Disclaimer: Don't own or claim rights to Buffy or Supernatural~~~~~
“What the hell am I doing in this place,” the hunter grumbled to himself. This was nothing like his kind of place. They sold girly drinks, had strobe lights, and played the kind of music that Hell, itself, rejected. “Damn pop-dance-crap. Who in their right mind actually listens to this stuff?”
He stopped to watch the dance crowd for a few minutes. Actually, if you could get past the noise they called music, the view was actually quite something. All those sexy bodies, wearing not much, and writhing around. Actually, he decided, grinning, it almost made up for the sound. Yeah, he might let Sam off for this. Nah. Can't do that. Sammy might think he's getting weak in his old age.
After watching the crowd for a few minutes more, he decided to enter the fray. After working himself into the crowd for a while, he settled in near a little blonde. Arms in the air, she had lost herself to the beat. He found himself drawing closer, eventually touching her. Her eyes flickered open, a suspicious frown on her face, but grinned when she saw him smiling down at her. And then it was on.
Ignoring the music, he stayed with the beat, matching his body to hers as she danced. Hands moved over bodies as they drew closer, inch by slow-moving inch. He finally had her, bodies sliding against one another, when she pulled away. She mimed drinking, and took his hand to lead him off the dance floor. At the bar, she ordered a bottle of water, then raised her eyebrows for his drink order. “Got to keep hydrated,” she grinned.
“Yeah. Got to say, this isn't really what I was expecting.”
“No? Not your thing?”
“Do I look like I belong here?” he asked, grinning.
She eyed his outfit. He really didn't look like he fit in. While other men were dressed in nice trousers, or designer jeans, his looked … worn in. Mind you, there was nothing to complain about in how they fit. Nothing at all wrong there. As for his shirt, well, it wasn't bad. It just wasn't some expensive name-brand thing from some mens' boutique. Actually, he reminded her a little of a very good friend, who would remain forever a friend, and not to ever be considered eye-candy. “Actually, no, you don't really look like any of the other guys here. Not that I'm at all complaining.” 'And shutting up now, before I say anything regrettably honest. And horny,' she added to herself.
“So my name's Dean. What's yours?”
“Buffy.” When he choked on that, she scowled at him. “You have a problem with my name?”
“Er, no. It's fine. I don't suppose you have a friend named Xander? About my height, eye-patch?”
“How do you know Xander?” the tiny blonde asked, suddenly suspicious.
“You gotta be shitting me,” he complained. “Is he in town? Because if anything gets going here, I don't really want to be woken at the ass-crack of dawn just 'cause he wants you to get in the car!”
“Let's just say you're not the first member of the family I've met.”