Supernatural Imagines/One shots

Handsy - Dean

"John. Harrison." (I knew it was something boring like that.)

"That sounds vaguely familiar."

"John's a common name," he dismisses.

This is going well. If I can get the name of his hotel, that's all we need to hunt him down later and make him give up information. He's wily and he knows there are people who know what he's up to, but a chauvinist like him wouldn't expect me to be one of them. With the establishment's name, we can look for what he may be using to connect with the demons, or, you know, beat him up in private. 

John hasn't only had people killed, although their deaths sadden me deeply. It's also his ex-wife who lost the case against him due to a possessed judge, and the two girls who pressed sexual harassment charges against him. I'm also doing this for his main rival, a woman I really look up to, who is next on his kill list because she threatens to beat him at the next election. 

I realise my mind's drifted off but John doesn't seem to have noticed - he's looking at my boobs, unabashed. 

I cough and his eyes flick up. "I like you, John."

"I like you too, sweetheart." he leans over and tucks my hair behind my ear so he can lean in to whisper something. I resist the urge to cringe away at the unsolicited touching, but I bite my tongue - literally - and wait. "It's getting late... I'm staying at the Indigo Inn, not far from here..."

"Yeah..." I say, breathy and suggestive.

"Yeah, baby." he whispers back.

Then, without any warning, his lips brush against by ear, inching downwards to place a kiss on my jaw. My body goes rigid.

Oh, God.

His hand isn't on the bar anymore, it's invading the hem of my skirt but I'm so close... if only he'd tell me the room number. As my mind threatens to go into flight or flight, I ask, "What room?"

There's no time for subtlety. It's now or never.

"Room 101." he whispers and I can finally breathe again.

His other hand has decided to grip my thigh like he owns me, and I know I won't be able to push off a dude as big as him. My heart aches for a moment for all the women who don't have a Sam or Dean to help them. I shoot my arm into the air and click twice - our signal. 

In the blink of an eye, John's head bends backwards and I see Dean with a death-grip on his hair. Before I can even gasp, Dean's punched his face so hard that blood gushes from his nose like a gruesome waterfall. John makes an embarrassing, pig-squeal sort of sound as Dean clutches his collar, saying loudly, "Alright, big boy, this place doesn't tolerate handsy pervs." dragging him over to the exit. 

Dean slings him out the door and I even hear a few people clap. Dean walks back in, straightens his leather jacket out and meets my eyes. His face looks calm, although the rise and fall of his chest reveals he's anything but. He looks at me, nods, then almost trips in his haste to get out out the bar.

Without a second thought, I follow him out into the drizzly evening to find him leaning against the side of the building, his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Thanks, Dean."

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

I hitch up the end of my skirt to reveal a purple, finger shaped bruise already blooming. 

"Son of a bitch." Dean mutters. 

"It doesn't hurt. I got the information. Indigo Inn, Room 101."

Dean isn't listening, "I told Sam it was a bad idea. I'm sorry you had -"