I don't know if you've done this yet, but shower/bath sex with Dean? After a bloody hunt? idk! love you writing!
The shower had been on for at least two minutes and she wasnâteven washing, she was just standing in under the (relatively weak) spray of themotel shower and letting it sluice the first layer of mud and blood from herbody.
She jumped a little; Dean must have come in the littlebathroom while sheâd been zoned out.
âYeah.â She cleared her throat, picked up the bar of genericmotel soap. âYeah, Iâm fine. Enjoying the water.â
The shower curtain twitched and Dean peeked in, eyescrinkling in the corner with a tired grin. âJust inspecting the situation,â hesaid, running his eyes over her curves. His look wasnât sexual or proprietary,he was just being Dean. He wasnâtashamed of nudity, hers or his, and he liked to be close, especially after ahunt.
She grinned back at him crookedly- she was alive, felt goodenough to gripe about the water pressure and lack thereof, and one DeanWinchester was watching her shower. Things could be worse.
The soap suds turned to the color of rust as they slid downher body and swirled towards the drain. She shampooed her hair twice before itrinsed out clear, though the smell of alkaline clay and iron-rich bloodlingered, mixing with the floral scent of the shampoo. Dean watched the entireprocess, his shoulder braced against the edge of the shower cubicle, the sideof his head resting against the tile. Having someone there watching her wasintimate, far more intimate than whatever sexual escapade they could think of.He was watching her shower- wash her hair and arms and between her legs. He wasstanding there because he wanted to be near her, he was standing there becausehe could. In a way, she felt far more exposed than she would have been open tohim in the bed.
âYou missed a spot,â he murmured, and reached through thespray to flick over a stubborn bit of dirt at the base of her neck.
She lathered up her hands and reached back to where Deanâsfinger still lingered, the rough skin tracing little patterns on her wet skin.
She turned, looked over her shoulder. âWanna join?â
He started shucking off his t-shirt, unbuttoning his pants. âYesmaâam.â
He stepped into the cramped little space with her and tookthe bar of soap, proceeding to run it over the skin of her back, up and down,up and down. âReturn the favor?â he questioned, the water droplets clinging tohis eyelashes making him seem younger, more boyish.
She took the bar of soap and ran it over his chest, hisarms, his back. Down one leg, up the other, then briskly washing over his groinwith a minimal amount of teasing. It was a novel thing, for her- this ease,this tired contentment. In a way it was better than lust, better than the manicsexuality of an early relationship. This was warm and easy and familiar; reliefand affection and comfort availablein spades.
She stood up as he rinsed, wrapping her arms around hiswaist and leaning in. Dean smoothed his hand over the crown of her head,cradling her to him. âHey baby,â he murmured.
âHey,â she mumbled into his skin. He tipped her head backand grazed his mouth over her own, tongue rubbing over her chapped bottom lip.She opened to him- he tasted like hot water and sweat and the stale coke heâdsipped at in the Impala.
They broke apart, turned off the water, stepped out of theshower. He wrapped her in a towel, grinning at the giggle his attentionelicited, and herded her back into the room and right up to the bed.
âWeâll get it all wet,â she warned, eyeing him.
âIt would get all wet anyway,â he replied, lips quirking. Hekissed her again, moving up the bed by increments, crowding her with thebreadth of his shoulders and the heat of his mouth.
The sex was, by most standards, entirely average- there wasnâtan extraordinary amount of foreplay, they didnât perform any acrobatic orathletic maneuvers, it wasnât even particularly fast.
What the sex had- apart from Dean Winchester, which meant itwas anything but standard- washappiness. They looked into each otherâs eyes for almost the entirety of theact, breaking that contact only for kisses or to dart in and lick a drop ofwater off the otherâs skin. The bed creaked, her pussy sucked wetly at hiscock, they each smelled of cheap hotel soap, but there was joy in that too.There was familiarity there, friendship and contentment. Dean recognized howher breathing hitched when he shifted her ankle up to his shoulder, and thatrecognition made him grin: heâd been with her for long enough, and fucked herenough times to learn her tells. Heâd take that over some hot new pussy everysingle day of the week.
After, in the glow, they fell asleep, too tired and contentto give a damn about the damp sheets beneath them.
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