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Allie sets aside the script she's been reading when the doorknob rattles. In comes her boyfriend, his hair, still damp from a post-game shower, is sticking from under his cap, framing his face in a pattern of messy curls.
Most of the team is out at Malone's, celebrating the win. But Dean told her he wanted to spend some alone time together. Allie suspects there is more than one reason for his desire to stay in, though.
"Hi, baby." Dean gives her a lazy smile, pulling the sports bag off his shoulder to set it on the floor by the door. A casual move. Yet there is an almost imperceptible level of calculation hidden in it.
"Hey. How are you feeling?"
"Fine." He shrugs. "You?"
It takes an effort to swallow her skeptical retort. Allie's eyes roam over her boyfriend's body. Nothing strange to catch her eye. Same grey sweats and the team's zip-up hoodie she's seen him wear countless times. Same air of nonchalance Dean Di Laurentis is famous for. Few people see beyond his crafted, unbothered facade, mostly because they rarely bother to actually look.
"Catch!" Allie grabs the first thing she finds lying around, a pencil case, and tosses it in Dean's direction.
Is it a cheap tactic? Perhaps. Yet sometimes she needs to push a little to get through his always cheery, always fine persona.
He catches the case, but a wince he's unable to suppress confirms what she's already presumed. After all, she was right there, in the girlfriends' section of the tribunes, to witness a particularly brutal hit he took during the game. It would have surprised her that Dean even tried wasting energy hiding it, considering her see it firsthand, if she didn't know him so well.
So, without saying another word, Allie pins him with a meaningful glare.
It must be conveying the meaning pretty well on its own because Dean raises his palms up in an apologetic gesture and reassures, "It's no big deal, baby."
"Shirt. Off." Allie punctuates her demand with claps of her hands, not buying it for a second. "No objections."
Dean's pleading expression morphs into a confident smirk. "If you want to see me naked, all you need to do is ask, Allie-cat." He winks at her, charming as ever.
"Now, Di Laurentis," she says, doing her best to keep her voice stern and not to roll her eyes. No matter how much Allie loves Dean, sometimes he is the hardest test of her patience.
Maybe it's what does the trick, or maybe it's the general lack of options, but after a moment's hesitation, he complies. Dean unzips his hoodie, carelessly throwing it to a chair nearby. With his left hand, he grabs the hem of his T-shirt on the right side and pulls the material down off his shoulder, and then up and in the opposite direction. Even with this strategic movement that doesn't require him to lift his right arm, judging by how his face pinches – no big deal her ass – it's clearly more than a little uncomfortable.
How can it not be? His whole right side, from the armpit down to the line of his pants, is marred with dark bruising. Allie can't prevent a gasp at the sight, even though she expected something like that. Her own chest constricts for a moment. Despite his casual brushing off, this must hurt like hell. A flash of murderous desire to find the asshole who did it surprises her with its intensity. Instead of following the impulse, Allie sighs in sympathy.
She walks towards her boyfriend and raises her hand to cup his cheek. Dean leans into the touch without a second thought, closing his eyes. Allie draws a few soothing circles on his skin before getting up on her tippy-toes to tenderly brush his lips. He responds immediately, bending down slightly and winding his left arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. She lets the kiss play out for a while, but pulls away before it can get heated. Allie has other plans for the evening, and she can't allow herself to get sidetracked.
Her fingers trail the bruising in a feather-light touch, no pressure whatsoever. "The doctor cleared you, right?"
Dean might have no reservations about downplaying his injuries, but he isn't actually careless about his health. And it's unlikely that the team doctor would have let him leave without a check first. Still, getting an explicit yes won't hurt.
"He did," Dean confirms, perhaps finally giving up his futile pretence. "Looks like shit, but it's nothing that won't heal on its own."
"Good." Allie nods. "Let's go then."
"Where are we going?" Dean asks, but lets her take his hand and walk him out of the room and along the corridor with no resistance.
Soon, they reach their destination. As Allie pulls the door to the bathroom open, a cloud of lavender steam escapes into the hall. She steps inside, Dean following suit. A click of the lock sounds as soon as he shuts the door. A hard-learned habit. Allie smiles to herself. With all his exhibitionistic tendencies, the Winston incident has left its mark.
Walking to the bathtub, Allie waves her hand through the water to check the temperature. She ran the bath as soon as she got a text from Dean about him leaving the arena, making the water slightly hotter to take his drive into account. It's only warm to her senses now, yet exactly what she aimed for, seeing as he boyfriend loves to complain that her preferred temperature is more suitable for boiling soup rather than a relaxing bath.
"Get in," Allie commands, turning to him. She nods towards his remaining sweatpants, the look being pretty self-explanatory.
Dean doesn't need to be told twice. He gets rid of his pants and underwear in one go and follows her instructions. When he slowly lowers himself in the tub, careful not to let the water overflow, a satisfied groan falls from his lips.
"Good?" she asks, taking off her shirt too, instantly much more comfortable left only in a sports bra in this humid air.
"Great," Dean confirms, his eyes fluttering close, and leans back, making space to accommodate her. He waits a beat, another one. But when nothing changes, he blinks his eyes open. "Aren't you going to join?"
"I'm not." Allie shakes her head.
"Are you sure?" he asks in a low, husky voice, gazing at her from under his lashes. Hard not to see it for what it is. Pure seduction.
Truthfully, Allie could easily allow herself to be lured in. Get into the tub, lean in the comfort of Dean's strong body beneath her, let her evening progress into the chase of pleasure. Enticing indeed. But, and it's a big but, she wants this to be about Dean.
Some may not spare it a second thought, really. Yet Allie has always noticed it. Dean has been taking care of everyone around him for as long as she's known him. It's not that people take it for granted, per se. Sometimes it's just little things that can easily get missed in the bustle of college life. Like how Summer always gets an appointment ready at her favorite SPA every time she visits. Or the way the fridge in the house is constantly stocked with bougie sport drinks Logan denies loving, just as the pantry is with obscure baking ingredients for Tuck. Not to mention how much he does to ensure she is happy every day. All the beautiful things that make Allie love Dean even more, if it's even possible.
And Dean never demands anything in return. That's why she wants to carve out more moments just for him.
"I'm focusing on taking care of you today," she says, pulling the stool she brought closer to the bathtub and sitting down behind her boyfriend. "You just relax."
"And what if I want to relax with—" Dean's question is cut off by another sound of pleasure, as Allie lowers her hands to his shoulders and begins massaging stiff muscles with firm pressure. He leans into her touch and is silent for a couple of moments before continuing, "If I want to relax with you?"
"We both know how things are going to end up if I get into the tub," she notes. Dean has always been more than a generous lover.
"And it's a problem, why exactly?"
"You'll end up taking care of me, and today we are taking care of you," she reiterates her point.
"No fair," Dean huffs. Yet considering the way his tension is gradually oozing off into the warm water, he doesn't seem to mind.
Allie continues her work for a little longer, humming some tune under her breath. Having started with barely a hundred degrees, it doesn't take long for the water to begin cooling off. So, after rubbing knots out of Dean's shoulders and upper back the best she can in this position, she reaches for a bottle of shampoo, mixing it up with water in her hands before applying it to his hair.
"How does this feel so good?" he murmurs, as she runs her fingers through the wet curls in mirroring patterns, gently scrubbing his scalp with her nails.
"I'm glad you like it, baby," she whispers, tugging on the strands just a little.
"You're killing me, Al," Dean mumbles, not sounding the least bit upset about it.
Done with shampooing and conditioning, Allie leaves him to wash the bath salts off his body because she'd have to rearrange herself in a rather awkward position to do it properly without getting her clothes wet, but nothing prevents her from rubbing his back at least.
When he's done, Allie hands him a towel. As Dean gets out of the tub, she's holding a fluffy robe to keep the warmth in. He huffs – except it's only for show, because she knows he secretly loves the feeling of the soft material against his skin – but doesn't protest when she wraps him in it.
"You go back to the bedroom, I'll tidy up real quick and join you."
Instead of leaving, though, Dean pulls her into a kiss. It's lazy. An intoxicatingly slow exploration. Allie soaks in some of his tranquility, letting it wash over her in waves before settling deep in her marrow.
"I'll be there in a second," she repeats when they break apart.
"Okay," Dean whispers, leaving a kiss at the top of her head before turning to the door.
Left alone, Allie gets to the clean-up, not wanting to put it off for when she'll be too tired to do it. She pulls on the chain of the stopper, setting bottles and tubs back in their places while the water is draining. A quick wipe down later, everything seems orderly enough, so she picks up their discarded clothes, turns off the lights and leaves the room.
Allie finds Dean lounging on the bed on his back. All bare skin and hard muscles. Not an ounce of self-consciousness about his nakedness. God, she loves his confidence. He is watching her enter from under hooded lids, looking a little spacey. All the happy hormones must be flowing in spades in his bloodstream.
"Hi, Allie-cat," he murmurs with a dopey smile as she comes closer.
"Hi, baby." She smiles back.
"Is this the part when you finally join me?" He pats the empty space on the bed beside him.
"Not quite," Allie says, but sits down on the corner nevertheless.
His reaction is honest-to-god pout – pursed lips, deep frown, and all. She can't help but chuckle.
"How about I'll make you a deal then?" Her words are met with a curious expression. "I'll give you a massage, and if you have any energy left after, we'll do whatever you want. How does that sound?"
We'll do whatever you want. In terms of magic words as a key to Dean's heart, it doesn't come better than that.
"Okay." He nods, expression vacant. Allie is ninety-nine percent sure he's picturing two of them engaging in whatever sexy stuff that he's finding intriguing today.
"Get onto your stomach, then."
"Yes, ma'am," he responds in mock seriousness to the command in her tone.
Now, Allie is no physical therapist, but bless the creators of YouTube, she's found more than enough tutorials to guide her through. She takes a bottle of massage oil out of the pocket of her pajama pants and rubs it between her palms to warm up the liquid.
"Are you sore anywhere else?"
"Not much," Dean says, turning his head to the left to catch her eyes. "Maybe the calves."
"Alright," she says. "Let me know if anything hurts."
As he nods his agreement, Allie gets down to it. She starts with his feet, determined to give him a full-body treatment. A big mistake. As soon as the tips of her fingers touch the sole of his foot, it soars up on a reflex. She just barely avoids the collision of his heel and her chin. That would have hurt like a bitch.
"Shit, babe," Dean curses. "Maybe skip the feet? I don't want to accidentally kick you."
"That's alright." Allie is never deterred quite so easily, especially not by a tiny hiccup in her plan.
She adjusts, getting further up and turning around to face the end of the bed, so now she's straddling the backs of Dean's thighs instead, and takes hold of his foot again.
This time, when she rolls her knuckles up the arch, instead of a prospect of a black eye, her reward is an unexpected giggle.
"Didn't know you can make such high-pitched sounds," she teases, repeating the motion with slightly more force.
"Fuck off," he throws back, yet she hears the smile in his voice.
With slow, deliberate movement, Allie is working her way up. Alternating pressure. Kneading the tension away from the thick cords of muscle. She marvels at the way the knots gradually disappear under her hands, Dean's body turning pliable under her attention.
Turning back around, she starts working on his back, hands gliding on the smooth skin. Extra careful not to bother the injured areas. Adding no pressure at all, Allie peppers light kisses all over the blue skin instead.
All the while, Dean is spurring her on with the soft groans and moans he lets out, the sounds stifled by the pillow he's buried his face in. With the number of 'right there, Allie-cat's, if they weren't alone in the house, their friends would be bound to get a wrong idea about the nature of their activities.
Allie would be lying if she said that all the beautiful, needy noises Dean's been making haven't left her kinda turned on. Honestly? That whatever you want sounds really appealing right now. It's a shame that's not going to happen tonight.
Judging by the way Dean's been melting into the mattress more and more with every passing minute and a stroke of her hand, it's not long until he falls into deep slumber.
Just as predicted, by the time Allie reaches his shoulders again, his breathing has already evened out.
She leans closer and whispers, "Sleep well, love," before leaving a kiss at the nape of his neck.
Careful not to disturb him – even though she's fairly certain nothing short of a blaring fire alarm would wake him up at this point – Allie swings her leg over his body and gets off the bed. She walks to the wardrobe and takes a pair of sleep shorts and a cotton tank top out of her drawer. Then, she paddles into the bathroom, redoing her messy bun on the go. Having made a quick work of her night routine, Allie returns to join quietly snuffling Dean on her right half of the bed.
There is barely any space left, seeing as his massive frame is still sprawled on the stomach smack in the middle of it. No need to roll him to the side, though. Dean is an active sleeper, in no time, she'll find herself enveloped in his strong arms. So, Allie arranges herself in the sliver of space, legs half-dangling off the bed, and closes her eyes.
Soon enough, she's proven right.