Fic: To Chicken Soup, For: angelbuffy
To Chicken Soup
For: angelbuffy
Prompt: Kiss on the cheek [ Request here]
Notes: Kiss on the cheek is always doable, even if Dean wants more. *smirk* Hope you enjoy! :D
There were very few girls who had ever achieved a status in Dean's head where he respected more than just the way they looked. He never meant to be a shallow asshole, never questioned once that women? They were definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, the fairer sex. A lot of the time, though, he got caught up in boobs and asses, legs that never seemed to end, his eyes wandering until the view was obstructed by clothes. Frigging clothes, always in the way.
He'd met Buffy a few times, once even had her look after his pathetic ass when Pestilence had given him flu. That had been embarrassing, and under different circumstances, he might have made a move, the woman nothing but attractive all over. It had happened, though, and even the Christmas present he found waiting for him made him laugh with embarrassment.
"Uh, thanks." He's holding the soup in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other, eyes lit up with some kind of amusement. The soup will be knocking around his trunk until it gets in the way and he has to dump the extra weight - that or Sam will see the nutritional value and eat it himself. Either way, Dean's probably not going to be using it. The whiskey, however, he can find plenty of uses for, occasions popping up every single night, and this seems like a good time to start.
"Shot for the road?" He asks, pleased that she nods her intention to stay for a drink and he leaves only to grab a couple of tumblers, twists the cap off the bottle and pours two glasses evenly. Passing a glass to her, he lifts his own, not really sure what he has to drink to - Christmas is out, the Apocalypse is still raging, and he's not sure what else his life consists of right now.
"To chicken soup." She seems to sense the way he gets lost in his head, the crinkle in his forehead making it obvious enough he's struggling, and he can't help but look up slightly gratefully, nodding his agreement - they'll drink to the damn soup.
"Chicken soup." He knocks his back pretty fast, enjoys the burn and warmth that spreads through his chest with the alcohol - it's like a synthetic, fuzzy feeling he can't for the life of him remember how it feels for real, uses the alcohol to replicate it shamelessly.
They don't sit together for long, but the minutes they do are comfortable, the conversation is good enough for Dean to forget he's not just some other guy with no responsibilities to the six billion other people on the planet. Glasses empty, he picks up the bottle to offer her more, but she shakes her head - one of them is feeling more sensible, and it's not him. Apparently she has somewhere else to be, and he nods his understanding. He has the whiskey, afterall.
"Buffy?" He asks as she nears the door, and as she looks back at him he leans forward, presses one of his more innocent kisses to her cheek. "Thank you." He says quietly, pulls back and gives her half a smile, because what he's thanking her for is more than just the soup and the whiskey - it's for the few minutes of forgetting she gifted him. Not that he'll ever tell her that, or anyone else, keeping that thought just for himself.
"Anytime, Dean." The smile he gets in return has him smiling properly too, and he watches her leave, eyes dropping to her ass for a few seconds before he closes the door. Okay, maybe he still needs to work on that not being shallow part.
For: angelbuffy
Prompt: Kiss on the cheek [ Request here]
Notes: Kiss on the cheek is always doable, even if Dean wants more. *smirk* Hope you enjoy! :D
There were very few girls who had ever achieved a status in Dean's head where he respected more than just the way they looked. He never meant to be a shallow asshole, never questioned once that women? They were definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, the fairer sex. A lot of the time, though, he got caught up in boobs and asses, legs that never seemed to end, his eyes wandering until the view was obstructed by clothes. Frigging clothes, always in the way.
He'd met Buffy a few times, once even had her look after his pathetic ass when Pestilence had given him flu. That had been embarrassing, and under different circumstances, he might have made a move, the woman nothing but attractive all over. It had happened, though, and even the Christmas present he found waiting for him made him laugh with embarrassment.
"Uh, thanks." He's holding the soup in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other, eyes lit up with some kind of amusement. The soup will be knocking around his trunk until it gets in the way and he has to dump the extra weight - that or Sam will see the nutritional value and eat it himself. Either way, Dean's probably not going to be using it. The whiskey, however, he can find plenty of uses for, occasions popping up every single night, and this seems like a good time to start.
"Shot for the road?" He asks, pleased that she nods her intention to stay for a drink and he leaves only to grab a couple of tumblers, twists the cap off the bottle and pours two glasses evenly. Passing a glass to her, he lifts his own, not really sure what he has to drink to - Christmas is out, the Apocalypse is still raging, and he's not sure what else his life consists of right now.
"To chicken soup." She seems to sense the way he gets lost in his head, the crinkle in his forehead making it obvious enough he's struggling, and he can't help but look up slightly gratefully, nodding his agreement - they'll drink to the damn soup.
"Chicken soup." He knocks his back pretty fast, enjoys the burn and warmth that spreads through his chest with the alcohol - it's like a synthetic, fuzzy feeling he can't for the life of him remember how it feels for real, uses the alcohol to replicate it shamelessly.
They don't sit together for long, but the minutes they do are comfortable, the conversation is good enough for Dean to forget he's not just some other guy with no responsibilities to the six billion other people on the planet. Glasses empty, he picks up the bottle to offer her more, but she shakes her head - one of them is feeling more sensible, and it's not him. Apparently she has somewhere else to be, and he nods his understanding. He has the whiskey, afterall.
"Buffy?" He asks as she nears the door, and as she looks back at him he leans forward, presses one of his more innocent kisses to her cheek. "Thank you." He says quietly, pulls back and gives her half a smile, because what he's thanking her for is more than just the soup and the whiskey - it's for the few minutes of forgetting she gifted him. Not that he'll ever tell her that, or anyone else, keeping that thought just for himself.
"Anytime, Dean." The smile he gets in return has him smiling properly too, and he watches her leave, eyes dropping to her ass for a few seconds before he closes the door. Okay, maybe he still needs to work on that not being shallow part.