Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1111025.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Other(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Led_Zeppelin_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Underage_Masturbation, Fantasizing, Led_Zeppelin_-_Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-31 Words: 3423
****** Since I’ve Been Lovin’ You ******
by Exaggerated_Specificity
Summary
     This was inspired by my intense love for Led Zeppelin and sexual
     attraction to Robert Plant. In this story, Dean shares my feelings
     and is inspired to explore his body along to the music. Dean is
     watching the actual Led Zeppelin Documentary “The Song Remains the
     Same" which is on YouTube in its entirety so you can follow along
     with if you so desire.
     A link to the video is here: http://youtu.be/YiBLBn1z1vY and the time
     stamps for each song named in the fic are here:
     - ‘Stairway to Heaven’ starts at 1:28:15
     - ‘Black Dog’ starts at 17:00
     - ‘Since I’ve Been Lovin’ You’ starts at 21:47
     Thanks to Chelley and Belle for being supportive of me writing this
     little love note to Dean and Zeppelin. It's a bit of a weird one but
     I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.
     NOTE: This isn't really M/M because Dean is masturbating and his
     thoughts about Zeppelin are more in admiration instead of lust but
     his body reacts to the music so what is the kid supposed to do? Yes,
     he's fifteen. I masturbated at 15, didn't you?
Dean loved Led Zeppelin for as long as he could remember. His father’s music
collection was burned into his consciousness at an early age and, of all the
great bands, Zepp was by far Dean’s favorite. Over the years, they proved the
best lullabies for the often road-weary Winchester boys and Dean never lost his
taste for the golden voice of Robert Plant or the blissed-out guitar of Jimmy
Page. He always had at least one Zeppelin shirt in his wardrobe and he’d always
joke about Icarus being his first tattoo, once he was old enough.
Back when Dean was thirteen, he tape recorded the band’s documentary “The Song
Remains the Same” from a Led Zeppelin marathon on VH1. They were staying in a
furnished rental house near Detroit that had cable, a VCR, and a collection
self-recorded VHS’ the home’s previous resident had used to tape her soap
operas. Dean didn’t hesitate to peel off the hand written label on the one that
said “DAYS OF OUR LIVES” in blue ballpoint cursive, recording over it with
delight. He kept the tape tucked in the bottom of his duffle bag lovingly
wrapped in a brown and gold flannel that didn’t fit him anymore.
Dean loved seeing Plant, Page, Jones and Bohnam performing live and popped in
the tape whenever they landed in a place with a VCR. Sure, the footage was
grainy and they only played a handful of Dean’s favorite songs but it was worth
watching if only to see Jimmy in his black velvet dragon suit and Robert’s
skinny hips shimmying in his impossibly snug jeans. Sometimes Sam and John
would watch it with him and they’d laugh together at John Paul’s hair or the
crappy psychedelic effects. Dean loved it anyway and knew the order of the
songs by heart.
Fifteen now, Dean was beginning to develop the shoulders, voice, and appetites
of the man he would soon become. He had become a solid hunter and soon enough
he’d be going out with Dad on hunts, once Sam was old enough to stay alone. His
music preferences hadn’t changed much but the way music made him feel certainly
had. He could almost taste the passion dripping from Robert’s voice and he
savored the desperation and longing in the lyrics of Zeppelin’s impressive
catalog. Their music always told a story and spoke to Dean him on a level
nothing else really had. Music had become one of Dean’s only escapes and he
relished lying alone in the dark, headphones on, with Zeppelin’s churning,
brilliant guitar and soulful lyrics flowing through him. It was his religion,
his reprieve from a life he was too young to have to lead.
Dean could use the escape now. It had been a crappy day at his new school and
with Dad away Dean was in charge of making dinner and helping Sammy with his
homework. John was on a hunt at the moment so Dean was responsible for taking
care of his eleven year old brother. Dean didn’t mind watching over Sam,
really, but at times like these he envied his classmates who could slam their
doors and blast their rock and roll without a care in the world. Unfortunately,
it just wasn’t safe for Dean to fall asleep with his headphones on with John
away. So, once his brother went to bed, Dean decided to put the dusty VCR in
their apartment-style room at the Sweetwater Motorlodge to use, pulling his
precious VHS from its spot at the bottom of his bag.
After taking a quick shower and slipping into a fresh pair of grey boxer
briefs, Dean shut the lights out in the small living room and got ready to
unwind. He moved Sam’s backpack and jacket to the other side of the loveseat so
he could sit directly in front of the small television set with built-in VCR.
Dean didn’t bother rewinding the tape. He was somewhat curious to see where
he’d left off the last time he watched it more than 6 months ago.
He leaned over the cluttered coffee table that separated the loveseat and TV
stand and slid the tape into the VCR. The screen flickered with bands of black
and white static for a moment before the New York City skyline at sunset
appeared.
“I think this is a song of hope.” Robert’s voice was a bit melancholy as the
lilting melody of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ began. The scene shifted to footage of
Zeppelin’s performance at Madison Square Garden in 1973.
“There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold and she's buying a
stairway to heaven.”
The camera swung around the stage and captured Plant from below, as if a member
of the audience had shot it from the front row. Golden light spilled over
Robert’s lush cascade of wavy, blonde hair. His angular face and bare chest
glistened with perspiration and a scattering of fair hairs. Dean watched
transfixed as the lithe Brit crooned with his hands on his hips, adding extra
inflection and playfulness to what Dean considered one of the most beautiful
songs he had ever heard.
“There's a feeling I get when I look to the west and my spirit is crying for
leaving. In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees and the
voices of those who stand looking.”
Dean leaned against the matted velour loveseat and tilted his head back as the
camera panned back on the ‘Golden God.’ He closed his eyes and let Jimmy’s
sultry guitar ease his mood, letting the music flow through him, pulling out
the bitter poison of his day.
“If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now, it's just a spring
clean for the May queen. Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the
long run, there's still time to change the road you're on.”
As Dean stared into the abyss at the back of his eyelids, he could see exactly
what was happening on the screen in his mind’s eye. Robert leaned back in a
seductive dance with the microphone stand as he belted out the lyrics. He
grabbed a tambourine from the top of an amplifier and thumped it against his
taut chest, alternating back and forth to his palm as Jimmy’s sweeping solo
began. Robert bounced next to Jimmy while the guitarist’s fingers made love to
his enormous, cherry wood, double-neck Gibson.
Dean breathed deep and rubbed his hands lightly over the tops of his bare
thighs, allowing the frustration to drain out of him. The guitar solo wound
down and Robert’s lush vocals started up again. The beautiful, haunting cord
progression and Robert’s swelling vocals caused a surge of emotion in the young
hunter.
“And as we wind on down the road, our shadows taller than our soul, there walks
a lady we all know who shines white light and wants to show how everything
still turns to gold.”
Dean’s head soared as he bathed in the splendor and passion of the lyrics. He
opened his eyes and watched lacework of water stains on the popcorn-textured
ceiling as they appeared to melt and sway in the flickering, soft blue light of
the TV. There was a flush spreading over Dean’s skin and his breath quickened
as he was utterly transported by the song filling his senses. Dean drew his
hands up to rub over his face in an attempt to focus his thoughts. His breath
hitched in his throat as he quickly realized he was at the edge of arousal,
blood rushing south.
“And if you listen very hard the tune will come to you at last, when all are
one and one is all, to be a rock and not to roll…” Sitting forward, Dean found
his eyes on Robert as the song rose to its crescendo. Dean was fully hard now
with his eyes glued hopelessly to the gorgeous, ethereal man on the screen.
Dean’s erection strained against the soft cotton of his boxers as he stood up,
coughing and shaking out his limbs, trying to get the feeling to pass. He felt
awkward in his own skin for a moment, his body and his mind not in synch like
his training had taught them to be. Dean wasn’t the kind of kid that popped
boners in class when the wind blew just right so he was confused at what his
body was trying to tell him.
He leaned down and pressed the rewind button on the front panel of the TV,
watching the image on the screen blurring the faded colors with a whir. Dean
pressed his palm to the base of his erection as the tape rewound, trying to
force his arousal away. He limped to the kitchen for a drink of water, filling
a glass and downing the tepid tap water quickly so the tape didn’t rewind all
the way back to the beginning. He returned to the living room and pushed play.
The video picked up earlier in their set with Plant and company more brightly
lit and less sweaty.
“Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you
groove.” ‘Black Dog’ was one of Dean’s favorites and he was lucky enough to
have stopped the tape right as the song began. Dean bit his lip and banged his
head in time with the beat, letting a fond nostalgia wash over him. His arousal
had subsided and he attempted to relax again, laying down on the loveseat with
his head against the armrest, turned to the side so he could still watch the
small screen.
“Hey, hey, baby, when you walk that way, watch your honey drip, can't keep
away.” Dean grinned as he watched Robert strut. He wanted to be him, radiant
and larger than life, causing his fans to scream and thrash in the crowd below
him. There was a perfect effortless mystery to the man and his music and Dean
wished he could embody it.
It was then that it clicked. Dean made the connection between his devotion and
his arousal. Dean had to admit, Robert was unbelievably sexy and knew deep down
he was devouring him with his eyes just like the girls in the audience were.
The music itself moved him down to his very core and the mixing of emotions was
a heady combination that caused Dean’s blood to boil. He felt his face redden
at the thought but decided to go with it, stretching out his limbs as the song
thrummed in his ears.
Dean was alone, there was no chance of interruption from anyone but Sam and the
kid was a heavy sleeper, almost to a fault. Dean already felt worlds better
about life in general than he had earlier in the day and his mind felt open to
exploring the depth of his feelings. Dean wondered absently if it was normal to
want to be someone so badly that you became physically attracted to him, even
if you were pretty positive that you liked girls too.
The bluesy guitar that started churning after the brief backstage interview
pulled Dean out of his thoughts and he turned back to face the TV. ‘Since I’ve
Been Loving You’ was one of Zeppelin’s more soulful numbers, a sorrowful blues
track about a hard working man wronged by his lady love. Dean loved Jimmy’s
complex and sprawling guitar on the track but tonight Robert’s voice was what
reached down inside of him, igniting that familiar, fluttering heat in his
core.
Dean watched Robert without shame as the song began, spreading his thighs and
fanned his hands out over his bare abdomen. Plant pulled the microphone close
to his lips, tossing his hair back over his shoulder, exposing the pale expanse
of his throat. His voice trembled in mournful ecstasy.
“I’veeeeee been working from seven, baby, to eleven every night, oh yeah. It
really makes life a drag, drag, drag, people I know you don't think that's
right.”
The song was full of infatuation and heartache and Plant’s movements echoed the
feeling as he sang. Dean admired the smattering of light hair that spread
across the singer’s breastbone and down his abdomen into his pale blue, skin-
tight pants. Dean ran his hands up his ribcage and then let his fingers trace
the same pathway down from his own collarbone, between his developing pecs,
over the peach fuzz surrounding his belly button, down to the elastic waistband
of his boxers. He let himself enjoy the sensation, tracing his hands in tune
with the grinding blues.
“But baby, since I've been loving you, I'm about to lose my worried mind. Oh,
yeah.”
Robert’s hands rested on his hips during Jimmy’s riff and he tilted them from
side to side, writhing to the moody guitar. Dean’s hand lingered on his belly
and his middle finger teased back and forth where the elastic met his skin for
a moment before he slid the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband. His hips
bucked up reflexively, causing his hand to slither further down into the damp
heat. He was gnawing his lip again and his breathing had become ragged in his
throat.
“Everybody trying to tell me, tell me, that you didn't mean me no good. But I
tried, I tried, I tried, I really did the best I could.”
Dean swallowed thickly before committing to the logical next step of curling
his hand around his cock. The shower-fresh skin of his erection was heavenly,
silky smooth under his fingers. Dean let his pinky graze across the supple skin
of his balls while he used his other hand to tug his boxers down to let his
erection feel the open air. He stroked himself lazily, holding the elastic down
against his thigh, closing his eyes and letting the velvet of Robert’s voice
match the relaxed motion of his hand.
He paused on the upstroke, sliding the pad of his thumb over the head, swirling
through the pre- come that had welled up in his slit. A moan escaped Dean’s
lips and his back arched, causing his hand to engulf the slick tip of his cock.
Dean began thrusting into his fist slowly while watching the graceful flow of
Robert’s body, the sheen of sweat over Dean’s skin matching that of his idol.
Dean shoved his underwear down to mid thigh and spread his legs wider, one
hitched up on the sofa and his other foot planted on the floor for leverage.
The motion cinched the waistband of his shorts taught underneath his balls. The
pressure helped keep him at the precipice of his orgasm, nicely floating in
pleasure between the sweet folds of Robert’s lyrics.
“Said I've been crying, my tears they fell like rain. Don't you hear, don't you
hear them falling? Don't you hear, don't you hear them falling?”
Now that it was free, Dean dragged his left hand up the center of his torso
again, causing goosebumps to spread across his ribcage and hardening his
nipples with a shudder. He dragged the tips of his fingernails over his pecs,
circling his areola, making large, lazy figure eights across his chest as his
other hand continued stroking his cock.
“Now you listen, just here listen. Do you remember mama, when I knocked upon
your door? You had the nerve to tell me you didn't want me no more.”
Dean thumbed over his left nipple, flicking it as if he were plucking the
string of a guitar. The volume of his pleasured gasp made him bite back a
second moan as he pinched the pink nub of flesh between his thumb and
forefinger. He fucked up into his fist harder as he tugged gently on his
nipple, breath heaving in his chest, eyes stuck fast to the TV.
“I open my front door, hear my back door slam. I said hey baby, hey baby, I got
a new back door man, yeah.”
“God, fuck…” Dean groaned out loud as his eyes rolled back in his head. He
continued tugging his nipple, pinching and rolling his fingers in time with his
languid strokes. Licks of electric pleasure rushed down his torso straight to
his cock where he was leaking precome over his knuckles, easing the path of his
thrusts. Dean felt himself nearing the precipice. The tight, slick heat of his
hand and the rhythmic pluck at his nipple was dragging him over the edge.
“Awwwwww baby since I've been loving you, I'm about to lose, my worried mind. I
can’t lose it, I’ve been tryin’ so hard.”
The liquid, golden heat of Robert’s voice reverberated in his ears and Dean
slammed his eyes shut, letting his orgasm take him. His hips jerked and his
muscles clenched as the feeling of release rushed through his body. Dean’s
pelvis tilted with his weight resting on his feet. His hand stilled, gripping
the swell of his shaft just under the head. He felt the pulse of each spurt as
it flowed up his erection and splashed against his stomach and chest. Wave
after wave shook him to his core.
Dean let himself ride the bliss, his mind dipping back into a languid pool of
calm release until the pulsing in his groin finally stopped. He freed his
nipple and let his fingers swirl in the mess on his sweaty torso, gently
stroking his cock to milk out the last of his orgasm.
Robert howled out the rest of the song and the band wound down, causing the
crowd’s cheers to swell. Dean grinned, it was the only time he ever fished to
such raucous applause. Dean chuckled quietly at his ridiculous thought and,
after a few moments, the band started again.
“This is called ‘No Quarter.’” Robert said to the crowd. The ambient light
around Dean shifted from blue, to a softer green and red. This song had a slow
build. Robert crooned the haunting lyrics as Dean let the post-orgasm
endorphins warm his muscles and cause his eyelids to sag.
The song trailed along sleepily for a few minutes before the chorus began. Dean
cast his gaze down to his body, glistening with sweat and come, legs splayed
wide and chest moving normally now that his breathing had returned to normal.
His cock lay spent against his stomach and his boxers were still tugged down to
mid thigh. He left them there, content to soak in the afterglow a bit longer.
He let his eyelids slip shut with his hands sticky and relaxed against his
stomach.
After a few moments skirting the edge of sleep, the light from the small TV
screen shifted to blue again, brightening the light filtering in through Dean’s
eyelids, causing them to flutter open and look back at the screen. There was
Robert, being filmed from below again for that larger than life look, skin and
hair pale and blue in the stage lights, beginning to sing to the melodic notes.
“Walking side by side with death, the devil mocks their every step. The snow
drives back the foot that's slow, the dogs of doom are howling more. They carry
news that must get through, to build a dream for me and you, they choose the
path where no-one goes. They hold no quarter.”
The end of the song picked up in tempo and Robert shook his head wildly to the
lyrics as Jimmy’s guitar teased the singer’s hips into action once again. Dean
watched, comfortable and calm, but his body was already stirring again. Dean
whimpered aloud as his cock twitched in interest.
“God, not again…” Dean huffed under his breath and wiped his come slick palm
against the right leg of his boxers before yanking up the elastic to put away
his all too eager friend. Dean stood and shut off the TV as the scene cut to
some backstage footage.
He ejected the tape, holding it gingerly in his wiped-off hand to avoid getting
it messy and tiptoed back to the room he and Sam shared. The lights were off
and Sam’s prone form was clearly visible, breathing quietly, under the thin
blanket. As Dean put the tape away, he shook his head and quietly thanked Sam
for staying asleep during his little adventure.
After washing his hands and wiping down his torso with a damp washcloth, Dean
returned to the bedroom and fished his threadbare Icarus shirt out of the pile
of laundry. Wearing it to bed was only fitting.
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