You were in a bar with Dean, you had been dating for almost a year now and he loved challenging you to a game of pool whenever there was a table, it was no secret he played to win. You were almost at the end of a game, leaning over the table for your final shot. Dean stood a few feet away, with a beer in his hand, watching you like a hawk as the ball rolled into the pocket, making you win the game.

“Yes!” you jumped, raising your cue above your head in triumph. “Take that, Winchester!”

Dean’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he just stood there, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he set his beer down and started toward you.

“What’s the matter?” you teased, grinning as you leaned casually against the table. “Don’t like that I beat you… again?”

His eyes locked onto yours, and the intensity there made your smugness falter for just a second. “Oh, I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low, almost too calm. “Very impressed. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you walk away with that win.”

Dean closed the distance between you in two strides, his body crowding yours until the back of your legs pressed against the edge of the table.

“This next game,” he murmured, leaning just close enough that you could feel the heat of him, “we’re making it interesting.”

“Oh?” you breathed, your heart racing at his sudden closeness. “And how’s that?”

“If you win, you get to decide what we do for the rest of the night. But if I win…” His voice dropped, full of mischief. “I get to choose.” He tilted his head, his gaze dragging across your face, pausing on your lips. “And, darling, I think you already know what I want.” His eyes ran back up to meet yours.

“Deal?”