Dizzojay's Dean Dreams

PRETTY BOY BLUES

In between all the madness this weekend, I did find a few minutes of downtime on the Isle of Wight ferry to write a little drabble for the weekend challenge over on Fanfiction.net.  The challenge word was 'pretty'.

Rating: K+
Genre: Humour
Characters: Dean
Spoilers/warnings: None
Word Count: 200
Disclaimer: sadly I don't own him

Say what you like to Dean, just don't call him pretty. 'Cause he's not. No really, he's not. Okay?

xxxxx

Dean stomped into his bedroom. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he flung it onto the bed.

Freaking 'pretty boys' ...

Tugging his tie, he aggressively yanked it off and tossed on the bed to join his jacket.

Honestly, if one more idiot sheriff called him and Sam 'pretty boy agents' again, he was gonna start swinging.

Sam maybe; but the great dork was so goddamn metrosexual, he was practically a woman anyway. But Dean? Dean was an all-action, badass, rugged-as-all-hell monster hunter; a lantern-jawed, devastatingly handsome (in a really macho way) monument to masculinity.

'Pretty' and Dean didn't inhabit the same universe.

Well, he was going to stop to all this 'pretty boy' crap here and now.

He was going to cultivate some seriously hardcore designer stubble. Once he had some full-on whiskers going on, then no douchewad deputy could be justified in calling him 'pretty boy'.

He just had to find his grooming kit; there was no need go all ZZTop to prove his undeniable grit. He knew he'd left the damn thing in here somewhere. Now where was it?

Oh yes, here it was.

Right here in the nightstand, between his 'Fontaine de Jouvance' moisturiser and 'Silk for Men' conditioning shampoo.

xxxxx

end