Once you tell him not to worry about it, he regrets asking to go back. There might be an opportunity later on to eat a burger with you, but not like this. Not—together like this. There will be Sam. And the Leviathans. There will be missions. He doesn't want to fight anymore. He wants to stay curled up with you somewhere and hold your hand and watch your eyes turn glassy from kissing you. They still have the rest of the night left for that.
As soon as you've directed the car back towards the road, he shuffles over to sit next to you again, thighs and shoulders pressed together. He stretches his arm across your waist in half a hug, hand tucked against your ribs inside your jacket for warmth, and sticks his face into your neck. "It's fine, Dean." He'll warm up eventually.
And you seem willing to help, even if you don't want to have sex. That may be the right choice in this situation. He's had a lot of unfulfilling sex with you; he doesn't need to repeat the experience. Not when this is so much nicer.
He mouths a little at your neck, a line of gentle kisses along the column of exposed skin between your jaw and your jacket collar, not intended to solicit any response. For the fifteen minute drive back to Bobby's house, he does that, and otherwise stays quiet, listening to the music and breathing you in.
Once you park the Impala, he moves so he can kiss your mouth, humming lowly in contentment in the back of his throat at the soft, slick feel of your lips. He likes this. He likes being allowed to do this. He pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against yours.
"Will you take your clothes off? Inside." So they can sleep that way, and maybe kiss some more. He hugs lightly at the lapel of your jacket and nuzzles his nose against yours. Please?
no subject
As soon as you've directed the car back towards the road, he shuffles over to sit next to you again, thighs and shoulders pressed together. He stretches his arm across your waist in half a hug, hand tucked against your ribs inside your jacket for warmth, and sticks his face into your neck. "It's fine, Dean." He'll warm up eventually.
And you seem willing to help, even if you don't want to have sex. That may be the right choice in this situation. He's had a lot of unfulfilling sex with you; he doesn't need to repeat the experience. Not when this is so much nicer.
He mouths a little at your neck, a line of gentle kisses along the column of exposed skin between your jaw and your jacket collar, not intended to solicit any response. For the fifteen minute drive back to Bobby's house, he does that, and otherwise stays quiet, listening to the music and breathing you in.
Once you park the Impala, he moves so he can kiss your mouth, humming lowly in contentment in the back of his throat at the soft, slick feel of your lips. He likes this. He likes being allowed to do this. He pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against yours.
"Will you take your clothes off? Inside." So they can sleep that way, and maybe kiss some more. He hugs lightly at the lapel of your jacket and nuzzles his nose against yours. Please?