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You chuckle to yourself, pushing another sweet potato chip into your mouth and watch as, on the massive screen before you, Victoria throws a glass of Chardonnay into Lenah’s face.
You shake your head, shift around, reach for your own glass of wine - red, and therefore completely unsuitable for being thrown into people’s faces. Better down your hatch, you think, as you take a second sip before leaning forward and putting the glass down.
There’s a shuffling sound behind you and you turn, need to peer past the backrest of the La-Z-Boy - Sam’s, because you’d never dare to sit in Dean’s. Speaking of.
“Whatcha doing?” you ask, humor in your voice and if ever there’s been someone who looked like they’d just been caught at something, it’s Dean, now, pushing himself off the door frame and walking towards you, like that’s what he was doing this whole time.
“Just checking in on my girl,” he says, crossing the distance, then leaning down, one arm on the headrest, one on the armrest, to give you a kiss when you raise your chin. “You good on snacks?”
“Very good on snacks,” you say, grinning up at him. “Only the biggest one of all missing.” Dean chuckles, then pushes himself up, straightens again, throws a look at the TV where Bianca is just in a confessional, talking all about how her feelings are hurt by the women constantly fighting.
“Think you’ll have to do with just chips and chocolate,” he says, sounding a little distracted. “Not really my, not really my speed.” You nod, look up at him, and then he turns back to you, gives you a little smile.
“Okay,” you say, like it’s totally neither here nor there. “Just repeating myself, but I think you’d love the drama.”
“Eh,” Dean replies, “I prefer my drama to have guns and– what the hell is wrong with that dog?” You’re looking at Dean again, but now watch horror and disgust spread on his face before you follow his gaze, as the ugliest dog in the world keeps getting filmed whenever its owner says something stupid.
“That’s Mr. Puffers,” you say, tone wavering between unbelieving and shocked. “I’ve sent you, like, a million memes of him.”
“Huh,” Dean says, but doesn’t continue, just keeps looking at the TV. You feel a grin break out over your face.
“Dean?” you say and he doesn’t react. “Dean.”
He turns back to you, momentarily disoriented.
“Yep?” he asks. You purse your lips, then nod at the other chair.
“Do you wanna watch with me?” you ask, trying not to let the glee of potentially getting your boyfriend into your favorite guilty pleasure show appear on your face. But Dean pulls down the corners of his mouth, shakes his head.
“Nah,” he says, “that’s girl stuff.” He looks at you, immediately realizing his mistake at your raised eyebrows.
“Which is really cool,” he quickly adds. “And… empowering?” You snort, then chuckle.
“Nothing empowering about this show, don’t worry,” you reply, tone snarky. “Just braindead nonsense. But fun braindead nonsense.” Dean nods, then shoots another look at the TV.
“There’s cold beer in the mini fridge,” you say, voice sing-songy and seductive and Dean turns back to you, eyes narrowed. “And I wouldn’t tell Sam or Cas.”
Dean purses his lips now, looking absolutely irresistible and then he walks past you, behind the bar he installed himself in the Dean Cave. When he returns he sits in the other chair, pushes himself back until the legrest pops out. He twists open the beer he took, tosses the cap at the table, then uses that hand to point at you.
“Not a word,” he says and you grin, then lean forward, grab your wine glass again and raise it in his direction.
“Not a word,” you say and Dean raises his bottle, and then you both drink. The two of you watch in silence for what has to be a minute, before Dean pipes up again.
“Why are they fighting?” he asks. You throw him a look, then look back at the screen.
“So Bianca talked shit behind Victoria’s back,” you reply. “Victoria found out, but rather than confront her about it, she went to the rest of the group and started asking them if Bianca had talked shit, seeing who would tell her the truth and who wouldn’t. And then Fifi–”
“Is that the dog?” Dean asks and you giggle while he throws you a confused look.
“No!” you say. “No, that’s the one with the silver hair, she’s an heiress, so she gets a fancy weird name. So Fifi was the only one who told Victoria the truth, but then she went to Chrystal, and–” Dean raises the hand without the beer in it.
“Which one’s Chrystal?” he asks and you tilt your head.
“She’s not in this season,” you explain. “She left after the last one ‘cause her husband was involved in that big real estate scam.” You watch as Dean chews on his lip, and you know him well enough to know that he wants to ask more, is desperately trying to keep it in. He throws you a questioning look.
“They have all the old episodes,” you say, eyes on the TV again, voice soft so it seems as unsuggestive as possible. “If, you know, I mean, the entire third season is about that, it’s super detailed and there’s so much drama and so many secrets, and the reunion episode, boy howdy…”
You trail off, then carefully look back at Dean. He looks at you like you just pulled the wool over his eyes, when really, you were just giving him a recap.
“Is the dog in season three?” he asks and you nod before he’s even finished the sentence. “Alright. But this is gonna require some serious snack game.” He says it while throwing a look full of meaning at your sweet potato chips, but you elect to let him get away with the slander for once.
“Ice cream,” you say and begin pushing yourself up, but Dean’s quicker.
“I got it, I got it,” he says and to your delight, he walks over, leans down again, gives you another kiss which you gladly return.
“Thank you, baby,” you say, beaming up at him. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart,” he says, starts to move away, then stops, grimaces. “But if the boys ask, can we say, I don’t know, we were having marathon sex or something?” You giggle, then nod.
“Absolutely, stud,” you reply and Dean chuckles, then stands and walks towards the door.
You’ll tell Sam, Cas and anyone else who asks you were doing handstands for three hours if that’s what it takes. Because this is probably as good as it’s gonna get. Sitting around with the man you love most in the world, eating snacks and watching dumb TV.
As far as you’re concerned, life doesn’t get better than this.