More than Magic

[lovestheimpala]

Once upon a time, there was a species of supernatural beings who liked to watch over the ones with deep desires in their hearts. If they were good, they would grant them wishes, and help them on the way to finding true love and happiness.

In the old days, they were so loved and revered that stories would be told of them. But the fairy godmothers, as they were known amongst those who held them dear, grew to be more and more presumptuous about the wishes of their wards. In short, they got cocky and more and more of the granted wishes backfired. It got so bad that people stopped loving them, stopped telling stories about them, and when they finally stopped making wishes to them the species started die out. Without the wishes giving them the power, there was nothing to keep them in existence.

But of course, some stories alive and there was always the occasional wishes dropping in from little children that had yet to stop believing, so a few stayed a live. A handful at first, then only a couple, and finally just the one.

The very last of the fairy godmothers is a mess to behold.

He's fading, there's no doubt of that, and his once gloriously sparkling gown hangs in tatters. His beautiful mane of silver and cream has lost all luster and is falling out by the handfuls. His wings barely function anymore, and he's generally had one too many hits of Mumbo Jamma Juice. Bothering with wishes isn't really a thing anymore. Occasionally, he will come across something that catches his attention enough that he uses the last drops of his power to try to grant it.

Sadly, he rarely gets it right.

Like when he comes across this semi-young hunter with a plethora of the most sore and sad wishes in his scarred and broken heart. The hidden longing for love and family and home, reminds the fairy godmother so much of the princesses he used to cater to thousands of years ago, that he can't resist the need to want to bring just those things to the hunter.

Except, again he gets it wrong. He gets those wishes all garbled up and can't differentiate between love and home and safety, and he thinks the best thing he can do for this one called Dean is to turn his beloved car into a human. And the face the old fairy picks, is the first one he can pluck out of what lies in Dean's heart.

Comments

[bigvessel]

Seriously, Dean? You go from Death to Heaven and think that any of this is going to be any better? He's posed to respond to that particular comment when that kiss becomes hard and insistent and he's being walked back to the pool table, and he can't help but sit on it once they're there.

He could wrap his legs around Dean's hips, he could pull him back onto the table and ruin it and listen to Tuck's complaints until he buys him a new one-but he's stuck.

So he shoves just enough on Dean's chest to get those lips off his own. "You went to heaven too? Just how many damn times have you died, Dean?" God, and he can't even jump out of planes or moving vehicles on the street, and face down criminals with guns and other weapons of mass destruction and fucking die once.

[lovestheimpala]

Dean chases FDR's lips, perfectly willing to fight against that push and not let them get distracted, but he finds it impossible to ignore that question. They have gotten themselves lost down this path enough times that he knows the best way to deal with it is to just answer.

"A few times. It doesn't matter. I'm still here, right? Not going anywhere."

[bigvessel]

That's not his problem with it. Not at all. Dean can't make that promise, and FDR doesn't expect him to. But, the man has been to hell and back. And...heaven and. It makes his head hurt sometimes, as much as he's willing to accept this lifestyle. Sometimes it's just hard to swallow.

So fine, they won't broach the real subject. It's better not to anyway.

Instead he slides up to sit on the pool table, hooks his legs around Dean's hips as he does so and he reaches out to grab the collar of his shirt to pull him back in and down against him. "Get to it, then."

[lovestheimpala]

He's very happy to answer questions, just not right now. Not when they're trying to make things not hurt. And he has every intention of taking advantage of the fact that they're still not fully over to the point where they can't block it out anymore.

He runs his hands down FDR's sides and lets out an appreciative groan. Muscle memory alone is enough warm his engines. Now normally he would take an unholy amount of time to undress the guy in front of him (if only because he knows what his partner likes), but this isn't one of those times. He needs fast and hard, and to tear that shirt open and ruin it--probably piss FDR off in the process--and dive in to bite hard at any flesh that's exposed. It's a day to leave marks.

[bigvessel]

"Hey!" He doesn't care if they're in the middle of making out or not, you don't tear one of his work shirts, those are expensive pieces of clothing! "You're crawling on the floor until you find every one of those buttons."

He doesn't fight the mouth on his skin though, or the bite that he knows is meant to leave bruises in it's path. Right now he doesn't mind the reminder.

His hand cards through Dean's hair before he tugs on it roughly, just for the sake of making it ache. He knows this mood. He can feel it buzzing around Dean. They're not making love, or having sex, they're fucking. And he's fine with that.

[lovestheimpala]

"Like you don't have a hundred shirts that look exactly the same," Dean laughs against his skin.

He finds he doesn't like this angle. It's hard to get close enough with one of them sitting and the other one standing and even if he's heading straight for the warp 10, raw fuck here, it doesn't mean there's not an emotional aspect to this. Because there is, and it's more genuine than if he'd had the control to slow down and play Lover Boy.

Dean pushes FDR back on the table and climbs after so he can get on top of him. Still scrambling to get whatever fabric is between them out of the way so he can taste every exposed inch of skin.

[bigvessel]

"God damn it." He curses, sliding back along the table to make room for Dean when he realizes what he's doing, and he works the zipper and button off his own pants, not interested in them becoming a casualty under Dean's eagerness either, and he scoots them down off his hips until they bunch up at his feet. It takes some maneuvering to hook the heels of his shoes on the edge of the table and nudge them off, but he does before kicking his pants off the rest of the way.

Now that he doesn't have to worry about anymore destruction, he works on Dean's pants, unsnapping them and taking the time to slide his hands around the open hem of them, to hook his fingers onto the pants right above Dean's ass so he can drag fingers down rounded flesh even as he undresses him.

There's kink in clothing, Dean's been with him long enough to know that, to know how the simple dress and undress can get FDR riled up, but he's not all that interested in foreplay right now. He's been frustrated and hurt and angry, but it's speckled with those good feelings, like Dean cooking Nana's stew and pie, like chasing him into Tuck's home and cornering him into emotions. It's all a knot in his stomach and sex is always the easiest way to get at it.

[lovestheimpala]

As much as he was eager to get FDR naked he doesn't care about getting his own off. Not beyond his shirt being open so he can feel that skin-to-skin glide, and his pants slipping down just enough so FDR can sneak his hands in there. He's already shivering from the ghost of hands on his ass, and from a growing frustration because they did not think this through. Or maybe he didn't think it through.

All he wants it to thoroughly fuck all these feelings, good and bad, out of them, but there's no amount of sloppy spit-slicking that's gonna work for that.

Cursing under his breath, he comes up to kiss him, but even that crackles with nervous energy. His kisses are scattered and unfocused. Like he can't decide what part of him he wants to taste the most.

[bigvessel]

It's off, in that way is so terribly them and he sighs into that kiss before his hands slide up into his hair and he grips him tight to hold him there. "Shh. I get it." He hums, leaning up to bump foreheads with Dean. And he does, this is their go to bandaid when things are getting a little too intense, and then they're good for a little while before it catches up to them again. But they've pushed and cornered and now they've got a bunch of feelings fucking with their heads.

"How about we wait to do it right, huh?"

But he is naked, and Dean is half dressed in the laziest fucking way, and they're already on Tuck's pool table, so he loosens one hand from his hair to slide down to wrap around Dean's cock and stroke.

[lovestheimpala]

It would have been so much easier, in some ways, if this bastard under him didn't understand. That's the problem right there. When he hits a wall, doesn't matter why, FDR just gets it. And it's not in that bullshit "I'm trying to connect with you on an emotional level" sort of way. It's genuine. Doesn't require explanation beyond that, or apologies, and Dean breathes a little easier.

"Yeah." He'd like that. This time when he kisses him, it's a little lazy and appreciative, happy and thankful. "When we go home, we're gonna break your goddamn bed," he promises.

But you know, they are sort of naked, and it would be a damn shame if he ripped that shirt for nothing, and FDR's clearly thinking along the same lines... Dean comes back into that kiss, at the same time reaching down to return the favor. Nice and steady, and then hopefully the engine in his chest will somehow find a steady rhythm again, too.

[bigvessel]

"I think you've ruined enough today already." He smirks, free hand carding through Dean's hair before settling on the back of his neck, where he can play with the short hairs there, or drag his nails casually across the stretch of skin.

This is easy and casual, and there's no pressure in it. A brief mindless moment where they can just enjoy the press of skin, the feel of lips, the friction of a firm hand. Whatever's got Dean's head all twisted up, he can let it go for the moment. Doesn't have to prove anything. Neither of them do.

So he tilts his hips into that touch, sighs appreciatively against Dean's lips as he slowly works him up and he returns the favor.

[lovestheimpala]

"Not even nearly enough." He purrs, then drags a tongue along FDR's neck. His hand works on him almost on automatic. He knows that dick so well. He knows what it likes and what it needs.

It really helps, more than he thought, that they could switch from rocket fuel to pedal power without things getting weird, without hitting any walls. He got scared, okay? It does terrify him whenever he has to confront himself with the fact that he loves him.

Everything he cares about, ever, gets taken away. So he gets frantic, like a starved, dying man trying to decide what his last meal should be- But then FDR can ground him like this and kiss him like they don't have anywhere to be for years... and Dean can almost believe that this one thing is gonna stay his.

[bigvessel]

"You are so damn destructive." He grumbles against his mouth before he's breaking the kiss, lips pressing down Dean's jaw line in an easy trail, and he nuzzles in against his neck nipping and sucking at skin there even as his breathing starts to grow a little heavier, a little erratic as that hand touches and strokes him just how he needs it, and he's not sure he could do a better job with his own hand. It's just a testament to how long they've been doing this, how well they know each other.

His own hand squeezes a little tighter, grows a little more insistent in it's strokes. Patience isn't his best virtue after all, and he would really prefer that they finish this before Tuck shows back up.

[lovestheimpala]

"And you love it." Doesn't matter how happy that makes him, or how much it scares him, there's still a truckload of smug victory in his grin. A grin that fades pretty quickly as his eyes glide shut and heavy breathing becomes quiet moans. That whole 'touch me better than I touch myself' thing goes both ways.

He can tell FDR is trying to finish him off and he knows he doesn't stand a chance against that hand's expertise, but he doesn't mind one bit. But he stops what he's doing and rests his hand on FDR's hip, just to take a moment to enjoy before it's all too much and he spills with a bitten-back groan.

A moment to catch his breath after he's empty, and then he gets this... cocky god. damn. smirk before he licks his lips and vanishes down to lick clean the mess he's made all over FDR's dick and abdomen. He just can't resist the urge to one-up him on this.

[bigvessel]

He's aware the moment that hand stops moving that Dean has made some game plan up, but he's not all that concerned. So he keeps moving, likes the feel of Dean's muscles bunching around him, of hearing those aborted noises, the pulse of his cock as he comes in his hand. He smirks when he feels hot come spill onto his bare stomach and hip, and he slowly lets his fingers slip form Dean's cock once it stills in his palm.

His brow arches at that particular look. He knows that look. It's a dangerous look that has his stomach twisting in the most pleasant of ways. He does love Dean cocky.

He groans when he starts heading southward and he can guess just what Dean has in mind. His hand eagerly settles in thick hair when he gets the chance and he needlessly helps guide him downward, hips arching slightly in anticipation.

But Dean doesn't make it to his cock, he stops at the mess on his stomach and he lets out a surprised breath. God. That's obscene. And that just makes it that more attractive.

"Love it when you lick me clean, baby." He purrs.

[lovestheimpala]

A laugh rumbles against FDR's skin. His tongue leaves a painting of wet swirls and lines as Dean works his way around to catch every drop. Fingernails drag along the insides of his thighs, teasing as he kneads and rubs.

That teasing pace ends when Dean gets as far as wrapping his lips around the tip the waiting cock. It becomes a different game then. He closes his hand around the root of it and dives down to shove as much of that length as physically possible down his throat. He knows what his boyfriend likes.