Ficlet: Token Straight Guy
Written for Friday: Free For All day over at comment_fic.
Token Straight Guy, by wistful_fever (fabella). PG-13.
Supernatural, Sam/Castiel, Sam began to suspect something amiss when Dean started talking loudly before opening doors. Season Five-ish. No angst anywhere in sight.
cageyklio: "Supernatural, Sam/Castiel, Dean thinks we're doing it."
Sam began to suspect something amiss when Dean started talking loudly before opening doors and stomping around the room after Castiel left, continued to suspect when Dean suddenly got a coughing fit as Sam nudged Castiel in the library to show him a mythology text, and really suspected something when Dean all but sat on Sam's and Castiel’s laps in order to squeeze between them in a booth clearly meant to seat two.
The waitress who had been pouring Dean’s coffee when he suddenly got up from his side of the table, crossed behind her, and started his inappropriate body climbing, raised one delicately plucked eyebrow. Sam couldn’t blame her. His own eyebrows had climbed into his hairline and gotten stuck there right about the time Dean’s pant seams started popping through the strain of lifting above knee level.
“What?” Dean snapped. “I’m trying to prevent the gayness of my friends here from overwhelming them, leaving me the role of the token straight guy. I‘m suffering way worse than you, lady.”
Sam froze, mid-sip, water glass clinking against his front teeth.
“Just the bacon on the side then,” the waitress said, with a quick scribble on her notebook and an even quicker retreat behind the main counter.
“What,” Sam said, as Castiel said, “Dean, do not interfere.”
Dean crossed his arms over his chest and stayed determinedly in place. Sam met Castiel’s eyes past Dean’s lethal glare, and Castiel’s cheeks looked faintly flushed, pink beneath the cheekbones.
“If it’s not demons, it’s angels,” Dean muttered to himself obliquely.
“What,” Sam said again, and Castiel shrugged, reaching out for Dean’s abandoned coffee and gulping the steaming liquid down in a single chug. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve and set the cup down with a satisfied sounding click, turning to smile at Sam widely.
“Fuck,” Dean said, as Castiel said, “Sam, I’ve been contemplating…”
Sam’s stared at them both: Dean slumped and sour-faced, Castiel twitchily upright. Beyond them, the waitress was eying them from over the trucker hat of another customer as she poured orange juice onto the counter several inches away from the trucker's mug. Bewildered, Sam picked up his water glass and sniffed it, searching for odoriferous substances.
Token Straight Guy, by wistful_fever (fabella). PG-13.
Supernatural, Sam/Castiel, Sam began to suspect something amiss when Dean started talking loudly before opening doors. Season Five-ish. No angst anywhere in sight.
cageyklio: "Supernatural, Sam/Castiel, Dean thinks we're doing it."
Sam began to suspect something amiss when Dean started talking loudly before opening doors and stomping around the room after Castiel left, continued to suspect when Dean suddenly got a coughing fit as Sam nudged Castiel in the library to show him a mythology text, and really suspected something when Dean all but sat on Sam's and Castiel’s laps in order to squeeze between them in a booth clearly meant to seat two.
The waitress who had been pouring Dean’s coffee when he suddenly got up from his side of the table, crossed behind her, and started his inappropriate body climbing, raised one delicately plucked eyebrow. Sam couldn’t blame her. His own eyebrows had climbed into his hairline and gotten stuck there right about the time Dean’s pant seams started popping through the strain of lifting above knee level.
“What?” Dean snapped. “I’m trying to prevent the gayness of my friends here from overwhelming them, leaving me the role of the token straight guy. I‘m suffering way worse than you, lady.”
Sam froze, mid-sip, water glass clinking against his front teeth.
“Just the bacon on the side then,” the waitress said, with a quick scribble on her notebook and an even quicker retreat behind the main counter.
“What,” Sam said, as Castiel said, “Dean, do not interfere.”
Dean crossed his arms over his chest and stayed determinedly in place. Sam met Castiel’s eyes past Dean’s lethal glare, and Castiel’s cheeks looked faintly flushed, pink beneath the cheekbones.
“If it’s not demons, it’s angels,” Dean muttered to himself obliquely.
“What,” Sam said again, and Castiel shrugged, reaching out for Dean’s abandoned coffee and gulping the steaming liquid down in a single chug. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve and set the cup down with a satisfied sounding click, turning to smile at Sam widely.
“Fuck,” Dean said, as Castiel said, “Sam, I’ve been contemplating…”
Sam’s stared at them both: Dean slumped and sour-faced, Castiel twitchily upright. Beyond them, the waitress was eying them from over the trucker hat of another customer as she poured orange juice onto the counter several inches away from the trucker's mug. Bewildered, Sam picked up his water glass and sniffed it, searching for odoriferous substances.