark smoothed firm hands down your back before slipping his palms underneath your dress, palming your ass. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders, Clark was lost in the kiss, addicted to the taste and feel of you.

His hips jolted when you palmed his bulge. Pulling away from your lips, he squeezed your hips as he intently watched you undo the fastenings of his trousers, unbuttoning and slowly unzipping them. Clark shed his shirt fully, a bloom of pink flush crawled up his chest and neck.

Your fingers carded through the hair at the nape of his neck. Clark reached behind you, as he pressed slow kisses to your neck, and unclipped the hook-and-eye fastening before lowering the zip of your dress. Quiet moans echoed straight into his ear at the almost hug as he lowered the straps from your shoulders.

Large palms kneaded your exposed chest, nibbles pebbling against his skin. Clark groaned in his throat at the sight of you in his lap, ducking his head for another heated kiss. Your tongue worked against his, your hands fumbling to move aside the fabric of your dress bunched up between you.

Clark lowered his lips to your neck and down to your chest, tugging your nipple into his mouth. Leaning back in his arms, he had a better angle to suck and lick at you, making you gasp and whine over and over. Clark loosened his hold around your back to reach under the skirt of your dress but the loud honk of the horn jolted you both as you slipped back onto the steering wheel.

Clark tugged you against his chest, laughter echoing between the two of you as he held you in an embrace.

"Sorry," You breathed a laugh, a pink glow across the apples of your cheeks. Clark shook his head, smiling wide, and slid across the seats onto the passenger side. He checked the mirrors, "Nobody's out here."

Tugging him into another kiss, Clark resumed his path up your thighs as he brushed the pad of his thumb along the wet spot of your panties. With a swift movement, he moved the material to the side and ran a finger through your slick. A collective groan sounded between you, and Clark glanced down to where his hand was, despite the fabric of your dress covering you.

Circling your clit, Clark bit his lip at your soft moans and the little twitch of your hips at every swipe. He lowered his finger to your entrance and gently pushed in, the warmth and wetness making him groan. Adding another finger, Clark's brows rose at the broken curse that you stuttered out.

Pumping his fingers into you, Clark heard every gasp and moan, curling his fingers just right and kissing the sensitive spots on your neck. Your fingers dug into his biceps, one dropping to grab at his wrist the closer you got. Pleasure licked at your spine, sparks of it igniting in your veins with every stroke of his thick fingers.

Something within you tightened, your muscles and nerves pulled taut, and then it snapped. Your body convulsed above him, your slick dripping down his hand, as a string of moans curses tumbled from your lips.

Your chest heaved as Clark watched you come back into yourself, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. Gently, he pulled his fingers from you and took them between him lips, rolling his eyes at the taste of you.

Your head was spinning and your nerves were alight. Uncoordinated hands pulled at his slacks and boxers, lowering them below his hips as his hard cock slapped against his stomach. Clark shied away under your gaze, wide eyes staring at his most vulnerable state.

Rising onto your knees, you took his cock in your hand, softly stroking at the silky skin, and guided him to your sopping entrance. The mushroom tip caught at your entrance and Clark moaned breathily as you sank onto him slowly. Taking him was definitely a stretch and the angle made it feel like he was in your guts.

Clark gripped your hips, fingers curling tightly at the flesh there. You breathed through the stretch before lifting your hips and rocking down on him. A moan punched from Clark's throat, the loud squelch as an underscore.

Giving him no reprieve, you fucked yourself on his cock, slamming your hips against his with every rise and fall of your pelvis. The blunt head kissed the sensitive spongy wall within you, every connection igniting sparks of pleasure that had your toes curling.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, your other hand pressed to the ceiling of his truck to keep you upright and to avoid a concussion. Clark littered sloppy kisses over each exposed plane of your sweaty skin, palming your tits as they bounced in his face.

His truck grew hot with every heavy exhale, the friction between your bodies with every bounce, heating up the crowded space. A sheen of warmth fogged up the windows, blurring the unmistakable activity inside.

"Oh god," You breathed, cradling his head to your tits. Perfectly imperfect teeth nibbled at the skin of your chest until red and purple marks bloomed.

Staking his claim on you. This was the first glimpse of Metropolis Clark you'd seen since you moved to Smallville. Inhibitions be damned.

"You're so pretty, so pretty," Clark rambled under his breath, his hot breath pebbling your nipple as he grabbed a handful of your ass, groaning as he gritted his teeth, "And that dress."

Your thighs shook with every rock against him, the muscles burning with exhaustion. Large hands encased your hips and Clark's biceps bulged as he guided your movements, practically spearing you on his cock. A loud moan escaped you as Clark hit deeper, thrusting into you as he lowered you onto his cock.

"Clark, fuck, s'good," You nodded bonelessly, your head lolling until your cheek settled against his shoulder, the scent of his aftershave overwhelming your senses.

He was in a blissful nightmare of his own making. Hitting deeper and controlling the pace meant that his impending orgasm licked up his spine, sweat forming at his temples overshadowing the light sheen already coating his hot skin.

Kissing him with messy force, you licked into his mouth, an exchange of pleasured whines passing between you, as you clawed at his naked skin, scrambling for purchase as he used you like a ragdoll.

"There," A broken moan exhaled from your throat, "Right there."

Clark tipped his head back, moaning loudly and pulling you closer to his chest. Abandoning your hips, Clark continued to thrust up into you as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you firmly in his lap.

"Clark.. ah- Clark!" You cried as spots clouded your vision, his cock pierced deep within you. An arm aimlessly wrapped around his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, as your other hand pressed against the cool window. A handprint smudged down the condensation, droplets of water trickling onto the plastic interior.

It was sticky and messy and rushed.

Clinging to him, you were no longer in control of your body, diving your now-wet hand into his hair and tugging at the thick strands as your orgasm washed over you, convulsing and twitching against his solid frame.

"Mmhm princess," Clark groaned as you pulsed around him, his hips stuttered as slick dripped down his cock. Clark thrust once, twice, three times until he spilled hot ropes of cum into you with a final moan of your name.

You slumped limply against him, mewling into the crook of his neck at the overstimulation as he grinded into you until the last ebbs of his pleasure faded away.

With heaving chests and kiss-bitten lips, you cuddled into his chest, running soothing hands along each other's naked skin. An embrace far too intimate for the school parking lot, for a random hook up.

A soft laugh brushed past your ear. It broke you from your reverie.

Shit, what have you done.

Pulling away from the comfort of his arms, you rose onto your knees, Clark's cock slipping from you and slapping wetly against his thigh, and sat beside him in the driver's seat. You tugged your panties back into place as Clark pulled his boxers and slacks back over his hips, fastening them quickly.

"Is everything okay?" Clark asked timidly after a stretch of silence as you individually redressed. He was buttoning his shirt when you turned to him, the zip of your dress mostly done.

"Yeah," You lied through your teeth, "Need to check on Chloe. She was pretty tipsy." Clark nodded, and it was obvious that he didn't believe you because it was obvious that you were lying.

"Let me drive you home," Clark offered, shuffling across the seat towards you, his arm resting on the back of the leather seat, "Both of you."

"It's fine, Kent. You don't have to stick with the nice guy act, you got what you wanted," You grabbed your clutch and rifled inside for various liners and glosses, using the rearview mirror to freshen up your wrecked appearance.

Clark was stunned into silence, staring at you and fisting the leather seat until his knuckles whitened, "Do you really believe that?" His big blue doe-eyes blinked at you like a kicked puppy.

You didn’t know what you believed but what better way to fix a mistake than to push it away, right?

"Does it matter?" You avoided his eyes despite his burning holes into the side of your head, strapping your heels on and climbing out of the truck.

The truck door slamming echoed through the parking lot. Cars were bound to be abandoned for the night, most owners choosing to party into the late hours instead of go home. Coloured lights and live music boomed from inside the school.

Clark rushed after you, climbing out of the truck and slamming his door behind him, "Wait a minute, what do you mean 'does it matter'? Of course it matters. We just.." Clark gestured to the truck then the two of you.

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards the school, "We just..? We fucked in your truck." Clark trailed after you, screwing up his face at your choice of words, "I'm sorry for upsetting you, whatever it was I said or did. And it's not an act. This is me."

You turned to him. He towered over you and yet he looked so small. Wrinkles spread across his white shirt, buttoned by untucked, and his hair was unkempt. Rosy cheeks and sad puppy dog eyes.

Sighing, you patted his chest, "You didn't do anything wrong, Smallville. We fucked and that's that. I'm gonna find Chloe and you're gonna go home."

"I..." Clark began, his lips parting with unspoken words, thoughts he didn't know how to verbalise.

"Goodnight Clark," You stepped back from him and headed inside. Clark watched with sheer confusion: how did you go from that to this? His head hurt and his cock was sticking to his skin uncomfortably in his boxers.

“There’s soda in the house,” He chuckled, nudging you away from him, “I need to finish this paper.”

You made a loud groan of dissatisfaction and launched yourself back against the couch cushions. Giggling at your dramatics, Clark ignored you and continued with his homework.

“Wouldn’t you kill for your mom’s lemonade right now?” You asked, prodding your manicured toes into his ribs, tugging your locket necklace between your teeth. Clark jolted at the ticklish sensation and swatted away your foot.

“I always get your drinks. Can’t you go by yourself for once?” A tight smile graced his face as he flipped through sheets of notes, the hinge of his jaw tightening.

“Oh, sorry, I was only messing around,” You pulled away from him, dropping your necklace to your chest as your brows knit trying to decipher his tone; his face was smiley but he seemed on edge, “I thought you liked doing things for me. I didn’t mean to-”

“I do!” He whipped towards you, holding his hands as if he was reaching for you but holding himself back. A deep sigh deflated from his chest as his eyes darted to the floor, “I do but… It’s fine, I’ll get you lemonade.”

Clark hurried to his feet but, before he rushed off, you stopped him, “What’s going on? You’re being weird.”

Scratching his neck, Clark stayed a healthy distance from you and blurted, “I’m your boyfriend without the rewards.”

Wide eyes blinked at you and his jaw hung ajar, pink blotches climbing up his neck.

“Wha-What?” You fumbled for a response, stuttering and scoffing at the accusation.

“Nothing, just something Pete said,” Clark retreated to the barn steps, “I’ll go get your drink.”

“Clark, stop, what did Pete say?” You followed after him, finally rounding on him at the barn door and halting him in his tracks. With raised brows, he laughed it off, “Nothing. Just Pete being Pete.”

“Clark,” you sternly warned him, glaring up at him through furrowed brows. Clark could never lie to you for long, always cracking like an egg on concrete.

“Okay fine! Pete said I’m your boyfriend without the rewards,” Clark held his hands up, “I’m there whenever you need me, to do boyfriend things...”

“Boyfriend things?”

“Yeah… Getting you lemonade even though I’m totally gonna fail this history paper, driving you everywhere, walking you home, buying your favourite snacks and memorising your coffee order, going shopping with you so you don’t have to carry all the bags, building you furniture-“

“You’re my friend Clark! Those are friend things to do,” You shouted back, scoffing at the ridiculousness of his claim.

“So you’d invite Pete over to build your new dresser? Or ask Chloe for her sweater because it’s cold out?” He raised his brows at you, a knowing smile on his face.

Silence fell between you. Crossing your arms, you raised your chin and Clark shook his head, “He’s right. I’m your boyfriend without the rewards.”

“So you… so you want the rewards?”

“No! No no no no, I don’t- not with you, bleurgh,” Clark wrinkled his nose, laughing at the notion.

“Don’t say bleurgh-” You fought back, riled up by his theatrical disgust, before he interjected, “I don’t want it!”

“-I’m not disgusting. It’s not an unheard of thought,” You continued despite his interruption, your voices raising above each other with every sentence. Clark made another childish sound of disgust and pulled a face.

“Come on, admit it, you’ve thought about it” You goaded him, arguing loudly and quickly.

“You and me, sexually? Nope, bleurgh,” Clark stuck his tongue out, memories of your childhood bickering coming to the forefront of your mind, “Never thought about it once.”

Rolling your eyes with equally childish insult, you pulled a face at him, “Don’t lie.”

“Not on purpose,” Clark held his hands up in surrender as you stared pointedly at him, tilting your head, “Sleeping Clark is a totally different guy.”

“You know you did when we went horse riding!”

“Yeah, check my search history. It’s filled with girls going horse riding,” Clark waved his hands around manically, mocking you with wide eyes.

“I mean I’ll admit I’ve thought about it.”

Clark’s face lit up with shock and amusement, his brows almost touching his hairline. Taunting words twitched at his lips but a smarmy grin curled across his cheeks, dimples popping.

“Yeah,” You weakly mumbled, squirming under his amused stare.

“When was this?” Clark pressed, his grin unwavering.

“Last year, just once,” You shrugged, brushing it off, “When you drew a smiley face on your burger with ketchup and laughed at it.”

“That’s what does it for you?” Clark screwed his face up, pink tinging the tip of his ears at the dorky memory you brought back.

“Yeah I thought about it for FIVE MINUTES,” You couldn’t fight the rise in volume as your nerves were riled, “And then I realised it would never ever work between us!”

“Yeah I agree, that’s how I see it!” Clark matched your volume, leaning into you with playful intimidation. The childishness was off the charts.

“Great I’m glad we agree on something-“

“Me too!” He shouted, as if it was final, but you always had to have the last word, “Great.”

Clark couldn’t let that slide. You knew how to push each other’s buttons and, after so long being so close, you knew that could bicker like this for hours and it wouldn’t change your friendship, just an outlet for your many emotions.

“Out of curiosity, why do you think that though?” His voice boomed the gentle question, equally as riled up as you.

“Because you drive me NUTS, KENT!” You exploded, “Because you’re always sighing like you’re the president of the United States and you have to decide if we’re going to war or not!”

“I sigh because you sing everything!” Clark rebuked and you rolled your eyes, defensively, “I do not.”

“And I hate it,” Clark mocked your singing, nasally and high-pitched, “You sing and dance about nothing.”

“You’re always late,” You fired back, winding each other up with rolling eyes and heavy scoffs, “Always! You’re never ever on time to anything! You cancel plans last minute and never have a reason!”

“What are you talking about? I drive you to school every day and we’re never late!” Clark shouted back, nose wrinkled and brows furrowed.

“Parking up at the last bell is late, Clark! We have to run to class!” Your hands gesticulated wildly as you shouted at him.

“You’re on the track team! It’s not my fault you wear ridiculous high heels to school!” He fought back, pointing to your footwear; currently a pair of bedazzled flip flops.

“Leave my fashion choices out of this!” You jabbed a finger at him, and he continued to argue with you, overlapping each other's sentences, “Punctuality isn’t everything! This isn’t the military!”

“You want to be a reporter! You live by deadlines! You should know better! Maybe you should join the military and learn a thing or two!”

“Well I’m sorry I didn’t know I was on the fence on military manners! I didn’t know how strongly you felt about our troops!” He mocked, poking fun at you and deflecting despite the bickering.

“It’s just rude, Clark! I could never live with that. I barely live with it now!” You yelled louder than him and silencing him, blue eyes staring down at you.

With a heavy chest, you stared at each other as silence settled in the barn. Your heated argument fizzled out as Clark took a step back, “But you need me.”

“Oh that’s what you think? I’m gonna call Pete and we’re gonna go to the movies, and we’re gonna get all up in each other’s friendship,” You stormed out of the barn, brushing right past him.

“How you getting home?” He called after you, leaning against the barn door with a knowing smirk. Halting in your tracks, you stamped your foot and squealed, screaming on the inside. Clark always gave you a ride home but you were as stubborn as a mule, stomping your foot and walking home despite the hay catching under your feet.

The next week was hell.

Seen as though he was “always late”, Clark stopped picking you up and left you to take the bus with stinky freshman and gum-infested seats. The first time you stepped onboard, a dropped thermos splattered soup up your leg. Clark laughed when he saw you prissily wiping your skin clean, fighting the weakening in his knees to crouch before you and take over.

With a tight-lipped smile, he refused to share his fries when you forgot your lunch and neglected to bring you a coffee when he went for a run to the Talon, only you. The tension in the Torch was inescapable as Clark handed Chloe and Pete a takeaway cup each, the two sharing glances as he ignored you and took his seat, swallowing the lump in his throat.

You shivered stubbornly as you stood on the bleachers, watching the Smallville Crows play. Clark, remaining snug and warm in his knitted sweater and thick jacket, cheered along and watched the game with such intense enthusiasm that you wondered if he was distracting himself from being your white knight.

Plastic and paper handles burned at the skin of your fingers, the weight of your shopping bags ripping at the reddened flesh. With twitching fingers and a pained expression, Clark walked beside you, chitchatting and trying to ignore your struggle. It was then that you realised.

It was the small stuff that you missed, the stuff that you had become so accustomed to that you didn’t realise Clark even did.

Hanging out with the others was fun but you couldn’t help the tugging at your heart as another day passed without some alone time with Clark.

It had been just over a week when your ridiculous high heel snapped on the high street. Clark just laughed and you caved with a heavy sigh, sitting on the sidewalk outside The Talon and slipping off your ruined shoes, “Fine, you were right, I need you. Can we go back to how it was before?”

Wordlessly, Clark looked down at you and rolled his eyes before lifting you into his arms like a princess and putting you in the passenger side of his truck.

Dropping you at your house, Clark carried you from the truck to the front porch, opening the door and setting you down inside, “Better?”

“Better,” You nodded, plush carpet under your feet and broken heels in your hand, “I’m sorry about last week. Maybe Pete was right. Maybe you are my boyfriend without the rewards.”

Clark followed you further into the house, listening to you ramble on as you avoided his eyes, “I didn’t know what I was doing to you. We’ve been best friends for so long that I think the lines started to blur a little. You were always in the friendship box and now I’m realising, maybe it’s not that simple. I don’t want to screw up what we have, you’re too important to me.”

With a soft hand on your arm, Clark turned you to face him, “Things have changed but that’s okay. We were kids and now we’re not. But it’s different with us, we both want to be friends but are sometimes attracted to each other.”

“A-ha!” You smiled at him with an accusatory point of your manicured finger, “You have thought about the rewards!”

“That’s not what I said,” Clark laughed, raising his hands and taking a few steps back. His cheeks were rosy and a big smile graced his lips, as he teased you, “I love horse riding.”

Digging your fingers into his stomach, Clark squirmed and giggled before a comforting silence fell between the two of you, eyes meeting.

“I just don’t need a bunch of people telling me how to be your friend, what we can and can’t do. If I want to build your bookshelf, I’m gonna build your bookshelf. I’m a farmer’s son, I love that stuff!” Clark chuckled, taking your face between his large hands, “Just promise me that when you do get a boyfriend, you won’t cut me out.”

“And when you get a girlfriend, you won’t cut me out,” you added, raising your pinkie finger between you and linking with his, and daring to ask, “Clark, what’s the difference between this and a relationship? Is it just sex?”

Pink blotches crawled up his neck, as he stuttered, “What?”

“I just mean,” You went equally as red, stumbling through a response, “Boy and girl best friends can get messy. We’ve both thought about… the rewards. How do you know if something is platonic or not when you’re this close?”

Clark swallowed as he considered your line of questioning, “I don’t know. All I know is I… you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a girlfriend.”

“Bullshit! What about Lana? Alicia?”

“Alicia was… complicated and it was over pretty quick. And I think we both know that girlfriend is a bit of stretch when it comes to Lana. More like pathetic obsession,” Clark chuckled, ducking his head a little, “You’ve always been my number one girl.”

“Kiss me Clark.”

Standing in shocked silence, Clark stared at you with wide eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “What? Are you sure?”

“It’s the only way to test the hypothesis,” You shrugged as casually as possible, hoping to hide your nerves, “Pucker up, farm boy.”

Clark licked his lips and fought with words on the tip of his tongue. Dipping his head, he leaned in to kiss you but hesitated, a small laugh escaping him.

His coyness was cute and, under his gaze and proximity, you felt yourself grow hot. Putting yourself out of misery, you stretched onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

Clark’s eyes widened, slowly fluttering closed as he melted into you. Fumbling hands cupped your hips as your hands smoothed over his chest.

It was soft and chaste. Pulling away from his lips, your eyes fixed on the plaid of his shirt and a laugh escaped you, “Weird.”

“Yeah weird,” Clark breathed, your glittery lip gloss shimmering along his plush lips, and you felt his eyes bore into you. A grin pulled at your cheeks as you licked your lips.

For weeks, the kiss was a fluke. Things went back to normal and Clark was like your boyfriend, without the rewards. The kiss cemented what your conversation concluded; you and Clark were best friends that occasionally found each other attractive.

Your friends continued to tease you but you and Clark ignored them; if he wanted to carry your books, he would, and if you wanted to sew up the holes in his flannels, you would.

But time alone with Clark began to change. It was slow and steady but the change was there. Casual touches were like a live wire and the boundaries of friendship were pushed.

Chloe picked up on it because of course she did.

Dusk settled and the low lamp light of the Torch softly illuminated the office in sparse spotlights. Keyboards clacked and pens scribbled as Chloe whizzed through her latest exposé.

For some extra curricular credits, you agreed to be the Torch’s proof-reader, checking the grammatical competency of Chloe’s manic writings. With every page that she finished, she printed a copy and you went through it, circling every spelling mistake or grammatical error.

Clark sat beside you, resting his head on his arms, practically dozing on the desk. Wordlessly, you stroked your fingers along his back, the warm muscle beneath his flannel firm and lithe, and carded them through his hair. A soft hum of thanks buzzed through the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” Chloe raised her eyebrows at you, a teasing grin on her lips, “Feels like I’m interrupting something.”

You and Clark snapped away from each other like the attention burned. His bleary eyes blinked rapidly as he turned back to the abandoned English paper on his computer. You buried your head in your proofreading, refusing to acknowledge Chloe’s shit-eating grin.

It kept happening. Brushing his hair out of his eyes after football practice, pressing a palm to your lower back in the Talon, sitting in his lap when there wasn’t enough room at the lunch table.

“Are you guys gonna jump each other or not?” Chloe giggled one night as she stood in front of your mirror, holding different items of clothing to her frame. A little tipsy from your mom's leftover marg jug, she glanced over her shoulder at you and Clark, lying side-by-side on your bedsheets and flipping through potential yearbook templates.

With awkward laughter, you waved her off and focused on the task at hand, stealing glances at Clark. He looked so out of place in your bedroom, on your bed. His long limps stretched across the comforter, feet hanging over the bottom of the bed, and causing a significant dip in the mattress under his weight. The white and blue of his clothes were a stark contrast to the shades of pink around him, and your array of heels and flats were dwarfed beside his heavy worker's boots.

After Chloe left with another teasing comment, it was easily the most awkward twenty minutes of your life, only the low hum of the radio and the swish of paper.

“Maybe we should,” Clark broke the silence as he flipped through the font examples, paying zero attention to the documents in his hands.

“Clark—“

“I’m not blind. Things have changed, and I don’t know what else to do but I don’t want to lose you to all these changes,” Clark continued, hands gripping the template booklet until his knuckles whitened, “The kiss said it all. Maybe we just need to... evolve.”

In the silence, you debated with yourself. You knew you were going to accept reality and give yourself to Clark but your tight grip on your friendship pulled taut against your skin, ripping and burning at your flesh until you had no choice but to let go. You never wanted to let go, but maybe loosening your grasp on your friendship was the solution.

Clark stared at his hands, fiddling with the mess of paper on your comforter. He was beautiful as you reached to cup his jaw and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. It was soft and sweet, pulling away you rested your forehead against his.

"You have to promise me something," You breathed, averting your eyes to his chest, "Promise me this won't change anything, you'll still always be my friend."

Clark nodded, cupping your jaw and tilting your head to meet his eyes, "Always." With soft smiles, Clark tipped you onto your back, pressing against you and smoothing a hand over your hip.

Plush lips brushed against yours, as you carded your fingers through the thick hair at the nape of his neck. A soft hum of approval vibrated against your lips, his grip on your hip squeezing gently.

Pulling you closer and leaning over you, Clark licked against the seam of your lips, coaxing your tongue against his. The intensity built, your lips collided with fervour as your hands explored; he kneaded your thighs and smoothed along your back, and you tugged at his hair and gripped his biceps.

The tightly-fixed lid on your friendship was fractured beyond repair. Desire and lust seeped from your pores with every push and pull of your kisses, bodies pressing flush against one another. Clothing became an unwanted barrier between you as his weight pressed you into the mattress.

Ducking his head, Clark attached his kiss-bitten lips to the sensitive span of your neck, licking and sucking as soft mewls escaped your throat. Your hands clawed at his back, curling under the hem of his white t-shirt and tugging it over his head. Clark pulled back onto his knees, gazing down at you as the tanned and taut planes of his body were exposed to you.

Thick muscles lined his arms, stacked down his chest and abdomen, and rippled with every movement as he freed himself from his t-shirt, tossing it aside. Swallowing thickly, you stared hard, attention flickering between his bulking physique and the soft features of his face, his hair a mess from your grasp.

Heavy breaths rushed past his swollen pink lips as he leaned down to kiss you, any doubts about your decision were quickly wiped from your memory. He was so big and soft and heavy and strong and gentle and... Clark.

Your head was spinning.

Worker's hands crept under your shirt and caressed your soft skin, the frilly material against his large hands sent a wave of arousal through you. Gently, Clark unlaced the bow at the heart of your top, peeling away the material and exposing your bra-clad chest to him.

His mouth trailed kisses across every exposed expanse of your hot skin. Laying beneath him, you took whatever he gave you with satisfied hums and soft gasps. Your eyes fluttered shut as he peppered open-mouthed kisses to your neck, ascending to your lips.

"Still okay?" Clark whispered into your mouth, his warmth and the scent of his aftershave washing over you. Nodding and cupping his jaw, you smiled up at him, "You've got a magic mouth." Clark ducked his head with a coy grin, laughter bubbling between you.

His large frame wrestled against you playfully until he lay between your spread legs, the pink sheets beneath you ruffled and unkempt. Pressing onto his forearms, Clark hovered above you and, for a moment that stretched into a million, you stared into each other's eyes. Desire and something else twinkled in his blown-out pupils as he lowered onto you, sealing your lips into a deep kiss.

Manicured nails scratched along his bare back, the warm muscle reacting to every tantalising touch. Absent-minded hips rocked against yours with every rhythmic dance of your locked lips. Trembling fingers trailed down your stomach and tugged at the button of your bell-bottoms.

Catching his wrist, you met his eyes, "Clark, have you done this before?" Your timing was never the best but Clark softened at your knitted brows, concern etched into every line of your face. Softly pulling out of your grip, Clark pushed a strand of hair out of your eyes and smiled shyly, "Yeah."

"With Lana?" You asked, retreating into yourself as the green-eyed monster licked up your spine. Clark shook his head before he admitted, "With Alicia, a few times... Have you?"

Swallowing your misjudged insecurity, you nodded and admitted as you bit your lip, "When I stayed with Lois at Met U. Some party, some guy."

A soft smile twitched at Clark's lips, adoration in his eyes despite his head and shoulders dropping, "A college guy? This is gonna be humiliating."

Giggling at his humility, Clark didn't move an inch as you shoved at his chest, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, Clark cushioned your head with his bicep, pressing as close as two people could possibly be.

The metal buckle of his belt was cold against the exposed skin of your stomach, so you reached down to unbuckle it and tear open the buttons of his jeans. Clark groaned gutturally as you fumbled with his jeans, sitting back onto his knees and smoothing his hands along your thighs.

With nimble fingers, Clark unfastened the button and zip of your jeans, tugging them down your hips and tossing them aside. Laying there in your underwear, you lifted onto your elbows and Clark stared with parted lips and doe-eyes, chests heaving with kiss-stolen breaths.

At times like this, you thanked your lucky stars for being a little high maintenance, cute underwear always. Clark gulped as he stared at the lace-trimmed satin set, lying back like something out of his wildest fantasies.

A thick bulge pressed against the denim of his jeans, his belt and buttons hanging open salaciously to reveal his loose boxers. Soft pants beat from his chest and a soft rosy hue bloomed across his cheeks and nose. He looked like something out of a playgirl photoshoot; the rugged farm boy in the pink frilly princess bed.

"You're so beautiful, Clark," You breathed, in awe at his softness despite the hard angles and contours of his body. Clark's blush deepened as a flattered smile twitched across his face, "I think that's my line, baby."

Baby. It was like a tazer to the vagina.

"Take your jeans off," Your tongue ran across your top lip slowly and your eyes glossed over a little, as you took in the sight before you. Sex-mused and flustered, half-naked Clark Kent.

Pushing his jeans off, Clark kneeled between your legs in just his boxers, tented against your inner thigh. Large palms gripped your thighs and smoothed over your hips, as he took in the sight of you on your back and spread out for him.

"So gorgeous. You're so perfect," Clark whispered into the silence between you, the radio now a distant murmur in the background. Your hands dug into his hair as he pressed seductive kisses from your neck to your stomach, kneading your boobs over your bra before circling underneath your back to tug the fastening loose.

Tossing your bra to the floor, Clark laved hot, wet kisses across your skin and sucked your pert nipple into his mouth, circling his thumb over the neglected one. A loud gasp teared from your throat at the sensation, gripping the back of his head and his shoulder tight enough you worried he would draw blood.

Languid strokes of his hips grinded his hard cock against your clothed pussy, the damp material sticking to you like a second skin. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on your skin as the sparks of pleasure rippled through you with every syncronised roll of your hips.

His sizeable bulge pressed right against your clit with every push and pull. Clark kissed up your chest and your neck, taking your locket necklace between his teeth.

“I dreamt about this,” He panted, letting the thin chain rest on his tongue and drip down his chin. Bright blue eyes looked up to meet yours, his lips bright pink and kiss-bitten. The spit-coated chain slipped from his mouth and hung between your breasts, his saliva imprinting onto your skin.

“Anyone ever tell you how pretty y’are, Clark?” The slowing of your hips and the sultry tone of your voice had him whimpering beneath you. Your nails scratched at his scalp as he shook his head, your other hand working on the waistband of his boxers. 

“Well, you are. Prettiest I’ve ever seen,” Your hand slipped into his boxers and warm flesh met warm flesh. A loud whine escaped his lips as you worked your hand along his silky skin, his pre-cum coating your palm.

Hips bucking into your fist, Clark buried his face in the crook of your neck, one hand fisting the pillow beneath your head and the other gripping your thigh as your legs curled around his waist. Choked moans clawed past gritted teeth as Clark begged aimlessly, “Please, baby… Like that.” His flushed face and pouty lips were difficult to deny.

Rolling your wrist, you stroked him, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip. Clark whimpered an inaudible plea, grabbing your ass with one hand as an anchor to reality. A loud rip tore past your ear as Clark's strong grip on your pillow forced the seams apart.

"So- Sorry," Clark stuttered, your unrelenting pace rendering him stupid as pleasure licked up his spine. A giggle echoed around him and you pulled your hand from his hot flesh, leaving him desperate and wound up, whining at the loss of contact.

Toying with his hair and caressing his broad back, Clark's eyes fluttered open and a satisfied hum rumbled through his chest, pulling away from your neck to meet your eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" Clark asked despite the cloud of lust swimming in his eyes. Sweet and caring Clark. Wordlessly, you untangled your legs from his waist and shed the final layer of your clothing, flinging the flimsy panties across the room.

Lying back, your thighs caged his hips as you tightened their hold on his waist, and you felt the weight and heat of his cock pressed against your bare pussy. Thumbing at the waistband, Clark lowered his boxers until he was free of them, the pair of you entirely exposed to each other now.

A broken gasp fell from his lips as you took him in your hand again and guided the head of his cock through your slick before lining him up with your entrance.

His rosy cheeks deepened and his eyes fluttered shut at the pleasurable feeling before his eyes shot open, "Wait I should prep you fir-"

Curling a hand around the nape of his neck, you pulled him towards you, shutting him up by capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Your tongue pushed into his mouth, the two of you melting into one another.

With an encouraging squeeze of your thighs around his hips, Clark was spurred into action. A collective groan passed between you as he sank his cock into you, inch by torturously thick inch. His chest heaved the deeper he went and heavy pants laced with arousal fell from his lips.

The stretch of him burned a little as he buried himself into you, subsiding after a few moments of soft grinding to push the last half an inch in, bottoming out. You were entirely full of him.

Clark's eyes were squeezed shut and his grip on your hips tightened, his cock nestled deep within your walls. Rocking your hips experimentally, you watched with a smirk as his face contorted into pleasure. A grin tugged at your lips as you kept the motion, enjoying him losing his composure so soon.

Clamping his strong hands at your hips, Clark halted your teasing and thrusted into you, pulling back to the tip before slamming back in, his hips smacking against yours.

A loud moan escaped you, hands clawing at Clark for purchase. Your lips smashed into his, an uncoordinated and messy collision of tongues and teeth. His insistent pace prodded at the spongy spot deep within you, the ripples of pleasure curling at your toes and igniting a fire behind your eyelids.

“So wet, warm, feels good,” Clark whimpered between lungfuls of air, dragging his thumb sloppily across the apex of your thighs, your body twitching at the added stimulation, “That's it, baby.”

Sweat-slicked skin stuck you to one another, beading in your hairline at the unrelenting motion as Clark rocked into you over and over again. A band within you pulled taut, all of your muscles tightening at the suspense of your impending end.

Cacophonies of moans, whimpers and groans bounced around the four walls of your bedroom, the mattress squeaking with each joining of your hips. You fought to keep your eyes open as Clark mouthed at your neck, the blunt head of his cock bullying the sensitive spot within you.

"Clark, C-ah Clark, mmmph!" You choked out, intense pleasure crawling through your veins as if Clark's dick was feeding fizzing starlight into your every fibre of your being. Despite his deep groans, Clark kissed you deeply, licking into your mouth with a spiralling lack of restraint.

His thumb worked at you as his cock pounded into you, and the band within you snapped. An embarrassingly pornographic moan teared from your throat as your muscles tightened and then loosed, your body convulsing, leaving you boneless and dazed beneath him.

Clark barely survived the feeling of you pulsing around him, his eyes fluttering shut and pressing his forehead to yours. A string of moans and groans rumbled from his chest as he rocked his hips erratically, spilling inside you with a tight grip on your hips.

His lips were parted, his hot breath on your face, as he came down from his high. Flushed and glowing, you stared up at him and watched his breathing even out as he came back into himself.

Opening his eyes, Clark met your gaze and soft smile, your hands cupping his jaw delicately. He loosened his grip on your body and tenderly caressed your curves. A giddy laugh escaped the two of you, evidence of what just happened leaked between you and onto the sheets below as he pulled out and turned you onto your sides.

"I want the rewards," You panted, pushing strands of Clark's hair out of his eyes and smoothing your fingers across his jaw. A beaming grin almost blinded you, his fang-like canines on show, as Clark leaned down to kiss you. Soft and tender.

"I want it all," He admitted after reluctantly pulling back from your lips, "There's gonna be so many 'I told you so's'."

"Are we, like, boyfriend girlfriend now?" Your cheeks heated at the question despite the man's sex-soaked cock softening between you. A low laugh rumbled from Clark, nodding and pressing kisses to any exposed spot he could reach, "If you want me to be your boyfriend then yes."

Excitement bubbled in your veins as you tackled him onto his back and stole his lips into a deep kiss. Your best friend was your boyfriend. He was everything you ever wanted. Thank god for Chloe and Pete.

you’re sitting on a bench with one leg tucked beneath you, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, one hand wrapped around a paper coffee cup. older, obviously. no—not old. just more you somehow, softer around the edges and sharper in the places that used to undo him. the same mouth. same tilt of your head when you’re trying not to laugh at something.

his chest does something stupid.

then he sees the ring. gold. obnoxious. bright enough in the afternoon sun to feel personal.

well… great.

“dean?” you say, and your voice hits him with all the subtlety of a shotgun loaded with nostalgia.

he should walk away. absolutely. give you a polite smile, maybe a quick hey, how’ve you been, nice kid, gotta go kill something ugly, and leave before his face starts doing anything embarrassing.

instead, he stands there with his hands in his jacket pockets and says, “hey.” smooth.

your smile spreads slowly, surprised and warm, and it makes him want to both grin back and fake his own death. “wow,” you breathe. “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“yeah, well.” he glances around the park, at the moms with strollers, the barking dog, the kid currently trying to eat sand. “i do a lot of park stuff now. big park guy.”

you stare at him. he regrets everything. then you laugh, and it’s so familiar it kind of hurts. “sure,” you say. “very believable.”

the little girl looks up from the sandbox. “mommy, look.”

mommy.

dean knew. obviously he knew. context clues. the kid. the bench. the snack bag. the terrifying amount of wet wipes beside you. still, hearing it lands somewhere weird and low in his stomach.

you turn, softening instantly. “i’m looking, baby.”

the kid holds up a lumpy sand pile. “castle.”

“gorgeous,” you say, deadly serious. “architectural masterpiece.”

dean huffs before he can stop himself.

you glance back at him, and for a second it’s so easy to remember motel rooms and gas station coffee and your bare feet on the impala’s dash, the way you used to steal his fries and kiss him when he complained. he remembers your hands in his hair. he remembers leaving. he remembers you letting him. some things don’t die. rude of them, honestly.

“she yours?” he asks, because apparently he enjoys pain now.

your expression softens. “yeah. she is.”

he nods, looking back toward the sandbox. “cute kid.”

“thanks.”

“takes after you.”

your eyebrows lift. “that almost sounded sincere.”

“it was sincere.”

“dangerous.”

“i’m growing as a person.”

“are you?”

“no.”

you laugh again, quieter this time, and his eyes drop to your hand before he can stop them. the ring catches.

you notice. you always used to notice everything, especially the things he tried to hide badly. your mouth twitches. “you okay?”

“yeah,” he says too fast. “yeah, no, totally. great. you know. kids are the best.”

silence. your face changes just enough. your lips part, and then press together, and your eyes go bright with the kind of amusement that means he’s about to suffer. “kids are the best?” you repeat.

dean looks away. “yep.”

“you?”

“what, i can’t appreciate the youth?”

“the youth,” you echo, delighted.

“future of america.”

“she’s four.”

“with architectural skills, apparently.”

you’re laughing now, one hand over your mouth, and he feels warm in the worst way. caught. ridiculous. exposed down to the bone by one stupid sentence he didn’t even mean to say out loud.

except he did mean it. sort of.

he means the kid is cute. he means you look happy. he means there’s this ugly, tender part of him imagining what it would’ve been like to be the guy sitting beside you on this bench, holding the snack bag, knowing which wet wipe brand doesn’t irritate your daughter’s hands. he means he wishes he had earned a normal life with you before someone else did. which is insane.

so he clears his throat instead. “anyway,” he says, rough around the edges. “your husband around, or do i have time to flee before he sees me being charming?”

you blink. then you look at your hand. then back at him. “my husband?”

“the—” he nods toward your ring. “the big gold situation.”

your face does something complicated. then wicked. “dean.”

“what?”

“this is my grandmother’s ring.”

he says nothing. absolutely nothing.

your smile gets worse. prettier, too. unfair. “and i’m not married.”

his mouth opens. closes.

the kid drops her shovel and yells, “mommy, i need juice!”

you stand, still smiling to yourself as you grab the juice box from the bag. “yeah, baby, i’ve got you.”

dean watches you crouch beside her, careful with the straw, brushing sand from her tiny fingers. something in him shifts. not fixed. not easy. just awake.

when you look back at him, your expression is softer than your teasing. “you can sit, you know.”

he should say no. he should run. instead, he sits on the bench beside your coffee, close enough that his knee almost brushes yours when you come back.

“so,” you say, settling beside him. “big park guy.”

he looks at you, then at the kid, then down at that stupid, harmless ring. “yeah,” he says, quieter now. “guess i am.”

He’s allowed to appreciate whoever he wants. That’s not the problem. The problem is that it's happening in front of your face this time, and you dislike this pretty waitress a little extra. She’d been so focused on calling Dean sugar and sweetie that she’d brought you out the wrong eggs. You’d been surprised she remembered your order at all, with how little attention she paid you. 

You give Dean a sour smile. “Can you at least try to keep the drool to a minimum? I’m trying to eat.” Really, you’re just pushing the food around your plate. 

He watches you for a second, then he waves the tacky waitress back over, and you stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“What can I do for you, sugar?” She asks suggestively, only acknowledging Dean. 

“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” He apologizes with a charming grin. “My friend here ordered over-hard.” He gestures to the two eggs on your plate, which are very obviously undercooked. “Think you could run them back and get her new ones?”

“Of course,” The waitress smiles and then takes your plate without even looking at you. She seems delighted by Dean’s labeling of you as a friend. 

When she’s gone, Dean stares at you expectantly. You ignore him, so he says, “Y’know, it’s polite to thank someone when they do you a favor.” 

“How is wooing the waitress a favor for me?” 

“C’mon, we both know you won’t eat eggs like that. You don’t like when the yolk is runny.” He raises his eyebrows as if to say you know I’m right, why are you acting crazy. 

He is right. You think runny yolks are gross. In any other situation, you might even think the gesture was thoughtful, and that it showed that he paid more attention to you than you thought. But right now, you’re annoyed and dedicated to maintaining your attitude. So the most logical explanation for the whole thing is that Dean cared less about getting you what you could eat, anx more about about getting another view of the waitress walking away. 

“I’m not hungry, anyway.” You say. 

“You gotta eat. Y’need to keep your energy up after last night.” He winks at you like he’s sharing some inside joke, as if he’s totally oblivious to how exasperated you are. 

Him bringing that up irritates you even more, which you didn’t think would be possible. You look at your arrangement with Dean for what it is. You sleep together occasionally, partly because it's convenient and partly because he’s good at it. Scary good, sometimes. There’s no romance between you. The sex is hard and dirty. It’s not a situation you’re particularly proud of, especially when the nonchalant, non-committal nature of your relationship is thrown in your face, like it is right now. But the sex has proved too good to walk away from. The longer it's gone on, the more apathetic you’ve become to the arrangement, and Dean himself. You sometimes aren’t sure if you even like him. 

Sometimes, you wonder why you bother answering when he calls. The easy answer is that it’s safer for you as a lone female hunter to work with someone else watching your back, but you know that’s not the entire truth. There are a handful of other sole hunters and groups that you work with when you cross paths, but Dean is the only one you see so frequently. And the only one you sleep with. 

And you two certainly argue. A lot. It’s kind of your thing. Every so often, you team up to work cases, inevitably end up bickering, and then unavoidably end up fucking. The circle of life, as Dean would call it. He’s capable and reliable on a hunt, and you’d guess he felt the same about you, but once the job is done and all sexual frustrations are relieved, you don’t stick around. You don’t overstay your welcome or wait for Dean to ask you to leave. You find your next case and are gone by the next morning. He never asks you to stay. 

That’s how it works. Just a few days together and then you leave the man with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon in your rearview. 

Maybe the problem now is that you’d slept with him before finishing the case. So now there’s no avoiding him the morning after. Instead, there’s sitting at the dinghy town diner, forcing yourself to stomach breakfast while he openly lusts after another woman after being inside you not even twenty four hours ago. 

Not the best start to your day. 

“I could’ve handled it myself.” You snap. “I just didn’t want to get in the way of your eye fucking.” 

“How considerate of you.” He says flatly. “Really, what’s got you so pissed?” 

Literally everything you’re doing. But you say, “I’m not pissed.” 

“You sure? You’re looking at me like you wanna murder me.” 

You’re spared from having to answer when the waitress comes back, giving Dean big eyes as she sets the plate down in front of you. He smiles at her. 

He catches you glaring at him. “I’m just teasing you, sweetheart.” The corners of his lips twitch into a smirk. “Don’t you worry. You don’t have any competition.” 

You recoil. “That’s not- I’m not-” Stammering, you give him a look of disbelief. “I don’t care about competition. There is no competition, I mean.”

Dean smiles wider at your reaction. “Then what’s with the attitude?” 

You stare at him as he eats for a second, trying to formulate a thought that isn’t kick him hard in the shin under the table. “I always have an attitude.” 

“Ain’t that the damn truth.” He agrees around a mouthful. He swallows before continuing. “But you’re extra feisty today.” 

This time you give in to the urge to roll your eyes. You’re reaching your wits end and he’s smiling at you, acting like this is all a game for his entertainment. 

“I didn’t sleep well.” You say sharply. “I’m used to sleeping alone. You know, without someone taking up all the space in the bed.” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“I don’t think that’s it.” He muses, still smiling smugly. “Looked like you slept like a fuckin’ baby to me.” 

Your face heats up at that comment. You internally cringe as you're confronted with the thought of him perceiving you while you were asleep. It just feels like something too intimate for the insouciance between you. And even though Dean truly did take up the majority of the bed with his large frame, you’d slept well. You hadn’t even stirred when he got up to shower, so now you don’t have a good defense. 

“Whatever, Winchester.” 

“Y’sure you’re not jealous that I’m giving attention to-” 

“Now I’m pissed.” You interrupt. “Get a grip, Dean. I don’t care what you do or who you give your attention to, alright? Now can you hurry up and finish eating. I don’t want to stay in this town any longer than I have to.” 

Though your tone had been cutting, Dean appears unaffected, simply shrugging in response. “What’s the rush? Got your rocks off and now you’re ready to skip town. M’starting to think you might not enjoy my company.” 

“Well, don’t think too hard. Might hurt yourself.” 

“Cute.” He sneers. “But you seemed to enjoy my company last night, though.” He pretends to think. “In fact, you couldn’t get enough of my ‘company’ last night, if I’m remembering it right.” He leans across the table towards you and drops his voice, mirth glittering in his verdant eyes. “Hell, I’ll give you ‘company’ right now if it’ll fix that attitude-” 

The more primal part of your body stirs at his provocative tone and the deep timber of his voice, but your annoyance quickly beats that side of you back into submission. 

“At this rate, you’ll never have my company again.” You lean forward and taunt. You know it’s a total lie but it feels good to threaten him anyway. You’re also curious how he’ll react. You've tried to be done with him before, but for some reason, when he calls, you feel inclined to answer.

In his typical withdrawn nature, Dean deflects with a dismissive joke. “Oh, come on, woman, y’know it breaks my heart to argue with you like this.” 

“But you have such a talent for it,” You say with fake sympathy. 

“Fightin’ with you is just a hobby. My real talents lie elsewhere.” He counters with a smirk. 

You recognize the innuendo immediately. Dean practically defaults to making sexual insinuations, and does it frequently that it frankly annoys the hell out of you. It’s just a constant reminder that the only thing between you two is sex. Sex and hunting. And you know he’s more than capable of handling a spirit or two on his own, so that makes your true value to him more than clear. 

“Yeah, like driving me insane?” You mutter. 

“If I’m driving you insane, sweetheart, it’s only because you gave me the wheel.” He gives you a deliberate look with his eyebrows raised. A look that somehow says and we’ll keep riding until we crash. 

You roll your eyes and check the time. “Whatever that means. Hurry up. Library’s open.”  

A few minutes later, the same waitress brings over the check. Dean snatches it off the table quickly, but not before you see the phone number written in pink glitter ink at the top. The corner’s of his lips lift as his eyes sweep over the digits, and you’re not sure why that makes your stomach flip. 

You spend the next several hours at the library looking through old paper records. The research takes you both much longer without Sam but you’re thankful he’s not here. Though he’s easier to get along with than his brother, you don’t enjoy the looks he gives you and Dean when you fight, like he’s dealing with children. Like he knows something you both don't.

Eventually, you find the death certificate you were looking for. A hitchhiker had been struck and killed in a hit and run accident over thirty years ago, and now the spirit was apparently haunting the isolated stretch of road where he’d been hit, alongside the big cliffs on the east side of the town. The remains were buried by the family on the side of the road, at the site of the accident. 

You meet Dean outside in the parking lot outside the library. He’s busy looking at his phone, so he doesn’t see you coming at first. Despite yourself, you find yourself admiring him as you approach. God knows he might be annoying and callous at times, but he sure is good looking. Tall and broad as he leans against his car, and when he looks up and sees you coming, his smile is blinding. No wonder you keep coming back. How does a girl say no to someone like that? 

Dean slips his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “We ready to go?”

“Yeah.” You put the road map on the hood of the Impala and point out where you’ve circled the radius the burial site should be located in. “Bones should be somewhere in here.” 

He’s standing close to you and you can smell the rugged mix of leather and cedarwood that follows him around. It makes your head swim for half a second, so you focus your attention on the map. He glances at the map, but then you feel him staring at you. 

You flinch when he brushes hair away from your neck, stepping away from him immediately. “What are you doing?” Your heart races at your confusion from the intimate gesture. 

“You’re a jumpy thing, aren’t you?” He muses. “Just noticed you have a bruise on your neck.” 

Using the side mirror of the Impala, you examine your neck. There are three little bruises at the base of your throat, the exact size of Dean’s fingers you’re sure. He has a habit, which you enjoy but would never say it out loud, of holding you by the throat when he fucks you. 

“So?” You ask with regained composure. “S’from you. Now let’s go.” 

“From me?” He asks but you’re already getting into the passenger seat. He climbs into the car as well before glancing at the bruises again. “You mean from last night?” 

“Yeah,” You say impatiently. “Can you start driving now?” 

“In a second. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

You give him a bewildered look. “About what?”

Dean looks away and starts the car, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He seems unusually tense. “I must have fucking hurt you last night, then.” He finally says. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

You roll your eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. Seriously. I always have bruises after.” 

“What?” 

His scandalized expression makes you realize that he would have no idea about the bruises he leaves you with after you hook up because he never gets the chance to see you the next day. It irks you that he’s pretending to care about it, though. He’s not exactly the most gentle lover, so what did he expect? The bruises are always very minor, from getting caught up in the heat of the moment, and you’ve never held it against him. 

“It’s just a bruise, Dean.” You murmur. “I’ve had worse.” 

“Yeah but not from me.”

“It’s not a big deal. Now come on. There’s a three mile radius we’ll have to search. Better to get it done while there’s still daylight.” 

Dean starts the car but he’s uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of the ride. Usually, you’re wishing he would shut up or turn the music down, but the volume is set at a respectable level and he’s not even singing along. You’re not sure what his problem is, but it puts you on edge. Part of the reason your arrangement with him works so well for you both is that it’s simple. No nuances, no extra baggage or anything like that, but today, it doesn’t feel simple. But it’s not your problem because you don’t let it be. He can be quiet all he wants. You don’t have to wonder why. 

By the time he pulls off the road, there’s only a few hours until dusk. You grab the weapons and supplies you need from the trunk, which Dean offers to carry, and then start the tedious task of walking along the stretch of road, searching for any sign or marking of the grave site. After the first hour of walking and Dean’s phone constantly going off, you’re frustrated. 

“Who’s even texting you, anyway?” You snap. 

“Oh, that’s Sam.” He says, putting a hand on your shoulder as you step back from the side of the road the same moment a car goes speeding past. “Just checking in. You know how much of a tight ass he is.”

“Well, maybe you should answer, so he can stop checking in every five minutes.” You mutter, rolling your shoulder out of his grip. As far as you’re concerned, he’s only allowed to touch you in the bedroom. Any other time and anything else is off limits. 

Another hour passes. A fairly strong breeze blows over the cliffs, blowing the dust and debris on the road, making the grass you’re walking through sway around your ankles. Your mind starts to wander and lands on the ghost of the hitchhiker. You cruelly compare him to yourself. At least he had someone who cared about him enough to mourn his death and bury his body. That’s more than you have. The thought surprises you, but there’s no time to grapple with its implications because Dean calls your name. 

“Looks like a grave to me, what about you?” He asks. 

Hidden in a tangle of weeds and tall grass, there’s a malformed wooden cross, desiccated from time and the elements, and an inscribed stone. Despite your arguments, Dean insists upon doing all the digging himself, even when you complain that it’s going to take longer than if you helped. 

“Just be a doll and hold my jacket, will you?” He requests with an appealing smirk, holding it out for you to take. “Good girl,” He says when you do. 

You narrow your eyes at him but stay quiet. He begins to dig while you just watch. In no time, he’s covered in a layer of sweat, glistening in the low hanging sun. You look away occasionally to avoid getting caught, but you sneak appreciative glances at his body as he continues the hard labor. His biceps swell with each lift of the shovel, the muscles in his back flexing as well. 

“Rest in peace, you son of a bitch,” Dean mutters after salting the bones. He drops the match, and you’re just relieved you’ll get to skip town. 

It’s after dark by the time you make it back to the inn on the edge of town. It’s a rare occurrence that a hunt goes so well, and you want to keep that momentum going. You see your truck where you left it in the parking lot and linger only to give Dean a half hearted goodbye. He’s texting, probably messaging Sam back that the case has been closed, but shoves his phone away at the sound of your voice. 

“You’re headed out now?” He asks incredulously. 

“Yeah. I can stop if I need to sleep.” 

Really, three days with Dean has been more than enough for you. You feel thoroughly disoriented, like you’ve been adrift from yourself just by being near him. Driving through the night, alone with all the thoughts you’ve so savagely wrestled into tight little cages, doesn’t really appeal to you, but you know better than to linger where you’re not wanted. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dean barks, jerking his head to gesture towards the inn. “I’ve got the room for another night, and I don’t wanna live with you falling asleep at the wheel on my conscience.” 

“I’m perfectly well rested-” 

“Thought this morning you said you didn’t sleep well?” He counters with raised eyebrows. 

You concede without much other convincing, mainly to avoid getting back into that whole argument again. If he wants to pretend he wants you to stay because he’s worried about you, that’s fine, but you know why he really wants you to stay. 

Not even an hour later, he’s coming on to you. The events of the day have soured you against him, but your body still wants him, still responds more willingly than your mind ever does. He’s pressing you up against the wall, with one hand tangled in the roots of your hair, the other pawing at your ass in your jeans, lifting your leg to hook it around his waist as his mouth ravishes yours. 

“This what you needed?” He pulls away a fraction to murmur, his wet lips brushing yours. He lets go of your hair to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Round two to get rid of all that attitude-” As if sensing that you’re going to say something snarky back, he rolls his hips against you, pressing the hard line of his erection against the seam of your jeans just right, so that you have to bite your lip to suppress a whine. “Such a bad girl all day, and now you’re playing nice ‘cause you want my cock.” His voice is making you wetter with how breathless, low and gravelly it is. 

He dives in for another filthy kiss, his taste completely overwhelming you. His hand engulfs the base of your throat and he uses his hold on you there to pry you away from the wall and toss you onto the bed. 

“Now you’ve got nothing to say?” He taunts, standing before you at the foot of the bed while you lay on your back, panting. 

Dean pulls his shirt off before reaching for his belt and you feel your pussy spasm with interest. “Come on, you know the drill. Take all that shit off.” He gestures to your clothes. 

A few moments later, he’s got you on your hands and knees, both of you entirely bare. He’d teased you with his fingers for what felt like forever, edging you until you left angry scratch marks down his chest. Stingy with getting you to your release as punishment for being mouthy all day. 

“Fuck-” He hissed, pulling his hand away from the puffy, wet mess of your pussy to glance down at the fresh red lines running from his pecs to his ribs. “Kitty’s got claws, huh?” He smirked. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the last time he’d stopped rubbing your clit right before you were going to come made you nearly deranged with desperation. 

Now he’s dragging his cock between your legs, coating himself in all of your sticky arousal, before you feel the burning intrusion of him plunging inside. If he notices the little black and blue imprints from his fingers dotting your hips and the plush flesh of your ass from the night before, he doesn’t say anything. 

He fucks you hard and fast, just the way you like, so that you can only focus on the sensations and not any of the shit flying around in your head. He fucks you like he hates you, and it brings tears to your eyes. Your jaw aches from clenching your teeth against the screams you hold back. You’re honestly surprised he has the stamina to fuck you so raw and aggressively, given he had exerted himself over digging up the bones not too long ago. 

Dean folds his body over yours, so his sweaty chest sticks to your back, grunting in your ear with every slam of his hips into you. His hand is around your neck again, squeezing you in a firm grip but without really restricting your airway much. You like the drunk, fuzzy feeling you get from it, and you like the way he’s just making you take it. 

“Such a fuckin’ bratty little thing,” Dean uses his grip on your throat to lift your head a bit, so he can murmur directly into your ear. “All fuckin’ day, until I give you what you’re too proud to ask for.” 

His dirty talk is constant but you miss about half of it. While during the day your mind runs things, right now, with him pounding into you like it's his job to bruise your cervix, your mind turns off, and you’re just your body. Your pussy is throbbing, muscles in your arms and thighs shaking from the effort of holding yourself up, even with his help. You let him make you feel good. And you do feel good, like you’re floating, like you’re not real. Times like this might actually be the only time you do feel good, so you surrender completely to the feeling. You’re not yourself when you let him fuck you. You’re someone different, someone better and worse at the same time. Or maybe, when he’s using you like this, when you let him use you like this, you’re nothing at all. 

He squeezes the flesh of your ass before slapping it hard, and you moan in response. He pulls at your hair, and you whine at the pinpricks of pain that you love, pussy clenching hard as you get dangerously close to coming. 

“What a fucking whore,” Dean pants in your ear. “Can feel the way your pussy loves that,” He slaps your ass again and laughs darkly. 

He makes you cum by sliding a hand between your legs and playing with your aching clit. You scream into the pillow, as if you're cumming against your will, and he doesn’t relent until you stop shuddering, stop tightening your pussy around him. He comes, still with his hand around your throat, like he owns you, like you’re a dog he has on a leash, and when you think about that in the shower later, it makes you feel sick. 

He lets you shower first, and then when you’re done, he goes. You never shower together. And you might sleep in the same bed afterwards, but it’s not like you cuddle. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, slowly coming back to yourself from the post orgasm haze. You listen to the muffled noise of Dean singing in the shower, staring at the steam that billows out from under the door. Your body is satisfied and fairly tired, but your mind is restless. You’re thinking maybe you should have left town tonight when Dean’s phone rings beside the bed. 

Expecting it to be Sam, you answer it. It’s just like Dean to focus on getting laid, before assuring his brother that he’d made it back unscathed. “Hey, Sam,” Your voice is a little hoarse. 

“Sam? What? No, this is Penny, from the diner. Who is this?” 

You blink. “You have the wrong number.” 

“No,” The insufferable waitress says in her snotty little voice. You can barely hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. “I’ve been talking to Dean with this number all day.” 

Your stomach drops to your feet. “Wrong number.” You repeat before hanging up. 

You know you probably shouldn’t but you open up the message threads on Dean’s phone. No recent messages from Sam. Just a shit ton from this same unknown number. There’s bile rising in your throat as you realize what it all means. That Dean had taken the number from the restaurant this morning, had reached out to the tacky ass waitress, and had continued to flirt with her via text all fucking day. While standing beside you. And when you’d asked about it? He lied to your face and said it was Sam. And to make the entire situation worse, he’d fucked you after it, too. He’d kept you both on retainer, two chicks on the line so if one fell through, he’d still be able to get his dick wet. 

Jesus, you’re such a fucking idiot. You let him do this to you, too. 

You read a few of the messages before you feel so sick you have to stop. But you see enough to realize they were making plans to meet up. Tentatively for tonight. He calls her baby and beautiful and other shit he never says to you. Instead, he calls you whore. 

Emotions boil under your skin, and you can’t make sense of any of them, until anger surfaces. You know there’s no real reason to be angry with him, other than the fact that he lied to you. You have no claim on him. He’s not yours. Not by a long shot. But you feel humiliated, insulted, and worst of all, fucking hurt. But that only lasts for a second before you smother it under more anger. 

Dean steps out of the bathroom with a towel hanging low on his hips, torso naked. Your nail marks on his chest stand out against his tanned skin. “Think I pulled something in my back towards the end there. Think you could-” 

“You were texting Sam today?” 

The nonchalant expression leaves his face at your tone. He stares at you for a second before heading over to the side of the bed, where his clothes are. “Uh-yeah-” 

“Really?” You press. 

“Can’t a man get dressed before he’s interrogated.” He half heartedly jokes, but then catches the hardness on your face and becomes sheepish. 

“Just answer me.” 

“Unless you wanna waterboard me, too. In that case, I can keep the towel-”

“Jesus christ, Dean!” You yell. “This isn’t a fucking joke!” 

He stares at you, maybe shocked that you raised your voice, or surprised he’s been caught. “Yeah, I’m not exactly laughing here, sweetheart-” 

“You asshole-” You round on him, shoving him as hard as you can but even then he only stumbles on step backward. “Keep lying to my face, Dean. Go ahead. I fucking know it wasn’t Sam. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot.” 

“You know that’s not true-” He raises his voice slightly but it’s only to be heard over your own ranting. 

“Oh my god, you’re actually disgusting.” You shake your head at him. “You disgust me.” 

“I didn’t exactly do anything.” He frowns. “They’re just messages…and we’re not- uh, you and I don’t- You said it yourself. You don’t care who I-” 

“You lied to me, Dean.” You bellow. You’re vaguely aware of the dramatics of the scene you’re causing, and later you’ll probably be mortified by your behavior, but right now, you can’t control yourself. You’ve never been this fucking angry at him, never this disappointed. It just confirms what you knew all along; you’re entirely nothing to him. 

“You lied to me, and then you fucked me!” 

“I didn’t think you would care! She’s just-” 

“Then why the fuck did you lie about her!” You nearly scream, getting in his face. “You wanna fuck her, then do it! Don’t ask me to stay the fucking night with you, when you’re telling some other bitch you’re gonna see her tonight! God, are you really that stupid, Dean? You didn’t think I would care? No, you didn’t think about me at all, you piece of shit.” 

He gapes down at you and says your name pathetically. You just stare at him, chest heaving. Finally, he says, “You’re right.” 

“Fuck you.” You say, the anger leaving you fast. You have to get out of here. “I’m done. I’m so fucking done with you.” 

The data was leaning in favor of the former. Which is why you’ve been so very careful not to reveal your feelings under any circumstances. Witches have gaped about your sheer willpower. Sam’s made passing comments about never seeing someone who could fight demonic possession so well. Everyone around you seems to think you’re some kind of mind Titan, able to simply focus and drive off any monster or force that tries to take you over.

They don’t know that there’s always on common factor. One thing that they try to force you to reveal, that makes you pry your mind back from their bare hands.

When you got possessed by a demon, Sam and Dean had you tied to a chair. You’d still been able to see through your own eyes. Still been able to think, even if the demon had been using your internal monologue as a broadcast public radio, sharing every thought you had the mistake of thinking.

“Aw.” She’d used your mouth, you voice, and it had sounded twisted in your brain. “She’s worried about you two. Isn’t that adorable.”

Sam had frowned, shooting Dean a weary look. “Is there something we need to be worried about? Or-“ He’d said your name gently. “If you’re worried we can’t take this demon, we can.”

“She batting out of her league.” Dean had muttered, glaring down at the knife in his hands. “We’ve tangoed with the bosses and come out on top, sweetheart. No one needs to be worried but the bitch inside you.”

Whatever parts of your heart were still yours—most of it, as the demon had been able to sink her claws into everything but the organ that only played one, embarrassingly loud song—had fluttered at his words. He hadn’t been looking at you since they realized you were possessed. Sam had been doing all the talking, asking questions and trying to figure out what the demon wanted, how long she’d been in your brain. Dean had just sat on the edge of the mattress, fists curled on his knees, jaw clenched so tight you were worried about his teeth. If you were in control of yourself you would’ve told him to stop doing that. It made his headaches worse, and you bought him gum specifically so he could chew on something when he got pissed.

He would’ve smile to himself, shaking his head, and given you the look that always made your knees wobble. The one that had a silent affection behind it, that came with his hand grazing your lower back and teasing about how bossy you were.

You’d think I was dying, way you talk about my health.

I’m trying to avoid you dying, Dean-

Why? Happens to everyone eventually, and I’m further down the line than I thought I’d be-

You’re not a dinosaur. Stop talking like I’m putting you in a home, I just told you to drink some water.

If I drink some water, are you gonna stop circling me like a freakin’ shark?

I am not circling you like a shark-

Yeah, you are. You wanna take a bite outta me, sweetheart, I can see it.

You’d always blink at him, your heart in your ears and your jaw slack. He’d grin, drink his water slowly and dramatically, then boop the bottle on your nose and walk away. When you’d tell him to do something later, he’d roll his eyes and give you that look again.

That was how they figured out you were possessed. The demon had asked Dean to grab the artifact you’d been investigating, and when he’d whined that he wanted to go get pie, she’d smiled and said that was fine, as long as Dean told her where the artifact was first.

You would’ve told Dean that he could have his pie after he grabbed the artifact. You would’ve stood in front of him with your arms crossed and glared until he got up with a groan and let you drag him exactly where you needed him to be. That’s what you and Dean did. He pretended to be annoyed by it, but you wouldn’t ask anything of him unless you really needed it. You got him the pie after, and he teased you about being wound up and needing to breathe for a second. He’d feed you some of his pie like you were a baby, and you’d pretend to bite his fingers off.

But the demon had just bent for him. Dean had stared at her. And you’d know he’d seen it. Right through you, and to the ugly thing inside your body.

Ugly in a different way that you were. The demon was just cruel, but you were selfish. 

Dean had told you not to go out alone, but you loved him and he’d been sitting so close. The love inside you had been threatening to pour out of you like a flood, and you’d needed to be anywhere but near him. The demon had found you while you were at the convenience store, buying Dean jerky. You’d been too slow, and now you were a burden to him and Sam again. Dean had been forced to knock you out to tie up the demon, and Sam had to burn you with holy water. You could feel it, the burn and blistering of you skin. You’d never tell them that, because the guilt would eat them alive.

You’d never tell Dean. He was already angry with you for going out as it was. You’re already more trouble than you’re worth, most of the time. Your worry hadn’t been for you.

It’s for him. That this was going to be too much for him to deal with, having to hurt another person he cared about.

The demon had plucked that thought from your head, and curved your lips into a smirk.

“Oh, she’s not worried about herself, Deanie.” It had drawled. “I know you see her as a woman of steel, but our lovely girl is just so sweet on the insides here. It’s like swimming through marshmallows. She’s just so perfectly worried about how this is going to effect you. It’s all she can think about, the pathetic little slut.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that-“

“I’ll talk about her however I want.” The demon had purred. “She’s my meat toy. But if you want to share with me, Winchester, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind both of us inside of her. She-“

The demon had cut herself off. Dean had shot to his feet, looking ready to throw a punch. Sam had blocked him with an arm, and your body had started to convulse. The demon sputtering and choking on nothing as Dean shouted your name. Sam had let him get to you when it became clear this wasn’t the demon making a play, but you hadn’t needed the help.

She’d made her mistake already. You’d been able to feel her next words, building on your own tongue. She’d been sneering in your brain about how Dean would hate you after she revealed the truth, and you’d grabbed her by the throat.

You’d pushed her out of your body, no exorcism required. Sam and Dean had stared at you in awe for about a month after. Sam had even pulled you aside and lowly asked how you did it. You’d told him you had no idea.

It would’ve been insane, to say well, Samuel. It was the power of my love for your brother.  Don’t tell him, or I’ll fucking kill you.

You would’ve been serious about that threat, too. You never wanted Dean to know. If Sam had ever found out and told him, there would’ve been a double murder suicide.

Which is why you don’t know what to do now.

Because Dean kissed you, and the world didn’t end.

Paradise didn’t come. Hell didn’t split through the Earth, and you didn’t have to go into hiding in Romania—your backup plan if Dean had ever found out and it wasn’t Sam’s fault.

The Earth had just kept spinning. Dean had gotten up the next morning and acted like nothing happened at all. Grumbling about his hangover and running a hand through his mussed hair. The same hand that had held the back of your neck last night, certain and possessive in his grip. Dean licked his lips, and you’d mirrored the motion, only able to think of that same tongue pressing into your mouth. ‘

He’d kissed you like he knew what he wanted. He’d tasted like whiskey and had a glazed expression—as if he was looking at the world through glass—but he’d kissed you. He’d lifted you off the ground with the force of it. He’d looked at you with blown out eyes, and been half-hard in his jeans, and begged you to come back to his room, and-

“You alright?” Dean asks, and you blink at him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” His lips twitch. “You look like you spent the night getting run over by a truck.”

You frown, and Dean pauses.

“In a good way.”

“I look like I got run over by a truck in a good way?”

“Uh- Yeah?” He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m not sayin’ you look bad. You’re just all spacey and tired, and-“

He waves a hand at you sheepishly, and normally you’d keep pushing him for how exactly you could be run over by a truck in a good way.

But today, you can only look at his dumb, handsome face and think about how his stubble brushed over your skin. How your noses bumped, how he’d help you to his chest like you were a doll and he was a worried child that needed you.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” You mutter, and Dean chuckles.

“Me neither.”

“You got drunk.” You say, flat and low. “You passed out.”

“Yeah, but I had some dreams, and-“ He cuts himself off, eyes widening and grip on his mug slipping. He catches it with a curse, and looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost.

You raise your brow, not letting any emotion onto your face. Dean clears his throat, eyes dropping for the briefest second to your lips.

“Hey, uh-“ He runs a hand through his hair, shifting nervously on his feet. “If I did anything stupid while I was wasted, you’d tell me. Right?”

And maybe you should tell him. But he looks so worried, and you know, deep down.

He doesn’t really remember.  

“Yeah.” You breathe, offering him a tiny smile. “I would.”

Dean’s silent. He studies you for a second, then shakes his head with a laugh. “Good. ‘Cause I get some, uh- Some crazy dreams.”

You pretend to laugh, but it echoes in the hollow of your chest until you feel sick. You have to excuse yourself to take a shower. To help you wake up, is what you tell Dean.

Really, you just sit on the floor and cry, letting your tears wash down the drain with the water. He doesn’t remember. He kissed you, and he’s chalking it up to a crazy dream.

You have to get over him. It’s a punch in your gut, knocking wind and snot out of you, but it’s what you needed. Dean’s never going to see you like that. He’s older, he’s a hero, he could have anyone he wanted and he’s not going to chose the bossy girl who watches cartoons with him and makes him do bar trivia with her, because he’s better than he thinks he is. He’ll find someone cooler and older. Someone who likes cars as much as he does, who can actually help him with the Impala instead of just sitting on the bench in the garage and bothering him. Someone who can cook as well as he does, and doesn’t make him try all the crazy soda flavors she sees.

Someone just as resolved and perfect as he is.

Not you.

You pick yourself up, and try to set a goal. Get over Dean.

The asshole doesn’t make it easy.

He makes it impossible.

“I’m gonna work on Baby this afternoon.” He says, and you hum. You’re curled up on the couch with your laptop, and he’s been leaning over your shoulder for the past hour, watching whatever you put on the screen. You don’t understand why. He’s got his own TV right in front of him, and he has to put his arm around your shoulders to comfortably be so close.

His fingers keep brushing the bare skin of your collarbone. His warmth is wrapped around you like a blanket, and it’s all impossible to deal with.

“I bought those snacks you like.” He adds, and you hum.

“Okay.”

“They’re gonna be with me. In the garage.”

 “I’ll come get them later.”

Dean’s face twitches. You look over to find him staring at you, nostrils flaring and nose slightly wrinkled.

“I got ice cream.” He mutters, gaze locked onto yours. “’S gonna melt.”

“Put it in the freezer.” You manage to whisper, and he shakes his head.

“Too far. Gotta focus on work.”

“I’m going to distract you from work-“

“That’s different.” He shrugs, and suddenly you’re being pulled to your feet.

“Dean-“

“C’mon.” He moves you in front of  him, and all but herds you out of the Dean Cave. “I’ll even let you pick the music, alright?”

You can’t argue with him. He’s too cute, and always has a command over your body you’ve never been able to fight off. He doesn’t even know that if he asked you to walk over hot coals, you’d do it to reach his side. If he wanted to get away you’d drop everything and go with him. If he needed you to bring him the moon, you’d learn to grow taller enough to grab it in your hands, and shred yourself back down to stay at his side.

There’s no way you can get over him while being his friend. Being his friend alone is a trial that’s slowly wearing you down. Enough that soon, you think, you’ll just be crawling on your hands to lay at his feet. It’s all you’re going to be able to muster. All you’re going to want to do.

You need to get away from him.

You can’t get away from him. Because if he asks you to do something with him—which he always does—there’s no way you’re going to be able to say no.

Which leaves one solution.

Avoid Dean.

Avoid him like he’s the plague.

You wake up in the morning, and touch your lips. Touch them like you can push the feeling of his kiss further into them. Like it’s a sugar that you could gather on your fingers and taste, a tattoo you’re trying to make sure is permanent. You do it every morning now, because it’s the last thing of Dean you’re allowing yourself to have.

If you’re careful, you don’t see him through the day. You’re up before he is, you find a corner of the bunker to hide in, you go out, you stay on the move like you’re prey and Dean’s on a hunt. When you see Sam, he gives you an odd look. If you’re sloppy, and end up in the same room as Dean, you flee before he can say something. If he says something you’re going to crash right back into him. He’s gravity. And you don’t have the strength to pull away twice.

But it’s not working.

You haven’t been alone with Dean for a week, and you just miss him. You feel like you’re trying to carve out a vital artery from your chest. It just hurts. It just makes your love spill all over you, now that there’s nowhere for it to go. You watch something on your computer and hug yourself, because your body seems to think it’s missing a limb without Dean wrapped around you. You sneak out in the middle of the night to get food, and end up just staring at the pie and jerky and beer until you’re sick. You’ve started to hole up in your room with ice cream as if you’re going through a breakup.

It’s pathetic. You look in the mirror and see a husk, with tear stained cheeks and sunken features. You’re wearing one of his fucking shirts, but your skin burns every time you think about taking it off. You’d think you were cursed, if you didn’t know this was just the feeling of love dying.

Not dying.

You’re not strong enough to kill it.

This is the feeling of love being tortured.

Because you’re stupid and tired, you look up how to get over a crush. The internet says to list out all his faults, and logically you know Dean has those, but you can’t remember any right now. His teasing always makes you flush and giggle, his stupid jokes make everything feel lighter, you know he gets angry because he cares. You even miss the loud, sloppy way he chews. You’d always been able to reach over the table and wipe sauce from his cheek, and he’d smile at you after, and you miss his smile. You’d do anything to see it right now.

You scroll to the next step. Think about it logically. If they’d even be a good match. You skip that one. Dean’s always been the one thing you don’t bother to think about logically. Something about him makes all the common sense in your head go down the drain. Which is the same issue the next step—ask yourself why you have a crush on them—fails as well. Of course you have a crush on Dean. You could list out every reason, but they’d all just circle back to he’s Dean. And everything that he is demands that you love him.

Force yourself to move on, is the final step. Go out with someone else. Even if they’re not your soulmate, it will help you realize there are plenty of other fish in the sea.

There are many other fish. The world is filled with men.

That’s part of the problem.

None of them are Dean Winchester.

But this is the most actionable step. The only one you can try to take, even if it doesn’t work. So you get cleaned up, put on a nice dress, and do your makeup a little bit like a slut. The goal of this is to get laid, through, and it’s not like anyone you know is going to see-

“Where the hell are you going?”

You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut. He’s up. Why the fuck is he up. “Nowhere?”

“You’re going nowhere.” Dean drawls. “At eleven. Dressed like… That.”

“Mhm.” You turn slowly, trying to offer a winning smile.

He doesn’t look amused.

You haven’t seen him in person in a month. He kind of looks… awful.

He’s still handsome. You don’t think he’s capable of being anything else but amazing and desirable. But his hair is longer than he usually lets it grow, and there are heavy bags under his eyes. His shoulders are hunched, there’s a stain on his flannel, and when he rubs his jaw you can see grease stains on his hands.   

“Were you in the garage?” You blurt, and he grunts.

“Maybe.”

“But-“ His gaze is lidded, his features pale in a way that only happens when he’s awake for too long. “Have you slept?”

His brow furrows. “Napped.”

“For how long.”

“Long enough.”

“That’s not an answer-“

“Where are you going.” He raises his voice over yours, and you swallow.

“Out.”

“Out where.”

You look down at your heels, fidgeting with the folds of your dress. “To a bar.”

Dean doesn’t respond. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you think you might be leaning forward. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You haven’t even been able to build up a flimsy wall against your feelings, and now they’re all crashing through you like an asteroid, slamming through your world.

He’s right there, and if you took a step forward you’d be able to touch him. Wipe the grease off his hands, pull off the flannel and order him to change into something clean. He needs a haircut, but you kind of like it longer. You could run your fingers through it, like this. Soothe the spots where it’s sticking out, help him wash it if he’d let you.

But you don’t think he will.

Because when you look up under your lashes, he’s staring at you with a pained, exhausted expression that makes you want to cry.

“You goin’ to meet someone?” He finally says, and you shake your head.

“N- No.”

“We got drinks here-“

“I know.”

He grunts. “It’s not safe for you to be out by yourself.”

“I’m bringing pepper spray.” You mumble. “And my gun.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you think he’s going to give up and walk away. Everything will be easier, if he just leaves for you. It will splatter your heart all over the floor, but at least you won’t have the weight of holding onto it anymore. At least it won’t churn like something rotten, when a stranger who isn’t Dean lays his hands all over you.

But Dean doesn’t leave.

He takes a step forward, and suddenly the air is so hot it’s hard to breathe.

“I’m goin’ with you.”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. “Dean-“

“You said you’re not meetin’ anyone.” He challenges, glaring down at you. “I need a drink. You come with me, or you don’t go at all.”

A scoff slips from your lips. “And how the fuck would you stop me-“

“I’d toss you over my shoulder and carry you back to your room.”

Oh.

He says it so casually. His voice a deep rumble as he stares at you. An ache demands attention between your thighs, and your cheeks burn as you laugh nervously, looking to the side.

Dean doesn’t even crack a grin.

So there’s nothing you can do, but let him walk with you to the car. You try to get in the backseat, but Dean snaps his fingers and points at shotgun with a scowl.

“I’m not a fuckin’ taxi. You sit up here, or we walk.”

You flush, and silently slide into the front bench. Dean drops behind the wheel, his gaze fixed firmly ahead as he starts the engine. You forgot how dangerous being close to him is. He’d grabbed his coat on the way out, tossing his dirty flannel to the side. He smells like leather and pine tree, and even across the bench you can feel the heat radiating from his body. He rolls up his sleeves, and you want to nuzzle close to him and have him put you in a headlock. His hand runs over his inner thigh, and you press your own together.

You’re staring at him. You can’t help it.

Dean must feel it, because he shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. You look away, and hear him let out a heavy breath.

And the game begins. Dean pulls out of the garage, and you’re both perfectly silent, daring the other to break first. You stare out the window, stealing glances whenever you think you can get away with it. Sometimes Dean catches your eye, and you curl further into yourself, twisting away. Once, Dean opens his mouth. He closes it just as fast.

You’ve been driving for thirty minutes, when you realize he’s not taking you to a bar. You’ve passed three bars, and he didn’t even slow down to check them out. You grab all the thin courage you posses, rooted deep in your stomach and sticky with nerves, and drag it to the surface.

“Dean, where are we-“

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, blatant and flat. “Past month. Don’t think I haven’t fuckin’ noticed.”

You swallow, pulling your knees to your chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Didn’t even say why.” He mutters, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Thought you were sick at first, but you’ve been talkin’ to Sammy.”

“It’s-“

“And you run outta every room I walk into. Like I got cooties or something.” He’s scowling at the road, and you feel like the smallest thing in the world. “Didn’t even bother to tell me why. Just… Fuckin’ vanished.”

There’s a lump in your throat, and unearned tears stinging at your eyes. He sounds broken, and it’s your fault. You and your stupid, useless love for him. “Dean, it’s not like that-“

“So what’s it like, huh?” His words are harsh. You flinch back. “You start acting like I’m the goddamn devil and I’m supposed to take your word that it’s just not like that? There ain’t anything for it to be like, sweetheart-“

“No, I- I just-“ You lean forward, then curl back. You’d wanted to grab him. You don’t think you’re allowed. “I just needed- I needed-“

“Space?” He spits the word like it’s poison. “Go on. Tell me you just needed space from me.”

“Dean-“

“The hell did I do to you?” He sneers. “I know I ain’t perfect, but I- I thought you- I was so fuckin’ careful, and you promised you’d tell me if I did something stupid.”

You frown, not fully understanding what he means. “Dean, you- You didn’t do anything-“

“Don’t bullshit me!” He shouts, and you don’t think you can breathe anymore. “You promised me, you said you’d tell me, and the goddamn least you coulda done was tell me what the fuck I did-“

“Please- Please stop yelling.” You whisper, not even sure if he’s going to hear you.

But he does.

Dean cuts himself off with that clench of his jaw, and pulls over to the side of the road. You hug yourself tight, trying to shrink back into the seats. This is your fault. He’s angry because of you, and you stupidity. You’re barely a schoolgirl with a crush, and you let it hurt him, and there’s no possible world where he’d ever want you now.

You hide your face in your knees. Tears burn on your cheeks, and when you try to take a deep breath, it’s ragged and aching.

Dean’s silent. The whole car is silent. He’d turned off the radio, and the only sound hanging in the air is your sniffling. You think about climbing out of the car, but he’d just chase after you. It’s started to rain, and you don’t want him to catch a cold.

You wrap your coat tighter around you. Your dress feels too tight on your skin. Feels wrong. You think you’re going to be sick. When you risk a look at Dean, he’s still holding the wheel with white knuckles. Staring at you with a pained expression, eyes even heavier than before.

He leans forward like he’s going to reach for you. Your breath hitches. He pulls back.

For a second, you just watch each other. You wipe your cheeks with your palm, and it feels like a raw, open wound.

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it, and looks back to the road like he’s searching for something.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to yell.” He mutters, voice hoarse. “I just- I’m sorry.”

You nod—you didn’t blame him  in the first place—but when he looks to you for a response, you can’t find one. Everything is lodged in your throat, behind a quiet confession you’ve worked far too hard to shove down.

“I’ll fix it.” Dean rasps, and you blink.

“What?”

“Whatever I did.” He’s staring at you, his voice cracking. “Whatever pissed you off or- Or hurt you. I’ll work on it, alright? You don’t have to do anything, I’ll fix me, and then you can stay.”

“I- I can stay?”

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. As if the words hurt to stay. “If you can’t, I get it. I do. But you gotta give me a chance to set it right, before you give up. Just one chance, and if I screw it up a second time you can run off, but- One shot, it’s all I need. Don’t- Don’t leave.” His voice cracks, eyes shining in the dark. “Please.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open. He looks broken. Lone tears stain his cheeks, and he’s not even wiping them away. When you shake your head—just trying to make sense of what he said—he cowers away like a kicked dog, and you split down the middle.

“I wasn’t going to leave, Dean.” Horror leaks through your voice. You couldn’t leave him if you tried. “I’d never leave you.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, like I didn’t just fuckin’ catch you-“

“I was going to the bar.”

“Without telling anyone?”

“No, because I knew you’d try to do this!” You wave around you, and Dean’s throat bobs. “No, I didn’t mean-“

“You didn’t wanna see me.” He mutters, looking back to the wheel. “’S alright. I get it.”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. And you can see him trying to drag himself back together, still refusing to wipe his tears and breathing through his nose. He’s just sitting there, hollow and angry, and he doesn’t understand.

“You kissed me.”

You say it without thinking, soft and weak. Dean goes rigid. He looks at you with bloodless, horrified features. You wrap your hand around your own throat, trying to hold yourself in one piece.

He shakes his head. You’re going to throw up.

“No, I- I’d remember that-“

“You were drunk.” You breathe. “I- I picked you up from the bar. And you kissed me.”

Dean looks like someone punched him in the face. He’s pallid, looking around the car like there’s a way out, fisting and unfisting his hands.

“That’s- That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.” He rasps, and you nod, fixing your gaze on his chest.

If you have to watch his face while he rejects you, there’s a chance you’ll just die.

Dean says your name, slow and broken, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Bracing for the knife about to be driven into your chest.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

That makes you look up. And it’s not rejection you find in Dean’s eyes.

It’s guilt.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, and- Being drunk’s no damn excuse.”

“Dean-“

“If you want nothing to do with me, I- I understand.” He’s too lost in himself to hear you. “Hell, I’ll move out so you can stick with Sammy. You won’t have to deal with me anymore, you’re- It’s not your fault-“

“Dean-“

“I shouldn’t have forced you on that, my own- My own shit is mine to deal with, and you never gave me any kinda go and I damn well knew it- I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“

“Dean!” You shout, and he falls silent. Squeezes his jaw shut, gaze mournful and completely shattered.

You’re not entirety sure what’s happening. You say the only thing you can think.

“Stop grinding your teeth.”

Dean blinks, but his jaw loosens. He mutters your name, and you shake your head. You don’t think you can stand another apology.

“I- I’m not mad about you kissing me.” You whisper, and he snorts, empty and humorless.

“It’s not your job to make me feel better about hurting you, sweetheart-“

“You didn’t hurt me.” You snap, and Dean stills completely.

He opens his mouth, but you’re faster. Flushing furiously and too tired to fight the words.

“I- I liked it.” You whisper. “A lot.”

Dean sits a little taller, words low and cautious. “You didn’t tell me in the morning. Why wouldn’t you tell me, if-“

“You were drunk. I- I thought-“ You take a deep breath, face burning with shame. “I thought you didn’t mean it.”

“Ah.” He’s silent for a moment. “But- Why the hell would you avoid me-“

“I kissed you back.”

“Did you mean it?”

His question feels like the barrel of a gun, loaded and pressed to your temple. You nod weakly. Dean lets out a sharp breath, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“You thought I didn’t mean it.” He finally echoes, and you nod again. “So you just-“

“That hurt.” Tears are falling again. Everything blurring except for Dean. “That’s the part that hurt, Dean, I just- I had to try and move on. And the internet said that’s how you do it.”

“The internet?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean huffs a low laugh.

“Sweetheart, why the hell would you check the internet for advice-“

“None of my ideas were working.” You hiss. “And I- I didn’t like avoiding you, it felt really bad-“

“You didn’t have to avoid me, you coulda just told me-“

“And you would’ve what, confessed your love and kissed me again-“

“Yeah!” He shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I would’ve, if you’d just fuckin’ told me!”

Your heart stops, for a full second. You don’t think you heard him right. “What?” You whisper, and Dean sighs.

“I meant it, okay?” He mutters, looking up to the sky. As if he was praying. “Everything I do with you, I mean it.”

“And- And the love-“

“I mean that too.” He gives you a sad, tired smile. “I know I shouldn’t. God knows I tried not to, you’re- You’re young and you got a future and I’m just me-“

“I love you.” You blurt, and Dean’s jaw falls. “I love you just like… you. And-“ You bow your head shyly. He won’t stop staring. “If you- If you feel something too-“

Dean moves before you can think.

One second you’re rambling, trying to figure out how to say it. The next  his lips are pressed against yours, kissing you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Like you’ll die.

You grab his wrist when he cups your face, he turns you to deepen the kiss, and you’re both moving like you’re trying to breathe the other in. Your nails dig into his skin and he grunts, the sound vibrating against you. You roll onto your knees, moving over him without breaking the kiss, and he grabs you by the waist. Tight enough to bruise. To leave a mark.

It’s just a kiss. A hungry, hot kiss that’s making your head spin. It’s better than anyone else touching you. Better than being fucked, just because it’s Dean.

He picks you up, pulling you into his lap forcing you to straddle. You grab his shoulders for balance, letting out a sharp breath, and Dean chuckles. Sucks your lower lip with a tiny smirk, rubbing your hips as your finger brush the back of his neck. You let out a shuddering breath, sinking fully against his chest. One of his massive hands drags up your spine, callouses and teasing fingers dancing over bare skin and you arch, chasing the fuzzy, addictive sensation of Dean’s hands.

Your core presses against his bulge. He’s hard, twitching inside his jeans. You roll your hips once, unable to stop yourself, and Dean hisses against your lips.

“Careful.” 

You don’t want to be careful. You want to be ruined. You grind down again, kissing him while you move, and he groans.

“Hey- Woah-“ He wraps his arm fully around your waist and pins you down. Forcing the outline of his cock against the thin panties you’d worn to go out.

There’s not a single regret in your head. You can feel him better like this. The thick curve, almost pushed between your pussy lips. Your underwear is bunched up, offering extra pressure, but Dean is holding you down so hard there’s not even space to wiggle. You almost whine, pouting at him under wet, fluttering lashes.

He just stares up at you like a man who’s lived underground his whole life, finally seeing the stars. You drag your nails down his chest, trying to spur him into action, but he just keeps staring. He even laughs under his breath, like something’s fucking funny.

You scowl, but don’t even get to provoke him before he’s rising back up.

Dean brushes hair from your face, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. A confusing, sharp contrast to how his erection is angled right against your heat. Your body doesn’t seem to know what to do with it, and just settles for going limp with overwhelmed, happily dizzy confusion. Dean chuckles again. If your body could listen to any whims but his right now, you’d punch him in the face.

“Stop laughing.” You manage to grumble, but that just makes him laugh again. “Dean-“

“Sorry.” He grins against your lips, rubbing your hips in soothing circles. “You’re just- You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable-“

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.” He mutters, dragging his hand up your side. As if he’s marveling in just the shape of you. “Never thought I’d get to have you like this, and- Look at you.” He draws back, whistling with a smug smirk. “They should let people touch the art, baby. You get even prettier.”

There’s nothing coherent you have to respond to that. Your brain is mostly a confusing garble of Dean and touch and more.

He kisses just under your jaw, and you gasp. Your eyes flutter as your head lolls to the side, and Dean chuckles.

“You-“ You bite back a moan as he sucks on a pulse point. “You’re pretty too.”

“Hm.” He nips at the sensitive skin, before flicking his tongue against the hurt. “Pretty, huh.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck until he’s almost in a headlock. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, moving onto another, somehow more sensitive spot. You try to move against his clothed dick, your pussy starting to throb, but he’s holding you too tight. Dean hums against your skin, and you moan, right in his ear. It makes his cock jump, and you almost cry from the fleeting offer of friction.

“Come- Come on-“ You whine, wiggling uselessly in his arms. “You’re being an asshole- Dean-“

He pushes his lips back over yours, right as he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes. It loosens his grip, letting your hips freely move against him, but you’re so pent up from making out that you can’t even work out what you want to do. You’re grabbing at his shirt and kissing him with spit and teeth, and he’s barely giving you anything in return.

“Dean- Just-“ You claw at his shirt. “Off, get it off-“

“That’s not a very polite way to ask, sweetheart-“

“Fuck you.” You breathe out, moaning when you get the thickest part of him to drag over your clit. “Take your shirt off, Dean, now-“

 A strong hand wraps around your throat, pulling you back down into a mind numbing kiss. You’re still fucking down onto his crotch, but their angle offers less pressure. You might’ve burst into tears, if it wasn’t for the magnitude of Dean’s attention. His hands all over your body, one fisted in your hair while the other started to map every inch of you he can reach.

“De- Dean-“

“Not polite.” He mutters, kissing you between every word. “Not patient. What am I gonna do with you?”

Your heart stumbles, still a little bit bare from the fight and confused from the gentle way he’s suddenly touching you. No more grabbing or marking. Just soft, possessive but careful fingers, tracing your curves like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Can I tell you what I’ve wanted to do?” He rasps in your ear. “Since I first fuckin’ saw you?”

“Yes.” You breath, trying to just feel him. His strength all around you, his voice rolling through your chest.

Dean’s words are deep and rough in your ear, and you cling to every one like gospel.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since before you even said your name. Wanted to fuck you when you stood in front of me and threatened to shoot if I didn’t back off and leave you be. Decided I’d marry you when you called me a chicken butt ‘cause I told you to stay behind me. Then I thought I was insane, told myself I just needed to get laid. But I got laid. And you wanna know the only thing I could think about, the whole damn time?”

You nod, and Dean pulls back, dropping his brow tight against yours.

“You.” He rasps. “Closed my eyes and saw you under me. Got kicked outta bed for calling your name, felt sick after ‘cause some stupid thing in my head kept telling me I’d betrayed you. Then Sammy came and told me you’d be coming with us, and I knew I was a goner. If it wasn’t such a selfish freakin’ masochist I would’ve told him that I didn’t want you around.”

Your lip wobbles. “You didn’t want me-“

“I wanted you so much.” He grabs the back of your neck, the words a low growl. “Drove me out of my damn mind, how much I wanted you. Thought I’d need to be put down, like one of those dogs that humps every damn thing it sees.”

“You- You never-“

“What? Thought you’d be into something like me?” He laughs, and you frown.

You plant your hands, flat on his chest, and push up a little taller. Demanding he listen to every word you say.

“I’m into you.” You snap, and Dean’s sarcastic smile falters, slipping back into that awe. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No.” He answers without thought. “You’re perfect.”

Dean kisses you, slow and deliberate. Everything is suddenly controlled and delicate, like he’s weaving together a song.

You think you’re supposed to be the instrument. You don’t realize, though, until he’s already playing you as if you’re a toy.

Dean’s mouth trails down, leaving wet, open kisses over your neck and collarbone. The beard scrapes and tickles against you. You decide you like it. He’s not allowed to shave later.

You shiver, moving your hands to rest on his stomach. His abdomen flexes under your fingers, and you start to grind back down onto his crotch. When you press further forward, you can get that perfect friction from before. The one you needed so bad you almost screamed. Dean nips at your throat and you pick up your pace.

He grunts, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You squirm like animal, even as he handles you well. You’re moved backwards, your knees still knocked apart as Dean’s spreads his own legs. He pushes you back until your elbows are resting on the horn, and heat prickles over your skin when you realize the position he’s put you in.

Your barely clothed pussy, wet and on full display to Dean’s lust-blown expression. He traces over your inner thigh, teasing and teasing until you’re almost thrusting up to meet him.

“Remember what I said about patience?” He drawls, eyes sparkling on yours.

You just pant, making to grab his wrist and move it where you want. But he’s too strong, and you don’t even get a budge.

“I- I’ve been patient-“

 “Nah. Not enough. But,” he lifts up your skirt, exposing you further. “Look at her. Just begging for some attention.”

Dean presses a single knuckle against your pussy, running it up until it hits your clit, and your elbow slips. Baby’s horn startles you, making you almost scramble back over Dean, and he just laughs. Kisses you sweetly while you pant in his ear, even nipping under the lobe as you try to control your heartbeat.

“Fuck- Fuck-“ Your eyes roll back as you realize what happened.

You’d trapped Dean’s hand between your bodies, and he’s taken full advantage of the situation. For every honeyed and light kiss he presses over your cheeks and lips, he rubs your pussy with light, deft touches. A graze of your clit, then his thumb teasing over your entrance. It’s torture, the touches too light to do anything but make you feel insane, but you’re certain if you move away he’s just going to remove his hand altogether. Leaving you no other choice but to whimper, take it, and plead for mercy.

“More- There-” You bury your face in Dean’s neck, when he rubs your clit back and forth in a frenzy, then simply moves away. “Dean- I- I need to come, please, just, up- No-“

You tremble when he moves away again, humping against his hand. It doesn’t do anything—he’s too good at this—but you don’t think you could stop if you wanted to.

“Please, please, please-”

“You’re real good at begging, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the side of your head, and you nod weakly. “You think I’m not give you what you need?”

“I- I don’t think you’re showing any signs of it.” You breathe, and he laughs.

“Can’t argue with that. But you’re kinda restricting my movements.” He splits his two fingers, placing them around your pussy lips and rubbing slowly up down. “And trust, I’d love to play with your wet little pussy until you were coming all over my hand, but you started something on my pants. Think you should finish it.”

You lean back in slow confusion, and Dean nods between your bodies. You flush when you see it.

The faint dark spot, on his still hard crotch. You can’t look away from it.

Dean pulls your panties forward, then snaps them back against your pussy. Your hips jerk, wild eyes flying up to his, and he grins.

“Keep them on.” He smirks, dragging you back to sit on his crotch. “And take what you want.”

You nod breathlessly, grabbing the bench behind his head and starting to fuck down against Dean’s bulge. You’re more deliberate than before, gaze locked onto Dean’s, knowing exactly where to move to get the best friction. Dean watches you as if you’re sent from Heaven, licking his lips and rubbing your ass. He’s hiked up your skirt, giving him full access to whatever he wants. You expect handprints, maybe more teasing touches to keep you on the edge.

Instead, he grabs the back of your neck, and just watches you move on him. His mouth falls open, and when you lean a little down, he doesn’t hesitate to close the space.

Your speed picks up. The ruined fabric of your panties only adds to the friction, almost completely letting you feel the rough, tantalizing sensation of the denim. When you get your clit, it’s like being rolled between two pinched fingers, and you start to hump that one spot.

Dean groans, and when you catch against something, you realize you’re hitting the head of his cock.

You reach between your bodies, grabbing for something of him to hold onto, and find what has to be his balls. They’re big, heavy even when you’re not really holding them, and when you squeeze softly Dean’s whole body jerks.

“Fuck- Son of a bitch, you can’t just-“ Dean’s words turn into a long moan of your name, when you squeeze again.

You smile to yourself, riding him faster and faster. Dean’s eyes flutter, his fingers weaving into your hair. You throw your head back, and he chases. Starts to bite and suck on your neck again, pushing further and further up until you can no longer get a grip on his balls.

For a second, you try to push back, but Dean’s a solid wall of muscle. You’re using all your energy to keep yourself moving against him, and every thought empties from your head as his lips travel down.

Dean rips the top of your dress open. You hadn’t been wearing a bra. It would’ve ruined the outfit.

He has a clear, direct line to wrap his lips around your peeked nipple, and start to suck.

A loud, uncontrollable sound escapes your lips. You don’t know how he can be so good at that. His tongue flicks and swirls, teeth grazing against the bud, and all you can think of is what he’d do between your legs.

You movements are becoming shorter. More desperate. You press your breasts up, trying to demand more attention. Dean obliges, giving a harshsuckle before a series of kitten licks. He lazily kisses over the valley of your breasts, taking the neglected bud between his lips and sucking even harder than before.

“Oh- Oh my god.” You pull at the short, soft hair on the nape of his neck. He moans, mouth wet and warm wrapped around you. “Yes, Dean- Oh- Oh fuck-“

Your eyes roll back in your head, the pressure in your lower tummy just needing a little more to snap. You’re barely even humping him anymore, just thrashing around and trying to find the right position to get you there.

“I- I can’t-“ You scratch Dean’s back, pressing your cheek to the side of his head as you almost sob. “Dean, I need to cum, need to cum so fucking bad, Deeaan-“

His hand shoves between you, shoving one finger into your dripping pussy. Even with how wet you are there’s a slight stretch, and it’s just the one finger. You slam down onto him, your clit getting plenty of attention against his jeans, and you’re getting lightheaded with the need to find release.

Dean finger crooks inside you. Right against your g-spot. He wiggles it, rubbing fast and firm. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, swirling as he moans, and your shriek with delight.

You cum, shaking and moaning right into Dean’s ear. His finger slowly fucks you through it, but the moment you make a broken sound of his name, his lips are back over yours to swallow it. You don’t think you’ve ever cum that hard before. You can feel it all the way to the tips of your fingers, electric on your tongue as Dean kisses you.

Your pussy is clenching around his finger, and he grunts, angling his head to kiss you deeper. He pulls out slowly, rubbing your cunt until your wetness is smeared all over your thighs.

“The back.” He grunts, words thick and strained. “Get in the back.”

You feel bubbly. You’ve never felt bubbly before. There’s a rough command in Dean’s words that’s probably going to make you melt in a matter of minutes. But right now, you just giggle.

Dean leans back, looking at you like you’re insane.

“Sweetheart.” He wipes the hair stuck to your brow, and you can feel the tension in his voice. He’s trying to be patient. “What’re you laughing at?”

You shake your head, beaming as you press back over him. Dean grunts when you kiss him, but kisses back immediately.

“I just came on your pants.” You breathe.

He hums, leaning back to give you an exasperated look. “And that’s funny?”

“Last week I was crying about how I was never going to hold your hand.”

“Ah.” That makes him smile. He kisses your cheek, squeezing his hold on you. “We can do that later.” He mutters. “After we get in the back.”

You hum, going back in to kiss him again. Dean gives you five seconds, before you’re being picked up like a sack of potatoes and tosses over the bench. You land with a squeal, scrambling up to your palms, and Dean laughs.

“What the fuck-“

“Told you.” He shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. “But don’t worry. Was counting on you not giving a damn what I told you to do.”

You gape at him. “I- I do what you tell me-“

“No, you don’t.”

“What about when you told me to go grocery shopping, I did that-“

“You got everything wrong.” He gives you an amused look, and you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Your list was confusing. And when I tried to call, you didn’t pick up.”

“List works for Sammy.”

“I’m not Sam, I need you to make a list for me-“

“I did make a list for you.” Dean crawls over the bench, grinning down at you. “And you still bought that fuckin’ turkey meat.”

You swallow, unable to stop yourself from drinking him in. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but it’s always been quick glimpses you forced yourself to look away from, or in the context of a wound. But this, here, the car is filled with steam from your fun before, there’s only to golden halo of the streetlamp, and Dean is all yours to stare at, as much as you want.

His chest is broad, softer in some places than he’s probably been in his youth, but perfect. You’re going to be completely smothered in him, you could shove your face between his pecs, feel his thick biceps wrap tight around you as he fucks you like you’ve always dreamed. He’s covered in jagged scars and freckles. You want to touch every single one.

“Sam gave me twenty dollars not to get red meat.” You breathe.

Dean chuckles, pulling at his belt. “And you chose him over me?”

You meet his gaze again, sure you must look like a lost doe under all of him. You’re not sure what to do with yourself at all. “You didn’t give  me twenty dollars.”

“And if I gave you twenty bucks?” He grins, pulling down his pants.

That’s your queue to say something smart. You can’t think anything smart.

Dean’s cock stands proud above you, and it’s pretty. Prettier than a porn cock, and those things look like they’re plastic. Dean’s thick and veiny. He’s well groomed, his balls heavier than they felt before—they could fit in your mouth, and you might choke, but would that really be so bad—and the tip of him nice and curved. Just the sight of him makes your pussy clench around nothing. Your legs spread wider.

Dean’s throat bobs, as he follows the movement. He’s slowly stroking himself, and you watch his grip get white knuckled as you spread your legs wider.

You need to touch him. He touched you. It’s only fair.

But you reach for him, and Dean catches your wrist. Pins your arm over your head, forcing him to lower down. He settles between your legs, giving you a stern look that makes your breath hitch.

“No.” He chastises, and you pout.

“I wanna put you in my mouth.”

“You- Jesus, woman.” He lets out a sharp breath, closing his eyes. “You can’t freakin’ say that-“

“Why not-“

“I ain’t as young as I used to be, alright?”

You frown. “I know that.”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean-“ He sighs, dropping his brow against yours.

You pull your hand carefully out of his hold, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr, so you keep going. He makes nice sounds. You’d like to collect all of them, and keep them in little jars on your shelf you can listen to whenever you want.

“I like the hair.” You say, soft and casual. Like his cock isn’t pressed right against your cunt. “And the beard?”

Dean huffs a low laugh. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Makes you look your age.”

“I am my age-“

“In a sexy way.” You blurt, and he sits up, brows raised.

“A sexy way?”

“Yeah.” You nod, suddenly wanting to hide your face. “I mean, you’re- You’re always sexy- I’ve always wanted to have sex with you, but- But I also think, if it’s- If you’re going to be kissing me all the time- I’d like this-“

Dean shuts you up with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. You hum, thankful for the mercy, and shiver when you feel him peeling away the scraps of your underwear and dress. You don’t think you’re going to haver anything to ride home in.

Something to worry about later. When Dean’s not rubbing his dick against your pussy. The large head of his presses against your clit, Dean’s beard tickling your neck as he kisses everywhere his mouth can find, and you feel the pressure starting to build again.

“Dean…” You mumble. “Oh- Oh-“

He sucks on a hickey from before, and the previous orgasm had already made you more sensitive. Your back arches, forcing your swollen button to rub against his shaft, and your mouth falls open in a loud, lewd moan.

“Easy,” he mutters, dropping his weight. Forcing you back down. “Tryin’ to tell you, sweetheart. I’m barely fuckin’ holding it together, and if I blow before I get inside of you, I’m gonna drive myself off a cliff.”

You giggle despite yourself, letting your body relax into his touch. You trust him, and the idea of him just having you is enough to make your pussy ache. “Aw.” You turn, smiling at him. “You care.”

He snorts. “You always a brat? Or just when I’m fuckin’ you.”

“Do you want the real answer to that?”

“Hm.” Dean tilts his head, gaze raking over your body. Over every mark he’s left, to the point that you’re mostly a map of his hands and lips.

A smirk curve on his lips, and you feel one strong hand grab under your knee, moving it up to your chest. Putting you on full, naked display.

“Nah.” He drawls. “I think I’m good.”

The air is knocked from your lungs, as he presses forward. His cock slides slowly into you, filling the car with the hottest, wettest sound you’ve ever heard. You grab his forearm, just trying to ground yourself, and he goes for your other knee.

Dean bends you in half under him, folding you into a pressed little ball. You can see yourself swallowing his cock. See every inch disappear into your pussy, every vein right before it bumps inside your gooey walls. Dean’s chest is heaving, his features open and slack.

“Fuck.” He grunts. Reverent and as wrecked as you feel. “Son of a bitch, you fit me like a goddamn glove. Takin’ me like a champ, sweetheart, c’mon- Just a little more-“

He spits on where you’re meeting, on your clit, and you try to arch up. He grunts, pushing the last few inches fully in.

You throw your head back, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so full. He feels even bigger than he looked, and you’d forget to breathe if he didn’t wrap his hand around your ribcage, and squeeze gently.

“Good?” Dean’s voice cracks, and you can almost see his chest rippling with the restraint to hold still.

You nod, opening your mouth, then closing it when words fail you. He’s just- He’s so big and everywhere. He’s pushed over your g-spot, and it’s making you feel like you’re being dragged through a pool of pleasure. There’s nothing else to think about.

Dean’s brow furrows. “Baby, I need you to talk to me-“

“Good.” You breathe out. “So- So good, Deaaaan-“

You tug on his wrist, trying to bring him down to your level. He immediately understands, bending over for a kiss. You relax as his lips move against yours, pushing your hips a little up to take in more of him. You might be able to cum just like this. Impaled on Dean’s cock. Usually you’d need something more, but you’re hypersensitive, and it’s like he was made to be inside you.

You smile at him, when he pulls back up. He swallows, slowly reaching up to grab your jaw.

“I’m gonna move, alright?”

You hum, still smiling, and Dean takes in a slow breath.

“Can you keep lookin’ at me?”

You nod, and his lips twitch.

“You really can’t talk right now, huh?”

Head shake. Dean’s eyes glint, and your mouth falls open as he thrusts. Once, harsh and short against your g-spot.

“So fuckin’ cockdrunk you can’t speak.” He drawls, grinding slowly into your pussy. Still too shallow to be anything. Just working your g-spot until tears prick at your eyes. “You think you can at least say my name, baby?”

“Deeean-“ You mewl out, gasping as he finally gives a full, deep thrust. “Dean- Dean-“

“That’s it.” He grunts, pulling almost fully out before slamming back in. “That’s my girl. Nice and dumb on this cock. Just letting it happen, aren’t you sweetheart.”

“Mmmm.” Is all you can manage, but it’s Dean’s fault.

He’s fucking you like a man possessed. Cock slipping in and out of your channel, drilling into your g-spot and cervix. You can see it, see the vein in his brow as he moans your name, see the mess forming around your pussy as you soak his dick.

“Dean.” You babble, a strange, tight heat forming deep inside you. “Deaan, ‘s- ‘s big-“

“I know.” He coos. “I know, baby, but- Shit- You’re takin’ it so well. Best thing I’ve ever fuckin’ felt-“

He grunts, balls slapping against your ass. His body is sticky and shining with sweat, and you can’t stop yourself from staring at how he moves as he fucks you. Each motion is so powerful, and there’s an impossibly good, perverted feeling you get from watching where you meet, and-

“Look.” He grunts, tapping your chin with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart, come on-“

You blink up at him, and he groans, bending over as he slams inside.

You don’t think. Your mouth opens, and you take his thumb between your lips, sucking softly. It’s nice to have something to do, when you’re too fucked out to even remember your own name.

And it does something to Dean. His thrusts stutter, and a deep, growling sound comes from his chest. You hum, blinking up at him from glossy eyes. He groans, chest heaving, and something snaps in his expression.

Dean fucks you so hard you could swear the car was shaking. His thumb pushes further between your lips, and you take it happily. You can feel the sensation between your legs building, a little different than your usual orgasm, but it’s good. Tingly and hot, almost like you’re being shot up with direct euphoria. Your lashes flutter, and you moan around Dean’s thumb as he starts to give sharp, abusing thrusts to your g-spot.

He bends like he’s trying to get his mouth on your pussy, only just remembering his body can’t move like that and pulling his hand away from your mouth. You’re about to whine in frustration, but then Dean finds your clit.

He gives it tight, back and forth rubs that make your hips buck up. He uses his cock to bully them back down, rubbing even harder, and the sensation explodes like fireworks. 

 It’s wet and messy, spilling out of your pussy with Dean still seated deep inside you. He moans, dropping over you as you milk his cock, dragging him into orgasm with you. You’re shaking, cumming and cumming harder than you can keep up with. You can feel the release—yours or Dean’s, doesn’t really matter—sticking inside of you and dribbling down your ass.

Dean kisses you, and you barely manage to kiss him back. You’re boneless and floaty again, your body so washed with pleasure you might be shaking from it. Like he’d struck you with lightning.

“You did so good.” Dean murmurs, pulling slowly out. “That was- Fuck, that was awesome.”

You smile in a dazed agreement, beaming up at him, and everything in Dean seems to soften. He presses a gentle kiss to your brow and pulls you upright, helping you settle in the bench before getting himself to work.

He tries to clean up the seats, but gives up fast and mumbles something about doing it back home. You were right in assuming your clothing was ruined, so Dean just gives you his shirt and wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you against him for the drive home.

When you pull in to the garage, he doesn’t give you a chance to try and walk. You’re hauled into his arms like a princess and marched inside, Dean only pausing to wipe the back bench and stop a smell.

First stop is the bathroom. Then Dean offers to bring you to your bed—the words weighted and reluctant—but you shove your face into his neck and shake you head.

Dean. You need to be near Dean.

He carries you to his bed with a tall pride, and somehow manages to keep a hand on you as he changes into his own sweats. You cuddle into him, smiling when he presses a kiss to your brow.

“If I forget this,” he murmurs. “Remind me in the morning.”

You laugh softly, voice quiet but returned. “If you forget, I’m going to kill you.”

“And I woulda earned that.”

“Mh.” You curl further into his arms, and—unable to help it—whisper. “Don’t forget.”

Dean kisses the top of your head, words a lullaby as you drift off to slip.

“Never. I’m yours now, sweetheart. Like it or not.”

You like it.

You don’t think you could like it more if you tried.  

✦End note: deeply unfair that he isn't real. we gotta talk to someone about that.✦

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