Suptober 2023 Day 13 - Flirt
“Refill, sugar?” the waitress trilled, leaning over the table so her cleavage was perfectly in line of sight. Or would have been, had Castiel bothered to raise his eyes from his phone.
“No thank you,” he murmured politely. “Dean, look at this.” He passed his phone over to the hunter. “I think I've found our witch.”
“Oh, witches are yesterday's news,” the waitress said, determined not to be ignored. “So dark and gloomy. I'm going as a mermaid this Halloween. Hair down to here, all curvy and sparkly and – ”
“The bill, please,” Dean interrupted.
The waitress pouted, but retreated to the counter.
“If she'd batted her eyes at you any harder, those fake lashes would have fallen in your coffee,” Dean grumbled
Castiel tilted his head to one side. “I don't understand that reference.”
“She was flirting with you, Cas,” Sam said helpfully.
“Oh. I didn't notice.”
“Dean sure did,” Sam chuckled. “What's the matter, Dean? Jealous that she didn't flirt with you?”
“She's not my type.”
“What? Young, blonde, pretty, stacked. What's not to like?”
“The bill, sir,” the waitress tossed a slip of paper at Dean. “And if you decide you'd rather hang out with a mermaid, sugar...” She tucked a second paper in the angel's pocket, and mimed 'call me'.
Dean tossed some money on the table – just enough to cover their meal, plus an insultingly small gratuity. Sam and Castiel trailed him out the door. As they crossed the parking lot, Castiel retrieved the paper from his pocket and studied it curiously. “Is this another flirtation?” he mused.
“That's a damn sight more than flirting, Cas. That's a brazen attempt at seduction.” Dean snatched the phone number from Castiel's hand and ripped it into tiny bits which he scattered to the wind.
“That's littering, Dean.”
“Sue me,” Dean said and stalked off without so much as a backward glance.
“Sam?”
“Yes, Cas?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Sam patted the angel's shoulder. “No, Cas. Dean's just being a dick. You know, it's not too late to go back inside and get her phone number.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Never mind, Cas,” he said.
“Morning, sunshine,” Dean greeted as Castiel entered the kitchen. “Coffee?” He waved the pot questioningly.
“Yes, please,” Castiel replied as he took a seat.
Dean leaned over the table until their foreheads almost bumped and deposited a steaming mug close to Castiel's hand.
Castiel wrapped both hands around the mug and breathed in the enticing aroma before taking a cautious sip. “What is it about coffee that makes its molecules so pleasing?” he wondered, taking a second, deeper swallow. By the time Dean had stuffed the last of the bacon in his mouth, Castiel's mug was empty.
“Refill, 'sugar'?” Dean trilled, with a wink and a light touch that caressed the angel's shoulder.
Sam's head popped out from behind a newspaper in time to see a funny look cross Castiel's face.
Call me, Dean mimed after refilling the mug. He turned away, setting the pot back in it's holder before calmly sauntering out of the room.
“W-was... was that a flirtation?” Castiel sputtered.
“I don't know,” Sam said, shaking his head from side to side. “It could have been... but, then again, sarcasm is equally likely.” Sam shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I see.” Castiel sat quietly sipping his coffee for a few minutes, before suddenly pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.
“Where are you going, Cas?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.
“To speak with Dean.”
“I'm not sure that's a good idea.”
But Sam's words fell on empty air. Castiel was already halfway down the hall.
He didn't bother knocking.
He burst into Dean's room with such force that the door crashed back against the wall, cracking the plaster. A second bang slammed the door shut again.
Dean looked up from from where he was seated at the end of the bed, a partially assembled gun held in his hands. He dropped a cleaning rag to the floor, but showed no other reaction to the obviously angry angel's rude intrusion.
“What was that?” Castiel demanded.
“What was what?”
“Don't play stupid. You know very well what I mean.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Why don't you spell it out for me, Cas.”
“In the kitchen... Was that a flirtation, Dean?”
“Would you like it to be?”
“You're making fun of me.”
“No,” Dean admitted quietly. “I'm not. I'm really not. Answer my question, Cas. What if it was a flirtation. How would you respond to that?”
The fear in Dean's green eyes was obvious as he waited for a reply.
Castiel found himself at a loss for words, his silence lasting so long that Dean carefully set the gun aside and rose to his feet, retreating to the far side of the room.
“Never mind,” Dean muttered. “Forget it. I'll just –we'll just – Let's pretend this conversation never happened.”
“I don't like ambiguity,” Castiel finally responded, advancing step by slow step. “I don't 'get' flirtations or sarcasm. I prefer honesty. Directness. What I'd do, how I'd feel, if –if – I truly believed you were interested in me, wanted me... the way that I want you...” The last few words were spoken so softly they almost were inaudible. As they trailed off into silence, Castiel stood as still as a statue, and let his eyes do the speaking for him.
Dean closed the distance between them and drew Castiel into a tight embrace. His lips were warm and tender as they connected with the angel's: negating the need for any further words, nurturing the hope that shone in Castiel's eyes, erasing the fear that had clouded his own.
“Is this direct enough for you, 'sugar'?” Dean whispered as their lips finally parted.
“Yes,” Castiel breathed, and leaned in for another kiss.
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Suptober day 13 - Do I Dare?
Jo pushes Dean to approach an attractive stranger.
Suptober prompt: Flirt
Flufftober prompt: Wrong (…)
Fictober prompt: “Come with me, hurry.”
Inktober prompt: Rise
(Read on AO3)
“Josephine, come on, please do not make me do this.” He turns his best puppy-dog eyes on for her, but his sister from another mister is unmoved.
“A dare's a dare, Deanie weenie,” she replies loftily, sloshing her beer at him. “And you, my chickenshit friend, have been dared. Rise to the challenge! You've been staring at that guy all freakin' night but you don't have the balls to go talk to him on your own, so now I'm taking charge. Make sure you do it exactly like I told you to.”
Grabbing his shoulders, she forces him to turn and face the bar. Then she slaps him on the back hard enough to propel him forward a couple steps without his permission. Dean looks back over his shoulder and gives her a glare hot enough to peel the skin right off her face if she had any sense of shame or self-preservation. Unfortunately, Jo Harvelle's always been in very short supply on those two characteristics, as well as the quality of mercy. He grits his teeth and marches the remaining few feet from their table to the bar where his unsuspecting (and incandescently attractive) target sits.
He takes a deep breath, blows it out, then takes hold of the man's firm bicep and hisses, “Come with me, hurry,” in his ear, precisely as he'd been instructed.
Shocked by the intrusion, the man turns a pair of brilliant blue eyes on him. “I'm sorry, do I know you?” he asks in a gruff voice that makes Dean's knees tremble a little.
Having completed the dare, Dean is now free to attempt damage control. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he says, blushing. “Wrong person. Thought you were my, umm...” His mind goes blank. “...Brother...?” he finishes, voice trailing off halfway through the word. It's a performance that wouldn't convince a goldfish, and the man he's talking to is having none of it.
“Really?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked in challenge.
Dean rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “Uh, no. It was a dare... To get me over here, 'cause I didn't have the guts to come talk to you on my own.”
The man takes a long pull off his beer bottle and looks Dean all the way over, a slow journey of those striking eyes from his dusty boots up to his gel-spiked hair. He must like what he sees because he gives a flirty, quirked grin and leans in. “Well, now that you're here,” he whispers in Dean's ear, “what are you going to do next?”
“Can I start by buying you a drink?” he asks, taking a seat on the next bar stool. At the man's nod, Dean lifts his hand to get the bartender's attention. A chorus of whoops and bangs starts up from Jo's table, and he reaches the other hand around behind his new friend's back and flips her the bird. She's never going to let him live this down, but maybe, if he plays his cards right, this guy's gonna make the aggravation worth his while.
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