Title: Boy Smells Nice
Summary: Buffy has had a little too much to drink…
Dis: I don’t own BTVS or SPN!!!
Dean sighed as he exited his 1967 Chevy Impala, door protesting slightly as he opened it with a metallic whine before he slammed the door shut. The small town bar was still hopping and he could hear the Honky-Tonk tune from the dirt parking lot. It sort of reminded him of the Road House and any other time he’d be shedding his coat and ordering a shot of something, but this time he was on a mission.
A mission to extract a drunken Buffy Summers from the said bar.
She’d gone to the bar, the Black Horse, to research the death of previous owners, due to the last owner having a suspicious death. What a way to go, he’d thought, being run over by a train on a set of tracks that weren’t supposed to have trains passing on it anymore. Further research revealed that a train had derailed and the town lore was that you could still hear the whistles at night. Just what Dean wanted, a ghost train, so while he and Sam dug into the town records to gain all the info on the train, Buffy had gone to the bar.
“I can handle this,” she had said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You and Sam do the research thing.”
“Can’t I come with you?” he has whined, putting on the best puppy dog face he could.
“No. Don’t make me use my stern face!”
She had won out because she promised as soon as they found something useful, that he could join her. Well, no matter what Dean had deemed ‘useful’, Sam had shut him down with a ‘Be serious, Dean!’ glare that had put him in a right mood. Then he’d gotten the phone call…“Dean!”
She had then gone on and on about there being a memorial that day. How no one was willing to answer any sort of questions unless she helped celebrate the life of Charles Wright, by tossing back shots of whiskey, and that she was too drunk to drive her way back to the motel they were staying in. Now Dean knew how she drove sober and there was no way in hell he was going to let her drive back drunk in her tuna can of a car that shouldn’t even be deemed a car.
Which brought him to now, stepping into a dimly lit bar, hazel eyes scanning the area until coming to rest on a petite blonde woman sitting on a stool with another drink in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed and her jean jacket was on the back of her chair, so all she wore was a black tank top with a jean skirt that came to her knees and heeled boots. Her legs were crossed and she looked ready to topple over at any minute so he rushed over there, and his speed had NOTHING to do with the two men sitting next to her with looks of WANT on their face.
“Hello, Sweetheart,” he murmured as he easily slid his way in front of one of the guys, elbow resting on the slightly damp bar that had more than a couple empty shot glasses in front of Buffy.
“Dean!” Buffy smiled brightly, forgetting about the drink in her hand as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, sloshing the drink so that it now ran down his neck and back under his coat. “You made it!”
“Uh huh.” He pulled back, smart-ass grin in place. “You’re drunk.”
“Am not!” she declared, hiccupping right after.
He lifted a brow.
“Okay, maybe a little,” she said, holding her thumb and index fingers slightly apart from one another.
“Lots! Too much whiskey,” she said, making a face. “But! They told me all about Charlie and the curse of this bar. Apparently, some grumpy lady, wasn’t happy that her husband sold the, hiccup
, bar her father left to her. So when she died she decided to be grumpier and haunt whomever owns it and get this she died…hiccup
… on the train that derailed!”
“Nancy Drew pulls through again,” said Dean. “But, I think its time Nancy called it quits with the booze.”
“Aww…” Buffy pouted, sticking out her lower lip, then straightened slightly in the stool, her arms returned to around his neck as she leaned in close. He could smell her perfume and it was intoxicating, as was the mischievous look in her eyes. His arms came around her so that she wouldn’t topple off the stool as she leaned fully against him. “Mmm… boy smells nice…” She nipped his ear. “Boy wanna play-Eek!
Dean hauled Buffy over his shoulder, hand swatting her on the ass before he grabbed her jacket and purse.
“Damn right I do!”
“Dean! You can’t hold me upside down I’m gunna---”
Too late. Dean made his signature ‘ick’ face as he looked down at his now soiled shoes.
“Son of a…”
“Boy still wanna play?” asked Buffy as Dean quickly put her back on her feet.
“No!” he growled, shaking his feet, trying not to get too upset.
“Not even a little?” asked Buffy, pouting.
“Well…” He seriously thought about it. “Get a shower and a good tooth brushing in and playtime is back on!”
“Yay!” she said, quickly exiting the bar, heading right to the Impala. Dean’s hand on her elbow redirected her toward her car.
“We’re taking YOUR car, no way in hell am I chancing you puking in my baby!”
"I'm good, I don't think i'm gunna....BLECH!"
Hope you all enjoyed my little bunny.