"- falling in love just makes me bluuuuuue."

Dean tilted his head and listened to the voice emanating from his apartment, his key hovering in front of the lock. It was a wonder the neighbors didn't complain, he thought, thumping back the deadbolt and stepping in.

Still holding a freshly groomed Kevin to his chest and shushing the dog, Dean kicked off his shoes and closed the door soundlessly against the frame. His caution was probably unnecessary, since he doubted Seth could hear him over the music pulsing from the iPod dock, but he proceeded in silence nonetheless. He dropped the mail on the hall table as he moved past the coat rack, and when he reached the source of the singing, he peered around the corner into the kitchen.

Seth was, ostensibly, sweeping. Dean figured that had been the initial intent, anyway. He could see, from where he stood, Kevin wriggling impatiently against his chest, that the living room was tidied up and vacuumed. He sniffed at the scent of window and toilet cleansers, commingled with the incense Seth always burned when he cleaned. Seth was obviously engaged in one of his periodic orgies of domesticity, putting their shared nest in order before they left the following morning. Dean made a mental note to insist upon cooking their supper that night. It was only fair.

Turning his attention back to Seth, he smothered a laugh as he watched Seth dip the broom dramatically, still yodelling along with the lyrics. Dean suppressed a wince; Seth had many talents- wrestling, writing, starting crosswords and actually finishing them, eating ass- but singing was definitely not one of his gifts.

Still, it was adorable to come home and find one's man dancing in the kitchen with a broom. It had to be dancing, because Dean didn't think that sweeping required quite so much hip motion, but it wasn't any kind of dancing Dean could identify. He wasn't complaining about the view, though. Especially with the way Seth's ass swung as he shimmied.

Seth rarely allowed anyone to see him in such an undignified position; he cared too much what people thought. In that, as in so much else, they were polar opposites. This fucking dork had well and truly stolen his heart, though. He shook his head ruefully as Seth dipped the broom again and gyrated past the microwave.

"And I hope that I don't fall in love with youuuu," Seth warbled, tossing the broom to his other hand and giving a little twirl. He squawked when he saw Dean leaning against the kitchen entrance, dog tucked into his elbow, and the broom clattered to the floor. "You're home!"

"You noticed." Dean set the dog down, finally, and bit back a grin as Seth was forced to fend the Yorkie off to retrieve the broom, his ears burning red. He was too adorable when he was flustered. It wasn't often that Dean caught Seth indulging his absurd side. Usually it was the other way around. Not that Dean gave a shit; he was who he was, and made no apologies for it.

He watched Seth take a couple of dramatic thwacks at a tumbleweed of dog hair near the dishwasher as Tom Waits ordered another stout. Seth was considerably rumpled-up in spirit from being caught, he thought, and dropped his keys onto the counter. Dean could fix that. He knew Seth hated to be seen in such a ridiculous position; it was up to Dean to show that he liked this silliness.

He covered the two steps to Seth, reaching for the broom and setting it aside. He pressed both thumbs under his lover's bearded jaw to raise his chin, cupping his face gently. As their lips met, Seth's hands made their way up Dean's back to rest on his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the kiss as the song concluded without either man paying attention.

"And I think that I just fell in love with you."