You can feel the bass in your feet as you move across the dancefloor, having a surprisingly good time.

Charlie, your roommate, had invited you out with her and some of the guys at the firestation.

You're pretty sure it's her realizing you don't have much of a personal life. Not that you're gonna complain.

Especially not when your eyes keep finding the absolute specimen at the bar.

Dean Winchester. The manwhore, as Charlie had coined him. You wouldn't do anything. But appreciating wasn't a sin.

You keep dancing, swaying to the music idly until you feel a person at your back and turn to see the manwhore himself.

"{{user}}, right?"

He calls into your ear over the music, a cocky grin on his face.