#skill issue

“Dean give me that!” you said, trying to reach for it but he blocked you.

“What this?” he teased as you swiped once more, your fingers barely grazing his hand.

“It’s not funny!” you grunted, your cheeks on fire. Dean didn’t seem to notice; he was enjoying your embarrassment too much.

“Oh come on don’t be embarrassed. It’s fine, I get it, you know everyone needs a little release now and then,” he laughed, turning to get out of your way. But you weren’t even registering him now, you were serious. It wasn’t funny. The embarrassment of someone, especially Dean, seeing that made you want the ground to swallow you up.

“Give it!” you grunted as you thumped him, toppling him onto the bed. He kept it buried underneath him as you straddled his back, trying to swipe your hands under the solidness of his torso.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he said, flipping you with one roll. He landed on his back, stashing the toy beneath him as you scrambled to get over him again. But his hands caught yours, holding you tight enough by the wrists that they just flapped, swiping at his face which only made him laugh harder.

“You want it back that bad huh? Wow, didn’t have you down as a toy kinda girl,” he teased. You weren’t listening. You were sure you looked a state now. Your hair was all over and you had a sheen of sweat from how frantic you’d been and you were sure that your cheeks were near the colour of the offending object, hidden underneath him.

“Dean give it,” you said, and then, in one last ditch attempt you shifted your knee in a way that made him drop your hands on instinct, his own hovering over his crown jewels as you fell, hand swooping underneath his back so you could fish it out. It was a dirty move, dirtier still if you’d actually gone through with it but you weren’t at that stage just yet. Once it was safely in your grasp you scrambled off him, scowling as you stuffed it back in your bag.

“Oh, come on I was just messin with ya,” Dean said, lying spent on the bed, a grin still on his face though you refused to stop pouting. Your heart was hammering in your chest though you knew you were being ridiculous, that he was just joking. Of course it was natural, you knew that. You also weren’t naïve to think that he and Sam never found moments to themselves at the bunker or in the dingy motels you stayed in. But right now you couldn’t see the funny side, couldn’t join in on his teasing. Because this was Dean.

Dean who told silly jokes to make you laugh or teased you a little until you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. Dean who laughed when you did, his grin burning bright like the sun in a way that you couldn’t help but stare at. Dean who put his hand on your thigh when you were driving like it was nothing. Dean whose touch felt like it would melt your skin, leaving a mark only you could feel. Leaving behind an ache that you could never get rid of. Dean who didn’t need to do that. Dean who went out and found someone to warm his bed for the night when he was lonely. Dean who made you lonely when he chose to do that. Dean who crept into your thoughts when you were alone in the bunker. His smile, his touch, the way he looked at you making you reach for the tiny pink helper which was nothing in comparison to him.

He called your name but you didn’t listen, you just swung your duffle on your shoulder and muttered that you’d meet him at the car. Dean sighed and flopped back on the bed, hoping you’d forgive him before you made it over state lines.

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The road home was long but straight. Two lane black top edged by dense forests for nothing but the next two hundred miles. It had been pretty at first, but the thickness of the trees meant the radio reception was spotty to say the least and given that you had refused to speak for the last two hours, your eyes glued to your phone through the intermittent periods of silence, it was painfully awkward.  

You could feel Dean watching you, his eyes leaving the road every couple of minutes to glance your way, shifting like he was going to say something before he thought better of it. It was only when the radio cut out for good did he clear his throat, waiting for you to look at him. You didn’t. Dean sighed.

“Are you still not talking to me?” he grumbled. You looked at him with a glare before you turned back at your phone, scrolling through your Facebook looking for someone who’s life was even bigger of a mess than yours to make yourself feel better. Dean huffed, “oh c’mon. It’s not a big deal.’

“You were out of line,” you muttered.

“It was a joke,” he reasoned, earning himself another glare, “I didn’t mean anything by it, honestly. It’s not a big deal, we all do it. It’s natural.”

“So? I don’t bring up every long shower and extended car ride you take, do I?” you said.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind,” he shrugged, “because I’m grown up enough to know it’s not a big deal. Whatever you do in your room-”

“Is none of your business,” you snapped. Your phone was forgotten now, slung to the side as folded your arms across your chest, trying to keep yourself together. You could feel the tightness in your chest, the embarrassment from before creeping back in. Dean shifted. He could see you were getting self-conscious, your cheeks tinging pink like they always did when you were nervous. It was how he knew he’d fucked up, knew he needed to back track and steer the pair of you back on course. One that didn’t make you torture him by shutting him out.

 “Look I’m sorry okay,” he said quietly, clearing his throat, “I didn’t mean to tease you…it just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed. Dean shifted, looking awkward himself as he said, “you know…I just didn’t think you’d need a hand in that department.”

“I don’t,” you laughed in disbelief. You couldn’t believe you were having this conversation, that you were telling him about this. The pair of you never talked about sex, not really, not yours anyway. Dean made jokes or showed up with hickeys from nights before but it was never mentioned. He did it to make Sam squirm or roll his eyes. When you mentioned a man he changed the subject, like the thought of you doing anything like that was ludicrous. Like you were some kid.

Still now you felt the need to explain yourself. That you weren’t some sex-crazed teenager who took every opportunity to lock herself away because she couldn’t bring herself to trawl dive bars like he did.

“It’s just quicker sometimes. You and Sam are just kind always around and sometimes…well sometimes it’s hard to be…” you trailed off, ears bright red, watching as Dean waited expectantly, before the word slipped out, “quiet.”

Dean looked at you, mouth agape as the words lingered in the car between you, a thousand images running through his head. He shifted, trying to ignore he way his jeans felt distinctly tighter than they had a moment ago. You continued to look at him, that beautiful clueless look you always gave him whenever you said something that unknowingly drove him wild.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he lied, looking back to the road as he tried to focus. But the road was deserted, an expanse of asphalt, bleak and boring and no match for the thoughts in his head. He could still feel you, writhing against him, all hands and heavy breath against his neck as you fought for the damn thing. Now he could feel your eyes on him, a grin growing on your face as you chuckled.

“What?” he panicked.

“Nothing,” you said, breathing that adorable laugh you did whenever he caught you off guard with a joke.

“No c’mon,” he demanded, heat creeping up his neck.

“I just, I thought I was flustered but you’re downright embarrassed,” you giggled.

“No, I’m not,” he scoffed.

“Oh, come on Dean. Like you said it’s natural besides don’t tell me you’ve never had…help,” you said.

“Never need it sweetheart,” he rebutted. You rolled your eyes, “you know it’s a friend not an enemy right? Nothing to be scared of.”

 “Oh shut up,” he said, though he didn’t want you to. He’d take all the teasing in the world if it meant hearing that giggle. If it meant you’d keep talking to him like this. You’d never done it before. He couldn’t stomach it. Hearing you talk about other men, how they touched you, got to hear all those noises you made. Loud ones apparently. Well he couldn’t cope with that.

“Clearly you just don’t know what you’re doing,” he countered, “you need more practice.”

“Oh yeah should I get it down to a tight five minutes like you?” you asked.

“Efficiency, when needed, is a skill,” he said proudly.

“Right,” you drawled, “and it’s nothing to do with-”

You trailed off, going quiet as you looked out the window. He glanced over, confused at whatever you’d stopped yourself from saying, your fingers fiddling with a hole in your jeans awkwardly. Dean frowned, “what?”

“Nothing, never mind,” you muttered.

“No go on princess,” he challenged, “out with it.”

You hesitated, not meeting his eye as you said, “well you’re not exactly complicated, guys, I mean. It’s not really a skill…”

“Is that right?” he said.

“Yeah, I mean a stiff breeze could get your motor running,” you said.

“That’s what you think huh?” he asked, jaw ticking. He couldn’t help but take it personally, that you saw him as some horny teenage boy. When you had no idea. No idea how he tried his best not to fawn over you, how every move or look made that heat pool in his belly. How he’d had to shove it all down, only allowing himself to dwell on all that when he had a moment to himself. How it wasn’t just anyone who did it, it was just them he had to run to because he couldn’t put that all on you. It wasn’t fair. You meant too much to him and he couldn’t ruin that.

You seemed to notice how you’d upset him but you didn’t apologise, just persisted in the way you did, the way he normally liked as you sighed, “oh come on! are you really gonna pretend I’m wrong here? How many girls do you bed on average per week? You only have to think about sex and you're out the damn door! And then you make fun of me for having one fuckin’ vice on the rare occasion I get the bunker or the motel to myself-”

Dean had stopped listening, the impala turning down a long dirt road in the middle of the thicket. You stopped your ranting, confused as to what the hell was doing as you demanded, "Dean where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, just put the car in park and looked at you. You could feel your heart pounding, in a different way to before, the look in his eyes making you squirm as you realised you’d upset him.

"You really think that?" he asked.

"Think what?"

"That I'm like that," he replied.

"Dean, I have eyes," you sighed. Was he really taking issue with this? Did he think you'd never noticed? That it didn't drive you crazy to watch his endless pursuit of anything that moved?

"And you never wondered why?" he laughed. 

"Why what?" you snapped, wondering what you were missed.

"You don't see it, do you?" he said, looking at you like he couldn't believe how dense you were.

"Dean what are you talking about-"

"It's you!," he cried, "it's not random! I'm not obsessed with sex; I'm obsessed with you!"

"What?" you whispered.

"The way you look at me. The way you smile or roll your damn eyes at me when I'm trying to make you laugh. You touch me all the time and don't even notice and then I'm like a fuckin' twelve-year-old poppin' his first boner. And I can't think, can't function 'cause I'm thinking of you all the fuckin' time-"

"Dean," you breathed.

"And then I watch you on cases, at bars or whatever. The way guys look at you, it makes me want to rip their damn heads off but you're so fuckin' nice you never see it. So I just pretend it doesn't bother me, pretend it's not driving me insane. Find a cheap skirt or a bar to stop thinking about you," he ranted, his chest heaved, words coming out without him giving permission. He seemed to realise all too late he'd said too much but he was too far gone, too broken from watching you just gawk at him like he was crazy, "have you never wondered why we don't talk about this shit? It's because the thought of you with someone else, hell even that stupid fuckin' thing might make my head explode-"

His words were cut off as you launched yourself at him, crashing your lips to his. He took a moment to respond, to comprehend what you were doing but then he moved against you, pulling you closer as you as he held your face in his hands. It was hot, heavy and left you breathless, his hands like fire against your bare skin as the pulled at your hips.

“What was that for?” Dean breathed as you broke away, forehead pressed to his, your chest heaving but so full of fervour you didn’t care. You laughed, your thumb sweeping across his jaw, his big green eyes wide with disbelief. And he called you clueless.

“Dean who did you think I was thinking about?” you asked, pressing a kiss where your hand had been, his stubble rough against your lips as you moved to whisper in his ear, “you’re right. I don’t notice any of them. It you, it’s always you I notice. You I want instead of that thing-”

That was it. Without warning he pulled you onto his lap, lips returning to the assault as you squealed his name. He didn’t stop, just kept kissing you as you pressed yourself to him, making him groan as his hands found their way under your shirt and found nothing but bare skin.

“You trying to kill me,’” he grunted, hips bucking against you as he took your nipple between his fingers. You moaned, you thighs clenching together as the heat in your belly started to grow, desire chugging away at rapid pace. As his mouth moved your neck his hands continued downward, the layers between you yanked away until he was touching you, fingers burying inside you without warning. 

“You’re fucking soaked,” he said with a breathy laugh, “here I was thinking you were just clueless. This what fighting with me does to you honey?”

“Fighting, arguing, hell just looking at you,” you breathed, rocking forward until his hand flat was against you, sounding slick and desperately filthy as his thumb found your clit.

“And to think I’ve been running to bash one out every time you smiled at me,” he panted, sucking against that sweet spot on your neck that made you see stars. You didn’t know how your brain managed to function, to come to from the ecstasy that was building by the minute but his words and the way you could feel him, straining against his jeans, begging for you pulled you to reality. Your hands moved to his belt fumbling to get him out but he grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

“Dean,” you whined, entirely too needy, you could see by the way his eyes glinted. He always did like teasing you too much. 

“Nuh uh sweetheart. I’m gonna make you regret ever thinking this isn’t pure skill,” he said, grinding he heel of his hand down against you, the friction making you clench around him. 

“Oh god,’” you cried, rocking needily in tandem with it, your mouth barely working against his as he worked you, sloppy and desperate. It was everything you’d ever wanted and more, something you were sure he never did with those girls.

“Actually the names Dean,” he teased, laughing as you still managed to roll your eyes. Even here, a quivering wreck barely managing to string a sentence together he was still trying to make you smile. 

“Shut up,” you panted because that was all you could muster, your release was coming, tightening around him, you nails in digging into his shoulder.

“That’s it baby,” he cooed taking in the sight of you. Maybe he should’ve talked about this with you before because no matter what you said he was sure no one had ever gotten you like this before, slack jawed half lidded and moaning his name like it was a god damn prayer. Not even that stupid toy could make you feel like this he was sure if it.

You came with a whimper, a gush over his hand that could’ve made him blow his load right then and there. He was sure at some points he’d come close. And that was just by watching you, the way you giggled when he teased Sam or how you put your hand on his arm to get past him in the kitchen in what he now realised was plenty of space. But now, as you collapsed against him all heaving chest and loose limbs it was all he could do not to throw you on the seat and bury himself until you’d taken everything he had. But you just rested against him, lips branding his skin as you mumbled expletives.  

“You good?” he chuckled, holding you tighter as he wiped his other hand on his jeans.

“That was…” you couldn’t finish. Couldn’t make the right words for that form in your brain.

“Worth the wait?” he whispered, his lips muffled by your hair.

“Annoyed we could’ve done it sooner,” you countered. Dean chuckled; you weren’t wrong. You pulled back, smiley and happy, your fingers running through is hair and down his flannel until they rested, fiddling with his belt.

“So,” you smiled.

“So,” Dean replied,

“Back seat?” you suggested,

“Definitely,” he said leaning up to kiss you once more “but first I’m gonna need an apology.”

“What for?” you giggled.

“Well by my watch, Mr No Skills got Little Miss Complex here from arguing to a puddle in five minutes flat,” he grinned, smug as anything.

“Oh shut up!” you said thumping him on the chest but he caught your wrist pulling you against him so he could kiss you again , “not a chance.”

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dean winchester tags

@caitlin1996