For What It’s Worth
Relationship: Dean x Reader
Rating: Smut. (smut is not my forte. I have no forte.) A bit of fluff.
A/N: This is for @wheresthekillswitch and @emilywritesaboutdean ‘s Do It Like Team Free Will Challenge, wherein you receive a gif and you porn it up as best you can. Thank you, ladies, for putting this together :D
[my gif-prompt is further down]
Summary: You borrow something of Dean’s and he is not pleased. You are not pleased that he is not pleased. That’s not to say that pleasure isn’t derived from the overall situation.
“Aw hell no, sweetheart. That’s my best FBI shirt.”
You frown at Dean’s exclamation as you cap the milk jug again. This is how he greets you in the morning? “It’s just a shirt, Dean.”
“My best shirt.”
“Whatever. You iron it with beer.”
“That’s not true I only do that with Sam and yo- with Sam’s clothes.”
You roll your eyes and cock a hip against the countertop, leaning into it as you start eating the cereal you just poured yourself.
“Can you change out of it now?”
Your spoon holding hand pauses and your jaw drops in incredulity. “You’re not serious? You’re supposed to find it adorable and, or, sexy that I’m wearing your shirt, you Ass. This response is not acceptable.”
“You’re just not the most graceful so I don’t see you not getting it stained and were leaving for that case later and I want to have it handy. Go put on one of my t-shirts or something if you want,” Dean offers.
You put the bowl back down and throw your hands up, “Unbelievable. And I’m plenty graceful.” You twist to face him, narrowly avoiding toppling over the milk jug. He raises a brow at you. “You’re supposed to want to ravage me. That’s the cliche. I know dating is neither of our fortes but I’m thinking that you should know that at least.”
“Ask nicely.” Dean walks further into the kitchen, finally leaving the doorway.
“If you want to be ravaged all you have to do is ask. Nicely.”
“Bite me, Winchester.”
“I can do that too,” he winks.
“Nuh-huh. Too late. The biting opportunity has come and gone. I’m going to go get out of this,” you say, pinching the collar of the shirt.
Dean stops you midway to the exit. His eyes twinkle with mischief like they do every time before he- “Let me help.”
You walk backwards as Dean stalks towards you until you bump into the stainless steel counter. You’re lifted onto it, then, and dropped unceremoniously. Your hands move up reflexively to clutch at Dean’s arms. The metal is cool against your skin but that’s not why you shudder.
“Look at how quiet you’ve gotten,” Dean says, all predator.
You open your mouth to object but the thing is, you have.
“You’ve got such a smart mouth, babe, but you’re all talk, huh? ‘Cause when I’ve got you like this,” Dean drags you close to the edge of the counter with one sharp tug and your grip on his biceps tightens. “You don’t seem to have any objections.”
The smirk he gives you is gorgeous, of course, but really it pisses you off and you conjure up your best glare. “I-”
Dean kisses you. It’s dirty with lots of tongue and when you moan into it, he smirks against your lips. You’re not even angry about it. You can’t be, not with his hands sliding from your hips to your knees and then back up the inside of your thighs. When they meet fabric, they start undoing the buttons of the dress shirt, working their way further up.
Dean stops after a couple buttons and glides a thumb over your slit, feeling the shape through the now damp fabric of your underwear. He ends the kiss that leaves you breathless and, panting a little himself, raises a brow at you.