Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (4/?)whit_meruleMay 16 2012, 04:56:31 UTC
“Why is Dean complimenting that woman on her shoes?” Castiel put in curiously.
Sam snorted. “Because he thinks he’s gonna score. Where?”
Castiel raised one elegant finger and pointed to where Dean was leaning against the bar with his best pulling smile, chatting smoothly to a tall woman with long dark curls and a pink jacket. “I have never noticed in Dean a particular interest in footwear,” he added, frowning faintly.
Sam, who had just picked up his beer again, spluttered into it.
“That, little brother,” said Lucifer smoothly, “is called flirting. And to flirt well, you have to be a master of hypocrisy. Not to blow my own horn, of course,” he added, and flicked an invisible speck of lint from his arm.
Sam eyed him. “Yeah, because you’d know. How much action did you get down there in the last, like, billion years?”
Lucifer’s teeth flashed behind the crook of his finger. “Sammy, Sammy. It’s all about making them hear what they want to hear. That’s where your big bro’s going wrong. Oh, he’s got the hypocrisy down just fine, but that girl? She doesn’t want to talk about her shoes. They’re her younger sister’s, by the way, and they’re too big for her, and she’s borrowed them because she’s got a blister on her right heel from having to walk home from work yesterday when her car wouldn’t start. She wants to hear that she’s capable and attractive, that the stress of the last year isn’t making her look old before her time, and that when her father left when she was in high school it wasn’t because he thought she was a slut.” He paused, and eyed Dean over, one long raking drag of cool assessment and condescension. “Also that he isn’t going to try anything too rough in bed. And he just struck out. Thirty seconds for politeness and she’ll be edging her way out of that conversation.”
“Okay, come on,” Sam huffed. “You’re not even real. How the hell can you know all that?”
Lucifer tipped him a cool look, grey as steel. “Maybe Castiel knows it. Or you’re making the whole thing up. What would you like to hear, Sam?”
And the creepy factor just went up again. Sam scowled at him.
“So,” Castiel put in, still frowning distantly. “When Dean shows an unusual interest in a person’s clothing, does that indicate a desire for a sexual union?”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully at Castiel, and a sly, mocking twist tugged at the side of his mouth.
“Uh.” Sam blinked. “Maybe? I mean, he doesn’t usually notice clothes at all, just how much they show off the goods, you know?”
… He wasn’t sure, in this light, but it looked like Castiel’s cheeks coloured up a bit.
“Oh my, oh my,” Lucifer said very softly beside him.
Sam was missing something. “What?”
Castiel ducked his head. Then he suddenly looked panicked, and disappeared, along with his non-existent brother.
“… Dude.” Dean was standing by Sam’s table, blinking and swaying a bit, wearing a belligerent scowl. “Wait. Was that Cas?”
Sam sighed, and slumped back in his chair. “Know any other trenchcoated guys in hospital pyjamas who pop in and out of places without using the door all the time?”
Dean scowled at the empty chair across from Sam. “Why didn’t he stop to talk to me?”
“Maybe because he doesn’t like conflict?” Sam said sweetly.
Re: Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (4/?)whit_meruleMay 16 2012, 05:14:28 UTC
Lucifer has nothing else to do but troll. He has to be reasonably nice now or Cas will send him away, but he can still play games! He can be subtle if he likes! maybebecauseI'mnotsurewhatpairingsI'mgoingforyet. "No, really Cas, Dean fondling your trenchcoat isn't gay. Er. Isn't flirting. Um."
Sam snorted. “Because he thinks he’s gonna score. Where?”
Castiel raised one elegant finger and pointed to where Dean was leaning against the bar with his best pulling smile, chatting smoothly to a tall woman with long dark curls and a pink jacket. “I have never noticed in Dean a particular interest in footwear,” he added, frowning faintly.
Sam, who had just picked up his beer again, spluttered into it.
“That, little brother,” said Lucifer smoothly, “is called flirting. And to flirt well, you have to be a master of hypocrisy. Not to blow my own horn, of course,” he added, and flicked an invisible speck of lint from his arm.
Sam eyed him. “Yeah, because you’d know. How much action did you get down there in the last, like, billion years?”
Lucifer’s teeth flashed behind the crook of his finger. “Sammy, Sammy. It’s all about making them hear what they want to hear. That’s where your big bro’s going wrong. Oh, he’s got the hypocrisy down just fine, but that girl? She doesn’t want to talk about her shoes. They’re her younger sister’s, by the way, and they’re too big for her, and she’s borrowed them because she’s got a blister on her right heel from having to walk home from work yesterday when her car wouldn’t start. She wants to hear that she’s capable and attractive, that the stress of the last year isn’t making her look old before her time, and that when her father left when she was in high school it wasn’t because he thought she was a slut.” He paused, and eyed Dean over, one long raking drag of cool assessment and condescension. “Also that he isn’t going to try anything too rough in bed. And he just struck out. Thirty seconds for politeness and she’ll be edging her way out of that conversation.”
“Okay, come on,” Sam huffed. “You’re not even real. How the hell can you know all that?”
Lucifer tipped him a cool look, grey as steel. “Maybe Castiel knows it. Or you’re making the whole thing up. What would you like to hear, Sam?”
And the creepy factor just went up again. Sam scowled at him.
“So,” Castiel put in, still frowning distantly. “When Dean shows an unusual interest in a person’s clothing, does that indicate a desire for a sexual union?”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully at Castiel, and a sly, mocking twist tugged at the side of his mouth.
“Uh.” Sam blinked. “Maybe? I mean, he doesn’t usually notice clothes at all, just how much they show off the goods, you know?”
… He wasn’t sure, in this light, but it looked like Castiel’s cheeks coloured up a bit.
“Oh my, oh my,” Lucifer said very softly beside him.
Sam was missing something. “What?”
Castiel ducked his head. Then he suddenly looked panicked, and disappeared, along with his non-existent brother.
“… Dude.” Dean was standing by Sam’s table, blinking and swaying a bit, wearing a belligerent scowl. “Wait. Was that Cas?”
Sam sighed, and slumped back in his chair. “Know any other trenchcoated guys in hospital pyjamas who pop in and out of places without using the door all the time?”
Dean scowled at the empty chair across from Sam. “Why didn’t he stop to talk to me?”
“Maybe because he doesn’t like conflict?” Sam said sweetly.
“… Screw you too.”
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maybebecauseI'mnotsurewhatpairingsI'mgoingforyet.
"No, really Cas, Dean fondling your trenchcoat isn't gay. Er. Isn't flirting. Um."
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But that is all for tonight. And I am WORKING tomorrow, shame on me.
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:D
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