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When he showed up on her doorstep that morning, Dean had been friends with Donna for a few years, ever since they’d met on that pishtaco case in Stillwater. In fact, she was probably one of his best friends, maybe even his best friend. A best friend he was secretly attracted to, though he’d never acted on it - not even when the opportunity had arose during the Wendigo case or that Christmas they’d spent at Jody’s. He’d been too afraid of losing that friendship. So he’d pushed those feelings down just like he did everything else, pushed them down and tried to ignore them.
But the drive to Minnesota had given him a lot of time to think and he was thinking that maybe it was time for a change.
Dean had liked her the minute he met her. She was sassy, cute, smart and she didn’t deserve an asshole husband who treated her like shit and called her fat. Dean had meant it when he said Doug was a dick. If his head hadn’t been in such a shitty place, he might have asked her out for a drink.
Dean had gotten to know her a little better when he’d seen her again in Hibbing, on that vampire case with Jody Mills. That time he hadn’t failed to notice how cute it was when she wrinkled her nose, either in disgust or annoyance. He’d also kind of liked it when she’d stood up to him and put him in his place. He hadn’t even argued when Sam teased him about it, just smiled and remembered how he’d felt a sudden attraction to her when she looked at him and snapped “Stuff you, Dean.”
He’d considered asking her out that time too, but the Mark stopped him. He couldn’t drag another innocent person into the shitstorm that was his life. Instead, he’d left her in Jody’s capable hands and driven away, her number in his phone, his in hers, you know, just in case.
When she’d called him from Cottage Grove, when he’d seen her name on his phone, he’d tried to ignore the funny twist he felt in his gut. The thought of seeing her again made him smile, which did not go unnoticed by his pain-in-the-ass younger brother. He’d reminded Sam that they were just friends. Funny though, it seemed like the Impala couldn’t get him there fast enough.
He’d been thrilled to see her, and he’d hoped she felt the same way. He’d even thought that maybe this time he would ask her out. Until he saw her with Doug. It had taken a lot of self control on his part to not deck Officer Doug when he saw him flirting with Donna. Besides, who could blame him? She was gorgeous. But she didn’t belong to Dean, so he had no right. He couldn’t do anything but bite his tongue and watch.
He’d teased her good-naturedly about Doug having a crush on her and to his delight, she’d scoffed and brushed it off, saying she refused to be “once bitten, twice Doug’d.” He’d gotten a laugh out of that, as well as being secretly pleased that she might not be interested in her fellow police officer.
He had been impressed at how well she handled herself during the case and when he’d told her she was a true hunter, he’d meant it. The blush on her cheeks, the smile on her face and the hug she’d given him had made his day. Too bad he’d had to share the hug with Sam.
Four months after the case in Cottage Grove, late one night, his phone had rang, dragging him from sleep. He’d groped for it, knocking it to the floor, missing the call. He’d had to get out of bed to find it. It had been Donna.
He’d called her back, concerned. It had to be another case, so soon after the last one, that would be the only reason she would call. He was quietly thankful that he would get to see her again.
When she’d answered, her voice had been shaky and if he wasn’t mistaken, tear-filled. He’d closed his eyes, silently praying she wasn’t hurt. If she was, heads were going to roll.
“Sheriff, you okay?” he’d asked.
“Call me Donna, Dean,” she had said. “We’re friends.”
His heart had leapt a little at her words; he was glad she considered them friends.
It wasn’t a case, it was Doug. The new Doug. They’d tried dating, but they hadn’t clicked, which Donna had taken to heart, blaming herself. She’d said she didn’t know why she had called Dean, his had been the first number she’d pulled up when she opened her phone. She hadn’t expected him to call back, in fact she’d been about to call Jody when Dean had returned her call. Their conversation had been easy, comfortable, even the silences weren’t so bad. They’d talked most of the night. He had missed her after he hung up the phone.
He’d waited two days before he gave in. He had told Sam where he was going - earning him a casual nod and a knowing grin - climbed in the Impala, and hightailed it to Minnesota. He’d pulled into town late that night and found Donna at the office, a giant cup of coffee on the desk in front of her, alongside a box of cookies. When she’d looked up to see him standing in her office door, she had grabbed the cookies and tried to shove them in her desk drawer. Dean crossed the room and put his hand on hers, shaking his head.
“You want ‘em, sweetheart, eat ‘em,” he’d grinned. “In fact, can I have one?”
Donna had pulled the box out of the drawer and held it out to Dean. He’d taken a cookie, grabbed a chair and sat down next to her desk.
“What’re you doin’ here, Dean?” she’d mumbled, doodling on the notepad next to her elbow.
“I thought my friend could use some company,” he had shrugged.
He hadn’t missed the rapid blinking of her eyes, like maybe she was trying not to cry, or how she’d refused to look at him. He’d bumped her knee with his and given her his best smile, earning a smile in return.
Dean had taken her to dinner, then he’d driven her home and walked her to her door. She’d invited him in and they had ended up sharing a half a gallon of ice cream and watching Die Hard. He had fallen asleep on her couch and in the morning, as they’d stood outside in the dewy air, leaning against Baby, warm cups of coffee in their hands, she had leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you, Dean,” she’d whispered.
“For what?” he had asked.
“For being my friend.”
It wasn’t as if he and Sam made a conscious decision to give up hunting, it just sort of happened. One day it seemed they were out killing monsters and the next they started helping other hunters, researching their cases, posing as FBI supervisors, or CDC bureaucrats, keeping track of which hunters were where and who could go help who, rarely leaving the bunker. Neither of them seemed to mind.
Except...Dean did. He was a hunter, he couldn’t just turn that off. A day or two of sitting around doing research was one thing, but when one day stretched into a week, a week into a month, then two months, then three, he thought he would lose his mind.
He’d been pacing the bunker for days, irritated, fidgety, on edge. Sam kept throwing dirty looks his direction, grumbling at him to go do something.
“Like what, Sam?” Dean muttered. “We don’t have any cases and all this research is driving me crazy.”
“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam snapped. “Why don’t you go play pool or something? Go to the bar, get a drink, find a girl, something.”
There was only one girl he cared to find, that he even gave a crap about. “Donna,” Dean chuckled. “You know what, I think I’ll go see Donna.”
Sam sighed in relief. “God, yes, go see Donna. You two can go to the shooting range, give out speeding tickets, watch bad action movies and eat ice cream.”
He could have waited until morning to see her, gotten a decent night’s sleep and hit the road bright and early. Instead he found himself packing his duffel and hitting the road just after ten that night. He turned the music up, rotating his favorite tapes in and out of the cassette deck for the next eight hours until he slid into Stillwater around six a.m.
Dean parked in front of Donna’s small house on the outskirts of town and made his way around back to the kitchen door, glancing in the windows, trying to see if she was up. Before he could knock, the door flew open and Donna stepped onto the patio, gun in hand.
He put his hands up and stepped back, grinning. “Hey, Donna.”
“Dean? What the cuss? You scared the living daylights out of me!” Donna lowered her weapon.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “You’re lookin’ good.”
Donna blushed and put a hand to her hair. “You’re such a fibber. Come on, get in here.” She gestured for him to follow her inside, set her gun on the counter by the door, then threw her arms around Dean, squeezing him tight.
“I’m not lying, Donna,” Dean murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek, his arms around her waist. “You are looking really good.”
She really was. Her long blonde hair was loose, flowing around her shoulders, slightly messy, like she’d just run a hand through it after she’d crawled out of bed; she wasn’t dressed yet, wearing only a white bathrobe with ‘Canyon Valley Spa’ stitched on the breast. She smelled like vanilla and strawberries and everything good.
She stepped back, still in his arms, her hands on his biceps, smiling up at him. “You’re such a sweet talker,” she laughed.
“I’m not just sweet talking.” He pushed his hands into her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her, soft, tender, easy, trying to gauge her reaction.
To his surprise, she didn’t pull away, instead returning the kiss, hesitant at first, letting him guide her. When they finally separated, Donna’s cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink and her ample bosom was heaving.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“That was me kissing you,” Dean smirked. “Which I’ve been wanting to do for, oh, I don’t know, freaking years.”
Donna’s mouth fell open, a soft “oh” falling from her lips. She took a deep breath and blinked several times. “You’ve been wanting to kiss me for years?”
“Pretty much from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, right,” Donna giggled nervously. “The first time you met me I had doughnut powder all over my face. I doubt that made me very kissable. Not to mention I could stand to lose a few pounds -”
“Donna,” Dean interrupted. “I don’t give a shit about stuff like that. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
She blushed again and he felt a tug of desire low in his gut. “You keep blushing like that and I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he growled.
She didn’t respond, instead she rose up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips and pushed his hunter green jacket off his shoulders, tossing it on the table. She wrapped her fingers in his red flannel shirt and tugged him backwards, walking him through her kitchen toward the living room.
“Where are we going, princess?” he murmured, his lips still on hers.
“Couch,” she answered. “It’s closest.”
Now she was shoving off the flannel shirt, the fingers of one hand tucked in the waistband of his jeans, cold against his warm skin. He deftly loosened the tie on her robe and let it fall open. She was in just a bra and panties, sexy, lacy, the purple color vibrant against her creamy skin. He choked back a moan as he pushed the robe off her and let it fall to the floor, his hands on her waist, his thumbs drawing circles on her soft skin.
“Come here,” Dean ordered, dropping to the couch and pulling her down to sit in his lap, resting on his thighs. He ran his hands up her back to her bra, pausing to look at her, waiting. When she nodded, he unhooked it, pulling it down her arms, letting her breasts fall free. This time he didn’t hold back the groan. She was fucking beautiful.
He ran his hands up her back, pulling her to him, his mouth completely encompassing her nipple, the taste of her skin like a sweet nectar. He cupped her breast, kneading it gently as he laved the nipple with his tongue, sucking it between his teeth. Donna gasped and his dick twitched in response.
She reached between them and unbuckled Dean’s belt, quickly pulling his jeans open. His cock hardened as her fingers brushed over him. She yanked the front of his boxers down, not really freeing him completely, but enough that she could wrap a hand around him.
“Fuck,” he growled, mouthing his way up her chest to her neck, to her mouth, finally catching her lips in his, his tongue pushing into her mouth. He wanted to devour her, wanted to taste every part of her. He held her tight, lifted her and rolled her to her back. He rose up on his knees between her legs and hurriedly stripped off his clothes, his eyes never leaving hers. He slipped his fingers in either side of her silky underwear and slowly slid them down her legs, stopping every few inches to press a kiss to her knee, her ankle, her calf. He dropped the lacy fabric to the floor, then leaned over Donna and kissed her.
“I’ve been wanting to do this forever,” Dean purred. His hand slid down her stomach and between her legs, slowly caressing her. “God, you’re so wet.” He brought his hand to his mouth, licking at his damp fingers, before pressing another kiss to her lips and positioning himself at the end of the couch, his head between her legs.
Donna moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she gasped, her blonde hair falling into her eyes as she shook her head.
“Yeah, I do,” he growled. His tongue darted out, gently lapping at the lips of her pussy, the taste of her flooding his tastebuds. He put his hands on her thighs, pushing her legs open, his tongue sliding into her, his mouth closing over her, one finger teasing at her entrance.
Her hips bucked up, a groan escaping her, followed by a hurried apology.
Dean looked up at her, relishing in the beauty of the erotic flush of her skin and the sight of her ample breasts heaving under his ministrations. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “You enjoy every second of this.” He dropped his head, sucked her clit between his lips and pushed two fingers inside of her, his cock jumping as Donna cried out in ecstasy.
He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get enough of the sounds she was making as he fucked her with his mouth and fingers, her hips moving, her fingers scrambling for purchase, finally settling on the back of his head as he worked to get her off. It wasn’t long before she was drawing in short, stuttering breaths and her walls were clenching at Dean’s fingers, her hand clamped to the back of his head, holding him against her as she finally let go, crying out his name as she came.
Dean stayed between Donna’s legs, working her through the orgasm, moaning right along with her, pressing his aching cock against the cushions on the couch, desperate for some kind of friction, but not wanting to give up pleasuring Donna. Only when her moans faded away did he lift his head and press a kiss to her soft stomach.
“Dean,” she gasped, breathing heavily, her skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. “That was...that was, just...wow.”
He chuckled, sliding up her body until his hips were nestled against hers, his cock brushing the lips of her pussy. She was so warm, so inviting, her legs falling open, her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to lick at his lips. She pushed a hand between their bodies and took him in her hand, guiding him to her entrance, her leg hooking around the back of his thigh as he slowly sank into her.
Once he was fully seated inside of Donna, he paused, holding himself still inside of her, staring into her eyes, the feel of her surrounding him almost too much to take, his senses overwhelmed with emotions he hadn’t expected.
Donna kissed him, just a brush of her lips over his, but so intimate, so perfect. “It’s okay, Dean,” she whispered, somehow knowing, always knowing exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
He nodded, tilting his hips up and into her, burying himself in her warmth. He took his time, his thrusts slow and even, Donna moving with him, his cock brushing against her sweet spot with every pump of his hips. He braced a foot against the floor, pushing up and into her with every thrust, wanting, needing to be so deep inside of her that he forgot where he ended and she began.
He could feel himself getting closer and closer, his balls drawing up tight, his hips pumping faster as he pounded into her. She was gasping and moaning, writhing beneath him, her nails digging into his back and then she was coming, her walls clamping down around him, the sensation pushing him over the edge, his own orgasm exploding out of him, his entire body tensing as he emptied his seed inside her.
Afterward, he and Donna laid side by side on the couch, every part of their naked bodies touching, Dean’s hands running over every inch of her, his lips sliding along her jaw to her lips.
“So,” Donna whispered. “Still friends?”
“More than that, I think,” Dean chuckled.
“You okay with that?” she asked, not looking at him, instead focusing on her finger tracing the tattoo on his chest.
“Things change, sweetheart,” he replied. “This is a good thing. So, yes, I’m okay with that.” He pushed loose tendrils of hair from her face. “Guess that means you’re stuck me? You okay with that?”
Donna kissed him, smiling happily. “Oh yeah, you betcha,” she giggled.