Karlee

You turn around, walk into the bedroom still looking at the tiny crystal on your fingertip.

“Because I could be totally wrong,” you say, walking to where Dean was cleaning his gun when you walked into the bathroom, “but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this type of crystal before, and it’s not—”

You fall quiet when you look up and see that Dean has put his gun and cleaning kit to the side and is just wiping some crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. You stand there and stare at him, finger still raised, and then he slowly chews and then swallows.

“I’m pretty sure she roofied us,” you say, deadpan, as you watch Dean’s throat move. It’s fascinating.

“Oh,” he says, nodding slowly.

“Did you eat all of them?” you ask. Dean frowns at you.

“No,” he answers, sounding offended.

“It’s fine if you did,” you reply. “I would just be important to know.”

“Okay, Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes and you make a face at him.

“Dean, these are moss crystals,” you say, indicating your finger although there’s no way Dean can see the little crumb on your finger. “That shit will fly you to the moon. How much did you have?” Dean shrugs.

“Like, two,” he says, and you nod.

“Okay, that’s not so bad,” you say. “I’m guessing you have a bit of a…tolerance.” Dean chuckles.

“Sam’s the pothead of the family, not me,” he says, moving his gun back in front of him.

“I mean because of the drinking,” you clarify. Dean shrugs again and you drop your hand, sigh.

“Well, I guess there go your plans to go out and get laid tonight,” you say just as Dean starts taking apart his gun.

“’S fine,” he says, not looking at you. “I don’t need to go to a bar. We can watch TV and order pizza.” You nod.

“Great,” you sigh.

Tripping out with Dean. That should be fun.

You don’t know how you end up on the carpet. It’s like you blink and the next moment you are looking up at the ceiling, body stretched out.

You’re completely calm, you feel great, actually, and only then you notice that Dean is lying next to you. You’re unsure if he was there before or if he just laid down.

“I think it’s kicking in,” you say, and your voice sounds like it’s coming out from deep in your belly.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Dean says, adjusting a little so he’s lying exactly next to you. You pull down the corners of your mouth.

“It’s not bad,” you say and hear Dean exhale.

“Yeah,” he says again. You take a deep breath, sigh.

“Hey, do you think we should go after her?” you ask, arm flopping up as you’re gesticulating, then dropping down again, this time touching Dean’s arm, the skin where his shirt is rolled up.

“Yeah,” he says again, for the third time, then you hear him turn his head towards you. “Who?”

“Rowena,” you clarify and a second later you and Dean both realize at the same time that you’re rubbing the skin of your arm against his. You both look down your bodies and you stop your arm, realizing that you probably shouldn’t do that.

“That felt nice,” you hear Dean say. You blink up at him, slowly. It did feel nice. With the reservations that would usually stop you gone, you run your fingertips over Dean’s arm, from the crook of his elbow down to the back of his hand. When you start pulling your hand back, Dean turns his and you card your fingers into his.

Dean brings his hand up, still holding yours, closer to both of your faces while you study it. He makes a little noise deep in his throat and it’s almost like you can see the sound waves of it traveling through the air.

“Your skin is amazing,” Dean says, voice echoey. For some reason, it makes you giggle. He looks at your face, soft smile on his.

“You’re high,” you say, but still you roll onto your side, towards Dean. He turns to you too, still touching your skin. He smells incredible, and you can’t believe you never noticed. Sandalwood and leather and motor oil. Maybe some caramel.

Dean runs his fingers from your arm over your shoulder, lets it rest there. Then the idea hits you. Uncoordinated, you slap your hand against his chest.

“I have the best idea,” you say and Dean just grins.

You saw the pool earlier and it’s so late that you’re pretty sure no one will catch you. Or that’s what you would think if you were thinking about stuff like that at all. You’re not. You walk up to the side, Dean close behind you.

“I don’t have any swim trunks,” he says, looking at the blue water below him, then turns to you, but you’re already tugging up your shirt.

“Woah,” he says and you grin at him as you wrestle it off.

“Come on, Winchester,” you say, “nothing I haven’t seen before on other, less Winchester-y people.”

It makes you chuckle and Dean laughs, then, with some issues in coordination, he starts tugging off his flannel. You’re already pushing down your jeans, feet bare from when you were in the motel room. Dean looks back at you, eyes running over you and when you return his gaze, he grins and looks away.

“Perv,” you mutter and he shakes his head as he opens his belt.

“Just worried about you getting your underwear wet,” he replies. Your hands shoot to behind your back, opening the clasp of your bra as you let it drop down your arms. Distantly you feel like that is not something you should be doing, but Dean’s eyes going wide as saucers and his mouth dropping open is enough to distract you.

“Not gonna get wet,” you say with a wink.

The warm night air feels amazing on your skin and you want to feel it everywhere, so while Dean is battling with his fly, you tug down your panties and before he can look your way again, you jump into the pool.

For a few seconds, you’re underwater, and it is the best feeling in the world. You feel like you’re floating, like gravity has left you. When you dive back up you run your hands over your face and hair.

“Oh my God,” you say, eyes still closed against the water. “This is incredible.” You blink your eyes open. Dean’s still standing a few feet from the edge of the pool. His black t-shirt is hanging off both arms but he managed to get his jeans, socks and boots off.

“What are you waiting for?” you ask, swimming towards the edge. Dean looks down himself as you cross your arms on the edge, frown at him.

“I think I got a boner,” he says and for a second it’s just something he said and then it’s the funniest thing in the world. You laugh so hard you’re glad you’re holding on to the edge of the pool cause you think you might drown otherwise. Dean’s laughing too, but he’s sputtering defensively as well.

“Just get in,” you say, leaning your head back. “Who cares about your stupid boner.”

Dean huffs and then takes the rest of his clothes off.

Oh, you think. You care about his stupid boner.

You only see him for a second though, because then he starts running and cannonballs into the pool. He comes up, hands rubbing his face roughly as he swims towards you. The drops that are clinging to his long lashes and the way his hair sticks off his head make your breath catch in your throat.

“That is incredible,” he says and you grin at him. Without knowing why or wondering if you should, you swim towards him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Dean wraps his around your waist. He looks so breathtakingly good that it makes you feel dumb.

“Thanks,” Dean says, and you’re not sure if you said what you were thinking out loud. You run your fingers over the skin on his upper back. It’s perfection.

“You know what I think would feel amazing?” Dean says and you don’t know when his face got so close to yours. You nod, and just as you wonder if Rowena’s magical weed is kicking in again and if you could possibly be getting higher than before, you feel Dean’s erection glide through your palm. He moans into your mouth, and again, you’re not sure when he got this close but you really couldn’t care less.

Yes, you’re definitely higher than you were before but then your back hits the side of the pool, gently, and suddenly Dean pushes into you, the sensation of him making your eyelids flutter, and his lips run over your jaw, and you’ve never felt anything as perfect as that.

“Oh God,” you pant, trying to drag him closer to you with your arms but he’s already as close as he can be. “I think we should—”

You’re on your back, the fabric of the blanket under you rubbing against your naked skin feeling as good as you think a high-class massage must feel. The pillows have been shoved up on the bed, the blankets to the side and you’re opened wide, not a millimeter of your body hidden from Dean as he moves over you.

You’re breathing hard and it feels like your entire body is covered in static, and every time Dean touches you somewhere the static discharges there, only to build up again immediately. You grab for his face, pull him close, desperate as his hips keep driving against you in the smoothest motion you have ever felt or seen. You throw your head back, and it feels like your eyes are about to see the inside of your skull.

“That feels so good,” you moan and pull Dean in to kiss him, but then suddenly his face isn’t in front of you anymore but behind you, pressing against your neck as he pulls your leg higher, making you moan.

“You’re so soft,” he pants into your ear and then you go flying, both of you lifting up, the bed, then the town, then the country, then the world disappearing below you, but it doesn’t matter, because at the center of your universe, Dean’s cock is driving into you, setting you on fire.

His hand goes to your front, cups your breast, his nose rubbing into the sensitive spot below your ear.

“Don’t stop,” you moan and Dean doesn’t. His hand goes to your face, turns you towards him.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he pants, his slow, deep thrusts still unraveling you.

“I know,” you say, bringing your arm back to behind his head. “I did too. I just didn’t want to be – oh my fucking God, Dean, yes – I—I didn’t want to be just another, ah, another conquest.”

Distantly you think that you’re being very eloquent for someone whose brain is in the process of melting.

“Oh sweetheart,” Dean almost purrs, and his hand wanders to your clit, drawing warm, wonderful circles that spin outwards until you wonder if they could affect the planet’s gravity. “You’re so much more than that.”

You pull Dean in, kiss him, run your tongue over his. When you come, it’s like all the stars turn into supernovas at once.

You sit up, sure you’re gonna be sick for a moment. Your hand goes to your forehead, then rubs through your hair. If ever anyone has claimed to have a worse headache than you have now, they must have been lying.

The bottle of pain killers lands on the blanket near your knees and the sound of the pills shaking within their plastic confinement is so harrowing that you almost throw up. You reach for it with a groan, deposit two into your hand.

“You get your beauty sleep?” Dean asks from the bathroom door, toothbrush in hand. He looks about as destroyed as you feel, but he’s clearly showered and dressed and managed to fix his hair, so he’s got that on you.

“I’m gonna kill that asshole witch,” you say as you fish for the bottle of water on your nightstand. Dean nods.

“Yeah, I’ll join you,” he says. You take the pills and drain the rest of the water, then frown.

“Did we… did we go in the motel pool?” you ask, turning back to Dean. He looks off into the distance for a second.

“Maybe?” he says after a few seconds.

“I remember swimming,” you say, slowly, hoping that if you keep your voice down your skull won’t punish you. “And flying.”

“Pretty sure that was the drugs,” Dean says and you make a face at him.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you reply, then narrow your eyes at him.

Eyes. Dean’s green eyes. You remember seeing them up close, and something else.