Black women are so beautiful

a deep, rumbly sigh bleeds from him and you take just a step closer, hands clasped together in front of you as you look up at him. he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, you think. his brows are furrowed just slightly and he presses his lips together as he mulls over your pleas, drawing this out. 

“fine.”

“fine?”

he narrows his eyes at you and hesitantly grabs baby’s keys out of his pocket. he trusts you, he does. but he doesn’t know how well you’re going to do, because he thinks he’s going to be a very bad teacher. you distract him, all the time. you’re bright and gorgeous and he can’t think all that straight when he’s around you. 

but you really want to learn this. so he’s got to at least try.

“yeah, fine. i’ll teach you.”

the corners of your lips quirk up to form a giddy smile, replacing the pout that nearly made dean keel down to his knees. you can’t help the small bout of quiet laughter that escapes you, and you press a quick kiss to his cheek to soothe the grumpiness on his features. you tell yourself that it’s just friendly.

and it works, like always. it’s hard not to dwell on that.

dean desperately tries and fails to stop a smirk from sneaking up on him, and so he turns with a quiet grumble under his breath and crosses the room quickly. he looks back at you over his shoulder as he opens the door, letting the cool breeze waft in. 

“we doin’ this or not?”

something warm and familiar blooms within your chest and you nod feverishly. your smile really might kill him, one day. he’s surprised it hasn’t already.

“we’re doing this.” you confirm, determined.

“then let’s go.”

the empty parking lot before you acts as your territory, but dean still manages to make the space feel cramped as he leans into you; hovering. though when you turn your head to look at him, all of your irritation almost fades. he looks lovely, with the afternoon sun illuminating his features as it beams in through the windows.

almost fades.

“dean,” you hum, faux sweetly. his eyes meet yours and you raise a brow. “can you back off?”

he promptly rolls his eyes and relents with caution, sitting back against the bench. but his green eyes continue to watch you much too closely. 

“this is my baby,” he huffs. “excuse me for fuckin’ caring about what happens to her-”

“i’m not gonna crash your baby, dean,” you insist. “just show me what to do.”

he takes his time, talking you through how his beloved baby works. his voice grows soft once he notices that you’re really listening, and his gaze lingers on you for several moments too long when your attention fixes on the clutch and he guides you through shifting the gears with surprising patience.

he's never so gentle with anyone else, he realizes.

he really likes the feeling of your hand under his, as he does this. he doesn’t do cheesy, or any tacky romantic bullshit, in his words. but he’d like to hold your hand, he decides. maybe even hold you, just you. if you’d let him. keep you against him and safe and warm.

a wide, winning grin adorns his face when you move the car forwards without stalling it, and he finds himself watching you, rather than whatever lies ahead.

he thinks he might have been doing that since he met you.

"dean," you exclaim, and he's pulled out of his thoughts as your face lights up so beautifully. "i'm- look!"

"i see, sweetheart," he laughs softly under his breath. "good job. you're a friggin' natural."

his hand settles on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze as you navigate a little further. you could total this damn impala completely, and as long as you'd be okay, he wouldn't care. you could do anything and he'd let you.

he doesn't know what he was so scared of.

what he is so scared of.

"can we try the road tomorrow?" you ask softly, putting baby in park with low struggle before turning to watch him. "if it's not too busy."

"yeah, sweet thing," he murmurs. his eyes rove over you with so much care, because he really wants to remember this small moment forever. "we can."

you're quiet for seconds too long, everything is. because dean isn't making jokes, or grousing about how he doesn't want to do this. he's just looking at you, smiling so subtly. and there's something there that you can't place.

you swallow.

"thank you," you whisper, biting at your lip to soothe your growing nerves. "for taking me out here. letting me do this."

he doesn't speak. but he slowly reaches out with his hand and tugs your bottom lip out from between your teeth with his thumb, before drawing it away.

"'course," he breathes. "anytime, baby."

baby.

nothing else happens, as he drives you both back to the motel. but the world seems a little warmer, and the rapid flutter of your heart almost begins to concern you.

tomorrow, you can do this again. you get to.

and you really don't know if you can wait that long.