The first time, with smiles big and round, kisses deep and punishing, was something new, something wrong and something that couldn't be helped. He smiles and whispers, 'you're my enemy' knowing the truth that out lines his words.
"And I'm your lover, that's mostly the same thing, Winchester."
His kisses are tiny, like little bug bites and his eyes look at me with round blue eyes and swinging blond hair, an angel without a mind.
Slipping looks at places were we happened to be, smiling little smiles at the good guy while being the bad girl.
They kiss like lovers not blood thirsty enemies but when they face it always seems that way, a little smirk on each of their faces.
Brothers and fathers cheer them on seeing hate and hate alone and not the love that is burning deep down, like a million candles.
Then there we are, slipping into dim hotels, quiet kisses on our lips and burning in our souls.
He gives a look at me he needs to hate and finds that an enemy I am not.