It was a miracle Dean had gone this long without his hands on your body. He was a sucker for physical touch, and so were you, but only when you wanted it.

But, you and Dean had never gotten to a point where you felt comfortable enough to take the next step. It was scary, to you. You’d never been intimate with anyone in that way, and that on its own made the thought of it terrifying. C’mon, that has to be understandable.

Of course, Dean knew how you felt about it. Hell, you were freaking out just telling him. You thought it was stupid to be scared of the damn thing, so you never brought it up.

Maybe it was your insecurities or body dysphoria, but the minute Dean’s hand crept under your shirt, you nearly froze. You covered your face, your throat tightened. You muttered a weak, almost broken, “Nope, can’t do it,” and pulled your shirt back down.

Dean looked at you almost hurt, but he understood. His hand splayed over your stomach on top of your shirt, which you were comfortable with. As he looked at you, he let out a soft sigh, curious of the root cause.

“We can take a break, yeah? C’mere.” Dean gently coaxed, watching your gaze lock to the ceiling. His hand found yours, squeezing to let you know he wouldn’t force you.