[h2] Dean Winchester [/h2]

Dean laughed loudly over the music as she agreed that they were both probably bad dancers, but her being the worst.  He shook his head, “No way!  Your legs are too nice to not be able to dance!”

As she led him out onto the dance floor, he couldn’t help remember back to the last time he had made her dance like this.  They were both drunk off their asses, and if he remembered correctly, he was wearing a cowboy hat and no shirt, while they danced around.  The night had ended up with a fight, Dean walking away nursing a bloody nose and Esme doing the nursing for him.  It seemed to be a pattern.  He laughed the memory off, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist.

He lifted her off her feet a bit as he spun her around to the music, and then sat her back down, “I think it’s too late for that.  I’m here, drinking and offering to dance.  The regret ship has sailed.”

He was a little surprised at how loose he felt after only two triple shots.  He was laughing.  Hell, he was dancing.

He leaned his forehead against hers as they swayed, trying to resist the urge to kiss her again, like they had in the park.  Regardless of how they had left things, the gut feelings he had had about her hadn’t really changed all that much.  She was so sweet, yet brutal when she needed to be.  She made a strong case for being ‘his type’.

He angled his head down a tad, and touched noses with her, “Would you be upset if I kissed you, right now?”