There's an old saying: if you play with fire, eventually you're gonna get burned. Dean doesn't have much for old sayings and shit like that, but Sammy loves to quote them whenever he's being an especially annoying uptight prick, versus the somewhat annoying uptight prick that he is the rest of the time. For the last five days, he's heard that fucking saying over and over, with Sam smirking and acting like he's giving him some sort of intelligent warning instead of just being an ass. Still, it's what Dean hears when he walks into the stuffy, smelly, way too organized building that's become his destination every afternoon for nearly a week.
She's there, though, so, really, what does he care about old sayings?
Course, Sam would logically point out now that she doesn't even know Dean exists, hasn't even given him a slight smile in days of him 'accidentally' bumping her table or outright staring in a way that gets most girls to drop their panties in no time. Doesn't work on her. None of it. Flirting directly or indirectly, staring, drooling. Well, not like he's actually done any drooling because that's just immature and pathetic.
Besides, she's not the kind of woman you drool over like that. Her IQ is obviously larger than her tit size, which is something he's not sure he can say about most women he notices. Her hair is a fucking mess of curls she doesn't seem to care to tame, and her nose is too something. He's not sure what but he has to find other things wrong with her besides her hair and tits cause, really, her hair makes him want to grip it with his fingers and her tits would fit perfect in his hands.
She's dangerous, though. A Smart Girl. Books over brawn, as proven by her inability to even look up from whatever boring old book has her attention today to look at him as if he's a piece of meat. Normally, he'd hate a girl doing that, makes him feel cheap and dirty, or so he tells Sam when he's attempting to be 'sensitive man' for kicks. But her. She could look at him any way she wanted if she'd just look at him.
That's why he's come back every day. Oh, he's found excuses, weak ones at that, and Sam fucking knows him too well to think he'd willingly go to some private library to actually read supernatural shit. Why read it when he lives it? But the old woman who owns the collection told Sam that the girl was researching some animal he'd never even heard of and would be in town for two weeks.
Two weeks. He didn't even know if they'd be here in Buttcrack, Massachusetts that long. Right now, Sam was playing 'charming college boy' to some skirt at the DMV to try to get information on the dude they suspected of being responsible for the latest disappearances they're investigating. If their hunch is right, as it usually is, they'll be leaving in a couple of days, tops. Mission accomplished. On to the next gig. On the road again, only with AC/DC providing the soundtrack instead of that stoner Willie. And she'll still be here in this claustrophobic room sitting amongst all these smelly old books with no idea what she missed out on by not giving him even a look.
Okay. So, sure, she'd have no idea and likely wouldn't give a shit, but Dean's not fond of logic, so he just shrugs off the fact that his excuses don't even make sense to him anymore. Instead, he leans against the bookshelf and watches her, trying to figure out why the fuck this one is getting to him. He's seen prettier girls. Hell, he's fucked his share of them. This one isn't beautiful, not in that flashy way that makes his cock twitch and his smile smooth.
This girl is Sam's type. No make-up, boring clothes that don't do anything for her, messy hair, ink on her fingers, and too fucking smart to even give him the time of day. Sam always like those Smart Girls who look at Dean like he should be fixing their car instead of trying to talk to them. He's not fucking stupid, even if he isn't the smart guy like Sam is, so he usually can't stand women like this.
So why is this one different? Probably because she ignores him. She hasn't even looked at him as if he shouldn't be breathing the same air, much less done anything to justify his anger or annoyance. When he bumped into her table and again when it was her chair, she didn't look up from her books. Instead, she just murmured 'it's fine' in this husky accented voice that made his blood go wild, and turned a fucking page. He considers writing on his skin, since she seems to love words so much, but that's a kink saved for another day. One after, oh, she decides to recognize his existence. This is the last time, he decides. Of course, he decided that yesterday and the day before, but each new day is a new beginning, so he can ignore those times.
Logic and Dean are like oil and water, thank the fuck, because nothing about this current, what would he call it? Situation? Humiliation? He's sure Sam could give him a dozen or more -ion words that suit but it's not like he's going to actually talk to Sam about this. It's embarrassing enough with the cryptic warnings and outright amusement when Sam asks daily now 'Going back to the library, huh?' in a knowing voice that makes him want to break his own brother's nose. Only not. Cause, yeah, it's Sammy, for better or worse, and it's not anyone's fault that the worse outweighs the better more often than not these days. Course, Dean prefers smug asshole Sam to emotional whiny Sam, so it's all good.
"Did you need this book?"
The voice interrupts his whatever the fuck he's been doing for the last ten minutes since he's not about to admit to thinking so much. Not even to himself cause it's just one more step down a path of shit he doesn't want to be known for doing. God, next thing he knows, he'll be buying a CD of BeeGee's Greatest Hits or some nightmare like that. He shudders slightly and ignores the fact that a half dozen songs easily come to mind that would be on that CD cause, yeah, that's more embarrassing than being caught staring (but not drooling) by the hot British chick with the book fetish.
"What?" He rolls his eyes and wonders if his balls have been stolen without his knowledge since that's the only reason he'd be squeaking one word replies to a Hot Chick, even if she's all smart and shit.
She looks up then and her lips purse into this weird contortion that's either amused or frowning, and Dean's not sure which he prefers. Fuck, he knew that childhood fantasy about being spanked by the prim schoolteacher would come back to bite him on the ass at some point. Spankings can happen after the ink, he decides, doing his best to give her a reasonably innocent expression. He's pretty sure he's utterly fucked cause he doesn't do innocent well at all.
"The book," she repeats, but not in one of those 'you're obviously stupid' voices. Instead, it's almost amused. Fuck. He's been caught. Not that he wasn't likely obvious but still it galls to think this girl's caught him out.
"Wasn't looking at the book," he drawls, giving up any attempt at innocent. She blushes, which actually surprises him because she's obviously his age, or close to it, and women who look all pretty with bedhead hair and sexy voices and are nearing 30 don't get all blushy at a compliment. Now, he's even more intrigued, and he considers putting Sam on the case, to figure out if it wasn't actually her ignoring him all this time but some inability to recognize when a handsome and charming man, such as himself, is wanting to fuck her against a bookcase. Not that he wants Sam around her.
"Oh, right then," she finally says, her voice all prim and husky and doing really bad things to his body. He'll die if she ever says 'fuck me now, Dean', he realizes. Just flat out fall over dead from blood rushing to his cock so fast he can't handle it.
"Name's Dean Winchester. And you are?" God, now he sounds like Sam. 'And you are?' All he needs is a tweed coat and glasses, and he can hand in his 'cool guy' card. Course, if he gets her name, then he can stop referring to her as 'the hot smart chick'.
"Hermione Granger," she replies before studying him like he's some sort of unknown creature. It's sort of weird but also sort of hot, which just shows how fucked up his mind's become in this goddamn library.
Nothing else is said, so they're obviously at one of those impasse things that Sam talks about sometimes. A stalemate is Dean's preferred word cause the other one sounds too fancy to be normal. She's fussing with her book now, running her fingers along the sides of the pages, and stealing looks at him through that amazing hair. If he does something wrong, he'll lose a chance. Like catching someone, he reckons. Have to be smart and gentle sometimes. Course, his style is usually rash and daring but he doesn't want to scare this one away. Not until he figures out why she caught his attention in the first place.
"Well, if all you're going to do is stand there gawking, could you at least sit down so people don't stare? I'm working on research and dislike the distraction," she says, obviously over her moment of flattered shock or whatever caused the blush.
Instead of glaring or being a smart ass before leaving and washing his hands of this whole mess, he blinks before walking over to her table and sitting down across from her. "A drink after?" he asks in what he hopes is a 'you can't resist me' charming tone.
She arches a brow at him. "Perhaps." She smirks then before looking back at her book.
He's not sure what to say in response to that, so he runs his fingers through his hair as he watches her and tries to figure out what just happened cause he gets a feeling that he's just been manipulated so subtly he hasn't even quite figured out how yet. And that? Makes him slowly smile because maybe he's realizing what it is about her that's had him acting like a fool the past few days. Sam can be smug and warn all he wants about not getting burned cause, the thing is, Dean loves the burn that comes from playing with fire.
End
Illogical
Story Notes:
January 18, 2008