The black grease and oil covering your hands made the metal car parts in front of you slick to handle. But this was nothing new to you. One hand left its task of tightening a bolt to brush a piece of hair behind your ear, no doubt smudging your face with black oil. After you'd tightened an inner working pipe enough to make this thing run- well, not thing. This car really was beautiful. 1967 Chevy Impala, pretty hard to come by. You'd only seen a few in your career, and it was a privilege to work on one again.

You stood from your crouched position in front of the car, shutting the hood with blackened hands. Right as the hood slammed back into place, you noticed its owner standing outside your open garage. It startled you at first, but those stunning green eyes were calming to see again.

"How's my baby doin'?" he asked, walking over to his beloved car. You smirked at his nickname for it.

"Still hanging on, barely. What could you possibly do to this poor thing that it's in my shop every six months?" You asked, wiping off your hands with a towel that used to be white at some point.

"Now that's a long story..." he said quietly, almost too quiet, but your ears still caught it. "I don't always have time to fix her up myself, and you're the next best thing," he replied, and even though your back was facing him, you knew he was smirking.

You couldn't help but blush a little at his compliment. You had no idea why he made you so nervous, but you couldn't help but get butterflies in your stomach every time he spoke.

"So, what do I owe ya?" He asked, making you turn towards him. But, when you turned around, he was closer than you expected. A sharp gasp passed your lips before you could stop it, and you turned sharply around to avoid his piercing green gaze.

"You know what, y-you're in here so often i-it's on the house," you stuttered, hoping he couldn't hear your intensely rising heartbeat.

"Oh come on," he said lightly, stepping towards you until he was right behind you. He reached past you and placed a wad of cash on the table, his figure forming beside yours perfectly. Dean's hand lingered near yours and he whispered his next response right beside your exposed ear. "I gotta give you something, for all the great work you do." Your eyes fluttered closed for a split second, after feeling his breath hit the back of your neck. "I don't make you nervous, do I?" He suddenly asked in a way that sent shivers up your spine.

"N-no," you lied, rather unconvincingly, still looking at the floor as you turned to face him. Dean suddenly ran a finger ghostly along your jawline, inviting goosebumps to form on your skin, and lifted your chin so your eyes met.

"You sure?" His voice was barely over a flirtatious whisper, and his emerald eyes never left your own. A breath you didn't realized you were holding escaped your lungs and your knees went weak.

"No..." you answered again, almost matching his tone. A smirked played on his lips again for the split second before the anticipation was over.

His lips met your softly, trying to savor every second of the kiss, and you took no time in returning it. Your hands instinctively traveled up his chest and shoulders, and his went to your waist. Then he deepened the kiss, like this was his last opportunity to ever do it.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and his grip tightened, eliminating any space between the two of you. Both his and your lips moved together in perfect unison, and your heartbeat was pounding in your ears.

You both pulled away for some air, and he leaned your forehead against yours. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop your widening smile. Dean smiled too, and you mentally kicked yourself for saying the first thing that popped into your head.

"You know, if that was your version of a tip, I'd have to say it's the best one I've received." Thankfully, Dean's hearty laugh filled your ears, and it gave you some relief. Some.

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