I was a taller girl too, once. (regala_electra) wrote,
I was a taller girl too, once.

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Fic: bruise you (use you) (SPN, Dean/OFC, NC-17)

bruise you (use you)
Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Explicit Sexual Situations, Language
Summary: He says it when she’s thrusting up against him, as they’re dry-humping up against the door to her hotel room.
Word Count: 1750
Author’s Notes: Written for vinylroad. Do I have to warn that there’s spanking? ‘Cause there’s that, amongst other kinks.


It’s not like he starts off testing the waters, going for the accidental first smack against the curve of her ass. No, he says it when she’s thrusting up against him, as they’re dry-humping up against the door to her hotel room.

(Here for the convention? she asks, knowing he isn’t, not when he’s sporting a black-and-blue that ain’t swelling anymore, ringing his right eye, whiskey in hand to forget all his troubles.)

“Gonna spank that big ass and fuck you into the mattress,” he breathes hot down her throat, licking a hard stripe down, her neatly manicured fingernails scratching hard at the back of his neck.

(Nah, I’m here early for the comic book con, he tells her, hides his surprise when she drops a hand under the bar, squeezes his thigh, not too high up, just showing she’s interested, just for a moment before she goes playing with her skirt, tugging it down her knees. Doesn't win that battle and he chalks that up to a victory on his end.)

“Not gonna lay a hand unless you play fair,” she hisses when he gets her lacy bra undone under her shirt, tight black thing that hugs her tits but good.

“Yeah?” Takes that challenge in stride, follows after her when she finally wrenches the door open after trying to shove the key card into the slot.

She’s pulling off her shirt, lets the titty-hugger fall to the ground, bra slipping off easy. Undoing her skirt, Dean’s busy yanking off his own jacket, shirts, and she says, “I’m going to smack that white boy ass until it’s just as bruised and pretty as your face.”

Strips off his belt and Dean shoves down his jeans and boxers, cock already hard and she’s enjoying the view but he’s a vain bastard, knows it, does a bit of a quick move to just half-turn around, showing off his own ass, glad he ain’t gotten thrown into a wall recently. “Fair’s fair, but I’m gonna make you come askin’ harder.”

Her laugh’s rich and undying. “I’m leaving my shoes on.”

Raised platform shoes tapered down to a fine heel. Hell yeah.

(I’m Dean, he says because it isn’t a time to lie.

I’m me, she tells him when he’s winding fingers into the dark curls of her hair, going in for the kiss.)

Heat of the day’s left her skin with a salty tang, hard on the natural musky sweet of her. She’d let him take her panties off, lays her bare, sees a tattoo peeking off to the side of her trimmed hair, close to her pelvis. Not a girly tat either, it’s an ankh, dark blue against the caramel dark of her.

He could spend a lot fucking time eating her out, the feel of her heels against his shoulder blades as she digs in, hard but she’s careful enough not to hit him too hard, knows enough about this and yeah, he has to talk. Says to her, “Yeah, you’ve done this before. Gonna tell me what to do next. Want it up the ass, I bet, all you gotta do it tell me.”

She’s up on her elbows, looking down at him, her hair ribboning down her chest, has to flick some of it off with an impatient head toss. Her eyes close shut when he works two fingers inside of her, circles her clit with his thumb.

Her fingers clutch and grab, nimble and quick, scrape of her nails against his scalp. She’s got a throaty and deep voice, roughened by cigarettes once upon a time, but she’s got gum stacked up on her bedside table, probably quit over a year ago by his guess of it, going crazy in a bar that hasn’t banned smoking, she’s probably a New York girl, explains the black-on-black fashion sense, the distain for her surroundings, not ‘cause she’s a snob but because it just isn’t New York.

“No?” Goes up the full length of her, grabs at the condom she’d thoughtfully pulled from his jeans when they’d taken the ride up the elevator. “Don’t want me smacking that beautiful ass? Just want me to eat you out.”

“Later,” she hisses, teeth clenched, furious with herself, or maybe him. “I want it rough. You up for it? No coddling, no baby, I don’t want that shit.”

(Married? She’s dark enough that she doesn’t tan but he sees her nervously touching her ring finger when they head to the elevator.

Horny, she offers, encourages his hand to dip low, playing with the stretch of the fabric against the top of her ass.)

“Turn over. Gonna fuck you hard, but you better give me a name, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t give her much room, shifting, gets angles and curves against his cock, then her ass, undulating and he stills her hips, pushes her legs wider, makes her angle up as he gets on his knees.

“Sweetheart,” she ponders, thoughtful hmm in her throat. “Better than baby.”

He could open up her purse and figure out her name that way but he doesn’t.

Runs his hands down her legs, stopping at her heels, still wearing them, promises to her, “I’m staying the whole fucking night and I’m gonna fuck you up against the wall in these things. Right on that goddamn dresser, that’s where your bruises are gonna be.”

Thrusts in tight and unexpected, fists her hair, pulling it back and she goes guttural, pushing back hard, he almost slides in the whole way, can’t quite manage it in this position. She has to be on hands and knees now, spread wide and ungainly, dangerous balance. But he’s got a free hand and he doesn’t wait, hard smack, right in the middle of her cheek, then backhands her other side.

“Fucking bastard,” she moans, can’t move her head, grabs at his wrist and he releases his fingers, lets her curls loose. Takes his hand and sucks his finger in her mouth, bites at his fingertip. Then licks down his palm, says, “I need it wet.”

“Yeah. You’re fucking dripping for me right now.” She lets his hand go and he smacks her closer to where her ass-meets-thigh with his wetted hand, palm connecting with her skin each time he thrusts in.

(Back to my room? She says it fifteen minutes in when he’s already half-hard, seeing the way her thighs, smooth and dark, keep on shifting, skirt riding up with impatience.

Better there than here. I bet you’re a screamer, he tells her, whispers it like a secret in her ear.)

“Don’t you fucking come,” she tells him, her ass all red-and-dark and so goddamn beautiful. Thighs twitching something fierce on her, her calf muscles still tense ‘cause she’s got the heels on, all Dean’s gotta do is touch her clit and she’ll be gone, squeezing tight around him.

“That’s fucking it,” he gasps, pulling out, grips the base of his cock, stills himself, takes a breather, wills himself not to come. “Get the fuck on that dresser, I’m gonna make your ass raw.”

It’s amazing how she can strut off to it, Dean only manages to lumber over, has to help her get up, pushes her legs wide. She tsks herself, says, “I used to be able to spread eagle.”

“Christ, don't say that shit. I’m trying not to come here.”

Takes a deep breath and then she nearly manages it, legs split far enough that Dean has to duck his head down, long lick and she comes surprised, leaking on his tongue.

Doesn’t scream yet and he has to see through to that. Realigns himself, she guides his cock up against her, and he says, “So you think you’re gonna be able to bruise me?”

Thwaps his ass hard, then her nails scratch against flesh, long slow scratch that registers across his nerves.

Pushes into her hard for that, dresser shaking under them, tells her, “That’s a good try.”

“Try? Fuck trying,” she says, licking her bottom lip and he has to go after that tongue and she kisses deep, probably looking for the taste of her pussy mingled in there, she’s that kind of nasty. The right nasty.

Whatever they’d been doing before – fucking – it gets rougher, he’s trying to get her coming hard on his cock and she’s doing everything to distract him from that and good goddamn but his ass is stinging, no singing with the sweet pain of it.

But she doesn’t tell him he can come yet and he’s a Winchester, made to be stubborn, worse than a freakin’ mule.

It’s when he’s got both of her legs over his shoulders and he’s smacking her ass every time she smacks his ass and he’s telling her how if she wants, he can fuck her ass so good, make it burn hazy until she can’t even think and can she imagine that? How tight and hot it’ll feel?

The scream’s building in her and he announces after he pulls out almost all the way, barely has the head of his cock inside and she’s tense all over, can’t hold it in forever, “Maybe you wanna fuck me up the ass, coulda asked me, woulda said hell yes.”

Motherfuck-” she tries to say, gets lost in the scream when he pushes in all the way, deep-dicking as far as he can go. Her fingers dangerously are close to his hole, trailing down the crack of his ass.

Pumps into her shallowly, spurting into the condom, doesn’t make with that much noise, feels like his heart’s gonna burst as is, brain’s decided to shut down and take his speech along with it.

They don’t stay like that for too long, he has to stumble off and get rid of the condom, slumps onto the bed and she joins him, finally kicked off her heels, sweaty-slick against him.

“I was engaged,” she says, voice hoarse. Screaming will do that. “I’m not telling you my name.”

Words still don’t want to form in Dean’s head, so he just nods, kisses the top of her head.

Some time passes and they’re still thoroughly fucked-out on her bed. Has to ask, ‘cause he doesn’t want to overstay the welcome, “You need to kick me out?”

“Nah.” Her fingers twitch on his stomach, probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it, itching for a cigarette. “We aren’t bruised yet.”

Dean purses his lips together, fakes a thoughtful look. “Yeah, we better keep on working on that.”

Tags: dean/ofc, fic, spn fic
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