#coffee first

He pulls back just a little, resting his forehead against yours, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep but full of something like contentment.

You whisper it back, barely audible, and finally, reluctantly, slip from under the covers as he slides away, heading toward the bathroom. You watch the back of his broad shoulders disappear into the doorway before you shuffle out of bed, stiff joints complaining as you make your way to the kitchen.

Your feet scuff against the floor, and the rich smell of coffee pulls you forward. You reach the kitchen, slip on the floor, and stumble just a little before grabbing the coffee pot, already brewing. You fill two mugs, the rich steam rising like a little cloud of hope, the liquid dark and strong—just how Dean likes it.

Just as you raise your cup for the first sip, the door opens, and Sam steps in, his voice starting up. “Hey, uh, you guys—”

Just then, Dean emerges from the bathroom, his hair tousled, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up like he’s already gearing up for the day. He slides into the kitchen behind you, catching Sam’s words in mid-air.

You lift your hand, palm out, a silent signal—Not now. Please. Your eyes meet Dean’s as he steps in behind you, catching the message instantly. A low grumble rumbles in his chest, a sound that means “I get it,” and he slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you hand him his mug.

Sam pauses, giving you a look that says, Fine, we’ll wait. And for a moment, it’s just you and Dean, the quiet broken only by the slow draw of coffee and the soft comfort of being exactly where you belong.