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[ Don't miss me too much, he teases, but it's easier said than done when they spent the better part of the evening wrapped up in each others' arms, the closest they've ever been in the months they've known each other, longed for each other. After spending so long wanting and finally having, the slightest bit of distance is difficult to bear — him shifting from above her to alongside her, no longer pressed flush; now him sliding from her bed and leaving her cold beyond the late November night, her fingers curling into the lingering warmth left by his touch.

She's thinking the same as she watches him walk down the short corridor towards her bathroom (gaze drifting over his broad shoulders and frankly great ass): how the fuck is she supposed to say goodbye to him tomorrow? (Even with her half-dozen date ideas waiting for them when the job is done.) How is she supposed to kiss him on the threshold of her apartment, on the sidewalk outside her building, and watch the Impala drive out of the city? It wouldn't be the first time and their friendship has survived the distance before; hell, the foundations are as strong as they are because of the distance. But — don't miss me too much. Easier said than done. She already does.

But that's for tomorrow and for a few days from now. Tonight she's content, settled under the covers and basking in the afterglow, turning her head just enough to admire Dean from afar, silhouetted by the warmth of the bathroom light. So much about this has been new and this is no different — she's used to being the one dragging herself out of bed for the clean up, every step as inelegant as the act that came before. A chore, (just like everything else about her marriage), a tool to placate an angry man. It feels indulgent to stay right where she is for once, savouring every gentle moment of her comedown without a twinge of guilt or shame; neither has a place here and never has, not with him. She's never felt more relaxed — or safe. But that's Dean. He's been safe since the moment they met, eyes locked in her foyer with Tom's shadow looming over her shoulder. (I got you penetrating the fear.) It's knowing that when she comes to, it'll be with him at her side. (I got you piercing through the passion.)

Her eyes drift open again at the sound of her name, the mattress dipping under his weight as he rejoins her. A washcloth and a pair of underwear, the offer buoyed by his laughter and echoed by her own. (I got you thrumming under both.) It's so goddamn thoughtful, she thinks her heart might burst from such a simple kindness. Beverly breathes in, feels steadier for it — stomach fluttering when their fingers brush during the hand off — then smiles back at the quip he tacks on at the end. ]

Yet. [ Whether it's a joke or not, the offer is sincere if he wants it to be. (Safe. That's what they are.) ] Can make whatever you like. [ A beat, like she's willing herself to move again; her arm lifts and she lays the hot washcloth against the slope of her neck, groaning softly at how good that feels against her buzzing skin. ] Later — oh my god, that's so nice. [ Softly, with feeling, ] Thank you.

[ She lifts the comforter and wipes herself down anywhere his mouth lingered for long, north to south, soothing the points where he might have left marks behind, folding and flipping the washcloth over just as it dips between her thighs. It's a nice recap, honestly, shivering a little at the memory — or maybe that's how sensitive she still feels down there. (Yeah, no, she's not getting up any time soon.) Beverly pushes herself up on her elbow with some effort and squints across the room for aim before flinging the washcloth into the hamper. ]

Ha, [ she laughs when she makes the shot, elbow slipping a half-second later and sending her sprawling back on the bed with an audible oof; she's still laughing, still riding that high, looking back at Dean like, Did you see that? ] Gave myself fifty-fifty on making that, y'know, [ she says as she wriggles into her underwear. ] Still kinda feel like jello.

[ It's a compliment. She lets it hang between them, warm and effervescent with teasing, and then Beverly rolls onto her side to be closer to him, expression softening the moment her hand reconnects with his waist. God, she could get caught up in gazing at him for hours. They've known each other for a while now, but it feels like she's seeing him for the first time; he seems softer, somehow, worry eased from his brow and replaced by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes brought on by what can only be fondness.

She doesn't even realise she's reflecting it back at him, her voice sweet and soft as she murmurs, ] You good, honey?

Edited 2020-09-27 01:35 (UTC)

( his mouth pulls wider, a secretive little smile settling into the curve of his lips, the soft crinkle of his eyes.can make you whatever you like, and maybe he'll take her up on it, maybe not. either way, it's something he feels comfortable exploring with her, eventually, which isn't something he thought he'd ever say about anyone. (bev's safe, always has been.) there's never been any shame between them (in apologizing or for crying or even wanting); he's made sure that was a foundation of their relationship from the start, so of course she would do the same for him (and yet it still manages to surprise him all the same). but she's right, that's for later. later, after the emotions from tonight have settled; later, when they aren't both still coming down from an epic high.

he's quiet for a stretch as he watches her lay the washcloth against her neck, his stomach flipping itself inside out when thank you leaves her lips. crazy what two little words can do to him, what they mean to someone who rarely ever hears them. ) Sure thing. ( he's never been very good at saying you're welcome without it sounding condescending, but the sentiment remains the same.

while she works the washcloth over her skin, he quietly hums to himself the main guitar riff from bad company's can't get enough, his gaze following her hand even when it passes beneath the comforter, smiling softly at the memory of her, the way she tasted, the way she felt. if he thought he could move without feeling the ache in his arms, he'd slide his hand between her thighs with hers, but it's already been a long, whirlwind of a night and he thinks they both deserve this break to just bask in the glow of each other. he thought she was glowing before, when she'd told him about the divorce being finalized, but now? she's practically a supernova, radiating her affection so brightly next to him he can't help but be captivated even by the mundane act of washing herself.

he follows the cast of her arm as she throws the washcloth across the room, grinning brightly when it thwumps into the hamper. he's laughing with her when she falls back, the arch of his brow reflecting the pride in his voice. ) The crowd goes wild! That's three points to Marsh, the league's first ever jello player.

( but even as he jokes about it, it's clear by the color of his cheeks that he heard her compliment, understood what she meant by it, appreciates it more than he can express right now. his face softens, the weight of the world held by someone else's shoulders for the moment. why should he be doomed to be atlas when all he's ever done is sacrifice for the sake of the world? bev's touch centers him, grounds him, and when he looks at her this time, she is the world, worthy of his devotion and his sacrifice. )

Yeah, I'm good. ( he laughs softly, almost disbelieving. he's had a lot of good sex in his life — and a lot of pretty mediocre sex — but there's something distinctly great about being with someone fully, heart, soul, and body. he feels like that with bev, like they've been irrevocably tied together and he wouldn't have it any other way. it's just — well, he may use the word awesome more than any normal person in their thirties, but this particular moment feels worthy of truly inspiring awe. maybe he's still reeling a little, too, wondering if any of that was really real. he reaches up to brush a hand through her messy curls, feel the warmth of her drying neck. that's real, alright. she's real. this is real. they're real, aren't they? thing thing they've just begun, it's real. ) You're incredible. That was — dare I say — awesome.

( just in case there was any doubt. )

[ It's been a long time since she's basked in the afterglow of anything. She figures she'd be a broken record by now if she said as much but it's hard to shake the feeling that so much of tonight has been new, a first; and even though she knows that, it still takes her by surprise. If it were anyone else, these moments after might feel awkward — the pair of them stripped bare in every literal and figurative way, having crossed a line they can't come back from. But Dean is safe, always has been, and their friendship was built on that foundation from the start. It hasn't wavered since. If anything, she's never felt more certain in her life — of this, him, choosing him. This happened because they both wanted it; mutual, reciprocal, unconditional. (Not like before where she was just a means to an end.)

He's right — there's something great about being with someone fully. It's such an intoxicating feeling, Bev still feels lightheaded with it, helpless to do much else but smile when he answers her, gratified by it. Her eyes fall closed for a heartbeat when he touches her, the gesture so delicate it's like he's handling a soap bubble — like he's not sure she's really in front of him, like she might disappear. His fingers rest on her neck and it doesn't even occur to her to flinch, the glowing affection for him washing out old reflexes formed by fear. (Safe, safe, safe. She never wants him to stop touching her. She'd feel a little unmoored without this anchor point; but even without, he's still her harbour.)

You're incredible lands differently now that they aren't lost in each others' passionate embrace. It's as honest now as it was then, but something about it being offered so simply instead of gasped between their hungry kisses makes her blush deeper now; her eyes blink open again to look at him in the lamplight, pleased and flattered and delighted. (Maybe a little self-conscious. There's a flicker of old anxiety, wondering if she'd done enough for him, but then he says awesome and that worry goes quiet.) But her laugh is as warm as ever, bubbling free without shame. ]

Thank you? [ God, look at him. He's just lying there, looking at her like she's holding the universe together, and she thinks her heart might burst. She almost can't take it. Almost. (She almost can't get enough.) She grins, bright and playful. ] You're pretty awesome yourself, Winchester. Actually, I think the word is — mindblowing.

[ It's teasingly said, but she means it. How can she find the words to convey what this meant? What he means? She doesn't want to ruin the moment by burdening it with too much expectation, but there's no denying there's something there, something that goes beyond tonight. She knows he can feel it too. And she knows the best and only way forward is one step at a time — together. God, she wants nothing more than to explore this together.

Beverly studies him for a moment, curled up on her side and legs tangled with his under the covers. They're close, but not close enough. ]

C'mere, [ she murmurs, voice still buoyant with immeasurable fondness, as she leans up to kiss him. Words are hard, but she can do justice to half of them with this; it's chaste, but no less tender because of it, the press of their lips soft and lingering. When she breaks away, she doesn't go far, her nose brushing his as she whispers against him, ] You should stay.

[ Here. The night. With me. It's almost a question, almost a request. And it's entirely up to him. ]

Edited 2020-10-10 00:59 (UTC)

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