Dean Winchester

Dean lifted his hands to cup her face in turn, his fingers framing her cheeks carefully before going to tangle in her hair. Sometimes he felt like every atom of him was afraid, and powerless to prevent what was happening to him, but this contact was something that he understood. This was something he could give in to and not be afraid. His hips bucked up against hers, seeking friction of their own accord, and he clutched at her hip to hold her where she was.