There's hot and then there's hotter
Don't own 'em, just love 'em, wished ta hell I worked for Kripke
It's a hot day and Dean's working on the Impala. He's bent over the engine and wearing torn oil smudged jeans and a beat up grey Tee. His grey tee shirt ( the lighter color to better see the sweat stains on it) is sticking to his skin so he pulls it slowly over his head. We watch as the camera does a slow pan of reveal of first the abs, then chest, then we see his biceps bulge as he yanks the sticky tee up and over his head... then off.
Once off he uses it to mop his brow and runs it over his chest and pits then tosses it on the back seat. He turns his back to the camera and we get a full view of his muscled sweat sheened back as he walks slowly in that adorable bow legged gait to the rear of the car and bends down (ass to us of course!) to open the cooler and pull out a beer. He stands up turns toward us and we get a close up of his face, dappled with pale freckles and still streaked with sweat and random smudges. He grips the beer bottle, we see a smattering of freckles along his thick muscular fingers and his pecs do a nice little bounce as he applies pressure to pop the cap. He raises the bottle to his lips and the camera focuses on his adams apple as he takes his first big gulp. It bobs sensuously as he swallows then he sighs, leaning back against the hot metal of the black rear quarter panel with the meat of his denim clad butt. And takes another slow swig. He stands three quarter view to us and we are struck by how muscular and broad his shoulders are. The sprinkle of freckles across their tops resonates boyish vitality but the sheer density and bulk of their mass booms power and strength.
He moves the beer up from his mouth and touches the cool condensation covered bottle to his forehead and slowly runs it back and forth across his brow.
Everything pauses, we hold our breath as a water drop of condensation falls from the bottle and on to his chest and makes a slow curvaceous glide down the front of his chest to pause at the crest of his navel before he wipes it away with a brush of his fingers.
We see double, then, triple images of fingers brushing belly then he brings the cold round lip of the bottle to those all too plump lips of his and pulls in another swallow of amber refreshment.
He brings the bottle down to his side. His mouth forms a biting grin as he squints into the blush hued shadows of the waning afternoon and we find ourselves mesmerized by his eyes and those impossibly long, lush lashes shielding them from the sun's glare, "Damn, it's hot," he growls to no one.
But for those of us watching it just got a hellava lot hotter!
Hopefully never the end...
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