Title: Dean + Ballerina = Dallerina
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Bobby.
Rating: PG-13/R (sexual references and such - but no sexual descriptions)
Word Count: 1,958
Disclaimer: This thing, whatever it is, is something that I've done but its origins' rights don't belong in any way to me.
Hate the concepts? Don't blame the owner - blame me!
Summary: Apparently, Dean dances, sometimes, and it's weird.
Author's notes: I wrote this as part of the Hiatus of Dean Love for alexadean. It's sort of weird, as always, but honestly - I've had the BEST time writing this. I hope y'all like it! :)
"So how are you? I haven't seen you idjits for such a long time, boy."
Sam smiles. "I'm good. And I know, we've just been... relaxing for a while, you know?"
There's a huff. "Relaxing, huh? Well, I guess you deserve some vacation. Not that I'd have said no to one, too, but every time I touch the fridge in the morning there's some random idjit hunter who absolutely has to get my help. I haven't had a decent breakfast in more than a week."
Sam feels sort of guilty, for some reason; maybe because he knows how many times he and Dean were the ones calling, and it never quite occurred to them to what lengths that disturbed Bobby.
He doesn't mention anything, though, because Bobby continues. "Anyway, how have you two been doin' lately?"
Sam feels sweat rolling down his neck, onward to his chest. He swallows a couple of times and tries to make his voice sound, relatively, normal. "Ah... we're fine, just fine, of course."
He and Dean have been keeping what's between them as a secret, for - you can say - obvious reasons.
They don't really know how people would have reacted had they known about it, but they're pretty comfortable with leaving the thing as it is, for now. They aren't really, what you'd call, psyched about the idea of slipping hints into conversations and hoping people would get it without further explanations, or phrasing out loud "you see, my brother and I enjoy buttsex with each other." It just wouldn't work.
Bobby doesn't seem to hear Sam's sudden nervousness. "Well, send your brother my greetings. As in, tell him that he's an idiot and I miss him." There's a short silence on the other line. "Or something equally as sappy."
"I will," Sam replies slowly. He tells Bobby goodbye and hangs up.
He lets his cellphone fall to his bed beside him, and after some time falls asleep.
When he wakes up three hours later, he doesn't open his eyes entirely.
He looks tiredly around him from behind his eyelids, and then stops when he sees Dean moving around in front of the bathroom's mirror.
He doesn't do much, just moves his legs to the left and to the right and taps his hand to an imaginary beat on the bathroom's counter.
Sam doesn't really believe his eyes. This is probably the strangest thing he's seen Dean do -- okay, well, maybe not the strangest. He smirks a bit: there was that time when he made Dean wear those girlish panties -- oh shit, he's coming this way.
Sam closes his eyes shut and pretends to be sleeping when Dean is out of the bathroom. He isn't dancing anymore and Sam thinks that at least he got to see him like that once, but that's it.
That's not it.
A week after that, they're visiting Bobby - Goddamn finally, as he points out - and Dean's taken on himself to make dinner for the three of them.
Sam bites down on his tongue on purpose when it wants to say "you're adorable" and instead he just smiles at Dean a little.
Bobby's smiling, too, and that's what's actually important; Sam can't remember the last time he'd seen him smile genuinely.
When Bobby excuses himself to the bathroom, quite loudly, Sam lets himself sneak behind Dean and hug his waist. Dean turns around to quickly press their lips together. "He'd be back soon," he tells him, and Sam nods and squeezes one more time into Dean before letting go.
Sam hears his cellphone ring. He'd left it on the lowest stair of the staircase, for a reason beyond him, and the caller's ID read "Blocked." Well, that's awesome.
When he steps back toward the kitchen, he almost drops his cellphone to the floor, surprised by Dean's little, um, dance moves as he fries eggs on a pan.
No way. Again? Sam thinks. He decides to let it slip, though, and when he returns to the kitchen he makes sure his steps are loud so that Dean would have time to act normally.
Two days later, they're back at the hotel room they've rented - a place with average-looking soap, at last - and Sam had gone down to the indoors pool. It's empty when he arrives, and he thinks that maybe it could be fun to drag Dean down here with him; Although Dean told him sooner that he doesn't see the point in swimming inside when there's an outdoors pool. Even when Sam reminded him that it's freaking winter.
Sam decides that he'd convince Dean. He'd found his dimples useful for seducing Dean into doing all kinds of stuff in the past; they can't let him down now.
So when he returns to their hotel room, feeling quite smug, he has to rub his eyes a couple of times to believe the thing in front of him was real. The dusted old radio resting near the king-sized (and very useful) bed was turned on, some jazz song being played softly. And Dean is dancing to it. He's making some kind of moves Sam remembers from a stupid reality show they'd seen an episode of when they were younger, one night when dad was gone and Dean tried to keep them occupied.
Sam was probably standing there for too much time, because Dean stops as if he'd heard a noise.
Sam backs off quickly. He waits a few seconds, breathes deeply, calls "Dean? You're here?" and walks back into the room.
Dean had managed to close the radio and form on his face one of his regular expressions. "'Course, where else would I be?"
Sam decides to play out the seducing plan thingy anyway and to ignore what had happened before his eyes just moments ago.
He gets closer to Dean and turns the corner of his mouth up. "I thought that maybe you'd like to join me downstairs."
Dean doesn't seem to get his intentions, which is odd because he'd always suggested things to Sam with this tone.
Sam raises his eyebrows expectantly, smiles and lets his dimples do their magic on Dean - who finally understands.
"Sammy, your mind is dirty," his voice is amazed. "Not that I complain. Count me in."
"Don't call me Sammy," he tells him before leaning down - it's still unsettling sometimes to be the younger and the taller one - and lightly kisses Dean's cheek. Then he smiles again.
The dancing incidents fly out of his mind, if just for a little while.
Indeed, not a long while had passed before the next time.
Sam catches Dean dancing to an invisible tune when he returns to their room after taking a shower.
Dean noticed that he noticed - that much was obvious - but he had just blushed and hadn't said a thing, so Sam shut up about it, too, though what he really wanted to do was laugh.
Sam wakes up one morning after sleeping not many hours, so he immediately goes to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, in order to feel awake.
He only notices his brother when he's finished.
Dean is in the shower, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.
Sam smirks and jumps on the opportunity to sneak a peek.
The door of the shower is half-open - probably because Dean forgot to close it behind him - and when Sam is in its direction, he sees Dean's naked body from behind.
Tempting thoughts start running on their own will inside his head, and he's having difficulty shutting them down when his body reacts like a reflex to the sight of water sliding on Dean's ass.
Then the fucker begins dancing, for Christ's sake, and all this shaking around doesn't exactly help to calm him down.
But he feels that it's about time he talks to Dean about the dancing thing, it's really weird of him - hell, he'd never seen Dean dance before in his life; Unless you count the time he danced a bit with a girl at junior prom in a school he was in for only the last semester.
Sam steps closer to Dean and grabs his ass. It isn't done with much force, he just wants to feel his skin, but he accidently startles him.
"Woah! Dude, don't do that!" Dean turns around. "I mean, do that, just not without a warning."
Sam considers that. "Okay. Hey, I'mma grab your ass again, 'k?" He does it and makes Dean smile and raise an eyebrow.
"Well, in that case..." Dean pulls Sam into the shower. "Less talk, more naked."
"Okay," he replies, and starts taking his shirt off, but then he's reminded why he'd interrupted Dean in the first place.
"No. Wait." He puts a hand on his brother's chest. "We're definitely doing that later," he clarifies when Dean pouts, "but I have to talk to you about your dancing."
Dean's eyes widen. "What-"
"Look, I don't care; Do whatever the fuck you want. It just seems weird that you're suddenly into it. I've never thought you were."
"I'm not into it, per say... I've just..." Dean rubs a finger over the freckled bridge of his nose. "Okay, this is turning out to be really chick flick material, so don't mention what I'm about to say to anyone on the planet or I'll have to leave you tied to the Impala down the street buck naked." Sam starts to protest, but Dean cuts him. "It's just that since we..." He makes obscene motions with his hands. "Got together, I've been feeling so much better. You make me really happy, you know? Like nothing else." He shrugs. "I guess I've been expressing this happiness in a bit of dancing here and there."
Sam's surprised by Dean's words, but he also feels as if his heart is swelling and warmth is being streamed all over his body, so he kisses Dean and takes him on his offer from earlier.
It's not that much later when they're at Bobby's, eating lunch and discussing a werewolf some British hunter had seen two days beforehand strolling near Washington D.C.
Dean then goes to grab a "solid nap", and Sam realizes that Bobby's eyes follow him until he disappears.
"Sam, I gotta tell you somethin'."
"What?" He asks and sips his beer.
"It's about Dean." Bobby stops for a second or two. "While you were out half an hour ago, bringing stuff from the Impala, I've seen him... Dance beside the bookshelves."
Sam chokes and some beer is spilled on the kitchen table.
When they're back at the lame motel - they couldn't afford spending in the hotel more nights - Sam takes Dean to their comfy king-sized bed. He's tired and doesn't want what Dean's probably automatically thinking of, so he demands that they snuggle and go to sleep.
Dean's eyebrows are so up on his forehead that Sam suspects they might be touching the tips of his hair. "No way, I ain't snuggling."
"Please?" Sam pouts and stares at Dean.
"Sam," Dean groans. "Do I look like a teddy bear to you?"
Is that a rhetorical question?
He decides to use another strategy. "Bobby told me he'd seen you shaking your pretty little ass like a Dallerina," he teases.
A squealing voice comes out of Dean's throat - which he later on made Sam swear he hadn't heard - and he jumps on the bed, pulling Sam right down with him.
Sam smiles. He's got an even better Dean-Weapon than his dimples now, so you can say it's turned out to be a very nice day.