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New Kink Unlocked: Exhibitonist

Story created by humanFan31

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A giant terrier—easily three hundred pounds of shaggy, overgrown enthusiasm—lumbers into the sidewalk.

If anything, his solid build—from his calves up to his equally massive forearms—should have made him look only graceful and powerful as he walked. Instead, each step landed with a soft whumpf, the sidewalk gently absorbing his errors as he struggled to maintain his usual, confident trot.

“Sure, you’re ok?”

“Ahh’m fffiiine… jus’… jus’ mishttepped,” the terrier slurs, vowels sliding around like they’re on a greased pan. His tail wags so hard it nearly knocks him off balance again.

His purple eyes blink slowly, trying to focus, ears flopping unevenly.

“Wherrrre’d… the dooor go…? I shwear it wash righ’ here…”

He tried to stand—chest out, chin lifted, mullet streaming in the night air—but only lasted less than a few seconds. His limbs betray him, splaying slightly, back hunched as he teeters towards a random sedan parked beside us on the curb. The car's paint is sun-faded, a college parking permit stuck on its window—clearly not ours, almost certainly owned by a student who had no idea a giant terrier was about to attack their door handle. Oblivious, he tugs stubbornly at the handle, no key in sight, rattling it with single-minded purpose. The handle trembles, just barely surviving.

"Must've...forgot my keys..." Dean slowly struggles to say, “Don’t…worry, we'll be home soon…”

With my free hand, I covered my mouth, trying not to laugh, like I’ve been doing for the past hour.

Only an hour ago, Dean Mitchell was the typical jock—Straightforward, high energy, competitiveness, and overbearingly confident. Now, he’s clumsy and warm-furred, utterly drunk but still lovable. Even when bumbling, he’s endearing, all swagger gone and held together mostly by me guiding him along.

I didn’t notice when the sound of aggressive tugging stopped.

Dean leaned in close unexpectedly, too close, his breath warm, reeking of cheap beer.

“ Baaaabe … hey… hey… d’you… d’you got th’ keys?” he slurs, the words sliding together like they’re holding paws. “We… we gotta… y’know… vroom‑vroom home…” He was ridiculously cute, despite reeking of cheap beer and being nearly impossible to drag three blocks.

“That’s not our car, love,” I said, trying to stifle a laugh. “We walked here, remember?”

Dean blinked slowly at me, then turned back to the sedan.

The dog stared at the sedan in front of us as he squinted his eyes, trying to see past that unmistakable glare that was invisible to everyone else—his mind probably repeating that fact in a slow, drunken loop, but it clearly hadn’t reached the part of his brain responsible for speech. He turned to me, confused by the silence, his big terrier ears tilting sideways like mismatched satellite dishes trying to catch a signal. His tail gave a lazy, off‑rhythm wag, the kind that suggested his body was operating on a delay.

“Whasss… wrong?” he slurred, blinking hard. “Don’t tell me I had ’em… I can’t even find m’feet right now…”He lifted a paw, lost his balance, and I caught him as best I could. He clung to the car’s side-view mirror, which just managed to hold.

"We didn’t drive," I said, taking his paw into my smaller human hand. He blinked down at me, pupils wide and unfocused, my boyfriend now acting as the only thing keeping him upright. The terrier froze, processing the revelation with the intense, furrowed concentration of someone trying to decipher ancient runes carved into a cave wall.

“…We… didn’t?” His brows knitted together, forming a confused little ridge above his muzzle. Doing that thing—tilting his head—looking at me wide-eyed with those big purple eyes. Absolutely adorable.

“Then… then who… who brought the car?”

“There is no car.”

A long pause.

A very long pause.

His tail gave one slow, uncertain wag.

“Oh,” he said, embarrassed.

“Yeah, ‘oh,” I repeated with a laugh, pulling him along. I started walking ahead, and he quickly caught up. “Now, be a good boy, and hold my hand tight, ok?” We approached another intersection. It’s late enough now that the town feels empty. Only engine sounds remain—a sharp, rising snarl, like someone revving just to hear the echo bounce off the brick buildings. The noise ricochets between empty streets and half-shuttered coffee shops, which unintentionally amplify it. Not unusual for a college town, just people who think they were unlikely to get caught at dark street racing or doing God knows what. “You know where you are right now?” I asked, my voice soft and steady as I interlocked my fingers more tightly with Dean’s paw, as though afraid he might blow away in a strong gust. Using my free hand, I pressed the pedestrian button for the crosswalk.

The terrier was silent again — this time longer — as I turned to check on him.

Dean swayed beside me, his massive frame leaning a bit too heavily on my shoulder. His eyes were half‑lidded, unfocused, but full of that soft, tipsy comfort he only shared when he felt truly safe. “I’m… I’m with m’boyfrien ’,” he mumbled, the words tumbling out in a slow, slurred heap. His mind clearly wasn’t working at full speed, but he still managed to give my hand a gentle, clumsy squeeze—sincere nonetheless.

“I’m holdin’ his hand righ’ now~,” he added, dragging out the last word with a dopey, lopsided grin.

Then he winked.

It was exaggerated, slow, and slightly mistimed—one eye closing before the other even realized it was supposed to participate. But the expression behind it was unmistakable: that familiar, sly little smirk he always used when he was trying to be charming despite being in absolutely no condition to pull it off.

His ears wobbled as he tried to focus on me, the tips drooping and lifting like they were struggling to stay upright. His tail gave a slow, lazy thump against his own leg—an uneven rhythm that felt like he was waiting for my reaction, my approval, something to anchor him.

“I’m righ’… righ’, aren’ I?” he slurred, leaning closer, his breath warm and a little too heavy. “You’re doin’ that thing again… when I’m righ’… cheeks goin’ all pink…”

I groaned, heat creeping up my neck despite my best efforts. He was drunk all right, yet not drunk enough to the point that it somehow increased how cocky he was. “E-even drunk, you’re still a flirt,” I muttered, rolling my eyes more fondly than annoyed. “Let’s get you home, all safe and sound, yeah?” I pretended like I didn’t care, even when my body said otherwise — Just in time, the pedestrian signal blinked to bright green, as it cast a low glow across the street.

The canine moved forward a fraction before I pulled him back, as much as it's possible to move someone twice my size. “Look both ways first, big guy.” At this hour—no cops, no cameras, hardly a soul around—the odds of anyone following traffic rules were slim. The silence felt dense, making every engine sound or movement stand out sharply. Only after I looked both ways—ensuring no reckless, speeding driver was coming—did we cross.

“Watch your step, babe.”

Even calling him a simple couply nickname like that felt odd on my tongue—even with his giant paw wrapped around my hand, it felt unreal. I was out late at night, not asleep, not playing D&D with my friends cooped up inside, not studying for finals—But out on an actual date.

With not just anyone, but thee Dean Mitchell. Quarterback, fraternity leader, the most popular guy on campus. Even now, with a stained shirt, covered in beer, he looked like the hottest guy in the world, one that even the Greeks themselves lacked in comparison, standing at eight feet tall, with a sexy black mullet, not to mention a perfect six-pack. And those tight pants he always wore that showed off his ass perfectly? He had to know what he was doing to me.

Every time I looked at him, I had that same quiet, stunned thought:

How did someone like me end up holding hands with someone like him?

It seemed almost surreal that this eight-foot-tall football star, known by everyone on campus and capable of choosing anyone, wanted someone like me, a meek human majoring in English with plans to become some underpaid elementary school teacher.

“You’re staring…” Dean said, not complaining, but noticing, before I even realized we made it to the other side of the block. Dean’s paw tightened around my hand—warm, clumsy, and far stronger than he realized. With a sudden, unsteady tug, he pulled me off the sidewalk and into the shadow of an empty alley. It wasn’t rough or forceful; it was instinctive, like he needed a quieter place to say something his foggy mind couldn’t hold onto much longer. I stumbled with him, my back brushing the cool brick wall as he braced his huge paws on either side of me. Not trapping—steadying. He was using the wall and me both to keep himself upright, his breath warm and uneven as he tried to focus.

His ears drooped, then lifted, then drooped again.

“Hey… hey… look at me,” he slurred, blinking hard as if the world kept drifting out of frame. “Yer… thinkin’ that stuff again… that… that you ain’t… worthy or somethin’…” Fuck—Somehow, somehow, even when I tried so hard to hide it, Dean always knew. My chest tightened. He always noticed. Even drunk, even wobbling, even barely able to stand—he noticed.

The cold brick wall against my back did little to stop the growing, intense heat in my body—My face probably red as a tomato. “N-no, just tired,” I tried to say, a forced smile already forming at my lips. “It’s just been a long—” Before I could finish, Dean leaned closer. Drunk or not. He wasn’t having any of that. He squinted his eyes, trying to see me more clearly through the drunken haze. His tail gave a slow, uncertain wag, the kind he only did when he was worried.

“Listen, I pulled ya… cause I know that face,” he murmured, his voice soft, yet still filled with that usual roughness. “L-like yer thinkin’…I’m too big, that you aren’t enough.

I swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. I tried to turn away. Dean wasn’t having any of that. His paw slid down the wall until it settled beside my shoulder, steady and gentle despite its sheer size. Then he pulled me closer—carefully, almost instinctively—one massive arm curling behind me to keep me upright while the other rose to my chin. His touch wasn’t forceful; it was clumsy, warm, and trembling with the effort of holding himself steady. He tilted my face up, guiding my gaze to meet his.

Those purple, deep eyes, swimming with unfocused emotion, locked onto mine. Even drunk and unsteady, they exerted a gravity that made the alley seem smaller. “Don’… don’ do that,” he whispered, his words slurred but their meaning clear. His warm, uneven breath brushed my cheek. “Don’t make yerself small. Not ’round me. Never ’round me.” As he spoke, his ears drooped and his tail gave a single, worried sway. He was not pinning me; he was holding himself up and steadying me, making sure I heard the truth.

Dean swayed slightly, fighting the drunkness that spiraled in his head, fighting with his head to get the words out. “I’m with you ’cause I want you,” he said, voice thick with drunken honesty. “Not ’cause you’re lucky. “'Cause I am.”

The alley stayed quiet around us—just the hum of distant traffic, the faint buzz of a streetlamp, but inside, my heart was beating loudly—and I knew Dean could hear it and Dean’s uneven breathing as he held himself up, held himself steady, just to make sure I heard him. His fingers closed more firmly around my hand—not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that I could feel the tremble running through his massive palm. It was something quieter, more fragile, something possessive mixed in with fear. Yet, loose — giving me the chance to pull away.

“C-can I kiss you?” His voice came with a stutter, his thump brushed over mine, clearly smaller, yet his knuckles were shaky, uneven as they swept mine. His breath came again, hitched, barely audible as he leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. “To prove it to you,” he explained, his voice growing less drunk. “That my intentions are real, that this is real.”

“I, uh—” My brain froze. He wanted to kiss me—Dean Mitchell wanted to kiss me—Dean Mitchell wanted to kiss me. It wasn’t like Dean to speak that way; some tangled part of me wanted to turn away. Still too shy, he didn’t mean it; he couldn’t have. But his eyes were so gentle that I knew he was telling the truth.” Y-yeah,” I breathed, voice trembling but honest. "Please. I want you to." My words were coming out smaller than I meant, but the warmth was real. Before I knew it, I was standing on my tiptoes, no way I could reach him otherwise—But the terrier already knew that, lifting me to his chest. “Come here, babe,” he said, way too casually, like this wasn’t our first kiss.

Those eyes flickered to my lips, then back up to my face as he gave me that shit-eating grin, already knowing I wasn’t going anywhere. “Ready?” He asked, voice calm, with the way his ears twitched, there was doubt he could hear my heart beating so loudly. He was close, so close enough that I could hear him breathe, overpassing the sound of the late evening breeze.

“Y-yes.”

I moved closer, and he did the same. It felt so dramatic, so painfully slow, and shy. Everything, to the scene, to the dialogue, sounded like some corny, Korean drama I pretended to hate. His forehead brushed mine first, his white fur soft as it grazed my skin, and everything inside me went still.

Then his lips met mine—gentle, warm, unsure in the sweetest way.

A question, not a claim.

And when I kissed him back, he let out the smallest breath, like he’d been holding it for years. He didn’t say a word at first—he didn’t have to. That slow, creeping smirk was already doing all the talking for him. Fuck. I should have pushed him away when he did that. One corner of his muzzle lifted higher than the other, the expression dripping with a quiet, self‑satisfied I told you so he hadn’t even voiced yet.

“So… wha’s… wha’s the v‑verdict…?” Dean asked, anything but arrogant, in his drunken, yet satisfied daze.

I was silent for a while. Of course, I wanted to say something like, That was the best kiss of my life. But that would have raised his ego even higher. “Decent,” I said with a shrug, trying to act nonchalantly, when I knew I couldn’t say that to his face. Looking away from those eyes that were probably sparkling, and that annoying grin I knew he had.

“Hmmm…” Dean rumbled, the sound low and lazy in his chest. “Why don’… why don’ you say that t’ my face then, sh-shortly?” he slurred — but there was nothing unsure about the way he said it. His voice wobbled, his consonants softened, yet he still pulled me closer with that same bold, unshakable certainty, like even drunk, he knew exactly what he was doing. If I didn’t already taste the beer from his mouth, I definitely could smell it now. For a moment, neither of us moved.

His grip tightened with every passing second, holding me to his chest like I was the only solid thing that was left in his blurry view. I could feel his heart pounding—fast and frantic, matching my own. I buried my face against his fur, breathing in the sharp tang of beer and his natural scent.

“…Y-you want to kiss me again, don’t you?” Dean asked with a slight stutter. “You want to do more than kissing, huh, little human? He questioned again, looking at me with those pooling eyes. And, fuck, of course I did…he already knew that. “I know you,” Dean continued, smirk growing larger as the canine licked his lips. “You want this just as much as I do—”

I didn’t let that asshole finish—even if he was right- as I crashed my mouth against his muzzle. This time, the kiss was brutal, aggressive, all teeth and tongue and raw need. His tongue, twice my size as my own, is trying and failing to submit to mine. A battle that didn’t last long. And when it did, I groaned; the taste of alcohol exploded on my tongue. Dean’s mouth tasted like pure whisky, smoky, sweet, and a little villain that made me want to push forward. Dean moaned again, louder.

“ I need you,” Dean finally breathed out, the words slipping together, warm and unsteady, like he wasn’t fully in control of how much truth was spilling out of him. His eyes dipped lower, and when he caught the clear, unmistakable bulge in my pants, his eyes seemed to sparkle. “Looks like you think the same, hm?”

“I… I…” I repeated, the sound barely more than a whisper as heat rushed up my neck. I jumped, pulling away. My hand shot down instinctively, covering my crotch in a clumsy, embarrassed reflex. “D-Dean…Come on, we're in public, we can’t!” I emphasized, turning my head between the two brick walls on both sides, and the giant hallway that led out to the open street. “…W-what if we get caught?”

“We could spend the night in a jail cell… maybe we’d get kicked off campus or—” The words tumbled out of me too fast, too shaky. My throat tightened, my breath catching as my mind spun ahead of my mouth. “I—I…” I tried again, heat flooding my face, my voice cracking under it. “M‑maybe we’d…” I didn’t know. I just..

“So, you don’t want me to suck your dick?” Dean asked bluntly, the first time his words came out so straightforward all night. He did that tilt when he was confused, his sharp ears pricked, his head tilted to the right as he stared, wide-eyed. “Come on…” He opened his maw, revealing a neatly stacked pile of perfectly arranged white teeth, premolars, and molars that could easily chop off flesh—In this case, my cock. “Come on, why don’t you try a maw for a change, babe?”

Dean made it seem so casual, so simple. But how do you make giving your boyfriend of six months a blowjob in a dirty alley so simple in the first place?

“Don’t you…” Dean panted, breath warm and uneven, his tongue a flash of pink — long, curled at the tip, flickering with the restless excitement running through him. The tight tank top he wore did little to hide his muscled chest as he exhaled, the warm air brushing against my skin. “Want to give your dog a treat for being a good boy all night?” he said, voice low but buzzing with that reckless, tipsy bravado he carried when he was riding the edge of his own adrenaline.

He stepped in again — closer, closer still — until the heat of him crowded out the cool night air. His larger shadow swallowed mine as he pressed forward, pinning me gently but firmly against the rough brick wall. The bricks were cold at my back; he was anything but.

Then the terrier sank. Directly against my crotch, leaving one arm, heavy, covered in that pure white fur, with thick muscle trapping me, making sure I wouldn’t move. F—Fuck I was screwed. Inside, the more practical side of my brain was screaming; what if we get caught? Loss of my scholarships, kicked out of university, something on my record I could never scrub off — But the other side, that was slowly devouring me whole, wanted this, wanted to feel this beast's teeth and all swallow me whole.

“Hmm, look what we got here?” Dean chuckled, breaking me out of my own self-destruction, as he leaned closer against the fabric of my jeans. Then, he sniffed—A quick inhale that made his black nose openly twitch. I would have thought it was cute if he hadn’t been sniffing my crotch. “Fuck, that smells amazing, babe,” Dean hummed as he panted, his breath ozzoingly warm, causing the blood to stir towards my cock when I wanted it to do the opposite. “All hot and bothered for little old me,hm?” Dean teased.

“N-no, shit!,” I practically squealed in a whisper.

Little and old, definitely wasn’t the right word to describe someone like Dean. A canine, twice my weight, my size, my everything, shoving his face into my crotch was a huge turn on, even with the deadly teeth. If I wasn’t blushing my ass off now, I definitely was now. My face was a nervous, horny, and panicked wreck as Dean laughed from below,“I love when you get all flustered for me, baby. Trust me, you’re gonna love this~.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I honestly didn’t know what to say that. I didn’t know much about fur ology—But that definitely wasn’t the few things I already knew. Taking my silence to continue, taking a few more greedy sniffs, Dean practically rammed his nose straight back into my jeans with sudden intensity. He rarely used it if it wasn’t working out or gaming, his sniffs coming in rapid-fire bursts like the guns in the games he plays — sharp, loud as he inhales that sound like a mix between a huff and a snort.

Finally, he pulled his arm back. Both of those massive paws are gripping the edges of my jeans, slowly tugging them down. He pulled his muzzle away, letting out one last pant. “So, do I have your consent, shorty…?” The terrier asked, with a massive grin, tail eagerly wagging behind him.

He asked that while already painfully beginning to pull them down. His tail was hitting the concrete so hard that it might break.

“I…” Again, I looked around the alleyway. Both ends are silent. A car hadn’t passed through in ages, and the sidewalks were completely deserted. It was a better time than anything. “Yes..” I replied, while looking into his purple hues, “I… want you too.”

“About fucking time, bro,” Dean grinned ear to ear. In a flash, the tug happened so fast I barely had time to react. One sharp yank and my jeans slipped downward in a sudden, clumsy drop, the denim sliding past my hips before I could grab hold. “There we are~.” Dean sang as if what he saw were utterly divine, “Look at that fucking bulge.”

“Dean…come on, it’s freezing out here,” I said with slight chill, the only thing keeping me warm at this rate my steady arousal, and alertness of having my pants swamped between my legs. The cold hit harder now that my jeans were gone. The narrow walls funneled every draft straight at me, each gust slicing through the air and making me flinch. “M-maybe this was a…”

“Don’t worry, babe,” Dean interrupted, “you’ll be nice and warm in a sec.” Not less than a minute later, I felt my underwear slip down, before the fabric pooled between my legs in my jeans. I stood there awkwardly. How could I not? It was cold as the wind howled around us, only growing colder as the night wore on. My cock, despite how hard I was, was slowly softening.

“D-Dean…” I tried to say, before I felt a shiver wash over me, that definitely wasn’t the wind, “F-fuck..” My eyes shot down, Dean was staring up at me with that same cocky grin, those sparkling eyes, then again, he licked just the tip of my cock—testing, teasing. “Dean…that’s amazing…” I moaned, arching against the wall behind me for support. My cock stiffens back, blood rushing back in waves as if suddenly immune to the cold.

I was getting this worked up already, and we were just at the tip of my cock. I found myself wondering what that maw would feel like—”Do…Do you think you could..?” The words came out of my mouth, but I couldn’t finish. Embarrassed. Horny. Flustured. Hot. Too many feelings are happening at once for me to focus. Just a few licks, and I was practically addicted. Dean, without missing a beat, already knowing, one corner of his muzzle lifted in a half smirk, like he was savoring his victory. Slowly, deliberately, started to swallow down my cock with a grunt.

“H-RRK!!”

“Y-you’re choking, don’t try to—” I tried to pull out, but Dean’s eyes widened for a second. Not scared, just surprised his jaw is probably already overestimated in capacity. “Maybe…we should…” My words fall on deaf ears again. The terrier doesn’t stop. He never does when it comes to a challenge, too Ignorant. His eyes widen for a second — not scared, just surprised — and he makes that goofy little hrrk! sound dogs do when they’ve overestimated their own jaw capacity. His tongue flicks out once, a quick reset, and he readjusts his grip with a snort that’s half cough, half laugh, relaxed.

“Don’t push yourself, ok?” I refirmed, I gently scratched his ears, behind his favorite spot, just slightly below the tip. For a minute, we didn’t move. With a deep breath, Dean shifts his grip a few times — a tiny adjustment, a careful repositioning — but never lets it drop. I could feel my cock sit, nestled against his tongue, cushioned by the soft, damp heat of his maw as if it were the safest place in the world right there between his teeth.

“Dean…You’re doing such a good job…Such a good boy.”

The canine glanced up, rolled his eyes ignorantly, yet his ears perked, eyes soft, head just slightly tilted around my cock, as if he was checking if I really meant it. “Yes, you, Dean,” I expressed, still petting his ears. Dean was enjoying himself to say the least, the canine having no trouble at all. His jaws closed firmly around my cock, keeping it safe and trapped in that tight embrace of his maw. His lips are drawn back slightly, not in displeasure, but focused, almost ceremonial as his eyes locked forward. “D-Dean!” I moaned again, nearly biting my tongue when his tongue wrapped around my cock like some slinky, recoiling back before starting up again.

I nearly collapsed, my feet growing weak. Arching myself more into the cold bricks behind me did little to affect how I felt anymore, even as the wind blew more aggressively around us. “F-fuck—Dean… I’m getting close!” I tried to warn with a half-broken moan, but that only made the dog push harder. I was losing my mind. Dean’s muzzle worked on me like some magic spell. His jaw tightened, firmer as he flexed his hold, tongue wrapping loosely around my cock. The canine swallowed my pre-cum in waves, as it leaked more and more.

And, oh God, the sound was such a turn on. His breathing becomes part of the soundscape — short, eager puffs through his nose, fhhf‑fhhf! , each one brushing over my cock, making a faint, yet warm hiss. Then. He’d let out those tiny grunts, a playful uff!, when he’s concentrating harder than he meant to. My heart was beating against my chest, and the creeping temperature in my body kept rising. I stared up at the sky, trying to concentrate, trying to regain some form of sanity. The stars above pulse, tiny points of white and yellow that seem to hum with their own slow heartbeat,unlike mine, which was increasing, felt like I was gonna have some kind of heart attack. Dean was a monster. Like always, the canine knew what he was doing to me, ruining me, as he planned it—D-did he plan it? F-fuck, was he even drunk the whole time? Too late now, I was getting closer and closer to coming apart.

“D-Dean… I’m getting close, y-you need to—” To pull off, I was about to say, but Dean bunched his lips, stretching around my cock, perfectly sealing it as his muzzle met my groin for the thousandth time. The stare; the way the canine worked by cock in his muzzle, like it’s the greatest treasure he’d ever claimed. The noise, every few seconds he gives my cock a sharp, confident suck-in, pulling it deeper between his teeth with a soft, sloppy wet shlk sound. His cheeks puff for a moment, then settle back into the damn smug, self-satisfied terrier grin. He knows exactly how cute he looks — and he leans into it. Those cute, yet cocky, puffed eyes of his winked at me, telling me that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. So, I did the only thing I could do — cradling the back of his head, letting him work my cock to orgasm. “D-dude.. I’m serious, I’m about to—”

With a groan echoing out into the abyss of the alley, I came. One shot, then two, then three, four—I lost count at this point. Just wave after wave of cum filling that greedy muzzle, Dean’s tongue still working my cock for every squirt. Dean himself was grinning — the best he could with a cock in his muzzle — ears relaxed, eyes rolled back, giant paws pumping my balls for more as the terrier swallowed each drop, tail wagging behind him.

“D‑Dean… D‑D‑Dean, I… I c‑c‑can’t… I can’t f‑feel m‑my l‑legs…”

My legs wabbled once or twice, standing for only a few seconds, before I started sliding down the wall, the adrenaline making me only feel half of the pain as my back scraped against its harsh stone. But before I could hit the ground, still but ass naked, with my pants and underwear samped between my legs, arms hooked under my shoulders, catching me in a firm, upward pull—What could only be Dean. “Watch yourself, pup,” still cocky, his muzzle in remnants of my cum, his breath even more so smelling like it than the beer he had an hour ago, “I guess this time, I have to carry you back, huh?”

“Y-you’re an ass for making me carry you,” I said, weakly, trying to catch my breath, “But… S-shit, that's amazing.” My weight slumps into his, his chest warm and inviting as the cold starts to consume again, knees folding, still scraping for balance that isn’t there as Dean holds me. “Dean… I didn’t think you’d—”

“Be so good at blowjobs?” Dean finished with a massive grin, tongue licking up the remains of my seed across his face. “You taste quite…” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the word. “Flavorful?” He finished, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “For a first-time gayer, I think I did a pretty good job, don’t you think?”

“Fuck yeah, you did,” I said way too enthusiastically. Again, I gently pet behind his ears, and almost immediately, he nuzzled into my hand. “Such a good boy…” I repeated, testing the word, seeing how it felt now that the adrenaline had run off. “Do… Do you like when I call you that?”

“Yeah…” Dean murmured, his voice rarely ever dropping to almost a shy whisper. His ears dipped, more embarrassed than his usual self. “…I kinda… I kinda like it, y’know. B‑being your dog and all.” He admitted.

“We… we should do this again…” Dean said, voice wobbling with nerves he clearly wasn’t used to feeling. His ears twitched, his tail giving one uncertain sway. “M‑maybe I could… I dunno… wear a collar or something?” He tried to laugh, like he was joking, but the way his eyes flicked up — embarrassed, but hopeful, made it obvious he’d been thinking about this for a long time.

I blinked. The only thing I could do, startled in the softest way, before I let out a small, breathy laugh — not dismissive, the kind that slips out when you’re surprised. “Dean…” I murmured, smiling because I honestly couldn’t help it, not because I was laughing at him. “I’d love that.”

Dean swallowed, taking a breath of relief, yet his ears dipped lower, giving me puppy eyes. “M‑maybe a leash?” he added, quieter this time, like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said it but needed to anyway.

“Whatever you want,” I said, still catching my breath, still half‑laughing, my voice neither sharp nor mocking — Just tired. Hell, I don’t think anyone believed Dean Mitchell was this kinky. “But you’re still ass for making me carry you down four blocks, even if it was cute…”

“Now be a good boy, and order us a taxi, I can’t feel my legs…”