Leaving an Impression
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deantestineswritingTitle: Leaving an Impression || Ao3
Fandom: Supernatural, House M.D.
Rating: PG
Ship: Dean Winchester, Gregory house
Warnings: None!
Word Count: 1,786
Whats in here?: Valentine's Day, Fluff
Summary: Dean has the prettiest smile in the world. House makes quite the effort to bring it out of him.
Cotton Candy. Rot-your-mouth sweets. Sugar. That’s all that seems to be in the air the days leading up to this February 14th. Love doesn’t seem to be anywhere. Surface level, it’s there, of course, there’s kisses and hand-holding; but if you take a second and really look at it, love isn’t anywhere at all. Just people who may or may not care for each other buying the most generic gift they can to make sure their partner doesn’t hate them. Chocolate. House finds himself among these people and he walks down the street looking for a gift for his little boyfriend and he tries not to make himself feel ridiculous about that, but he feels it anyway. Previously, he might’ve scoffed at the red and pink balloons lining the streets because it really is a bit of a ridiculous holiday, or he might have imagined himself with a woman having dinner. He might’ve imagined his wife. Today, though, he walks down pink lined streets with cafes and chocolatiers selling the same thing everyone else is selling looking for a gift for his boyfriend. A good gift for his boyfriend. Something impressive, something that could put a shine in those green eyes, something that will make him smile. He lets his thoughts fall pleasantly upon Dean as the sidewalks lead him to his destination.
“This,” Dean pointed at the Hostess cupcake in his hand. “Is the pinnacle of all food.” The cupcake disappeared into the cave that is Dean’s mouth. If one were to test the percentage of junk food in his body — and if that were a possible thing to do — they might find its abundance to be a concern. But it was charming. Charmed, as Dean housed another spell of chocolate calories, House swooned.
But no matter how fond Dean happens to be of ordinary, everyday junk, he is not incapable of being impressed. House needs to see that expression on his face, it’s like no one has ever done a thing for him before. Like he’s never smiled, like happiness has been deliberately avoiding him his whole life and it’s somehow slipped up, just this one moment. Dean Winchester has a smile so cute that it might drive a man to venture out, days before Valentine’s Day just for the chance to shock him. A smile so radiant that a man might go so ridiculously out of his way to get an inconveniently sized chocolate replica of his car just to see it. He has a smile so captivating a man would do anything to bring it out of him.
Finally coming across the correct place after accidentally walking into about two wrong ones, House speaks to the man across the counter from him for an amount of time almost as exorbitant as the money charged of him. You’d think that someone so skilled wouldn’t need so much verbal description, especially after being provided with so many pictures and advertising a lack of too much communication, but what does House know? He’s just a doctor!
Eventually, House makes it out the door of the establishment, leaving as if he’d been held at knife point while inside of it. He reminisces on how he had told Dean this would just be a “quick errand” and opens his phone to a couple incredibly concerned voicemails and a few angry ones, but no matter the tone, love seeps through the speaker.
FEBRUARY 14th
Dean examines the empty spot in the bed next to him. Who knows how long he’d been sleeping next to nothing but an unmade bed for? He had made substantial effort to get up early for a surprise, but evidently not early enough. Normally, House would be in this bed well past 9:00 AM no matter how pressing the matters were, and the notoriously late — but never yet tinkered with — clock reads 6:30 AM. Maybe House is just in the bathroom, though. Dean takes his time walking to the kitchen with fruitless hopes to still be able to surprise his boyfriend.
What greets him in the kitchen of House’s apartment — which is far too small to contain whatever it is that lies in the center of it — is a very interesting rectangular object that is covered with a large gray sheet of some sort.
Dean pushes down his instinct to yawn in order to let pure confusion overtake his face. “What-”
“Ta-da!” House pops out from behind the huge shape in the kitchen and rips the sheet off of it in a theatrical way, most comparable to a circus.
Underneath it is something Dean wouldn’t have guessed if you gave him one-thousand tries. Ten-thousand, at that.
Underneath this gray sheet is an actual replica of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala — and not just any Impala — this chocolate sculpture is Dean’s car. He can tell that it’s his car, most simply because that’s what would make sense, but also because there is a far less-accurate, melty version of him leaning on the side of it. That part is slightly ugly.
But Dean focused on the car. Not only is it accurate, despite all the melting everywhere that’s happening, it’s beautiful. His mouth waters when he touches it and chocolate covers both his index and middle fingers. He licks them and House stares.
He kneels down to get a closer look at it.
“What?” Dean’s brain is too occupied by chocolate and cars and this absolutely ridiculous stunt House has pulled to muster any other words.
“I only asked the guy for the car, so I’m not sure what…” House breaks the head off of the Dean sculpture. “This part is about.” He pops the chocolate head into his mouth and Dean only shudders a little.
“Greg, this is awesome. I mean- How much did this even cost?” Dean makes the controversial decision to tear off a piece of himself and eat it. The taste is certainly worth the imagery.
“Don’t worry about it,” House waves his hand like a father who spent a ridiculous amount on a new car for his sixteen year old daughter and is trying to be nonchalant. “Oh, by the way, we may have to sell some of your cassette tape collection.” Dean makes a ridiculous face at that and House brandishes an equally ridiculous grin.
Dean finally — though reluctantly — goes to rip a piece off of the actual car part of the car sculpture but finds a softer hand than his in the way of the task. He almost doesn’t blush at the feeling of House’s hand on his wrist.
“Nuh-uh” House lets go of him and pulls out his camera. “Pictures.”
--
Dean sits on the couch with 1 of about 5 Tupperware containers still filled to the very brim with chocolate. They’d already eaten all the plastic bags worth, but they’re at the point where they go around like salesman everyday offering free chocolate to people on the street. Nobody accepts their offers. Before this cataclysmic event, Dean thought it impossible to get sick of chocolate. But here he is, being proven wrong. In his own home. Unbelievable. He grinds the chocolate between his teeth like it’s bark.
“Y’know,” Dean began, “You never told me why you went all out like that last week. You didn’t seem like you even liked Valentine’s Day. You acted like you were dreading it every time it was brought up.”
House looks through the absolutely ridiculous series of pictures that had finally gotten developed. A lot of them are blurry because there’s only so long before the giant chocolate sculpture you bought melts in the middle of the kitchen and that kind of makes you panic, but some of them came out great. House has his favorites. Namely, Dean going what he declared was “Dino-mode” and taking a bite right out of the chocolate car like he was a giant. Or a dinosaur.
“These,” House flashes the pictures at him. “Now I’ve got blackmail. You better do the dishes, or else. Who knows what people will say about you when they find out you were being cute and silly with a romantic partner.”
“Oh god.” Dean flips through the expressions in his brain and brings the one labeled ‘Cartoon-ish look of horror.’ upon his face. “Not that, Greg, anything but that! What will my boss... Uh, I mean my parents... Wait, shit…” A laugh breaks through the “horror”. So much for his acting chops. “What will my… brother do once he finds out that I’m funny and charming? God, he might even laugh. Or smile. That would be horrible, Greg. You’ve got me really good.” Dean nods like he’s gotten pranked so well he can’t even be mad at it.
He hands the torturous, thought-consuming, just plain evil Tupperware container over to House.
“But, like actually. Why? Not that I don’t appreciate it, y’know, all the…” Dean fidgets with his hands. “Love and care and stuff, but I appreciate small amounts of love and care too. Like, I dunno, flowers. Or chocolate. Regular chocolate.” He smiles at the idea of a typical couple going through this whole ordeal. “Hell, I only made you breakfast, that’s pretty regular, and you didn’t mind. I guess I just didn’t think you’d show me up like that.”
House eyes Dean’s smile. “I wanted to impress you.” He moves the chocolate around in the container.
“Flowers would’ve impressed me.” Dean says. “You impress me every time you open your mouth, Greg. You impress me every time you look in my eyes.”
House tries to impress the chocolate. Dean’s eyes don’t leave the side of his House’s head.
“No it wouldn’t.” A small huff escapes House’s mouth. “That stuff flatters you, it makes you happy. It doesn’t impress you. I can tell when you’re impressed,” House motions towards his own eyes, “You get this look in your eyes, this shine.” House looks at Dean, the Dean who’s too far away from him on the couch, whose hair hasn’t been brushed yet because it’s too early in the morning, whose green eyes are shining like ceiling lights. “Like… Like now.”
The eye contact they make is too intense for either of them to hold onto it very long, they both become suddenly very interested in the TV, which is not on and the remote to it is missing. House throws the Tupperware onto the coffee table, a little green just form the idea of eating more of it. Dean sort of fidgets closer to him.
“So, uh. Kinda boring in here, huh?” Dean says. “Maybe you could, uhm, lay down and… let me impress y-“
“Oh, shut up.” House shoves a piece of chocolate in Dean’s mouth.
Fandom: Supernatural, House M.D.
Rating: PG
Ship: Dean Winchester, Gregory house
Warnings: None!
Word Count: 1,786
Whats in here?: Valentine's Day, Fluff
Summary: Dean has the prettiest smile in the world. House makes quite the effort to bring it out of him.
Cotton Candy. Rot-your-mouth sweets. Sugar. That’s all that seems to be in the air the days leading up to this February 14th. Love doesn’t seem to be anywhere. Surface level, it’s there, of course, there’s kisses and hand-holding; but if you take a second and really look at it, love isn’t anywhere at all. Just people who may or may not care for each other buying the most generic gift they can to make sure their partner doesn’t hate them. Chocolate. House finds himself among these people and he walks down the street looking for a gift for his little boyfriend and he tries not to make himself feel ridiculous about that, but he feels it anyway. Previously, he might’ve scoffed at the red and pink balloons lining the streets because it really is a bit of a ridiculous holiday, or he might have imagined himself with a woman having dinner. He might’ve imagined his wife. Today, though, he walks down pink lined streets with cafes and chocolatiers selling the same thing everyone else is selling looking for a gift for his boyfriend. A good gift for his boyfriend. Something impressive, something that could put a shine in those green eyes, something that will make him smile. He lets his thoughts fall pleasantly upon Dean as the sidewalks lead him to his destination.
“This,” Dean pointed at the Hostess cupcake in his hand. “Is the pinnacle of all food.” The cupcake disappeared into the cave that is Dean’s mouth. If one were to test the percentage of junk food in his body — and if that were a possible thing to do — they might find its abundance to be a concern. But it was charming. Charmed, as Dean housed another spell of chocolate calories, House swooned.
But no matter how fond Dean happens to be of ordinary, everyday junk, he is not incapable of being impressed. House needs to see that expression on his face, it’s like no one has ever done a thing for him before. Like he’s never smiled, like happiness has been deliberately avoiding him his whole life and it’s somehow slipped up, just this one moment. Dean Winchester has a smile so cute that it might drive a man to venture out, days before Valentine’s Day just for the chance to shock him. A smile so radiant that a man might go so ridiculously out of his way to get an inconveniently sized chocolate replica of his car just to see it. He has a smile so captivating a man would do anything to bring it out of him.
Finally coming across the correct place after accidentally walking into about two wrong ones, House speaks to the man across the counter from him for an amount of time almost as exorbitant as the money charged of him. You’d think that someone so skilled wouldn’t need so much verbal description, especially after being provided with so many pictures and advertising a lack of too much communication, but what does House know? He’s just a doctor!
Eventually, House makes it out the door of the establishment, leaving as if he’d been held at knife point while inside of it. He reminisces on how he had told Dean this would just be a “quick errand” and opens his phone to a couple incredibly concerned voicemails and a few angry ones, but no matter the tone, love seeps through the speaker.
FEBRUARY 14th
Dean examines the empty spot in the bed next to him. Who knows how long he’d been sleeping next to nothing but an unmade bed for? He had made substantial effort to get up early for a surprise, but evidently not early enough. Normally, House would be in this bed well past 9:00 AM no matter how pressing the matters were, and the notoriously late — but never yet tinkered with — clock reads 6:30 AM. Maybe House is just in the bathroom, though. Dean takes his time walking to the kitchen with fruitless hopes to still be able to surprise his boyfriend.
What greets him in the kitchen of House’s apartment — which is far too small to contain whatever it is that lies in the center of it — is a very interesting rectangular object that is covered with a large gray sheet of some sort.
Dean pushes down his instinct to yawn in order to let pure confusion overtake his face. “What-”
“Ta-da!” House pops out from behind the huge shape in the kitchen and rips the sheet off of it in a theatrical way, most comparable to a circus.
Underneath it is something Dean wouldn’t have guessed if you gave him one-thousand tries. Ten-thousand, at that.
Underneath this gray sheet is an actual replica of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala — and not just any Impala — this chocolate sculpture is Dean’s car. He can tell that it’s his car, most simply because that’s what would make sense, but also because there is a far less-accurate, melty version of him leaning on the side of it. That part is slightly ugly.
But Dean focused on the car. Not only is it accurate, despite all the melting everywhere that’s happening, it’s beautiful. His mouth waters when he touches it and chocolate covers both his index and middle fingers. He licks them and House stares.
He kneels down to get a closer look at it.
“What?” Dean’s brain is too occupied by chocolate and cars and this absolutely ridiculous stunt House has pulled to muster any other words.
“I only asked the guy for the car, so I’m not sure what…” House breaks the head off of the Dean sculpture. “This part is about.” He pops the chocolate head into his mouth and Dean only shudders a little.
“Greg, this is awesome. I mean- How much did this even cost?” Dean makes the controversial decision to tear off a piece of himself and eat it. The taste is certainly worth the imagery.
“Don’t worry about it,” House waves his hand like a father who spent a ridiculous amount on a new car for his sixteen year old daughter and is trying to be nonchalant. “Oh, by the way, we may have to sell some of your cassette tape collection.” Dean makes a ridiculous face at that and House brandishes an equally ridiculous grin.
Dean finally — though reluctantly — goes to rip a piece off of the actual car part of the car sculpture but finds a softer hand than his in the way of the task. He almost doesn’t blush at the feeling of House’s hand on his wrist.
“Nuh-uh” House lets go of him and pulls out his camera. “Pictures.”
--
Dean sits on the couch with 1 of about 5 Tupperware containers still filled to the very brim with chocolate. They’d already eaten all the plastic bags worth, but they’re at the point where they go around like salesman everyday offering free chocolate to people on the street. Nobody accepts their offers. Before this cataclysmic event, Dean thought it impossible to get sick of chocolate. But here he is, being proven wrong. In his own home. Unbelievable. He grinds the chocolate between his teeth like it’s bark.
“Y’know,” Dean began, “You never told me why you went all out like that last week. You didn’t seem like you even liked Valentine’s Day. You acted like you were dreading it every time it was brought up.”
House looks through the absolutely ridiculous series of pictures that had finally gotten developed. A lot of them are blurry because there’s only so long before the giant chocolate sculpture you bought melts in the middle of the kitchen and that kind of makes you panic, but some of them came out great. House has his favorites. Namely, Dean going what he declared was “Dino-mode” and taking a bite right out of the chocolate car like he was a giant. Or a dinosaur.
“These,” House flashes the pictures at him. “Now I’ve got blackmail. You better do the dishes, or else. Who knows what people will say about you when they find out you were being cute and silly with a romantic partner.”
“Oh god.” Dean flips through the expressions in his brain and brings the one labeled ‘Cartoon-ish look of horror.’ upon his face. “Not that, Greg, anything but that! What will my boss... Uh, I mean my parents... Wait, shit…” A laugh breaks through the “horror”. So much for his acting chops. “What will my… brother do once he finds out that I’m funny and charming? God, he might even laugh. Or smile. That would be horrible, Greg. You’ve got me really good.” Dean nods like he’s gotten pranked so well he can’t even be mad at it.
He hands the torturous, thought-consuming, just plain evil Tupperware container over to House.
“But, like actually. Why? Not that I don’t appreciate it, y’know, all the…” Dean fidgets with his hands. “Love and care and stuff, but I appreciate small amounts of love and care too. Like, I dunno, flowers. Or chocolate. Regular chocolate.” He smiles at the idea of a typical couple going through this whole ordeal. “Hell, I only made you breakfast, that’s pretty regular, and you didn’t mind. I guess I just didn’t think you’d show me up like that.”
House eyes Dean’s smile. “I wanted to impress you.” He moves the chocolate around in the container.
“Flowers would’ve impressed me.” Dean says. “You impress me every time you open your mouth, Greg. You impress me every time you look in my eyes.”
House tries to impress the chocolate. Dean’s eyes don’t leave the side of his House’s head.
“No it wouldn’t.” A small huff escapes House’s mouth. “That stuff flatters you, it makes you happy. It doesn’t impress you. I can tell when you’re impressed,” House motions towards his own eyes, “You get this look in your eyes, this shine.” House looks at Dean, the Dean who’s too far away from him on the couch, whose hair hasn’t been brushed yet because it’s too early in the morning, whose green eyes are shining like ceiling lights. “Like… Like now.”
The eye contact they make is too intense for either of them to hold onto it very long, they both become suddenly very interested in the TV, which is not on and the remote to it is missing. House throws the Tupperware onto the coffee table, a little green just form the idea of eating more of it. Dean sort of fidgets closer to him.
“So, uh. Kinda boring in here, huh?” Dean says. “Maybe you could, uhm, lay down and… let me impress y-“
“Oh, shut up.” House shoves a piece of chocolate in Dean’s mouth.
