A/N: *whistlesinnocently* Wanna know a secret? This wasn't part of the original plan...but then I decided to go a slightly different direction, it just seemed...I dunno...right. Besides, what kind of birthday fic would this be if it didn't include a little bit of smut? I mean, really...especially considering all the trouble Dean has been getting himself into...

Steph and I have debated an 'I love you' in this kind of scenario. I said it couldn't be done. But she made it work, much to my surprise and delight in her Confession. I'm not even gonna attempt to pull it off because nobody could do it the way she did...check it out and show her some love, I guarantee you won't be disappointed!

stephaniew - Thanks for coming along for the ride and taking the time to help me work things through. You are a treasure and I am incredibly blessed to have you as a friend.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Burning Down the House

The scent of smoke catches her nose before she sees the black cloud drifting down the hall. Jo Harvelle is on her feet in an instant, rushing in the direction of the source. But this isn't a demon. Dean isn't tangoing with some ferocious spirit.

Nope. He's standing in front of the oven, cursing up a blue streak with one of Ellen's ruffled aprons tied around his waist as he stares at the charred carcass of what she can only assume used to be a chicken in her grandmother's old dutch oven.

"Need some help there, Dean-O?" she laughs.

"Not funny," he retorts as the smoke alarm begins to blare.

Jo shakes her head and throws open the kitchen window, getting the situation under control. "Take that outside and turn on the fan, would ya? I'm gonna stop the racket..."

Dragging a chair into the hall, she does just that. In seconds, she's stopped the shrieking of the detector and started fanning away the smoke. She turns off the oven and starts in on the mess he's created.

Dean's arms snake around her waist and for a moment she stiffens in surprise. His lips find her neck and he makes his way up to her ear. "I love it when you take control," he hums quietly.

She turns in his arms and he pins her to the counter, taking her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss. His tongue darts against hers and she reaches down to tug on the apron ties, dragging him closer.

Pulling back, he looks into her eyes. The look he sends her is naked and vulnerable. She takes a deep breath and holds it while nibbling her kiss-swollen lower lip. Could this be it?

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he tells her, his forehead dropping to lean against hers.

"So, we'll order pizza and pop in Zeppelin VI," she teases with a smile. She tilts his chin up. "Least you didn't burn down the Roadhouse."

Dean pushes away and moves to stand at the kitchen table with his back to her. "It was supposed to be perfect," he complains. "Instead, you're putting out fires and cleaning up after me..."

"Whoa!" Jo giggles. "Stop the presses, I believe the great Dean Winchester is having a chick-flick moment!"

"Jo," he says, tilting his head to the side.

He thinks Sam is the one with the puppy expressions, but not tonight. Tonight he's the one that looks lost and it pulls at her heart. She approaches him, eyes twinkling as she wiggles her eyebrows. "I got a fire you can put out, Winchester..."

"Do you?" he asks, brows shooting upwards.

"Mmm hmm," she hushes in a kiss. "It's gonna take quite a hose..." she breathes against his mouth, her hands sliding up his thighs.

She laughs throatily when he scoops her up in a fireman's carry and heads for the stairs. She's still chuckling when he dumps her in the center of the bed. The sound dies on her lips when he reaches to switch on the bedside lamp.

Then he's over her. They're all hands and lips and tongues. Clothing is peeled away. Skin burns against skin. This really wasn't how things were supposed to go, he acknowledges guiltily to himself. Well, this was where I hoped it would go. But not until after...

"Jo," he coos against her throat, "Baby, I..."

"Dean..." she whimpers, clinging to him. Her mouth moves over his pulse point.

I love you, he thinks. But the words won't fall from his lips. I love you. He wants to scream it, but he can't. He knows he can't say it in bed. Not for the first time. Knows that he's blown his chance for the night. Knows that all he can do is hope to show her how he feels.

He takes her slowly. The intensity of all the new emotions is weighty. He feels things he's never felt before, but finds he's not afraid. Not with her. Not with Jo.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He says it with his eyes, staring down into hers. He says it with his touch, his fingers gliding tenderly across her skin. He says it with the way he kisses her and pushes her toward release.

He chants the words over and over in his head. Wishing he could say them. Wishing now were the time. Wishing...hoping...he'll have the courage to say them in the light of day.