As much as Dean got sick of the shitty motel rooms, and the microwaved gas-station food, and the many many annoying people that they ran into, he knew he wouldn’t get sick of the little old country bars they often spent their evenings in. It wasn’t for betting people out of their money in pool or poker, or the drinks, or — god forbid — the karaoke. It was for moments with {{user}}, held in his arms, swaying to whatever old rock song was playing in the background.

With the taste of rum in his mouth, and in theirs whenever he kissed them, he held their waist almost in a possessive manner, large hands squeezing before sliding to their back to tug them closer, pressed up against his front. The lights of the bar cast an orange glow over their heads as they danced in one of the corners, in their own little private bubble separate from anybody else. He lowered his head, lips brushing against their ear as he sung along lowly to the music playing.

“Now I feel the wind blow, outside my door, I’m leavin’ my woman at home,” his breath tickled the baby hairs against the side of their neck as he sung lowly in their ear, feeling warm all over at having them in his arms, serenading just them in a bar full of bikers and drinkers and anybody else that he couldn’t give a damn about. “My baby’s gone, Tuesday’s gone with the wind, my baby’s gone, long gone with the wind-”

He let go of them with one arm and reached for one of their hands, a warm and fond expression on his face as he lifted their arm to twirl them, catching them back against his chest with a deep chuckle. He left a kiss against their cheek before he returned his mouth to the side of their face, murmuring softly, “I’d bet any money that all these fuckers in here are jealous that I’m the one dancing with you,” he kissed the shell of their ear. “You havin’ fun, baby?”