Supernatural fic, Would you rather
Happy Birthday my Dear deirdre_c
Have a wonderful day! I said I’d post a fic for you. It may not be crack, or yak filled (although I stuffed in one yak reference), but I hope you enjoy.
Title: Would You Rather
Rating: PG-13, see warnings.
Warnings: Sex Talk & Bad Language
Summary: Sam and Dean play ‘Would you rather…’ in a bar.
Set after Provenance, but before Devil's Trap, I guess, although the setting isn't really important.
innie_darling kindly beta’d and helped me with this. I thank her muchly.
Disclaimer: The boys of course are not mine.
“Teleportation, or the ability to fly?”
“Teleportation. I hate flying.”
“If you could fly yourself, you’d never need to get on a plane, would you?”
“If I could teleport, I wouldn’t need to fly.”
Sam leaned forward earnestly, chugging back more of his beer than he intended. “You wouldn’t want to feel what it’s like, being up among the clouds, with the birds?”
Dean downed his own drink, and held two fingers up, at the pretty barmaid, Sam presumed. “No, I wouldn’t. You’d really pick flying?”
“Yes, I’d pick flying.” Sam frowned at his half full beer.
“Superman or Batman?”
“Superman.”
“Figures.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Nah, I want the batmobile. Besides, Superman…”
“Yeah, flies, I get it.” Sam sipped at his beer slowly, and ignored the frown tugging at Dean’s lips. “I’m not sure I want another, dude.”
“Don’t drink it then. Another beer, or going back to that small, hot, no air conditioning room in this weather?” Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s choice, breaking into a huge grin as he left. Sam eyed him as he sauntered over to get their waiting drinks, and threw down a bill in return for them.
Sam downed his beer while he waited for Dean, feeling light-headed already. He pulled at his sweaty tee, even that one layer being too much for the oppressive heat. Dean returned, smiling at two girls who sat at a table nearby.
“Blonde or brunette?” Dean asked, placing the glasses down with a bang.
“I don’t mind, Dean.”
“Come on you must have a type. Blonde or brunette? Of course I like a redhead myself, feisty…What?” He opened his eyes wide, innocent, taking in a big glug of his beer.
Sam finished his first beer, but it didn’t help quench any of the searing thirst. “I need water.” He ignored Dean’s eyeroll and turned, tried to catch the barmaid’s eye but he didn’t have the same skill as Dean. “Dammit.”
“Beer or water. Trust you to pick water.”
“It’s a hundred degrees outside. Beer’s a diuretic, in this weather...never mind.” Sam looked over at the bar again. It felt a hundred miles away. He looked back at Dean who annoyingly, did not look as hot and bothered as Sam. Dean’s white t-shirt was clinging to him with sweat, but he didn’t pick at it, he didn’t even brush the sweat off his brow. Dean should have been the one to study in California, Sam thought to himself. He pulled at his own tee, peeling the material off his skin. He regretted it when, wet and clammy, it slowly stuck back down. “Unlimited beer or unlimited coffee?” Sam offered. “I’d go with coffee.”
“Me too. Though I’d miss our friend beer.” Dean raised his glass at Sam, and Sam clinked back with his own, taking a swig. The heat was making the beer go unusually quickly to his head. Dean could handle his alcohol much better, Sam knew, but he was taking too big gulps of his beer and looking a little hazy eyed himself.
“Okay. Let’s make the choices more difficult.” Sam leaned forward, put his bare elbows onto the damp table top.
“Okay.” Dean leaned further back in his chair in response, winked at the girls next to them. They were chattering away in what sounded to Sam like Italian, or maybe Spanish. They giggled at Dean.
“No more Impala…”
“Dude.” It was a shocked, sharp intake of breath and drew Dean’s eyes straight back to Sam.
“Or no more sex.”
“What kind of choice is that?”
“A difficult one, Dean.”
“Can I still jerk off?”
Sam choked on his beer. “Can you what?”
“You heard. If I’m making a choice I at least want to know what the rules are. Can I jerk off?”
“I guess so, yes.” Sam nodded, exasperated. He followed Dean’s gaze to the hot girls sitting next to them. One of them winked at Dean, and Dean shifted his body toward them. “Or maybe I don’t need an answer,” Sam muttered.
“Hi.” Dean said.
“Hello.” The girl who winked answered, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, European accent unmistakeable. Italian, Sam was betting.
“On vacation?” Dean offered.
“Si.” She smiled at Dean. “Vacation.” She drawled it from between thick red lips and Dean grinned.
“Italiano?”
“Italiano.” As she nodded her hair fell back over her eyes.
“Piacere. I tuoi occhi sono bei.” Dean offered. Sam’s jaw fell open as the words spilled easily from his brother’s mouth. He could flirt in Italian now? Where the fuck had he learned that? She giggled appropriately in response, and shut her eyes. Sam guessed Dean had complimented them. She asked something Sam didn’t quite hear, and Dean offered ‘blue?’ in response. She opened dark brown eyes, and turned away from Dean in a mock huff, giggling and whispering with her friend, but keeping an eye on him all the time.
“I’ll have the name of her hotel within the next hour.” Dean asserted.
“I’m sure you will, Mr Smooth Italian. Since when?”
“Since a girl in Little Italy, New York. Dad sent me there to get rid of a poltergeist, and I took a little shore leave. I know another phrase but it usually gets me a slap.”
Sam laughed. “Slapped by a hot girl, or facing Dad’s wrath?”
“Slapped by a hot girl.” Dean said, with feeling. “And dude, I might have to pick the Impala. Although no sex.” He shut his eyes briefly in horror at the thought.
“You love that car way too much.” Sam said. “If it was a girl,”
“I’d totally fuck her.” The laugh glimmered in Dean’s eyes, and the alcohol in Sam giggled in response. “Okay. Unable to read a book ever again,” Dean narrowed his eyes, no doubt trying to think of something he saw as awful for Sam to face. He drained his beer as he did so, and Sam looked back at his own barely touched second drink. The sweat beaded from Sam’s temple, and dropped, joining the pools of beer below.
“Or?”
“Or another?” Dean said, holding up two fingers at the bartender. He leaned over to the girls, “Offro io?”
They looked at him and nodded, and Dean held up four fingers.
“What’s that mean, Offro…” Sam said. “Offering them a drink?” However similar Italian was to languages Sam spoke well, it frustrated him that Dean knew a whole language he didn’t. Or bits of it anyway. There were so many parts of Dean he didn’t know, that had swung past Sam’s knowledge, whipped it at the edges.
“My round.” Dean nodded. “Or get a haircut?”
Sam struggled to remember the first choice. “I guess I’d have to get a haircut,” and even saying the words made Sam involuntarily pat his hair. “I couldn’t, er, never read again.” He finished triumphantly. “How would we do our work?”
“With difficulty, I guess.” Dean followed.
“Being forced to share your feelings all the time, or being forced to do whatever someone says?”
“Someone being you?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Cause if the someone’s a hot redhead, that might not be so bad.”
Sam laughed. “I guess not. I’d hate to do whatever someone says.”
“I bet. And you’re a big girl. You wouldn’t mind sharing your feelings.”
“You haven’t chosen.”
“I’d be obedient.” Dean batted his eyes, went to bring the girls their beers. Sam lost him for a while as he smiled cheerfully at them. They chatted back, and Sam could see Dean pretending to listen but checking them out, eyes roving lazily over their bodies. Sam was checking them out too. He wasn’t dead, after all, and Dean glanced over, saw him looking at them and grinned. He gestured at Sam but Sam shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for random girls. He lost himself staring at his beer, wondering how long Dean was going to be. How many nights did he spend like this, waiting for Dean, or being the third wheel?
Getting bored counting the bubbles in his beer, Sam moved onto reading the menu. It had foods from around the world on it, and Sam asked himself, “would you rather eat yak cheese, or pistachio pate?” After much deliberation he decided on yak cheese, and tossed the menu aside, wincing at the loud clatter it made as it crashed onto the floor near the Italian girls’ feet. Neither of them noticed, all four of their eyes trained on Dean like he was the only water in the desert. Sam went to fetch his long wanted water while Dean flirted. He was walking back, past Dean, when Dean called his name. He pretended not to hear, and went back to his seat. He downed the water, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down his throat, and pressed the empty glass to his neck. Sam saw Dean go and fetch their beers out of the corner of his eye, returning quickly to Sam and sliding back into his seat.
“Dude? Didn’t you hear me?”
“I didn’t want to talk to them.”
“Talk to a hot chick, or sit and brood on your own?” Sam looked up, and caught Dean shaking his head. “I’m not asking you to marry her, or even fuck her, but you could talk to her. Say ‘Ciao’.”
Sam shrugged. Another night, he might be in the mood, but tonight he was too hot to come up with lies, and pretend to be normal. He looked over to the girls, but they were standing up, leaving.
“Dean…”
“It’s ok, I got the name of her hotel. Holiday Inn, downtown.” Dean smirked. “I’ll go later. Now finish your drinks for crying out loud.”
Sam took a mouthful of beer; it was warm, and not at all thirst quenching, but he finished it off quickly. He wiped his mouth, irritated by Dean’s proud expression. He cradled his newest beer in his hand.
“You’re not allowed in a library ever again,” Dean began, lips pouted in concentration as he thought of an alternative, “or no access to a computer ever again?”
“Dean, that’s… .we need both to work, I can’t…” Sam shook his head. “It’s stupid.”
“No more stupid than some of yours.” Dean said indignantly. “You do better.”
“Okay. You have the blurred out face of a witness in those TV documentaries…”
“Blurred out face? ‘Cause, I love my face. I pick whatever else you are about to say.”
“Or…” Sam had to make it difficult now. He downed his beer to kill time. “Or the limited movements of an action model?”
“Dude. Gees.” Dean shook his head. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“You have to choose.”
“You didn’t choose with mine.” Dean crossed his arms defiantly.
“Did too. The choice didn’t count ‘cause we need both to work.” Sam pulled a sticky wrist over a sweaty forehead.
“That’s a lawyer defence, and you might not remember Sam, but you dropped out of law school.” How did Dean manage to make taking a sip of beer look smug?
“Fine. No library. All the records are online anyway. Although I’d miss them.”
“I bet. Turn you on don’t they?”
“Dean. No face or no movements?” Sam felt foggy headed, and wished he’d stopped drinking two drinks ago.
“Dammit Sam, action model’s movements? I guess I could still shoot. How many positions in the sack could I still use?” Dean looked at the ceiling as if he was counting them. Sam was about to give in to curiosity, and ask exactly what those might be, when Dean looked back. “No face. What’s the point of looking like this if I can’t move properly?” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I’d still be handsome with blurry features, and I’d definitely still be this charming.”
Sam shook his head at Dean’s arrogance. He pushed his empty glass aside.
“Night with the Italian girl, or a million dollars?”
“Million dollars, dude, I’ve already got a night with the Italian girl. Next you’re gonna ask me, a bird in the hand, or two in the bush? Come on, must do better.” Dean tapped his fingers against his glass, channelling Dad in word and action.
“A night with the hottest girl you can imagine…” Dean shut his eyes, “legs that go on for miles; rack like that girl Stacey in Montana,” Dean smirked at Sam’s picture, “ass… well you get the idea.” Sam saw him mouth, oh man at the mental image, “or…”
“Or? Come on, time’s a ticking.” Dean’s fingers drummed more annoying tunes against his glass.
“Or Cassie.”
Sam wasn’t sure where the word came from. He knew he’d stepped over that line, left it in the dust behind him as he pressed onward, determined to rile Dean, determined to get a real choice out of Dean. He regretted it as soon as he said it. Dean’s eyes flipped open wide.
“Dude, come on.”
“It’s a perfectly reasonable question.” Sam wasn’t going to admit guilt yet. He wanted an answer first. He was curious about Dean’s limits; about how important Cassie, or love, or settling down was to Dean. To see if Dean understood that part of Sam. If this was the way to get Dean to share his feelings, then Sam would take the difficult shot. He was a hunter, and he saw his opening, and fired.
“You’re asking me, sex or love, and you know, I’m not such a low life I’d pick sex.” Dean shifted in his seat, eyes flashing angrily. He squared his jaw, and the happy atmosphere of the evening was altered.
“You wanted a difficult choice. You never talk about her.”
“For a reason.”
“You still love her?”
“I don’t know. That’s not what you were asking. You thought I’d pick some hot girl over someone I loved and …” Dean looked despairing, looked away from Sam. “I could ask you, Jess or Sarah, but I know it’s not that simple a choice.”
Sam felt hot all over, hotter than he had all night, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. He’d have slugged Dean if he’d asked that. “Fair enough. I’m sorry Dean. I…”
“What?”
“I really am.”
Dean didn’t say anything. He looked around him like he wanted to be anywhere but with Sam. Anywhere but discussing this. Sam sighed, tried to think of something to say that would get rid of the atmosphere he’d caused. Dean looked at Sam, his eyes cloudy with annoyance, or alcohol, or sorrow, Sam wasn’t sure what. Dean blinked, and Sam saw the shutters slam back down. Dean placed a smile back on his face.
“Supergirl, or Wonder Woman?” Dean asked, and Sam smiled back at him, relieved they seemed to be back on normal territory.
“Wonder Woman. Those gold cuff bracelets really turn me on.”
******
Any mistakes in the Italian are mine, not Dean’s.
Hopefully, he says: “Pleased to meet you. Your eyes are beautiful.”
“Offro io,” Roughly means “it’s on me”.
In case anyone is interested, I even researched possible rude phrases that might get Dean a slap (warning they are, er, rude):
There's a party in my pants and you're invited!-C'e un party nelle mie mutande e sei invitata
You smell good...like lust - Sentite l'odore di buoni... come lust
I love to eat Italian - Amo mangiare l'italiano
I promise to not get any in your hair - Prometto di non ottenerne c'è ne in vostri capelli
Any why anyone would need this one…
Will you violate me with a votive candle if I dress as an altar boy and sing the Nicene Creed? - Lo violerete con una candela votive se mi vesto come ragazzo di altar e canto la dottrina religiosa di Nicene?
Feedback is a beautiful thing…
Have a wonderful day! I said I’d post a fic for you. It may not be crack, or yak filled (although I stuffed in one yak reference), but I hope you enjoy.
Title: Would You Rather
Rating: PG-13, see warnings.
Warnings: Sex Talk & Bad Language
Summary: Sam and Dean play ‘Would you rather…’ in a bar.
Set after Provenance, but before Devil's Trap, I guess, although the setting isn't really important.
innie_darling kindly beta’d and helped me with this. I thank her muchly.
Disclaimer: The boys of course are not mine.
“Teleportation, or the ability to fly?”
“Teleportation. I hate flying.”
“If you could fly yourself, you’d never need to get on a plane, would you?”
“If I could teleport, I wouldn’t need to fly.”
Sam leaned forward earnestly, chugging back more of his beer than he intended. “You wouldn’t want to feel what it’s like, being up among the clouds, with the birds?”
Dean downed his own drink, and held two fingers up, at the pretty barmaid, Sam presumed. “No, I wouldn’t. You’d really pick flying?”
“Yes, I’d pick flying.” Sam frowned at his half full beer.
“Superman or Batman?”
“Superman.”
“Figures.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Nah, I want the batmobile. Besides, Superman…”
“Yeah, flies, I get it.” Sam sipped at his beer slowly, and ignored the frown tugging at Dean’s lips. “I’m not sure I want another, dude.”
“Don’t drink it then. Another beer, or going back to that small, hot, no air conditioning room in this weather?” Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s choice, breaking into a huge grin as he left. Sam eyed him as he sauntered over to get their waiting drinks, and threw down a bill in return for them.
Sam downed his beer while he waited for Dean, feeling light-headed already. He pulled at his sweaty tee, even that one layer being too much for the oppressive heat. Dean returned, smiling at two girls who sat at a table nearby.
“Blonde or brunette?” Dean asked, placing the glasses down with a bang.
“I don’t mind, Dean.”
“Come on you must have a type. Blonde or brunette? Of course I like a redhead myself, feisty…What?” He opened his eyes wide, innocent, taking in a big glug of his beer.
Sam finished his first beer, but it didn’t help quench any of the searing thirst. “I need water.” He ignored Dean’s eyeroll and turned, tried to catch the barmaid’s eye but he didn’t have the same skill as Dean. “Dammit.”
“Beer or water. Trust you to pick water.”
“It’s a hundred degrees outside. Beer’s a diuretic, in this weather...never mind.” Sam looked over at the bar again. It felt a hundred miles away. He looked back at Dean who annoyingly, did not look as hot and bothered as Sam. Dean’s white t-shirt was clinging to him with sweat, but he didn’t pick at it, he didn’t even brush the sweat off his brow. Dean should have been the one to study in California, Sam thought to himself. He pulled at his own tee, peeling the material off his skin. He regretted it when, wet and clammy, it slowly stuck back down. “Unlimited beer or unlimited coffee?” Sam offered. “I’d go with coffee.”
“Me too. Though I’d miss our friend beer.” Dean raised his glass at Sam, and Sam clinked back with his own, taking a swig. The heat was making the beer go unusually quickly to his head. Dean could handle his alcohol much better, Sam knew, but he was taking too big gulps of his beer and looking a little hazy eyed himself.
“Okay. Let’s make the choices more difficult.” Sam leaned forward, put his bare elbows onto the damp table top.
“Okay.” Dean leaned further back in his chair in response, winked at the girls next to them. They were chattering away in what sounded to Sam like Italian, or maybe Spanish. They giggled at Dean.
“No more Impala…”
“Dude.” It was a shocked, sharp intake of breath and drew Dean’s eyes straight back to Sam.
“Or no more sex.”
“What kind of choice is that?”
“A difficult one, Dean.”
“Can I still jerk off?”
Sam choked on his beer. “Can you what?”
“You heard. If I’m making a choice I at least want to know what the rules are. Can I jerk off?”
“I guess so, yes.” Sam nodded, exasperated. He followed Dean’s gaze to the hot girls sitting next to them. One of them winked at Dean, and Dean shifted his body toward them. “Or maybe I don’t need an answer,” Sam muttered.
“Hi.” Dean said.
“Hello.” The girl who winked answered, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, European accent unmistakeable. Italian, Sam was betting.
“On vacation?” Dean offered.
“Si.” She smiled at Dean. “Vacation.” She drawled it from between thick red lips and Dean grinned.
“Italiano?”
“Italiano.” As she nodded her hair fell back over her eyes.
“Piacere. I tuoi occhi sono bei.” Dean offered. Sam’s jaw fell open as the words spilled easily from his brother’s mouth. He could flirt in Italian now? Where the fuck had he learned that? She giggled appropriately in response, and shut her eyes. Sam guessed Dean had complimented them. She asked something Sam didn’t quite hear, and Dean offered ‘blue?’ in response. She opened dark brown eyes, and turned away from Dean in a mock huff, giggling and whispering with her friend, but keeping an eye on him all the time.
“I’ll have the name of her hotel within the next hour.” Dean asserted.
“I’m sure you will, Mr Smooth Italian. Since when?”
“Since a girl in Little Italy, New York. Dad sent me there to get rid of a poltergeist, and I took a little shore leave. I know another phrase but it usually gets me a slap.”
Sam laughed. “Slapped by a hot girl, or facing Dad’s wrath?”
“Slapped by a hot girl.” Dean said, with feeling. “And dude, I might have to pick the Impala. Although no sex.” He shut his eyes briefly in horror at the thought.
“You love that car way too much.” Sam said. “If it was a girl,”
“I’d totally fuck her.” The laugh glimmered in Dean’s eyes, and the alcohol in Sam giggled in response. “Okay. Unable to read a book ever again,” Dean narrowed his eyes, no doubt trying to think of something he saw as awful for Sam to face. He drained his beer as he did so, and Sam looked back at his own barely touched second drink. The sweat beaded from Sam’s temple, and dropped, joining the pools of beer below.
“Or?”
“Or another?” Dean said, holding up two fingers at the bartender. He leaned over to the girls, “Offro io?”
They looked at him and nodded, and Dean held up four fingers.
“What’s that mean, Offro…” Sam said. “Offering them a drink?” However similar Italian was to languages Sam spoke well, it frustrated him that Dean knew a whole language he didn’t. Or bits of it anyway. There were so many parts of Dean he didn’t know, that had swung past Sam’s knowledge, whipped it at the edges.
“My round.” Dean nodded. “Or get a haircut?”
Sam struggled to remember the first choice. “I guess I’d have to get a haircut,” and even saying the words made Sam involuntarily pat his hair. “I couldn’t, er, never read again.” He finished triumphantly. “How would we do our work?”
“With difficulty, I guess.” Dean followed.
“Being forced to share your feelings all the time, or being forced to do whatever someone says?”
“Someone being you?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Cause if the someone’s a hot redhead, that might not be so bad.”
Sam laughed. “I guess not. I’d hate to do whatever someone says.”
“I bet. And you’re a big girl. You wouldn’t mind sharing your feelings.”
“You haven’t chosen.”
“I’d be obedient.” Dean batted his eyes, went to bring the girls their beers. Sam lost him for a while as he smiled cheerfully at them. They chatted back, and Sam could see Dean pretending to listen but checking them out, eyes roving lazily over their bodies. Sam was checking them out too. He wasn’t dead, after all, and Dean glanced over, saw him looking at them and grinned. He gestured at Sam but Sam shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for random girls. He lost himself staring at his beer, wondering how long Dean was going to be. How many nights did he spend like this, waiting for Dean, or being the third wheel?
Getting bored counting the bubbles in his beer, Sam moved onto reading the menu. It had foods from around the world on it, and Sam asked himself, “would you rather eat yak cheese, or pistachio pate?” After much deliberation he decided on yak cheese, and tossed the menu aside, wincing at the loud clatter it made as it crashed onto the floor near the Italian girls’ feet. Neither of them noticed, all four of their eyes trained on Dean like he was the only water in the desert. Sam went to fetch his long wanted water while Dean flirted. He was walking back, past Dean, when Dean called his name. He pretended not to hear, and went back to his seat. He downed the water, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down his throat, and pressed the empty glass to his neck. Sam saw Dean go and fetch their beers out of the corner of his eye, returning quickly to Sam and sliding back into his seat.
“Dude? Didn’t you hear me?”
“I didn’t want to talk to them.”
“Talk to a hot chick, or sit and brood on your own?” Sam looked up, and caught Dean shaking his head. “I’m not asking you to marry her, or even fuck her, but you could talk to her. Say ‘Ciao’.”
Sam shrugged. Another night, he might be in the mood, but tonight he was too hot to come up with lies, and pretend to be normal. He looked over to the girls, but they were standing up, leaving.
“Dean…”
“It’s ok, I got the name of her hotel. Holiday Inn, downtown.” Dean smirked. “I’ll go later. Now finish your drinks for crying out loud.”
Sam took a mouthful of beer; it was warm, and not at all thirst quenching, but he finished it off quickly. He wiped his mouth, irritated by Dean’s proud expression. He cradled his newest beer in his hand.
“You’re not allowed in a library ever again,” Dean began, lips pouted in concentration as he thought of an alternative, “or no access to a computer ever again?”
“Dean, that’s… .we need both to work, I can’t…” Sam shook his head. “It’s stupid.”
“No more stupid than some of yours.” Dean said indignantly. “You do better.”
“Okay. You have the blurred out face of a witness in those TV documentaries…”
“Blurred out face? ‘Cause, I love my face. I pick whatever else you are about to say.”
“Or…” Sam had to make it difficult now. He downed his beer to kill time. “Or the limited movements of an action model?”
“Dude. Gees.” Dean shook his head. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“You have to choose.”
“You didn’t choose with mine.” Dean crossed his arms defiantly.
“Did too. The choice didn’t count ‘cause we need both to work.” Sam pulled a sticky wrist over a sweaty forehead.
“That’s a lawyer defence, and you might not remember Sam, but you dropped out of law school.” How did Dean manage to make taking a sip of beer look smug?
“Fine. No library. All the records are online anyway. Although I’d miss them.”
“I bet. Turn you on don’t they?”
“Dean. No face or no movements?” Sam felt foggy headed, and wished he’d stopped drinking two drinks ago.
“Dammit Sam, action model’s movements? I guess I could still shoot. How many positions in the sack could I still use?” Dean looked at the ceiling as if he was counting them. Sam was about to give in to curiosity, and ask exactly what those might be, when Dean looked back. “No face. What’s the point of looking like this if I can’t move properly?” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I’d still be handsome with blurry features, and I’d definitely still be this charming.”
Sam shook his head at Dean’s arrogance. He pushed his empty glass aside.
“Night with the Italian girl, or a million dollars?”
“Million dollars, dude, I’ve already got a night with the Italian girl. Next you’re gonna ask me, a bird in the hand, or two in the bush? Come on, must do better.” Dean tapped his fingers against his glass, channelling Dad in word and action.
“A night with the hottest girl you can imagine…” Dean shut his eyes, “legs that go on for miles; rack like that girl Stacey in Montana,” Dean smirked at Sam’s picture, “ass… well you get the idea.” Sam saw him mouth, oh man at the mental image, “or…”
“Or? Come on, time’s a ticking.” Dean’s fingers drummed more annoying tunes against his glass.
“Or Cassie.”
Sam wasn’t sure where the word came from. He knew he’d stepped over that line, left it in the dust behind him as he pressed onward, determined to rile Dean, determined to get a real choice out of Dean. He regretted it as soon as he said it. Dean’s eyes flipped open wide.
“Dude, come on.”
“It’s a perfectly reasonable question.” Sam wasn’t going to admit guilt yet. He wanted an answer first. He was curious about Dean’s limits; about how important Cassie, or love, or settling down was to Dean. To see if Dean understood that part of Sam. If this was the way to get Dean to share his feelings, then Sam would take the difficult shot. He was a hunter, and he saw his opening, and fired.
“You’re asking me, sex or love, and you know, I’m not such a low life I’d pick sex.” Dean shifted in his seat, eyes flashing angrily. He squared his jaw, and the happy atmosphere of the evening was altered.
“You wanted a difficult choice. You never talk about her.”
“For a reason.”
“You still love her?”
“I don’t know. That’s not what you were asking. You thought I’d pick some hot girl over someone I loved and …” Dean looked despairing, looked away from Sam. “I could ask you, Jess or Sarah, but I know it’s not that simple a choice.”
Sam felt hot all over, hotter than he had all night, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. He’d have slugged Dean if he’d asked that. “Fair enough. I’m sorry Dean. I…”
“What?”
“I really am.”
Dean didn’t say anything. He looked around him like he wanted to be anywhere but with Sam. Anywhere but discussing this. Sam sighed, tried to think of something to say that would get rid of the atmosphere he’d caused. Dean looked at Sam, his eyes cloudy with annoyance, or alcohol, or sorrow, Sam wasn’t sure what. Dean blinked, and Sam saw the shutters slam back down. Dean placed a smile back on his face.
“Supergirl, or Wonder Woman?” Dean asked, and Sam smiled back at him, relieved they seemed to be back on normal territory.
“Wonder Woman. Those gold cuff bracelets really turn me on.”
******
Any mistakes in the Italian are mine, not Dean’s.
Hopefully, he says: “Pleased to meet you. Your eyes are beautiful.”
“Offro io,” Roughly means “it’s on me”.
In case anyone is interested, I even researched possible rude phrases that might get Dean a slap (warning they are, er, rude):
There's a party in my pants and you're invited!-C'e un party nelle mie mutande e sei invitata
You smell good...like lust - Sentite l'odore di buoni... come lust
I love to eat Italian - Amo mangiare l'italiano
I promise to not get any in your hair - Prometto di non ottenerne c'è ne in vostri capelli
Any why anyone would need this one…
Will you violate me with a votive candle if I dress as an altar boy and sing the Nicene Creed? - Lo violerete con una candela votive se mi vesto come ragazzo di altar e canto la dottrina religiosa di Nicene?
Feedback is a beautiful thing…