Dean wakes up in a bed that's too comfortable for a motel and too soft for his own new mattress. The room's dark, the heavy curtains that obscure the windows let in only the faintest glow of morning light.
The soft scent of flowery detergent lifts as he shifts beneath the sheets. The movement stirs something else, too. Soreness between his legs, a reminder. As if he needed a reminder of a night like this. How could he forget a second of it?
What he did forget is shame, regret. He digs deep for them but all he gets is a smile creeping up on his lips. And a brand new sort of excitement tingling in his stomach. He got fucked, slow and gentle and so, so good by a guy. A vampire. His friend. And it was amazing.
What was better yet, though, came after. Once they sated their desires and the euphoric, post-coital buzz washed off. When Benny's warmth, welcomed at first with defensiveness, then just welcomed, wrapped itself around Dean. It took him a while to find his place within the embrace of Benny's strong arms, to ease in and let himself let it go.
Tucked there, softly, safely, he slipped into his slumber as peaceful as he hasn't in years, slept a dreamless sleep that got him more rested than he's ever felt.
And it's still there now, the warmth, right behind him. Benny's fingers still linger on his skin, the hold never fully letting go of Dean. He must be as slow and gentle as Benny's been with him, moving so carefully, not to wake him.
He lifts Benny's palm with his own, pushes himself up on the elbow. Mindful of the dent of the mattress, creaks of the frame, he turns and sinks back into his pillow, into the closeness of Benny. His sleeping face rests mere inches away, his arm now lies loose across Dean's waist.
Dean closes his eyes. There's no need to get up just yet, after all.