( the groan rolls through him just as she expected it, and for a moment dean has to brace himself on the edge of the bed, one knee bent into the mattress, his face pressed into her hair. he meets her eyes when she turns to look at him, his heart beating wildly in the wake of the kiss pressed to the tattoo on his chest and the stroke of her hand. )
Yeah. Better now. ( he says, a little rough around the edges — and it's confirmation of something else, too, something closer to yeah, i want you. i want this. if his voice breaks in the back of his throat from the brush of her thumb over his cock, it gets swallowed by her kiss, searing through him, slowly fraying every nerve. she's barely even touched him and already his knees feel like they might give. maybe it's just the exhaustion of a rigorous hunt, or maybe that's just what she does to him. christ.
a low, breathy sound passes his lips, a huff of a laugh spreading through the thin air between them. it's hard to tell if he's laughing at himself or the fact that bev is surprising him all over again. ) Hold on a sec, huh? ( not to ruin the mood, but if he doesn't sit down they're gonna end up crashing into the bed when she makes his legs tremble — and he firmly has no doubt she's fully capable of making him weak at the knees. he leans in to steal another kiss, his hands drifting to her waist as he turns them in place, backing himself onto the edge of his mattress; it creaks faintly under his weight. in the shift, his robe has come undone, spread open, leaving him on full display, the waist belt hanging loosely at his sides. he should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he's never felt shame about sharing his body, especially not with someone he cares about, someone he knows understands him in a way no one else could. after all, his body is the one thing he's always had control over, even when everything around him felt impossibly out of control — and why the mark terrified him as much as it did.
he reaches out for her hand, the one she'd touched him with only moments ago, brushes his thumb over the back of it. )
You know you don't have to. ( which isn't the same as i don't want you to. hadn't she told him the same thing the first time they did this? you don't have to — or, i don't want you to feel obligated. he'd be more than happy to pull her in, let her sit on his lap, straddle him all the way, let her ride him until she unraveled; happy just to watch her take her pleasure of him, knowing he could give that to her. but the look in her eyes has a different intent, something dean has rarely experienced in all his years of one night stands and failed romances: it seems to say let me do this for you because i want to — and who would he be to deny her? he knows intimately the pride that comes with making someone else feel good, so of course he wants her to feel the same, wants her to be able to view this not as an obligation but a gift, something they can both share. something they can both enjoy. ) Ain't nothing wrong with missionary if you change your mind.
[ She feels him tremble against her and she feels pleased to elicit such a response, laughing with him — never at — into the kiss. She murmurs something like mmhmm when he tells her to wait, tipping her head to kiss at his jawline before he captures her lips again as they turn, savouring the softness of it and the way he smells like soap. Woodsy, a little, even if she knows he's showered off the gravesmoke. Fucking intoxicating — or maybe that's just Dean and her being so into him. When he breaks the kiss, she can't help chasing after it on his way down and she thinks hey, that's my move but then it clicks that they're slowing down for a reason and she blinks her way back to focus.
Granted, it's hard to focus when he's sitting there like that and looking up at her, so at ease with himself and with sharing his space with her, and God, his eyes. Beverly smiles as he reaches for her hand, skin tingling where he brushes the pad of his thumb over it. It's such a little thing but so painfully tender, it tempers the heat a little. And then — ]
I know. [ Soft, sweet. She lifts his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles, murmuring against them. ] I want to, though. If that's okay.
[ She thinks a lot about that first time. Not just the way they burned for each other but the care in each brush of their hands and lips — is this okay; if it gets too much, we don't have to — and it's present here too, of course it is, it always is. It's only been a few months since their relationship turned intimate, physical, and even with most nights spent wrapped in each others' arms they're still learning how to read the moments in between the pounding heartbeats. Yes, she came to him in his room; yes, he kissed her back, whispered desires into her ear, but if the hunt left him more tired than he realised, Beverly wouldn't mind putting the brakes on this until morning. Until whenever. No shame, no awkwardness, no misgivings. The understanding is why they work and why she trusts him more than she has any man in her bed; she only wants to give him as much as he gives her.
Beverly leans down and kisses him again: forehead, cheekbone, the shell of his ear where she whispers, ] Just tell me what you like.
[ Because it's been a while and this is one of the first times she's actually wanted to do this. Like, really, really wants to do this. She slides the towel from around his neck and drops it to the floor; the robe's next, pushed back just enough to bare his shoulders to her wandering mouth — already trailing down the side of his throat, the slope where it meets the rise of his deltoid, his tattoo again until she can't bend over any more and has to kneel (on the towel, good thinking, Bev).
She doesn't touch him yet. Wants to draw this out. Her hands rest on his thighs instead, brushing back and forth as she tips her chin up to kiss him again, searing and slow with a slip of tongue; sometimes she trails her nails lightly up his sides, back down, ghosting his inner thighs, kissing him all the while. There's a thrill in making him feel good, making him unravel, and she's discovered the little things that earn his gasps. She wants to find more, explore him as he's explored her, helped her relearn her own body and enjoy it. He deserves that too. ]
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Yeah. Better now. ( he says, a little rough around the edges — and it's confirmation of something else, too, something closer to yeah, i want you. i want this. if his voice breaks in the back of his throat from the brush of her thumb over his cock, it gets swallowed by her kiss, searing through him, slowly fraying every nerve. she's barely even touched him and already his knees feel like they might give. maybe it's just the exhaustion of a rigorous hunt, or maybe that's just what she does to him. christ.
a low, breathy sound passes his lips, a huff of a laugh spreading through the thin air between them. it's hard to tell if he's laughing at himself or the fact that bev is surprising him all over again. ) Hold on a sec, huh? ( not to ruin the mood, but if he doesn't sit down they're gonna end up crashing into the bed when she makes his legs tremble — and he firmly has no doubt she's fully capable of making him weak at the knees. he leans in to steal another kiss, his hands drifting to her waist as he turns them in place, backing himself onto the edge of his mattress; it creaks faintly under his weight. in the shift, his robe has come undone, spread open, leaving him on full display, the waist belt hanging loosely at his sides. he should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he's never felt shame about sharing his body, especially not with someone he cares about, someone he knows understands him in a way no one else could. after all, his body is the one thing he's always had control over, even when everything around him felt impossibly out of control — and why the mark terrified him as much as it did.
he reaches out for her hand, the one she'd touched him with only moments ago, brushes his thumb over the back of it. )
You know you don't have to. ( which isn't the same as i don't want you to. hadn't she told him the same thing the first time they did this? you don't have to — or, i don't want you to feel obligated. he'd be more than happy to pull her in, let her sit on his lap, straddle him all the way, let her ride him until she unraveled; happy just to watch her take her pleasure of him, knowing he could give that to her. but the look in her eyes has a different intent, something dean has rarely experienced in all his years of one night stands and failed romances: it seems to say let me do this for you because i want to — and who would he be to deny her? he knows intimately the pride that comes with making someone else feel good, so of course he wants her to feel the same, wants her to be able to view this not as an obligation but a gift, something they can both share. something they can both enjoy. ) Ain't nothing wrong with missionary if you change your mind.
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Granted, it's hard to focus when he's sitting there like that and looking up at her, so at ease with himself and with sharing his space with her, and God, his eyes. Beverly smiles as he reaches for her hand, skin tingling where he brushes the pad of his thumb over it. It's such a little thing but so painfully tender, it tempers the heat a little. And then — ]
I know. [ Soft, sweet. She lifts his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles, murmuring against them. ] I want to, though. If that's okay.
[ She thinks a lot about that first time. Not just the way they burned for each other but the care in each brush of their hands and lips — is this okay; if it gets too much, we don't have to — and it's present here too, of course it is, it always is. It's only been a few months since their relationship turned intimate, physical, and even with most nights spent wrapped in each others' arms they're still learning how to read the moments in between the pounding heartbeats. Yes, she came to him in his room; yes, he kissed her back, whispered desires into her ear, but if the hunt left him more tired than he realised, Beverly wouldn't mind putting the brakes on this until morning. Until whenever. No shame, no awkwardness, no misgivings. The understanding is why they work and why she trusts him more than she has any man in her bed; she only wants to give him as much as he gives her.
Beverly leans down and kisses him again: forehead, cheekbone, the shell of his ear where she whispers, ] Just tell me what you like.
[ Because it's been a while and this is one of the first times she's actually wanted to do this. Like, really, really wants to do this. She slides the towel from around his neck and drops it to the floor; the robe's next, pushed back just enough to bare his shoulders to her wandering mouth — already trailing down the side of his throat, the slope where it meets the rise of his deltoid, his tattoo again until she can't bend over any more and has to kneel (on the towel, good thinking, Bev).
She doesn't touch him yet. Wants to draw this out. Her hands rest on his thighs instead, brushing back and forth as she tips her chin up to kiss him again, searing and slow with a slip of tongue; sometimes she trails her nails lightly up his sides, back down, ghosting his inner thighs, kissing him all the while. There's a thrill in making him feel good, making him unravel, and she's discovered the little things that earn his gasps. She wants to find more, explore him as he's explored her, helped her relearn her own body and enjoy it. He deserves that too. ]