weary_head | (no subject)

Entry tags:

faye,
mardi gras

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"I don't even get this dress," Dean admits, though in his defense, it's been many long moments since he's seen it, the lights of the Compound long since left behind for the quiet and dark near the barn.

He rubs his cheek alongside Faye's own, breathing deep and doing his best to get himself under control. It's no easy task, with Faye pressed sure and tight between him and the wooden walls, all long, dark hair and breathless heat. "It's all lace, I can practically see all your skin." Framing her hips with his fingers, Dean holds her close. "It's all I can think about, god, Faye."

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There's a quip on the tip of her tongue, a desire on Faye's part to point out that she's bared more in front of Dean before, even in the everyday— her crop vest and shorts never leave too much to the imagination. But where other people enjoy the night for the endless food and drink available in the Compound, Faye's never loved anything more than playing games, and getting a rise out of Dean may be one of her favorites yet.

"I think you get it better than you believe you do," she breathes, all a wicked grin as she presses her hips sharply against his own, arms curving to wrap around his his neck before she leans forward to bite down on his lip, light and teasing. "I didn't want to be putting on a show for the whole island."

Dean groans outloud as her hips rise to meet him, and he gathers the delicate fabric of her dress between his fingers, holding onto it like something precious.

"You think any man was looking at you and not seeing what I see?" he asks, not quite jealous, and yet possessive all the same. If any man happens upon them now, Dean will honestly kill them - he's had time to get used to the idea that Faye actually lives up to imagination, and it's a reality he doesn't want to share.

"I think," she sighs, letting her steps guide the both of them further back into the barn, careful not to trip over the hem that Dean lifts now in his hands, "that you've just blinded yourself to everyone else on the island. Not that I have a problem with that. I don't need to look at anyone else, either." Her breath fans hot against the shell of his ear as her hand rakes down the front of his chest, trying to coax his shirt off.

"No one stopped me," Faye points out, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. "Not until you."

"Good," Dean breathes, the lace of her dress soft and delicate beneath his fingers, but what he wants is softer still. He turns his head, blood rushing south and south and south for the press of her lips against his throat.

"You have any idea what I want to do to you?"

"Make me scream?" suggests Faye, her voice barely above a whisper where it grazes against the shell of his ear, tongue darting out to trace along its edge before she pulls his earlobe between her lips, sucking lightly, fingernails scraping against skin as she drags her hand down the back of his neck. "Although that might not be the best idea."

The music doesn't quite filter over to the barn, but she knows that these walls have never been the thickest.

"Someone might hear," she murmurs, fingers raking down the center of his back.

"I'll settle for a some heartfelt groans," Dean says, sincere despite the heat in his eyes, "We can blame it on the cows."

He pushes his knee between her own, her heat against his upper thigh damn near enough to drive him mad. "C'mon, it's been years since I did it in a hayloft. Nothing like it, Faye."

Breath catching in her throat, Faye trembles all over before she grinds down against Dean's thigh, hips rolling and seeking out whatever friction she can find while her hands scramble to grasp at his shoulders, teeth brushing and scraping against the skin of his jaw. Gaze slightly unfocused and pupils blown, Faye casts a disbelieving look over her shoulder.

"Are you kidding me?" she breathes, blinking bemusedly. "That sounds... kind of uncomfortable, not gonna lie. Although I guess you've never given me reason—" Faye presses a hard kiss to his lips. "—to doubt you before."

"It's not so bad, 'course, I've always been on top," Dean admits. "But the hay is soft," he says, lips skimming down her throat. "You can lay out on my jacket..."

Pushing the hem of her dress all the way to her hips, Dean brushes his fingers over the rich swell of her ass. "C'mon, Faye. Climb a ladder with me."

"You realize I'll never be able to wear this dress again once it gets all caught on the hay," Faye points out, even as she starts moving in the direction of the ladder, glancing up with a dubious look. Her hand lingers around the cut of Dean's hip, heels knocking against wood as she slips out of her shoes, fingers darting under the waistband of his trousers to pinch at his ass, confidence hiding whatever faint hesitation she still harbors.

Leaning in for a kick kiss under the side of his jaw, Faye turns and hops up the ladder, dress slipping down to her ankles once more.

"That," says Dean, voice so breathless as to be dreamy as he watches her climb from below, "is what I'm talking about. Dean Winchester, you have cheated fate. Destiny. God." He watches her perfect ass crest the lip of the loft and disappear. "Decency." Foot on the lowermost rung, Dean quickly ascends.

"I drew the biggest, most awesome straw," he grunts, nonsensical, but to be fair, his blood's been rushing from his brain ever since Faye showed up in that dress. Tackling her into the hay, Dean laughs, contented. "You are the best straw."

For all that she knows that Dean's the older of them in terms of experience, there are times like this when she feels like she's staring at the face of someone unbelievably and inexplicably optimistic, eager in a way that adults almost never are, prepared to grab life by its horns. It pulls her back at turns from her usually jaded nature, brow raising in disbelief at his stuttered rambling. He could have his pick, she's tempted to say, but they've had that disagreement often enough already.

Should just consider themselves lucky, she thinks, that each thinks they've gotten the better end of the deal.

"What," she teases, eyes narrowing before her palm raises to press against him, feeling his length hot under her skin. "Is that a suggestion? A hint?"

"That I'm the biggest?" Dean asks, stunned with pleasure, hips rolling against her gentle touch. "Probably not, that dude from Studio 54 is probably due here any day now, but."

Rearing back, Dean divests himself of his coat and then his tie, the former of which he lays upon the hay. "You are so fucking beautiful, you know that? Nobody deserves this much."

Glancing back to shift until she falls against the coat, Faye chuckles, shaking her head. She reaches for his hand with careful fingers, a nail brushing lightly down the center of his palm before she lifts his fingertips to her lips, kissing each softly. "You said that I'm the best straw, Dean," she points out, arching a brow, moving to the next fingertip. "What am I supposed to assume from that?"

Her free hand grabs at the collar of his shirt, deftly undoing the buttons one by one, grin widening. "And hey, you're not so hard on the eyes, yourself."

"I clean up okay," says Dean, and with a vested interest in getting getting his clothes off, he really should be helping her with his shirt, but he's too busy watching his fingertips dip between her lips one by one.

"Uh," he says, "Straws, and, oh fuck it, I don't know," he laughs, crawling on top of her to kiss her as breathless as he feels.

With a light laugh in response, Faye's hands shove the shirt down Dean's arms as they kiss, an occasional giggle breaking the otherwise constant contact as her hands end up stopping at his sides, pulling him closer, until her hips rise to grind against his. "I'm offering," she points out between kisses, "to give you a blowjob. Though that'd make you the straw?"

Her neck stretches, tilts to consider the fact, before the need takes over as she presses herself against him, feeling the hard press of his length against her thigh and making sure to increase the friction there.

"Although I don't know if I'm patient enough for that," she breathes. "God, Dean, I need you."

"You got it, baby," Dean breathes back, "whatever you want." Rucking Faye's dress up clear to her stomach, Dean pulls her knee over his hip, cups a hand over where she's warmest, heel pressed down just so to hear her mewl.

"You gonna keep the heels on?"

"Assume the answer's always yes," she gasps, eyes flying open as she bucks against his hand, laughing at the end of it, arms curling around his neck and trying to draw him closer, brushing her heel against his side as though to make a point.

With a soft sound in her throat, she leans up to kiss him again, tries to hold him still while she peels off his layers, shoves his waistband down, touch anything but gentle.

"Yeah," Dean exhales, leaning into her every touch, firm or slight, hips bucking at the simple press of her fingers beneath his waistband. He lets go of her long enough to shove his slacks and boxers down, peeling the ridiculously hot thong from her hips with only slightly more finesse.

"You are so hot," he says, burying his face in her throat as his fingers dip down, pressing into slick, wet heat. "God, I love this. Love you."

"I love you too," she breathes, trying to bite back a moan as the words flutter against his lips, said with more surety now, and more frequency. Admitting to love hasn't come easily to Faye, whereas sometimes she wonders if it's all too easy for Dean, him being the type of person practically made for love, for this, for a relationship that has no foreseeable end. It's terrifying to fall into these ways, if only because sometimes Faye wakes up at night, cold sweat on her brow, can't remember quite where she is.

The nightmares never come when Dean's around.

"I love you, love, mmm," she hums against his temple, fingers carefully curved around his neck as she shoves her free hand down to where his fingers press against her, pressing her index finger on top of his until they slip inside of her together. Already, she feels her thighs lose a bit of the friction around his sides, skin damp. "I'm so wet for you, babe."

"Yeah, you are, Jesus," Dean groans, dick jerking against his thigh as she pushes him deeper into all that tight heat. Head ducked, he mouths at her breasts through the thin lace of her dress, and in the moment, ruining the fine fabric seems a small price to feel her harden beneath his tongue.

"Can't wait, Faye, what do you say, we leave the foreplay for after?"

She laughs, low in her throat before her voice catches with his mouth hot against her breast. Panting once, she feels her hips lift off of the hay, the line of his erection hot against her thigh, close enough that she untangles her hand from his and gives him one long, slow stroke against the palm of her hand. "I think I'd rather you screw me until I pass out," she whispers against his ear, lips curved in a grin.

Pausing, she adds after a moment's consideration, "Or we could always go twice."

It's times like these that Faye can't help but marvel at how young she feels with Dean. That unstoppable force that most people lose in their late teens, that Faye lost in the accident. Around Dean, she finds it again.

"If this dress survives we're definitely going twice," Dean grunts, and it's meant to sound cool, sexy even, but stretched around Dean's grin it just sounds happy.

The grip on his blood hot cock is cool and teasing, and Dean aches to be buried deeper. Pulling her hand away, he takes himself in hand, guiding himself to her entrance but not quite inside, loving the way her eyes slip closed with the tease. "C'mon, ask me," he whispers, "Love it when you ask me."

"Jackass," she breathes, a bright gasp when she feels him pressed against her entrance, hot even with that slight tease, her nails dragging against the skin at the back of Dean's neck in her desperation. Her lips, however swollen, get pressed harshly still against Dean's own, dragging his lower lip briefly between her teeth as she arches her back to press herself flush against him, nipples dragging along his skin.

"Fuck me, Dean," Faye murmurs, voice reedy with need as she drags a leg up and around his hip. "Please."

"Yeah," Dean exhales, sliding into her with a groan. Wet heat surrounds him in an instant, and Dean buries himself deep, gets a hand beneath her ass to lift it and go deeper still. Maybe earlier today, when Faye'd been walking around in a tank and those short shorts, maybe he'd have had more finesse, but she's been wearing that dress, and who the fuck is he kidding, anyway? Every time they do this, he just wants to do it that much more, would want to even if she was wearing a fucking potato sack.

Nosing violet hair from her ear, Dean presses his lips to the spot, breathes out harsh against the lobe, "Feel so good, how do you want it, huh? You want it slow?"

There's a slight hiss that passes between her teeth when Dean presses himself in, deeper, as much as the both of them are able. Quickly, her hand reaches down to grab at Dean's ass, squeezing as she breathes against the side of his neck, relishing in the moment. As clichéd and sappy as it surely sounds, a small part of her can't help but appreciate this as an opportunity to feel Dean, to be more closely tied to him, until she can't tell where her body ends and his begins.

"Faster," she says once the edge of the tension in her body wears away, voice low and barely above a purr against his ear. "Faster, Dean."

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