Ask Me Anything

Behind him, Dean and Natalie sat in companionable silence, their hands still loosely linked across the table. The house had settled into its nighttime rhythms. Pipes creaked softly in the walls. Bobby's television murmured faintly from behind his bedroom door before finally clicking off.

Dean glanced toward the hallway. Then at Natalie. He tipped his head slightly toward the stairs. The gesture was so small Sam almost missed it.

Natalie didn't. She looked at him for a second, understanding dawning instantly, then nodded.

Dean rose first.

Sam kept his eyes firmly on the sink. Didn't see a thing. Didn't hear a thing. Would absolutely deny all knowledge later.

"Night, Sammy," Dean said casually.

Sam snorted. "Sure."

Dean shot him a look.

Sam kept scrubbing.

Natalie bit back a smile as she stood. "Good night, Sam."

"Night."

He still didn't turn around. He heard their footsteps retreat instead, crossing the living room and climbing the narrow staircase to the second floor.

Only when the bedroom door closed softly did Sam finally look up. He stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then shook his head, smiling to himself. "About damn time," he murmured.

Upstairs, neither Dean nor Natalie spoke. The silence wasn't awkward exactly. Just... fragile. New.

Dean walked a step ahead of her down the hallway, shoulders slightly tense. At his door he paused, hand resting on the knob for half a heartbeat before pushing it open.

He stepped aside.

Natalie entered first.

Dean's room at Bobby's wasn't really a room. It was a place he'd occupied on and off for years. Temporary made permanent through repetition.

The duffel bag sat open at the foot of the bed, clothes spilling haphazardly from one side. A stack of rock CDs occupied the dresser. A battered paperback rested face-down beside the lamp. There were shotgun shells in a ceramic bowl Bobby had once insisted was decorative and Dean had promptly repurposed.

His jacket hung over the back of a chair.

A knife gleamed dully atop a pile of lore books.

There was no question whose room this was. It was Dean in miniature. Messy. Practical. Comfortable.

Natalie smiled softly. "I forgot you leave your clothes everywhere."

Dean snorted behind her. "I don't."

She pointed at the duffel. "You absolutely do."

"That's organized."

"That's a pile."

"It's an intentional pile."

Natalie laughed quietly. The sound loosened something in the room. But only a little. Because when she turned around, Dean was standing by the door looking... nervous.

The realization stopped her cold.

Dean Winchester. Nervous. Not uneasy before a hunt. Not angry. Not restless. Actually nervous. His hands shoved deep in his pockets. His shoulders slightly hunched. Eyes flicking away for half a second before returning to her.

Natalie stared.

Then, slowly, she smiled. "Oh my God."

Dean groaned immediately. "Don't."

"You're nervous."

"I'm not."

"You are!"

He pointed at her accusingly. "This is your fault."

That only made her laugh harder.

Dean rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. "I have literally fought vampires."

Natalie crossed her arms, grinning now. "And?"

"And this is worse."

That surprised her enough to quiet her laughter.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair "I don't know," he admitted. The words came slowly. "This is different."

Natalie's smile softened.

Dean glanced around the room like maybe the answer was hidden among his belongings. "I know how to be your friend."

The confession was so honest it hurt.

"I know how to call you at three in the morning because Sam's annoying me. I know how to argue with you. I know how to make fun of your terrible taste in movies."

"My taste is excellent."

"It's not."

She smiled.

Dean looked back at her then. More serious now. "But this?" He gestured vaguely between them. "I don't know how to do this."

Natalie's heart squeezed. Because she did know. This was the Dean she'd glimpsed all those years ago after their first kiss. The part of him he showed almost nobody. The boy who loved deeply and feared losing it.

She stepped closer.

Dean immediately stopped talking.

"I don't know either," she admitted softly.

That made him blink. "You don't?"

"No."

She smiled gently. "I've spent years imagining this."

Dean's ears went slightly pink.

Natalie pretended not to notice. "But imagining something and actually having it..." She shrugged. "Turns out those are different things."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Great."

"I know."

The room grew quiet again. But it wasn't frightening anymore. Because for the first time in years, neither of them had to pretend.

Natalie reached for him first. Not dramatic. Just resting her hand lightly against his chest. Dean looked down at it. Then up at her. And some of the nervousness melted from his face.

Because maybe they didn't know exactly what came next. But they had spent almost two decades learning each other. That seemed like a pretty good place to start.

Were they ready to do this?

The question hung between them, unspoken at first, but so present that it might as well have been another person in the room.

Dean leaned back against the dresser, arms folding loosely across his chest, though Natalie could tell it was more to occupy his hands than anything else. She remained where she was beside the bed, one hand trailing absently over the quilt Bobby had bought years ago from some church rummage sale. The lamp cast a soft amber glow across the room, leaving the corners in shadow. Outside, the junkyard stretched quiet beneath the stars.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was thoughtful. Because this wasn't a first date. This wasn't strangers discovering attraction. This was twenty years of history suddenly rearranging itself.

Natalie looked at Dean and thought of all the versions of him she'd known. The nine-year-old boy with a split lip pretending he didn't hurt. The fourteen-year-old who had told her about his mother in a voice so quiet she'd barely heard him. The fifteen-year-old who had kissed her and then spent years pretending it hadn't mattered. The seventeen-year-old who had driven like a maniac to comfort her after prom. The twenty-four-year-old who had called her because he'd fallen in love with another woman and needed someone to tell him he wasn't stupid.

And the man standing before her now. Older. More scarred. Still carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Still Dean.

Natalie had wondered about this for years.

Wondered what it would be like if they'd been brave enough back then. Dreamed about it sometimes, usually late at night when she was on the road and loneliness made her reckless with her imagination. She'd pictured holding his hand in diners, stealing kisses before hunts, falling asleep beside him in motel rooms.

Then she'd shove the thoughts away. Because wanting something wasn't the same as being allowed to have it. Especially not in their world.

Dean had done much the same, though his fantasies had been less elaborate and far more aggressively ignored. Every time he found himself lingering too long on the memory of that kiss, or wondering what Natalie was doing in Nova Scotia, or catching himself smiling at one of her voicemails, he'd shove it into a mental vault and lock the door.

Friends. That was safe. Friends lasted. Friends couldn't be ruined by bad timing or grief or fear. Except the vault hadn't held. Not really. Not when Cassie left. Not when Natalie disappeared north.

Certainly not tonight.

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and laughed softly to himself. "You know what's stupid?"

Natalie smiled faintly. "There's a lot to choose from."

"Funny."

"It's one of my many gifts."

He rolled his eyes, but his expression softened. "I spent years trying not to think about you like this."

Natalie's heart squeezed. "Me too."

Dean looked genuinely surprised. "You did?"

She laughed softly. "Dean Winchester, I spent three years in Nova Scotia trying not to think about you."

"How'd that go?"

She gave him a look. "Terribly."

That earned a grin.

The grin faded slowly, replaced by something gentler.

"I used to wonder," Dean admitted, his voice quieter now, "if bringing up that kiss would screw everything up."

Natalie's breath caught.

"Because what if you didn't remember it the same way I did?" he continued. "Or what if you did and regretted it? I didn't wanna lose..." He trailed off, searching for the words.

"Us?" Natalie supplied softly.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

The simplicity of it hit her harder than any grand declaration could have.

Not you.

Us.

The friendship. The years. Everything they'd built.

Natalie sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her hands for a moment. "I was afraid too."

Dean moved from the dresser then, crossing the room to sit beside her. Not touching yet.

Just close.

"What were you afraid of?" he asked.

She smiled sadly. "That loving you would ruin me."

The honesty of it startled even her.

Dean didn't laugh. Didn't tell her she was being dramatic. Because he understood.

Hunters loved with one eye on the grave.

Mary and John.

Jessica and Sam.

Ellen and Bill.

Bobby and Karen.

Loss was woven into the fabric of their lives.

Natalie looked up at him. "I saw what happened to my mother after my father died."

Dean nodded slowly. "I know."

"I don't know if I'm brave enough for that."

Dean was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached over and took her hand. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just steady. "I don't know if I am either," he admitted.

Natalie blinked. "You don't?"

He huffed a laugh. "Nat, I've spent my whole life losing people."

The words came out matter-of-factly.

Too matter-of-factly.

"And yeah, that scares me."

His thumb brushed gently across her knuckles. "But I think..."

He stopped.

Started again. "I think I'd regret not trying more."

Natalie stared at him.

Because that was it, wasn't it? Not certainty. Not guarantees. Just a choice. To love anyway. To be afraid and move forward regardless.

Dean squeezed her hand gently. "We don't have to figure out everything tonight."

Natalie smiled faintly. "Good."

"Yeah."

Another quiet moment settled between them. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just new.

Outside, the wind stirred softly through the junkyard. Downstairs, Bobby's bedroom floorboards creaked once and went still. Somewhere in the house Sam coughed in his sleep.

Life.

Ordinary, stubborn life.

And here they were. Not friends. Not yet entirely lovers. But standing on the threshold of something they'd both secretly wanted for years.

Together.

Which, Natalie thought as Dean's shoulder brushed hers and neither of them moved away, might just be enough for tonight.

They sat there for a long while after that.

Not speaking.

Not because there was nothing left to say, but because the evening had been so full already. Confessions layered atop revelations. The Master. Leandro. Fear. Love. The terrifying joy of discovering that the person you'd quietly loved for years had been carrying the same secret.

At some point, Dean became acutely aware of the fact that it was after midnight.

At some point, Natalie yawned.

And at some point after that, both of them glanced toward the bed. Then immediately looked away. Then looked back.

Dean cleared his throat. "So..."

Natalie bit back a smile. "So?"

Dean stared resolutely at the opposite wall.

"What if..." He stopped.

Natalie waited.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "What if we just..." He gestured vaguely toward the bed. "Share it?"

Natalie's eyebrows rose.

Dean rushed on immediately. "No sex."

The words came out so fast she almost laughed.

Dean looked horrified at himself. "Not that I think—I mean, obviously I think—"

"Oh my God."

"But I wasn't suggesting—"

Natalie was laughing now.

Dean dropped his face into his hands. "Kill me."

"I just told you I'm afraid of that."

A muffled groan escaped him.

Natalie laughed harder.

When Dean finally looked up, his ears were red. "I mean," he said stubbornly, "literally just sleep."

Her smile softened. Because beneath the awkwardness was something incredibly sweet.

Dean wasn't trying to rush them. Wasn't assuming. Wasn't trying to capitalize on years of unresolved feelings. He simply... wanted her near.

Natalie looked at the bed. Then back at him. And realized she wanted the exact same thing. Actually, more than that.

The thought of sleeping beside Dean—of hearing his breathing in the dark, of waking up and finding him still there—struck her as profoundly intimate.

More intimate, in some ways, than sex. Sex could be impulsive. Could be passion. This? This was trust. Vulnerability. The quiet promise of presence.

Natalie smiled. "I think that's an excellent idea."

Dean blinked. "Really?"

"Really."

The relief that washed over his face was so immediate she nearly laughed again.

"You know," she said softly, "I think sharing a bed can be more intimate."

Dean tilted his head. "How?"

Natalie thought about it. "Because there's nowhere to hide."

The words surprised both of them.

She shrugged lightly. "You fall asleep beside someone. You wake up beside them. They see you with bedhead and morning breath and drooling on the pillow."

"I do not drool."

"You absolutely drool."

"I don't."

"You snore."

"I do not!"

Natalie grinned.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You are making slanderous accusations."

"I've heard you."

"You have not."

"I have."

"When?"

Natalie paused.

Dean immediately became suspicious. "When?"

She laughed. "You fell asleep during a movie at Bobby's when you were sixteen."

Dean groaned. "Oh no."

"You absolutely snored."

"I was exhausted."

"You drooled too."

"I hate you."

Natalie smiled warmly. "No you don't."

Dean stared at her. Then, slowly, he smiled too.

No.

He really, really didn't.

The practicalities of sharing the bed turned out to be hilariously awkward.

Dean found an old t-shirt for Natalie to sleep in, which she promptly held up.

"This is enormous."

"It's a normal-sized shirt."

"It's a tent."

"It's rock and roll."

"It says Metallica."

"It says class."

"It says you haven't done laundry in three weeks."

Dean gasped in mock offense.

Natalie laughed and disappeared into the tiny bathroom anyway.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed afterward, suddenly nervous all over again. Which was ridiculous. They'd kissed. They'd confessed feelings. They'd faced down soul-eating extradimensional entities. And somehow this was making him anxious.

The bathroom door opened.

Dean looked up.

Natalie stepped back into the room wearing his shirt, sleeves swallowing half her arms.

And Dean's brain promptly stopped. Not because it was sexy. Though she was beautiful.

No.

It was because she looked comfortable. Safe. Like she belonged here.

The realization hit him so hard he had to look away.

Natalie noticed immediately. "You okay?"

Dean coughed. "Yep."

"You look weird."

"Rude."

She smiled softly.

Together, awkwardly, shyly, they climbed beneath the blankets. The bed was smaller than Dean remembered. Or maybe he was just more aware of Natalie lying beside him.

There was a careful distance between them at first. A gulf of maybe eight inches. Both of them staring at the ceiling. Both of them very aware of the other.

Dean cleared his throat. "This is weird."

Natalie smiled into the darkness. "A little."

A pause.

Then: "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you pushed me."

He turned his head.

Moonlight from the window painted soft silver across her face.

"You are?"

"I was scared."

"I know."

"I still am."

Dean was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted slightly, slowly enough that she could move away if she wanted. She didn't. His hand found hers beneath the blankets. Fingers lacing together. Simple. Steady.

Natalie squeezed back.

Neither said anything else.

Outside, the junkyard slept beneath the South Dakota stars. Somewhere down the hall Bobby snored loud enough to shake the walls. Sam was probably awake downstairs reading lore and pretending he wasn't smiling about tonight.

And in the darkness of Dean's room, two people who had spent years afraid of losing one another finally let themselves be still. Together. Not rushing. Not hiding.

Just learning, one quiet moment at a time, what it meant to finally come home to each other.

The room settled around them.

The lamp had been switched off some time ago, leaving only moonlight filtering through the curtains and painting pale silver bars across the floor. The junkyard outside had gone quiet. Even Bobby’s snores down the hall had softened into the familiar rhythm of a house asleep.

Dean lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling he could barely see.

Natalie lay beside him, equally awake.

The distance between them wasn’t much. A few inches. A few inches that felt impossibly large.

Neither of them wanted to rush.

That had been understood from the start. Tonight wasn’t about proving anything or crossing some invisible finish line. If anything, it was the opposite. After years of circling one another, of wanting and wondering and worrying, they wanted to savor this fragile, miraculous thing they’d finally uncovered.

Dean felt Natalie’s hand tighten around his. He squeezed back. The gesture was small. But in the darkness, it felt enormous.

He could feel her warmth beside him. Hear the soft cadence of her breathing. Every so often, he caught the faint scent of her shampoo mingled with the detergent on his t-shirt.

Natalie stared into the dark, her heart feeling strangely too big for her chest.

This was Dean. Dean, who had snored his way through movies at Bobby’s house as a teenager.

Dean, who’d driven across Sioux Falls in a suit to rescue her from heartbreak.

Dean, who had listened to her story tonight and, instead of telling her she was reckless or foolish, had simply promised he would help carry the burden.

Dean, who loved fiercely. And who loved her. The thought still felt unreal.

Her fingers tightened around his again. This time, Dean turned toward her.

She felt the mattress shift. For a second she froze—not from fear, but from wonder. Then she turned too.

Their eyes met in the darkness. Neither of them was entirely sure who moved first. Maybe they both did.

The distance disappeared gradually. Not in a rush. Not with urgency. Just the slow, instinctive movement of two people who had spent years wanting closeness and finally allowing themselves to reach for it.

Natalie’s hand slid up to rest lightly against Dean’s chest. Dean lifted an arm, hesitated for half a heartbeat, then settled it gently around her waist. She moved closer. He held her.

The simplicity of it nearly undid her. No grand declarations. No fireworks. Just warmth. Steady and real.

Natalie tucked her head beneath his chin, listening to the strong, familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. Dean lowered his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes.

This. This was what she’d been afraid of. And somehow… it wasn’t frightening.

Scary, yes. Because love always carried risk. Because the Master still waited somewhere beyond the edges of their understanding. Because hunters rarely got guarantees. But the fear wasn’t the loudest thing in the room anymore. The loudest thing was peace.

Dean felt her arm drape across his chest, trusting and unguarded. He tightened his hold on her just slightly. Not possessive. Protective. Grateful.

Natalie let out a soft breath. “Hey, Dean?”

His voice rumbled softly above her. “Yeah?”

“I’m still scared.”

He smiled into her hair. “So am I.”

The admission should have unsettled her. Instead, it comforted her. Because he wasn’t promising impossible things. He wasn’t promising forever. He was simply here. Beside her. Choosing her. Tonight. Tomorrow. For as long as they were given.

Natalie smiled faintly in the darkness.

Outside, the wind stirred through Bobby’s junkyard, rattling old metal and whispering through rusted frames that had stood witness to years of laughter and grief and growing up.

Inside, two childhood friends who had spent years pretending not to love each other finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

And for the first time in a very long time, both of them slept deeply.

Morning came slowly.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains in warm, golden stripes that crept steadily across the floorboards and up the side of the bed. Outside, Bobby’s junkyard was already awake. Somewhere a crow cawed. Metal clanged faintly as the wind nudged an old truck door. Downstairs, Dean could just barely make out the sounds of life beginning—the scrape of a chair, the murmur of a radio, Bobby grumbling at something that had probably existed peacefully until he decided it offended him.

And yet, neither Dean nor Natalie moved.

Dean surfaced from sleep gradually, his first coherent thought not being where am I? but rather warm.

Very warm.

He blinked blearily.

Natalie was still tucked against him.

At some point in the night, she’d curled even closer. Her head rested beneath his chin, her hair spread across his shoulder. One arm remained draped over his chest, and his own arm was securely wrapped around her waist as though even asleep he’d been reluctant to let her go.

Dean lay there for a moment, simply taking it in.

The sunlight.

The quiet.

The weight of her against him.

And the startling realization that he’d slept.

Really slept. No nightmares. No waking up every two hours. No instinctive reach for a weapon.

Just… sleep.

Deep and dreamless.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

His chest tightened unexpectedly.

Carefully, not wanting to disturb her, he tipped his head down.

Natalie was still asleep.

Or mostly asleep.

Her brow furrowed faintly as sunlight drifted across her face.

Dean smiled. It was small. Private. The kind of smile he’d deny under torture.

“Morning,” he murmured.

Natalie made an incoherent noise. Then burrowed closer.

Dean huffed a laugh.

A moment later, a muffled voice emerged from somewhere near his collarbone.

“Five more minutes.”

Dean grinned. “You are absolutely not a morning person.”

That earned an indignant sound.

Natalie cracked open one eye. “Excuse you.”

“You heard me.”

“I am,” she informed him with all the dignity someone half-asleep in an oversized Metallica shirt could muster, “an excellent morning person.”

Dean looked around theatrically. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Natalie closed her eyes again. “I’m awake.”

“You are literally trying to negotiate more sleep.”

“No,” she corrected sleepily. “I just don’t want to leave the bed.”

The words slipped out easily.

Honestly.

Dean’s teasing smile faded. Because he knew exactly what she meant.

It wasn’t the mattress. Or the room. Or even the fact that she was warm and comfortable.

It was this. The safety of his arms around her. The absence of fear. The miracle of waking up beside someone you’d spent years afraid to lose.

Dean tightened his hold on her ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

Natalie opened her eyes.

Their gazes met. And suddenly neither of them was talking about the bed anymore.

Dean swallowed. Because he didn’t want to let her go either. Not yet. Maybe not for a long while.

Natalie’s expression softened as she realized he’d understood immediately.

No explanation necessary.

That had always been the thing between them. Even as kids. Dean had understood the things she couldn’t say. And she understood the things he buried.

She smiled sleepily. “So…”

Dean groaned immediately. “What?”

“We have to face Bobby eventually.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. “I was having a nice morning.”

Natalie laughed softly. “He’s going to be unbearable.”

“He already is.”

“He knows.”

“He definitely knows.”

Dean cracked one eye open. “You think Sam told him?”

Natalie gave him a look. “You think Bobby Singer needs Sam Winchester to tell him anything?”

Dean sighed. “No.”

Because Bobby had probably taken one look at them downstairs and mentally planned their wedding. The thought horrified him.

Natalie seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion because she groaned softly and buried her face against his chest.

Dean laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised both of them.

Natalie tilted her head to look up at him. There it was again. That lighter version of him she’d glimpsed last night.

Not carefree. Dean Winchester would never be carefree. But happy. Tentatively. Hopefully. The sight of it made something warm bloom in her chest.

Neither of them rushed to get up. Outside, the world could wait another few minutes. The Master could wait. Questions about Leandro and border souls and impossible things could wait.

For now, there was only this quiet morning in Sioux Falls, sunlight warming the bed, and the strange, wonderful realization that after years of wondering whether they could be more than friends—they had woken up together.

And neither one regretted it for a second.

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Her hands cupped his jaw, fingertips brushing through his beard before she caught his lower lip gently between her teeth, deepening the kiss a moment later in a dizzying mess of lips, tongues, and breathless sighs.

Jensen’s hands settled firmly on her hips, drawing her closer as she shifted against him. Her lips parted on a shaky breath while the kiss deepened, his mouth moving against hers with growing urgency. One large hand cradled the back of her neck while the other held her close, unwilling to leave even an inch of space between them. As he grabbed Irina’s ass with full hands, sinking her hips on his lap, she felt his growing bulge through his jeans, making her hips twist, rubbing her spot warm and needy on it, making her silk pajamas wet and her lips part in a silent moan, while his tongue slid against hers, deep and claiming, one big hand cupping the back of her neck while the other gripped her ass cheek hard enough to bruise.

- ”You sure?” – Irina whispered between gasps, opening her eyes and trying to focus on his features, her thumbs drawing small circles on his beard.

- “I think so..I mean yeah” – Jensen voice came muffed, his lips deep on her cleavage, pulling down her top’ stripes, exposing her breasts. His eager mouth latched on her nipple, his tongue, warm and wet sucking it softly then a bit harder, making her hips involuntary sink and rub her aching clit.

It took all her strength to focus again, placing both hands on the side of his face, lifting it to make their eyes meet. Her long dark hair was messily framing her flushed face, making Jensen smile without noticing, her eyes had that power on him.

- “Look at me big boy” – she held his face a tiny bit far from hers to make him focus on her words, not her lips. – “Are. You. Sure?” – Irina said word by word, taping his face soflty at each one, to make sure he was understanding.

- “I’m very, very sure” – Jensen ran his fingertips around her face, holding her chin up to place a soft kiss on her lips. – “Just a bit tense, I guess..or rusty” - He said grinning, his lips on her neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. His hands kneading her breasts again, tugging at her nipples.

- “Oh, if that’s the case, allow me to help you loosen up a bit”– Irina whispered close to his ear, teasing him, then lifted up from his lap, making Jensen frowning slightly. She placed her hands on his knees, spreading them, and knelled between his legs, on the floor, eyes locked on his while she unbuckled his belt

– “Just close your eyes and relax, I take it from here” - Irina whispered as she released his already hard cock from his boxers, her breath warm, teasing the soft skin of its head, making it twitch.

Jensen hummed in approval, his lips forming into a lopsided smile, his eyes shutting as he rested his head back on couch, exhaling heavily, his voice husky under his breath

– “Alright, it has been a while..” - but he couldn’t finish the sentence, as Irina stroked him slowly, watching the precum spilling out of his tip. She placed her lips on the head of his cock, licking his slit. His fingers threaded through her hair as she took him in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head, taking him in inch by inch, until she reached his base.

- “Oh my...fuck, baby” - he grunted, his grip on her hair tightening.

Irina hummed around him, bobbing her head up and down, sucking him hard, moaning at the taste of him. He rolled his hips, thrusting up into her mouth, opening his eyes wide open, pulling her hair a bit tighter, to make her look up

– “Eyes on me sweetheart” - He whispered, as he cupped her jaw with his hand.

- "Mhm," she moaned, taking his tip in her mouth, sucking it gently, then sticking her tongue out, sliding the wide part of it up and down his shaft, licking the underside of his cock, eyes never leaving his. Jensen ran his fingers through her hair, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

- “God, you’re evil” - his breathing got heavier and he smiled – “so fuckin evil” he groaned, moving his hips, slowly pushing himself deeper into her mouth. He released a breathy moan, watching Irina swallow his cock, flattening her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She swirled her tongue around him. Jensen tangled his hand in her hair, his eyes closed, mouth parted in a low grunt.

- "Yeah... Yeah, just like that, sweetheart," - he groaned, releasing his thick load in her throat, as she swallowed everything, and then smiled. Irina placed a soft kiss on his lower abdomen and set on the floor, her breath was short as she cleaned her lips with the back of her hand.

- “More relaxed now?’

Jensen sank on the couch, eyes shut and lips parted, slightly curved in a smile. He raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, before opening his eyes to look at Irina on the floor. She looked like the most powerful vixen, lying on the floor, propped up on her elbows, wearing only her silk pajamas trousers with her breasts exposed, watching him with an amused smile.

- “I think I’ve never been this relaxed in my whole life” - he murmured, his voice warm, lazy and slightly hoarse, letting out a slow breath, looking as if he'd forgotten every problem he'd ever had.

- “Well, glad I could help” - Irina said with a playful, slightly sarcastic laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes lingering on him sprawled across the couch.

- “Oh believe me baby” – Jensen chuckled, extending his arm toward her, palm up, a silent request for her to come closer. – “Come here, you’re too far”.

Irina grinned and stood up lazily, reaching for his hand, lifting it to her lips, kissing his fingers slowly, as he grabbed her hip with the other, pulling her trousers down, placing wet and warm kisses all over her thighs, her lower abdomen, letting his warm breath tease her already needy and aching mount, sending shivers all over her skin. Jensen dipped his lips and kissed her groin, hooking his fingers inside her lingerie fabric, yanking it down.

- "God, you are gorgeous," - he said as he circled her opening and felt how slicky it was under the lace, feeling the heat of it just radiating outward, her pussy was drenched and open for him. His long middle finger slowly sinking into her soaked cunt, feeling her flutter and grip down on his digit, moving firmly, yet slowly in and out, letting Irina feel every single inch.

She panted, the sensation building as he curled his finger in and out of her, his thumb pressing against her clit and rubbing in small circles. Her legs shook, her mouth dropped open, her back arched as she tried to stop from falling apart, placing both hands on his shoulders.

- “Kiss me” – Irina murmured almost inaudibly, making Jensen lift his gaze to her face with an evil grinning on his lips.

– “Here?” – he teased, placing a soft kiss on her groin – “Or here?” – He ran his nose over her mound and pressed a gentle kiss right above her clit making Irina moan a bit louder with anticipation. He pulled his fingers out and tapped her pussy, cupping it, squeezing the lips with his fingers.

– “I think I’ll stay here..” – and before Irina could answer, he latched his lips on her clit, sucking into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nub. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her head falling back, a strangled cry leaving her lips. Her legs were shaking, and her thighs tried to close, but he held them open, massaging her ass in his large hands, tugging her cheeks apart, spreading her open, squeezing her flesh.

Jensen was having a feast, lost in a haze of her sweet taste, when a sudden gush of wetness soaked his tongue and lips, dripping down to his chin and neck. Irina’s whole body trembled, his name leaving her lips repeatedly as her release shook her whole body in a loud, messy moan. He moved his tongue to her entrance, slipping it in, licking up the slickness, as he braced her by the waist. Her body softened and he sat her on his lap, gently caressing her flushed face, holding her chin with his fingers.

- “Looks like you’re quite relaxed too” – Jensen smirked as he took a strand of hair from her forehead, kissing her lips softly.

- “I...I just have one question” – Irina said between soft kisses and giggles – “How the hell did you know this was my favorite?”

- “Your favorite..?” – Jensen whispered as his lips moved from her ear to her neck. - “..way to get eaten?” – he smirked, lowering his voice - "I think I'm starting to learn a thing or two about you, Ms. Diplomat."

Irina throw her head back laughing – “And I’m starting to think you're getting a bit cocky, sir.” – pushing lightly his chest, then gasping as Jensen pulled her close and scooped her up, carrying Irina towards the bed. He put her down on the soft, fluffy sheets, giving a step back to get ride of the rest of his clothes.

As he started to strip, Irina’s mouth involuntarily drop open in disbelief, she started laughing and thrown a pillow on him

-“C’mon! This can’t be real. Dude, you’re ridiculous!”

Jensen dodged the pillow and kept unbuttoning his shirt, lifting a brow.

-“What? Were you expecting some Magic Mike performance?”

She propped herself up on her elbows, eyes blazing with lust. Still smiling, she shook her head in disbelief.

- “No man should be allowed to look like this.” She gestured vaguely toward his body.

- “This what?”

His voice came out lower this time. Dangerous.

His eyes never left hers as he pulled his trousers down completely and started walking toward her, like a beast about to catch its prey, a smirk playing on his lips.

Irina felt shivers run all over her naked body, a strange mix of joy, anxiety, and amusement.

Probably the alcohol, and the fact that she was finally having fun again after such a long time, she told herself.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was that deliciously gorgeous man walking in her direction.

Naked.

Hungry.

Looking as though he intended to devour her whole.