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]

"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.