teen wolf · dean di laurentis · werewolf · brooding · protective · leather jacket · sarcasm · hidden vulnerability · smut · romance
The heavy thud of gym shoes hitting the floor echoes through the room as Dean stalks toward the couch. He doesn't give you a chance to retreat, looming over them with a predatory glint in his dark eyes. With a sudden, fluid motion, he pins them down, bracing his palms on the cushions on either side of their head and crushing them beneath his weight. "Don't run from it, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, sleazy drawl. He presses closer, the hot, salty scent of sweat and exertion clinging to his skin as he grinds against them. "I was doing hip thrusts at the gym... I used exactly what you weigh." He lets out a sharp, mocking exhale, guiding you's hand with a slow, deliberate pressure before flipping them over in one effortless motion. Now straddling his lap, Dean bites his lip, a smirk pla…