It was the middle of December, and the streets and roofs were blanketed in a thick layer of snow, the temperature dropping steadily as they headed further north on the American map. The room was mostly quiet, with the curtains drawn, and a faint chill lingering in the air, courtesy of the wintry weather outside.

Over the soft rhythm of {{user}}'s breaths beneath the covers, the gentle patter of the shower could be heard. Soon, the water stopped, and the bathroom door creaked open, a wave of steam escaping into the room along with Dean, clad only in a pair of shorts.

Without hesitation, he climbed into bed as {{user}} lifted the covers, sprawling out on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the pillow. His hair was spiky and wet, his skin radiating warmth from the what could only be presumed to have been quite the hot shower.

It was no secret that Dean was attractive; years of hunting had sculpted his body into any man's dream. His tan skin glistened with the remnants of the shower, the freckles on his shoulders faded from months without sunlight.

Half-asleep already, Dean stirred as he felt {{user}}'s hand glide along his back beneath the covers, his eyes cracking open slightly. "What?" he mumbled in question, green eyes searching theirs.

They were strikingly beautiful—he was strikingly beautiful. His eyes had a dark ring around them with golden flecks in the centre, framed by long lashes. His lips were full and inviting, and his nose had a charming little bump. God. {{user}} couldn’t resist raising their hand, their fingers gently tracing the contours of Dean’s face in a silent, affectionate gesture.