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All work and no play makes Dean Winchester a dull boy. Fortunately, their latest hunt for a witch introduced him to a cute barista who was on board for a no strings attached kind of evening.
He made a real date of it — red wine and overpriced spaghetti at a schmoozy Italian restaurant, and now a crackling fire on the hearth back at her place.
Needless to say, snuggled up on the couch, it didn’t take long for conversation to be traded for breathless kisses and some eager exploration. Everything was A-OK, until Dean noticed golden eyes staring intently from below.
“Get outta here, shoo!” He waved his arm, but the cat didn’t budge.
“Oh, that’s Mr. Tibbles. Don’t mind him,” she laughed.
And for a bit, Dean did his damnedest not to, until Mr. Tibbles started joining in on the fun by pawing at his posterior.
“The hell? Get offa me!”
“Mr. Tibbles, are you giving Dean a spanking? Is he being naughty?” She smiled at Dean and winked. “I think he wants to play too.”
“Uh… okay, little freaky. Heh. Can I just put him in the other room or something?”
“Dean, how mean! Of course not! I always let Mr. Tibbles watch.”
Holy shit.
Dean was performing a mental breakdown of the pros and cons of getting it on with a crazy cat lady when Sam rang his cell. That sealed the deal. He made quick work of recovering his clothes and shooting off an apology.
“Jesus, there is no way Sam is hearing about this,” he muttered as he made his hasty retreat to the Impala.
Like oil on tarmac, the cat’s form glistened and spread, spilling outward until it elongated and took the form of a svelte man. He lazily leaned back against the leg of the couch, held out a hand, and grinned.
“Think he was on to us?”
She laughed, meeting his palm in a high-five. “He didn’t have a clue.”