Cherry Pie
Try all the flavors: Blueberry • Pecan • Cherry • Pumpkin • Rhubarb • Salted Maple • Strawberry • Lemon Meringue • Peach • Cranberry • Apple
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Summary: After a tough hunt Dean needs a rough touch, though he's hiding more than he's letting on.
Warning: smut, unprotected sex, rougher sex
A/N: haha...hehe.... I want to do pain to this man
For The Filling: ½ to 1 cup granulated sugar 2 to 3 tablespoons instant tapioca ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon or cardamom 2 pounds sour or sweet cherries (about 6 cups), pitted 1 lemon (optional)
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Dean doesn't want to be here right now. He's been sat on the curb for ten minutes, waiting for you to close up for the night. The air's still crisp despite the day's heat, and he's starting to feel a chill on the back of his neck.
He's got a busted lip and bruised nose- not to mention the purple-yellow blemishes still blooming across his ribs. He looks like shit. He feels like shit. He's going to make you feel like shit.
He always does, he doesn't mean to, but he knows he will. You might not say it, but he knows when you see him like this you'll start getting that look of pity, pretty sparkling eyes filled with worry.
He takes a deep breath- letting the air fill his lungs before he lets it back out slowly through his nose. He thinks about driving away, about allowing the bruising to go down some- maybe you wouldn't mind if he pushes this a few more days.
He knows he won't do that, though. Sure he doesn't want you seeing him like this, but god is he desperate to see you. He needs any softness you'll afford him, needs to see your face light up when you talk.
It's selfish, he knows that. But you're the only person who he feels safe enough to be selfish around.
He's nearly talked himself out of it by the time he hears the bell ring on the door, the sound that tells him you're ready for the night. He turns, only slightly, watching you lock up.
"Didn't need to wait out here-" you laugh, before turning, catching your first sight of him, "-oh."
He lets a slow breath go as he stands, blinking slow, pretending it doesn't matter to him how your gaze washes over him, getting caught on the cut by his lip.
You walk towards him slowly, a hard swallow, "Jesus- you look..." there's no poetic way to say it, "...shit."
He chuckles slightly, "Thanks."
"This the worst of it?"
"Yeah." He lies, pretending his ribs aren't digging to him when he speaks, that he's not struggling to pull in a full breath.
"How was the hunt?"
"Tough."
Tough - I need to fuck your brains out.
You give a silent nod, turning back to your apartment. He trails behind you, watching your body as you move up the stairs, trying not to think about how much he wants to just go to bed, curl between your arms and let you talk to him about your day. That's not why he's here, he's here to blow off steam, he's here to use you- to get used.
You open up the door, turning back to him with a small smile, "Go freshen up- I'll be in the bedroom."
He does what you say, your routine set by now as he watches you go. He heads towards the bathroom, he soaks his hands in your soap, he pretends it doesn't bother him. The water pours down the drain for a moment, time ticking on as Dean imagines a life he won't ever lead.
He peels up the bottom of his t-shirt, a slow hiss as he gets the first proper look at himself that he's had in hours. The bruising's worse, spread out across his torso in ugly blotches. Blues and yellows add to the oil slicked purple rainbow, he can see an outline of his ribs where he shouldn't. He knows you won't let him get away with this, you'll want to comfort him, want him to go slow. That's not what he needs right now. He needs to be mean, he needs to hurt.
He drops the fabric, hiding away his secrets as he turns the tap back off. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his side twangs with pain when he does, then makes his way back out to the bedroom.
You're sat with your legs criss crossed on the bed, wearing your top but no pants, thrown off to the other side of the room while you were waiting. You glance up when he enters, a smile that's softer than usual, more cautious. Dean looks at you, sat in your underwear, looking as pretty as you always do. He wants to ruin you.
"Take your clothes off."
You laugh, "Good evening to you, too."
He doesn't, "I'm not asking." He pulls at his belt, quick.
Your smile falls slightly, you give a small nod, his gaze sending pressure between your legs, that look like he's going to devour you. The last time he gave you that look you couldn't walk the next day and you had marks on your neck for a week.
You pull your top off over your head as Dean makes work of his own belt, watching you carefully. You reach for your bra, watching his expression- his eyes shift over you, jaw tighter as you unclasp it, letting it slide down your arms. His gaze stays locked as he drops his pants to the floor. You pull off your own underwear, not even trying to look good- just steady as you keep your eyes on him.
Dean reaches for his t-shirt, then thinks better of it, "Turn around, ass up."
You can't hide your smile, it's almost fun seeing him like this. You know this is what he must be like usually, so controlled, stern- but it plays like an act when he's here. An act you enjoy, even if it doesn't completely ring true. You're used to a softer side, a Dean who looks like summer.
You turn, sinking against the mattress, laying your cheek against the pillow as you slide your arms below it. You do what he asked, lifting your hips as you push you ass into the air.
He lets out a slow breath, teeth grinding slightly as he gets a good look at you- god he missed you.
You feel the mattress dip as he moves behind you, fingers trailing up the back of your thigh. You hold your breath as he moves higher, just his fingertips grazing against you carefully, almost hesitant. There's a small pause, he leans down, kissing the small of your back.
Then he moves again, pressing two fingers against your folds. You gasp, back arching as you lift into him, your body instantly tingling with the feeling.
"You're fuckin' soaked- this all for me?"
You nod against the pillow, already dazed by the feeling, the idea of speaking too much for you.
He chuckles slightly, fingers dipping down to circle your clit before he slides over your slit again. You feel him shifting behind you- he's finally confident that you'll keep your head down, too caught in pleasure to look at him, as he drags his shirt off his body. He looks like hell, he's just hoping you won't notice.
He pushes his boxers down, pulling out his cock, stroking himself as he keeps his gaze on you. He doesn't give you any warning as he replaces his fingers with it, the head pressed against your pussy as he lets your arousal soak over the tip.
He pushes in slowly- it doesn't matter how bad he wants this, he knows he still needs to take his time on the first steady thrust as you hum into the pillow, his size almost too much. One hand finds your hip, the other splays out on your back, keeping your body arched.
"You good?-" He mutters quietly, thumb rubbing against your hip as he drags his cock back just as slow.
You give another him another nod, murmuring out a sound of approval.
His grip tightens, firm, a sharp breath as he gets one more steady look at you stretched out below him. Then he thrusts hard, filling you in one quick move. You gasp, head burrowed into the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets. He doesn't relent, moving fast as he starts to build up a rhythm, his cock filling you on every harsh fuck.
He watches the way your back arches for him, the way you take him so well. He feels that unstoppable gut feeling start to fill him- that one that tells him this sex isn't like other sex- but he ignores it, trying to focus on the physical sensations instead. Your pussy feels so tight around his cock, soaking over him, your skin is so soft under his touch.
He tugs at your hips, pulling you into him in time with his movements, making sure to completely fill you. Your ass slams back against him, skin slapping skin, loud-
-The whole room is loud. Inescapably. Dean's grunting on everything thrust, deep sounds pushed from his lungs every time he shifts his hips forward. You're no quieter, soft whimpers every time he pulls back, gasping moans into the sheets when he pushes in. There's the sound of his cock pushing into you, of your slick arousal coating him. It sounds like a mess.
He's hitting that sweet spot that makes your brain dizzy, your hands balling into the sheets just to keep yourself sane. You feel your orgasm rising- it doesn't feel fair, you never give it to him this easily- he never gives it this easily. He usually loves a tease, a slow controlled rise- that's clearly not what tonight's about.
"Dean- fuck- I'm too close-" you manage to admit, your eyes still screwed shut.
"I want it-" his own confession, spilling out tight. He fucks into you harder, greedy.
You cum with a loud moan, fingers tangling further into the sheets, a white hot pleasure pushed through you. It feels like you're breaking for a moment, your whole body burning up with the feeling.
He doesn't let up, not when you're gasping out against the pillow, not when your body relaxes against the mattress, not even when your eyes fade open gently, still in a fog of pleasure.
He leans forward, holding your nape as he pushes your face back against the pillow, your eyes screwing shut again. He pushes in harder- desperate to keep denying his state. His ribs feel like they might snap- he focuses on the feeling, letting it ground him to the moment.
Your hand moves out from under your head, sliding backwards on the mattress until you find Dean's leg. Your fingers trace against his body, like a silent beg. It feels too nice, it's not what he needs from you right now, it's exactly the thing he's trying to avoid.
He grabs your wrist, moving it behind your back, pinning it against your body. You arch out further, arm locked behind you, watering eyes spilling onto the pillow. Your jaw hangs open, a desperate moan pushed out every time he thrusts into you, becoming less and less lucid every second.
He slaps your ass, shocking you back into the moment. His handprint blooms against your skin instantly, a red mark against your flesh. He wants to mark you, wants to prove you're his- tonight at least. He slaps you again, harder, then again, at the top of your thigh.
"Jesus sweetheart- look at you-" he stares down at the way you're taking his length, tight around him, "-you're fucking incredible."
He moves back to gripping your hip, one hand still pressing your wrist against your back. His fingers curl against you, holding you secure as he continues to slam into you.
He feels own orgasm rising, desperately closer than he realized- his breath stutters as he grips you tighter, "Don't deserve this, don't deserve you-"
It's an honesty he regrets, but he knows he needs to say it, needs to tell you what you mean to him. He doesn't push it further, tonight isn't the night for this, but his body still floods with a warmth he pretends isn't there. You don't notice, too dazed to even hear the words.
He pushes your wrist down again, just to watch the way your body twists into him, head buried into the pillow, ass pushing back against him. He groans out, hair sticking to his forehead, "-gotta feel you break again, honey- god I've gotta feel it-"
"Dean- Dean please-" you mumble against the pillow- he doesn't know if you're agreeing or telling him you can't, but he keeps fucking into you anyway.
You snap for a second time, it shocks through you, your legs twitching, sobbing into the pillow, your body so exhausted you can't breathe. He pulls out with a whimpered groan, his cum spilling out over your ass and back. He feels his mind go white, copper spilling into his mouth from his split lip.
You fall against the mattress, fucked out. Your brain is tingling with the feeling's still flooding your body, Dean's words, his admiration. You feel him shift, slowly as he pulls himself together. It takes him a minute to swing his legs off the bed, a minute more to actually stand. He grabs tissues from the side of your room, moves back quickly to clean you up. He wipes them over your back, gentle.
Your eyes start to open, hazy as you feel his hands on you. He doesn't let them, sinking back on the bed next to you, pulling your body off the mattress onto your side. He wraps himself over you, spooning you with his arms around your body, his legs tangled into yours. He presses his lips to your shoulder, just feeling you for a moment.
"So good-" he murmurs against you, "-did so good f'me-"
"Dean-" you go to turn, he doesn't want you to. There's a chance you're too out of it to spot the bruising, but it's a chance he's not willing to take. Not when tonight's gone so well, when you're happy and dazed and don't have any worries- he can't add the weight of this.
He grips you tighter, keeping you still. He traces one hand up the side of your body, careful, fingertips dancing against your skin, "Steady, honey, keep yourself still for me-"
You let out a slow breath, relaxing into him, "Missed you."
He chuckles slightly, the idea that everything you just did could be condensed into those two words. He kisses you again, "Missed you too."
There's a tiny smudge of blood on your shoulder, from the cut in his lip. He watches it closely, that image- his blood, your body. A mess he's caused, ruining you just that little bit more.
His hand moves lower, over your thigh, carefully running along as he pulls himself back slightly to get a proper look at you- the marks on your ass are already going down, they'll be gone completely soon, you're okay.
He pulls at you, getting you to spread your thighs apart for him as your calf hooks over his leg. His fingers glide down between your folds- you let out a sudden gasp, sensitive to the touch.
"Shh honey, I've got you- gonna be okay- gonna make you feel good-"
Dean's going to fuck you to sleep. He's going to bury his fingers in you and make you cum until you're too exhausted to move. And when you wake up he'll already be dressed, and he won't have to care about seeing that look of worry on your face that makes him guilty for even coming in the first place.
He dips the tips of his fingers into you, just for a moment, feeling you soak over him. You squirm slightly under his touch, settling when he drags his fingers back over your pussy.
"Dean- honey- we've already-" your face turns, only slightly- Dean grabs your jaw, keeping your head from moving.
"Just one more- s'all I'm asking-"
His fingers trail up to your clit, circling it carefully. You let out a gentle moan, foggy pleasure filling you- it's not the harsh feeling you had only moments ago, it's softer, closer. Your pussy's still puffy from the fucking, and your body feels so far away, but Dean's hands on you aren't something you'd ever pass up. He moves down, pushing two fingers into you inch by slow inch. You grip the sheets, another small gasp.
"Oh sweetheart, still so sensitive-" he murmurs, kissing your shoulder again, his bloodstained mark.
He pulls out with a slick sound, moving back to focus on your clit. Your body sinks against his, your hips grinding against his hand. He tightens his grip on your jaw, keeping you still as he trails his lips down to your neck, light across your skin.
He speeds up his movements, fingers working over you quickly as that familiar buzz of another orgasm starts to fill you. You feel it rising, tight, desperate for what only he can give you.
He bites down on your neck, teeth grazing across your skin, a sharp reminder to keep you focused on his movements. You let go of the sheets, reaching back to his head, fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him closer. You feel him smile against you as you tug at him, needy.
"Good girl- that's it-"
His movements grow firmer, faster, pushing you to the edge.
"Sweet thing- you're so fucking good- this desperate little pussy- all mine huh?"
You nod, dazed.
He chuckles, kissing your neck again, "Knew it- knew this cunt belongs to me- you belong to me-"
You're so close, body slick with sweat, sticking to Dean behind you.
"Give it to me- god honey let me feel it-"
You do- you give him everything. Your body falls apart with another orgasm, slower this time, a foggy exhaustion keeping you steady. It fills you in a gentle glow of pleasure, soaking like honey through your veins. You let out a quiet moan, still tugging at him, your body arching out on the bed, finished.
Dean keeps his lips on your neck for a moment, his fingers still gentle as they slowly pull away. He drags them up your body, careful to keep you steady. His other hand moves to wrap around you again, pulling you close.
He stares at the blood on your shoulder as his fingers trail over you. He draws patterns across your body, small lines, dappled fingerprints- it's supposed to be soothing you but it's doing more for him, knowing you're so close.
He always finds it easier when he's with you. He's not sure what it is, maybe it's the way you make him feel safe, feel warm, feel real. Everything's easier when he's here- thinking's easier. He normally avoids it, but with your breath slowing next to him, he allows himself to think. He thinks of breakfast, of waking you up with eggs, he thinks of the bakery, of your pie fresh out the oven. He thinks of kissing you every day for the rest of his life.
His movements slow as his own lids fall heavy, his body more exhausted than he realized. He thinks maybe it's okay, maybe now you're asleep he can stop worrying about everything that could go wrong.
But it's not okay- you shift, slowly- slow enough he doesn't even realize at first, he imagines it's his fingers just falling against your skin as he drifts off, but then you move more, your body pulling away, the mattress wavering.
You sit up slowly, dragging your hand over your face, a small nag that tells you you don't want to sleep, not when Dean's here and you can spend just a little longer staring at his pretty face. But it's not his face that catches your eye, it's his body, his rot colored torso.
"Jesus-" you gasp, shifting back slightly to look at him properly.
His eyes open in a haze, the sight of you staring down at him. He swallows hard, immediately defensive, "It's not as bad as it looks-" it comes out breathier than he means, lungs forgetting how to work- it makes him look like a liar. He is a liar.
"Fuck-" you reach out instinctively, the pads of your fingers rippling against his skin, then pull back, cautious of your own touch.
He pulls your hand into his own, his other hand moving to the crook of your neck, "Honey- please-"
You shake your head, "This is bad Dean- actually bad- you need to- jesus why didn't you tell me- we need to go to the ER-"
He chuckles at your worry, "I'm okay, I'm really okay-"
"You don't look okay!"
"I'm alright," he leans forward, kissing your forehead, "-Sam checked me over."
You let a short breath out your nose, not quite mustering a laugh, "And he's a medical expert, is he?"
"More than you are-" he raises his eyebrow, a small smile.
You swallow hard, glancing over him. You bite your lip, it looks like he's been obliterated, "And we just-" you drag your hand down your face, a guilt that you didn't notice anything, "-you should have told me before we fucked-"
"You'd have stopped me-" he offers as explanation.
"Yes!- You shouldn't be moving right now let alone- all that!"
He chews his lip, thumb rubbing against your cheek.
You swallow, "We could've at least gone easier."
"I didn't want easy." He admits.
You finally break, a spark as you pretend to pout, "You don't like when I'm on top?"
He grins, pulling you into a small kiss. He rests his forehead against you for a moment, breathing you in, "I should've told you."
"You should've."
He doesn't quite say I'm sorry, but you know that's what he means. You reach out again slowly, carefully, fingers trailing along, "What happened?"
"Hunt. Demon. Made a mistake."
You nod. You know you won't get any more from him- in all honesty you don't need it. You just need him with you now, and god he needs you. That feeling he's been so scared of, that he's been burying all night- it's here now and it's consuming him- and he adores it. That feeling that you're here, that you're holding him and being so soft for him and that you'll give him everything he needs.
He relaxes back against the mattress. You keep your fingers on him, then break away. He stares up at you, eyes pleading without knowing what he's even asking for. You lean down slowly,
"Oh pretty boy-" you press your lips gently against the bruise, "-why does life keep hurting you?"
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