i n . t h r o u g h . t h e . o u t . d o o r

In Through the Out Door
[by luzdeestrellas and victoria p.]

Rating: adult

Summary: Sam snags the bag from where she'd left it in the drawer and pulls the dildo out. "I think you should let me fuck you."

Spoilers: none

Notes: Thanks to Mousapelli for betaing. AU, in which Sam has always been a girl.

Word count: 3,620 words

Date: March 25, 2007

Sam orders the thing in a fit of insomnia-induced online shopping. She's pretty sure she can convince Dean to go for it, and it's not like it's her money anyway. She normally feels bad about that, and no doubt Lillian Springer will be mortified when the hundred and eighty dollar charge from Toys in Babeland shows up on her Visa bill, but now Sam's started thinking about it, how it would feel to spread Dean open and fuck him, watch him come undone under the thrust of her hips and seven inches of clear, curvy acrylic, and the morality of credit card fraud--or lack thereof--fades into the background.

She'd like to say she forgets about it, but that'd be a lie. She thinks about it quite a lot, actually, and when they finally make it back to the Atlanta P.O. Box after nearly a month, she gets more than a little excited.

She stashes it in the night table drawer before they go out to eat, and when they're sitting in the booth, eating burgers and fries, sharing a big plate of onion rings that are just going to give Dean heartburn later, she says, "I think we should turn in early tonight." She slips her foot out of her flip-flop and slides it up the inside of his thigh.

He smirks in response. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I--I have a surprise for you."

The smirk widens into a grin, and she can feel the wet heat between her legs already, has to force herself not to squirm, because he knows exactly what that look does to her, and she's asked him a million times not to do it in public, which just encourages him. And okay, she does kind of love it, too, but she at least tries to behave while they're out, and sometimes he's just so embarrassing.

Of course, when he grabs her ankle and slides his hand up her calf, she stops caring about him embarrassing her and just hopes she won't embarrass herself by going all When Harry Met Sally in Applebee's.

"What kind of surprise?"

She gives him a smirk of her own. "If I tell you, then it's not a surprise."

"Whatever." The word is dismissive, but the way his hand is moving over her skin isn't, and she slides down a little in the booth, has to bite down on her lower lip to keep from gasping when his thumb brushes the ticklish spot on the back of her knee.

She has to clear her throat before she says, "You ready to go?"

Another smirk. "Always."

Sam rolls her eyes, and it's her turn to say, "Whatever," but he's dropping money down onto the table so they don't have to wait for the check, and she can't complain too much.

The ride back to the motel is ridiculously short--she'd suggested walking to the restaurant, to save gas and avoid polluting the environment any more than they had to, but Dean had taken that as an insult to his baby and insisted on driving--and her hands are shaking a little as she opens the door to the room.

Dean, acting like they didn't just rush out of a restaurant to fuck, gets himself a beer and then flops onto the bed with the newspaper.

Sam lets out a little grunt of annoyance, but he doesn't look up. She knows exactly how to change that, knows exactly how he reacts when she's half-naked in front of him, and she likes the way he looks at her, when he thinks she doesn't notice, hungry and possessive, as if she's the best thing he's ever seen. She unzips her jean shorts (and really, it's too hot for them, anyway, at least for anyone but Dean, who still insists on wearing jeans and boots in the middle of July) and slowly slides them down her legs, until she's dressed in nothing but her white tank top and bikini panties. He still appears engrossed in the sports pages, but she sees his gaze flick to her, and she smiles a little in triumph.

She pulls out her ponytail and rubs the back of her head where the black band had been holding her hair tightly, takes a deep breath, and says, "I've been thinking."

He looks up from box scores when she sits on the bed next to him. They don't really have much in the way of personal space bubbles anymore, but if they did, she'd totally be invading his now.

"That's never good," he answers, and she smiles.

"No, I think you'll like this." She snags the bag from where she'd left it in the drawer and pulls the dildo out. "I think you should let me fuck you."

His eyes go wide and his voice is higher than usual, startled, when he says, "I don't...I haven't thought about that."

She leans in, lowers her voice, and the breathlessness isn't all an act, because she gets wet and kind of frantic just thinking about it. Puts her mouth right against his ear and says, "Well, we don't have to, but I had all these plans. First, I was gonna start with my fingers, open you up nice and slow, and you know how talented I am with my fingers, Dean. And then I'll be in you, and you know how good it is when you're in me, Dean? I can make it better than that. I'll make you come, my hand on your dick, fucking you so hard you aren't even going to know your own name, but you'll be screaming mine..." She leans back then, as casually as she can. "But if you don't want to, it's no big deal."

"I didn't say I didn't want to," he answers, voice rough and fingers shaking just the tiniest bit when he reaches out to touch the dildo. "I just--Jesus, you could warn a guy."

"I thought you liked surprises."

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and does that thing with his tongue that makes her want to climb into his lap and fuck him right now every time he does it.

"What do you get out of it?" he asks, mouth against her cheek now, stubble rough against her skin, making her shiver.

"I get to be inside you, make you come with my name on your lips, so hot when you fall apart."

He swallows again, licks his lips. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Now?"

She turns her face, catches his lower lip between her teeth, then licks into his mouth, hard and hot, promise of what's to come. "If you want. It was just an idea."

He laughs, real and honest the way he only ever laughs for her, a little shaky now, too, want coming off him in waves. "Consider me sold. They teach you how to argue like that in college, Sammy?" He plays with the hair at the nape of her neck, and she shivers again, as much from that as the hand that trails up her thigh. "I gotta tell you, if they did, I don't think we were paying them enough."

"That was all you," she says, drawing him closer, working one leg between his, smiling at the hitch in his breath when she rubs up against him. He's already hard, and the knowledge that she did that almost without touching him ratchets up the throbbing between her legs until it's almost unbearable. "And you weren't paying them anything at all."

"Always with the details," he says, and he slips her panties aside, long fingers pressing down, practiced and sure, mouth curving in a grin when he feels how wet she already is. "You really want this, huh?" he asks, more to make her say it than because he wants to know, an old game as familiar as everything else they do.

She palms his dick through his jeans, rakes her fingernails gently down his back, enjoying the way his muscles jump under her touch. "You wanna see how much I want it, or do you just wanna talk about it all night?" She thrusts forward against his hand, invitation and challenge wrapped up together. "If you're scared, I understand. I'm sure better men than you would be a little nervous."

"Baby, ain't no such thing as a better man than me, and you know it."

"Mmhmm." He's thumbing her clit now, long fingers sliding against her slick cunt, and she has to work to keep up her end of the conversation, winds up answering cliché with cliché; the unoriginality of it would make her groan if she weren't so hot for him right now. "Your mouth's writing checks your body better be able to cash."

He pulls his fingers away, and she whimpers at the loss. He licks at them, pink tongue wrapping around them, and she remembers how good that tongue feels against her clit, in her cunt. She has to take a breath, remind herself they'll have time for that later.

She leans forward, kisses him, tasting herself in his mouth, so familiar and still so heady. While he's kissing her back, she works at his belt buckle, the zipper of his jeans. They pull apart just long enough to finish stripping, clothes tossed onto the other bed in a heap they'll sort out later, and then she's pushing him back against the pillows, lying between his thighs, enjoying the feel of all that supple, slightly sweaty skin rubbing up against her.

His hands move over her body, rough and somehow reverent like they always are, marking her as his, as he bends forward to take first one nipple then the other into his mouth, sucking and biting, laughing like a caress against her skin when she gasps and digs her nails into his shoulder. She yanks his head up, kisses him again, a claim she stakes every time they do this, one hand in his hair, the other coming between them to hold his dick. She works it the way she knows he likes, firm, fast strokes that have him thrusting up against her, needy whimpering sound in the back of his throat he'd deny ever making, but which she hears whenever they're like this.

"Sammy," her name lost between their mouths, and then the whimper again, bereft now that her hand's gone, and she's shifting away from him, watching him all the while, fair skin and lean muscle, mussed hair and unfocused eyes, a sculpture too perfect to be real, except there's a network of scars covering him that she knows by touch, and a look on his face that undoes her, like he's completely lost, broken open just because of her, and always, all for her.

"That's not why we're here, remember?" she says, and then she leans back in, only for a moment, whispers, "Gonna fuck you now," against his mouth. Then she's moving away for real, smiling as his eyes go wide and impossibly dark.

"Would've made you buy dinner, if I'd known," he says, but his voice is ragged, and he's already handing her the dildo, fingers trembling and sparking heat through her blood when they touch hers.

"You'll be buying dinner for the next year just to thank me when we're done," she says, as she works the dildo into place, his hands holding her steady, warm and callused against her skin, so much trust in his touch it makes her chest tight and her cunt wet, smooth glide of plastic over slick flesh making her shiver, and she bites back a little moan.

His grin flashes bright in the dim motel room, and then he looks down at her, and when he looks back up, there's nothing but desire, and something that might be awe, written on his face. "God," he says, "God, Sam," and it's her turn to smile as she sees his dick jerk, knows how close to the edge he already is.

She reaches down, runs her fingers along the cool, smooth length, brings his hand between her legs, nearly losing it when he puts his fingers inside her again. "Told you," she says, breathless, desperate.

He slides to the edge of the bed, kissing her belly, and pleasure unfurls like victory inside her. "How do we? I mean, you know?" He glances back over his shoulder at the space he's left behind him, and she laughs, because he should know better by now.

She pushes him back until she's between his thighs again, hands curling round his biceps. "Just like this," she says. "Gonna watch what I'm doing to you, see your face when you come."

She grabs a pillow, helps ease it under him, and then she runs a hand through his hair once, because even if he'd never admit it, she knows there is nervousness wrapped up in his excitement.

"Okay?" she says, doesn't give him time to answer, already knows what it would be.

She wraps her hand around his wrist, and when he slips his fingers out of her, she replaces them with her own, has to close her eyes and bite her lip so she can focus, remember what they're doing, what she wants to do with him. When her fingers are slick, she slips them out and, with her other hand on his hip to hold him still, slides them into him, one then two, then three, twisting and jerking, nothing gentle because he'd never stand for that, more like priming a weapon.

She talks all the while, low babble of words that drives him as wild as almost anything else she does. "So hot. Gonna fuck you hard, fast, until you think you can't take it anymore, and then I'm gonna go slow, deep, make it as good as you do for me. Feel that, Dean? Tell me how good it feels."

He breathes like he's forgotten how, or maybe hasn't in years, sharp, frantic gasps of air that set heat pooling in her belly. "Baby, so good. Always so good."

"Only for you," she says, and then she takes her fingers away, drawing soothing circles on his hip while she reaches for the lube. "You taught me to always be prepared," she says, when she catches his smirk.

"Knew you'd make a good boy scout," he says, or starts to, but the end is lost in a moan of pleasure when she jacks his dick again, wriggles closer, and he spreads his legs higher and wider for her, as in sync in this as they are on the job.

There's nothing here to hunt, though, only her and Dean, Dean and her, the pulse at the base of his neck beating out a frantic rhythm that matches her own wild heartbeat, louder in her ears than gunshots, but it's want that sings in her veins and not fear, drowning everything else out but him. "You and me," she says, and then, "You ready?"

Dean's hand tangles in her hair, and he kisses her sloppily. "Dude, I'm not a girl. Fuck me already."

She squeezes his dick again, hard enough to hurt. "Man, are you gonna regret that."

Then she slides close as she can get, his dick between them and his hands cradling her back. She nudges his ass, has to work to find an angle that's comfortable, slips in slowly, hesitates when she feels him tense up, muscles tightening under her hands.

"Easy," she says, "easy." A whisper and a kiss against his skin, remembering how careful he was with her after that first time, until he believed she wouldn't break if he pushed too hard.

"Thought you wanted this," he grits out, jaw set. "Wimping out on me, Sammy?"

She's always responded to any challenge he's ever given, and she does now, though she still strokes her palms over his chest as she moves, reassuring the only way he'll ever let her; she pretends not to notice when the hands on her back press hard enough to hurt.

She rocks against him, closing her eyes against how good it feels inside her, to be inside him, and when she opens them again, he's watching her, pupils blown wide, so much in his eyes that he'll never say, never have to, because she knows it all already.

And then she shifts again, searching for the right angle, and thrusts harder.

"Fuck, Sammy, do that again," he gasps, and she laughs, loving how beautiful he looks, all spread out and fuckable beneath her.

"Yeah, baby," thrust, "you know," she pulls out almost all the way, "I will." And thrusts again, hard now, fast and steady, pleasure sparking in her like fireworks. "You like that?" she manages, barely able to find breath to form the words. He thrusts back against her, making them both gasp. "I'll take that as a yes, then. God, Dean, you're so fucking hot, love fucking you so much."

He grins, mouth glistening and swollen from her kisses. "I know."

"Jackass," she says. "Gonna make you love it more." She doesn't miss a beat before her hand finds his dick again, jacks him as she moves, rhythm as easy as breathing, making him writhe and gasp, thrust back against her, need and want like lightning surging through her every time he does, voltage rocketing every time he says her name, like it's been torn from him, like it's all he knows.

He slides his hand around, calluses rough against the skin of her hip, her belly, but she slaps his hand away when he tries to press his fingers against her clit. She's trying to keep focus on him, trying to keep herself from coming before he does, and she knows if she lets him touch her, she's lost.

"Baby, please," he says, voice thready and rough, and it gives her a hot thrill that even after all this time, she still makes him feel this way. "Wanna touch you. Wanna make you come."

She loves how much he loves making her come, the way he uses his hands and his mouth on her all the time, making her fall apart before he ever puts his dick inside her. But she's the one running things tonight. She takes a deep breath and holds it for a long five seconds, trying to keep control.

"You first." He's holding on like she's the only thing keeping him together, like he can't let go, and that almost makes her lose it completely, but she's not going to let him win, not this time. With a twist of her hips and a jerk of her wrist, her mouth up against his, edges of her vision already sparking bright, she whispers, "Come on, Dean, come for me."

And he does, thick and white between their bodies, warm against her heated skin, her name on his lips loud as the roar of the Impala's engine. She can feel every shudder and spasm as his body clenches around her dick, and it gets her off, pleasure pulsing through her in waves, hard enough to make her shake and clutch at him. He cradles her in his arms and they ride it out together, as close as possible for two people to be.

When she can think again, she slides out of him (and out of herself, as well), and he lowers his legs with a sigh. She rubs at the muscles of his thighs, presses a kiss to his throat, nips at the still rapid pulse of his carotid artery, loving the feel of his stubble, the taste of his skin against her lips.

His hand slides between her legs, fingers easily finding her clit, rubbing slow circles over it, almost lazy, just enough to make her gasp and come again, in deeper, slower waves, but not hard enough to hurt when she's already sensitive, always knowing what she needs, how much she can take.

"Bastard," she mutters into his mouth. "Always have to have the last word."

"Mmm. Bitch, bitch, bitch, Sammy. You should be grateful I know all the best ways to make you come."

"I'm not sure you have the monopoly on the best, anymore. I heard the way you were screaming my name. Hell, people two states over heard the way you were screaming my name."

He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in, and she can feel his laughter, even if his voice is serious. "Winchester men don't scream, Sammy. We shout when we have to, and sometimes we growl, as men do, but we never, ever scream."

"And sometimes you're deluded and crazy." She pokes him in the chest. "'Fess up. You loved it."

"It wasn't the worst thing ever," he says, lips twisting into a mock-frown she kisses away.

She pouts, knowing he still can't resist it, even when he knows it's fake. Maybe especially when he knows it's fake. "So I should get rid of it, then?"

This time he does growl, and she laughs as he rolls on top of her. "Smugness is not a good look on you, Samantha." He runs his teeth lightly along her throat.

"Honey, everything's a good look on me," she answers, barely able to keep a straight face.

He nips at her collarbone in retaliation. "And, for the record, you might know how to use one, but my dick's still bigger, and don't forget it."

"True," she says, slipping her hand to his crotch and grinning, "but mine won't go limp after one round."

He can't keep the smile from his voice. "I hate you."

She kisses him in response, soft and sleepy. "I know you do."

end

~*~

Note: The toy used in this story is advertised as not needing a harness, and since I have neither $180 nor a boyfriend, I haven't tried it out, so I can't say for sure whether it works the way it's advertised. For Sam and Dean's sake, I hope it does.

~*~

If you liked this story, feel free to leave a comment.

~*~

Back to Supernatural Stories Index

Back to Main Stories Index

~*~

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters belong to Eric Kripke, etc. This piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.