coterminal (coterminal) wrote,

Fic: Good Girls Do

Title: Good Girls Do
Pairing: Dean/Nancy
Word Count: ~2,300
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Nancy's mama always told her to wait for someone special.
A/N: The devirginizing porn that should have been! In my opinion, anyway. Mostly written for the prompt "mind your manners" over at salt_burn_porn, but I made the mistake of taking too long writing, thinking I had a free day, and then of course something came up and I had to pass before I could finish. :( Lesson: learned.

Be a good girl, her mama always said. Mind your manners. Say your prayers.

Save yourself for someone special.

And Nancy has tried, so hard. All A's. Pleases and thank yous. A rosary a day.

And a promise ring she stopped wearing once people started thinking she was married, but still keeps in a box by her bed.

She's tried so hard and succeeded so well, and then in walks the killer-who-isn't-a-killer with the pretty face and, well, Nancy's only human.


"So you've never?" he says. "Not even once? I mean, not even... Wow." And Nancy feels defensive and shameful and proud, all at once, because she's something he hasn't seen before, this man who fights demons and witches and werewolves, and the heart they're about to cut out beats a little faster.


"When this is over," she says, "I'm gonna have so much sex." And Dean's face is the one that flits across her mind, makes her fumble the bag of road salt in her arms.


He offers to drive her home, after, and her stomach's all tight like she's going to be sick and she's heard about boys like him: only after one thing, gonna love you and leave you behind.

Her neck is hot when she says "yes, please," and "thank you," and she doesn't care if she'll be a notch on his bedpost, because he's going to be one on hers. She's going to have him and show him off to everyone she can, even if she has to steal his mug shot to do it.


He follows her in, lays the salt lines himself, and she stifles a giggle when she finds herself thinking it's sweet. Twenty-four years and three steady boyfriends and this, an armed man wanted for murder spilling spices all over her apartment, is the most romantic moment of her life.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

She bites her lip when she smiles, and it tastes like salt. "This is going to be a dream, right? When I wake up?" It must be a dream. Demons, battles, a dashing man sweeping her off her feet... Oh, no. This isn't just a dream, it's something straight out of her mother's 'secret' romance novels.

But Dean isn't laughing. "Sorry," he says, "it's all real."

"Oh," she says, not quite sure if she believes him. "Okay."

He doesn't let it get awkward, probably knows all the best ways to avoid that, and she's so happy he's the one she's with. He steps in close and settles his hands on her hips, fingers touching her back but no lower.

"So you've never done this before?" he asks, thumbs moving so slowly over her sides.

"Well, I've done this," she says, though this is nothing like a junior high dance.

Dean laughs. "Okay." His hands slide up, just a little, and then his thumbs are brushing the curves of her breasts. "How about this?"

"Um," she says, staring at his chest because she can't watch his hands and she can't look at his face, "once." It was her senior prom date and he'd been shaking with nerves but just as cautious, just as reverent, like she was something special.

His hands slide down again, then back up, this time under her sweater and blouse so his palms are pressing against her naked ribs. "And this?"

She swallows, and wonders if he can feel it, the way he's sure to be feeling the rapid expansion of her lungs and heavy beating of her heart. "Never," she says, then tips her chin up, feeling bold. "Never before."

It must be the right answer, because he smiles and leans in to take her mouth in a kiss. She grins into it, wants to bounce on the balls of her feet because he's here and she's here and maybe also because of the lingering adrenaline rush.

"Whoa there," he says when she tries to push in closer. "Let's find a bed."

If Nancy had known she was bringing a man home today, she'd have done so many things this morning. Changed her sheets, hidden her few remaining stuffed animals, worn pretty underwear. Luckily, Dean doesn't seem to care about any of that when he encourages her into her bed, pausing only to remove his jacket and shoes before climbing in after her.

"You should do this more often," he says, stretching out above her and giving her a kiss, a real one this time, one that's wide and deep and lets her learn how he tastes.

Yeah, she thinks when he lowers her body onto hers, letting her take more and more of his weight, I should. She wants to do it today, and tomorrow, and next week, wants to layer all the days on top of each other so she can live them all at once, know all the ways this can feel.

He's got one hand on the bed and one on the side of her face, holding her still for his kisses, and that's nice but she wants him to touch her in places no one ever has. She breaks the kiss, pushes him back, and has her sweater over her head before he can ask if she wants to slow down.

"Hey now," he laughs, "I'm not that kind of boy."

She looks down at herself, remembers she's wearing her see-through blouse and might as well be topless. "I am," she says, with pride.

"You only want me for my body." He tries to take off his t-shirt, and winces. "Which is kind of defective right now, so I hope you have low standards."

"I can help," Nancy says, rising up on her knees to help direct his shirt over his right arm and down his left. His bandage, the second she's wrapped for him tonight, is still white but she knows the wound could start bleeding again if they're not careful.

"It's all right," he says, and she realizes she's been staring. "I've had worse."

She looks down his torso, takes in the smattering of scars. "I guess so." Things are verging on awkward, and she doesn't want to lose her nerve, so she touches her hand to the fly of his jeans and says, "Can I help with these?"

He laughs, and then they're undressing again, his pants and then hers and then all that's left is their underwear and her translucent shirt.

Oh, she thinks when she sees him, so close to all of him, and she wants to touch and be touched everywhere and doesn't know what to do first.

He makes the decision for her, lies on top of her again so they are, they're touching everywhere, and she can't help arching her body up to meet his. She wants more, everything, and she'd be going crazy for wanting if she wasn't so sure he's going to give it to her.

"I can stop anytime you want," he says into the space just below her ear, and no, no, she doesn't want. She tilts her head to the side, smiles when he kisses her neck, her collarbone, the bare V of skin at the top of her chest. She feels her necklaces shift, remembers she's wearing the cross and the pentagram together, feels blasphemous and dirty and wild and alive.

He unbuttons her shirt, leaving dirt-and-oil fingerprints all over the white material, and she should be mad about the stains but all she can think is how she's going to look at them tomorrow and remember. She's going to wear this shirt under something else, maybe her navy cardigan, and have the memory of his fingertips pressed against her skin.

He moves her shirt aside, kisses the inner edge of her breast and then her nipple, and Nancy feels hot all over and she can feel her heart beating in places she never has before. Then his mouth opens, his tongue moves, and she can't contain a gasp.

He looks up, and she has to slap her hands over her face to hide from his smile. "Feel good?" he asks, and she nods, still hidden beneath her hands.

He licks her again - gently, too gently for the strength with which her body reacts - does it over and over until she thinks she might cry. She scrabbles at the sheets, her toes curling every time his teeth graze her nipple and her hips and legs in constant motion, shifting against him because there's no way she can sit still for this.

He finally moves, mouth settling on her stomach so there's not so much of that too-pleasurable tension inside her and she can relax a little. But then his hand slides between her thighs, fingers brushing her underwear, and all her lust coils low in her belly.

"Ever done this?" he says, pressing his fingers in a little.

"It's," she gasps, closing her eyes as her body flashes hot, "it's a sin."

"All the best things are," he says, pressing a little harder, and a noise bubbles up from her chest.

"That's-" she shifts her hips, trying to get his fingers all over her, everywhere that's itching for relief, "-good. That's so good." She had no idea.

"Wait 'til you feel this," he says, and then his fingers are gone and his mouth, oh goodness his mouth, is on her, softer and hotter than his fingers and oh.

He licks her, licks her right through her underwear while she writhes beneath him, breathing hard and bucking in a way she's going to be so embarrassed about later. It's every bit as amazing as she's heard, more, and she wants him to do this forever.

But not just this. "Wait," she says, pulling her hands away from her face to reach for his shoulders. "I want-" She wants it all, from him, tonight. She pushes her underwear down her hips, hopes he gets the message. She doesn't know if she can say it out loud. "Please?"

"Of course," he says, kisses her thigh and then her stomach, pulls her underwear the rest of the way down her legs.

It's weird, being naked in front of him, but not as weird as when he lowers his boxers so he's naked, too. Dean's so hard, and she knows that means he wants her but she can't quite believe it. She's still half-convinced she's going to wake to find this never happened.

"I'm guessing you don't have a condom?" he asks, reaching for his jeans and pulling out his wallet even before she shakes her head. She can't help watching as he rolls it on, practiced and easy, and then- and then she knows it's her turn.

He spreads her legs, wraps them around his waist as he kneels in close. "This is probably going to hurt," he says, kind of apologetically.

"That's okay," she whispers, staring down at where he's touching himself. She was expecting that.

He starts to push in, slowly, and it doesn't hurt at all- it feels wonderful, firm pressure in places she didn't know she wanted it. But then there's a pinch, and then another one, and then she's sucking in a harsh breath as something gives inside her.

Dean stops at once, kisses her mouth and the corners of her eyes while she blinks back tears. "That's the worst part," he promises.

"Yes," she agrees. It's already getting better, the pain washing away like it was never there, and all she feels is full in a really good way. She flashes him a smile. "Okay."

He starts moving again, faster than before, and she blushes because he keeps looking at her. "Here," he says after a minute, balancing himself on his good arm and guiding her hand to the place where their bodies join. "Try this." He directs her fingertips to a sensitive patch of skin that makes her shudder when she presses on it. "You should do that all the time," he says, grinning.

She laughs, and imitates the little circles he's making with his fingers, her body jerking when she finds the best spots. She is so doing this all the time from now on.

"Good girl," he says, lifting her thigh so he can go deeper, and she thinks, no. Good girls don't do this, bring home men with guns and scars and tattoos for one-night stands. Slut, she thinks, just for a second, and something starts building up inside her.

"Yeah, that's- shit," Dean says, gripping her thigh tight and going even faster. She finds the perfect spot with her fingers and rubs hard, thinks of how she'll feel the ghost of his touch for days, and then the thing that was building up explodes.

"God, you're-" he says while she's tense and tingling all over, and then he grunts and goes still, head dropping to rest on her shoulder.

She's more than happy to stay like this forever. He's still inside her, still hard enough for her to feel him, and all she wants is to keep him there, never let him go.

But of course she can't, and eventually he rolls off her, stretches out on his right side. "So," he asks with a goofy smirk, "was it good for you?"

She laughs, and turns on her side to face him. "Yeah," she says happily, "really good. Really really good." Her friends are going to be so jealous. All of their first times were awful.

"Good." He leans in for a kiss, then pulls back, brushes a stray hair from her forehead. "I'm not going to be here when you wake up,"

"I know," she says, and even though it hurts she can't stop smiling.

Her mama was so right.

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