Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"There was this guy..." Dean shook his head as he gazed down at Jayden's sleeping figure. There was always a guy when it came to situations like these, right? Last night after they came back to his apartment after the bar, he'd manage to whip her up a quick cheese omelet which he watched her demolish in a ravenous state.
He chuckled at the thought.
Then, they sat together on his couch each holding a bottle of water while she explained how'd she thought she'd been in love with some guy back in high school. She purposefully, Dean had guessed, hadn't described much about him. She only spoke about how he'd led her on and broke her heart. She spoke about the endless conversations they'd have in person or on the phone, the long messages they would write to one another via Facebook, the poems he'd slip her in math class. She wouldn't give his name no matter how many times Dean asked. The most he could get out of her was a shrug and an, "it doesn't matter anymore..."
So now Dean understood.
He understood how hard and scary being at Jefferson was for her and how she'd put all her time and energy into that jerk because he became a security blanket - an escape. She'd opened up to him and trusted him, made herself vulnerable. She vowed that she would never feel that way again. That, to Dean, was easy to understand. What he couldn't understand was why someone from our high school could have such lasting effects and how it all connected to him. To that, she answered that she thought that she'd gotten over him until Dean had come around and shattered her illusion. She then realized that she'd actually just been repressing her feelings rather than actually forgetting and moving on. Dean not only reminded her of the wealth and privilege she'd always felt self conscious about not having at Jefferson but about her tainted love as well.
The more she talked, the closer, literally and figuratively, they'd become. By the wee hours of the morning, Jayden was snuggled up under the crook of his arm, her head resting gently against his chest. She'd grown tired, "mentally exhausted" she'd yawned, at having shared so much emotional turmoil. So he let her rest. And when Dean also felt himself nodding off, he gently shifted her so that he could pick her up at the knees and carried her to his bed. Pushing aside the covers he tucked her in and had lain quietly beside her atop of the covers. He watched her for a while, much like he did at the moment, breath slowly in and out. Her long lashes slightly fluttering against her round cheeks. Her face softened when she slept and she almost looked child-like. Dean couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling of protectiveness wash over him. He also couldn't resist the urge to touch her.
"Just one touch," he muttered under his breath as he leaned over to push a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering over the soft flesh of her temple. She sighed under his touch and moved a bit closer in his direction. He smiled.
He'd woken up to find their bodies intertwined. Not in the way he had dreamed, but certainly as good as it was going to get. How she got from under the sheets, he had no idea. She must have kicked them off at some point in the night and then, feeling cool again, snuggled closer to him. He didn't know; he just liked the way she felt against him: her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around hers, pressed against the soft contours of her breast. What he wouldn't give to simply open his hand and palm the luscious mounds, massage them to life, to give her the pleasure he knew she deserved. He also had no idea how he would move without waking her up. He'd have to do that soon because the way her backside pressed against his groin, he was sure she'd awaken at the feel of his arousal. And Lord knows, he couldn't blame it on the "morning wood."
