Your ankle brushed against something rough as you switched legs, crossing your right over your left and tapping the air softly, accidentally grazing the same thing again. A small huff of air filled the air, quiet and shaking. You hid a smile behind your book. Testing the waters, you started tapping again, although slower this time, almost as if you were massaging the denim pressed against your foot.
“Stop doing that,” Dean whispered, looking away from the pistol he was cleaning. “I know what you’re trying to do, but nothing’s gonna happen. Nada. Nope.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said innocently, keeping your voice just as quiet. You glanced at Sam quickly, checking he hadn’t heard either of you. “Oh, is that your leg? I swear I didn’t even notice it.”
“Stick that with the rest of the books; you’re a terrible liar, Y/N.”
“Are you implying that I’m deliberately messing with you, Dean? Now, why in Heaven’s name would I ever do that? You’re my friend,” you shrugged.
Leaning back in your chair, you bit down on your lip and pulled the soft, pink flesh slowly. Dean’s eyes left your own as he glanced down, watching your movements carefully. Your book landed softly on the table and allowed him a full view to your button-up shirt, green eyes trailing south almost immediately; he’d been dying to do that ever since you sat down in front of him, the three top buttons unfastened, and you knew it.
“Aren’t you, Dean? Just my friend?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. Dean’s head snapped up, and he closed his mouth quickly.
“What else could we be, sweetheart?” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. You smiled sweetly, standing up and nodding. “Where are you going?”
“Just gonna sit by Sam, we do have work to do, after all,” you said, picking up your book. “And I’ll be needing this, thank you.”
You bent over the table, stretching your arm toward the pen next to the discarded rag Dean had been using. His eyes fought to stay on yours as you came close to him, your lips parted slightly. With his heart racing in his chest, and your warm breaths tasting of pink bubblegum brushing against his nose, Dean almost closed the distance between you; almost.
“Don’t you have somewhere to run away to, sweetheart?” he asked breathlessly, voice rough and deep. You couldn’t resist from letting your eyes flutter close for one second at his tone, your chest heaving heavily, partially so you could try to gain the upper hand once again.
“Run away? In your dreams, Winchester,” you scoffed lightly. A knot formed in your throat as Dean edged closer to you, somehow not expecting his movement; you could see every small detail in his jade eyes, and his lips were so close to you. If you just moved one more centimeter…
“Trust me, it’s the exact opposite,” he smirked, seeing you glance down. “No, Y/N, in my dreams you’re not running away. In fact, you’re as close to me as you could get, so hot and sweaty, and with those pretty little lips just parting enough to… Well, let’s leave it to the imagination, huh?”
You huffed quietly, almost glaring at him with indignation as you straightened up. Dean continued to smirk, although not in the usual way; this wasn’t him being proud of winning a game of pool or knowing more about a hunt than you did. This smirk was the same as when you begged him to borrow the Impala, or when you reluctantly asked him to lower something from the higher shelves for you. The smirk of knowing you needed him.
“Whatever,” you said, crossing the room with your head held high.
Dean’s quiet laughter rang in your ears as you slammed your book in front of Sam. He looked away from the map he was studying, surprised. You grimaced, taking the seat in front of him and trying to forget about Dean’s words.
