Nestled among the trees in a secluded area just outside of Lawrence, Kansas, Sam and Eileen's home is a picturesque blend of modern design with rustic touches. The two-story house, built of red cedar and stone, gives off a warm and welcoming vibe, embodying both Sam's past and Eileen's practical aesthetics.
The Leahy-Winchester household was buzzing with excitement, and why not?! It was Eileen's birthday party, but not everyone was in high spirits. Dean and Deira had arrived, tension between them. From the moment they walked in, Sam's observant eyes picked up on the strained atmosphere.
"What'd you do?" Sam whispered to Dean, nodding subtly in Deira's direction.
Dean, his eyes never leaving Deira's retreating figure, merely gave a sad smile. "Long story, Sammy."
Deira, wanting to escape the tension, offered Sam her assistance. "Need any help with the party prep, Sam?"
With a gentle smile, Sam responded, "No worries, Deira. It's all catered. Just enjoy the evening." But he knew that under her calm façade, Deira was still fuming.
Outside on the patio, Deira found solace, albeit short. She watched their two sons, Robert Luke and Wayne Charles, play with the other children. Their laughter was soothing to her, but her heart was still heavy.
As the cool night air brushed past her, Deira was all too aware of the empty seat beside her. She and Dean had an argument just hours before the party, and the unresolved tension between them was obvious.
Suddenly, the seat was taken. Dean sat beside Deira, not meeting her eyes, but following her gaze to where Robert Luke and Wayne Charles played. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, the love for his boys evident.
"You remember the night Wayne Charles was conceived?" Dean's voice was soft, a touch hesitant.
Deira blinked, the memory flooding back.
Flashback:
The diner had begun to empty out, the evening crowd giving way to the late-night stragglers. The dim lighting paired with the low hum of the jukebox created an intimate atmosphere, almost as if Dean and Deira were in their own private world.
Earlier that day, Dean and Deira made a bet, translating an ancient-looking manuscript.
Dean turned to Deira, his competitive streak shining through. "Bet you can't translate that."
Deira, always up for a challenge, shot him a confident smirk. "Care to wager on that?"
Dean's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Alright. If you translate it correctly, I'll do whatever you say. But if you're wrong... remember that vibrating device from earlier?"
Deira's eyes widened, but she was never one to back down from a bet. "Deal."
After closely examining the manuscript for a few minutes, Deira began her translation, her voice filled with confidence. But as she reached the end, Dean's triumphant chuckle told her all she needed to know.
"Seems like you missed a bit there," Dean said, pointing to a specific symbol she had misunderstood. "Looks like you owe me."
Deira sighed dramatically, trying to hide her nervous excitement. "Fine, hand it over."
The toy added an unexpected layer of tension and excitement. Every so often, Dean would activate it, just long enough to elicit a surprised gasp from Deira before turning it off again. In her mind, "he'll get sick of it. There's no way..." But he didn't let her off the hook.
Without warning, Dean activated the toy once more. The sudden intensity took Deira by surprise. Her pen slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table. Her breath hitched, and her eyes locked onto Dean's. There was a challenge in his gaze, daring her to react.
But this time, the sensation was too much for Deira to ignore. She let out a soft moan, her hands gripping the edge of the table. Every vibration sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
Her reactions were driving Dean wild. There was something incredibly enticing about seeing Deira, always so composed and strong-willed, coming undone because of him. A faint flush crept up his neck, giving away his aroused state. As he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbed visibly. Every breath he took seemed more pronounced, chest heaving just a tad more than usual.
After a few more moments, which felt like an eternity, Dean finally switched off the device. Deira let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, her entire body tingling from the aftereffects. Both sat in silence, trying to catch their breaths.
Deira sat up first. She leaned across the table, her lips grazing Dean's ear. "Your turn next. And trust me, you won't know what hit you."
Back at the bunker, their clothes quickly found their way to the floor, discarded, their fiery desire to be close to each other. Dean and Deira surrendered, their bodies twisted, their love and passion igniting like a flame.
End of Flashback
Back on the patio, both Dean and Deira stared at each other with lust in their eyes. Deira panting as their past memories washed over her. Both hearts racing. Dean spoke first. "You know, Deira, I never meant for things to go the way they did tonight. I'm sorry."
Deira took a deep breath, letting the past seep into the present, softening her anger. "I know, Dean. We always seem to find our way back to each other, don't we?"
Dean turned, looking into her eyes. "Always," he whispered. Leaning in slowly, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Deira," before pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was tender, apologetic, and filled with a depth of emotion that words could never capture.
Deira, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness, found her defenses crumbling. The weight of their shared history, combined with Dean's genuine remorse, made it impossible for her to hold onto her anger.
As Dean pulled away from the kiss, the intensity of the moment still lingering between them, his hand slipped into his back pocket, retrieving a small velvet box. He opened the box slowly, revealing what was inside. A sly smile marred his handsome face.
"You've got to be kidding me, Dean! Again?!" She laughed, a combination of disbelief and delight.
Dean smirked, "It worked wonders the first time, didn't it?"
Deira glanced at him, her face flushed from the rush. "You're impossible," she remarked, but her tone was playful, almost affectionate.
As Dean and Deira exchanged glances, hunger for each other, even as the sound of the party buzzed around them. Without breaking the gaze, Dean's voice dropped to a deep, authoritative tone that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Deira," he commanded, his voice rough with emotion, "go get the car."
Dean, with a hurried stride, approached Sam, who was in the midst of a conversation with Eileen. The urgency in Dean's eyes immediately caught Sam's attention, making him pause.
"Sammy," Dean started, a hint of mischief in his voice, "I need you to do me a solid."
Raising an eyebrow, Sam responded, "What's going on?"
Dean nodded toward Robert Luke and Wayne Charles, who were playing with the other kids in the yard. "Watch the boys for a bit? Deira and I…uh, we need to sort something out."
Sam smirked, catching the not-so-subtle hint. "Seriously, Dean? Right now?"
Dean shifted on his feet, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, it's… Look, it's important, okay? And it won't take long."
Eileen, trying to suppress a chuckle, added, "Don't worry, Dean. We've got the boys. Just… try not to be too long."
Sam grinned, "Yeah, what she said."
Rolling his eyes, Dean shot back, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys."
"Well..." Sam teased, winking.
Dean chuckled, "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Sammy. We owe you one."
And with that, Dean hurriedly made his way back to Deira, ready to sort out whatever urgent matter awaited them. Sam and Eileen exchanged amused glances, shaking their heads with fond exasperation.
