Highway to Hell: One Shots: "Wrapped Up in You"
Highway to Hell : One Shots
Wrapped Up in You
Chapter Wordcount: 2681
Rating: NC17
A/N: Title from "Wrapped Up in You" by Garth Brooks
Dean hears the rattle of metal before he opens the door.
He’s already thinking about what the noise could be from, where Monte might be, he thought she was in the bedroom and wondering how fast he can get to the gun hidden in the closet.
He sees the long line of Monte’s arm when he just barely cracks the door open and he kicks it in a sudden rush of anger and fear that something has happened.
He’s one step inside the threshold when his brain finally catches up to what his eyes are seeing.
Monte’s spread out alright, but not in any sinister way. Or, well…maybe.
Her left hand is already handcuffed to one of the posts of the headboard and she’s just sort of grinning at him, waving her other hand, only free hand, at him, handcuff dangling off her wrist.
“Dean!” she grins, half laughing as he finally snaps himself out of it.
“Wha…you…what are you…”
She smirks, white teeth biting into her bottom lip and Dean swallows hard.
“Come on, I can’t get the last one done with one hand.”
He’s still rooted to the floor, just staring at her until he realizes what she said.
Realizes what she means.
His knees feel like the joints just got replaced with pudding but somehow he manages to walk, more like stumble, over to the other side of the bed.
He reaches out, fingers dragging over the cold silver steel, mesmerized by the way it contrasts against her skin and finally mentally jerks, looking back up at her.
She’s smiling softly, like she knows how this just tilted his whole world out of whack but tugs gently against the chain in his hand.
“Come on,” she whispers.
Dean’s never had such a hard time with handcuffs in his life. He can get out of ‘em in less than two minutes but getting that cuff around the bedpost?
His Dad would be ashamed.
‘Course, he wouldn’t ever tell his Dad about this anyways.
He stands back up slowly, swallowing at the way she’s spread out over the sheets.
When he looks back up at her she’s still smiling softly, pupils blown wide and he knows she’s waiting for him to say something.
“Since when?” he croaks out.
“Always,” she shoots back, letting him have this little question and answer session, knowing he needs it.
“You never told me.”
“Too busy running, trying to stay alive. Figured I’d bring it up after we had a decent breather.”
He nods dumbly, becoming conscious of the fact that although his head is still swimming, eyes drinking in the sight, his dick is completely on board with this plan and his jeans are doing their damnedest to strangle the life out of it.
“So uh…”
“Shut up. And stop thinking,” she grins.
“I just…” he sighs, somewhat surprised at himself when he sinks his knee into the mattress and climbs onto the bed until he’s straddling her waist.
He finally huffs out a laugh, letting his hands spread out over her ribs.
“So…you like being controlled huh?”
“Is it that big a surprise?” she grins.
“Yes,” he shoots out, thinking about how independent and strong willed she is.
He turns around and mumbles ‘no’ a moment later, thinking about how she always lets him lead. How she likes him on top.
Not that she doesn’t do her fair share of instigating and leading, but he’s noticed, oh has he noticed, how she almost always pulls him on top of her. Arches into his touch when he gets a little rough and grabs her hands or wrists.
“Never really thought about it,” he mumbles, fingers slipping underneath the swell of her breasts, sweeping across the tender underside. “You’re just so…independent,” he settles on, eyes finally meeting hers again.
She shrugs awkwardly, the metal of the cuffs rattling against the wooden bedposts with the movement.
“I dunno,” she says, eyes falling away from his. “Something about…knowing you can,” she whispers, looking back up at him.
His brow furrows, “Meaning?”
“You know I’m hardly a pussy,” she grins, “I can handle my own, but knowing…that you could overpower me, if you really wanted to…I just…I dunno, there’s something about that,” she whispers.
“I would never…”
“I know…but that doesn’t change the fact that you could.”
His mind is still wrestling with the whole situation. His conscience screaming at him that Monte is strung up, unable to defend herself but his libido telling him that in some sort of way he’s pretty damn okay with that.
His hands are still sweeping across her stomach, watching the way the muscles clench and relax under his fingers and swallows hard when he thinks that, yea, maybe he kinda likes the fact that he can control her.
“It’s okay Dean,” she whispers, staring at him when his eyes snap back to hers. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
He nods, although he’s not quite convinced.
“You’re not gonna hurt me, I know that. I’ve always known that. You’re not forcing me to do anything. That would be different.”
He sighs, shirt pulling tight across his chest and he knows she’s right.
“So uh,” he swallows again. “How do you…I mean…”
“Up to you,” she smiles, soft upturning of the corner of her mouth.
His eyes snap to hers, realizing that that’s why she planned this whole thing, strung herself up. So that he could just…have at it.
She was offering herself to him.
“God…Monte…”
“Dean…just stop. Trust me, I’m getting plenty out of this. Just…do whatever you want,” she says softly.
He lets himself lean forward and kisses her softly, hand cupping her jaw.
“You know I want to please…”
She bites his lip, quick sharp nip that has him pulling back in surprise.
“You will. Trust me. I want to do this for you…just, let this be for you,” she finishes softly.
He’s tempted to keep arguing. Keep her talking while he struggles to reconcile everything in his head. But Monte’s always had a strange way of being able to control him and somehow it doesn’t surprise him she still is, even handcuffed to the bed.
He pulls his t-shirt over his head, chest heaving with a shaky breath and feels her legs come up to wrap around his waist, smooth skin resting just above the waistband of his jeans.
He slips his hands down her thighs, fingers pressing into the soft muscle and she closes her eyes and sighs, hitching herself up until she can wrap her fingers around the headboard.
Dean swallows hard, letting his hands slide over her hips and across her stomach. He feels her muscles twitch under his fingers and continues until the weight of her breasts is in his hands.
She opens her eyes with a sigh, legs tightening around him. He leans forward to kiss her but she turns her head away from him and his lips graze across her cheek.
“Fine then,” he whispers, sudden shot of thrill running down his spine and his hands tighten around her breasts and he drags his lips down her neck, tongue flicking out to leave wet trails behind, stomach flipping as she arches into him.
Her breath hitches against him and he hears the rattle of the metal cuffs against the bedposts and swallows the last lump of uncertainty in his throat.
He pushes her legs away from him and shifts himself until he can suck her nipple, teasing the bud with her teeth, nipping at the sensitive flesh and groaning when she hisses but arches into the abuse.
“Fucker,” she hisses, knowing damn well he knows she doesn’t like that but the spark in his eyes when he looks back up at her has her snapping her jaw shut.
“You said whatever I want,” he growls, biting down again and groaning deep in his throat when she keeps her mouth shut and lets him do it.
When her leg comes up to try to wrap around his hip he surprises himself and shoves it away, holding it out to the side as he makes his way down her stomach biting and sucking spots of red to the surface as he goes.
She’s breathing hard, sharp expansion and collapse of her ribcage underneath his hands but she’s clenching her jaw and keeping quiet.
Dean inhales his own deep breath, shaky and intoxicating and dips his tongue in between her legs.
Her hips jerk into the heat and he growls, hand coming up to sink into her hip, fingers leaving white shadows as he pushes her back down and teases her. Quick flicks of his tongue, just a ghost of a touch before backing away.
“Son of a bitch,” she hisses and he can hear the ragged edge of air as she pulls in another breath, muscles twitching under his fingers with the need to push into the promise of friction he’s torturing her with.
“Sshh,” he hisses, grinning against her when the vibration causes a shudder to slither under her skin.
He hears the rattle of the handcuffs again and looks up to see her with a white-knuckle grip around the spindles on the headboard.
He finally gives in and drags his tongue over her, just enough to take the edge of need off, groaning at the taste, fingers sinking in when she sighs and jerks against him.
He circles his thumb against the bundle of nerves and she wraps her leg around his shoulder, heel digging into his back and he can’t find it in himself to care.
He takes his time sliding his finger through her wetness, hard enough to send spikes shooting up her spine but light enough to tease.
She’s biting her bottom lip, sharp coppery taste of blood on her tongue as he swipes his stubble over the inside of her thigh, turning the skin red before kissing over the sting.
She jerks, the short chains on the handcuffs snapping tight when he slips his finger inside her.
“Damn baby, you’re soaking wet…getting off on this aren’t you?” he growls and she has to bite back a moan just from the sound of his voice.
Her heel trails up his spine before she lifts her knees and bucks up into the slow slip-slide of his fingers and her eyes snap open as he plants his free hand in the mattress and levers himself onto his hands and knees.
She tilts her head back, letting him bite and mark her neck, hips stuttering against the hard jab of his fingers, his whole hand slick with her wetness as he pushes in as far as he can over and over.
“God…Dean…”
He mumbles something against her throat and thrusts his hand harder, slipping in a third finger beside the first two.
“Fuck…” she shudders, metal rattling around the bedposts and he groans and pulls himself away from her and slides off the edge of the bed.
She’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, chest heaving and he can see the wetness on the inside of her thighs.
His pupils are blown wide and when he finally looks back up at her she’s staring at the prominent line of his cock still trapped in his jeans.
She bites her lip, small bead of blood rushing to the surface before her tongue snakes out and swipes it away, leaving it spit slick.
“Fuck,” he whispers, popping the buttons loose on his jeans, groaning when the pressure’s finally eased and lets them fall to the floor.
He tugs on his cock a couple times, hard pulls as he steps out of the puddle of denim and closer to the bed.
Her eyes are still locked on him, on the smooth pull-twist of his hand and when her eyes meet his again their just as wide and heated as his own.
His knee sinks into the mattress and he throws his leg over her, straddling her chest, soft press of her breasts against the insides of his thighs. He leans forward, wrapping his own hands around the headboard and shifts forward, heart thudding against his ribcage as she holds his eyes and lets the head of his dick slip over her lips.
There’s a thrill that shoots up his spine when she opens her lips, tongue slipping out to lick away the bead of pre-cum from the slit.
He groans and shifts forward, watching as his shaft slides between her lips, head disappearing into the wet heat of her mouth.
She moans, the vibration making his hips jerk reflexively and she loosens her jaw to let him push in.
Part of him is still holding back but he bites it back, sees the want, the need, in her eyes as she holds his eyes. He feels her relax under him, shiver running under her skin when he takes an experimental thrust.
She hollows out her cheeks and he groans, shifting forward again, stomach tightening as he watches himself, makes himself, slip in and out of her mouth.
He thrusts a few more times letting his hand fall to thread through her hair before he has to pull back.
She moans when he slips free, spit sliding over her bottom lip and he kisses her, tongue chasing the taste of himself in her mouth as he resituates himself between her thighs.
He slips into her easily, her body open and ready and she arches into him, on the edge from just feeling him.
He drags his lips down her neck and pulls out slowly, slamming back home, his body bowing to match the arch of hers when she gasps against him.
He doesn’t wait for her to recover, just pulls back again and pounds back in, unrelenting roll of his hips, her moans doing nothing but urging him on.
He lets his hands trail up her arms, hands circling her wrists underneath where she’s pulling against the metal cuffs and he squeezes gently, thrusting harder when she sighs and pushes back against him.
This whole thing was supposed to be for him and he doesn’t try to hold back his release, lets it burn through him and into her and she follows him, body clenching around him, drawing out every tremor.
He drops his head into the crook of her neck and tries to bring his breathing back to normal, her breasts pushing against his chest as she pants under him.
She closes her eyes and sighs when he pulls out, can feel the stickiness between her thighs and she jolts, cuffs yanking tight when she feels his tongue against her.
His eyes are locked on hers and she moans, caught off guard as he licks himself off of her, out of her, sucking and teasing her with the soft pressure, mindful of how sensitive she is.
When he crawls back up to kiss her she can taste the combined taste of them, his tongue slick and coated with it and she licks it out of his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist when he groans into her lips.
He kisses her softly again before pulling himself away from her and padding to the bathroom, bringing back a wash cloth a minute later and he carefully cleans her, cool terry cloth harsh against the adrenaline burn.
She’s still staring at him, eyes half lidded, arms still strung up above her and he unhooks the cuffs from the bedpost first, softly sliding his fingertip over the red-blue bruise line that cuts across her wrist from where she yanked against he metal.
He holds her eyes and leans down to run the tip of his tongue across the tender skin, kissing it softly before clicking the cuff open and moves to the other side to give it the same treatment.
He sits down on the bed next to her and twirls the circle of metal around his finger before catching it in his palm and holding it out to study it.
“Yea…they look big enough to fit me,” he grins, shooting her a sideways look.
She just laughs.
Previous: Red Line | Next: Why Don't You and I
Highway to Hell Master Post
Wrapped Up in You
Chapter Wordcount: 2681
Rating: NC17
A/N: Title from "Wrapped Up in You" by Garth Brooks
Dean hears the rattle of metal before he opens the door.
He’s already thinking about what the noise could be from, where Monte might be, he thought she was in the bedroom and wondering how fast he can get to the gun hidden in the closet.
He sees the long line of Monte’s arm when he just barely cracks the door open and he kicks it in a sudden rush of anger and fear that something has happened.
He’s one step inside the threshold when his brain finally catches up to what his eyes are seeing.
Monte’s spread out alright, but not in any sinister way. Or, well…maybe.
Her left hand is already handcuffed to one of the posts of the headboard and she’s just sort of grinning at him, waving her other hand, only free hand, at him, handcuff dangling off her wrist.
“Dean!” she grins, half laughing as he finally snaps himself out of it.
“Wha…you…what are you…”
She smirks, white teeth biting into her bottom lip and Dean swallows hard.
“Come on, I can’t get the last one done with one hand.”
He’s still rooted to the floor, just staring at her until he realizes what she said.
Realizes what she means.
His knees feel like the joints just got replaced with pudding but somehow he manages to walk, more like stumble, over to the other side of the bed.
He reaches out, fingers dragging over the cold silver steel, mesmerized by the way it contrasts against her skin and finally mentally jerks, looking back up at her.
She’s smiling softly, like she knows how this just tilted his whole world out of whack but tugs gently against the chain in his hand.
“Come on,” she whispers.
Dean’s never had such a hard time with handcuffs in his life. He can get out of ‘em in less than two minutes but getting that cuff around the bedpost?
His Dad would be ashamed.
‘Course, he wouldn’t ever tell his Dad about this anyways.
He stands back up slowly, swallowing at the way she’s spread out over the sheets.
When he looks back up at her she’s still smiling softly, pupils blown wide and he knows she’s waiting for him to say something.
“Since when?” he croaks out.
“Always,” she shoots back, letting him have this little question and answer session, knowing he needs it.
“You never told me.”
“Too busy running, trying to stay alive. Figured I’d bring it up after we had a decent breather.”
He nods dumbly, becoming conscious of the fact that although his head is still swimming, eyes drinking in the sight, his dick is completely on board with this plan and his jeans are doing their damnedest to strangle the life out of it.
“So uh…”
“Shut up. And stop thinking,” she grins.
“I just…” he sighs, somewhat surprised at himself when he sinks his knee into the mattress and climbs onto the bed until he’s straddling her waist.
He finally huffs out a laugh, letting his hands spread out over her ribs.
“So…you like being controlled huh?”
“Is it that big a surprise?” she grins.
“Yes,” he shoots out, thinking about how independent and strong willed she is.
He turns around and mumbles ‘no’ a moment later, thinking about how she always lets him lead. How she likes him on top.
Not that she doesn’t do her fair share of instigating and leading, but he’s noticed, oh has he noticed, how she almost always pulls him on top of her. Arches into his touch when he gets a little rough and grabs her hands or wrists.
“Never really thought about it,” he mumbles, fingers slipping underneath the swell of her breasts, sweeping across the tender underside. “You’re just so…independent,” he settles on, eyes finally meeting hers again.
She shrugs awkwardly, the metal of the cuffs rattling against the wooden bedposts with the movement.
“I dunno,” she says, eyes falling away from his. “Something about…knowing you can,” she whispers, looking back up at him.
His brow furrows, “Meaning?”
“You know I’m hardly a pussy,” she grins, “I can handle my own, but knowing…that you could overpower me, if you really wanted to…I just…I dunno, there’s something about that,” she whispers.
“I would never…”
“I know…but that doesn’t change the fact that you could.”
His mind is still wrestling with the whole situation. His conscience screaming at him that Monte is strung up, unable to defend herself but his libido telling him that in some sort of way he’s pretty damn okay with that.
His hands are still sweeping across her stomach, watching the way the muscles clench and relax under his fingers and swallows hard when he thinks that, yea, maybe he kinda likes the fact that he can control her.
“It’s okay Dean,” she whispers, staring at him when his eyes snap back to hers. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
He nods, although he’s not quite convinced.
“You’re not gonna hurt me, I know that. I’ve always known that. You’re not forcing me to do anything. That would be different.”
He sighs, shirt pulling tight across his chest and he knows she’s right.
“So uh,” he swallows again. “How do you…I mean…”
“Up to you,” she smiles, soft upturning of the corner of her mouth.
His eyes snap to hers, realizing that that’s why she planned this whole thing, strung herself up. So that he could just…have at it.
She was offering herself to him.
“God…Monte…”
“Dean…just stop. Trust me, I’m getting plenty out of this. Just…do whatever you want,” she says softly.
He lets himself lean forward and kisses her softly, hand cupping her jaw.
“You know I want to please…”
She bites his lip, quick sharp nip that has him pulling back in surprise.
“You will. Trust me. I want to do this for you…just, let this be for you,” she finishes softly.
He’s tempted to keep arguing. Keep her talking while he struggles to reconcile everything in his head. But Monte’s always had a strange way of being able to control him and somehow it doesn’t surprise him she still is, even handcuffed to the bed.
He pulls his t-shirt over his head, chest heaving with a shaky breath and feels her legs come up to wrap around his waist, smooth skin resting just above the waistband of his jeans.
He slips his hands down her thighs, fingers pressing into the soft muscle and she closes her eyes and sighs, hitching herself up until she can wrap her fingers around the headboard.
Dean swallows hard, letting his hands slide over her hips and across her stomach. He feels her muscles twitch under his fingers and continues until the weight of her breasts is in his hands.
She opens her eyes with a sigh, legs tightening around him. He leans forward to kiss her but she turns her head away from him and his lips graze across her cheek.
“Fine then,” he whispers, sudden shot of thrill running down his spine and his hands tighten around her breasts and he drags his lips down her neck, tongue flicking out to leave wet trails behind, stomach flipping as she arches into him.
Her breath hitches against him and he hears the rattle of the metal cuffs against the bedposts and swallows the last lump of uncertainty in his throat.
He pushes her legs away from him and shifts himself until he can suck her nipple, teasing the bud with her teeth, nipping at the sensitive flesh and groaning when she hisses but arches into the abuse.
“Fucker,” she hisses, knowing damn well he knows she doesn’t like that but the spark in his eyes when he looks back up at her has her snapping her jaw shut.
“You said whatever I want,” he growls, biting down again and groaning deep in his throat when she keeps her mouth shut and lets him do it.
When her leg comes up to try to wrap around his hip he surprises himself and shoves it away, holding it out to the side as he makes his way down her stomach biting and sucking spots of red to the surface as he goes.
She’s breathing hard, sharp expansion and collapse of her ribcage underneath his hands but she’s clenching her jaw and keeping quiet.
Dean inhales his own deep breath, shaky and intoxicating and dips his tongue in between her legs.
Her hips jerk into the heat and he growls, hand coming up to sink into her hip, fingers leaving white shadows as he pushes her back down and teases her. Quick flicks of his tongue, just a ghost of a touch before backing away.
“Son of a bitch,” she hisses and he can hear the ragged edge of air as she pulls in another breath, muscles twitching under his fingers with the need to push into the promise of friction he’s torturing her with.
“Sshh,” he hisses, grinning against her when the vibration causes a shudder to slither under her skin.
He hears the rattle of the handcuffs again and looks up to see her with a white-knuckle grip around the spindles on the headboard.
He finally gives in and drags his tongue over her, just enough to take the edge of need off, groaning at the taste, fingers sinking in when she sighs and jerks against him.
He circles his thumb against the bundle of nerves and she wraps her leg around his shoulder, heel digging into his back and he can’t find it in himself to care.
He takes his time sliding his finger through her wetness, hard enough to send spikes shooting up her spine but light enough to tease.
She’s biting her bottom lip, sharp coppery taste of blood on her tongue as he swipes his stubble over the inside of her thigh, turning the skin red before kissing over the sting.
She jerks, the short chains on the handcuffs snapping tight when he slips his finger inside her.
“Damn baby, you’re soaking wet…getting off on this aren’t you?” he growls and she has to bite back a moan just from the sound of his voice.
Her heel trails up his spine before she lifts her knees and bucks up into the slow slip-slide of his fingers and her eyes snap open as he plants his free hand in the mattress and levers himself onto his hands and knees.
She tilts her head back, letting him bite and mark her neck, hips stuttering against the hard jab of his fingers, his whole hand slick with her wetness as he pushes in as far as he can over and over.
“God…Dean…”
He mumbles something against her throat and thrusts his hand harder, slipping in a third finger beside the first two.
“Fuck…” she shudders, metal rattling around the bedposts and he groans and pulls himself away from her and slides off the edge of the bed.
She’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, chest heaving and he can see the wetness on the inside of her thighs.
His pupils are blown wide and when he finally looks back up at her she’s staring at the prominent line of his cock still trapped in his jeans.
She bites her lip, small bead of blood rushing to the surface before her tongue snakes out and swipes it away, leaving it spit slick.
“Fuck,” he whispers, popping the buttons loose on his jeans, groaning when the pressure’s finally eased and lets them fall to the floor.
He tugs on his cock a couple times, hard pulls as he steps out of the puddle of denim and closer to the bed.
Her eyes are still locked on him, on the smooth pull-twist of his hand and when her eyes meet his again their just as wide and heated as his own.
His knee sinks into the mattress and he throws his leg over her, straddling her chest, soft press of her breasts against the insides of his thighs. He leans forward, wrapping his own hands around the headboard and shifts forward, heart thudding against his ribcage as she holds his eyes and lets the head of his dick slip over her lips.
There’s a thrill that shoots up his spine when she opens her lips, tongue slipping out to lick away the bead of pre-cum from the slit.
He groans and shifts forward, watching as his shaft slides between her lips, head disappearing into the wet heat of her mouth.
She moans, the vibration making his hips jerk reflexively and she loosens her jaw to let him push in.
Part of him is still holding back but he bites it back, sees the want, the need, in her eyes as she holds his eyes. He feels her relax under him, shiver running under her skin when he takes an experimental thrust.
She hollows out her cheeks and he groans, shifting forward again, stomach tightening as he watches himself, makes himself, slip in and out of her mouth.
He thrusts a few more times letting his hand fall to thread through her hair before he has to pull back.
She moans when he slips free, spit sliding over her bottom lip and he kisses her, tongue chasing the taste of himself in her mouth as he resituates himself between her thighs.
He slips into her easily, her body open and ready and she arches into him, on the edge from just feeling him.
He drags his lips down her neck and pulls out slowly, slamming back home, his body bowing to match the arch of hers when she gasps against him.
He doesn’t wait for her to recover, just pulls back again and pounds back in, unrelenting roll of his hips, her moans doing nothing but urging him on.
He lets his hands trail up her arms, hands circling her wrists underneath where she’s pulling against the metal cuffs and he squeezes gently, thrusting harder when she sighs and pushes back against him.
This whole thing was supposed to be for him and he doesn’t try to hold back his release, lets it burn through him and into her and she follows him, body clenching around him, drawing out every tremor.
He drops his head into the crook of her neck and tries to bring his breathing back to normal, her breasts pushing against his chest as she pants under him.
She closes her eyes and sighs when he pulls out, can feel the stickiness between her thighs and she jolts, cuffs yanking tight when she feels his tongue against her.
His eyes are locked on hers and she moans, caught off guard as he licks himself off of her, out of her, sucking and teasing her with the soft pressure, mindful of how sensitive she is.
When he crawls back up to kiss her she can taste the combined taste of them, his tongue slick and coated with it and she licks it out of his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist when he groans into her lips.
He kisses her softly again before pulling himself away from her and padding to the bathroom, bringing back a wash cloth a minute later and he carefully cleans her, cool terry cloth harsh against the adrenaline burn.
She’s still staring at him, eyes half lidded, arms still strung up above her and he unhooks the cuffs from the bedpost first, softly sliding his fingertip over the red-blue bruise line that cuts across her wrist from where she yanked against he metal.
He holds her eyes and leans down to run the tip of his tongue across the tender skin, kissing it softly before clicking the cuff open and moves to the other side to give it the same treatment.
He sits down on the bed next to her and twirls the circle of metal around his finger before catching it in his palm and holding it out to study it.
“Yea…they look big enough to fit me,” he grins, shooting her a sideways look.
She just laughs.
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Highway to Hell Master Post