Characters: Sam, Dean (Gen, Humor)
Summary (Episode 3x06): Sam has mad skillz that Dean has never even dreamed of.
Author's Notes: A ficlet free-for-all offering for roguebitch. Hope you like it!
This had to be Dean's first time in a tux, not that it excused his obsession with admiring himself in the mirror. He looked good, though—they both did. Sam still wasn't sold on this idea of Bela's, but whatever. They'd give it a shot.
"So, you'll make small talk while Bela and I slip off and find the Hand of Glory?" Dean asked.
"More or less."
"And if you get old Gertrude drunk enough, she probably won't ask you to dance."
"Doesn't matter," Sam shrugged. "I know how to dance."
"You?" Dean turned away from the mirror and stared at him. "When?"
"I took a class." Sam combed his hair back from his forehead. "Back in college."
"No you didn't. Why the hell."
"It was Jess' idea."
Dean frowned. "Seriously? Huh..."
"What's that supposed to mean? You're just assuming I'd be bad at it?"
"Dude, I've seen your feet. A woman would be risking more than her reputation, stepping out on the floor with you."
"I'll have you know I'm an excellent dancer!"
Dean snorted. "I tried to teach you to dance in junior high, and that was just swaying to the beat. You nearly broke my foot."
"I was still getting used to my body then!" Sam protested. "I got better…"
"Yeah? Prove it." Dean gestured toward the middle of the floor. "Cut the rug."
"It's cut a rug, not cut the rug," Sam said, moving far enough away to give himself room.
"Probably wind up being the same thing," Dean muttered.
"I heard that!"
Dean shrugged, like What do you expect? As if he'd never tripped or stumbled or fallen off a bridge into river-slime that stunk up the car for two whole days.
Fine. Dean was due for an education.
Sam didn't bother demonstrating the waltz—that never looked good with just one person anyway. Instead, he concentrated on remembering the music for the cha-cha lesson, and it came back immediately. He quickstepped through it, loose with the arms and light on the toes, like it was as easy as dribbling down a basketball court.
The openmouthed shock on Dean's face was worth every out-in-public clumsy adolescent spill Sam had ever taken. Hah.
"Where'd you, uh—wow. You weren't kidding."
"Got an A in the class, and Jess thought I was the most awesome boyfriend ever." Sam finished with couple of tango flourishes.
"Do you think you, could, uh—"
"Not in the next five minutes."
"Well I know that," Dean scowled. "I meant like, eventually."
"Sure," Sam grinned, moving through the opening of the basic swing like it was pure, easy money.
"I like a challenge."
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