Dean isn't exactly sure what a 'trifecta' is, but it sounds painful. Or perhaps nauseating. Then again, it could be another term for a ménage à trois, which is pretty sexy in and of itself, and he'd definitely consider one if he could locate the appropriate, necessary hot chicks to seal the deal.

But Kurt keeps talking and his attention is starting to drag into the cream puffs behind the teenager, and the- Wait one fucking second, was that Cas across the floor? Staring at him? Again? Dean almost didn't catch it - the angel isn't wearing his trench coat, just the rumpled suit beneath it, and his eyes are trained on Dean.

It's almost flattering, since he knows how damn good he looks, save for the fact that the angel's been staring at him continually for the past five days or so.

"Finn?" Dean mumbles around a full mouth, chewing and swallowing the rest of his food before speaking again. He gives Kurt a dubious look. "...really, dude, the only things I'm good at are hunting, cheating bikers out of their money at pool, and imitating federal agents." And sex, His mind supplies unhelpfully, reminding him once again that he hasn't gotten laid in months.

"I don't think I could dance to save my friggin' life."

And he's not being modest. Really.