When you pull back, the comforter slides off his shoulders. He's going to blame the pang of regret he feels at the loss of warmth on that, rather than on the loss of your body heat. Drains the last finger-width of whiskey from his mug before he gets up and heads outside to fix his car.
It doesn't take long. He's hotwired the Impala before, either out of necessity, or because he was teaching someone else how it's done. Hooking the wires back into place and replacing the panel is a matter of minutes, even though the only light he has is that of his phone. His phone reminds him of Sam, who's probably waiting for him to come back, so he composes a quick text. Not to worry. Will be back tomorrow midday. Bringing a friend.
He hits send, then looks around, eyes trailing over the interiors of the car. His car. So very familiar. He runs a hand over the steering wheel, a soothing, apologetic gesture. "'m sorry it's been so long." Muttered in the privacy of the empty car's interior. "Thanks for taking care of Cas."
As if on cue, the passenger door opens and you get in. Dean tightens his posture immediately, turns the key in the ignition. He can't help but grin when the engine comes to live with a familiar growl, the seat starting to vibrate underneath. He can feel you pressing against him, your fingers on his inner thigh, curling into the soft skin there. He turns his head to grin at you, not identifying the pleasant tension in his body until he meets your eyes.
Then he does, and his throat suddenly dries out, nervousness clenching his chest in a momentary, brief panic. He's pretending. He's supposed to be pretending. He shifts into reverse, backs the car up towards the road.
"This reminds me of high school. Or, you know, the fun parts of high school." The Impala settles onto the road, and he shifts into first, pulling away up the driveway. "Thing about switching towns every other week was that every time I'd figured out the good spots to take your girl for a nightly making-out session, we'd move."
That was not what he intended to say. He didn't mean to bring up kissing or making out. Too late now. He swallows, accelerates and shifts into second.
no subject
It doesn't take long. He's hotwired the Impala before, either out of necessity, or because he was teaching someone else how it's done. Hooking the wires back into place and replacing the panel is a matter of minutes, even though the only light he has is that of his phone. His phone reminds him of Sam, who's probably waiting for him to come back, so he composes a quick text. Not to worry. Will be back tomorrow midday. Bringing a friend.
He hits send, then looks around, eyes trailing over the interiors of the car. His car. So very familiar. He runs a hand over the steering wheel, a soothing, apologetic gesture. "'m sorry it's been so long." Muttered in the privacy of the empty car's interior. "Thanks for taking care of Cas."
As if on cue, the passenger door opens and you get in. Dean tightens his posture immediately, turns the key in the ignition. He can't help but grin when the engine comes to live with a familiar growl, the seat starting to vibrate underneath. He can feel you pressing against him, your fingers on his inner thigh, curling into the soft skin there. He turns his head to grin at you, not identifying the pleasant tension in his body until he meets your eyes.
Then he does, and his throat suddenly dries out, nervousness clenching his chest in a momentary, brief panic. He's pretending. He's supposed to be pretending. He shifts into reverse, backs the car up towards the road.
"This reminds me of high school. Or, you know, the fun parts of high school." The Impala settles onto the road, and he shifts into first, pulling away up the driveway. "Thing about switching towns every other week was that every time I'd figured out the good spots to take your girl for a nightly making-out session, we'd move."
That was not what he intended to say. He didn't mean to bring up kissing or making out. Too late now. He swallows, accelerates and shifts into second.
"Where d'you wanna go?"