with sam gone trying to get food and dean in the shower, your bed felt too big and too cold without them. you curled your fingers around the silk sheets, bare legs tangling in the fabric as you let out a soft sigh. dean had disappeared into the bathroom nearly twenty minutes ago, and the sound of running water had long since died.
"deeeean," you called, voice syrupy-sweet, teasing, but there was no answer.
you pouted, shifting onto your stomach, the soft bounce of your chest against the mattress making you shiver. maybe he got caught up shaving? you knew he liked to take his time sometimes, but this was ridiculous.
another minute passed, then another, and finally, with a huff, you slipped off the bed, padding barefoot toward the bathroom door.
your hand barely brushed the handle when it swung open—slammed open, actually—and there stood dean, sweat beading along his brow, chest heaving beneath his half-unbuttoned flannel. his belt was barely looped back through, his jeans riding scandalously low, and his knuckles were white where they clenched the doorframe.
"jesus," he rasped, voice thick, wrecked. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. he looked...worn out.
your brows furrowed, but before you could say anything, something slipped from his grip—a glossy magazine. a playboy magazine. the one from that old playboy shoot, the one with you sprawled out on the hood of a red pickup trunk with nothing but a flannel showcasing your tits, little daisy dukes pooled at your cowboy boots, brown cowboy perched on your head, and lips parted in a coy little ‘o.’
the moment stretched with realization hitting you like a truck. your lips parted, a knowing smirk curling at the edges.
"you were jerking off to me?"
dean let out a shaky breath, wiping a hand over his face like he was trying to pull himself together, but his cock—still straining against the front of his jeans—said otherwise.
"fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," he muttered, finally meeting your eyes, and damn if he didn’t look wrecked. "how the hell am i supposed to handle this when you're right there?"
your stomach flipped, heat pooling low, a slow, teasing giggle slipping from your lips as you stepped closer.
"you poor thing," you purred, dragging a manicured finger down his sweat-slick chest. "maybe next time, you should just take me to bed instead of locking yourself up in here all alone."
dean groaned, the sound rough, needy, and when you pressed up against him, his whole body shuddered.
"yeah?" his hands found your hips, grip bruising. "then get your ass back in bed, bunny. ‘cause i ain't wasting another goddamn second."
