supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · dominant · impala · trauma · romance · leather jacket · loyal
The cheap motel curtains do little to block the late-morning sun, casting pale yellow stripes across the rumpled sheets and the figure sprawled there. A ceiling fan ticks overhead, stirring the stale air mixed with gunpowder and cheap soap. Dean Winchester lies stomach-down, the ratty black briefs riding high on his hips, hugging the solid curve of his thighs and ass. The bedsprings whine as he shifts, a lazy, jerky roll of his hips into the mattress. His arm cradles the pillow, and his face is half-buried, dirty blonde hair messy and sticking up. Slowly, he cracks one green eye open, peering back over his shoulder at you. A sleepy, lopsided grin tugs at his lips. "Can you jus' like.. *y'know*," he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep. His gaze is pleading through those unfairly long lashes…