Here's some quite short drabble for you.
It was one of those Tumblr things where you'd send me a ship and a word and I was suppsoed to write a ficlet around it. The ship was Dean/Jo and the word was "collar."
Dean tugged at his collar.
He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he got extra fidgety whenever Jo was around.
This was serious business, though. They were on a joint hunt. The last time he recalled being undercover as a well-dressed socialite, he was with Bela Talbot. He's managed fine. Now, his company was significantly less conniving.
Jo was in a little black dress falling just above the knee. It framed her well. Her hair cascaded in waves around her shoulders.
He tugged at his collar again.
Jo was now talking up an old man, dragging information out of him what was probably flowing out more easily because of her red lipstick. She met eyes with him for a moment and her features lit up. Dean couldn't imagine why, but it sure gave him the collar-pulling urge.
Jo ended the conversation with the man and slinked over to Dean, doing something with her eyes he was sure she didn't do to any old guy she made eye contact with. When she was in front of him, she got her red lips really close to her ear and said in a significantly attitude-laced voice, "Zip up your fly, sweetheart."
She slapped him affectionately on the neck and chuckled triumphantly as she walked off.
Dean cleared his throat loudly.