#send anything

The soft, ragged panting in your ear cut through the distant sounds of the camp: the soft hum of the generators, the low voices of those who couldn't sleep, and the occasional cough. The old, rugged army cot creaked under the weight of you and the leader of the camp.

Dean Wincester.

You couldn't tell exactly when this thing between you two had started. One night blurred into the next out here, too much whiskey, too much death and too many close calls.

What began as rough desperates fucks to feel something other than hate or fear had slowly shifted into... whatever this was.

Stolen moments.

His mouth on your neck.

His weight was pinning you down.

The rare quiet conversations afterwards when he actually let the walls crack a little.

You didn't mind, and neither did he. In this shitshow of a world, it was one of the few things that still felt good.

Suddenly, you were brought out of your thoughts as Dean snapped his hips forward, driving a choked moan from your throat. His hands quickly clamped over your mouth, warm and calloused.

"Quiet." He growled against your ear, his voice was low and husky from the sex. "Don't need the whole camp hearing how good you take it..."

You bit his palm lightly, and he huffed out a dark chuckle. Dean was sweating, the scars on his shoulders and back shifting under your hands with every thrust. The necklace he never took off swung between you both; it was cold as ice against your heated skin.

When you both came, Dean buried his face in your neck as you bit your lip from the feeling of his cum filling you up. For a long moment, the only sounds you could hear were your own and Dean's harsh breathing, and a small, distant crackle of the campfire not far from your tent.

Dean didn't pull out of you right away; he stayed there. Heavy and warm on top of your panting body. These moments were the ones you lived for. The ones where the walls cracked just a bit to see the man who used to be.

Finally, he rolled off, pulling out slowly.

"You good?" He asked, voice gravelly.

You nodded. "Yeah, you?"

Dean let out a humourless, weak chuckle before rubbing a hand over his face. "Define good at the end of the world." His eyes flicked over to yours, soft like they only were after sex. "You should get some sleep. Got a supply run at dawn."

Dean rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. You saw how much older he looked than he really should look. The loss of Sam, the world, and well... everything had taken a toll on the man.

Slowly, you wrapped an arm around his chest to make random patterns on his now slowly falling chest.