DRESS TO IMPRESS

WOW: watch. It's Hogmanay in the bunker, and Rowena is determined to get those boys organised!

Disclaimer: I don't own them

xxxxx

"Rowena, Is this necessary?" Dean scowled, looking down in disgust at his current attire.

"Och yes, Dean, if we're celebrating Hogmanay, I'll have it done properly!"

"I'm wearing a frickin' skirt!" Dean snorted; "I can celebrate Hogmanay in jeans well enough, thanks."

"Oh, stop blethering Dean," Rowena replied with a teasing smile; "it's a kilt, and ye should be honoured to wear it. That's the MacLeod tartan, I'll have you know."

"Hmmph."

They both looked across at Sam who stood fiddling awkwardly with his sporran. "Look, see - Sam looks fine, and he's not whining about it," Rowena observed; "and, well, neither am I – that's a fine set of knees you've been hiding from the world there Sam."

Sam blushed hotly; "I don't have much choice," he mumbled; "couldn't you find a longer kilt?"

Rowena smiled sweetly; "oh, now why would I want to do that, and hide those treasures?"

Sam sighed.

"Dean, dear, you haven't fastened your kilt properly. Don't worry, they're quite a challenge if you're not used to them. Here, let me …" Rowena reached out toward the unfastened leather strap at Dean's waist.

"Hands off," Dean growled, recoiling; "I can figure it out for myself."

He squirmed and gyrated, tugging and yanking at the leather straps, muttered oaths filling the room as he did so.

Rolling her eyes impatiently, Rowena glanced at her watch. "Never mind Hogmanay, it'll be Burns night by the time ye've finished rearranging yourself."

"Bite me," Dean snorted.

"Dean," Sam ventured; "I don't think you're tightening it, I think you might have …"

All three stood and watched helplessly as Dean's kilt unravelled, dropping to the ground with a muffled thud of heavy fabric and leather.

"… undone it," Sam groaned.

"Och, well," Rowena smirked appreciatively; "I guess that's that age-old question answered then!"

xxxxx

end