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Title: Falling in Love (Is Hard on The Knees)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Neither Dean Winchester nor the Aerosmith song-turned-fic-title belong to me. This story is pure fiction.
Word count: 1281
A/N: Despite what it may look like, this is not the 4x13 fic you’re looking for. *Jedi hands* This was written about a month before that episode; it just took me so long to post because I had other stuff going on. (And also because the lovely [livejournal.com profile] eviltish had to take a whack at this with her trusty beta stick.)

During the classes they share (she sits in front of him for English and beside him for history) she's usually pretty quiet, paying attention to the teachers and taking lots of notes, whereas Dean usually spends the time forging doctors' notes to get Sam out of school, or paging through the latest Car&Driver he’s got tucked into his textbook. The only reason Dean even really notices her in the first place is that, one day a couple of weeks before Halloween, she shows up to second period wearing a black leather jacket that's practically molded to her skin; there's no way she just borrowed it from her brother or an ex-boyfriend.

When she slides it off, Marky Ramone stares out from just above her right tit and Dean suddenly understands that old saying about it being the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

She catches him staring-and she doesn't look annoyed, like a lot of girls do with him, which is a pleasant surprise-so Dean just smiles and nods toward her shirt. "Nice."

"Yeah?" She grins back at him and quirks an eyebrow. "You see something you like?"

Dean licks his lips (sheer force of habit) and smiles even wider as she ducks her head and blushes. It goes right up to the tips of her ears. "I didn't know you liked the Ramones."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Dean." She winks at him as she sits down, but doesn't look back at him once.


Three days later, he drives her home after baseball practice (turns out she runs track, which finishes up around the same time) and as they pull in to her driveway, she leans over and kisses him. Dean isn't expecting it, but he's got great reaction times thanks to all his dad's training, so it takes him less than two seconds to kill the engine, get a hand on her jaw, and his tongue in her mouth.

"I...Dean, slow down, okay?" She's breathless when she pulls away a couple minutes later, and she tucks her hair back behind her ears with shaky hands. "I'm not...I mean, I don't usually...do this. I don't, I don't know why I did that."

There's something in the way she crosses her arms over her breasts and leans back against the seat-away from him, just enough-that tells Dean everything. "You're a virgin, aren’t you?"

Her skin pinks up, from her hairline down to her collarbone, but she looks Dean in the eye and doesn't blink. "Yeah, I am. And I'm not giving it up to you just because we've shared two classes and the field behind the school for a week."

"I didn't ask you to,” Dean says, and it comes out of his mouth quieter than they both expect. "Look, I don't know what all you’ve heard about me, but I'm not some kind of creep. I understand the word no."

She nods once, like she’s believed that all along but had to say it anyways, and glances over his shoulder. Her grimace tells him not to look. "That's my dad. Listen, I'll see you tomorrow." She leans over and kisses him again, only the barest hint of tongue, pressure on his bottom lip, before she climbs out of the car and heads for the house.

Her father pulls in the driveway a moment later, and gives him a curious once-over. Dean smiles and nods as politely as he can through his open window. "Sir."


She stands up, pushing his hands away when he reaches for her. "I wanna do this, for you. Just watch, okay?"

Dean’s always been good at following orders. He rests his hands on the comforter, leans back a little, and does as he’s told.

The radio’s on in the background-the local top 40 station, but they’re playing Aerosmith, so Dean can’t complain-and she starts moving to the music. She unbuttons her shirt (her hands fumble the top two buttons) and tosses it at him, laughing a little when she loses the beat of the music as the song changes.

Her bra is black, and she inhales very deliberately as she reaches behind her back with her right hand to unclasp it, pulling it off and dropping it on the floor near Dean’s feet.

Dean reaches out and curves a hand around her side, steadying her as she steps out of her jeans. After they’re tossed near the desk, she looks at him sternly. "I thought I told you to sit still."

He just smirks and sits back down, trying to pull her down with him. She resists, standing straight, and skims her hands down her sides to the top of her underwear. What little of it there is, anyways; Dean he runs a hand over the swell of her ass, and feels mostly bare skin.

"What, you were expecting white cotton?" she says, shrugging at him as she hooks her thumbs into the waistband. "Sorry to disappoint you, Dean, but I stopped wearing underwear like that when I was 14."

Dean stands up and kisses her, fingers tangling with hers around the black silk. She stumbles against him when she kicks them off her ankle, and this time she moves willingly when Dean sits down and pulls her on to his lap. She leans over to grab a tiny packet off the bedside table, and since she’s stretched out like that, Dean puts his mouth to work.


"Breathe, sweetheart, that’s it," he says, reaching up to remove her hand from his shoulder, twining their fingers together as he pushes her hand back down against the mattress. Her nails have dug in to him; there’s going to be a little bit of blood. But, fair’s fair, Dean supposes, no matter how gentle he’s trying to be.

She gasps and arches her back, not meaning too, just reaction, and Dean stops moving altogether, giving her a moment to adjust to the feel of him inside her. She closes her eyes for a second and exhales loudly, raggedly.

"Yeah," she says finally, and the way she draws the word out, just a little, lets Dean know that the pain is sliding back around to pleasure. She tenses around him, and it hits several spots that make them both groan. "Okay, yeah. Keep going. God, please, Dean."

Dean does. He’s close to coming when he licks his thumb and reaches down to rub her clit, and the only warning he gets from her is that she can no longer keep her eyes open to watch him. She’s shaking through the aftershock as he pushes in one last time, holding himself still, letting her clench and shiver around him.


Down by the river, three weeks into the new year, lying in the backseat of the Impala on an old worn blanket pulled from the trunk, Dean turns his head and says, "I’m gonna be leaving school, probably the end of next week, right after exams. Thought you should know."

She keeps looking out at the sky, a little blurry through the back window. It’s one of those perfect, sunny days that can deceive you into thinking it’s warm outside. "You’ve been skipping class and faking a lot more notes for your brother; I figured something was up."

Dean’s arm is across her ribs, and his fingers trace abstract shapes on her upper arm; goosebumps get left in their wake. "I’m sorry if you’re pissed."

"I’ll only be pissed," she finally says, rolling to straddle his hips, hands skimming down his chest, and he barely saw her move, "if you don’t teach me to do that thing with my tongue before you leave."

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August 2011


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