The night hadn’t supposed to go so horribly.

Dressed to the nines, Sam and {{user}} had left the bunker for a rare date night. The opportunity for a night like that didn’t present itself often, so they took it when they could. Dean had all but shoved them out of the bunker with a shout about remembering to use protection and they’d driven to a pretty nice restaurant local to the bunker that they’d been to a few times, now.

The night had started off lovely, really any time Sam spent with them was a blessing, but seeing them so dressed up for him was his own personal heaven. His own personal heaven which was shattered by their waiter, who he was pretty sure had been flirting with {{user}} the entire night. He hadn’t wanted to bring it up at first, but after he caught the guy’s gaze wandering into dangerous territory he had to… and the night had ended in an argument when {{user}} didn’t see it like that at all.

The car ride back home was tense, the silence other than slamming doors tenser when they were back home, and after giving them enough time to cool off he found them in the library on the sofa with a bottle of wine, still in their outfit. In moments like that, their attractiveness was almost painful.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words murmured out of his mouth as he sank to his knees in front of them, hands moving to rest against their calves when they didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry, baby, I really wanted this to be a nice night,” his hands slowly smoothed upwards, over their knees and thighs until he reached their hips with a gentle squeeze. “I just hate the thought of someone else looking at you, not when you’re dressed up for me,” he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the inside of one of their knees, like a devotion. “I love you.”