Date Night
Summary: It's date night and Dean has a perfect idea.
Warnings: smut, fluff, talk of menstrual cycles (no blood).
W/C: 1.2k
Bingo: anyfandomgoesbingo Square Filled: Dean Winchester
Characters: Dean Winchester, unnamed fem!Reader (she/her - no body type or ethnicity described). Mentioned: Sam Winchester.
Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader.
A/N: Apparently the hormones were raging and I was feeling some type of way cause I had an angsty idea for this square, I opened a doc and this smluffy fest happened.
Artist: slytherkins
The twinges of pain in her lower abdomen can't be ignored. The back to back hunts; werewolf, witch, a wendigo and then a djin all in the space of 3 weeks meant there had been no time to be crippled with menstrual cramps and her body knew it. But once the glorious heat and pressure of the bunker showers hit her skin she felt the unmistakable ache. Had she had a moment to think, she'd have realized it would happen today of all days.
She doesn't bother to turn to find the source of the fleeting cold draft on her wet back. The solid warmth of Dean presses against her, arms slipping around her waist and the heat of the water is nothing compared to the fire his homely touch ignites inside of her.
He nips her earlobe, kisses the spot right below it and his happy hum vibrates through her. "Thought we could get an early start on date night," he says, hands splayed across her stomach holding her in place to grind against her ass.
"I wish I could," she whines, "but I think I'm getting my period."
"Ah, it's been a stressful few weeks, your body knows we've slowed down," he says, reaching for the shampoo bottle.
His fingers entangle in her hair and he massages her scalp until there's a trail of white soapy bubbles travelling down her back.
The calloused hands that have rebuilt Baby, killed and maimed, are so gentle and precise as he lathers lavender body wash around her breasts. His eyes lead his hands as he drops to his knees, he draws a soapy heart around her belly button and proceeds to clean her legs, all the way to the tips of her toes.
He pays special attention to her inner thighs, massaging the muscles firmly and letting his knuckles teasingly brush against her folds.
She pours shampoo into her hands and Dean smirks up at her, "oh, the expensive stuff," he says, "I must be doing something right."
"Hhmm, not yet," she winks, "but here's hoping."
She uses her expensive shampoo to wash his hair. He lifts his chin looking up at her and it's as if he's praying at her feet. He holds her hips, eyes slipping closed while she alternates between scraping her nails across his scalp and using her fingertips to soothe the scratch.
Sharing a motel room with Sam, working cases; interviewing victims and suspects, finding the culprits, killing the monsters, there hadn't been much time for intimacy. A few quickies in the back of the Impala had sated basic needs. There hadn't been a chance for meticulous and calculated caresses or taking the time to seduce one another. Each encounter had been rough and fast.
Eyes opening onto hers, Dean palms his stiffening cock. "I've missed you," he whispers, giving it one languid pump.
"I've missed you, too."
He rises to his feet, cups her face and draws her into him. He takes her breath with a frenzied kiss, keeping them both under the spray of water, washing away the suds. Neither of them stops when they get a taste of that expensive shampoo.
She takes over the job his own hand started, wrapping her smaller one around his hardened dick and he jerks forward. His now free hands wander and roam her body, feeling every inch of her skin, tracing over scars old and new. His tongue explores her mouth before he moves down her neck, licking and sucking the clean water from the dip where her neck meets her shoulder.
"Ah fuck," he breaths into her ear. "I wanna make you cum."
She whines, frustration and desire mixing as one. "I can't."
"You doubting my skills?" he wonders, pulling back to give her a lopsided grin. "I can make you cum without being inside you."
He thumbs her clit and it pulses under the pressure. She twitches at the contact, and squeezes her thighs together, crushing his hand between them.
The challenge that sparks in his eyes makes her relax the taut muscles, and Dean's grin turns to a devilish smirk that she kisses from his mouth. He continues to caress her sensitive bud as she strokes his length, and he rocks back and forth, steadily fucking himself into her hand.
She feels giddy, like they're virgins again, neither one wanting to do something the other isn't ready for. His desire fuelled symphony in her ear is a siren's song, arousing all her senses until she's entirely intoxicated by his yearning sounds, delicate touch, whiskey laced taste, raptured expression and comforting smell.
He's a professional marksman, never straying from her clit, and he hits the spot that simultaneously makes her seek more, and want to clench her thighs to subdue the oversensitivity. He uses his other thumb and forefinger to twist and tug on her nipple, it pinches but the mixture of discomfort and pleasure makes her coil snap unexpectedly.
She gasps around his name and he throbs in her hand. "That's it, baby, give me another one," he says and increases his pace, "I know you can."
She can and she does, giving Dean what he wants, body shuddering through her second orgasm. His movements stutter and he uses a hand to brace himself against the wall behind her, as he groans loudly, spilling over her hand and the floor.
"Fuck," she sighs.
He kisses her, hard and passionate. Panting, he pulls back, a gratified smile revealing his teeth. "That was intense."
She nods, "You still got your skills."
He smacks her ass, and she squeals happily. "Finish up, sweetheart," he commands, "I've got the perfect idea for date night. Don't get dressed, robe only, meet me in the library in twenty minutes."
"I still have five minutes," she says, opening the bedroom door after Dean's soft knock.
"Couldn't wait," he explains, stealing a kiss as he manoeuvres himself and the box he carries into the room. He sets it on the bed, and sits beside it, a boyish, almost bashful smile adorning his features.
"This your idea for date night?" she asks, pointing at the cardboard box.
He nods. "I know you like to get dressed up and go out, but we've been so busy and I know you're tired and the first few days of your period suck, so…" he draws out the last syllable like a drum roll.
He opens the box and pulls out the matching blue silk and lace babydoll set she had seen in the window of a quaint boutique months ago.
"Oh not this," he smirks, "this is your Christmas present, whoops." She laughs lightly. He tosses it on the bed and digs around in the box again, plucks out a lace thong and matching bra that looks more like dental floss. "Oh not this either, that's my Christmas present. Ah here." He reveals a fluffy unicorn onesie, complete with a glittery horn and tail and holds it up for her to admire.
She snatches it from him, rubs the velour fabric on her cheek, hugging it as if it were a teddy. "It's so soft."
"We're gonna get into our onesie's," he says, standing up, "and have a nap date! Once we're in that bed, you're only allowed to leave for bathroom breaks, otherwise, I am your humble servant." He bows his head.
She quickly jumps on him, arms wrapped around his neck, squishing the onesie between their bodies. "I love you," she says, breathing a dreamy sigh into his neck. Dean doesn't say the words often, but he's always been more of an take action kind of man, and it's these thoughtful moments that tell her all she needs to know. "I so didn't want to get dressed up and go out."
He chuckles, "I know," and kisses her softly.
After a moment she wriggles free of his embrace, "wait, you said 'our onesies'?"
He rolls his eyes, but his smile and tone are jovial, "I have one too," he points a warning finger in her face, "and if you ever tell Sam, I'll never make you cum again."