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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"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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