Hands at his waist, strong and gentle, treating him like something precious. One hand slides up, rubs lightly at a nipple through the soft red cotton of the dress. Dean turns his head, his lips brushing against skin, and arms tighten around him, a soft, quiet breath against his hair.
‘You good?’
Dean nods, makes an encouraging sound. Fingers trace gentle circles against his bare knee; if he didn’t know better, he’d think the touch was almost hesitant.
The dress rustles softly as it’s pushed up his thigh. He spreads his legs involuntarily wider.
‘Slut.’ The word is affectionate, warm, accompanied by a hoarse chuckle against his ear, betraying nervousness.
He nuzzles in then, reassuring, murmuring nonsense; lifts and arranges himself over bare thighs that shiver under him. He winds his arms around firm shoulders, his fingers sliding into hair that’s soft, dark, beloved.
Dean smiles a little, imagining how ridiculous he must look with the short sleeves of the dress flapping over his thick arms.
‘So beautiful.’ Murmured against his ear as hands—surer of themselves now—stroke his skin as if mapping it, slide his dress up over his waist, baring him. Dean gasps against parted lips, his cherry gloss smearing over them, between them, sweet and slippery, tasting suspiciously like something he’ll never be able to name.
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timeasmymeasure
Tiny fill: Dean/?, soft R
Date: 2012-05-26 07:20 pm (UTC)‘You good?’
Dean nods, makes an encouraging sound. Fingers trace gentle circles against his bare knee; if he didn’t know better, he’d think the touch was almost hesitant.
The dress rustles softly as it’s pushed up his thigh. He spreads his legs involuntarily wider.
‘Slut.’ The word is affectionate, warm, accompanied by a hoarse chuckle against his ear, betraying nervousness.
He nuzzles in then, reassuring, murmuring nonsense; lifts and arranges himself over bare thighs that shiver under him. He winds his arms around firm shoulders, his fingers sliding into hair that’s soft, dark, beloved.
Dean smiles a little, imagining how ridiculous he must look with the short sleeves of the dress flapping over his thick arms.
‘So beautiful.’ Murmured against his ear as hands—surer of themselves now—stroke his skin as if mapping it, slide his dress up over his waist, baring him. Dean gasps against parted lips, his cherry gloss smearing over them, between them, sweet and slippery, tasting suspiciously like something he’ll never be able to name.