“Did you cut the -”
“And add the -”
A smile tugged at your lips as you looked approvingly up at your boyfriend, savouring the pure normalcy of cooking a meal together and spending an evening in the bunker. You didn’t get to do stuff like this often - especially when you were constantly on the road, hunting down one murderous beastie after another. So whenever you had the chance for domestic and safe, you jumped on it. Today you’d decided to make lasagna. Sam had approved whole-heartedly from behind his computer screen.
“I know, I’m awesome,” Dean said, smirking arrogantly. He’d clearly caught your smile. You rolled your eyes but placed a quick kiss on his cheek, ducking under his arms and heading for the stove.
The pot on the burner held a steaming red sauce, perfectly seasoned using your mother’s old recipe. You delicately dipped the tip of your index finger into the pot, bringing it to your lips to taste.
It was perfect.
That is, until Dean appeared beside you, a long-suffering look on his face.
“Jeez woman, must you do that?”
Dean gently grabbed your hand, holding your still-extended finger up for you both to see. “That.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What? I was just testing the sauce.”
“Couldn’t you use a spoon?”
Indignation flared through you, arms crossing over your chest. “I just washed my hands. They’re clean!”
Dean scoffed, putting down the wooden spoon he was holding. “That’s not why I’m objecting,” he said, voice dropping an octave.
You ignored the involuntary shiver that ran down your spine.
“Well, what is it then?”
“When you do that …” Dean pulled the palm of your hand up to his mouth, lips brushing your skin as he spoke. “You’re just too …” He kissed the inside of your wrist. “Damn …” The fabric of your shirt pulled taught in the fingers of his free hand. “Distracting.”
Before you had time to protest Dean’s lips were on yours, his arm wrapped around your waist as he walked you backwards into the counter. The cold edge of the steel island dug into your back. Within seconds Dean had you off the ground, the cool counter underneath your thighs and his torso wedged between your legs.
“You’re one … to talk … about distractions,” you mumbled in between kisses, letting Dean pull your leg up around his waist.
He smirked. “It’s not my fault you’re so irresistible.”
You smiled against Dean’s lips, pushing your hands against his chest. “True. But …” You pulled back enough to look at him. “We have other things to do right now.”
Dean slumped forward, forehead resting on your shoulder. “Do we have to?” he drawled.
You let out a breathy laugh. “Yes.”
“But we’re finishing this later.”
Mischief lit your eyes as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. Closer to him. Your lips collided with his as he set you back on your feet, his hands tight around your waist and stubbornly holding on.
*All GIFs are from Google Images*