"You're so full of it," Dean told him, laughing. "He's the mailman, you're just too much of a dolt to notice he's dropping off mail, not milk. He's probably named Kevin, and he hates you for calling him Lawrence. He's trying to have a shag with your hairy wife just because he thinks you're a dolt."
He looked up, catching the waitresses' eye to ask for another round. He looked back at Seamus when she'd left again. Had he known Seamus' predilection toward flirting with rocks, it was likely he'd have gone ahead and made that dare. Hopefully when there were witnesses around to see him trying to convince an oversized pebble for a snog.
Seamus might not be any of those things, but that had never really mattered to Dean anyway. Seamus was his best friend, and had been from the start, and Dean liked his company better than anyone else's, really. Seamus had seen him at his worst - which might not be all that bad, but still. He was more comfortable with Seamus than anyone. He might not be planning their wedding, but he'd thought more than a few times about maybe getting a flat after school, if he could find a way to afford it.
He winced at the crowing, picking up a napkin from the table, wadding it up and tossing it at Seamus' head. "If you toss my bed up onto the roof, when I already warned you, then seems like you'll be the one trying to get me there," he argued.