Run, Don't Walk.
PG-15. Winchester of your choosing / ofc
300 words, written for the popping of new LJ comm; spn-het-love's cherry, the very fist challenge: A few of my favorite things.
She loves his frown. He frowns when he's concentrating, or trying to tell her something serious, and it makes her laugh, that little angry dent between his brows, it makes her laugh every time. She loves it even more when that line melts to nothing, faced with the sound of her laughter, his face always fades to something serene.
She loves his bullshit. He knows she knows he's talkin' nothing but crap at her sometimes. Shoots her some impersonation of a sincere smile then quickly distracts her with his charms before she can call him on it. She loves his distractions more though, so she lets it slide. Swaps truths for the way he grips too tight, the way his kisses make her skin crawl with something exquisite. The way he bites his lip and the way he's always ready, clammy steel under her palm while he vacuums his mouth-print into her collarbone.
She loves when he's boisterous, but more when he's quiet. She looks at the fondness in his eyes, the longing, when they pass the jungle-gym in the park, the way he can't hold in his laughter at the kids having tantrums at the supermarket. She loves the weariness that he never complains about, he's so goddamn tired and she worries sometimes that he's running out of time for himself, the things he wants.
But he's got a job to do, the family business he says, and he's married to it. She loves that he's a truly devoted husband. He'll never be hers, but it doesn't break her heart. She thinks maybe the way he sways to the beck and call of the road is what she loves about him most of all. She loves that he's in love with his family business. 'Til death do they part.