Update ahoy! We all knew I wasn't going to be able to resist tattoo!kink so enjoy that if it's your thing... also some Dean appreciation, which I know is definitely the biggest thing for some of you :) sooooo S12 finale, huh? I liked it, except for Rowena's crappy death. If Eileen hadn't died I'd say that this was pretty much a catstrophe-free season, but Eileen did die, so there's that. Buckleming need to gtfo already. But yeah, Crowley was ready to go so even if he's not back, I will miss him but I'm at peace with it. As for Cas... Cas will totally be back and I'm hopeful that this will mean cool storylines with all the alternate universe stuff going down. Dean falling to his knees next to Cas's body was uughhhh beautiful pain.

Speaking of pain, I'm in the UK atm and I am shaken up about what's been happening, first in Manchester and then in London. These psychos want to spread hatred, fear and division between 'them' and 'us'. But the only them and us is the terrorists and those they terrorise. Watching all the love and hope and strength that people are showing in response to these attacks is so wonderful, even if it never should have been necessary in the first place. Thoughts are with the families of those killed. RIP xxx

OK, hopefully some relief from the sadness... here's the chapter!

There's a slight pause before Dean responds to my playful order. His eyes dart to mine, then away again. His blush deepens.

"Why me?" he mutters. I don't reply and he swallows before slowly pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his arms and torso bunching and twisting at the movement. I let my gaze drift over him, appreciative.

I love how Dean looks. He's strong, in every way, but there's softness and sweetness in him too and all of this is reflected in his physicality. He has some strange attitudes towards his own body. He'll exaggeratedly flex his arms and shoulders, cocky and confident, but he tenses up and mumbles protests when I touch or kiss the small gathering of fat curving across his belly. He rolls his eyes when I compliment his freckles, but nothing seems to relax him more than when I trace the patterns formed by them on his back. And he's sensitive in unexpected areas. He seems almost indifferent to having his backside grabbed - unlike me - but he always responds noticeably when I wrap my hands around his angular hips, pushing into the firm touch. There's a lot to learn about Dean's body. I'm a more than willing student.

Dean clears his throat and I realise that I've been idly staring at his bare top half for several seconds. I look up and I'm pleased to see that he's regained some confidence, raising his eyebrows at me with a smug quirk to his lips.

"Enjoying the view, Cas?" he asks airily.

"Very much." My voice is a little husky when I respond and I can see the last of his nerves melting away under the heat of growing desire. Dean is usually like this when it comes to anything sexual: endearingly unsure until I make it clear that I want him, at which point he focuses and turns seductive. I watch as his pupils dilate and his stance eases into something like a swagger.

"Your turn then," he drawls, teasing. I don't waste time, pulling my plaid shirt off and then yanking my t shirt over my head. I toss them towards the laundry and then turn eagerly back to Dean, expecting him to be already moving towards me. Instead, I find him staring down at my ribs in wide-eyed shock, mouth slack and open. I'm puzzled for a nanosecond before I remember. The tattoo.

"Holy shit," Dean whispers. I glance down at it too, hoping that I haven't crossed some odd human boundary. Maybe tattoos are the sort of thing one is supposed to discuss before getting. Maybe Dean doesn't actually like tattoos - since he only has his out of necessity - and is repulsed by mine. A dozen unpleasant and unlikely scenarios flash through my mind as I slowly look back up at Dean. His eyes rake over me and then return to the ink adorning my side. He licks his lips unconsciously, fingers twitching. I open my mouth to explain, feeling as nervous as Dean looked after suggesting we undress, ready to defend my decision as an indispensable safety measure-

Dean moves close and drops to a half-kneeling crouch, and my mouth snaps shut in surprise. He's still staring at the tattoo. He reaches out and cups a hand around my waist, barely brushing his thumb across the script, leaning in to examine it. My stomach jumps at the light sensation, then jumps again as he exhales and his breath warms my skin. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet mine.

"You got a tattoo. Like, a real one," he states a little obviously, his voice quiet and unreadable. I swallow and nod.

"Yeah," I say after a beat too long, my voice hitching slightly as Dean drags his thumb a little more firmly across my ribs. He observes me and then looks back down at the inked patch of skin.

"It's fully healed. But I'm pretty fucking sure I would have noticed you having this before you left. Hannah did this?"

I wince at the tense undertone to his low voice and the almost forced calmness of the cursing, sure now that he's angry for some reason. I take a deep breath and make my voice even to reply. "She healed it, but she didn't do it. I went to a tattoo parlour. It's warding, so I can't be tracked by angels."

Dean nods slowly, eyes drifting down to my hips and up to my chest and then inexorably back to the tattoo.

"Huh," he says vaguely. I frown down at him, trying not to clench my fists when he lets go of my waist only to run the backs of his fingers softly over the inked warding, lips parted. I didn't think that my ribs were that sensitive until he started paying all this attention to them.

"Dean," I say firmly. He raises his eyes once more and fuck, he really does look amazing from this angle; I'm still not used to the automatic heat that spikes in my belly when I see him like this. I swallow raggedly and try again. "Dean, does it bother you? You seem… bothered."

He grins then, a little feral. "You could say that. Yeah. Cas, have I ever told you that you're really fucking sexy?"

I blink in surprise. "Oh. I don't think you've used those exact words, no…"

Dean's amused expression gentles a little and he nods almost seriously. "Well, you're really fucking sexy. And so are tattoos. So you, plus some ink… yeah, I can cope with this."

His gaze, dark and molten, has dropped back to my ribs before he's finished speaking. I gulp. OK, so Dean is not angry and definitely not repulsed. That's good. That's-

"Oh," I breathe as Dean holds my hips steady and leans forward to press a kiss to the warding, slow and soft. He lingers there, exhales warmth. I tilt my head back, eyes drifting shut. Another kiss follows, firmer this time. His lips part and he mouths hotly at the marked flesh, nails digging into my hips, something worshipful yet greedy in the touch. I squeeze at his shoulders, relaxing even as my breathing speeds up. Dean sucks a pleasant burning ache into my skin before dragging his tongue down to the indent of my hipbone, tugging at the edge of my jeans with his teeth.

"Mmm," he hums there, giving the denim one last nip before pulling back. "Gotta get these off, man."

I huff a laugh. "You're closer."

Dean's eyes twinkle up at me as he considers this. "Touché."

I bite my lip as I watch him unbutton and unzip my jeans, heart beating a little faster. He starts to pull them down but then stops and looks back up at me, oddly apologetic. "I, uh, wasn't planning on sucking you off right now. Sorry. So if that's what you're aiming for-"

I roll my eyes and reach down to pull him to his feet, silencing his stuttering with my lips. When I lean back he's watching me with a small smile, cheeks pink.

"I wasn't aiming for anything," I tell him softly. "And I'm… glad you like the tattoo. By the way."

He smirks and winks before glancing back downwards, tracing the warding with a fingertip. I shiver.

"Yeah, I fucking like it," he mutters. I smile a little smugly. He kisses me once more, slow this time, backing me gently against the counter with a hand on my neck and two fingers curled into one of my belt loops. I offer no resistance, coasting on the feel of Dean's mouth, trailing my hands up and down his back. It's a little while before he seems to remember what he was in the process of doing and I feel him pushing my jeans down my hips again. I help him, dragging my lips over his jaw and mouthing at his throat as I step distractedly out of the unwanted denim.

"Cas…" he sighs, pressing forward against me for an instant and then swaying back. He nudges down and re-captures my mouth a little lazily, fingertips now catching on the waistband of my boxer briefs as he tries half-heartedly to remove those too. I breathe a laugh into his mouth and do it myself, breaking away to quickly divest myself of the underwear and then moving back in. But Dean turns his head and avoids me, breath quickening against my shoulder. I frown.

"What?"

Dean doesn't answer but after a moment I hear him take a deep breath and suddenly shuffle back, putting almost two feet of distance between us. I watch him, dismayed and a little impatient. What is it now? I want to be close to him. Has something upset him?

But Dean doesn't look upset. He's staring at me, just standing and staring. His gaze runs over me, ghosting across my skin. I think vaguely about what he's seeing. I know I have a fairly aesthetically pleasing physical form, and I know that Dean approves wholeheartedly of the new tattoo. I'm semi-erect but that should come as no surprise to him, since it's his attentions that caused it. I wait calmly for him to look his fill and after a short while, his eyes meet mine. He grins a little shyly.

"I'm a lucky guy," he murmurs, warm sincerity in his gaze despite the faint teasing tone of his voice. I smile and, stepping forward, begin undoing his jeans. I hold his stare as I push them down and his cheeks are red by the time he steps out of his boxers, his breathing quick and his posture tense. I ignore this, because it's my turn. I back off and examine him, feeling my whole body take interest as I drink in the sight of him bare before me. He's so fucking beautiful. I reach out and run a finger down his stomach, stopping where the neatly trimmed pubic hair starts. His breath catches and I glance up at him, still smiling.

"I think we should shower," I say softly. Dean nods emphatically and, taking a deep breath, turns and walks to the shower. Like everything else about him, Dean's ass is gorgeous. I trail after him and press leisurely light kisses to his shoulder blades, pleased by his hitched breathing as he turns the taps on and waits for the water to run hot. The edge of the spray hits us where we wait to the side and I'm starting to feel the cold of the tiled room, so the little drops of cool water are unwelcome on my bare skin. I shiver and step close to Dean, looping my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on his shoulder. He makes a little noise in his throat and jumps when I come into full contact with him, my chest pressing loosely against his back, my mostly hard cock rubbing against the swell of his backside. I sigh with pleasure at the sensation and Dean exhales unsteadily.

"Jesus," he mutters. I make a questioning sound but he doesn't respond. The spray is hot now and he turns it on full, but hesitates before twisting in my arms to face me. I stare up at him as he tugs me gently under the shower, closing his eyes. I squint my own eyes against the onslaught of water, not wanting to stop watching him, but it's uncomfortable so I give in quickly.

With my eyes closed and the sound of the shower thrumming away, it's just sensation. The pressure of the water on my head and shoulders, the weight of my hair coating my forehead and flattening to my skull, the blissful heat permeating my skin and scalding my cold toes. But most importantly, Dean. He pulls me into his arms and I muffle a moan against his wet neck as our erections slide together, skin on skin. It's not the first time, not quite. Two nights before I left, Dean pressed up against me in his bed and pulled both of our cocks free of our underwear, clumsy and rushed as he kissed me desperately. The feeling was new and strange and amazing then, as he rutted against me until the pre-ejaculate was enough to ease the way for a hand. Having Dean's hand on both of us at once, his heat and hardness alongside my own, was a feeling as uncomfortable yet addictive as Dean's uneven weight on me, his rough panting in my ear. I came quicker than ever before, with Dean following barely half a minute later.

Now, with warmth seeping into my muscles and the sleek shape of Dean steady against me, the contact feels luxurious and sensual rather than frantic and overwhelming. I taste the water on Dean's skin and swivel my hips slowly, testing. Dean hisses and pushes back, hands splayed on my back and slipping downwards on the curve of my waist, gravity taking hold as he's distracted by pleasure.

I grin, feeling euphoric and suddenly playful, and step back.

"What? No," I hear Dean groan as I push the sodden, clumpy hair out of my face and wipe water from my eyes. I open them to find him rubbing his eyes too, mouth screwed up in a scowl. Water runs in rivulets down his firm torso to where his erection stands up stiffly and I eye it before shaking my head decisively.

"We're here to wash, Dean," I remind him, ignoring that I'm just as conspicuously aroused as him. He opens his eyes and glares at me.

"What?"

I reach out and grab the washcloth from the rack full of shower supplies, wringing it out. "Washing. Getting clean."

Dean blinks and his jaw drops in disbelief.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."