Enamour Me 2

Written for xComet260X.

a fluffy drabble characters trying to woo one another [be it out of the blue/Valentines Day, feel free to specify.]

A second drabble for Maddi … this one hunterhawk, Dean & Clint. Bounces off of this drabble "Dean has a fetish"

Sam was curious; not that Dean being on the laptop at odd hours was strange, or even the way he'd casually close the top when Sam came too close. He knew how Sam felt about those Asian porn sites, and he was pretty circumspect about them. No, it was the fact that Dean was deleting his browser history. Dean. Even knowing that there was a browser history and how to get to it, much less delete it, wasn't like his brother. Something was up.

So he waited for his opening; finally, after a particularly tough night where both of them ended up covered in ectoplasmic slime, he got his chance. Taking his shower first, he came into the room to see Dean staring at the screen, a half-smile on his face. Jumping up, Dean rushed for his own turn to clean up, clicking the page closed and dropping the lid. Sam knew the signs of his brother's arousal – hell, you don't live in motel rooms with a guy without knowing things like that – plus, Dean wasn't that subtle about that kind of stuff.

"About time. If you used up all the hot water, you're sleeping in the car tonight," Dean grumbled as he brushed past his brother and into the steamy bathroom, tossing his filthy shirt in the pile Sam already started by the door. "Going to need to scrub to get this shit off."

Sam loitered until he heard the water start, pulling on clean underwear and jeans, and then he was at the computer, opening the last website viewed and clicking on the address. Dean hadn't bothered to log out and up came a series of pictures on a social media site Sam didn't think Dean had even heard about much less had an account on. No names were attached to any of them, just a random IPO link that Sam would bet money didn't lead anywhere; a fairly sophisticated way to communicate without being traced. Sam shuffled through the images, most recent to the oldest. Each one was a different location - diners, bakeries, restaurants, grocery stores, bodegas, and bars - and each featured a plate of food labeled with a name and location.

Banana-Chocolate Cream. Petsi Pies. Somerville, Mass.

Winner of the National Pie Championship, Cherry, Achatz, Armada Michigan.

Sambusac, Allahabad.

Shoofly, Lancaster Central, PA.

Pineapple empanada, Pepe de Jardin, Bogota

Piejar (pie in a jar!), Fuel Coffee, Seattle

Aloo, street cart, Trinidad.

Confused, Sam looked for Dean's replies but found just another series of pictures, these of total dives, the kinds of places Dean would pick for meals; in fact, some of them looked familiar. They'd eaten at a few of them at one time or another – not all of them though – and, he noticed, the dates for the ones they had visited didn't correspond to when they were there. Dean had waited to send them out of order so no one could track their movements through the locations.

Sweet P's BBQ, Knoxville, TN

Los Taquitos, Phoenix, AZ

The Blue Door Pub, St. Paul, MN

Sidetrack Bar, Ypsilanti, MI

Louis Lunch, New Haven, Conn

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean stood in the bathroom doorway in nothing but a towel, dripping wet. He crossed the room in just a few steps and slammed the top down. "Privacy? Ever heard of it? You want me snooping around in your business, dude?"

"You have a foodie pen pal?" Sam laughed at the very thought. "The pie, I get, but the other? Auditioning for your own Food Network show?"

Dean was blushing, actually goddamn blushing. "Go fuck yourself." He turned away and stormed back to the bathroom.

And that's when Sam knew exactly what was going on, who was sending the pictures in such a clandestine way.

"Oh, I see. They're from him." Good lord, he was going to live off of this little bit of information for quite a while. Maybe make Dean let him stop at a farmer's market to get some provisions and even let him play some of his music for a change. "I didn't think you were that easy. A few pictures of pie? That's a pretty cheap date."

"Shut up!" Dean growled. "Not another word, Sammy, you hear me?" He ducked into the other room.

"Sure you don't want to take the computer in there with you … oh, wait, you can probably get them on your phone."

"Smartass." He slammed the door shut.

Sam logged out of the site and pulled up his own email. Seemed that Clint Barton had his brother's number all right; Dean never could resist a good slice of pie.