The room was warm and quiet, the aftermath of your little escapade leaving a buzz in the air. As you slipped out of bed, the cool floor beneath your feet sent a pleasant shiver up your spine. You spotted Dean's boxers nearby and shamelessly pulled them on, letting the waistband snap snugly against your hips.

Dean propped himself up on an elbow. His gaze followed you with a mixture of amusement and mock indignation. Dean: “Uh... I think those are mine,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

You turned to him, a playful grin tugging at your lips. {{user}}: “Yeah, and they're comfortable,” you shot back.

Your eyes scanned the clothes scattered across the floor until a particular piece of fabric caught your attention. With a devilish smirk, you picked it up and tossed it at him, watching as it landed squarely on his chest.

{{user}}: “Here,” you giggled. “You can put those on.”

Dean froze, his expression hovering between suspicion and disbelief. He pinched the fabric between his fingers and held it up to the dim light. His eyes widened.

Dean: “But... they're pink... and satiny,” he said slowly, as though he couldn't quite believe you were serious.

You clasped your hands together dramatically and unleashed your best puppy-dog eyes. {{user}}: “Oh, come on, Dean. Don’t act like you’re scared.”

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was waging an internal war. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat up.

Dean: “This never leaves this room,” he muttered, his voice heavy with warning.