14: [Action] Night Moves
Dec. 30th, 2010 02:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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:
"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:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-01-04 03:56 am (UTC)Occasionally he tries to interject, but falls silent each time Kurt's voice strengthens. Dean knows that it hurts. He's never really experienced heartbreak of this magnitude, considering the fact that...admittedly, he's usually the one breaking hearts. By now, any women with serious intentions towards Dean know how fast he can run when he's got someone stuck on him.
And yeah, okay, he's friendly. Why is that a bad thing? Why is it so hard to believe that Dean might manage to find something in common with a kid who likes everything he doesn't? It does sound awful that Kurt reminds him so strongly of Sam. Like a tinier, gay Sam. There are just so many similarities that remind Dean of being home.
"Look, Kurt," Dean says in all seriousness, as soon as the kid burns out. "I don't know how it is in your world, but I'm not exactly the discriminating type." He at least deserves the chance to defend himself. "And yeah; yeah, okay, I was oblivious," He admits, gritting his teeth and holding himself together. "I'm not exactly used to-" Dean frowns, trying to avoid the term 'teenager'. "...men...liking me. And I sort of..."
Now that Dean thinks about it, he twists everything into innuendo. It's just the way he is.
"...I always act that way. I'm sorry, Kurt. I know you're probably not gonna forgive me; I wouldn't blame you, because I didn't pay attention. I could've said something sooner. But I didn't, and there's nothing I can do about it now."
He tries to keep from sounding stupidly desperate about this. Dean shouldn't care so much. Kurt Hummel is just some flamboyant, fashion-obsessed kid with a high-voice. But that's not the part that really matters. It's the painfully familiar bitchface, the sharp, cutting wit, and the way he can banter so easily with Dean that makes the hunter happy. To some extent, Kurt kept him from killing himself with alcohol poisoning on several occasions.
"...Kurt." Dean clears his throat a little. "I don't stop very often. I don't spread roots. I move, all the time. It's by choice and necessity, because I can't stand being tied down, and the job kinda requires it." He laughs weakly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Being here was a big pain in my ass at first, and you were the first person to talk to me. That's why I didn't notice, dude. And I'll say it again, I'm-"
He stops, reaching over to the side-table with a little sigh and taking a tissue from the tissue box, offering it to Kurt. "...I'm sorry."