MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL
Dean Winchester plus no clothes plus a full length mirror. You do the math.
Disclaimer: It's pretty obvious by now that I don't own them *sobs*
Dean stepped out of the shower stall into the steamy tiled space of the bathroom. Groping blindly for one of the motel's threadbare towels, he scraped his soaked hair back from his forehead and began to pat his face dry, swaying lithely to some silently pounding bassline in his head.
Humming softly, he worked the towel over the warm, wet skin of his face and neck. Pulling it over his dripping hair, he paused, mid-song, as his attention was caught by his reflection in the mirror.
He had been delighted to discover that the room sported a full length mirror; he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen one, far less enjoyed the luxury of one. In the usual flea pits they frequented, they were lucky to find any kind of mirror and as a result, Dean had had to become quite adept at shaving whilst squinting into a small mould-stained piece of smeary glass no bigger than his head.
Peering out from under the rumpled towel into the mirror he examined the soaked, glistening figure that stared back at him.
He flung the towel over his shoulder and folded his arms across his chest casually, with a broad grin; "Winchester; you are one damn fine figure of a man!"
Straightening his damp towel-tousled hair with his fingers, he continued to inspect his reflection with a nod of satisfaction; until … he froze. Blinking rapidly, he stepped closer to the mirror; "is that …?"
Scrutinising his damp spiky mop, his mouth worked soundlessly; "no… it can't be …" His eyes widened in panic as he squinted intently, nose almost touching the mirror, at the tiny glint that had caught his eye.
His fingertips frantically explored his scalp, until he found what he was searching for and glared at it. " is it? … surely not … "
Gritting his teeth, he tugged at the single hair, *plink*, and examined it closely through slightly crossed eyes.
"It is … it's a friggin' grey hair!"
He was jolted out of his shock by a sudden banging on the door. "C'mon dude, how long you gonna be in there, I need a pee!"
"Cork it," he yelled back irritably, "I'm busy …".
He snorted; "busy havin' a friggin' crisis," He added absently; staring at the offending hair still pinched between his fingertips, and squinting until his vision swam. "Hang on," a glimmer of hope twitched across his face, "maybe it's not grey … maybe it's just blonder than all the others …"
He stared at the hair for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied that his theory was correct. "Yup, it's just - um - very blond!"
Finally convinced, he allowed the grin to plaster itself back across his face again as he dropped the hair on the floor without a second thought, and stepped back from the mirror to get a better view.
He shimmied from side to side admiring the reflection in front of him from all angles; "mother nature sure was havin' a good day when she built this chassis," he pursed his lips into a pout, narrowing his eyes for the benefit of the mirror, turning so that his hips were side on.
"Ass like granite," he grinned, clenching his butt cheeks and giving them an appreciative slap, as he ran the other palm flat down the firm ridges of his abdomen, swinging his hips to enjoy the view from multiple angles. His brow furrowed into a frown …
"Is that a bulge?" He pulled himself to his full height and, resisting the urge to suck it in, he examined the profile of his midriff, staring intently at the faint curve.
"Hmm, maybe not; mus' remember not to slouch … better lay off the cheeseburgers for a few days just to be sure."
He patted a flat hand over the soft dip of his navel and a faint smile played over his lips as he remembered that crazy hot broad from New Jersey who had spent a memorable evening eating olives out of it.
"Dean!" came an increasingly desperate shout from behind the door, "move it along, man, I'm desperate."
"Dude" Dean yelled back irritably, provocatively swivelling his hips and sensuously kissing the air in front of him, "can't a man get a bit of friggin' privacy!".
Raising his arms, he flexed impressive pectorals. "Oh, you lucky, lucky ladies", he grinned with a wink, spinning round and watching flickering muscles bunching fluidly under his arching shoulder blades.
Turning round again, he flexed his biceps across his chest; "ohhhh yeah!" he growled, raising an eyebrow suggestively, "check out those perky nipples, you horny sonofabitch; you could take someone's eye out with those!"
The plaintive cry from behind the door, "Dean, I'm gonna piss in your boots if you don't come out in ten seconds," went unheard as Dean postured and posed gleefully in front of his favourite new toy.
Whipping the towel from over his shoulder, he began to dry his nether regions, gyrating suggestively and thrusting his groin toward the mirror as he pouted along to a tuneless rendition of 'I'm too Sexy for my Towel'.
It was when he spun round again, mid-chorus, he stopped dead in his tracks and his pout dropped into a wide-eyed, slack-jawed gape. He thanked heaven, earth and anything else that he could think of that he was, at that precise instant in time, grasping a large handful of towel in a conveniently blush-hiding frontal aspect.
A distinctly unimpressed face, looking out from under a grubby cap emblazoned with a frayed 'EZ Kleen' logo was peering through the open window, elbow leaning idly on the top rung of his ladder … "Uh, Mr Universe, d'y mind closing' the window so I can get on cleaning it?"
Shocked into a wide eyed stupor, Dean felt, rather than saw, the towel drop to the floor.
"Uh, you might wanna close it for your own benefit;" added the voice, "it's obviously getting' a bit chilly in there!"