Author's Note: Hi! :) I couldn't get this out of my head. But it doesn't fit in with the events of Levitating so it's a separate thing.

This fic takes place during and directly after the Marina wedding. Dean gets to say what he needed to say. This is the during and aftermath of that scenario. (Slight, very slight smut just in case). Otherwise known as how I wish it could have gone, what I wanted to see. I love these two so much! Let me know what you guys think and if you want to see more miscellaneous oneshots. I'm open to requests for prompts. :) Doesn't mean I have abandoned Levitating, I just want to write other things potentially outside of it. And it's timeline. Xx


She doesn't know how to react. She's standing there, here, literally about a foot from him, maybe even less, her breathing suspended in midair, her lungs somewhere in her throat, fighting for room against her heart.

His eyes were telling her nothing, but at the same time they were telling her everything, words upon words but in a language she was so unfamiliar with now, no longer used to being looked at this way, as if she is desired enough, loved enough, to be a woman someone is in love with. She knows now that she is in this moment, Vic knows that Dean is in love with her, just by the way he's looking at her, but knowing something and doing something about what you know are two very different, distinct, things. She might know that better than anyone.

She takes a breath, a scared but not entirely fearful breath. She didn't fear him, or fear his love, or maybe she did but only because it's been so long and her mind, her mind and her body, holy crap her body, neither one knows how to react anymore, react to being loved. It's sad, but if he says the words, says the words out loud, if he touches her, touches her for longer and with more attention than the friendly ways they are used to touching each other, Vic won't know what to do. It's a simple fact. A sad fact, but a simple one; an unbelievably, insanely, complicated one.

"Vic, I –"

"Dean, I – "

They go to speak at the same time, and it's awkward, or maybe she's just misreading the situation completely and it's not awkward at all, rather it's completely normal, natural, when someone speaks over top of you, like that. She has a feeling she's going to misread a lot of what might happen tonight. Or what might not happen. He's still looking at her in that way and suddenly she's suddenly not sure if she's okay with either one. Maybe she's still looking for one outcome in particular.

"You can go first," she accedes, her breathing still shallow, unsure. She's not sure she wants to hear what he has to say as much as she's sure she'll die if she doesn't hear him speak in the next thirty seconds.

But he doesn't. Go first. Instead, he leaves a space for her to talk if she wants (she doesn't, not anymore) and surprises her by taking her hands in his and what surprises her is not the action itself but how it feels to her as he holds her hands like this. There's something there, isn't there? She wants to ask him if he feels it too, but she's afraid to sound stupid, dumb, but mostly she's afraid that the answer might be what she doesn't want to hear.

No. No, I don't feel anything. It's all in you're head. We're just friends, Vic. Like we've always been.

She's not sure she wants that, now. She kind of wants him to touch other parts of her, not just her hands, and then she feels weird for thinking that. Stupid. Dumb. Ashamed.

He says those words – the ones she'd thought he was going to say – I love you, I'm in love with you, of course with a big speech preceding them but nonetheless the words themselves stand out the most and she's confident now in what she wanted before. She's confident and steadfast in that being what she wants now.

So, she initiates, because she's said the words back, admitted them to him and to herself in this shy, quiet, way, but then again in a more self-assured tone because she doesn't want him thinking that it's all a ruse and she's saying things so that he doesn't feel bad.

You can kiss me now, she thinks, the thought unbridled and startling but making her smile, a smile that she bites back in front of him, a smile that she wants to keep hidden until she knows in all certain terms that he wants to kiss her back, if she were to lean in and kiss him first. Right now.

He touches her bottom lip, smiles himself, smiles at her, and it's a smile that takes over his entire face in the most wonderful and beautiful of ways and she's looking at him now and realizing how handsome Dean Miller really is.

"Why are you hiding? Don't hide from me, Victoria Hughes. I am the last person you have to hide from, baby."

If his skin was any lighter, she was sure he would be blushing, but his hands were hot, sweaty. He ducked his head, a clear sign he was embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes before she has a chance to think about what for, "I shouldn't have called you that…like that."

Vic laughs a little, because it's funny; it's funny how he was all of the sudden embarrassed in front of her when he has never been before, not like that, and it was funny because she kind of liked that he was embarrassed, because it meant that he stood to have something to lose, and it was also funny, or not so, that she kind of, really, liked that he did that. Baby.

She knows she won't have to grow to like it because she already does, wishes that he'd call her that again, at least one more time before they go back inside. Inside, where the party goes on without them, nobody wondering where they've gotten to. She hopes. She wants to stay out here forever, with him holding her hands, calling her baby, like this. It's heaven. It's heaven if she believed in it.

Their kiss is achingly familiar and different all at once, like somehow, in another life, past, future, present, and every life in between, in all of her lives she's meant to be kissing this one pair of lips. She can't explain it. But it's different too, different in the way he grabs her hips, pulls her in tight and presses their mouths harder together, like he knows what he's doing; it's different than Lucas had kissed her once upon a time, different than Theo, and all the other ones that came before.

She can't compare them, she won't, and all she'll say is that it's different, but the best, damn kind of different.

She breaks away from the kiss, steps back from him in hopes that they'll do it again, right now, and when he leans in she nearly squeals in anticipation of the feeling. A feeling she's already dreaming about even as she feels it, wide awake and already longing in preparation for when the moment comes, and he stops kissing her again.

He does. But not quickly. It lasts longer than she expected it too, and he touched her face now, cradled her cheeks in his hands like they were there for him, and only him to marvel and she finds herself hoping and praying that he'll pay the same rapt attention to the rest of her body. Vic has no earthly idea where these thoughts have come from, but she accepts them readily and without erring on the side of caution.

Caution came later. Caution came after the wedding was over, their – whatever they were now still the best kept secret in Seattle, but she did go home with him. She had no choice (well, she did, she could have went home alone, but her body was telling her no, no, baby, you have no choice) and so because of Pru, his sweet little baby girl whom Vic loved more than anything, the houseboat it was.

Caution came when Pru was fast asleep again in the other room; when she ended up in Dean's bedroom and he never turned on the lights and she could see his outline in the shadows on the wall; when she could hear his breathing, deep and shallow, and her own breathing was the same, ready for something, electrically charged; when he stepped towards her; when she stepped towards him, twice as fast; when their lips met, and he pushed her down onto the bed, or she fell onto it, she couldn't remember, but it happened and they didn't stop there, not yet; she let him use his hands and she used hers, both of them dragging their palms, their fingers across places where clothes covered and places where they didn't; it's when his mouth was against her neck and his hands were bracing her thighs that caution, before just a blip on her radar, reared it's ugly, red, head.

Vic wasn't blameless, far from it, touching him as much as he was touching her, her hands clutching his biceps, marveling at them as much as it was for some sort of support, her own mouth on his neck, too. It felt hot, and nice, nice, and hot and kind of sexy and also…weird. But not weird. A good weird. Maybe.

But still, something was telling her to stop. So, she listens. But she'll only listen for so long. She'd been chasing a high that she'd already caught so it was more than that, but she still didn't feel like she had to work too hard. Everything about them feels easy. Effortless. So why does she need to stop?

"I'm afraid this feels too good."

That's all that comes out and she should be embarrassed, probably, because it sounds so stupid, like she's fourteen and is afraid that sex and masturbation, exploring her own sexuality, would condemn her to hell. Not that she ever thought that…all the time. Her parents – well, they influenced her more than she would have liked them to, but she didn't hold any of it against them. Until this moment. She might, now. So, so, stupid.

She feels stupid when Dean raises his eyebrows, and he purses his lips in a way that she can't quite decipher as something good or bad but then he smiles, and she watches it get bigger and then the weight of her embarrassment feels less heavy on her chest as it goes away. She really loves his smile but is it too soon to say it's her favorite thing about him now; it was before, but now that she might have a chance to learn new, intimate things about him, intimate in the way of things a girlfriend might know, and not just a friend, she might have to revaluate.

Unless…well, unless this doesn't go anywhere, unless he takes it all back. She isn't going to lie, if he does that now, it will hurt. It will hurt a lot more than she'd foreseen it hurting. Except…did she really foresee any of this coming, tonight? Or ever?

The answer was no, but she wouldn't take it back. Given the chance, she'd keep it forever.

"You're afraid? Of…me kissing you?" He takes her chin delicately in his hand. Delicately. Yeah, like she's something that he needs to be careful with. It's new, he would never have been careful before, but she can't say that she doesn't like it. "Victoria…you – you're crazy. How can something feel too good?"

"Call me that again," she whispers against his lips, forgetting entirely what the question was that he'd asked her, or what she'd even said to prompt any question at all. She was suddenly very focused on how exactly he said her name. She was neutral about her name before, it felt a little too girly for her taste, but now she, quite honestly, can't get enough of it. "Victoria."

It doesn't sound the same coming out of her mouth but if her saying it gets her name to come from between his lips again, in the way that makes her insides knot and makes her heart slam into her throat, which sounds insanely uncomfortable but is only something she manages to describe as the complete opposite of that, then she'll take it. She'll say it as many times as she has to.

Dean chuckles but he doesn't kiss her back right away. Instead he reserves an inch of space between their lips. "Victoria, hm? What happened to Vic?"

"Don't know her," Vic says back almost immediately, and without even thinking. She knows right away that if anyone else were to call her one instead of the other, and switch, she would probably hit them. Victoria is for Dean and for Dean only. As of right now.

He closes the gap between them again and things start to heat up, even more so when he decides to moan her name, Victoria, fucking Victoria, into her ear and it's not like he had to think about it this time and she nearly melts against him and sinks into the bed all at once. But then came caution. Her old friend, who can make themselves scarce thank you very much. She wants to have sex already. It's time.

But even so, she stops. Her old friend is too loud, won't let up. She's topless now, braless too, and so she's fully exposed to him from the chest up and when that happened he sucked in a breath that was so earth shatteringly satisfying she was ready for him right then and there. He told her that she was absolutely gorgeous and that there's not enough words to explain how lucky I feel, right now, as he carefully put his hands on her, exploring for his own personal gain as well as hers with each moan and sigh that slipped out of her mouth.

It's like she remembers that she's technically not wearing anything else but her underwear, given that she was in a dress earlier tonight, and it felt wrong that he was only shirtless, granted she had been reaching for his belt buckle when her brain began to scream at her. She wasn't gentle about it Vic thinks not at all. And Vic's downright pissed off. There is a very, very sexy, handsome man waiting for her in his bed, and right now suddenly all she can do is stare at him. Right. Yeah, that makes total sense. Ugh.

"What now, baby?" he asks her, his voice a little husky, his pupils maybe slightly dilated, but the dim light of the lamp was playing tricks on her.

She has this feeling he may not have called her baby like that if he wasn't momentarily one-track minded and she kind of likes that he is because it means she truly is wanted, like that, in a sexual way, by him, and it's not just her, and can he please call her baby again?

"Nothing," she smiles gently at him, kisses him lightly, but even as soft as her kiss was, she still felt a spark, a spark that went all the way down to her toes and back up into her head, making her feel like the world was upside down. Just for a second. "Kiss me again. And don't ever stop."

They were both naked now. Naked-naked. Like can't-take-anything-back naked. And it wasn't her who stopped things this time. She could have chosen to be offended, but she didn't, because she wasn't. He wasn't stopping for that reason; he had already looked at her, ogled her, really, in a way that she swore to herself she would always hate, for a long time before now, but it's funny because she'll never hate anything that he does, not ever. That includes ogling. Especially at her.

His hands drift from her sides to her waist, to her hips and then they gently touch her ass, and she gasps but she hadn't really meant to. She hopes he doesn't take that the wrong way.

"Is this okay?" he whispers into her hair, but then pulls back to look at her face, their stares leveling, unbroken.

She feels him there, but not, like, in between her legs, or anywhere really concrete, but she just feels him in a way that's like, she knows that he's there. And just the knowledge of that, that she can reach down and probably touch him with her hand is almost euphoric. And frightening. In the best way.

"Yes. It's definitely okay. It's more than okay, Dean. I promise."

She watches as he looks in between them, then to her and back to him, their bodies, unsure where to go from here. Usually, for her, sex could go either way. She wasn't a here nor there type of person; top or bottom, didn't bother her, she didn't have a preference, aside from what her mood was at the moment and in this moment she wanted him in control. Desperately. It was hot when he took control, sexy if she's going there, in job-related situations as well as like, life-situations and so she assumes that…sex-situations it'll be the same. And she doesn't trust herself right now not to ruin this whole thing. He needs to take the reigns.

Somehow, he seems to understand because he grips her ass tighter and rolls them over so that she's back to the mattress and he's holding himself above her and she really likes this view she's getting of him now. Likes it very much indeed. She shows her approval by kissing him long and deep, slow, but not too slow, and it kind of amazes her how quickly they've gotten a rhythm down.

"Hey, Hughie?" he whispers softly as they break away from each other, and he's looking at her in a way that says he's serious and means business.

She's seen this look a few times, mostly when he really needs her to listen to him, to what he's saying, but now it's far deeper than that. Isn't it? It is, but somehow, she knows that what they're about to do and what they've confessed tonight, it won't change anything as much as it will change everything. Vic just knows that her and Dean are going to be those people, the kind of couple, that stay best friends amongst everything else, because that's what they were to each other first, and that's what they always will be.

She's comforted by that. She believes one-hundred percent now that she's making the right choice (she laughs to herself in her head – as if she had a choice, loving Dean, falling in love with him, it wasn't ever going to be a choice in the end, and she sees that now).

"Yeah?"

Dean clears his throat. She can feel the rumble of his chest against her palm. "Remember what I said to you…when that tiger got into the station? We were hugging?"

Of course she remembered that day. The adrenaline bouncing off of them in waves, their breathing a bit heavier than normal, their bodies warm, coming down from the fight-or-flight response. But it was more than that.

In his arms like that, she felt safe, protected, and she knew that just for one second, maybe two or three, he genuinely was afraid he might lose her, just like she was afraid she might die, and something shifted then. It wasn't that stupid, dumb, cliché of like you almost died, and I realized I can't live without you/I almost died, and I think I might love you no, not that. It was a gradual sort of thing, but she could say one thing. It started there.

"You told me that you've got me. Do you…do you have me now?"

He locked eyes with her again, not letting her gaze move. "I've got you. I will always have you, Victoria Hughes. Okay? If you'll let me, I'll have you, and I'll never let you go."

She nods slowly. Blinks. Leans over and arches her back to kiss him, but as their lips touch, she feels him against her stomach and moans. If she wasn't ready for him before, holy hell she is now.

His moan comes on the heel of hers and she thinks that hearing her triggers pleasure within him and that makes her moan again because the feeling of being desired is enough.

She shut her eyes to either block out the feeling or focus intently on it, depending on how much she could handle as she felt him line up with her. This was about to happen. Holy shit. It feels like it was so fast, in one night, they ended up here, but in other ways it feels like she's been waiting for this a long time. She knows that he feels the same, she can't imagine him feeling any different based on what he said to her at the wedding tonight. The way he kissed her.

"Are you ready?" His voice was by her ear now. Inside it. "Because we don't have to do this…if you don't…if you're not ready. We can take a step back. That's okay, too."

He was waiting for her to answer, to open her eyes and look at him. She nods. "I'm ready." Her eyes are on him again, waiting, wanting. "If you're ready…and it's a green light for both of us, I want this. And I want you. Every part of you."

He doesn't blink. She doesn't either. He presses his lips together, reaches up and pushes her hair behind her ears. A few stray curls that fell into her face. "I love you. I'm so in love with you, Victoria Hughes."

She smiles softly at him, innocently, not wanting to ruin the quite moment they've created in this bed, until they'll both inevitably ruin it together, and it's hopefully the best sex she's ever had. Not that there's any expectations going into it. She won't do that to him, to either of them, even though she's quite confident he'll surpass her non-expectations by a few thousand miles. "I'm in love with you too, Dean Miller."

Those were the last words either of them spoke until it was over. From the moment it began it was everything she had pictured it to be and so much more. Feeling him inside of her like that was…it was…she can't even put it into adequate words (well, she could, but it would be crass and anyone who hears it would wish they never did) but mostly it felt like he belonged there, and he was finally right where he was supposed to be because he somehow knew everything that she liked and everything that she didn't like, and she'd never told him anything. At all. Right after it was over she wanted to do it again.

But they marinated in it for awhile, in that post-orgasm bliss punctuated by the newly-admitted-feelings bliss (if that's even a thing) and everything was perfect. And then they did do it again, and the second time was even better than the first, but their first time would always be special and unique to itself. No other time would ever match it. It was unmatched and she was proud of that, and Vic could sense that he was, too.

He laughed softly after they were done, and their breathing had went back to normal. She turns to her side to face him but he's still staring at the ceiling, looking fulfilled and was that surprise? Hm. (Honestly, she was surprised too. A thousand miles? He'd surpassed her expectations by an infinite amount of miles, but she probably wouldn't tell him that. It would imply she may have had expectations in the first place. It was best to keep things like that to herself. At least for now).

He turns to his right side, facing her. Pushes her hair out of the way. Kisses her forehead. "So, we're going to make a habit of doing that, right?"

She laughs too, though it's more of a chuckle. "Definitely."

He nods, a smile on his face. "Good."

She smiles too. It cracks her face wide open. "Yeah, good."