Once a Nerd Ch. 12 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 12

... the call, as far as my appearance, but Dean was of a strong difference in opinion.

"Dear fucking Christ, Sammy, what—" He cuts himself off, hand clasped theatrically to his mouth. I pause in crumbling up cold chunks of butter in a big bowl of flour, glancing at the phone with scrunched brows.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Your hair!"

Oh, right. He's never seen it like—

I flush, quickly mortified. Reaching up to snatch the band from my hair, you'd think Dean was witnessing a murder:"No, fuck! Leave it, leave it like that. It's so goddamn cute, I could die."

Dropping my hand with a huff, I resume working on the dough to keep from looking at the phone. I know goddamn well he's taking captures. I've never been one for regular haircuts, but this is the longest I've gone without one since highschool. Most of it's long enough to drag back into the bun, but there are some tighter curls in the front that still manage to snag at my eyelashes. It's not like I keep fucking barrettes around the apartment. "It's gotten too long. I need to cut it."

"Not too much," He whines."I love your hair."

"I just need it out of my eyes for shit like this."

"Speaking of shit like this, is that...an apron?"

Oh, God. The apron. I'd forgotten about that, too. Don't feed it into it, Sam.

"I'm making a pie for tomorrow."

"You bake?" Dean sounds mystified.

"If push comes to shove. I'd feel like a real prick showing up empty-handed."

"Most pricks just show up ...

... with a bottle of wine. That's what I'd do. Can I see?"

"The...dough?"

"Yeah, be my slutty Rachel Ray."

I snort a laugh, giving my back to the screen so he can't tell how funny I find those unbelievably stupid comments of his. "Alright, but you're not allowed to beat off to this."

"Don't clip my wings, Sammy."

A pie that would've taken maybe thirty minutes to make turns into an hour, as I walk Dean through the various processes in my best impression of a TV chef. I do my damndest to be serious about it, but he interrupts every other sentence with his own dramatized impression of a phone-sex operator."Oh, yeah? You rollin' it out, baby? Lemme see you put your back into it, Sam, fuck—"

Whether or not he's actually getting something out of it, the commentary has me doubled-over with laughter. I laugh so hard, I'm crying with it, can barely breathe through it. Dean frequently breaks character to laugh with me, because it's the most infectious of human deportments. By the end of the call, my face aches from how much I've laughed and smiled. I can't remember how long it's been, or if there was anyone before Dean who could split my sides like this. When there's comfortable silence, I can feel him watching me.

It isn't heated or salacious, either. It's...painfully soft, the way he looks at me. Again, like I'm the only thing in the world worth watching. Even without Dean physically in the room, it's a simple slice of joy I think I'll remember for the rest of my life. ...