Dean slowly wakes, but doesn't open his eyes. He's warm. The mattress is comfortable beneath him and the sheets are soft against his skin. It's light behind his eyelids. A nice yellow. Like sunrise. His chest still rises and falls slowly, and he tightens his arm around the body next to him.
She murmurs in response, and he feels her twist toward him. Dean feels her lips touch his jaw softly before she snuggles against his chest and he smiles, pressing his own lips to her brown hair. His fingers slowly trail up and down the skin beneath her tank top, and he traces the words I love you.
"Morning," she murmurs, her breath warming his bare chest.
"Morning," he replies softly, leaning down to nuzzle her face gently.
Her fingers run along his jawline. "Scratchy," she notes sleepily. His hand splays out against her back and he holds her closer still, but doesn't say anything. Dean's other hand comes up to cover hers, and he feels her pull back. She watches him until he opens his eyes into hers and grins.
"Watchin' me sleep? Kinda creepy," he teases her, entwining her fingers with his own.
"Then this will be even creepier," she replies. She leans up and gently kisses him once on the mouth. His fingers slide through her hair and he pulls her up again.
"Not at all, actually," he murmurs against her jaw. He feels her smile, and gives a brief kiss to the dimple that forms outside her lips.
Then Dean pulls back just enough so that he can look into her eyes. "How'd I get so lucky?" he wonders to her, tapping a finger on her nose.
"Alright, what do you want?" she teases.
"You," he answers honestly.
She smiles. "I think I can live with that."
They search each other's eyes for a moment, simply smiling, until he says, "Jane?"
"Hmm?" she says.
"I love you."
"I love you too, sap," she says, her eyes sparkling.
"You love it when I'm sappy," Dean says with a grin. "All girls love the flowery crap."
She raises an eyebrow. "Flowery crap, huh? Sounds appealing."
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
She laughs in surprise. "Did you just quote Shakespeare, Dean Winchester? I should write this down," she says, moving as if to go get her journal on the bedside table to do so.
"Maybe later," he says, his arms snaking around her and pulling her back.
She lovingly trails a finger under his chin and lifts it slightly. "Kiss me," she whispers.
"Say please," he teases.
She smiles. "Please."
He brings his lips to hers. Her mouth is soft and full. It feels wonderful against Dean's.
She pulls away gently, her eyes flicking open. His are still closed.
"Open your eyes," she says softly.
"Why?"
"Because I like looking at them."
He grins, pleased. "Can't say no to that," he says, his eyelids fluttering open.
She props herself up on her elbow. "They're a very nice color. What would you call that shade of green? Forest? Lime? Frog?"
Dean snorts. "Frog?" he asks. "Well, don't you know how to make a man feel handsome."
She giggles. "I said it was a nice color." She runs a hand down his abdomen and he catches it in his.
"It's not even ten, and you're already trying to seduce me, sweetheart?"
She smirks. "It's eleven-thirty."
"Well," Dean says, rolling over her as she giggles. "In that case..."
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Dean watches the white dress swirl around her slim form as she digs her toes into the wet sand. Her hair covers her face as she turns to him, and she pushes it away, smiling.
"Come on," she calls, waving at him. "Let's go to the water."
"No, thanks, sweetheart," he calls back. "Not a big fan of hypothermia."
She smiles, and walks across the sand toward him, taking his hand. "Don't be a big baby."
He resists for a moment, but after another tug he relents and allows her to lead him down to the water. He pauses, releasing her hand for only a moment to roll up the bottoms of his jeans before taking it again.
She steps backward into the water, her eyes not leaving his. She smiles at him, throwing out her arms and spinning in circles, her hair flying around her face, her dress fanning out around her. Dean feels like he was punched with a pound of bricks, just watching her. A slow grin of awe spreads across his face. She's... angelic.
No, that's not the right word. Angels are dicks. She's more... lovely. Soft. Pure. Whereas angels are more like the sun, burning and boiling but still producing light, she's more like the stars. Spread out and soft and gentle.
