We all know Dean is the king of one night stands. What if he met his match?
Pairing: DeanxReader
Contents: Language, flirting, fluff, smut.
Snow was falling, drifting hazily onto his head as he walked down the sidewalk from his motel to the first bar he could find. Okay, the second one. The first was a bar full of old, grizzled bikers, and though he was sure they could be entertaining, he wasn't in the mood for that particular brand of fun.
Dean and Sam had just gotten done with a pretty awful hunt. There had been five vamps instead of three, one had almost gotten Sam, and the victim, a young kidnapped girl, had turned before they could get to her. They'd lost her.
It was Christmas Eve, which was always a hard time for both of them, especially now that their dad, and Ellen, Jo, and Bobby were all gone. It felt lonely.
Sam had gone back to the room to do whatever it was Sam did. Read, sleep, study obscure 13th century Russian literature. Who knew with that guy.
Dean, he was going out. All he wanted to do right now was drink some strong whiskey and hit on a waitress, or five waitresses. Or ALL the waitresses.
He slid onto a stool in a mid sized, dimly lit bar. It was a little bit less of a dive than he was used to, but whatever. He could see the bottles of whiskey lining the shelves, so in his opinion, it was a good bar.
A blonde waitress strutted up to him. Her top was cut extremely low, and she had a name tag on. "Jennifer."
"What'll you have, handsome?" She asked him, leaning down on the bar so he could get a better look and she could get some better tips. Dean was smart enough to know that the women working the bars were strictly business. They knew how to use what they had, and he frankly thought that was pretty wise. He could respect that.
"Whiskey. Double."
He'd been in the bar for a few minutes when a stranger sat down next to him.
"What'll it be, honey?" The large breasted waitress asked, leaning down in front of you. You tossed your satchel onto the bar, took a look down the waitresses shirt, and looked at the man sitting beside you. "What he's having." He notices you looking, and you smile.
"Put it on my tab." He nods at the waitress. She pours the drink and leaves you two to yourselves. "I'm Dean."
"(y/n)" you reply, holding out your hand. He shakes it. He has a good handshake. His hands are rough, but not too rough. He's good looking in a rugged sort of way, with the greenest eyes you've ever seen. You know why he's in a bar on Christmas Eve by himself. And you know he knows why you are, too. You turn your body towards him, and cross one leg over the other. "So what brings you out so late on Christmas Eve?"
He smiles. "I'd ask you the same thing."
You shrug. "Not much of a holiday person, I guess." You say, trailing your finger around the edge of your glass.
"Same here. I needed a drink. A few maybe." He's now moved and his knee is touching yours. "You want to move to a booth?" You nod, and find a dim booth over in the corner. He slides in, inviting you to join him on the same side. Smiling to yourself, you do.
"I didn't imagine I'd meet anyone quite as... striking... out tonight, to be honest." He pulls a cheesy line.
"Oh honey, don't play games."
"But seriously, you're super hot. I don't have that luck all the time." He's thrown a casual arm around you and is whispering into your ear. You can feel his breath tickle your earlobe.
"I'm batting a thousand tonight too, I'd say." You turn towards him. You've never been timid. You bring your lips to his in a gentle kiss, surprising him a little."
"What was that for?" He pulls back a bit, shocked. You point up. There's a small sprig of mistletoe above the booth. He smiles wolfishly, and leans back in for another kiss. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, and his slide up your back, and one of them begins inching up the outside of your thigh, over your tights but under your skirt. You bite his bottom lip, a little harder than you expected, and his tongue slips into your mouth. Breathless, you pull back and look at him. You've messed up his hair. "Let's get out of here?" He says, only half a question.
"I was counting on it." You say, picking up your bag. He pays the bartender, grasps your hand, and leads you outside. "Are you around here?" You ask him.
"I am... but so is my brother. At the motel down the street." He replies, pointing. "Are you?"
"I'm down the street the other way. Different motel." He looks at you. "In town for business." You explain.
The two of you walk towards your motel, hand in hand, in the falling snow. You open the door with your keycard- he is already behind you, his hands sliding up your body. You giggle, getting the door open. As soon as it's closed again, it's a mad rush.
Dean slams you against a wall, pressing the full length of his body hard against you. His kisses are deep and sensuous. You know you're getting lipgloss all over the place. He shrugs out of his leather jacket and it hits the floor. You run your hands up his abdomen and chest, pulling off the henley he was wearing, and toss it somewhere out of sight in the room. Soon your dress is off, over your head, lost in the darkness as well. He grabs you and lifts you up- you wrap your legs around him and he tosses you on the bed. Pants are off, and suddenly he's above you, all of him. He's lean and muscular, and his eyes are dark and it looks like he's seeing into your soul.
"You're forgetting something." You remind him. You know he's got one, a condom, somewhere in his possessions. He moves away for a minute, and is back quickly.
"I'd never forget that." He smiles goofily. "Knowledge is power!"
You giggle as he begins to kiss your neck, down your collar bone. He reaches behind you and unhooks your bra in one expert motion. "That was smooth, sir." You smile, nipping his ear.
"Shush, you." He admonishes playfully, sliding his hands up your breasts. Fire zings through your body as places a nipple in his mouth. You've been with men before, but this one is magic.
"Dean." You moan. He smiles, pinching your nipple gently between his teeth.
"You want me to stop?" He asks, grinning.
"Definitely not." You wrap a leg up around him, and flip over so you're on top. You lower your body on top of his, skin to skin, and whisper into his ear. "I'm not one for much foreplay. Let's get down to business."
At hearing this, he smiles a huge smile. "I'm ready when you are."
You slide down onto him, slowly, and he draws in a short breath. He fills you up, and you begin moving up and down rhythmically, grinding slowly onto his body. You have his hands hostage above his head. He pretends to struggle for a minute, then closes his eyes, breathing hard. He moves his hips so his pelvis comes up to meet yours, every thrust deeper.
Suddenly he grabs your hips and you are on your back again. He pulls out and dips back into you super slowly, leaning down to kiss you at the same time. He builds up speed, his arms braced against the wall above your head. He starts to moan. "I'm getting close."
You wrap your legs tightly around his hips, pulling him as tightly against you as you can, feeling his release. He slumps down on top of you, breathing hard. "Oh my God." He whispers.
After a few seconds, he props himself up on his elbow. "You didn't come."
You shrug. You came close, but it didn't happen this time. "You can still fix that problem." You say playfully. He smiles an evil smile, moving down the length of your body
"I don't leave my women wanting." He says, dipping his head and kissing your inner thigh. He kisses his way to your center, and flicks it with his tongue. It sends a jolt through you. "Maybe I should keep searching..." He teases.
"NO!" You respond. "You definitely found it." You start to pant as he runs his tongue over and around, gradually pushing harder and moving faster. Just when you think you're on edge, he slides two fingers gently into you, and that sends you over the top. Your legs wrap around his shoulders and you press him against you until the waves of pleasure cease. Finally, you lay still, breathing hard. He climbs up next to you.
You look at the clock on the bedside table. It reads 1:14 am. Dean follows your line of vision, and the bends over to kiss you, pulling you closer against him as he does. "Merry Christmas, (y/n)." He says.
Days later you think of him. He left in the morning after a slow, drawn out round of morning sex, and a kiss goodbye. No illusions, and that was fine with both of you. But you hope that this Christmas was good for him, and that you both provided some shelter from whatever it is you're both running from. You look up at the snowy sky and smile. You never even got his last name.