Work Text:
The motel was as dingy as ever; the lights buzzed above you and Dean, and there was an unmistakable scent of cleaning chemicals oozing from the crevices of the bathroom, still lingering with the scent of sex and the last occupant who clearly chain-smoked their entire stay.
The stressed frame of the bed groans beneath you and Dean’s weight, a soft creak each time he adjusts his position between your thighs; they’re parted, and he’s between them, your dress already hiked up, and his eager hands search the soft surface of them.
Sam wasn’t with you two–finally. After a long hunt, he had disappeared into the night, brushing off the blood-sucking ritual with Ruby as research, but Dean couldn’t care, not when you were at his disposal; soft and warm, lying against the motel bed, begging for any ounce of attention. The demon situation could wait, and he would force it to.
Dean is on top of you, lightly mouthing at your neck, and your head is tipped back, melting into the stiff blankets and sheets. You’re already moaning softly, the noises slipping past your lips like they’re trained to do that–this had become such a routine that your body almost prepared for when he slid between your thighs, and ached when he wasn’t.
A hand leaves your thigh, and you swallow hard, your chest heaving at the absent touch. You feel it again, though, accompanied by the coldness of metal this time, a touch that has your back arching off the bed in surprise. It was his gun in his hand.
Dean was casually removing it from the back pocket of his jeans, realizing it wasn’t needed right now, not when the only weapon in this entire room was you–your body you used against him at times, the sweet persuasion of your words when you wanted him to go against Sammy. He loved it, and hated it.
“Dean,” you mumble softly, the temperature change making your skin prick with goosebumps, and he notices it–what the cold metal did to you.
“Yeah?” he mumbles, his voice gruff as he pulls back slightly, swallowing hard and gazing at you with those sharp, green eyes. He notices the new look in your eyes, the way they’re blown out and wide.
“Keep… keep it there,” you nod, chest heaving, and he slowly lowers his gaze. “Please.”
It’s the tip of the gun, lightly pressing into your thigh, his hand tightly gripping it. He looks back up at you, and those soft lips apart in surprise at what you were asking for; his gun against your body, and he grips it a little tighter, not even questioning the light command.
Dean goes back to gently kissing at your neck, his nose nuzzling its way against you, and he starts to slowly drag his gun up your thigh, and your eyes widen at the gesture. The firm metal moves along your body, pressing into the soft skin, and he nudges it slightly, applying pleasure.
“My gun gettin’ you off?” he groans into your neck, breathing into your ear. “You that much of a whore now?” he asks quietly, and you whimper, letting him press the tip of it against you even harder, and he’s pushing the tip of it into your skin.
Dean slowly moves the gun over your thigh, letting the tip of it press against your inner thigh now, and that’s when you moan softly. The contrast of your warm thighs and the cold metal makes you gasp, and he’s smirking, licking below your ear.
“Yeah… yeah, this makin’ you excited, baby?” he lightly taunts, drifting the weapon further up your inner thigh, letting it drag. “Gettin’ wet over the thought, aren’t you?”
You nod, your hand resting against the nape of his neck, squeezing gently. He keeps his head buried in your neck, all while his gun travels, the coldness making your entire body prick and squirm, and he’s loving it more than he should.
“Never knew you were this filthy,” Dean drawls out, and that’s when you feel him nudge the tip of it against the front of your underwear; it’s solid, a hard piece of metal pressing to your clit, and he taps it.
Your eyes widen at the feeling, and you tip your head back even further; he uses the access to your neck as leverage; he’s pressing kisses all over it, all while lightly circling the gun, moving the weapon in circles against your clit, and he flicks the safety off. You hear the click and gasp.
“Scared I’m gonna hurt you, baby?” he coos quietly, letting it click again, and you breathe out in relief. “You like it though… the thought of me hurtin’ you,” he whispers.
You whimper once again, the soft sound fizzling into a moan the more he focuses on using the gun, keeping up the circles, the slight tease he makes when he flicks a piece of it, hearing that clicking sound that forces a rush of adrenaline through your body. You’ve never felt this before, and you can’t help but bathe in the odd twist of pleasure and fear.
Dean uses the gun to nudge aside your underwear, and you feel the coldness of it against your folds now. It lightly presses there, the metal now roving over the slick, the tip of it glistening, and you groan out, your eyes falling shut at the feeling. He lets it flick again, and you’re not even sure if the safety is on or off, or if it’s loaded or not, or if he’s getting off as much as you are right now, and that’s why he can feel your thighs trembling.
“Shakin’ like a scared fawn, sweetheart,” Dean teases, gently kissing you by your ear. “Poor thing has no idea what I can do to her right now,” he taunts, slowly pushing the tip of the gun through your folds, dragging it down, letting it move through the sensitive skin.
You can’t hide the arousal that’s pulsing through you, not when the gun is moving so swiftly through your folds, easily gliding through the slick that gathers, showing him that everything in you wants that. He smiles again, kissing your cheek.
“Want me to fuck you with it, don’t you?” Dean asks, the deepness settling in the back of his throat, a low gravel in the quiet motel. “Would make you a happy thing, wouldn’t it? Bein’ stuffed with somethin’ I own,” he coos, and you can hear the grin in his voice.
You squirm, and he only pushes the gun against you a bit more, and your eyes flutter the second it nudges your entrance. Your body is warm, blood pumping through you, and the gun’s temperature makes you whimper, a sudden shock to your system that makes you clench just the tip of it in.
“Baby’s that eager, huh?” Dean murmurs, feeling the way your body is practically begging for it now. “Tryin’ put it in further… don’t be so dirty,” he taunts, nuzzling his nose against the temple of your head.
He slowly urges it further into you, letting your body adjust to the foreign shape—you’re used to his fingers, his cock that he stuffs into you, the occasional toy when he wants to make you frustrated, but never something as foreign as this; his gun, the thing he uses to kill, to protect you and Sam, and now it’s sliding inside of you.
“Ah, ah,” Dean mumbles and shakes his head, lightly keeping it halfway in. “No cryin’ from you, okay?”
You sniffle, not even realizing that he had noticed the glassy eyes and parted lips, the way your body was so needy but confused at the same time. Your feelings were clashing, and Dean was slowly pushing it in further, bit by bit.
“Takin’ it better than I thought,” he murmurs, letting it settle inside of you, just the barrel. “This lil’ body of yours, best fuckin’ thing ever, you know that?” He grins, and you whimper, hesitantly nodding.
Dean lets it slowly move, just a slight thrusting motion, barely doing it, having some grace for you.
“She takes everythin’ from me; don’t know if it’s her bein’ greedy, or a whore, or both,” he mumbles, feeling how easily you adapt to the weapon, how you clench and shift your hips. “Makes me wanna tie you up, and jus’ see what you can take, baby.”
Dean continues to keep it lightly moving, a back-and-forth motion, speeding up just a bit. His eyes focus on yours; the flutter, the faint tears streaming down the corners of them and bleeding into the pillow. He knows it’s overwhelming, but he also knows how badly you want it, and how well you’re taking it.
“Sammy won’t even know,” he whispers, suddenly dangling the secrecy of the idea. “Gonna see me usin’ it, killin’ people with it… cleanin’ it, touchin’ it… no fuckin’ clue it’s been inside you, this pretty body of yours.”
You whine and your back arches off the bed, a gentle curve as you feel yourself getting frustratingly close. You almost want to tell him to stop, knowing the rein of power he’ll have once he sees you cum, just from his gun.
“Makin’ you cum all over this thing,” Dean whispers, focusing a bit more on getting you close, rather than just toying with you. “Maybe… you won’t even get to,” he adds, and you hear another click of his thumb; safety on or off, you don’t know. You whimper.
He keeps it going inside of you now; solid thrusts, making sure you’re comfortable while also making sure you take it. He cares, but he doesn’t—he knows if you had any authority over anything, nothing you’d want would truly happen. It takes him to get you to do things you like. Like getting fucked with his gun.
“I’m—I’m close,” you whisper out, your chest heaving and your moans shallow.
“Yeah? Gonna make a mess on my gun?” Dean taunts, like you’re doing a disservice. “Gonna have to clean it too, baby… always cleanin’ it when I’m finished.”
And then you finish. It’s warm and all-consuming, a flush over the gun and down your thighs, and he smiles watching your face contort and twist. It’s amusing to him that a gun has the effect as his cock, getting you off in a few minutes, and he basks in the power he has over you.
Dean slowly pulls the gun out of you, and you shift your hips around the bed, squirming and covered in sweat. He lifts it in the air and hovers a little further from you, letting you see it; glistening and warm now, your body heat and walls making it slightly heated. Your cheeks are pink.
“C’mon, clean it, as any gun owner would,” he tells you and holds it to your mouth, waiting for your tongue to slide out and lap it up.
Your lips part, and you lick it, tasting the sweetness and the slick that covers it, and you stare at him as he does; he even nudges the tip of it at your lips at one point, like he’s urging you to suck on it. He pulls back after a minute, reaching with his other hand.
“Wanna know a secret, baby?” He asks calmly, sitting back and up away from you, the gun clicking.
Dean unloads it with a soft noise, and a singular bullet dips out and drops between your thighs. He grins.