When I Lose Control I Can Only Breathe Your Name

"Dean – Dean –" I gasped against his mouth as he rode me, fast and hard against the side door of the Impala, wild and out of control, moaning as he thrust – in – out – again – again – and I tried not to scream too loud, biting on to the material of his shirt, because as deserted as the parking lot was at the moment, it mightn't be so when I started making loud, often blasphemous noises that 'belonged in a porno movie', according to him. Profanities clinging to the sides of my oesophagus, biting for release. Legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Smooth metal against my back, where my shirt's rucked up. His biceps, flexing under the taut clasp of my hands.

"Say it – say it –" he grunted, every time he moved back to push forwards again, grazing my throat with his teeth, and I bucked against him with this contact, desperate for more – for harder – rougher – faster – now –

"Dean – Dean –"

"– say it –"

"I love you! I love you –"

Deleted Scene From Chapter 36 BIT

And then before you could even think about it you were right in his space, and licking off the sauce from the side of his mouth. Both of you froze.

"Uh…" you said, tongue still touching his skin, stubble rasping, breath skidding. You knew this was going to happen, damnit. Well, not this, this, but definitely something like this and oh, oh god. Oh god. It was rich and full flavoured, the barbeque sauce in your mouth, and underneath it was Dean's unique taste – salt and man. Not a boy. You leant back slowly, struggling for thought, any rational thought to get you out of this. "I told you I'd get it," you said finally, covering, and then his hands were in your hair, his mouth on yours, his tongue curling, seeking out every last bit of his flavour on you. It was desperate and hungry and grabby and almost honest, sexy and sweet and slick, your hands fisting on his shirt, twisting in the material to pull him closer, harder against you, and you moaned when he angled his head just right, noses mashing for a second until you could breathe and all you could breathe was Dean. His beautiful, strong hands curling and moving your head with his kisses – he was finally really kissing you, kissing you stupid for that matter, his hands so hot on you that you shuddered and twisted, and gave up.

You Want This?

"You want this?" she whispered, voice hoarse in the close darkness, one hand gripping him so tight to be just this side of pleasure, the other with thumb pressing down on the hollow beneath his left hipbone, fingers arched round his side. He was hot and smooth against her right palm, fingers curled unyielding around the downy-soft thickness and shape – a sensation that was swiftly becoming as familiar to her as her own face, every other part of him. He was hard and pulsing, and she pulled slowly, the heat and a slight nervousness at what she was doing – what if someone caught them? – what was he thinking? – oh god, what was she doing? – making her palm slick against him, the slide of flesh on flesh sweet and gliding and even.

He groaned somewhere above her, and she was glad he was as blind as her in the black quarters, as her skin flushed at the sound, embarrassment and desire – mostly embarrassment, because god – imbuing her cheeks with the pink glow she often denied the existence of. He made the sound again, even deeper, if that were possible, like his voice had dropped ten stories down, when she breathed out against the length of him, lips almost grazing, and then blew cold air on the tip. "Yes, yes," he ground out, and she licked her lips, and in one efficient move swallowed him down.

She hadn't done this in a while; but it wasn't like it was a skill that could be unlearned, just like riding a bike, or swimming. Yeah, she told herself, just keep thinking of it like that, in innocent, childlike terms, and maybe you won't die of the combination of ohgodyes-listen-to-him, how'd-you-like-that-bitch, and how-will-I-ever-face-him-again. She's sucking him off in a supply closet in a police station – all because he was being an asshole to her, and she decided that she wasn't in the mood, and that she was going to do something about it. Impulsive decisions like this are what get her into serious trouble, she knows that. And yet, when he gave her that smirk, and made some comment about her using her 'merits' to open the police officers up, she hadn't thought, just acted – which is why they're here, now. Her nose pressed into the taut, jumping skin under his navel, him making soft choking sounds over her head, gripping her hair, and her throat humming Metallica around him like she does this everyday.

Which, you know, she's been thinking about doing for a while, but just – so come on, jump in the fire, so come on, jump in the fire – this, here? It's unexpected, to say the least. At least she has one up over him this time, and he can't even see her, so that's good, an added bonus. He won't see the weird way her face scrunches when she massages his underside with her tongue, while trying to figure out how to keep him as far down as he is, keep the suction going, and not scrape him with her teeth. All this – the 'sex stuff' – well, it's still new enough to make her a little edgy – make that a lot edgy – every time, and thinking about what he'll say afterwards – there's no way she'll be let off without a smarmy comment – yeah. She's really glad it's dark in here. Really glad.

She pulls off to suck on the tip, roll her tongue around it, palm coming back down from his hip to tug and twist the moist length. She can't help but love the sounds he's making, trying to control himself, keep it down so no one else will hear, the fact that it's her doing this to him. It's her making him burn like this, her who is making him breathless and say thick little out of control words, 'fuck, fuck, yes' a profane religious chant in the back of his throat. Her gripping him possessive and easy, him letting her. In moments like this he is hers, and that makes everything worth it.

He's warning her, pulling a little harder at his handfuls of blonde curls, grunting out a 'I'm – I'm – Lauren' – but she just swallows him back down all the way, until he brushes the back of her throat, and when he lets go she's there to take it all, to consume his bitter-salt essence and pull off with an obscene popping sound, grin up at him.

Uh… I was exercising my porn license. For my Goddess. You know those times when you just itch to write naughty? These are those. :dodges rocks: