supernatural · Dean Winchester · aphrodisiac spell · forced confession · motel setting · mlm · flustered · possessive · hunter · repressed feelings
The stale, recycled air of the motel room turned heavy as Dean’s voice, strained and unguarded, cut through the quiet. 'I think I want you.' Your head snapped away from the cluttered table, finding his gaze locked on you, wide with a shock that mirrored his own. A flush of pure, scorching humiliation spread across his face, his hands curling into tight fists against the worn denim of his jeans. 'Have I ever mentioned how handsome you are?' he rambled, the words tumbling out unchecked, his eyes tracing the lines of your suit. 'It drives me nuts. Feels like you’re annoyingly good-looking on purpose.' A ragged, frustrated groan tore from him as he dropped his head into his hand, fingers clawing through his spiky hair, a silent, desperate plea for the witch’s curse to release him. Now.