A/N: As promised earlier in the week, the Dean version of My Night with...

If you aren't reading the Sam version of this story, here's the 411: I was asked to consider writing more of these little shorts and had already been planning to because they're a fun little break from some of the heavier pieces I'm working on. If you have something you'd like to see, please PM or leave a review?

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

The Way He Moves

He walked in like he owned the place. Slow and steady, with the occasional 'How-you-doin'?' nod. It was cocky and more than a little arrogant, but it made every woman in the joint want to give up her panties. Including me and, while I may be experienced, I'm not easy.

It was the slight pivot - the even turn of his narrow hips - that told me, given an opportunity, I'd be exactly where I am now. On my back, pinned between the heat of his hard body and the sandpaper of cheap motel sheets.

Every man's touch is different - trust me, I've had my share of lovers - but there's something about Dean's...if that's really even his name. His fingers are roughened by callouses of a man who's not afraid of a day's hard work, but the way he uses them to manipulate my body sets my skin on fire.

It's the slow scrape of his thumb over my nipple. The snag of his hand as it glides down the contrastingly silk skin of my side. The grip he uses to angle my hips to receive his thrusts. He's passionately thorough, leaving no part untouched by his hands, his eyes, his mouth. The gentleness - the way he seems to be able to find all my little trigger points in a way men I've had relationships with couldn't - is startling. It makes me weak. Makes me want more. Wonder if I can get enough. If I'll remember how I feel right now.

I've had orgasms before (mostly self induced), but this time I see stars. I swear the man is getting off on getting me off. When I shudder, my body tightening reflexively around his, he slows and draws everything out. Kisses me. Helps me ride it out. Pushes me that much further.

Le petit mort. The little death. I died in his arms more than once tonight. Lemme tell you: what a way to go...