14: [Action] Night Moves

[dashboardlite]

[ooc; Double-date is for Dean, Castiel, Santana, and...the mystery date.]

"She was a black-haired beauty with big, dark eyes," Dean mumbles somewhat in-key, flicking his BIC lighter open and touching the flame to the candles settled on the table.  He's done his best, really - someone as unromantic as Dean Winchester trying to plan anything remotely sexy (And not in the raw, natural way) is almost destined to fail in a spectacular fashion, but at least he tried.  He's commandeered one of the unused studies on the first floor, yanking a table into the middle and arranging four chairs around it.  There's plenty of food - the kitchen provided well: some fancy salad for whoever his date would be, something Italian (with breadsticks) for Santana, a burger for Cas, a steak for himself.

God, he's starving.

"...out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy," Dean chuckles, tucking his lighter away, "Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy...workin' on our night moves."  He hums through the chorus, poking a plate on the table to one side to make it just right.  He adjusts his tie with a little grimace.  Dean doesn't look bad; in fact, he looks really good*, but it's only because the closet wouldn't give him anything else.  Dean had asked it for something 'nicer', and after four times asking the same question he decided to take the goddamn striped shirt and tie and wear it.

Cas is supposed to show up soon.  Before the dates arrive.  Dean checks his watch and makes a face.  "...c'mon, Cas.  It's show time."  Shuffling over to the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace, he throws himself on fine, silk fabric with a little sigh.

With any luck, he might get some action tonight.

Finally.

*Exhibit A:

Comments

[action]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean raises his eyebrows, lifting his head from the cushion it's propped upon, and smiles thinly at the angel.

"Show time is go-time, Cas, which is right now."

Stretching, he pulls himself from the relatively-small loveseat and sits upright, one leg still cast over the armrest, elbows propping him up. His smile widens mischievously.

"You've got a date." Green eyes dart to what Castiel is surreptitiously trying to hide, and he smirks. "Whatcha got there, the Kama Sutra?"

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"A date," he repeats, something between a question and statement, unamused. If this has anything to do with anyone named Chastity, Cas is gone, and will not care in the least if he is thought a coward.

He hopes there will be alcohol.

He also decides not to show Dean the book he's been reading just yet, at least until the current situation is dealt with. No reason to lie, though: "It's a prophetic text." He can't help letting his gaze wander down to the amulet Dean wears even over the uncharacteristic striped shirt, and feels the weight of it on his own chest too, hidden beneath layers of clothing.

[action]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

A prophetic text? What the Hell could possibly be worse to read than anything Biblical? Dean's got no reason to pursue the line of questioning, though, since it's got nothing to do with him - if he's really curious, he'll just rifle through Cas' coat later.

"And yep, a date." With a grunt, Dean heaves himself from the lounge and smoothes down the front of his shirt. After looking Cas up and down for a moment, he realizes that the angel's been staring at him very intently this whole time.

He tries to shrug it off with a rather smug chuckle. "Not for nothin', Cas, but the last time somebody looked at me like that - I got laid. Now come on, man - Dates are nice. Dontcha wanna try something new? Get outta the same-old, same-old?"

Dean smiles enticingly with his next offer, "There's booze."

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In Castiel's admittedly meager experience, dates are NOT nice, even if they do sometimes end in Dean laughing happily, creases at the corners of his eyes and breath wheezing, making a knot of something warm and accomplished form in Cas' core.

Nor does he feel a particular need to add variety to his experience here. He has a book he'd like to get back to reading, and it really hasn't been all that long since the wing thing.

But Dean is looking at him hopefully, and there is no particular urgency to anything else Cas would occupy the evening with. And the hamburger he's spotted on the table and hopes is for him looks good.

Then he pays attention to the rest of what Dean said. "Like what?" he asks.

[action]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Of course, Dean follows the road that leads to sexual proclivity. Particularly when it involves him. Altogether too proud of his own track record, the cocky hunter smiles a little smugly at the angel.

"Whaddayou mean, like what? Am I really the only interesting thing to look at around here?" Dean huffs a laugh. "Really, Cas, you make me all tingly when you stare."

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"I meant what sort of new thing would I try.




'Tingly'?"

[action]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean frowns. Well, that bit of humor got shut down in less than five fucking seconds. Cue Castiel, the wet blanket extraordinaire.

"Dating. A hot chick is gonna play footsie with you tonight. Maybe you'll get lucky and do the mattress mambo."

He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "'Tingly' is when you get goosebumps, dude."

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"Dean. I would not wish to lie with a woman in the same night as meeting her. That would be untoward and disrespectful to her. But what do our feet have to do with anything?"

He headtilts. "And do you mean you become cold when I look at you?"

[action]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

...seriously?

"Wow, Cas, tell me how you really feel," He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. Pretty much every relationship Dean has ever had has been a one-night-stand (Or a weekend-stand, but those are fairly rare), and he respects the crap out of the majority of the women he fornicates with. Hell, if they enjoy it, why can't he? Commitment's a bitch.

He ignores the question about playing footsie, because clearly Cas won't be doing that today. "It's not...no, it's not like the cold kind of tingly." This is awkward to explain. With a sigh, Dean continues. "Like the good kind; the one that makes you feel good. Inside. Yeah."

He hopes that makes sense. It's just a figure of speech, after all.

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[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

"Very well," he replies. As far as he is aware, he has already been in the habit of being frank with Dean. He shrugs.

He looks around again, notes that there are four place-settings at the table, and asks, "So when will the other couple arrive?" He's pretty sure that's how dates work: in couples. And if he and Dean are one, logically there should be a second. Unless there is a human custom of switching plates during meals he doesn't know about -- like the baffling thing Dean did with Sam at a stoplight once, 'Chinese Fire Drill' Cas thinks it was called.