Author: Regala Electra
Warning: Sexual Content, Language
Summary: There’s water beading down the soft round of her belly. He could read it all across her skin, seeking comfort he knows he doesn’t really deserve.
Word Count: 1,970
Author’s Notes: Title taken from Song of Solomon: Comfort me with apples for I am sick of love. Please be warned there is a lot of dirty talk and oral sex in a shower. Thanks to the lovely ignited for the beta.
Feedback is greatly appreciated.
Pushes the soft cleft of her apart, widening, has to get two fingers in there to hear her whimper low, nearly drowned out by the rush of water.
Dean says to her, “Now that’s not gonna work; you being shy all when you’re spread out for me. Anything you want to tell me?”
There’s water beading down the soft round of her belly, she’s not happy with her body, which doesn’t make sense to him—she’s hot— ‘specially when she gets all trembling, wanting to beg for more but not letting the words out.
(She tried covering her stomach with a hand when he’d stripped off her panties, damn near an hour ago, maybe more than that, lost track of time, finally, the countdown stopping in his head, so many minutes since everything changed, fell apart, in a storm of angry words and nothing he coulda done about it, ‘cept where he shoulda done something.)
Even now, she has a hand fluttering close over the front of her, trying to hide all the imperfections she doesn’t have.
“Need to—please,” she says, past the catch in her voice, something delicate breaking, barrier she probably set up long ago, secret little promise to herself, don’t ever let yourself get strung up like this. “Please let me come.”
She’d rubbed herself wet against him, before. He can still feel the slick down his thigh when she’d wriggled against him, damn near broke his concentration when he’d hoisted her up on the washstand in her plain white tile bathroom. Wanted to fuck her badly then and fuck yeah, he means badly, just push inside before she’s ready, and burst inside, gasping.
Hadn’t come then, no, Dean wanted to see her wet all over, dripping, water droplets down the porcelain of her skin, curious to see how and where her body flushes red.
First thing he noticed when he’d caught her staring at him, there she is: an honest-to-go-blusher. Fuck him for wanting it—some sick proof of shame but it’s something he needs right now, someone who can’t let a single emotion slip by.
Someone who ain’t gonna miss the signs, the fight that’s been building since the moment words took form, all those questions, and finally—walking out on family, leaving him and Dad alone, goddamit, he isn’t gonna dwell on that, not now. (Even if it’s been less than twenty four hours after, nothing left to do but drown in someone’s body, forget the knowledge that everything’s changed, all over again.)
No fear that he’s gonna read her wrong, slip up, her body’s her owner’s manual, lets him know exactly how to use her, lessons written on skin. (Maybe later he’ll feel guilty for thinking like that, now, he’s full of too much...no, he’s not gonna say the word of it, he slips up and everything’ll go tumbling down and he’s stronger than that.)
Knew it the moment the hot spots of pink touched her cheeks when he’d sidled next to her, exchanged names, shared a few rounds, making laughter easy but not stupid. Let the good times and the easy lines flow. Mixing truth in there, somewhere, I’ll make you feel so good.
Dean has to prove that at least, see if he can do something without fucking it up, getting it all twisted up, and goddamn it, he’s not gonna fuckin’ regret what happened, none of it’s his fault. (All his fault.) No, what matters is the now.
Now he can see how the inside of her thighs are white, but turns a little pinker closer and closer to her pussy, darker and darker, rosy like a deep blush. Ah, he can see now, the darkest folds, as he steadies her with his left hand, stilling her knee, not letting her close up. He’s kneeling in the tub, getting hit with random drops of water that get past her, and there’s no fucking way he’s gonna complain, not when he takes in the full look of her, her foot up on the tub, exposed for him to see everything.
Only a moment though, because there’s drawing this out and then there’s being a cruel bastard, and Dean can only be so much of a sonuvabitch.
Has to be careful, index and middle finger spreading her open as he pushes a bit more, folds opening and ah, just need to push a little more, find the little bud—damn, it’s tiny, fascinating, how women can be built so different even when they’re all the same, all the same kind of unbelievable gorgeous nestled away like a secret.
“Oh god,” she groans then there’s a hitch of breath, shuddering. “You—”
“So deep inside, you hidin’?” He looks up at her, sees the honest surprise on her face, damn, not many guys have gone looking for her clit, huh? Idiots. Has to reassure her, saying, “Goddamn, you got a pretty little clit. Betcha fall apart if I so much as—“
“Fuck, please,” she groans, and now, better to have a name fixed on her, important, the naming, she’d introduced herself as Sophie, cursed slightly, amending to Sophia, like a letter changed the world and hell, maybe for her it did.
Still, it’s something he works with, knows he’s being a bastard and maybe he would’ve cared before, says, “Sweet little Sophie and her little clit hiding out, scared of getting in trouble. Sweetheart,” he adds, little graze of his teeth on the soft, soft skin of her inner thigh, “I wanna make you come till you see fuckin’ stars. You up for that?”
“Not possible,” she answers, rocking her hips forward, trying to get his face closer to the hot damp of her cunt. “Can’t. That’s not—”
“You’re gonna see about that,” Dean tries to say, probably fails, no good mumbling into her skin, but she gets the point, when he nestles his face in her curls, opening his mouth, just the tip of his tongue, he’s already mapped her out with his eyes, knows exactly how she’s shaped now.
No better thing than having her fingers grip the back of his head, his hair’s not long enough to grab onto, not like it matters, he’s not gonna be told where to go by hands; he has to hear her say it. Direct touch of her clit’s gonna be too much, how she gets all tight just from that quick little flick, needs to draw it out.
Deeper he goes, the more musky sweet she is, so easy to get lost in it, messy of her wet rubbing all over his mouth, rubs his face, careful ‘cause she’s sensitive (blusher) and he doesn’t want his stubble to ruin things, she’s a high tension wire, probably sets herself off easy. Fucking easy to imagine it, her yanking her panties to the side as she’s curled up under a blanket, quick rubs and she’s coming in a minute, can’t stand waiting.
Obvious from that little high whine she’s trying to hide, he opens his eyes, gets water falling in, doesn’t care, not gonna wipe it away, a blink’ll do, seeing her nipples hardened and damn, gotta make up for lost time later, suck at them after she’s come, keep her from a completely come-down.
Speaking of coming, she’s holding back now, keeping from shoving her pussy hard into his face when he can tell, the tremble of her muscles under her skin, oh, she wants it, and he drops his fingers away from her pussy, lets her groan. Even ducks away, little doubt welling up, spilling over, like the hot red flame to her cheeks, cute apple cheeks, making her look just a little too sweet, sugar and spice, man, he totally wanted her because he wanted that, little taste of innocence.
“Dean, please, I’m so close.”
“Oh, I can tell that.” Licks his lips, sees her watching that, her chest rising with a shuddered breath. “You want to taste yourself?”
“God, your mouth—”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, sliding back into the ease of being so damn sure. There’s the opening, running his thumb against the dark cleft, further down, where her hair gets a little more downy-soft, less coarse than right at the start of her mound, fingers running against the underside of her ass, gonna make sure he can still her when it finally happens and before she can say another word, he’s nosing at her, then his tongue, licking up up up, this time, when he touches her clit, she lets go, blindly grabbing for something, above, wet slap of her palm against tile.
Hopefully she didn’t hit her head or she really will be seeing stars and that’ll cut off any chance of him getting to have her tight pussy stretching around his cock. Later, keeps his sharp even when there’s a new rush of wet, can’t help groaning at that, taking it all in.
Dean’s always hated it when some says they’re spent, can’t help with a snappy comeback, you’re not spent yet but there’s a good ache in his muscles now, bones feeling settled, like he could rest a while.
He’s real glad she was fine with him tossing the used condom in the wastebasket next to her bed ‘cause there’s no fucking way he’s getting up.
“What’s her name?”
The question hits him hard, quick squeeze shocks him, like someone stuck a hand in his chest and got to his heart, sharp, stinging. Can’t do this right now, the lies he’s formed to keep on going, stupid goddamn easy things to break, too new, they’ve gotten shaken loose, even though it keeps him going on, forgetting, he can’t say it—shit.
Heavy noise, not disappointed, interested but she’s not gonna risk any questions, can read that off of him, maybe Dean’s got some tells written across his skin, things he’ll need to wash away, but not right now.
She keeps on making pointless circles across his stomach, her fingernails barely scraping the skin. Dean wants to tell her deeper, leave a mark, but now’s the time to just quit it. Better to keep on lying to himself because she won’t make him explain.
My brother and my Dad got into a real battle royale, only this time, Sam took Dad’s ultimatum serious and booked it. Doesn’t want anything to do with us, that’s it, and I just picked up the first chick that looked my way so I could forget that my brother’s gone, so yeah, I’m an asshole, sweetheart, ‘cause the only thing I have on my mind is Sam.
She nuzzles into the side of his body, her long hair, light brown when it’s dry, dark now like tree trunks after a hard rain, spread dark across the rumpled sheets. “Stay awhile?”
He doesn’t answer and that’s answer enough, her fingers dipping low this time, touching his softening cock, Dean can’t help twitching in reaction but she stops soon as it begins.
“The door locks on its own,” she says after she kisses the center of his chest, like she’s missing his heart on purpose, too low. “Just make sure it’s shut tight.”
He’s gone before morning, only souvenirs he takes with him are the uncomfortable ache in his right knee that he’s too young for and a hangover he has no right to have. He’ll keep on saying it’s just a hangover; feels himself stretch and try to walk it off, like it’s that easy, like it’s gonna disappear ‘cause of mind over matter.
Smells her, and him, mess of them together. Still, it doesn’t dissipate over morning coffee, smell of gunpowder as Dad’s cleaning, methodical, doesn’t raise his eyes. Blend of smells that mixes, stings and burns.
It’s all the comfort he can ever expect.