NOTE: To understand the dynamic here, I strongly recommend starting with Chapter 1. Beyond that, I'll only say that, as someone with admitted addictions to both
Supernatural
and writing in general, I suppose I should have expected them to collide at some point, though I haven't written fanfiction in years. It was this idea that finally drew me to post a story on literotica, though, and I couldn't resist taking some of the ideas in varying directions. But of course, some ideas just beg to be explored fully... I should state here that I have no affiliation with the show, but I've aimed to make my portrayals here as believable as possible. I hope you'll enjoy the result. Let me know what you think...
The night had been a full one, and Dean let himself relax back into Calla's sofa without much thought to what would come next. He had a whiskey in his hand, a stomach that was still full with the girl's amazing cooking, another closed case under his belt, a football game on the television to keep him entertained, and a beautiful girl in just the next room. There wasn't much more he could ask for, he told himself. He'd convinced her to go take a soak in her tub, realizing over dinner that she was already feeling some soreness -- and maybe some doubts about what they'd done, based on the stress he thought he'd seen coming back to her over dinner, though it was too late now -- and though he didn't have any desire to leave for the night, the hour or so of privacy he'd get now wasn't unwanted. Finding out she'd been a virgin had been a shock, and as outstanding as the sex had been, he needed a bit of time to collect his thoughts... or ignore them, as the case might be.
Eyeing his cell on the coffee table, he thought about calling his brother, but it didn't seem like there was much point. He'd see him Tuesday, and let his brother occupy himself until then.
It seemed like only moments had gone by when he heard Calla exiting the bathroom behind him, and half-turned to see her standing languidly in the hall, wrapped only in a towel. "The bathroom's yours if you want it," she said shyly, but his eyes were on her still damp legs, and her bare shoulders, already drawing his mind away from rinsing off the day's exertions.
"Later..." he answered, exaggerating his eyes' movements up and down her body until she blushed. "How sore are you?" he asked before he could stop himself, and then he grinned when she shrugged. "Come 'ere," he offered just loudly enough for her to hear, knowing his voice was gruff with wanting her again. He hadn't stopped wanting her all night, in fact. He wouldn't overdo things tonight, though, he promised himself.
One hand holding her towel closed at her chest, Calla approached slowly, wholly aware of the desire in Dean's eyes. Still flushed from her bath, she felt the sight of him run through her as if it was feeding off of the steam she'd just stepped away from. She'd thought, just minutes ago, that she was sated from the sex and the food that they'd already enjoyed that night, but now, seeing him, she didn't want the night to end. By the time she reached the couch, her tiredness had slipped away in favor of renewed desire, and she let herself smile and be pulled to stand between his knees in just her towel as he clicked at her remote to quiet the television. Dean wasn't done with her, it seemed, and she couldn't have been more grateful.
Dean could feel her trembling as he reached for the knot of her towel with his hands and gently pulled apart the ends, letting it fall to the floor so that she was standing naked before him. He saw her inhale in surprise, and thought she was fighting the urge to step back. She was self-conscious, naked while he was fully dressed, and he leaned forward to gently lick from her navel up to the center of her breasts, his hands to each side of her hips and holding her still in front of him. When he looked up, her lips were parted, as if waiting for him to give her a cue for what came next.
Calla kept her eyes on Dean, her arms hanging limp by her sides. She'd never felt so vulnerable, and with his rough hands on her hips, holding her still, she'd also never felt more safe. Bending with the pressure of his hands, she let herself be seated on one of his thighs, and pressed forward into his chest to kiss him as one of her hands went to the edge of his t-shirt and teased it upward so that she could touch his skin, and rub her hand up his torso, over his ribs and through the hair of his chest. She let herself moan as his teeth tugged at her lower lip, pulling it into his mouth so that she mewled happily against him, her tongue reaching out to twist against his. She could taste the whiskey he'd been sipping, and pulled away for a gasp of breath only when his fingers tugged on one of her nipples hard enough that she couldn't help but react.
"Lay back," Dean whispered into her ear, gently pushing her sideways so that she was splayed over his lap, her hands fluttering back and forth as if they didn't know what to do, one of them finally settling on her stomach, the other on his shoulder. Her shoulders and head were resting on the armrest and pillow of the overstuffed couch now, diagonal to Dean's body, her nipples pointing roughly at him from her full breasts. "Here," Dean said, moving one of his legs and reaching beneath her knees to raise her legs so that she lay fully overtop of him, reclined on the couch. "Close your eyes," he said, seeing how nervous she was.
God, but he loved looking at her. Compared to the hell he'd put his own skin through, the girl before him was practically unblemished, her skin so pale and smooth that he couldn't resist touching it, and the anxiety he could see her fighting made her all the more enticing. Since he'd pushed her to lay down before him, she was breathing more heavily, her whole body tense, and trembling.
Brushing one of his hands through her hair, he let his other reach to her ankles, and he ran one rough palm up the length of her, along the whole of her side from foot to rib, and then he wandered his palm sideways so that he could float it back and forth above her nipples, only touching the tips as his other hand rested in her hair, trying to gentle the nerves from her. He wanted to tease her, but he didn't want her scared. He let his wandering hand come to rest on her shoulder as his other tangled in her hair, and he dipped his mouth toward her to taste her nipples, and then run his tongue around the areolas, teasing at the puckering of her skin and pushing forward with each gasp he wrung from her body.
"Dean, you're dressed..." she finally whispered, one of her hands slipping again beneath his t-shirt to rest against his ribs.
