I was so glad we didn't get too drunk. I was also glad Sam showed up with food for him and Dean. I was glad for the excuse to leave, and the chance to escape whatever was happening in that hotel room. I had learned far too much while drinking with Dean. I learned that buzzed Dean only came in two flavors, Mad with a hint of broody and goofy with a heavy dose of frisky. I already knew that the only results of me being buzzed where icky, snotty tears mixed with a hit of belligerence or flirty over friendliness, so the night could have ended poorly without the interruption. As we loosened up, the weird tension between us took a back burner, and we actually had some fun. Dean learned I was ticklish, I learned that he's a better wrestler than I am. The awkward distance between us had begun to melt away, filled instead with idle touches.

As long as it had been since I'd enjoyed male company in a romantic sense, in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn't want it to be because we were drunk. When Sam arrived, I walked with Ninja back to my room. I realized I was still wearing Dean's leather jacket. I took advantage of the moment alone to indulge in the smell of him. It was leather and whiskey, and oh so distinctly male. I tossed it on the arm chair by the door and hurried to the shower to wash the smell of him off of me before it drove me nuts. By the time I felt like I had washed his influence from my body, I was so exhausted it was all I could do to slip into a pair of panties and a t shirt before sliding into bed.

I don't know how long I slept, but I was woken at least a couple of hours later by a clicking, scratching noise and Ninja whining. I prayed he held himself back from the assailant long enough for me to get a shot off as I reached for the gun on the bedside table, turning off the safety and cocking it as the door opened and shut quietly.

Ninja was oddly silent. I started to panic, all of my strength going in to controlling my breathing so the intruder wouldn't realize I was aware of them. As I felt the bed dip, I rolled with the weight, my breath shaky as I pressed my gun against the stranger's jaw. My eyes widened.

"Dean?" I lowered the gun, sliding on the safety. "Are you drunk?" I hissed.

"Nope." He lied.

He was intoxicated and intoxicating. He smelled like a heady mix of soap and whisky. I could feel the warmth of him overwhelming me as an arm snaked around me, his hand sliding up my shirt to rest on my ribs, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake. I was very aware of how little I was wearing.

I rolled to face him. "What are you doing here?" I was painfully aware of his hand, now resting on my stomach.

"I was bored. Sammy's asleep."

"So you walked to my room, broke in, and got me out of bed?"

"I didn't get you out of bed. I got IN your bed."

"No shit, Sherlock…" I muttered under my breath.

"Hmmm?" Dean appeared to be falling asleep.

"Nothing." I tried to get up. He tightened his hold on me, pulling me closer. "Hmmm…." I felt the satisfied noise rumble through me, and a pleasant chill crept up my spine.

"Dean, I don't know what you are trying to do here, but I'm not some hit it and quit it-"

I couldn't continue. Dean was kissing me softly, his lips warm and velvety against mine. He didn't push, or explore. I froze in shock before my body betrayed me, tentatively returning the kiss. "You talk too much." I felt the heat of the kiss, chaste though it was, echoing all the way in to my core. As I lay there, still rigid with shock, he began to run his fingers through my hair, then up and down my back. I had been so scared. Scared of enjoying it, scared he'd want more, and scared of what came next. Despite all this, it felt so nice to be close to someone, especially him. Slowly I relaxed, falling asleep feeling sheltered, protected from the pain of my past for one glorious night.

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