men huh? you just gotta love ‘em

Your palms felt hot against the skin over his hips, burning into him like a brand to cattle. It only served to encourage him to grind down against you taking you deeper as he threw his head back with a low groan.

Many strained curses followed by grunts and panting breaths fill the interior of the Impala. His eyes hazy and glossed over as he looks down at you, watching how you're restraining yourself from bucking your hips up into him.

"Being so good for me," he murmurs with a keening cry, your cock pressing against his prostate just right. His hips stuttering as he lifts himself up and drops back down faster and faster. Chasing after that blissful high only you can provide him with.

His hands grip your shoulders, running down your chest and moving to grab you firmly as he picks up the pace. He feels his thighs aching, trembling with all his efforts and his cock twitching with need, slapping against his stomach and smearing it with more of his cum.

"Fuck," your palm wrapped around him, pumping in him tandem with his bouncing. So slick and warm from all the cum that's been dribbling from his reddened tip. He whines and claws at you, desperate for release.

Dean finally gives in, unable to lift his hips all the way like he has before as he signals for you to take over. And the sound he made once you finally thrusted up into him was nothing short of carnal. Debased.

A chorus of moans and whimpers meant only for your ears. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon- I'm so close." He babbles mindlessly, nearly hitting his head on the roof as a rush of vigor courses through him. Moving his hips to meet every upward thrust of your hips.

You grip him firmly, holding him down as his walls spasm around you, squeezing so relentlessly hard that you spill inside him. He shudders above you, painting both your chests and stomachs with his cum but his hips keep moving, rolling slowly as his orgasm ebbs away.

He's so sensitive. Your hand's soiled, glistening with his spend, your thumb swiping over the cockhead as it twitches again in your grasp, pressing down on the slit.

He lets out a whine, barely holding himself upright from collapsing atop you. "It's too much- I can't." He gasps, feeling you shift, your cum leaking out from around your still hard cock. He clenches weakly around as if to keep it from spilling.

"We can give it another go back at the motel," he swallows hard at that, nodding dumbly, he's too high on ecstasy to answer properly, much less drive straight.

Dean notes the sound of the door opening and the chime of the fancy pants door sensor but keeps his eyes on the TV. “Man, you have to see this.” He says as your footsteps get closer.

“What?” You lean over the couch to look at the screen. Dean's heart pounds as the movie switches to a darker scene, allowing him to see you in the TV’s reflection. The dog tag he gave you is dangling beside him and your tank top is showing off your firm body and tattoos. If he knew you were going to the gym, he wouldn't have put on a movie with such dark lighting…as if he’d be able to predict that. “It's dark.” You squint, leaning further in. He looks at your chest in his peripheral vision.

“You– you were too slow.” Dean turns his head to grab his beer.

You stand up straight. “And you're too fast at making a mess of my living room.” You give him a playful flick to the forehead and hop over the couch to sit down next to him.

“Take a shower, dip shit.” Dean’s thoughts aren't going to stay pure if this continues.

“I already did. You know I have at least 20 of these.” You pull on your top for emphasis.

He tightly grips the neck of the bottle. “Right, you spend all your money on shirts instead of a home gym.” He takes a generous sip of beer.

“One should separate home and duty.” You say jokingly.

Dean chuckles. “Just go to the military if you're gonna act like that.”

“I’m already a soldier, sergeant.” You flick the dog tag. Dean blushes. He only gave it to you because he thought it'd be a funny gift, not something you’d wear everyday.

“Then get down and gimme twenty.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” You drop down onto the ground and do twenty pushups. His heart pounds harder as he watches you and listens to your subtle grunts.

“Fuck.” He squeezes his thighs together.

You pause and look up at him. His eyes widen as his face becomes piping hot. “That– I meant—” He stutters. His thighs are still pressed together. He's not usually nervous around his crushes but this one is different. For one, you're his long-time best friend and he doesn't want to lose you. He's also heavily intimidated and turned on by you so he can't think straight when he indulges in his thoughts towards you.

“Did that get you hard?” Your voice contains hints of a restrained laugh but Dean can tell you're not making fun of him. Doesn't make him any less embarrassed though. “Should I help you out, sergeant?” You get onto your knees.

Excitement travels down his entire body. Thank God you're not grossed out. He turns the TV off to get rid of the distracting noises of agony and murder. He nods softly and crawls over to you. He leans in to kiss you as his hands explore your body. “You're too muscular.” He squeezes your pecs.

“No, you just don't have enough muscles.” You smile, understanding that he doesn't really mean what he said. “You're so small, I bet I could bench press you.”

Dean looks at you like a desperate, malnourished puppy in front of a thick slab of steak. “Please.”

You pull him into a sloppier kiss. You fall back onto the ground while Dean follows suit. He lifts his leg to kneel on the ground next to yours and presses his ass against your boner. He moans as both of your lips get wet with each other's saliva.

He reluctantly pulls away for air. You grab his waist and raise him high up. You’re carrying him like he's no heavier than a case of beer. “You owe me a dime.” You say jokingly, as if Dean placed his bets on anything other than you being able to do so.

He can feel a nosebleed coming on. “I don't owe you anything, Gatsby.” Dean retorts, referencing the book the two of you had to read in school. Your generous financial situation was enough for Dean to have that become your nickname.

“You won't even sit on my face?” You pout and set him down.

“Fine.” Dean rolls his eyes, pretending to not be extremely turned on. He stands up and removes his clothes. He can't see your boner too well from your baggy pants but he can definitely see how much more horny you are based on your expression. He walks over to your face and sits himself down, facing your lower half. You immediately dig in while Dean twitches uncontrollably as he pushes your pants down. “Of course you're big here too, you—” He arches his back as your firm hand slides down to his t-dick and your tongue finds the right spot. “God–” He gasps. You're too good at this. He doesn't want to go another day without your hands on his body and your tongue inside of him.

His eyelashes flutter erotically as he brings his mouth closer to your dick. He wraps his lips around it and tries to suck you off but gets too overwhelmed by your skills to move at all. He makes up for it by using his tongue as best as he can. “Mmh– mm~!” Dean’s basically functioning like a vibrating cock warmer. His mouth sinks down lower as he squirts. You slightly lift him up so you can properly lick him clean, with no concern for all the hair in your mouth, then you fully lift him and place him down on the carpet. He looks at you as you get up with his mouth slightly parted, he didn't want to leave yet.

You help him stand up. “Are you still as flexible as you used to be?”

Dean blushes. “Why?”

You turn him around and reach in between his legs. “Just…interested in seeing if my imagination is too wild.” You lift him up by his thighs. “What do you think? Can you handle it?” You raise his thighs up just a bit higher.

Dean throws his head back against your shoulder. “You're a fucking pervert..” His body twitches from how turned on he is. “Of course I can handle it, I’ve been–” He purses his lips, stopping himself in his tracks.

“You’ve been what?” You move his body so that his pussy rubs against your cock.

“Just put it in!”

“I wanna know what you’ve been doing first. I'm not the one who has to follow orders here.” You smirk. “I could get off just like this.”

He looks at the pre cum dribbling down your throbbing cock and tosses out his own reluctance. “I trained my flexibility…for you.” You have no idea how many nights he spent jerking off to the idea of you manhandling him. He always does his workouts when he's home alone because of how worked up he gets looking at himself in the mirror and imagining you there with him.

“Yeah? How long?” You lean over to look at him. He turns his head away from you and pouts. “Well, I’ve been thinking about this for years. I've always wanted to know how you’d look if I got to fuck you.” You look at him through the reflection of the TV. He looks adorable and you know he'll look even more so once you're done with him. You slide your hands up to his knees. “Ready?”

“Mhm-” Dean bites down on his lip as you lower him down on it. Tears trickle down his eyes from the stretch but not from pain, not the bad kind. You raise his legs up higher until his knees are pressed against his shoulders. The two of you look at him in the reflection and Dean squirts in response to the clear view of his bulging stomach. “Oh my God.” He groans.

“I don't know if I can hold back now…I can come inside, right?”

Dean laughs softly. “You think I wouldn’t let you?”

You grin and thrust your hips up, immediately starting at a rough pace that Dean can't keep up with and he has no plans to change that. He instead graces your ears with his moans as you finally make up for lost time. Since you don't have a camera, you're embedding the image of Dean's reflection deep into your mind. His hair is messy from the sweat that's dripping down his body, his beautiful, wet lips are parted wide for you, his nipples are rock hard, and you can just make out the reflection of the shiny slick your cock is covered in. He could be a model.

You can even see the way his mind is melting with every other thrust, you're already fucking him dumb and you only just started.

His attempts at words are pathetic and almost incomprehensible but you can understand everything he's saying very well. Harder, more, fuck me, please, oh my God!

Your laugh reverberates like your TV’s fancy speaker set. “You're a greedy slut.” You can feel his walls squeezing you tightly. Your breathing is labored but your voice is still steady and firm, as opposed to his shaky and whiny one. “Am I not fucking you right now? Do you want me to destroy you? ‘Cause I can be a lot rougher than this.”

Dean’s back arches. “Daddy–!” He shouts it like it's your activation code and it works exactly as it should, you fire off on all cylinders and fuck him exactly how he deserves to be. He’d be embarrassed as hell if he weren't already so far gone. “Gonna- gonna come~!”

“You’ll pass out by the end of this.” Your voice is rougher and more strained now, it instantly triggers Dean’s orgasm. The poor TV is covered in his slick. “At this rate, you’ll end up dehydrated too–” You groan. You never imagined he'd be like this. He takes you so well and he squirts every time. He's driving you crazy.

He giggles. “You’ll gimme yer cum, replenish-” He rolls his eyes to the back of his skull.

“Not fuckin’ you hard enough if you can still talk like a pornstar.” Your grip on his legs become tighter as you really fuck him.

“Ah– ye- yes~!” He's fighting his own body’s urge to rest, too motivated by the knowledge that you’ll come inside him soon. He can barely see it now that he's moving so fast but he loves the way you're looking at him, he can tell your eyes are trained on his reflection. He'll have to get you to buy a tripod later, he knows you’ll love having this view immortalized. He certainly will.

You finally come inside of him and your thrusts slowly come to a halt. Even though his vision is blurry, he can see that you're burning a new photo of his reflection deep into your memory once again.

the bunker was dead quiet after the hunt — except for dean winchester’s voice. he strolled in like he owned the place, green eyes glittering with mischief, boots heavy on the concrete.

“well,” he said, peeling his jacket off and tossing it aside. “somebody owes me a beer for carrying their ass today.” you didn’t look up. you were cleaning a blade.

dean leaned on the table, grin widening. “what’s the matter? can’t even thank me? pretty sure if i hadn’t been there you’d be demon chow right now.” you calmly set the blade down and looked up. “and by the way,” he went on, “maybe next time, instead of staring at my ass all hunt long, you focus on the actual monster. just a thought.”

that earned him a slow blink.

dean smirked. “what? can’t help yourself? i get it. it’s a damn good ass.”

“dean,” you said, voice low.

“yes, sir?” he shot back immediately, mocking, his grin turning downright wicked.

that was all it took.

you surged towards him, grabbed him by the his shoulders, turned him around, and slammed him forward over the table. papers and books crashed to the floor.

“jesus christ,” dean barked out, half-laughing. “you’ve lost your damn mind—”

“you just don’t shut up, do you? quit it.”

he twisted his head enough to look at you, still grinning, eyes bright with challenge. “make me.” your hand was already tearing at his belt. dean laughed. “whoa, whoa— slow down there, tiger—”

you yanked his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion.

“not even gonna buy me dinner first, sir?”

your hand cracked down on his bare ass. hard. dean hissed. “shit!”

“you really want to play with me tonight?” you growled. “i dunno,” dean said breathlessly, the smirk still clinging to his face. “you always talk a big game, but i’m still standing, aren’t i?”

you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “not for long.” you spat into your palm, stroked yourself once, and lined up behind him. dean craned his neck back, eyebrow raised. “you’re not even— oh, shit!” you buried yourself to the hilt with one savage thrust. dean groaned loudly — raw, loud, back arching violently as his hands clawed at the table. “fuck!—”

“still want to run that mouth?” you asked, grinding in slow, deep. dean laughed yet again, panting. “gonna… gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to shut me up, sir—”

another brutal thrust cut him off.

you started to move, hips pounding into him, raw and relentless, the slap of skin echoing in the empty war room.

dean’s arms shook as he tried to hold himself up. “you—you call this rough? that all you got?”

“you want rough?” you fisted a handful of his hair, yanked his head back. “fine.”

you slammed him forward so hard the table creaked, and began fucking him like a man possessed. each thrust was brutal. deliberate. you stayed deep, dragging it out.

dean’s bravado wavered. “fuck— okay— okay, that’s— that’s— shit!”

“that tight little hole of yours thinks it can wear me down?” you snarled. dean coughed out a chuckle, voice wrecked. “maybe i— hah!— can—”

“you think so?” you said, grinding in deep enough to make him yelp. “i could fuck you like this all night, dean. all fucking night.”

“you— haah— you won’t last,” he gasped, still trying to grin. “i will,” you growled in his ear. “you don’t get it. i’m not gonna cum until i decide you’ve learned your fucking place.” dean’s smirk faltered, just for a second.

“sir,” he said mockingly again, though weaker this time. “you can’t—”

your palm cracked across his ass again.

“say it like that one more time,” you said. “see what happens.”

dean opened his mouth — then gasped as you shifted your angle, ramming into his prostate. his whole body jerked, a choked moan tearing out of him.

“oh, fuck—”

“you feel that?” you murmured. “every single inch of me, and i’m not even close to cumming. gonna keep you full ‘til you can’t stand tomorrow.”

dean shuddered, his cock leaking against the table. you bent over him, lips at his ear. “no condom. you’re gonna be dripping with me. everyone will know exactly who you belong to.” dean moaned, helpless despite himself. you tightened your grip on his hair and forced him upright, his back against your chest, while your other hand wrapped around his throat.

dean’s legs trembled as you started a brutal rhythm, unrelenting.

“still wanna mock me?” you panted.

“y-yeah,” dean gasped, a lopsided grin on his face. “that… that all you—” you cut him off with another punishing thrust.

minutes dragged on. you fucked him mercilessly, sweat dripping down your back, never once letting yourself slip over the edge.

dean came once, then again, the table smeared with his release. his voice was wrecked, his knees buckling, his body shaking — but you still didn’t stop.

his head lolled back against your shoulder. “jesus— fuck, how are you— still— still going?”

“because,” you hissed, “i’m not done with you.” dean whimpered — a sound you never thought you’d hear from him. “gonna breed you,” you said low. “gonna pump you so full you won’t be able to walk, let alone smart off.”

“f-fuck you,” dean croaked, though there was no heat left in it. you sped up, finally, slamming into him so hard the table scraped against the floor.

“beg,” you said.

dean shook his head.

“beg for it,” you growled, tightening your grip on his throat.

his resolve cracked. “please— fuck, please, just—”

you groaned against his ear, shoving deep one last time and finally letting go, spilling into him. you held him there, pressed tight against you, until the aftershocks faded. dean sagged forward, a sweaty, trembling mess, come dripping from him onto the floor. you stayed inside him as you whispered, “got anything smart to say now?”

dean managed a breathless laugh. “…t’was so worth it.”

“mhm? was it?” you murmured with a breath, slowly dragging your cock out of him and then pushing in again.

oh.

dean let out a small breathless gasp, bracing his forearms against the table as your hands slid down to his hips.

“jus’ for good measure.” you said simply and started thrusting again, your pace turning harsh and deep quickly.

dean’s hands were clenched into weak fists, his forehead hitting the wood with a dull thud. “ah— fuck!” he mewled, pushing his hips back to meet yours in a stuttery, shaky motion. “i’m going to fuck you into the damn table,” you said in a whisper, thumbs pressing to the small of his back.

you slowed suddenly, keeping yourself buried deep. dean writhed under you, hating the sudden loss of friction.

“no, no, no, don’t you dare stop—” he babbled out, voice whiny.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” you say as you move a hand to the nape of his neck, pressing him into the table. the angle shifts, and you’re abusing his prostate once more.

“mmmhh— mh- ah, fuck.. fuck— fuckin’ hell.. shit!” he moaned loudly as his hand scrabbled backward, fingertips brushing at your hip. he couldn’t even decide what he wanted — push you away or claw you closer — so he just clutched at you helplessly, nails digging into your skin.

“you like that?” you whispered against the back of his neck, pulling almost all the way out, slow and deliberate, until only the tip of you was left inside him. “say it. say you like it.” dean shook his head wildly, even as he arched back for more. “i— nngh— hate it,” he lied, teeth gritted. “fucking hate it.”

“liar,” you said, and slammed back in so deep his breath left him in a rush.

his whole body jerked, a strangled sob escaping his throat. “fuck— fuck— goddammit, sir—” the last word came out unbidden, almost a curse, half-mocking and half-broken.

that got a low laugh out of you, mean and pleased. “there it is,” you purred, pace picking up. “go on. keep calling me that. let’s see how long you last.”

“sir,” he gasped again, this time spitting it like venom— trying to mock you, to get a rise out of you.

you bent low over him, your chest pressing to his back, your hand still keeping him pinned. “you really want to play that game right now?”

“yes,” he panted, though it sounded more like a sob.

so you gave him what he asked for. your thrusts came faster, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing around the room. he was already a wreck and you weren’t even close to done.

dean’s arms gave out, folding under him so he was lying flat on the table, hips up, taking everything you gave him with no leverage to fight it.

“too much?” you asked, voice soft, teasing, just to watch him shake his head violently.

“not— not enough,” he forced out. “come on, that all you- got?”

you smirked, biting down on his shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. “careful. i can keep going long after you’re wrung dry.”

“you won’t,” dean panted, ever the brat. “you’re all ba-bark.”

you stopped moving again, just stayed buried inside him.

the sound he made was pure agony.

“no, no, no— fuck, please don’t—don’t stop,” he tried to wiggle back against you, desperate, but your grip was iron.

“you sure?” you murmured. “you sure that’s what you want?”

“yes! please, please,” he babbled.

“beg properly.”

there was a long pause, broken only by dean’s shuddering breaths. then, hoarse and reluctant: “please, sir.”

that was all you needed. you pulled out and slammed back in so hard his body jolted forward on the table.

he screamed.

you set a brutal rhythm, fucking him through his own moans, through the wet squelch of sweat-slick skin, through the way he kept trying to hide his face in his arm. every thrust wrung another sound out of him, every hit to his prostate making him see white.

and you still weren’t close to finishing.

“cum for me,” you growled into his ear.

“i—i can’t—i just—” his words dissolved into a wail as his cock jerked untouched, another orgasm ripped out of him with nowhere to go but the ruined papers below.

he collapsed entirely this time, boneless, but you didn’t let up. you just kept moving, riding out his release and pushing him straight into overstimulation.

“can’t— can’t—” he gasped, his voice breaking.