"Actually, I can already drive, Dean. The great state of California says so."
Dean ignores you, pulling open the driver's door and making a sweeping motion to guide you in. Even though you're avoiding his eyes, you know for sure he's making a face. Petulantly, you toe the worn front tire of the Impala before unfolding your arms and dragging yourself to where he stands.
This 'lesson' was Dean's idea. He's grown more and more paranoid concerned about you driving your motorbike around town, but still he's not ready to let you drive his precious Impala...not without teaching you a thing or two about how to treat her right.
"This is ridiculous," you mumble, quickly tugging at the lapel of his surplus jacket. When he moves forward, you briefly brush your lips across his and dip into the car.
You watch as Dean's cheeks lift with a smile he tries to smothers, and then he's walking around Baby's front to sit in the passenger seat. And boy is it weird; he's almost like a different person from this angle. He catches you staring at him, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, and gives you a quick wink before handing over the keys.
It goes awful. No one pegs Dean as a particularly sensitive guy but, man, is he touchy about that car. You'd think the thing was made of handspun glass, the way he was going on about it. You've got to put the key in the engine softly. And don't turn it like that! Don't hit the brakes so hard. Don't punch the gas. You don't need to shift gears that rough. Easy on the wheel. Easy on those corners! You're driving too close to other cars! You almost swiped the side mirror!
"Dean! I don't care!" Two hours of Dean yelling and grumbling about your driving skills, or lack thereof, and you were about ready to take a flying leap from the moving vehicle. "If you think my driving sucks that bad, it's fine! I don't need a car! I don't need the Impala."
"Well, you can't keep riding that bike! The whole thing is impractical!"
"You act like it's a ten speed Huffy! It's a motorcycle, Dean. Lots of people use motorcycles. They're small and fast. Easy to hide. Easy to maneuver. Great for hunting. It's not a bad way to get around."
"It's not safe!" Dean yells. "There's no cargo hold and absolutely no protection. You're just as likely to die from a fucking cold driving that thing around as you are a rogue werewolf in pursuit. You can't sleep in it. You can't hide in it. You're a hunter; you need something more substantial! Sometimes your ride has to be your home and that bike definitely can't be it."
"Whatever." You brush your fingers roughly through your hair, frustrated with Dean's diatribe and just ready to let the conversation go. "Let's just take a break with this."
You drive in silence for a while, until a sign for a rest-stop comes to view. Dean taps your fingers and tilts his head in it's direction, signalling you to take the next exit. When you get there, you see it's just an empty truck-stop; nothing but some parking spaces, a dingy restroom, and a turn-around point. You put the car in 'park' and unbuckle your seatbelt, twirling your finger briefly in the air to let Dean know you're ready for a switch. You don't wait for him to respond before opening the door and stepping out into cool air.
When you get to the passenger side, Dean's stood in the open doorway, arms leaning against the open window frame. He reaches for you, tugs at your hand to pull you closer.
"Hey," he says, rubbing his thumb across the inside of your wrist. He presses against you so your body's lined up against his, the warmth of him heating you up. "I'm just tryna look out for you, you know?"
You nod against his shoulder, nose buried against the rough material of his jacket's collar, cold metal of a button pressing against your cheek. His hand fiddles with your fingers between the two of you and you step into him, wrapping your free arm around his waist.
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
You can feel his arm reaching around you and his fingertips creeping along the hemline of your sweater, skimming across the small of your back.
"You're not ready to head to back the bunker yet, are you?" he asks, voice hopeful.
You shake your head, kissing lightly across his exposed throat before rubbing your lips against the skin there. "No, not yet."
Pushing you backwards, he moves you both out of the doorway and shuts it behind him before opening the backdoor and pushing you in. "Come on," he says, as a small smile builds against his mouth.
"Dean," you warn half-heartedly, already climbing into the backseat and shuffling over to the center.
The minute the door closes behind him, he's on you, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your lips. His tongue slides across your lips, probing into your mouth and sliding against yours. The kiss is wet, salacious, and stokes a fire in your belly. You moan against him, hands working quickly to shed his jacket and layers. His fingertips press against your sides as he slides your sweatshirt over your head, exposing your chest. He smiles, leaning forward, hot mouth closing over one nipple and thumb pressing lightly against the other. When his hand slides down into your leggings and finds you wet and wanting, the word perfect is spoken softly into your skin.
Dean quickly divests you of the rest of your clothes before plunging two fingers into your wet center. The rumble that erupts from his chest vibrates against you and leaves you pushing your hips forcefully against his waiting hand.
Suddenly he slows. His fingers only barely moving within you and his thumb brushing against you absently. You can't help the strangled plea that escapes your lips. "Please." Your hips rock forward, trying to create needed fiction.
"Please what, baby?" Dean whispers quietly.
"Dean," you breathe, "Please." Your hands wrap around his wrist as you try to move his unyielding arm forward. He doesn't budge.
"Beg." His voice is low and dark, and sends a jolt of desire that buzzes just underneath your skin. His hand grips your breast and slides down, smoothing over you stomach, and resting on your hip.
"Please. Pleasepleaseplease. Fuck, Dean. Don't stop."
His fingers pump into you with renewed vigor. His thumb brushing hastily against your clit. The way he's pulling his fingers out of you, dragging them heavily against your walls, and pushing them forcefully back in, leaves your stomach tensing and then, your whole body follows suit. You come, your back arched and taut, legs tight around his waist, and arm thrown across Dean's strong shoulders, hugging his body to yours.
"Shit." You fall back against the seat, head landing soundly on the cushioned seat. Dean's harsh breath is loud in your ear, his fingers still buried within you. When you have a moment to catch your breath, you feel the weight of his cock laying stiffly against you. You bring your hand between the two of you, moving past his fingers still sweeping lazily across your clit, and reach for him. You slide into his open jeans, knuckles pressing against the soft skin of his lower belly, and wrap your hand around him. He's hot and hard in your palm, but hisses and pulls away.
"Waitwait. Don't. Not yet," he mumbles into your neck, pushing up onto his knees so he's no longer touching you.
You watch, breath heaving, as he pushes his pants down over his knees, freeing one leg and leaving the crumpled fabric wrapped around his other ankles. Then his hand is wrapping roughly around himself, pumping once (then twice) as leans forward to hover over you. He reaches past your head, pressing open the door's ash tray and pulling out a shiny packet. He rips it open with his teeth and carelessly throws the wrapper behind him.
"Let me," you whisper, fingers tangling with his as you pull the condom from his grip. "Let me."
You can feel his breath on your neck as your trembling, anxious hands grip his cock and you pump him firmly. "Now," he grunts, hips jerking forward, and you roll it smoothly on.
He slowly sinks into you, finding you hot and wet and ready. Your legs fold up closer around him, knees squeezing his sides just under his armpits, and a low groan catches in your throat. You can feel the car steaming up, sweating beading between your bodies like dew. Dean's calloused hands slides down your sides, stopping on your hips and resting there firmly. He shifts his weight so you're pinned down beneath him and when you sit up, you can see as he pushes into you and slowly pulls back out.
"Fuck. Dean. Yes." Your head falls back and he leans forward to capture your neck between his teeth.
His palm moves across your body, landing on your lower belly and pressing down softly. "Good?" His voice is just a whisper against your skin.
"So good."
"Tell me what you want?" he rasps in your ear.
The answer is automatic. "You."
He grunts, his hips snapping into you. "Be specific, baby."
"Dean…"
His hands curves around your hips, resting against the small of your back and pulling your body flush against his. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Shit." Your body clenches around him and you shift your chest, feeling your nipples brush against him.
"Is that what you want, baby? Want me to make you come?"
"Yesyesyes." It falls from your lips like a prayer. "Please, Dean."
He pushes harder, hips slapping into you with bruising force. "Come on," he mumbles into your skin. "Come on, baby. Let go for me. Please," he begs. "I wanna feel you come all over my cock." His finger presses into your clit and his cock drags against a sensitive spot that has you squeezing around him.
"Dean!" you cry out, spurring him on - faster, harder - and then you're shattering around him, leaving a wet mess between your legs.
He pulls out quickly, running his hands gently up and down your thighs as you recuperate. When he reaches for you again, sliding his hands across your sensitive, wet mound, you quickly snap your knees shut between you and shakily push his fingers away. "Nonono. Wait. Wait! It's too much."
Dean only smiles softly above you, placing his palms against your knees and gently prying them apart. "It's okay," he coos, kissing just inside your knees and making his way down your thighs. "I got you."
You try closing your legs again, but his broad shoulders are in the way. Then he licks a broad wet stripe across your sensitive lips and your body spasm around him, your hips arching up to meet his mouth. He pulls back a moment later, straightening and touching your hip. "Flip over," he orders gently. Your knees, damp with sweat, slip against the leather as you try to kneel before him and your hand shoots out to steady yourself, pressing against the back of the driver's seat. Before you've have time to properly regain your balance, Dean's arm is around your waist and he's sliding sloppily into you.
"Fuck," you hiss, feeling every inch of him as he pushes. When he's fully sheathed, his arm squeezes back, lifting you just an inch so you're fully pressed back against him. His fingers tickle teasingly against you as he presses his face into the back of your neck.
"I want you bare," he says this as he pulls out and slowly pushes back into you. "Can I?"
You push back against him, rocking shallowly as you consider it.
"Please," he begs, voice breaking as he turns to nip at your shoulder. "I want you. Just you. I wanna…I wanna feel you, girl."
He pulls out, giving himself a moment to calm down before sliding back in, and then you feel his lips moving against the nape of your neck. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease…"
Your leg trembles as you nod your consent.
He pulls out - the quiet of the moment allowing you to hear the embarrassing, wet, squelch of his absence - removes the barrier and then slowly, reverently eases back into you. Your head lowers as he pushes deeper and you can feel his exhale against your neck as he holds you closer.
"Perfect," he says again, his chest pressed against your back as fully as the cramped space allows. "Fucking perfect."
He rocks into you, breathing shallow and heavy. Your own chest heaves with each push and you feel your muscles flex against him. You start pushing against him rapidly as his thrusts get erratic. His fingers digs into your hips and sweat slides down your temples, your thighs, and throat. He places one hand over yours and laces your fingers against the car seat, grip almost bruising.
"Close," Dean chokes out, nails cutting into you. He pushes one of your knees off the seat, opening your legs wider. "Touch yourself," he orders.
His pace is unforgiving and your body is sore, but you're close too. Your fingers fumble over your clit and it's so sensitive, you almost pull away. It only takes a few swipes of your fingers and Dean's firm thrusts before you're coming, screaming, and he's right behind you, mumbling, "Loveyouloveyouloveyou," before he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, breaking the skin.
Before he can collapse, Dean quickly pulls out and flips you over, pushing you down onto the seat before positioning himself back inside you. Then he falls against you, head against the nook at your neck, and heart beating rapidly against yours.
You fall asleep, Dean's body heavy and warm on top of you and still fully seated inside you. There's an undeniable ache already pulsating at your center and you know that'll be a bitch to deal with later. Still, you can't bring yourself to regret how today's driving lesson turned out.