Chick flicks are saaaad.
"Okay," Gen got off the bed and stretched. "No more of that. What else have you got Sam?"
"On the hard drive?" he scanned his brain, "…Flying High. You had enough chin wobbling for one day, Gen?"
"Uhmygod, why do we do that to ourselves?!" she moaned and stretched and twisted around, angling toward the fridge, wondering about food. Most of the day had been spent recuperating, but it was really for Sam and especially Dean who'd come up all pretty and colourful from their fights. Gen hadn't really needed it and was finally feeling itchy.
"You want something violent? Some kung fu?" Sam offered.
"Yeah, I spose," she answered, taking stunted lunging steps to the kitchenette to work out her legs.
Dean was still slumped on the bed, trying to not watch Gen too much. He was enjoying how slack she was being around him, like an oblivious housemate. More yawning and arms everywhere, she'd successfully shown off her hip bones and made a series of sexy noises over again. "Oh, ulchh," she sneered at the fridge, "I know you've got nothing, teasing bitch." She shuffled toward the bathroom and hooked her fingers over the top of the doorframe, hanging her hips and stretching her back one last time. Dean's jaw had already gone slack and Sam couldn't help but notice him watch her. She shut the bathroom door just as Dean shut his mouth.
"How you doin' there tiger?" Sam asked.
"Me? I'm fine," Dean answered, pulling himself upright. "Why?"
"You seem a little distracted," Sam nodded toward the bathroom.
"Shaddup," he scoffed, pretending to be above it, "I'm allowed. And she's… all… you know!" He waved his arm toward the bathroom, pleading for Sam's understanding.
"She has no idea what she's doing to you!" he laughed in reply, as quietly as he could.
"Oh my god," Dean rubbed the heel of his hand into his good eye, "it's killing me. She's either completely clueless, which is just adorable, or she knows exactly what she's doing, which is hot as fuck… She kept snuggling into me during the movies, and then her bed-hair, and now… that… I hate being injured."
Sam shrugged, "I do not envy you man."
Sam looked through the fridge himself while Dean tried to think unsexy thoughts. Gen emerged from the bathroom saying "It's already too late to drive back today-"
"That's just what I was about to say," Sam commented.
"-so what will we do tonight?" she asked, hands on hips.
"Like what?" Dean asked. There wasn't much he was fit for.
"I dunno," she shrugged, "a bar, some dancing?"
"Dancing?!" Dean repeated, apparently disgusted. "Gen, I can't even stand up quietly, let alone dance."
"Yeah, I'm not up for much either," Sam added. "If you don't want to watch any more movies, fair enough, but a card game is probably my limit tonight."
"Hurrrrrrrr," Gen let out a sad-faced sigh. "Okay, well I'll go get us some dinner. Maybe that'll be enough for me."
"Cool cool cool," Dean answered. "Pizza?"
"Done," she yanked on some boots and grabbed her jacket. Sam took his turn in the bathroom, and Gen took the opportunity to give Dean a peck before heading out.
"Hey," he grabbed her waistband and hooked a finger into her shirt collar, pulling her close for a proper kiss, soft and warm. Gen hummed a little, but before she could break away she found Dean fighting to make more of it. "Hey," she laughed, "I'm meant to be going, and Sam'll be out-"
"There is no way you're leaving me with just a peck on the cheek," Dean grumbled. "You teasing me on purpose today?"
Gen looked at him; the poor guy was up for so much more than was allowed, but pity could wait. "You spooned me," she whispered accusingly, "and then you slipped your damn fingers under my shirt!" Dean grinned, having forgotten he may have been guilty too. "I'm all achy from trying to keep still," Gen complained.
She gave him a half-hearted slap on the arm while he giggled at her grief. He let her collar go, taking her hand instead as she stood straight, asking "What toppings you thinking of?"
She smiled slyly. "Meat lllllovers," she slurred, then kissed his hand with a wink before heading off.
As the boys sat around the table, finishing off their slices, Gen was already full and leaning back in her seat, figuring what she could do to work off her restlessness. Or, in truth, how to present her solution.
"Muh," Dean said through his food, "that was some good pie. Pity we didn't have a real drink to go with it." Gen had gotten beers, but didn't know the whiskey had run out.
"You could've texted, you muppet," she nudged Dean's thigh with her socked-foot. He grabbed her ankle, mid-shove and put it on his leg, rubbing her automatically. She decided to leave it there and try relaxing for a change.
She took a bit of a breath. "You guys ok with me going out by myself?" she asked. They both looked at her, Dean's expression curious.
"I saw a night club up the main drag, something dooffy but probably my kinda era," she described. "I could do with half an hour of the boogie-oogie." She looked at Sam but it was really Dean she needed to worry about.
"When was the last time you went out dancing?" Sam asked.
"About a month after a met you guys, but being busy with you two has kept me… you know, occupied. I used to go at least twice a month," she explained. "It was my whiskey."
Dean's eyebrows went up and he nodded. He wanted to be cool with her going out alone. He knew what it was like to be deprived of little luxuries of habit. He knew, logically, sensibly, that she'd be fine. But it was still jarring.
Gen could tell he was faking. "You want to supervise," she stated to Dean.
He shifted in his seat, wincing at her observation, and licked his lip as he sighed. "…Only to make myself feel better."
"Well, it won't make you feel much else. I can't dance for shit, I just like it," she offered and watched him chew his mouth as he looked at the table, trying not to be a douche bag.
Momentarily though, he plucked up a half-hearted, almost convincing tone and said "Yeah, you should go." He waggled his head aimlessly, looking at Sam for reassurance, which he got in the form of actual nodding. "It's fair enough… You're not, like, raging all night or anything."
"Ha! No Daddy," Gen smiled, missing him twinge, "my curfew will probably get me back in time for the last few hands."
She got up, collected some things from her bag and went to the bathroom to change.
"It's fair enough," he repeated to Sam, "she's probably got cabin fever, and she's not as beat up as us. She should go, work off some steam."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, almost dimpling his cheeks to hold in the smile, "work off some steam." Dean's clenching glare did force some teeth to poke through. "She'll be fine," Sam moaned. "If she's keen to dance she'll be ready to fight. Woe betide the ass who goes there, right?" He raised and offered his bottle.
"Amen," Dean agreed, tapping his drink in a toast. "That ass shall betide an epic wupping I'd bet," he took a swig. "In fact I'd tag along just to see that again."
Sam laughed through his drink as Gen appeared again. Some eye-liner, tight jeans, boots, one black racer-back singlet and her leather jacket - it wasn't that suggestive, especially with the messy high bun she hadn't changed, but Dean just had no objectivity with her any more. She'd become ten-times hotter in 2 minutes.
"Okay, I'm off," she shuffled things into her pockets. "Back soon."
She stopped by Dean to cup his jaw and deliver a heartfelt kiss on the way past. Sam cleared a few things and went to the sink – he was getting really good at strategic 'absence'.
"You stay safe," Dean said.
"Will do," Gen assured.
He kissed her again, harder, and smiled as best he could in place of every warning and wish he was thinking.
"You're very good," Gen whispered, slipping her thumb over his eyebrow. He kissed him on the forehead again before disappearing out the door, a quick kind smile to her new boyfriend as she went.
They sat quietly as they listened to Gen's car pull out and hoon away for an hour or so of independent freedom.
Dean shuffled in his seat, awkwardly, recrossed his arms and sighed through his nose. "Never seen her wear an outfit like that before," he chatted.
"'Spose that's what she wears dancing," Sam surmised, "and she hasn't gone dancing with us."
"Huh," Dean thought. He eyed off his car keys and picked at his beer label. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and suddenly looked like he was holding down puke. "You think she'd forgive me if I followed?"
Sam sighed. "I dunno man… I think it depends on how you follow her."
"I won't…intervene," he rationalised, waving a hand, "I'll just… observe."
"Like supervise," Sam looked unconvinced, "or perve?"
Dean frowned at him. "Well, she doesn't really need my protection-"
"I know!"
"-but if I could just see…" he was fraught by the unknown. "I can't imagine anything good happening. Don't look at me like that! I mean, every scene I know of is her being sexy and hit on by some Cro-Magnon… or a monster shows up…"
"Man, just go!" Sam threw his hands up; Dean was already out of his chair. "You're pathetic, you know that? Who's going to protect you from her?"
"Future Dean can worry about that," he muttered, hauling on his shoes and jacket.
"Future Dean's going to be embarrassed," Sam commented. "You'll learn your lesson."
"Whatever," was the reply as he snatched his keys off the table before storming out the door.
