Dean’s body is still coursing with adrenaline as Dad gets up from the bed.
He’s electric, he’s ready, he wants to throw his arms around his dad’s neck and convince him to go again—another round, raw and deadly or comfortably lazy, he’ll take whatever he can get.
Dad barely said a word as he pumped Dean full, only grabbed him tight like he was in the middle of a lecture and needed to emphasize his point. He used to leave fantastic bruises on Dean’s body that he never bothered to explain, but as he shed his baby fat and began to sharpen into an adult, he had less flesh to knead. It only gets worse when money’s tight and Dean’s struggling to hustle pool with a half an hour of sleep under his belt.
He wants him again. He wants Dad to stay, for them to play happy family for a while even if Sammy can’t help but put on his best feral cat impression for Dad. He just wants him to stay longer than a day or two. He doesn’t want to wait to feel loved again.
But he will wait, sitting in the pool borne from his loyalty and devotion, and watching him pull his shirt back over his head. Cheap cotton blend clinging to the sweat he did not mop up, like a reminder of what he continues to leave behind. But Dean cannot afford to hold a grudge towards his dad and he lets it slide off his back; he will be back soon enough, and this time he might not leave him to rot.