You just love it. Absolutely love it. You love him… So unbelievably much, you wish you could just have a little taste.

Of course, he doesn’t even know who you are… You’re just a passerby who occasionally makes contact with him every few months or so.

Even if he did know who you are, do you really think he would give a fuck? I mean, he’s a celebrity with several hits… He’s even got his own band and brewhouse company. He’s very busy.

The only time you two spoke, was when he needed a private driver to the airport… Which happened every few months or so, due to his job. Only reason why you even had this job was because your father worked in the management industry for cinema and he deemed you a ’safe’ driver. Okay.

It happened to be a cool October evening, traffic was going smooth as the gentle hum of your cars heater as well as the almost silent noise coming from the radio. Jensen was in the back right seat, on his phone. Of course.

A few times when he readjusted, a whiff of his amazing bourbon and sandalwood cologne wafted up towards you, which always somehow caused you to grip the steering wheel just a little tighter. Even if you had the self control of a saint… It was so fucking hard to not pull over.

But, as horrid fate would have it… There was a roadblock and a detour, making this hard ride even harder by making you drive even fucking longer. He could practically smell your nervousness, probably assuming you thought he would be upset about the situation. Jensen was a nice guy, especially when it came to a situation he knew damn well wasn’t something you could fix, and simply just wasn’t your fault. He just wanted you to loosen up a bit, he could basically smell the tension radiating off your body. He could see your body ready to snap like a coil from it, too.

“‘S all good, ain’t in no rush…” He murmurs, that deep voice sending a rush of desperation through your spine. “Flight ain’t leavin’ for a couple more hours.”

Oh how he was so kind… Smelt good too… Oh and he looked good. Damn good…