"Three's a crowd. Sorry, Sam," he told his son in utero, as he slid a hand around the back of her neck to drawn her downward for another kiss, this one harder and deeper than the last, hungry with desire.
She giggled as he drew her down, unable to miss the comedy in the way he addressed her womb before turning his attention back to the moment. Her arm slid over his shoulder, bracing herself against the bed as she returned his kiss, the other hand smoothing down his side beneath the open hang of his shirt to tease his skin through his t-shirt. "We really need to get a lock on that door," she murmured against his lips, still grinning despite the rising heat between them.
"No one will come in without knocking," he replied. Except maybe Ellen, but even Ellen knew when to leave well enough alone. His hands found their way beneath her shirt, wasting no time it getting it off her, as he arched upwards to tease another kiss against her lips. He was in no mood to p*ssyfoot around, not wanting to waste a single moment of the short time they had alone together.
She twisted about to shake the plaid button down off her arms, letting it fall away wherever it landed, her own hands returning to him, tugging teasingly at the t-shirt he wore to smooth her palm up over his skin. "I love you," she heard herself breathe against his lips, needing to say it again, to assure him beyond any doubt that this was how she felt about him. Nothing would change that, she was certain of it. With a gentle shift of her body, her knee slipped between his thighs, a soft press of a tease as she smirked against his lips.
That was all it took to set him off, but whether it was the declaration of love or her carefully placed knee was hard to say. He groaned against her lips, his desire impossible not to notice and hard to ignore, rolling her onto her back as his lips tasted hers again and again. He pulled away from her only for as long as it took to tug his shirt over his head before returning to devour her lips with feverish hunger.
He knew her inside and out, better than she knew herself, and yet he always managed to surprise her somehow, be it in word or in deed, or in eagerness to share this connection with her. She arched beneath him, her hands warm against his skin as he came back to her, distinctly overdressed but pretty sure that wasn't going to last. And she didn't care that downstairs were two young people who were their children, not in that moment. What mattered was Dean, here and now, and finishing that gentle forgiveness they'd already given each other for the harsher words that had been spoken. Rising up to meet him, she pressed closer, trailing her lips from his mouth down along the line of his throat, hot and eager and above all tender in her loving of him.
He didn't feel like taking his time with her - he needed and wanted her now and was more than ready to take what he wanted, so long as she was willing. It wasn't long before he had removed the rest of her clothing, leaving them forgotten and forlorn in a pile beside the bed, while he explored her with hands and lips, trailing kisses wherever his lips decided to wander. He paid special care to the place wherein their firstborn rested, though there was no outward sign that any life grew there yet, especially tender with his kisses and caresses, as if the child inside might sense his father's presence and his undying devotion to both mother and child.
She was always willing for him, foreseeing no time when she might ever be unwilling. Yet there was something deeply moving in the way he paused in their love making to kiss and caress her stomach, both of them knowing in a way no other parents ever had that in there was a baby less than a fingernail in size. The love and care he showed was enough to spark fresh tears in her eyes, reaffirming her certainty that, for all his worries, Dean would be an amazing father when the time came. Her fingers drew through his hair just as tenderly, even as she arched beneath him once more. "Baby," she breathed, her voice rich with longing, "baby, please ..."
He heard the longing in her voice, which only deepened his desire, a slow, lingering kiss pressed against her lips before he was pulling away to add his own clothing to the growing pile on the floor. If anyone were to intrude on them now, they'd see more than they wanted to see, but Dean trusted his family to know better. If it was quiet in his room, then it meant they were doing one of two things - sleeping or having sex - and neither should be interrupted. As much as he had enjoyed his many jaunts between the sheets over the years, sex had been something Dean had always taken seriously, almost as if it was sacred. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it - quite the opposite, in fact - but to Dean, making love was almost like going to church, like a little peace of heaven on earth. When he took her, their bodies moved together in a sacred dance as old as Adam and Eve, and when they eventually crested the pinnacle together, it was as if the angels were singing for them alone.
He took her with him into that little slice of heaven, content in the knowledge that he would catch her when she fell, her own arms wrapped close about him in loving possession of the man she loved, the man she was certain she had loved before she ever remembered meeting him. And as heaven faded away, Nim found herself somewhere that heaven couldn't touch - curled close in the arms of her husband, sharing breath and battling heartbeats as her fingers caressed soothingly over his skin. "That's one way to end an argument," she murmured playfully, turning her lips against his jaw affectionately.
"What argument?" he murmured back breathlessly, heart pounding, as he turned his head to capture her lips, still wondering every day when he was going to wake up and find out this was all just a dream. It wasn't perfect - they had a long way to go before they got to perfect, but Dean thought what they had was far better than perfect. He'd had perfect in his dreams; perfect didn't last. This was real, more real than anything he'd ever experienced before, and he wasn't going to let anyone take it away from him. Not this time. Not demons, not angels, not monsters or Leviathan or gods. Not even Death. No one was going to take this away from him. He'd been to Heaven and he'd been to Hell, but as far as Dean was concerned, nothing was better than this life with his Nimue. His Jo.
[size=9]((They're getting good at this being married thing, aren't they? ::grins:: Hugiflungius thankinsnoodles to Dean's player!))[/size]