Wake Up Make Up
A/N: Because Dean and this character aren't in a relationship, I've decided to use a different OC. Sorry, Hana!
Warnings: Swearing, implied sexy times, accusations/fighting
Tiff's POV
"Tiff? Tiff, sweetheart, time to wake up."
Groaning, I pulled my covers over my head in protest. "Nome. It's not. It's time to sleep," I mumbled out, barely comprehendible, as my face was buried in the pillows. Hands pulled at my sides, and I fought feebly against them. Dean sighed heavily.
Exasperated, he finally gave up when he realized that I wasn't giving away my warm and comfy abode that easy. "I'm serious. You need to get your lazy ass out of bed already. I'm bored and it's almost noon," he almost whined, hands retreating.
My muffled grumping was the only answer he got. I had meant to say something along the lines of, "Leave me alone, unless you have something better to offer than this bed." but it came out as more, "Lea' meh 'lone, unleff 'ou 'ave somefing bettah to offah." And then I decided to just keep it at that, because I didn't trust myself with any other words without screwing them up just as bad.
The bed dipped slightly beside me, but I didn't bother telling him to get the hell off. My hand went flying haphazardly and collided lightly and unfortunately harmlessly against what I think was Dean's bicep. He snorted at my pathetic attempt at warding him away. "Tiff, c'mon, you're being ridiculous. Get up before I make you!" It was probably supposed to be a threat, but I didn't see any reason that the very attractive Dean Winchester carrying me everywhere would be a particularly bad thing.
Nevertheless, staying tucked in my covers is a lot more attractive than Dean at the moment. Making a disgruntled sound, I grabbed the pillow from beside me and put it over my head, hoping that he would get the message that I wouldn't get up if the Bunker were on fire.
A huff filled the room, and the weight disappeared from the end of the bed. My body sagged into the mattress in relief. "Whatever," he scoffed, and I probably should've paid more attention to the smirk creeping into his tone, but I was way too tired. "I guess hard way it is."
A whoosh of air hit my bare legs as they were exposed to the unforgiving cold. It had only just registered in my mind that he had ripped the covers off of me-the bastard-when the sound of them dropping to the floor hit my ears. Turning my head to chastise him for taking away my beautiful escape, I blinked away the blurriness in my vision. The words died in my throat as I realized that he had just stopped. I couldn't quite make out his face, but I knew that the smirk wasn't there anymore.
"What?!" I finally snapped when Dean's silhouette hadn't moved for a while and he hadn't said anything. Was five minutes a new record for him? Honestly, I would be surprised if it weren't. And that was the exact moment I realized why he hadn't said a single word.
Last night, it was hot and stuffy as hell in my bedroom, but I really liked the feel of fabric on my newly shaved legs. So instead of suffering through my pants, I had-
My face went white.
Shit, I'm clad in only my lacy underwear and Dean Winchester is staring at me. In different circumstances, maybe, I would've made a move. But I was so goddamn embarrassed that the first words out of my mouth were kind of a strangled gasp of, "Get out!"
He was quick to listen and obey, closing the door behind him.
Oh, God, I can never leave my room again. That was way too damn embarrassing. Dean's going to harass me about it for the next six months at the very least.
Resigned to never letting either of the boys see me ever again, I shoved on sweatpants and a flannel that one of the boys had outgrown. Grabbing the remote to my TV (yes, it was bought with money from hustling, so sue me), I turned on Netflix, scrolling through all of the shows with bored eyes. Seriously, would it kill them to put a good show on here every once in a while?
As I rewatched Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt for the umpteenth time, all I could think about was how much I wanted ice cream. The blush rose on my cheeks again as I remembered the last time I had watched the series. It had been with Dean, actually. In the black hole between a wendigo case and demon sighting, I had pulled him into my room, demanding that he never look away from the television. I can still remember his exact expression, and his muscular arm slowly encircling my waist and pulling me into his side, and his scent. God, his scent.
Okay, I am going to need that ice cream to cool me down.
Sighing, I paused the show and stood, stretching my arms above my head. As I caught my own eyes in the mirror, I snorted. I remind myself of a cat. Sleep, eat, laze around, sleep some more, stretch like you're about to do a marathon, and then eat some more.
Please, the only marathon I'm going to be doing is a movie marathon.
I was mulling over the movies on Netflix and trying to arrange a schedule in my head when I froze in the kitchen doorway.
This is exactly why I had been on room lockdown. God, ice cream made me into such an idiot!
Hoping that he didn't see me, I turned on my heel and started back toward my room. I didn't make it half a step before his hand was around my elbow, making me flinch. Great, now I've been caught.
Next step: Time to move out.
"Hey," he greeted, flashing a little smile, and I knew that it was coming. That taunting, the jokes, the innuendos. The rest of my life is going to be a living hell. I think I should skip straight to moving out of the country. France sounds awesome. I've always wanted to go. But my police record would be a big no-no. His gravelly voice jolted me out of my thoughts. "I'm... um... I'm sorry about earlier. I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Is he... Is he blushing? No, he couldn't be.
Because he's Dean freaking Winchester and he has no reason to be bashful. He's been in more girl's pants than I had, which was concerning since he was a dude and I was a chick. In two completely different ways, but still.
I forced a smile that probably looked a little more like a grimace onto my face. "It's okay. If I had remembered, this morning would've gone way differently," I assured, so wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me.
Dean quirked an eyebrow, and my mind was immediately racing for what I had let slip. "'Differently' how?" he asked, his eyebrows now wiggling suggestively. I hit his arm with a laugh. God, was anything ever gonna be the same? All I could think about even in this simple interaction was that morning, and I had barely been here for thirty seconds.
Not answering his question, I jumped into another topic, trying to distract him from making one of his idiotic (yet admittedly witty) jokes. "What're you up to?" I said, a bit too quickly to be casual, but he let it slip. Thank the Lord.
He crossed over to the kitchen counter as he responded, and I would've run back to my room had my feet not been planted to the floor. I couldn't make my legs work. "I was working on Baby." Of course he was. Baby meant everything to him. Dean grabbed a red towel from the sink and rubbed the grease from the nooks and crannies of his rough hands. "Is that my flannel?"
And, like the complete imbecile that I was, I looked down at it, bewildered. I knew that Dean saw it even before I heard his light laughter.
Why do my legs fail me now?
"I guess so," I finally murmured, playing with the hem of it nervously as Dean laughed away. "You can have it back, if you want. I don't think it fits anymore, though."
I caught it before Dean did. Perfect opportunity for him to throw in his two cents, of course.
Of freaking course.
The smug smirk on his face made me want to either lock myself in my room for the rest of eternity or for a black hole to suddenly appear in my pocket. I hadn't decided yet. "Oh, I'll take it back, sweetheart. It'll be on my floor, along with the rest of your clothes." He finished it with a wink that had me stuttering even in my thoughts.
Is he... Is he flirting with me?
No. No way. Dean would never do that. He wants to keep it professional. Just friends, hunting buddies.
Don't be an idiot. That's Sam, not Dean. Dean would definitely do something like this.
So, wait. Did that mean he was flirting with me because he actually liked me, or to mess with my head? Or was it just a habit that he couldn't turn off?
His eyes were fixed on the floor by his feet when I was finally able to shake the thoughts off. "I was... uh... just kidding. You can keep the flannel. You wear it better anyway," he chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But those lace panties, sweetheart. Those would complete the look. I don't even care if you keep them on."
Jesus holy mother of God.
He is definitely intentionally flirting. The only question going through my mind now is 'what the hell do I do?', and it was circling through my head a million miles per hour. I'm sure that I was sporting a deer in headlights look, but my brain was too busy puzzling over that one question.
A forced laugh met my ears, jolting me out of my trance. Dean pushed himself away from the counter, tossing the red towel over his shoulder and into the sink. "I get the message, sweetheart, don't worry. You don't have to say anything. I'm just gonna, um, go." He was out of the room before the words had even fully struck home.
No way. Dean would never like me. I wasn't his type. But then why had he dashed out with his head down and tail between his legs like a sixth grader who had been rejected by his crush?
I figured that there was only one person who knew Dean better than I did, and thankfully, he was right down the hall. He answered on the second knock, hair ruffled as if he had been sleeping. I instantly felt bad about waking him up, because he needs all the sleep he needs, but I couldn't undo it.
A smile eased onto my face. "Hey, Sam. Sorry to wake you."
The giant returned it groggily. "No problem. I wasn't sleeping very well anyway." It was only then that I really looked at him, noticing the sweat along his forehead and circles under his eyes.
I am a terrible friend.
"I need to talk to you," I whispered, in case Dean had decided to run in and grab something from his room or was listening. Sam furrowed his eyebrows, but beckoned me into his room nevertheless. Before the door was even fully closed, the question that had been bouncing around my head so insistently that it almost hurt flew out. "Does Dean like me?"
Sam closed the door and leveled his eyes with mine. They lit up after a moment, and he reached forward to ruffle my hair. I immediately ducked out of the way, trying to fix my hair and failing miserably. So, I was pretty shocked when Sam spoke up. "Thank God you finally figured it out. I was seriously about to hire a cupid. I'm happy for you. Now get out, I want some sleep. Please. I'd love to help you ask him out, or whatever, but these trials are kicking my ass."
Giving him an understanding smile, even though a million more questions were attacking my mind, I headed out. Just before the door closed fully, I heard him murmur, "See you later, small fry."
Grin now just about splitting my face in two, I went in search of Dean. I didn't have to look far. He was in the library, holding an ice pack to his head and nursing a beer. I could tell that something was off by the set of his shoulders. He was keeping something in, again. Not that surprising, but I couldn't think of what it was this time.
Focusing on the task at hand, I crossed the room to him with a skip in my step. "Hiya," I chirped happily.
The only response I got was a fierce glare. My heartbeat accelerated. Why is Dean so freaking bipolar today? "Something you want to tell me?" he pressed coolly. A shiver ran the length of my spine.
He knew. So why was he so angry about it? According to Sam, Dean liked me back. But by the look on his face, he looked like he didn't want to be on the same continent as me. My confidence shriveled. "Not now," I responded, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded in those little words.
The chair beneath Dean toppled to the floor as he stood, getting up in my face as I flinched away. "Oh yeah? You don't want to confess fucking with my feelings, huh? Or how about using Sam for your own pleasure when he's at his lowest?! What kind of messed up fuck are you?" Dean roared as confusion swirled in my mind.
What is he on about?
Everything clicked into place when I thought it through a bit more. Dean must've come in to get his beer and ice pack while I was in Sam's room. He wasn't around when I went in, I know that for sure. So maybe he saw me come out? But then why had he jumped to the conclusion that I had used Sam for sex? My brain made itself useful by throwing out the memory of Sam ruffling my hair, and how the flannel was off my shoulder because of his playful behavior.
Dean's shoulders were still shaking with rage by the time I was able to string together a response. But my planned words didn't come out of my mouth. Instead, my body lurched forward and my mouth clashed to Dean's. It was clumsy, and unexperienced, and so wonderfully candid. He was kissing back before I knew that I had just smashed my lips to the ones I'd spent so much time fantasizing about.
I explained it to him later, as we were watching Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt after some truly mindblowing sex. We laughed together at how blind we had been, how Dean had originally come in from the garage because he had whacked his head on Baby's hood really hard, and how Sam had called me Small Fry and kicked me out of his room because his sleep was more important than my relationship status.
"I really hope you know that I really liked those lace underwear. And you're buying new ones for me, you lazy slug." Dean threw his head back in laughter once again at my lame insult.
"Nah, you love me too much. Besides, you might forget if I never let you leave this room again." The blush rising to the occasion was necessary, of course.
But the banging at the door most certainly was not. "Guys, throw some clothes on. I found a case."
Dean groaned at his brother's voice and buried his face in my collarbone. "Seriously? C'mon, man," he whined.
"I really love you, you know," I whispered down at him, a bit surprised that the words had popped out.
Dean smiled back at me. "I love you, too, sweetheart. Always have, always will. But I will love you a lot more if your underwear drawer is completely made up of lace."
That one earned him a smack, alright.