A/N: Yes, I know it's been forever and a day! Sorry. :)

Chapter Twenty

Dean made sure to guide Elizabeth to the bathroom for a hot shower as soon as they'd gotten into their room. She'd mentioned going out with Roman and Seth but he'd coaxed her into staying in. Their friends were headed to a bar, and the last thing they needed was for more photos of them to be plastered all over the internet. She didn't put up much of a fight. In fact she seemed content to just stand under the steamy water with him. When they came out, skin pink from the hot water, he found some old movie on TV for background noise, and she perked up at the sight of Cary Grant.

Or was it Clark Gable?

He sat up in the bed while she watched the movie, a sheet over their bodies, combing his fingers through her long dark hair. His eyes were on the dark strands sliding over his knuckles more than on the TV screen. The twists and turns of the old movie had lost him, because he was too focused on her. But she didn't seem to mind, if she even noticed. At one point she tilted her head back, and for the first time since getting to the room her green eyes weren't troubled.

He'd once thought they were like emeralds. But he'd been wrong. They reminded him more of the marbles he'd played with as a little kid. The ones he'd found in a friend's closet while snooping one day. They'd ended up going home with him, and he'd spent many quiet hours admiring them. He'd never learned how to play with them so he just rolled them along the top of his dresser. Or sorted them by color. One in particular had been his favorite. It had been a little bit bigger than the rest, and instead of swirls of color inside it was solid green. Kind of light, kind of dark. And it had always sparkled when the sun hit it just right.

She turned her attention back to the movie, snuggled closer to his side, and he resumed playing with her hair. Her leg slid over his thigh until it was tucked between his legs. She tucked her arm around his waist. Watching a lock of hair slip between his fingers and fall to her bare back, he dropped his hand and began to gently rub her warm flesh.

Her shoulders were tight beneath his fingers and he frowned, picturing a tense, sleepless night. He gave her back a light tap, easing away from her and sliding off the bed.

When he returned after a few moments of rummaging in her carryon she was still intently watching the movie. Lying on her stomach now, with one foot in the air, she didn't appear to have missed him at all. That brief thought was pushed away though, when she glanced to him with a small smile. Then, hugging the pillow she'd tucked beneath her, she turned her attention back to Clark Gable.

Or Cary Grant. Whichever.

He knelt over her thighs and began to rub the small bottle of lotion between his hands to warm it. Nudging the sheet down to the small of her back, he paused when he saw her toned muscles ripple in response to his touch. "Just relax," he murmured when she glanced back at him. "Let me take care of you."

"You always take care of me." One foot bounced against the back of his thigh.

"I like doing it." He pushed the sheet down further, meeting her eyes for a long moment. She smiled again, then stretched out beneath him. He watched her pull her hair into a haphazard twist, her fingers channeling some sort of witchcraft so the locks stayed in place without one of her many hair bands or pins. Popping open the cap of the lotion, he squeezed a line down the length of her spine. The faint aroma reached him and he read the print on the bottle, which boasted that the soothing lavender scent would induce complete relaxation.

Her sigh was one of enjoyment as he began to spread the lotion with both hands. He worked on dispersing the lotion evenly, keeping his touch light. Once satisfied, he splayed is fingers across the narrowest point of her waist and began manipulating the tense muscles with his thumbs.

On the screen, a couple shared a passionate embrace. "Who is he?" Dean asked, focusing one particularly rigid portion of her lower back.

"Cary Grant." Her words came out with a somewhat dreamy sigh.

"You like his movies." At least, he thought she did. More than a few times he'd found her watching old movies on her iPad or a hotel room TV.

"Very much so." She hummed softly. "But not as much as I like you."

"Good save," he chuckled, leaning to press a kiss to the back of her head.

The movie ended. Elizabeth's hand snaked out to find the remote, then switched off the TV. "Oh," she groaned as his hands began to rub the middle of her back.

"You're so tense," he sighed, not bothering to hide his frown. He knew that it had been a rough day for her. Hell, it had been a rough few years. Feeling the stress and tension in her muscles made his heart do an odd little lurch. He supposed that some of the tension was his fault. After all, if he hadn't—

"Oh god, that feels so good."

He blinked in surprise at her ragged moan, then realized he had begun to rub her back harshly. "Not too hard?" he asked.

"It's perfect," she promised.

Dean continued the intense massage, knowing how good his own muscles felt after one of the trainers pounded and rubbed his body into relaxation. So, silent, he worked dutifully, not moving from one portion of her back until all the strain had receded. Scooting up so he could further his reach, he attacked the rigid shoulders. He felt her start to go limp and softened his touch. Hands slippery from the lotion glided down her arms, and he leaned down to find her lips in a gentle kiss.

"Thank you," she mumbled, stretching beneath him like a languid cat. "That was just what I needed."

"I'm not done yet," he promised.

"Huh?" she blurted, lifting her head when he slid away.

"Would you just trust me for once?" He placed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Just this once?" she teased, pushing herself into a seated position.

Her hair fell wildly past her shoulders, and there was a soft light in her eyes. Reluctant to leave her for even a second, he gathered her in his arms. "Once, twice…" He trailed kisses over her shoulder and up her neck. "…Forever…" He immediately tensed, fearing he'd gone too far.

But her hands slid up to cup his face. Her lips were warm and sweet on his. "Forever sounds pretty good to me, Ambrose."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He pushed down his worries and the millions of questions that cropped up in his mind, putting all his focus into kissing her until she sagged against him. Dragging the kiss out into several short pecks, he guided her back onto the bed. "Hold on just a minute," he whispered, pulling away slowly. "You need something to wear."

A laugh rumbled up her throat and filled the room with lightness. "That's a new one."

"Right?" He laughed as well.

"Why do I need something to wear?" she asked as he began to dig through her suitcase. Her neatly folded clothes were soon a jumble, but he was glad she didn't complain. Tossing a shirt that he was pretty sure belonged to him and a pair of workout shorts at her, he then went into his own suitcase to find a pair of sweatpants.

He pulled them on before rejoining her in the bed. She hadn't moved; she was still sprawled against the pillows, the sheet twisted around one leg. Wetting his lips at the sight of her breasts rising and falling with each breath, he struggled to recall exactly why he wanted her to cover up. The aroma of lavender danced through his senses and, clearing his throat, he began untwisting the sheet. "Because, if you stay naked, tonight will stop being about taking care of you and start being about banging you like a screen door."

She laughed, pulled her leg from the sheet, and reached for the shorts. "You sure have a way with words."

Dean grinned, stretching across the bed so he could watch her. Strange how he enjoyed watching her dress as much as he enjoyed watching her undress. "Comfy?" he murmured when she settled back against the pillows. At her nod, he grasped her ankle and pulled her foot into his lap. Her skin was smooth beneath his palms, a silk that warmed at his touch. Working his way up to her thigh, he started to stroke and caress before shifting to a strong massage.

She made soft little moans and sighs. Her toes curled against his thigh. When his fingers grazed the back of her knee she giggled. He watched her, drinking in the reactions of her face. Her eyes were closed, but he knew when her brow furrowed that he'd found a spot that needed more attention. He knew from the slow, lazy smiles that he was doing good work. And he knew from the way she occasionally bit her lip that she was wavering between relaxation and arousal.

Shit, he knew he was aroused. And he knew she knew when her other foot slid over his lap, nudging his half-hard length. "Shit," he blurted, squeezing her calf as the sole of her foot moved back and forth.

"Sorry," she mumbled, dragging her foot away. He quickly grabbed her ankle and dragged it back.

"You want to rub my dick, you can," he assured. "I sure as hell won't complain."

She giggled, opening her eyes. "Even if you don't get any action?"

"There's always tomorrow," he promised, resuming the rubbing of her calf. Her leg trembled slightly, so he moved to rub her foot. Somehow he managed to not tickle her, keeping the strokes of his fingers firm. Once satisfied that he'd thoroughly relaxed the muscles, he gently laid her foot down and reached for the other one.

"Dean," she sighed blissfully as he began to massage again.

"Lizzie," he returned. This time he worked his way up her leg, tongue darting over his lips as her other foot began to lazily rub over his cock. He felt flames of desire licking through his body but focused on her, not minding the gentle ache that formed in his lower back.

"Damn," she groaned when he let her limp leg fall to the mattress. Sprawled on the bed, arms stretched out on either side, she gazed at him in awe. "You're amazing."

"I try." Shifting, he crawled between her legs, her lethargic sigh making him feel like a king. "Feel better?"

"Mm-hmm." Her legs cradled him, sliding over his until they were tangled. Her hips wriggled, and one corner of her mouth lifted when his hard cock rubbed against her thigh. "You wanna?" she asked lazily, draping one arm over his shoulder.

"I told you, tonight's not about sex."

"But you're hard," she pointed out, just in case he'd missed the fact that his dick was straining against his sweatpants.

"I'll live."

"You want a massage?" she murmured, fingers dancing along the back of his neck.

He thought of her delicate fingers stroking and digging. "That'll just make me harder," he decided.

With a soft sigh, she slid her fingers through his hair. "Dean?"

"Lizzie?" he returned, lifting an eyebrow in question.

"I love you."

"Yeah?" he asked softly, bracing himself on one arm so he could lift up. He looked into her eyes, those eyes that reminded him of marbles, and searched for the tiniest hint of doubt. He'd heard a few false professions of love in his lifetime. Hell, he'd made a few of his own. And though he had already blurted the words himself, and knew his sudden outburst to be true, he wanted to be absolutely sure. He had to be absolutely sure, because he didn't think his heart could take it if she was just saying the words.

"Yeah," she answered, continuing to comb her fingers through his hair. Her other hand cupped his cheek, and one finger brushed over his brow. Her touch was subtle, barely the tips of her fingers moving along his face. When her thumb swept over his lower lip, she smiled, and he saw the shine in her eyes.

"Since when?" he asked cautiously, as much to drag out her confession as to find out.

"I don't know. Maybe from the start. Maybe when we were at the motel. Maybe when I went to Vegas. Or maybe some point in between." Her eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Or the other night when you just wanted to hold me. I don't know, Dean. I can't pinpoint an exact moment. I just know that when you looked in my eyes at the airport earlier, I knew."

"Lizzie Belle," he sighed, puckering his lips to kiss the pad of her thumb.

"Hmm?" She was still running her fingers through his hair. The gentle pressure against his scalp was relaxing, and he made a mental note to ask her for a massage soon.

"I love you too." He leaned down, softly kissing her lips. "Whatever shit storm starts up tomorrow, remember that."

"I will," she whispered. She returned his kiss, moving with him when he rolled onto his side. Her hand followed his down and she laughed against his lips when they both began tugging at the blankets. Tucked close to him, she seemed to be trying to get as close as possible to him. "You sure you're okay with no sex?"

"I'm not a complete animal." Arms around her, he breathed in the mingled aromas of her shampoo and the lotion. "Besides… I kinda really like holding you like this."

"Yeah?" Her breath was warm against his chest. Her legs were wound up with his, her cool feet pressing on his calves.

"Yeah," he answered, reaching back to switch off the lamp. "I kinda really like it a lot."

"I kinda really like it a lot, too. Good night," she murmured in the darkness.

"Night, Lizzie Belle." He felt her fingers on his neck and ducked his head to find her lips for another kiss. "Sweet dreams."