Chapter Text
The curtain snapped shut behind them. The booth was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, and Allie was already shaking her head.
"This is insane—"
Dean's mouth was on hers before she could finish. Hard, hungry, his hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck. Allie made a sound against his lips—half protest, half surrender—and Dean felt the heat kick through his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her pupils were blown wide, her breathing already uneven.
"You were saying?" His voice was low, teasing.
Allie's eyes narrowed. "I was saying this is a terrible—"
His hand slid under her shirt, fingers splaying across her ribs, and whatever she was about to say died in her throat. Dean watched her face, watched the way her jaw tightened as she tried to hold onto the argument.
"Go on," he murmured, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her bra. "Tell me how terrible it is."
Her breath hitched. "Dean—"
He kissed her again, deeper this time, swallowing whatever protest she had left. Their teeth clashed—too rough, too desperate—and Allie's hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him closer. Dean groaned into her mouth, his other hand finding the button of her jeans.
The camera flashed.
Allie jerked back, her eyes wide. "Fuck—"
"Shh." Dean's grin was sharp, dangerous. "Can't let them hear you."
Then his hand was inside her jeans, his fingers sliding under her underwear, and Allie's head tipped back against the wall with a gasp she couldn't quite muffle.
Dean's eyes flashed—challenge, satisfaction, something darker. "That's what I thought."
He pulled her shirt up, dragging her bra down with it, and Allie's breasts spilled free. Dean's mouth was on her immediately—tongue circling her nipple, teeth grazing, sucking hard enough to make her arch off the wall. His hand came up to the other breast, fingers rolling and pinching, and Allie bit down on her lip so hard Dean thought she might draw blood.
"You're trying so hard," he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with amusement. "It's cute."
"Fuck you," Allie breathed, but her voice was shaking.
Dean bit down on the swell of her breast—not gentle, not soft—and Allie's hand flew to his hair, yanking hard. The sting shot straight down his spine, and Dean groaned, his hips pressing forward involuntarily.
"Do that again," he said, his teeth scraping over the mark he'd just left. "I dare you."
She did. Harder this time. Dean's vision blurred for a second, heat flooding through him, and he bit her again—higher this time, just above her nipple. Then lower. Then the other breast. Marking her, claiming her, leaving bruises that would bloom purple by morning.
Allie was trembling now, her chest heaving, her breasts bouncing with every ragged breath. Dean pulled back just enough to look at her—at the flush spreading down her neck, at the marks already darkening on her skin—and felt something fierce and possessive settle in his chest.
"Look at you," he said softly. "Fucking beautiful."
The camera flashed.
Allie's hand shot to her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut.
Dean's grin widened, sharp and dangerous.
"Can't let them hear you, baby."
He sat down on the narrow bench seat, the space so cramped his knees nearly hit the opposite wall. His hands found her hips, pulling her forward, and Allie stumbled slightly, catching herself against his shoulders.
"Dean—"
"Make yourself feel good." His voice was low, cruel, and his hand was already sliding between her legs. He shoved the denim and her underwear down her thighs, his fingers sliding inside her—two, then curling just enough to make her gasp.
Allie's eyes flashed, something defiant sparking there. "That's it?"
Dean's grin sharpened. "Show me what you've got."
Her hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging in as she started to move. Deliberate at first, controlled, like she was proving a point. Her hips rolled forward, finding a rhythm, and Dean watched her face—watched the way her jaw set, the way she bit down on her lip to keep quiet.
Then he curved his fingers differently—sharper, hitting a spot that made her breath hitch—and her rhythm faltered.
"Fuck—" The word slipped out before she could stop it.
Dean's thumb found her clit, circling once, twice—then he pinched, sudden and firm, and Allie's whole body jerked forward.
"Dean—"
"Keep going," he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. "You were doing so well."
She tried. Her hips moved again, chasing the pressure, trying to find that rhythm again. Her breasts bounced with every movement, sweat starting to glisten along her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts. She was gorgeous like this—flushed, determined, trying so hard to stay in control.
Dean shifted his grip on her hip, pulling her forward at a different angle, and his fingers curved again—deeper this time, hitting a spot that made her gasp and lose the rhythm entirely.
"Shit—" Her breathing was ragged now, her control slipping. She tried to find it again, rolling her hips, but Dean's fingers moved unexpectedly, curling and straightening in a pattern she couldn't predict.
"What's wrong?" Dean's voice was almost mocking, his grin widening. "Thought you had this."
Allie's nails dug harder into his shoulders, her movements getting desperate, erratic. Every time she thought she found a rhythm, Dean changed something—the angle of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb, the grip on her hip guiding her at just a pace off from what she wanted.
"Dean—fuck—I can't—"
"Can't what?" His thumb circled her clit again and Allie's hand flew to her mouth, trying to muffle the sound that tore from her throat.
Her hips were moving faster now, chasing something she couldn't quite reach, her whole body trembling. Sweat glistened on her skin, her breasts bouncing with every desperate roll of her hips. She was falling apart, and Dean could see it—could feel it in the way her thighs shook, in the way her nails suddenly raked down his back, dragging hard, leaving fire in their wake.
"That's it," Dean said, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Mark me up, baby."
Allie bit down on her lip, trying to stay quiet, but a broken sound escaped anyway. Her rhythm was gone completely now, her movements frantic and uncoordinated as Dean's fingers kept moving, kept adjusting, never letting her settle into anything.
"Dean—please—" Her voice was shaking, desperate. "I need—"
"I know what you need." His fingers curled hard, his thumb pressing firm against her clit, and Allie's whole body shuddered. Her nails dug into his back again, clawing for purchase, and Dean felt the sharp sting of it, felt the satisfaction bloom hot and fierce in his chest.
She was so close now—trembling, gasping, completely undone—and Dean watched her face, watched the way her eyes squeezed shut, the way her mouth fell open as she tried and failed to stay quiet.
"Dean—fuck—I'm—"
"I know." His voice was dark, possessive. "Let me hear it."
"I can't—" Her voice broke, her hips jerking forward desperately. "Please—Dean—"
She was begging now, her whole body trembling, so close Dean could feel it in the way she clenched around his fingers. He watched her face—the way her control shattered completely— and felt satisfaction bloom dark and hot, possessive, claiming her completely.
Then he lifted her.
Allie gasped, her hands scrambling for purchase as Dean pulled his fingers free and pushed her back—all the way back—until she hit the far end of the photo booth. The console dug into her lower back, the wall cold against her shoulders. Dean dropped to his knees in the cramped space, his shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the booth.
"Dean—wait—"
His mouth was on her before she could finish.
Allie's whole body jerked, her hand slamming against the wall for balance. Dean's tongue found her clit immediately—no teasing, no buildup—and Allie's other hand flew to her mouth, her teeth sinking into her palm.
Dean glanced up at her, his eyes dark and sharp. Then he sucked, hard, and Allie's knees buckled.
"Fuck—" The word came out strangled, muffled, and Dean felt the satisfaction bloom hot in his chest.
He kept going. Relentless, his tongue circling and pressing, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her in place. Allie tried to lift her leg over his shoulder, but there wasn't enough room—the booth was too cramped, the walls too close. Instead, she planted her foot against the wall beside him, using it for leverage, and ground herself onto his face.
Dean groaned against her, the vibration making her hips jerk. His hands slid to her ass, gripping hard, encouraging the movement.
"Stay still," he murmured against her, his voice rough. "Or everyone's going to know exactly what we're doing."
Allie's hand dropped from her mouth, her nails digging into his shoulder instead. "You're—fuck—you're such an asshole—"
Dean grinned against her. "And yet here you are."
He changed his rhythm—faster now, his tongue flicking and pressing, and Allie's breathing turned ragged, her whole body taut. She pushed harder against the wall, grinding onto his mouth, chasing the pressure. Dean could feel the way she was getting close—the way her thighs started to tremble, the way her hips rolled desperately.
The camera flashed.
Allie bit down on her lip again, her eyes squeezing shut, and Dean felt the challenge flare hotter. He slid two fingers inside her again, curling them, and Allie's hand flew back to her mouth, a broken sound escaping her throat.
"That's it," Dean said, his voice low and rough. "Let me hear it."
"I can't—" Her voice was barely a whisper, shaking. "Dean, I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His fingers curled again, his tongue pressing flat and firm, and Allie's whole body arched.
She was so close now—he could feel it in the way her thighs started to shake, in the way she ground harder against his mouth, using the wall for leverage. Dean's free hand slid up to her breast, pinching her nipple hard, and Allie's whole body went rigid.
"Dean—fuck—I can't—it's too much—"
Her foot pressed harder against the wall, her hips grinding desperately, and Dean didn't stop. He kept his rhythm steady, relentless, his fingers curling and his tongue working her clit. Allie's hand shot to his hair, yanking so hard his scalp burned.
"Dean—please—"
There was something almost cruel in the way he smiled against her. "Can't let them hear you, remember?"
Then he sucked, hard, and Allie shattered.
She came with a cry she couldn't muffle, her whole body convulsing—and then she was squirting, hot and sudden, soaking his face. Dean groaned, his eyes flashing with dark satisfaction as he worked her through it, his tongue and fingers relentless, drawing out every wave. Allie's leg nearly gave out, her foot slipping against the wall, but Dean's hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as she shook and gasped above him.
The camera flashed one more time.
Dean pulled back slowly, his hands sliding down her thighs, his mouth slick. Allie was staring at him, her chest heaving, her eyes dazed and dark.
"Jesus Christ," she breathed.
Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin sharp and satisfied. "Told you."
Allie's legs were still shaking as she pulled her jeans back up, her hands fumbling with the button. Dean stood, his knees aching from the cramped space, and kissed her once more—soft this time, almost gentle.
"You go first," she said, her voice still unsteady. "I need a minute."
Dean's grin widened. He slipped out of the booth, his heart still pounding, and made his way to the side where the photos printed out.
They were there. Four strips, glossy and still warm.
Dean grabbed them before anyone else could see, his chest tightening as he looked at them.
Evidence. Proof.
She was here. With him.
He folded them carefully and slipped them into his pocket, already thinking about the scratches on his back, the marks on her chest, the way she'd looked at him when she came apart.
And for just a second, he let himself believe it meant something.