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“Okay, where the fuck are we going?”
“I told you-” Seth slapped Dean’s hand away from the blindfold. “It’s a surprise. Stop trying to peek.”
“Because it’s not suspicious at all to be driving down the highway with a grown-ass man blindfolded in your passenger seat,” Dean grumped. Seth let out a low chuckle.
“If the cops pull us over, I’ll explain it to them.”
“And then you’ll be arrested for kidnapping.”
“I am not kidnapping you. I just made plans for the day. Plans that I don’t want you to know about.”
“Isn’t that the definition of kidnapping?” Dean asked, pulling at the blindfold again, more to annoy Seth than anything else. He trusted Seth- he had to trust Seth, the man had him strapped into a speeding steel death machine with no way of seeing where the fuck he was going, and if it was anyone else, Dean would be clawing at the windows to escape, but that was beside the point- and if Seth wanted to surprise him, he’d deal with it.
Dean hated surprises.
He liked to have some idea of what lay ahead. More evidence that Seth was clearly affecting his mind in some insidious way. He crossed his arms with a huff and subsided, insofar as he was capable of subsiding, which mostly involved a lot of fidgeting and tapping his feet on the floorboards, his knee jackhammering away.
“Alright, we’re here. You-” Seth pointed sternly, even if Dean couldn’t see it. “Stay here. I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
Dean opened his mouth to protest, and Seth closed it again, two fingers under his chin. “Seriously. Just wait.”
“Fine.” Dean scowled and slumped against the doorframe, scraping his fingernails along the tops of his thighs, something to do. He could hear songbirds out the open window, water rushing softly, gulls calling, and guessed they were probably at the lake. Seth was banging around in the trunk, and then he was rummaging in the backseat, still dickishly not revealing a thing to Dean, who just sat there like a scarecrow, unable to see anything, feeling incredibly-
“Stupid.”
“What?” Seth paused in the act of backing out of the car, peering over the seat in confusion.
“I feel stupid. Just fucking sitting here with a damn bandana over my eyes while you scurry around doing whatever the hell you’re doing.”
“Right. Well, you’ll have to deal with feeling stupid for a few minutes, but after that, you’ll have free reign to mock and cast judgement on me. And I guarantee you will.”
“...that sounds promising.”
“I knew you’d think so.” Seth vanished again, and Dean leaned his head against the windowframe. One thing about being blindfolded- aside from the memories of certain bedroom adventures- was that it definitely did enhance one’s senses. He could smell pine sap and dead fish- what a combo- he could feel warm sunshine, a gentle breeze on his face, and he could hear Seth swearing, which kind of ruined the tableau, but it made Dean smirk anyway.
“Alright, come on. I’m greatly anticipating your mockery.” Seth was next to him very suddenly- Dean jerked back with a whooping gasp- and then he was opening the door and pulling Dean out by the elbow.
“Why are you so dead-set on this idea that I’m gonna make fun of you?”
Seth shrugged. “Because I know you, and I know how you feel about this kind of shit.”
“What kind of shit, though.”
“This kind.” Seth’s fingers worked the knot in the orange bandana loose and Dean blinked against the sunlight as the fabric fell away.
“Oh yeah. That kind of shit is definitely the kind of shit I’m like, contractually obligated to make fun of.” Dean stuffed his hands in his pocket and surveyed the scene in front of him. A picnic basket and a cooler, the lids of both flipped up, and an array of foods- cold chicken, potato salad, bean salad, a couple bags of chips, sliced fruit, an actual honest-to-god bottle of wine and, bizarrely, a little dish of green olives- spread out in front of them. “Really, red and white checks? Is this 1949?”
“It’s a beach blanket,” Seth protested, kneeling on the edge, looking up at Dean, practically radiating defensiveness. “It was this or toucans, so I went with tradition.”
“Uh huh.” Dean hunkered down on the shady side of the blanket- Seth had very courteously laid it out so it was roughly half in sunlight, half in the shade of what Dean thought might have been an oak tree, but hell, it might have been a cherry tree for all he knew of horticulture- and folded his long legs under him. “So, uh, picnic. At the beach.”
“Yes,” was Seth’s gruff reply as he fiddled with the foil closure on the wine bottle.
“That is disgustingly romantic and so fuckin hetero I can’t even cope.”
“You know, sometimes queer couples can do romantic shit too, without it being all ‘fuckin hetero’.” Seth’s tone dipped to imitate Dean’s more gravelly voice. “Can you just not be an asshole for five minutes?” He finally broke the foil seal and speared the cork with a wine opener, refusing to regret this excursion… outing… date… okay, it was a date. That was a normal thing to do with a good friend that you had regular, enthusiastic sex with, right? Go on dates?
“Sorry.” Dean shrugged off his jacket and scooted closer to Seth. “It’s… nice. No, really-” Because those amazingly dark brown eyes had flitted over to his, skeptical. “It is. I mean… schmoopy. Horrendously romantic. Completely out of character for me, but a very… it’s a very Seth sort of thing.” He popped an olive into his mouth and rummaged in the cooler for a soda.
“What do you define as a “Seth sort of thing”?” Seth demanded, wondering if he should be outraged or not.
“This kind of… chick-flick, Valentine’s day romanticism.”
“...are you calling me a chick?”
“Noooo, although if you wanted me to, that’d be alright too. You’re… sappy. You love the idea of like… epic, eternal, star-crossed lovers dying in each others’ arms shit.”
Was Dean implying a suicide pact? Seth shook his head. Ridiculous. He dug out the wine glasses and poured. “So?”
Dean inched closer, crumpling the blanket under his ass as he went, and offered Seth the platter of cold chicken in an attempt at placating him. “So I kinda like that part of ya.”
Seth grinned. “You’re so full of shit.”
“No, no, I really do. Just… in moderation.” Dean scrunched himself up next to Seth, their sides pressed together, and the chicken in his lap. “I might overdose on the mushy stuff if we do this too much.”
“Even I have limits on the amount of mush I can handle,” Seth told him. Dean stretched out on his back, his head propped up on Seth’s leg, and started to attack the chicken. The gulls had noticed them, and Dean was taking no chances.
Dean did not share food.
~
“Sun’s going down,” Seth commented. He fished the last cherry tomato out of the container and fed it to Dean, who was reclining with his head on Seth’s stomach, breathing slow and steady. Peaceful.
“Mm.” Dean offered an olive, tweezed between two fingers, and passed up a soda. Seth had quit the wine over an hour ago, in the interests of them not dying on the way back. “You wanna pack up before it gets totally dark?”
“Probably should,” Seth allowed, although he made no move to rise, his fingers carding slowly through Dean’s hair. Dean hummed appreciatively, and Seth scratched gently, smiling. “You’re like a big puppy dog, you know that?”
“Does that mean you’ll scratch my belly and get my foot going?”
“If you want,” Seth chuckled, leaning over as far as he could with Dean still obstinately using his lower abdomen as a pillow, his hair falling from behind his ears to tickle Dean’s face.
“You can scratch more’n my belly, y’know. And by scratch, I mean-”
“I know what you mean, and not here.” Seth ran his palm down Dean’s torso, anyway, smoothing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, grinning as Dean wriggled when Seth’s hand slid from fabric to flesh, the light dusting of hair. “All right, that’s enough.”
“Seeeth!” Dean whined, rolling over and giving him a petulant look. Seth rose to his feet, dusting himself off and started to pack up the remains of their picnic. Dean folded his arms and pouted dramatically. Seth responded by jerking the blanket out from under him, sending Dean rolling across the sand like the world’s most disgruntled log.
Dean picked himself up, shaking sand loose.”-and freakin ants, really Seth, you rolled me over an anthill?”
“Not deliberately,” Seth replied, returning from packing the trunk and curling his arms around Dean’s slim waist, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Dean leaned into him, folding his arms over Seth’s, his grumbling trailing off at the feel of warm lips against his neck.
Seth smiled against the warm skin.“Admit it, you kind of liked today.”
“I never said that,” Dean protested.
“But you did like it. Admit it.” Seth squeezed Dean’s midsection with his strong forearms. “Admit! Come on.”
“Fine. It was good,” Dean admitted. “Although don’t get any idea about me surprising you with something like this- you know I don’t do mush. But it was nice. Very you. I liked it.” He’d give Seth that much.
Standing here on the beach with Seth’s arms around him, the wind picking up and ruffling his hair, blowing strands of Seth’s into his face, and sending little wavelets lapping against the shore as the warmth of the day slowly dissipated from the sand around them. Standing here, curled together, matching breath for breath, watching the sun sink into the water and the first stars peep out, Dean decided that maybe he more than kinda liked Seth’s romantic side.