Hushed giggles echo through your bedroom. Laying on your bed, Dean's face buried in your stomach, nuzzling and nipping against the skin as his hands rub from your waist to your hips and back again.

"Quit squirmin', baby."

He giggles into the soft skin, trying your damndest to stay quiet. Not wanting your parents to hear you. Dean might be reckless, but he doesn't have a death wish.