WHAT YOU KNOW YOU'RE PROBABLY GONNA DO~

[itsahotone]

Who: Santana and Dean
Where: Santana’s
When: evening of the third, morning of the fourth
Rating: ...we’ll see. at least PG13.
Summary: Santana finally gets what she wants. But does she want it anymore?!?!!? /soap opera tagline
The Story:

It’s way too late when Santana finally stumbles out of the party. She wouldn’t even leave it wasn’t for the fact that she doesn’t trust herself around Brittany, not after spin the bottle, not after the body shots.

Not after the ten tons of alcohol she’s consumed.

So the halls are empty and she might still be nursing a cup of something. She isn’t even entirely sure what it is. The important thing is that it keeps the headache away.

She trips a little over a lump in the carpet and starts giggling.

Comments

damn you look good and i'm drunk

[dashboardlite]

Dean has been straight-chugging whiskey bottle after whiskey bottle since the beginning of this event, enough that he'd probably sweat the stuff if it came down to it, enough that the searing, skull-pounding headache is kept at bay - not enough that he drifts into the unpleasant, depressing, somnolent haze of absolute drunkenness.

AKA: The Point of No Return

Regardless, his judgment is clouded, everything feels deliciously off-kilter, and rounding a corner he gets a good glimpse of Santana snickering into her hand.

"Heeeeeyyyyyyyyy."

Cue the loopy wave and a clumsy dashing lean against the nearest wall.

dittoooo

[itsahotone]

Santana giggles once more, then mimics his loopy wave with one of her own.

"You missed the party!"

[dashboardlite]

"What?!"

If that sounds a bit obnoxious, that's probably because it is. Dean looks very surprised. And somewhat disappointed, albeit in an exaggerated fashion.

"I missed a party?"

Boo.

[itsahotone]

"It was totally fun," Santana says, pointing at him with her cup. "And you missed out on me licking salt off girls."

Clearly the most important detail.

[dashboardlite]

"Damn."

Good job censoring yourself, Dean.

"I seriously missed out on all that? Any chance the party's still swingin'?"

[itsahotone]

Santana giggles again, stepping closer to him.

"Think so, but I'm pretty sure the coolest people are gone. Y'know, like me. For example."

[dashboardlite]

"S'a real shame, woulda paid good money to see you lick salt off somebody," Dean grins crookedly, leaning most of his weight on the wall next to him (because he'd rather not fall over).

"Any chance for an encore?"

[itsahotone]

"Really," Santana half-asks. "I could make big money off that."

Then she pauses, looking like she is thinking very very deeply about the answer to his question. There are just so many answers she could give! Which to choose, which to choose...

"Sure. Just have to ask nicely."

[dashboardlite]

The crooked grin gets even more lopsided. Perhaps Dean Winchester has had a bit too much to drink today.

"Dontcha gotta get another girl t'do that?"

But he doesn't appear to be bothered by the expression on her face. Nope. Not at all.

[itsahotone]

She makes a show of looking around.

"I don't see anyone else. If you don't wanna play, though, that's fine." Wow, she sure got up in his space pretty quickly. "I can always play by myself."

...That doesn't even really make sense in context. Shut up.

[dashboardlite]

Mmm, Space Invaders. What a great game. Dean isn't as skilled at it himself, but he knows plenty of people who are, and he can play off of it well enough.

"That doesn't even make sense in context," Dean points out with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.

[itsahotone]

"Does it really matter that much?" Santana asks, and pokes him in the shoulder. That turns out to be a fun pastime, somehow, so she'll do it again.

Guess what's also fun! When the poking gets boring and turns into a little caress. Yep. Super fun.

[dashboardlite]

"It oughta, but I ain't in the mood to argue."

You know who likes to lean over people seductively? Dean.

AND THEN...

[dashboardlite]

His tongue is heavy and thick. It feels like sandpaper. The inside of his mouth is acrid and sour, that uncomfortable sensation you get when you've had too much beer and you might want to throw up at some point.

He shifts. His stomach lurches.

...There's a draft in the room.

Dean knows because it's tickling his bare stomach, and-

Wait one goddamn second. His bare stomach? The hunter cracks an eye open to see a black, nondescript ceiling. It's not surprising he'd go to sleep without a shirt on after all the alcohol, but he usually puts on something.

"I feel like death," he mumbles into both hands with a groan.

RAINBOWS AND PUPPIES!

[itsahotone]

Santana does not feel like death. She is, however, extremely tired and mostly still asleep. This would explain why she barely moves.

Some part of her apparently acknowledges someone else speaking and moving, though, and she gives a sleepy little sound of disapproval.

As in: shut up and going back to sleep, whoever you are.

SUNSHINE AND SPARKLES?

[dashboardlite]

Dean will not shut up and go back to sleep, you cannot make him. He will grumble and mutter and sit upright despite the vertigo and the headache because WHOA NOW SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT.

When is the last time he shared a bed with someone, for one?

...a while ago.

And so, cautiously, squinting blearily, Dean turns to look at the source of heat next to him.

"...Oh fuck."

TYPOS AND TEARS B'(

[itsahotone]

You are so mean with your staying awake and all. The odd lack of horrible hangover strikes her once she is actually forcing herself to wake up; she grumbles and turns over, and--oh. Hello there, Dean.

"...Was it good for you?" she rasps, clearing her throat. She isn't particularly mindful of the sheet slipping down and leaving her upper body mostly bare.

nuuuuuuuu

[dashboardlite]

Dean doesn't remember. Dean doesn't remember.

"Uh."

Give him a moment. He's busy falling off the bed, looking for his pants, because he's apparently not wearing any. But of course he's not wearing any. He's stark freaking naked. And he's never been so embarrassed and hung over in his life.

"Yea-uh."

Way to get an eyeful of tits in the morning. Jesus Christ.

"...sure."

Where are his fucking pants?

BUT THE TYPOS, MAN

[itsahotone]

Santana rubs her eyes, getting the blur out of her vision...which works well for the whole staring-at-naked-Dean thing.

"Very convincing. You flatter me."

Right now, she's starting to really become alert again, and she's filled with a certain type of, well, glee. She finally tapped that!

/weeps

[dashboardlite]

Let him think for a second, geez.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles noncommittally, rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling for her closet. Enjoy the sight of his ass for a moment.

...

.....

.......

A pants-victory is his!

And everything that happened is slowly settling into his brain, heavy and thick like his tongue. Which still tastes like stale beer. Dean wrinkles his nose.

"...holy crap, my brother's gonna kill me."

/pets :3

[itsahotone]

"What? Why?"

That 'why' can mean either why would he kill you or why would you even tell him. Take your pick.

[dashboardlite]

Dean wouldn't tell him, but Sam would know. He always knows. He can read Dean like a freaking book, and he will be so disappointed.

"You haven't seen his bitchface."

Or experienced the guilt it can instill.

[itsahotone]

Santana just rolls her eyes.

"Come on, you know this had to..."

Happen sooner or later is where she was going with that but a more important thought has entered her mind and overtaken it.

"Oh no..."

[dashboardlite]

Happen sooner or later.

Right.

It's not a reassuring thought, no matter how much Dean would like to grudgingly admit that Santana is right. It isn't like he's never...y'know...had a dirty dream, or...thought about things like this. but-

You know what, he's been a little sexually frustrated, okay? Jesus.

"...what?"

Dean tries not to snap, he tries to remain calm, but imagining the look on Sam's face makes his stomach turn.

"Hey-"

A little gentler this time around.

"...What's...What's up?"

[itsahotone]

She is no longer looking at him and his hilarious flailing around to get dressed or whatever.

"Brittany..."

And doesn't that just clear things up?