“I’m just saying, Bruce Lee actually had all of his skills. Chuck Norris is purely cinema. You put them both in a ring and Chuck Norris doesn’t have a prayer,” you argued watching the kung fu movie you put on. Your tired body lie lazily over Dean’s lap.
“He’d just shoot ‘em.” Dean argued.
“Any idiot can shoot a person. Without his gun he’d be minced meat.”
“Everyone knows Chuck Norris is awesome.”
“Everyone jokes about Chuck Norris being awesome. Bruce Lee is no joke. His moves were so fast the camera had to slow him down.”
“Well which one’s still alive?” He countered indignantly.
“Nothing gold ever lasts. Chuck Norris is more of an aluminum.”
Dean flicked the back of your neck, unable to think of a good comeback. You snickered and continued watching your movie. Dean barely paid any attention to the movie playing in front of him. His every thought was about you, about the feeling of your baody, lain across his lap, but this wasn’t anything special. You sat like this with Sam and Cas whenever you had the chance. Still Dean liked to rub your back, something neither of the fore-mentioned people did. Whenever he did you hummed out your content.
His hands carefully rubbed out knots and lingering tension. Your eyes began to droop closed. You loved it when he did this it was absolutely amazing. Around the boys you were practically a lap cat, pining for attention. Dean always gave you what you wanted, classifying him as your favorite pillow. He brushed the curly mass of your hair away from your neck so he could rub away the tension there.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” You asked as you let out a sigh of content. Dean paused in his movements. Was he trying to seduce you? “You’re goin’ about it that right way,” you concluded with a laugh.
Dean smiled, continuing to rub firm circles against your neck. His intelligent fingers coaxed you into a relaxed nap.
“You are one of the most tense people-” he noticed, midsentence, that you were basically comatose. He smiled fondly, deciding to rub a hand through your hair. First, his finger caught in a curl. He tried to pull a hand away, only to get further entangled in your web of curls. The more he struggled the worse his predicament became. He was trying to be gentle, not wanting you to wake to his hand tangled in your hair. As time passed he began to realize that the only way he was getting out without waking you was, to cut his hand off. Dean sighed trying vainly to free himself.
The tugs against your scalp eventually woke you. You stretched out across Dean’s lap, confused by the tugs you felt when you moved.
“Dean what are you doing?” You questioned, sleepily.
“I uh, I’m stuck,” Dean admitted, smiling bashfully. You chuckled and began working on removing his fingers from your hair.
“That’s what you get for being creepy,” you chastised as you sat up, “Ow dammit, you are really in there,” you complained, guiding his hand through the labyrinth of tresses. Dean’s heart was frantic as it registered that you were holding his hand. You finally freed him. You caught the way his eyes held you, as you went to exclaim your triumph.
“What?” You asked.
“Nothing,” he smiled, “Thanks for my hand back.”
“You’re welcome. Next time don’t be such a creep.”
“I’m not a creep just a victim to your carnivorous hair.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay to be infatuated with me. I’m pretty awesome.”
“Damn straight.” He mumbled.
“You’re not too bad yourself.” You smiled lying across his lap once more.
“You really like me, you think I’m sexy,” Dean sung, quoting Miss Congeniality. You punched his arm laughing.