You feel the familiar dip in the mattress beside you, and in the back of your still-sleeping mind, you dismiss it as safe. Dean.
You feel him settle down beside you, feel the familiar comfort of his hand running through your hair. He kisses your face softly and adoringly - your forehead, your chin, your cheeks. His full lips press to yours and you sigh contentedly as you instinctively lean into his kiss.
You moan as his talented tongue parts your lips and dips inside. He tastes like pie and the promise of mind-blowing sex. He slides a hand beneath your head, angling your mouth just right as he kisses you hungrily.
Just like always, he pulls away, leaving you desperate for more as he nips at your lips. He nibbles his way across your jaw, pausing to groan a rough and breathy, "Mmm, baby..." against your ear. You let out a thoroughly aroused moan of his name and hear his whisper of a chuckle in response.
It's not until you kiss him deeply, wrap your legs around his hips, and grip his shoulders, preparing to roll him onto his back and have your way with him, that you realize something's wrong with this picture. He's too narrow. Too lean. His torso is just a little too short, making it just a little too easy for his mouth to slot with yours.
And you're grinding up against the only part of him that is the right size.
You freeze in place, mid-lip-lock for several seconds, as it dawns on you.
Knowing the jig is up, Dean smiles against your mouth and sucks on your bottom lip playfully. When you push him up off of you far enough to meet his eyes, you can just make out the shape of his self-satisfied smirk.
"Tell me again how I'm too young to take care of you, sugar," he teases and punctuates that sentence by grinding down against you.
You growl in frustration and shove him off of you. Mostly out of mortification that you were groping him in your sleep. Partly because, for a fraction of a second just now, you seriously considered not stopping.
He's still laughing as he lands on his back on the other side of the mattress.
"What the hell, Dean?" You demand.
"Aww, come on. You can't blame me for wanting a little... taste of what my future holds," he jokes and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Besides, from what I hear, you and I are the real deal. Till death do us part. It ain't like we've never done this before."
"Not with you as a damned teenager!" You insist shrilly.
"Details," he says with a bored roll of his eyes. "I'm only a few months shy of legal, darling. And if you're worried about corrupting the morals of this particular minor? Don't. That bell's looonng-since been rung. This sure as shit ain't the biggest age difference I've ignored."
"Ugh!" You growl in disgust, not particularly wanting to consider just how many cougar teachers, waitresses, bartenders, and motel managers Dean tagged in his youth. "Go sleep in your own damned room," you huff.
"Yeah, yeah," he says with a dismissive wave.
He rolls over onto his stomach, stretching to reach your nightstand. He clicks on the light and you try to resist the urge to check out his fantastic (NO - too young!) ass, and compare it to the version you're intimately familiar with.
"For the record? I looked around in 'my room'," he says incredulously as he picks up various items from your nightstand and inspects them curiously. "There's dust all around 'my' headboard. Most of the stuff hasn't been moved in months. Not a scrap of clothing in there, like it's all somewhere else." He looks over his shoulder at you with a knowing smirk. "I sleep in here with you every night, don't I? That's why you didn't even flinch when I got into bed."
"Yeah, fine. You stay in here," you grudgingly admit before adding, "But you don't stay in here. Got it?"
"Quit acting so prude. I know you can't be. Not when you're screwing me exclusively," he teases as he opens the top drawer. He laughs victoriously when he looks inside. "Ho ho! Jackpot!"
You roll your eyes and climb from the bed, shuffling around to the other side to interrupt his investigation.
He takes the opportunity to rifle through your (actually, his) drawer's contents, shoving aside handcuffs and lube and other such fun items before picking up the massage oil.
"'Rub it on, then turn up the heat with a lick or hot breath'..." he reads from the label before snapping open the top and giving it an experimental sniff. "Ooh - cinnamon," he mutters in approval. He puts a couple of drops on the back of his hand and licks them off. "Hot... tingly..." he notes as he flexes his hand. "The things I must do to you with this stuff, huh? Or wait... the things you must do to me?" He amends gleefully.
"Lord, help me," you groan and snatch the bottle from his hand, closing it and placing it back where it belongs. He rifles through the drawer for a few more seconds before you manage to tug his hand out and get it closed.
When you look down at him, he's got a surprised smile on his face.
"What?" You sigh in frustration.
"No rubbers?" He asks, motioning to the now-shut drawer of fun as his smile widens exponentially. "Wow. I'm breaking my non-negotiable rule #1 for you, baby. We really are serious, aren't we?"
"Yeah. We're serious," you reply simply.
"You on the pill?"
"Really?" You ask indignantly. "This again?"
"What? I'm just curious! Are we, um..." He scratches the back of his head nervously. "We planning on kids?" He asks with a smirk, but his eyes betray the emotion behind that question.
"You asked me that when you were 12, too," you say as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep a few feet of space between you.
"So... What did you tell 12 year old me?" He presses.
"Same as I'm going to tell you: No. I mean... we've never even talked about it. I doubt it'll come up. Kinda like getting married. Neither of us is exactly expecting to see 50. Or 40, for that matter."
He nods and picks up a book from the top of your nightstand, using it to keep his eyes averted and hide his disappointment. When you notice him swallow hard, the way he always does when something upsets him to the point where he's got a lump in his throat, you can't handle it.
"But...anything's possible," you reluctantly add. "You'd make an awesome father. I mean, you raised Sam pretty much on your own and I've seen you with plenty of kids, so I know that much. And considering how often you jump my ass, there might be a surprise somewhere along the way."
That perks him up. He smiles over at you appreciatively for not squashing his personal hopes of ever being a father. He nods to himself, puckering those full lips thoughtfully for a long moment.
"I treat you right?" He finally asks.
"Always," you assure.
"Got any pics of us?"
You stand from the bed, retrieving your phone and scrolling through the gallery. You make sure you've locked Dean's latest additions. The guy is a major fan of talking you into (and sneaking) pictures and videos during the act. It's the reason every electronic device either of you owns has to be password protected these days. He's also a fan of stealing your phone and leaving little photographic gifts for you. And as much as you complain about his 'amateur photography,' it's always a welcome, pleasant surprise to stumble upon Dean's naked body in your phone.
Satisfied that all incriminating images have been safely locked away, you sit back down, waiting for the younger version of him to sit up and slide closer. You show him how to use the phone, then watch as he drinks in every (fully clothed, normal couple-type) image.
"At least I'm still adorable," he comments with a smirk.
"You are that," you laugh.
"We look good together," he declares. "Happy."
"Yup," you agree.
After a minute, he stops and grins over at you wickedly.
"There are locked pictures in here..." he says in intrigue before investigating further. "Oh and videos, too! See? I knew you weren't a prude!"
"Give it back," you sigh and hold your hand out expectantly.
He shakes his head and clutches the phone to his chest, preventing you from snatching it from his grasp.
"Oh, come on! Can't I get a peek?" He whines. "What if I want to see what I look like in my 30s? Wouldn't you be curious in my position?"
You scowl for a moment, before a smile gradually spreads across your lips.
"Okay, fine," you agree, and stand from the bed.
"Really?" He asks and sits up eagerly.
"Really," you agree, knowing that he mistakenly believes that he's about to see pictures and video of you naked. He hands over the phone and you put enough distance between you to prevent him from snatching it back while you find what you're looking for. "There you go. That's you in your 30s."
You hand the phone back, and watch his eyes widen as he sees the pictures of just himself - none of you. It's the most recent batch of Dean's gifts.
"Damn. I got big," he laughs, then adds quickly, "I mean in my chest and arms. Everything else is still the same," he assures with a wink.
You shift guiltily and avert your eyes because - oh yeah - you know that's the damned truth.
He chuckles at your reaction before returning his attention to your phone.
"No wonder you're missing me, girl," he declares with an impressed whistle. "I am one sexy bitch."
He hands the phone back and you close the gallery, letting it go back to your wallpaper. You stare down at the photo of you both laying in the grass, recalling yet again the moments leading up to it.
"Post-quickie?" He asks in amusement, and you look over at him in surprise. "Oh, come on. I know that face. That's my 'I just talked my way into getting some' grin."
"Only you would have a specific grin for that," you say as you shake your head.
But you find yourself staring down at the face on the screen again, this time frowning slightly. You get that same sickening feeling in your gut that always comes when you two are separated during a hunt.
"You miss him?" He asks quietly. "I mean, you know, me?"
You nod and give a weak smile.
He watches you sympathetically for a moment before putting his arm around your shoulders. You consider shoving him off of you, but then he kisses the top of your head in that familiar Dean-comfort way.
"It'll be okay," he assures softly. "Sammy's on the books. No matter how gigantic he got, he's still a little research geek at heart. He'll figure it out."
You laugh lightly and nod in agreement.
He starts to move you both to lie back on the bed, but you stop and brace yourself against his chest. You give him a warning glare, and he shakes his head.
"Not gonna try anything," he insists with a chuckle. "Just sleep."
You arch a brow. "You've said that before, you know. The first time you ever got into this bed."
"Did I now?" He laughs. "All right, fair enough. But did I try anything that night?"
You grudgingly shake your head.
"Cool. So it's settled," he says cheerfully and pulls you down onto the bed beside him.
Just like always, aside from the fact that he's now half his normal age, he spoons with you and nuzzles in your hair. He brings his arm down over your side and finds your hand, interlacing your fingers and sighing contentedly.
After a moment, he whispers, "I'm a lucky guy. I tell you that, right?"
You smile warmly. "You do."
Another few moments pass before you feel the growing hardness settled against the crack of your ass.
"Dean..." you warn.
"What?!" He laughs. "Can't blame me. Not exactly like I can control it with that fine little ass pressed against me."
You scoot forward a few inches, leaving only your back pressed to his chest.
"Then our old pre-hook-up rules apply. No touching below the belt."
"Jesus, we had rules? Just how often was I in here sleeping with you before we finally got together?" He asks curiously.
"Every night for more than a week," you answer, smiling at the memory. "I'd go to bed alone, and wake up with you climbing in. You were very persistent."
"Hmm... I must have gotten a lot more self control in my old age," he jokes before kissing the back of your head. "But you're worth the wait," he whispers.
A/N: What do you think? Are you rooting for you to give in to the temptation that is teen-Dean? Or would you hold out for the return of your MAN? Let me know!