Summary: OFC Vanessa hates weddings until she meets a handsome stranger.
Pairing: Dean x OFC
Words: 9629
Warnings: age difference, ass play, finger sucking, finger feeding, female ejaculation, NSFW
A/N: Tad is a reference to the movie Ten Inch Hero, in which Jensen plays the (other) man of my dreams. Broom closet puns are courtesy of @boondoctorwho.,
xox: @glassjacket @boondoctorwho @cracksinthewalls @naughtygirlsarebest@fatestemptress @adoptdontshoppets @pisces-cutie @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants
“That was…” Dean pulls a face with wide eyes and lips in the shape of a mock-impressed O as he whistles. “Somethin’ else.”
Vanessa giggles. “Shut up and gimme my drink,” she leans against the bar next to him as he slides her a vodka with club soda and lime.
“I had no idea what you wanted,” Dean says. “But, uhh…” He glances around until his eyes fall on the bartender at the other side of the bar. “Tad,” he looks back at her and flutters his eyelashes flirtatiously and Vanessa snorts a small laugh. “Claims vodka/soda was mentioned by the bride, so…” Dean looks down into his whiskey with an eye-crinkly smile.
Vanessa nods. “It’s perfect.” She swirls the liquid with her swizzle stick before tossing the stick to the side and taking a long sip. There’s a lull in their banter as they watch people milling about, finding their seats for dinner. Vanessa tries to think of something to say because she’s afraid that Dean’s regretting her proposition. Just when she is about to stutter something random, just to fill the air, Dean stands to his full height, looking down at her with eyes full of trouble and charm.
He reaches for her hand. “There’s a broom closet callin’ our names, sweetheart.” He grins and tilts his head again like he did in the bar to beckon her to him, squinting his eyes, staring into her – and she feels a tug in her gut. He watches her, slowly twisting their fingers together and apart, teasing the sensitive skin of her palm.
“Okay,” Vanessa nods, drawing a short, sharp breath and Dean grins. Then he lifts her hand with his and aims for the double doors, rests his other hand on her hip and his cheek to hers, and with eyes laser-focused on the exit, he tangos them out of the ballroom and into the lobby, leaving confused reception attendees in their wake.
It takes about five seconds for Dean to pick the lock and they’re inside the closet. It’s temperature controlled and extremely tidy, even though it contains cleaning supplies.
“This is cozy,” Vanessa says, glancing around, trying to figure out what his plan is. There isn’t really any place for her to sit or kneel that isn’t cold and/or concrete, so her promised blow-job isn’t going to be pleasant for her.
“Wonder if we can order drinks in here,” Dean snarks, ghosting his hands over the chiffon gathered at her hips and wrapping his arms around her waist. He rests his chin on her shoulder and she can smell his shampoo and what she assumes is just him – leather and something earthy.
“Broom service?” Vanessa snorts at her own joke and Dean groans.
“You’re worse than I am,” he says, turning her to face him, running a finger across her exposed collarbone. “My baby brother hates my puns.” He looks strangely serious for a moment – maybe a little melancholy – as his eyes follow the trail of fire left behind by his fingertips on her skin.
She pulls in a deep breath and tries another one, just to make him smile. “Think you can handle me?”
Dean’s head is still dipped low but his eyes flick to meet hers then to the brooms and mops, a dark smile settling over his face, then back to her eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he says, straightening and removing his jacket. He inexplicably wraps the denim around her shoulders before walking her backward, holding her gaze. When her back hits the cinderblock wall between two wire racks full of bottles and rags and rolls of toilet paper, she understands why he put his jacket back there.
Before she knows it, Dean’s on his knees at her feet, his stance wide, the black denim straining across his hips and groin and thighs. He watches her reaction as he slowly slides his hands up her skirt, bunching all that chiffon over his arms, until he can loop his fingers around the thong to pull it off.
Vanessa is literally stunned – like buzzing ears and whirring vision stunned. This beautiful man is on his knees in front of her and he’s being gentle and he’s in the moment and he’s funny and he really seems to like her.
“I thought I was s’posed to be on my knees,” she murmurs, unable to divide her attention between what he’s doing and simple thought. Dean carefully lifts each of her silk-wrapped feet to remove the scrap of lace from her body. He crumples the lace in one hand and meets her eyes then seamlessly slips the bit of fabric into the inside pocket of his jacket. He looks smug down there, his big, pretty jewel embedded eyes framed in lush lashes, pouty lips, and perfect, perfect everything – just looking up at her.
His hands are under her skirt again, fingertips lazily stroking the silken skin of her thighs. She sighs, and he starts to gather the delicate chiffon to one side, twisting the fabric a few times until it looks a little like a tutu then tucks the end behind the small of her back before moving into her.
He takes his time occupying her space and settling in close. She gasps and grabs the support bars on the racks at her sides when he wraps his fingers around the backs of her knees and lifts until her legs are draped over his shoulders. He shifts again, ensuring that she’s safely anchored and comfortable.
“You good?” He asks and she nods. Then he presses the most chaste kiss to her bare cunt that anyone ever could to such a place.
“Jesus,” Vanessa breathes, dropping one hand to his head and gripping into the soft brown hair. He scatters kisses outside her lips and the delicate skin at the juncture of her groin and inner thigh, lightly nipping and sucking along the way.
“Vanessa,” Dean says her name for the first time since they met, and the sound of it falling from his lips is melodic and warm, reverent. “Look at me.” He wraps an arm around her hips, holding her in place and she feels the fingers of his other hand, teasing her folds from underneath.
When she obeys his command, he licks his lips and looks like a big cat again – cool and comfortable, but coiled and ready to strike. And then he does.
Dean’s tongue slowly unfurls from between his perfect lips. He holds her heated gaze as he languidly licks her from a spot she’d normally deem as forbidden and drags it through her wet to her clit. She tenses and juts up into his face, and he squeezes her hips with his steel band of an arm.
“Relax,” he breathes and the puff of air caresses her damp, sensitive skin. Vanessa closes her eyes from the overstimulation of feeling him and watching him work her over, just to get her breathing under control. He lightly swipes the flat of his tongue back and forth across her clit as he slides a finger inside her and one alongside her clit.
Vanessa’s breathing is ragged as she grips the wire rack so tightly her knuckles ache, her other hand roughly twisting in Dean’s hair. He groans and slides another finger inside her while continuing to double up on her clit with his tongue and thumb. Then she feels another thick, calloused finger slide between her cheeks and violently thrusts into his face.
“Hooooo, shit,” she gasps and jerks her hips, keeping her eyes shut tight. Dean chuckles quietly and reinforces his grip with his arm. He doesn’t persist beyond lightly brushing against her tight hole, but the simple sensation makes Vanessa’s brain spin.
“So tight,” he mutters against her wet skin between licks. “Are you close?”
He curls his fingers inside her cunt, pressing and rubbing her front wall with his broad fingertips while firmly rotating her clit with his tongue and she clenches tighter around his fingers.
Vanessa nods and finally opens her eyes. She knows watching him will push her over the edge. The sight of him eating her so voraciously, the sounds he’s making, the glistening mix of her slick and his spit smearing his mouth and cheeks and nose is debauched and beautiful; and when Dean pulls her clit fully into his mouth and sucks long and slow she’s coming with a loud wail of utter pleasure.
Dean opens the closet door and ushers Vanessa, who is now a mess of flushed cheeks and tangled curls, out into the packed lobby. He’s just as bad looking, swiping a big hand over his wet mouth lasciviously then running said hand through his own mussed hair. The extra added bonus is, the mother of the bride is just outside the door with the catering manager and hasn’t missed a second of the scene.
“Vanessa?” Nicole’s mom’s shrill voice skitters over Vanessa’s very calmed nerves. In fact, Vanessa can’t remember ever being so not-annoyed by Nicole’s mom.
“Hey, Liz,” Vanessa mutters and smiles dreamily as Dean slides a hand under her wild hair, gripping the back her neck, and pointedly licking his fingers.
Liz scoffs and Dean winks at her before walking back to the ballroom with Vanessa. “Guess m’not getting my thong back any time soon?” She asks looking up at Dean’s permanent smirk.
“More like never,” he replies, and her hand wanders up his back under layers of denim, flannel, and cotton to touch his skin. She hums with delight at the curve of his lower back and how smooth he is, and it suddenly occurs to her that she’s barely touched him and they have yet to kiss.
“Van,” Katie, the maid of honor, who mercifully has a soft spot for Vanessa, calls to her as they enter the ballroom. She glances appreciatively at Dean before continuing. “We added a seat and a place setting to our table for…”
Vanessa smirks. “My plus one,” she says, knowing that it’s killing everyone that they have no idea who he is.
“Right,” Katie replies with a tense smile. “We’re over here.” She leads Vanessa and Dean to the big table where the wedding party is seated with their respective dates.
Dean reaches for the chair designated for Vanessa and pulls it out, simultaneously removing his jacket from her shoulders. She smooths her now rumpled skirt and takes a seat as Dean helps her slide into the table and hanging his jacket over the back of her chair before taking his seat beside her.
“Oh, my God, Vanessa,” Nicole hollers. “Your hair is a god damned disaster!”
Vanessa flushes and Dean rears back, making a show of examining her as he strokes her disheveled curls. “I dunno, I thought I did a damn fine job,” he announces, and the table erupts in a mixture of amusement, discomfort, and disgust. Vanessa feels her body pleasantly heat.
Dean grins, his arm thrown across the back of her chair, and leans into her, kissing her cheek once then waiting for her to turn and face him. When she does, he kisses her lips long and slow with his eyes closed. Vanessa sinks into his kiss and drops a hand into his lap, a chorus of sighs surrounding her.
“Miss?” An attendant with wine waits patiently behind them until Vanessa realizes what he’s asking.
“Oh, sorry,” she mutters, settling back into her seat. “Red, please.” The attendant fills her red glass and sweeps the empty white glass from her setting before turning to Dean.
“Sir?” He looks expectantly to Dean.
Dean shakes his head. “Whiskey,” he says, guiding Vanessa’s hand back into his lap and upward until she’s brushing the hard bulge over his zipper. Vanessa can hear Nicole scoff from eight seats away and she grins.
The attendant nods, unfazed as he moves on to the next party member, flagging down another attendant for Dean’s drink.
Vanessa steadily rubs and strokes over Dean’s groin. He keeps his legs sprawled so she can have better access. The heat rolling off him makes her wet all over again and she can smell herself, even over his strong, masculine scent.
“Steak,” Dean tells the attendant when he comes by to take their dinner orders. Vanessa echoes his request and asks for a refill of her wine and his whiskey.
Somehow, Dean avoids answering any personal questions and actively focuses his attention on Vanessa. He twirls the ends of her hair in his fingertips, traces invisible patterns on her exposed shoulders, and doesn’t hesitate when she slides her fingers between his lips between feeding herself and him bread dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
The entire wedding party and more than half their table neighbors are openly watching them and Vanessa gets off on it. She never knew she was such an exhibitionist.
“Mmm,” Dean moans. “That’s some good shit.” Once the bread is gone, he captures her hand in one of his and finally traps her tangy, oily fingers between his lips one by one. He takes his time sucking them clean and Vanessa is sure that she hears several feminine groans.
By the time their entrees are delivered, Vanessa is so wound up, she suggests they hit the broom closet for a quickie.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean cups her jaw. “When I finally get inside you, I’m gonna need more than a quickie.” He isn’t quiet about it, either, so his comment is followed by silverware clanging to china and someone choking on her wine.
Vanessa swallows thickly and nods. “Then let’s make this quick,” she motions to their meals and Dean nods in agreement before digging into his perfectly cooked steak and potatoes.
He moans and groans and rolls his eyes as he devours his meal and Vanessa finds the obvious pleasure he derives from eating to be yet another turn-on. She really cannot wait to get him upstairs to her room and she’s satisfied that she’s accomplished exactly what she set out to do by asking him to accompany her to this event.
IncogNinja 