Hobby
Dean had told me on numerous occasions that I needed a hobby. He was right about that. I couldn't just lay around all day. So, I used Sam's laptop to search for some good hobbies. I picked up drawing and found that I was quite good at it.
I'd been drawing on scraps of paper I found around the bunker, using mechanical pencils that the boys left around. One afternoon, Dean left without telling me where he was going. He came home with a plethora of art supplies, ranging from sketchpads to canvases and pencils to pastels. I spent the remainder of that day researching what each material was used for.
I kept my art materials all very clean and organized in the room that Dean designated as my personal art room; however, there was a sketchbook that traveled around the bunker quite often.
This sketchbook in particular held most of my drawings of Dean. There were others, many many others, but this book had most of them. I had a range of drawings of Dean. Dean sleeping, cooking, watching TV, fixing his car, smiling, frowning, hunting, driving, injured...just about everything.
I was curled up on the couch, my hand moving swiftly over the page, my brows furrowed as I tried to remember exactly how Dean's eyes looked when-
"Hiya, babe. Whatcha workin' on?" Dean plopped down on the couch next to me, grinning from ear to ear. My eyes went wide and I snapped my sketchbook closed.
"Nothing really…" I hadn't yet shown him my nearly full book of drawings all of him. I was afraid he wouldn't like it.
"Aw, c'mon, lemme see." He reached for the book, frowning when I didn't hand it over. He managed to tug it out of my hands and he opened it, much to my chagrin.
Dean was quiet as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the drawings.
"These are all of me," he whispered finally, to which I just nodded.
He finally came to the one I'd just been working on and his eyes went wide. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment and I swallowed thickly.
"Cas...is that…" He looked at the image in silence for another few moments. "Is that me when we're…"
I nodded timidly. The image was of Dean. Dean on top of me and inside me. Particularly, the image was of Dean last night, just as he came inside me, his green eyes staring down at me with such passion and emotion. I had committed the image to memory, planning on adding it to my collection.
"These are beautiful," Dean whispered, almost reverently, as he let his fingers trail down the reproduced image of his face. He looked at me, his lips slightly parted, the corners twitching up in a small smile. I smiled back at him, shrugging my shoulders.
"I have a beautiful subject."
