You better cool it off [before you burn it out]
Are you happy with your current relationship?
"Oooh John Winchester you better have a damn fine excuse for this one or I'm gonna have your head on a platter." Mary's hands went to her hips as she spoke, shaking her hair back and cocking her hip to one side. The sun hit her hair like fire and she pursed her lips, waiting.
It happened like this often enough that they'd gotten into a habit. Mary stood on the porch, shirtsleeves brushing against her knuckles as her fingers dug into the waistband of her jeans, while John stood by the car, trying to look ashamed but not fairing well enough to actually achieve it.
"That isn't anything new, Mary," he muttered. One hand shoved in his pockets and his head slightly bowed, he would have pulled off endearing if it were anyone else. "Don't suppose sorry would help?"
"Like Hell."
He didn't say anything and her mouth softened, trying to fight back a smile. He knew her so well he could play her without even trying, like it was a natural as breathing. Finally, sighing with exasperation, her hands left her hips and crossed across her chest. "Get inside."
The way he held himself, slightly off kilter and listing, told her that he'd dislocated his shoulder, but even so she didn't hold the door open for him. Man had caused his own pain; he'd have to suffer through it for a little while longer.
It happened like this often enough that they'd gotten into a habit. John's shoulder had been knocked in and out of place so many times that it slipped back into place easily, but still elicited a grunt of pain and a stream of cussing.
Living with John had taught her that you could love someone imperfectly but still love them. Just look at them. What a mess. They got so upset with each other, had so many insignificant resentments, but loved each other so fiercely it scared her sometimes.
Scrubbing a hand across his face, John cursed again, resting his clammy forehead against hers. "Y'happy now, Mary?"
She smiled, a little half smile that looked a little bit like a smirk. Putting a hand on either side of his neck, fingers brushing against his jaw, she tipped his head so her lips pressed against his forehead, his cheeks and finally against his lips. "On cloud nine."
"Oooh John Winchester you better have a damn fine excuse for this one or I'm gonna have your head on a platter." Mary's hands went to her hips as she spoke, shaking her hair back and cocking her hip to one side. The sun hit her hair like fire and she pursed her lips, waiting.
It happened like this often enough that they'd gotten into a habit. Mary stood on the porch, shirtsleeves brushing against her knuckles as her fingers dug into the waistband of her jeans, while John stood by the car, trying to look ashamed but not fairing well enough to actually achieve it.
"That isn't anything new, Mary," he muttered. One hand shoved in his pockets and his head slightly bowed, he would have pulled off endearing if it were anyone else. "Don't suppose sorry would help?"
"Like Hell."
He didn't say anything and her mouth softened, trying to fight back a smile. He knew her so well he could play her without even trying, like it was a natural as breathing. Finally, sighing with exasperation, her hands left her hips and crossed across her chest. "Get inside."
The way he held himself, slightly off kilter and listing, told her that he'd dislocated his shoulder, but even so she didn't hold the door open for him. Man had caused his own pain; he'd have to suffer through it for a little while longer.
It happened like this often enough that they'd gotten into a habit. John's shoulder had been knocked in and out of place so many times that it slipped back into place easily, but still elicited a grunt of pain and a stream of cussing.
Living with John had taught her that you could love someone imperfectly but still love them. Just look at them. What a mess. They got so upset with each other, had so many insignificant resentments, but loved each other so fiercely it scared her sometimes.
Scrubbing a hand across his face, John cursed again, resting his clammy forehead against hers. "Y'happy now, Mary?"
She smiled, a little half smile that looked a little bit like a smirk. Putting a hand on either side of his neck, fingers brushing against his jaw, she tipped his head so her lips pressed against his forehead, his cheeks and finally against his lips. "On cloud nine."