You slide into bed with Dean, a discontent huff escaping your lips.

Today was full of small, minute, annoyances. Stubbing a toe, losing your keys, being out of coffee, getting cut in line to actually get said coffee—such small annoyances snowball up until you feel a fire of vengeful rage and defeat burning inside you.

Dean knows this.

Dean makes the mattress dip where he sits, he looks down at you, hair in disarray from the sudden burrowing into the bed. You lay face down in the pillow hiding from the world and its endless nuisances and he pats your back, “I’m here for ya…”

“If you need oral support—“

A pregnant pause occurs before he ‘corrects’ himself. He smirks and darts his tongue out over his bottom lip, “I mean..moral support.”

He did that 100% on purpose. He can only hope you aren’t opposed to the idea. He was gambling with the chance of getting lucky or being banished to the craggly couch of the room.