This was wrong.

Yours and Dean’s lips were glued together, pressed against the wall of an elevator. Your breath was hot, fast, and heavy, mixed with moans, groans, sighs, whimpers and the sound of lips connecting then disconnecting.

How did you get into this situation? Pretty simple. You and Dean let your guard down for one moment when fighting a witch, and she sprayed a weird pink pollen over you both that you couldn’t help but inhale as some hit your tongue. Since then your mind was filled with thoughts of Dean and all that he could do to you while every cell in your body lit on fire and craved for him to quench it.

Dean’s hands were assertive and rough, rucking up whatever clothing he could reach while he ravished you. The elevator had broken down and Sammy was rushing to fix it, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

The burn, ache all of it had to go, and you were the only solution. He craved you like he was a parched man in the desert and you his only water source. He was planning to lap you up like one.

You didn’t know what the witch cast on you, but you didn’t want it to ruin everything that you and Dean had built as best friends over mutual trust.

Even if this was a long standing wish of yours.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, palming and grabbing at curve after curve, flesh after flesh as he occasionally brought a hand up to tug at your hair and change your lips’ direction. Your hands itched to get him out of that goddamn fake FBI suit that he looked effortlessly sexy in, your hand yanking him by his tie for him to be closer. Any bit of pain translated to pleasure, and any pleasure was magnified tenfold.

He let out low growls in between kisses, his only intention being to wreck you. Even when you weren’t teasing him, it felt like a tease. As for you, you initially didn’t care less about whether someone walked in, but when Sammy sent a text that you sneakily checked despite Dean trying to get your full and undivided attention, he was trying to get it fixed.

He was devouring you.