Your arm sliding around his shoulders pulls him out of the melancholy he can feel himself beginning to fall into. You want to pretend. He can almost believe that's true. If you're doing this for him, you're—very dedicated.
And you must be doing this for him. They wouldn't need to pretend if you felt otherwise.
He slouches down in the seat so your arm fits more comfortably around him without straining your shoulder, and twists into you. His nose brushes against your neck, between your jaw and the collar of your jacket, trailing up the line of your nose to nudge between your ear. You still smell the same, like sweat and hot metal, even in the February cold. He presses a soft kiss behind your ear, nuzzling with his nose before he opens his mouth to scrape his teeth lightly over the bolt of your jaw. They should pretend; he wants to pretend.
"Dean." Your name comes out as a sigh, fond, and he smiles against your skin. He loves you, Dean. Being with you makes him happy. He knows it would make him happy. "Maybe, uh, we can eat—burgers afterwards?" Whenever they get tired of making out? Or, more accurately, when it gets too cold for you and too sexually frustrating for him. He hasn't had a cheeseburger in years. But he remembers them. He remembers eating them with you, and your enjoyment for them. His fingernails rake up and down your thigh. They should eat cheeseburgers tonight, Dean; say yes.
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And you must be doing this for him. They wouldn't need to pretend if you felt otherwise.
He slouches down in the seat so your arm fits more comfortably around him without straining your shoulder, and twists into you. His nose brushes against your neck, between your jaw and the collar of your jacket, trailing up the line of your nose to nudge between your ear. You still smell the same, like sweat and hot metal, even in the February cold. He presses a soft kiss behind your ear, nuzzling with his nose before he opens his mouth to scrape his teeth lightly over the bolt of your jaw. They should pretend; he wants to pretend.
"Dean." Your name comes out as a sigh, fond, and he smiles against your skin. He loves you, Dean. Being with you makes him happy. He knows it would make him happy. "Maybe, uh, we can eat—burgers afterwards?" Whenever they get tired of making out? Or, more accurately, when it gets too cold for you and too sexually frustrating for him. He hasn't had a cheeseburger in years. But he remembers them. He remembers eating them with you, and your enjoyment for them. His fingernails rake up and down your thigh. They should eat cheeseburgers tonight, Dean; say yes.