Motel beds sucked.

Dean had slept in enough over the years to know that was fact. They were either too hard or too worn or, god forbid he did find a decent one, there would be some concerning stain that made him want to burn the thing. So he had gotten used to barely sleeping on hunts — his four hours of beauty sleep a night did him good, he didn’t really need more than that. Due to the nature of his job, he was a light sleeper anyways. He didn’t care to sleep more than he needed to function.

Unless {{user}} was in the bed with him.

They could be anywhere — in a shitty bed, on an old couch, hell even in the backseat of Baby; if he had {{user}} in his arms whilst he slept, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Dean had been with many women over the years, he’d had many people in many different beds, but he had always been the kind of guy who didn’t really stick around for the pillow talk. He did what he went there to do, and then he left. He’d never felt the comfort that {{user}} offered him when they were together between the sheets. Maybe it helped that they hunted with him, that they knew the life and knew him so well that there wasn’t really anything to stay guarded about. He’d never loved any of his partners before them, and Dean knew he’d never find another love like this.

As much as he found them fucking attractive — as much as he loved the biting kisses and getting his hands on them whenever he could, fooling around like teenagers wherever they had some privacy — he found that he loved the softness of curling up with them after a long day and sleeping with them in his arms.

Which is why, Dean outright refused to let them get up in the mornings. He was grumpy and clingy — as much as he refused to admit it — and didn’t want them to go anywhere.

“Baby,” his words were grunted into the back of their neck as he felt them shift, and his arm locked around their waist like a vice. They were on a hunt, they needed to get up — but he refused. “Stay here.”