'Til I Hit the Ground
'Til I Hit the Ground
Word Count: ~2600
Pairing: Dean/Charlotte (Het)
Rating: NC-17 (Sex, Language)
Feedback: Absolutely. Concrit is always welcome.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine but I'd make Dean wear his boots all of the time if they were.
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for the lovely embroiderama based on a prompt for the pairing - down to the scar!porn. It ended up being my response to the Jukebox Hero challenge at spn_het_love. The story is set in an AU where Dean goes to college, Mary is alive and there are no demons. I think the scene can stand alone but your mileage may vary.
Beta(s): discordia-intus dealt gracefully with my inevitable random spammage and rinkle provided a fresh eye to the 'verse. Both of them endured my run-on sentences and an attempt to turn Charlotte, arguably the clumsiest OFC in Supernatural fandom, into a contortionist. quirkies also let me run characterization past her during my inevitable freakout. Everything that rocks about this is because of them. The mistakes? Those are all me.
Summary: "It's offcial. Hell is being stuck in an Aerosmith video."
She fell flat on her ass when the elevator jerked to a stop.
Didn’t even have the chance to belt out an ‘oof’ or a ‘whoops’ or any of the other things that popped out of her mouth whenever Charlotte fell down, just a stunned grunt when she hit the floor and a hard thump that was probably her book bag joining her there.
And it wasn’t his fault that he laughed when the emergency light kicked in, seeing her sprawled out in front of him with her combat boots peeking out from underneath the waterlogged hem of her skirt and the shine off her cock-eyed glasses.
It was the goddamn hat, with its goddamn pink flaps covering her ears and the goddamn bow underneath her chin. But mostly it was the goddamn pom-pom, quivering on the top of her head just as indignant as the scowl on Charlotte’s face when he offered an arm.
“You are the world’s biggest prick, Dean Winchester.” Charlotte poked him in the stomach when he sucked in a breath. “And don’t even think about making that crappy joke about your penis size.” She slipped on the melting snow pooling across the elevator floor, grabbing onto his arms to steady herself. She leaned down, still clutching an arm, and pressed the emergency button. “Excuse me,” Charlotte called. “We’re in the second elevator and - ”
“Power’s out,” a scratchy voice answered from the emergency speaker. “Probably take an hour before everything’s back up and running. You okay in there?”
“Fantastic,” she replied, drawing it out long enough for Dean to hear the drawl.
Nothing he liked better than listening to the way she breathed out ‘God’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘damn’ like dripping honey when his fingers were knuckles deep and she was bucking right up into his face, thighs trembling around his ears while he sucked on her clit. He’d look up past the swell of her belly and she’d be playing with her own nipples, thumbs rubbing across crinkly skin in time to his searching tongue until she tangled her hands in his hair and spasmed against his mouth; the scars on her stomach standing out in bas relief as Charlotte’s skin flushed and it didn’t matter what the hell she was saying so long as Dean kept her talking.
That voice of hers could get a man hard just by reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.
There was an electronic squawk from the speaker before it fell silent and Charlotte managed to rest her chin on his chest without falling down, hands snaking behind his neck. “I can’t believe you’re such a jerk,” she said. “Laughing at a girl with a bruise the size of a grapefruit on her rear end. Especially when she’s soaking wet.”
“If you ask me nice enough,” he said softly, pitching his voice low as he whispered into her ear, “I’ll blow on it before I put on a Band-Aid.” She shivered when his breath touched skin, his lips feeling the prickle of hairs rising on her neck, and he pushed her up against the nearest wall. Charlotte staggered backwards, fingers curling around the hand rail. “Be a shame for the moment to go to waste.”
“You’re incorrigible.” A smile flickered across her face. “Did you know that?”
“You’re soaking wet, baby, and we’ve got some time to kill.” Dean grinned, planting his hands on either side of her head. “So get ready to love it up until you hit the ground.”
“It’s official. Hell is being stuck in an Aerosmith video.”
But Charlotte tilted her head, the emergency light bouncing off the lenses focused on his face, and sighed into his mouth when it came down on top of hers. The goddamn girl was standing on the tips of her toes just to keep from pulling away, her tongue sliding against his, and she tasted like gumdrops.
It didn’t take much to make her quiver, just his hands settling on her hips after he unzipped her coat; pulling aside the elastic waistband of Charlotte’s skirt. One hand slid down the front of her underpants, her breath coming out in a huff when Dean snuck a finger into the warm cleft underneath downy hair; gliding between folds where she was already wet for him. He grinned down at her as white teeth caught her lower lip, slipping another finger down near the first.
“Alma warned me about boys like you,” Charlotte said softly. “Rough boys in leather jackets who make you want to do dangerous things.” She hissed when his thumb flicked against the pulsing bead in the midst of the slick, crashing against his hand. Her hands were tight on the rail, head falling backwards until he could see the muscles of her neck stretch. “Dean,” she whispered. Her legs were shaking, lips hot into the curve of his neck.
“Don’t need to hold back,” he murmured. “No one here but you and me.”
And there was that shadow falling across her face, the one Dean remembered from that first afternoon; a startled deer being chased down in someone’s headlights. Charlotte sighed sharply, lowering her forehead to his shoulder with a quiet moan as he spread her open; an ‘oh oh oh’ drawn out in a sing-song voice keeping time to the wet sounds of his fingers in her pussy. She pressed up hard against him, all groaning shudders and rocking hips.
He was on his knees before he realized it, denim soaking in water as she started lifting her skirt - the fabric inching up her legs until it was fisted in each hand. A swooping scar on her belly looped underneath her underwear, pale in the glow of the dim emergency light, and he traced the length of it with his tongue, his hands on her hips. Charlotte sucked in a tattered breath.
Five months later, and she was still trying to hide.
Dean tugged her underwear past her hips, licking a trail down a shiny scar until her underwear was caught on one boot. She kicked it off, giving another sigh when Dean’s mouth moved back up her leg; kissing a line to the crease where her hip met her thigh. He opened the lips of her pussy with his thumbs, hearing her gasp when he brushed her clit with his tongue. She hooked one knee over his shoulder and something ragged ripped out of her when he tasted the full length of her slit, curling his tongue up into her pussy and fucking her with it.
He could have stayed there for hours, drowning in the tangy musk that pulsated against his tongue when one finger thrust past the mouth of her cunt - just enough pressure to get her hips swaying as it crooked inside and Charlotte whispered in that apple-sweet drawl of hers. Her arms were trembling when his tongue went still on her clit and she pushed towards his mouth.
Never had her whimpering before, not like everything inside was boiling over; spilling onto his lips and fingers when he held her open and all he had to do was suck until she was crying out, his hot breath against her slick skin.
Her pulse was still pounding against his lips when she slid her knee off of his shoulder; he stood up feeling the ache in his knees and she was hitching up onto her toes. Her tongue darted between his lips, their teeth clicking together as Charlotte tangled her fingers in his hair, and she didn’t stop kissing him until her heels touched back down on the floor.
“Alma was right,” Charlotte said. “You boys in leather jackets make girls crazy.” She smiled when there was a grinding noise above them, the tap of metal against metal and the thump of a footstep. Charlotte cocked her head, one hand touching his cheek. “Do you like kinky girls, Dean Winchester?”
“I like kinky girls just fine.”
“Just wondering.”
And he didn’t even see the warning when her eyes went wide, when her fingers tucked into his jeans and she unbuttoned his fly - pulling them down past his hips with another kiss, soft and urgent like he was all she needed to breathe. She scratched slowly down his legs as she fell to her knees, cupping his balls as one hand flexed around his cock. Dean closed his eyes when she rubbed the knob gently with her palm, her fingers sliding down the length.
He was screwed.
Couldn’t keep from moaning when Charlotte’s lips replaced her palm, encircling the head while her tongue flicked against him. She started moving faster, sucking on the tip and releasing it quickly before taking it back into her mouth, and suddenly her lips were sliding down his dick right to the edge of the shaft, her fingers leaving half-moons on the backs of his thighs. Tongue swirling around him, slow then fast, and that stupid pom-pom bobbed every time her head moved and, fuck, the girl could suck start a Harley.
They both flinched when the elevator jerked again and the lights turned back on.
“Shit,” Dean hissed.
He managed to get his pants buttoned back up before the doors opened and Charlotte was smoothing down her skirt when a smiling repairman greeted them in the hallway. She scuttled past him with her book bag slung over her shoulder, grabbing Dean by the wrist and dragging him behind her while the repairman called out ‘Miss.’
Charlotte didn’t stop, pulling Dean with her into the stairwell. Her ass was swaying underneath the flare of her coat as she picked up speed. Wasn’t fair that he could still feel Charlotte’s lips on his cock, the slick hollow of her cheeks as her head moved up and down, her nails digging into skin while she sucked. Not when she was tripping up a flight of stairs and his dick was aching, shoving against his button fly instead of the back of her throat.
God, but he wanted to fuck her - to mark every square inch of her with his scent and the white imprint of his fingers on her hips, branding her with a kiss at the small of her back when her head fell forward.
He would have been happy throwing Charlotte Anne Webb up against the wall and screwing her hard enough for that goddamn repairman to hear the girl screaming two floors down, the heels of her boots pushing into the backs of his knees. Or maybe he would wait until they made it to her dorm room, tossing Charlotte onto her bed and flipping up her skirt before she realized he was holding her soaked underwear to the side and going balls deep. She would swell around him, rocking backwards into each thrust until she clenched warm and wet around his cock.
And then he would slide his hand down between her legs, brushing his thumb against the still-pulsating bead. There was nothing wrong with watching, not when Charlotte’s body arced beside his and a spray of goose bumps burst across her thighs, and there was nothing wrong with listening to her litany of ‘faster’ and ‘Jesus’ and ‘Dean.’ Charlotte’s smile would go wide and her hand would wrap around his cock, her voice a murmur about how he was always going to be her hero and how big brothers were sexy and that she wasn’t much but she was his between breaths.
They had to get to the goddamn room first.
Dean was the one fishing for her keys in the front flap of Charlotte’s book bag, dragging her behind him and flipping on the overheard light. Didn’t even wait for her to lock the door - just kicked it shut and pulled her in tight to his hips. She probably got the message when Dean’s hands slid down to her ass, shuddering as he pressed his throbbing cock against her stomach, because she was already blushing when she looked up at him.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“Chicks make that mistake all the time,” Dean murmured into the curve of her neck. Charlotte was hot to the touch, another prickle of hair rising against his lips when they touched down on skin. But she put both hands on his chest and pushed away from him. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly.
“My panties are still in the elevator.”
“You serious?” Dean dropped his hands, snorting when she took another step away from him. “The freakazoid who color coordinates her notes with three different highlighters left her goddamn underwear in an elevator?”
“It’s not like I had the time to fish them out of the puddle after the lights came back on.” Charlotte glared at him over the top of her glasses, shrugging out of her coat. Her eyes narrowed when his mouth twitched. “You really are a prick.”
Maybe he was - but Dean couldn’t keep from laughing all over again when Charlotte’s lips pursed like she was sucking lemons. The shaking pom-pom on her hat only made it worse.
“So you’re telling me there’s an old dude out there running around campus with a pair of your underpants.” Charlotte made a face, even when he put his arms around her waist; hands sneaking up underneath her sweater until he was tracing the whorls on her belly with his thumbs. “And I thought sucking me off in an elevator was kinky.” He chuckled. “I bet you’re so kinky, you want to boink me right now wearing nothing but that hat.”
“Right now, I should be kicking you out and finishing my psychology paper.” Charlotte took a step back, curling her fingers about the hem of her sweater before pulling it over her head. She untied the knot underneath her chin and smiled wryly, letting the hat drop from her fingers. “You’re the one who likes kinky girls.”
She stumbled around him, glancing at him over her shoulder, and she managed to hop up onto her bed without falling down. That didn’t keep Charlotte from bumping her forehead into the wall with a ‘crap’ as she turned around to watch him, bending her knees so that her skirt slipped down just enough for Dean to see the shine glistening on the inside of her thighs. She shimmied out of her bra before throwing it on the floor, watching him slide out of his jacket while she played with her breasts; the tips of wet fingers circling her nipples.
But Charlotte was turning red all the same, white scars blooming across her arm and her belly; peeking out from underneath her skirt when she bunched the fabric in her hands and slid it down further, splaying her legs and thrusting two fingers into the wet and all that mattered was unbuttoning his jeans as fast as he could.
“Charlotte, did you hit your head on something?”
“Just shut up and fuck me.”
Didn’t have to be told twice.
Dean shucked out of his jeans right along with his boxers, kicking them off before he landed next to her on the bed and Charlotte was already straddling him, spreading her legs wide and guiding him into her pussy. She throbbed around him, moving to the rhythm of their breathing. He knotted his right hand into her hair and dragged her mouth down to his, swallowing Charlotte’s moan when his other hand traced the scar down the inside of her thigh, and they both smiled when he found what he was looking for. His fingers were still working her clit when he bucked up inside her with a hot flush and it wasn’t long before her back arched, trembling while they both overflowed onto his hand.
She leaned down and kissed his shoulder.
“Still think I’m the world’s biggest prick?”
Charlotte touched the corner of his mouth with her fingers. “Kinky girls don’t complain about that when it really matters,” she said softly.
“Jesus Christ! Even when you fall flat on your ass, you’re fucking hinky.”
A/N:
The title of this story is a song lyric from “Love in an Elevator” by Aerosmith. Of course I went there… How could I not go there? But I did manage to find the one line in the whole damn thing that reflected the “falling” theme of the ‘verse.
I wanted to write the pairing because my muse is sorely vexed with a more difficult piece, so the lovely embroiderama gave me the prompt: “Stuck on the elevator between floors of a dorm building.” She probably knew that I was going to go there. Then again, she was walking next to me when I very drunkenly began going on and on and on and on about my thing for Dean’s knuckles.
Yes, Charlotte did keep her boots on. Self-referential ‘verses for the win. (And if you can name the story where the allusion came from, you read entirely too much of my stuff.)
For those who have read either Always Falling or Any Chance Collision, this takes place in early February of Dean’s sophomore year.