It’s finally done! Read the preview of the last chapter, or follow the link to AO3 where you can read the entire chapter, or start at the beginning!
Preview under the cut
Dean only managed a few fitful hours of sleep. He rarely slept well, in general, but definitely never in a hospital. He woke to see the nurse from last night gently checking Cas’s vitals and adjusting an ice pack placed around Cas’s ribs. He shifted slightly and caught her attention. She put her finger to her lips and smiled.
“Don’t mind me,” she whispered. “His rib is still swelling a bit more than I’d like to see, so I’m hoping he doesn’t wake up in pain.”
Dean smiled gratefully at her. “Do you know what time it is?” He asked blearily but quietly. His own watch was still busted from his ghostly scuffle last night.
The nurse checked her wrist. “Nearly eight. He slept well and everything?” She lifted the bandage over one of the cuts near his eye and clucked disapprovingly.
“Like an angel,” Dean murmured fondly. “He must have some good knockout drugs. He doesn’t usually sleep so soundly.” He knew this from experience.
The nurse frowned. “We didn’t have him on anything that would put him to sleep. Must’ve been his good company.” Her frown turned to a knowing smirk.
Dean colored. His attention was drawn to where Cas was stirring. His pinky was still interlocked with Dean’s, a fact Dean felt a bit bad for when he guiltily pulled away.
“Mm—Dean?” Cas blinked a few times, adjusting to the morning light. He winced as he likely felt all the places he was being held together by thread and plaster.
“Right here, sweetheart.” Dean glanced quickly at the nurse, but was met with only her warm smile.
Cas noticed they had an audience. “Oh, good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Novak. I just wanted to see how you felt today?”
Cas stretched slightly. Dean felt a pleasant rush of warmth at the sight. “Loads better than last night.”
The nurse—Abigail, Dean finally noticed on her badge—nodded and pulled out a clipboard to note something down. “The doctor wants to look over you one more time, but I think you should be good for discharge today. Your boyfriend can take you home.”
Blushing, Cas thanked her and she left, promising to come back with breakfast. Cas sat in bed for a second before Dean reached down and plucked his hand up again, pressing tiny, teasing kisses to the knuckles as he had last night. “I meant to ask you about that. Boyfriend, huh?”
Cas blushed harder. “I didn’t want you getting away without saying goodbye. Figured it’d be more inconvenient for you to explain why you were leaving your poor, busted-up boyfriend alone in a hospital, and maybe I’d get a chance to talk to you before you left town.”
“You lied to get what you want? Mr. Novak, that’s a punishable offense.” Dean said, teasingly.
“I figured it was better than husband or something equally embarrassing.”
They chuckled, but the silence returned. Dean started. “You know I’m not actually expecting you to come with me, right? I know we were talking about it, but… you can still back out and stay here, where it’s safe.”
Cas rolled his eyes and dropped his hand. “Now that I know ghosts are real, how safe can I really be?” He shifted away from Dean and looked down. “But I won’t trouble you with dragging a cripple across America while you hunt werewolves and whatever else kind of trouble you get into.”
Dean frowned. “Like I’d let you do anything more strenuous than be a lookout with that cast on.” He softened suddenly as he paused. He’d never had someone really permanent on the road with him. His dad traveled with him a lot, but since Dean had taken over the Impala, they always drove separately. He hadn’t had anyone to bicker over the radio with, or hand him tapes from the tattered shoe box behind the passenger seat, or try to steal his fries in the parking lot of a Wendy’s in ages. What if Cas was serious, and wanted to stay with him? Wanted to see America the way it was meant to be seen—in little towns dotted across the country, people of all different types making up the backbone of blue-collar everyday life. And maybe even, if Dean was very very lucky, even cozy up under a threadbare motel blanket with him to stave off the cold. He couldn’t do this on the road business forever, but maybe with some time to get used to the idea, he’d have a better reason to quit altogether. Dean twisted this over in his head before he spoke, quietly. “But if I asked you to come with me, you would?”
Cas met his eyes, something cautiously hopeful there. “Dean, are you asking?”
Clearing his throat, Dean looked away. “I mean—it wouldn’t be… terrible? I mean, I would like—I would want you to… but you don’t have to, of course, it’s up to you—“
“Dean, ask.”
He sighed. He really was awful at this feelings crap. He’d had his mouth over every part of Cas he could manage, and this was still what sent him blushing harder than anything else. “Cas, would you… want to come with me on the road? Hunt monsters and all that?”
Cas narrowed his eyes. “You won’t make fun of me for not being able to shoot?”
“Honey, I’ll teach you to be the best shot in the Midwest,” he said with an easy smirk. Dean could already see them in some cornfield in the middle of nowhere, pressed up against each other in front of a line of tin cans on a busted fence. Dean whispering directions and praise hotly in Cas’s ear, relishing the shivers he could feel in the man beneath him. Maybe Cas wasn’t the best with a pistol yet, but Dean would make sure Cas’s hands were perfectly steady with any sort of firearm. It was a cozy image, practically an engagement photo for someone like him.
Grinning, Cas grabbed his hand again. Dean liked the warmth and how his palm felt against his. “Then I have one stipulation for you.”
“Name it.” Like Dean wouldn’t have given his right hand to keep the man in front of him.
“Dean Winchester, will you go to the cast party with me?” Cas turned on the pleading eyes full force, like he had finally figured out how whipped Dean was for him. He was going to figure it out eventually, Dean supposed.
Dean groaned, smiling the whole time. As much as he made fun of the drama dorks, he knew come Saturday, he’d be smack dab in the middle of the entire Central City High drama department, helping the man beside him hobble around on his new crutches. He’d eat a dry-ass sugar cookie with too much frosting on top, and drink a mouthful of Sunny Delight from a plastic cup, and probably try to make Cas blush by whispering obscene things in his ear while he can’t get away. And he’d do it in the high school gym if he had to.
That’s just what you do for the person you’re in love with.
Read the full fic HERE on AO3 or just the chapter under the ReadMore. Full disclosure... there be bj’s ahead...
...
Dean was in trouble.
Rehearsal went smoothly enough. Dean sat in the back again, smirking to himself as Cas tried to correct what now was looking like a much deeper attitude problem with the students than before. If they were aiming for Shakespeare, however modern, they were pretty far off the mark. Dean wouldn’t call himself an expert by any means, because seriously—apart from Sammy’s brief stint in middle school theater—he had no idea what constituted as quality work. Still, the kids’ awkward phrasing and flippant half-hearted gestures didn’t lend itself well for showing any sort of respect.
He did have to chuckle at Cas’s attempt at giving stage direction though. It was clear that this was a battle of wills between someone who was never educated on the actual terminology of what was supposed to be happening and kids who didn’t give two shits if they were being given direction or not.
“No, further up the stage, Michael… no—okay, stop there. Perfect. Don’t move.” Cas sighed as he adjusted his glasses, his annoyance apparent even from Dean’s spot a few rows back. He wondered if Cas had any actual acting or directing experience. He said he was originally supposed to be a speech teacher, and Dean could see that a bit more. Cas, with his thick-framed glasses and his pretentious—hot as fuck—eyebrow tilt, absolutely bringing down the house with a debate on foreign politics or whatever other brainiac topic that would have interested him at the time. He could see Cas bent over a thick textbook in a dusty library somewhere in the historic part of Chicago, maybe scribbling notes in a notebook as he pored over it. He also had a rather intriguing image of Cas pressed up against a shelf of those textbooks, collar unbuttoned and yawning to the side, exposing his sharp collarbones, breath panting and scruff dark on his skin, but not quite dark enough to hide the hickey that Dean—
Dean shifted in his seat. Probably not the right time.
After rehearsal, Dean had grabbed the bag Cas had stuffed all the hats into and met him at the doors leading back into the shop. Cas chased away the last of the teenagers at the paint counter, and turned to lock up for the night.
“We still don’t have a good place to burn these.” Dean pointed out. He wasn’t crazy about starting a fire in the parking lot of the motel, and he knew he’d have a trooper on his ass in about twenty minutes if he tried to drive out to the country to do it. With so much open space and farmland, almost everyone was looking out for each other’s property.
Cas shrugged as he nudged the stage weight that was propping open the last door. “Might have to do it one by one in my fireplace, I guess.” He glanced over. “You wanna come over for a drink?”
Dean blanched. “Well… maybe that’s not—“
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Cas laughed, totally at ease. Totally ignoring the fact that Dean almost had him by the mouth again in the costume room a few hours ago. “We have the hats, and we need somewhere to get rid of them anyway. Nothing untoward. It’s just a drink, not a marriage proposal.” Cas said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in time with the tilt of his eyebrow. The very same one that Dean had fantasized about earlier.
“Uh.” Dean was super intelligent in times like this. He really, really shouldn’t set himself up like this. He knew what would come of any time spent alone with Cas right now. He didn’t want to break his own heart—whatever was left of it—and he certainly didn’t want Cas to feel obligated or anything.
So yeah, Dean was definitely in trouble.
As it was, just a drink turned into three, which almost inevitably turned into Dean and Cas sitting side by side on Cas’s tiny excuse of a sofa, a bottle of whiskey, a few beer bottles, and three shot glasses between them. Dean was pretty sure they’d had four at one point, but one was on the floor or something. He wasn’t actually too sure. The hats still lay in their bag by the side of the couch, and normally Dean would have made sure to finish the job before indulging like this, but his nerves were currently winning in his battle of priorities.
Cas was slung back across one end of the sofa, legs stretched out with his toes tapping against Dean’s foot. Dean leaned back against the other end and just looked. Looked at Cas with his long, loose limbs, and his messy shock of hair—even messier when Cas ran his hands through it. Dean wondered how it was possible for one person to look so good while so disheveled Cas reached up and palmed the back of his neck, drawing Dean’s eyes to the soft swell of his bicep. He knew for a fact that Cas wasn’t as scrawny as his appearance with his shirt or his profession might suggest. Knew that Cas had some muscle of his own there. Sleek, sinewy muscle, like a runner or a swimmer. Built for speed, instead of bulk. Dean also knew the strength he had in his hands, knew it from the grip Cas had kept on him both in the car, dragging him back down to meet his mouth, and by the way he had pulled Dean in when they were in the costume shop earlier.
“This’s a bad idea?” Dean had to wonder aloud.
Cas frowned and nudged his foot solidly. “Why s’this a bad idea?” His brows were furrowed like he was puzzling Dean out.
Shrugging, Dean let his head loll back for a second. “I know what your mouth tastes like.” Couldn’t get the taste of it out of his head actually. He kept replaying the first moment his lips touched Cas’s, and that brilliant electric shock that had coursed through him. He’d felt the sparks come back earlier this afternoon, and he was fighting the urge to see if that same voltage could be attained now.
If possible, Cas frowned harder, his confusion evident in the crook of his eyebrow. “So? I know what yours tastes like too.” He said this like it didn’t make Dean hot under the collar.
“So...” Dean trailed off, distracted when Cas took a sip from his nearby beer, licking a stray drop from the rim. “... so, it’s weird.”
“Then don’t think about it, Dean.” Cas pitched forward and leaned into Dean’s space, peering up at him from beneath his lashes. “Don’t think about it and it’s not weird.”
Dean tried. He really did. He stared hard at Castiel, eyes running over his lips and eyes, down to the open collar of his throat between the buttons Dean can remember undoing with his teeth not 24 hours ago, “Can’t.” he said, pursing his lips grumpily.
“Can’t think about it?” Cas’s confused look was back. “Or can’t not think about it?” Christ, but they were really going to have a hangover the next morning. He backed off, leaving Dean on his side of the sofa.
Dean sighed. “Guess I’m not good at not thinking about it.” He reached for his own beer, twisting at the label. “You’re good at it though.”
“What makes you say that?” Cas smirked.
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look at me like that. Like I look at you.”
“How do you look at me?” Cas asked slowly.
He stopped. Even with this much alcohol in his system, he didn’t want to give himself away. He shook his head. “Too embarrassing.” He admitted, with a sheepish grin.
Cas grinned crookedly. “I like the way you look at me,” he said. “I especially liked the way you were looking at me last night.”
This changed everything if Cas knew. Knew how he felt and encouraged it. Dean shifted to press down the butterflies he felt in his stomach and coughed. “I thought we were going to be professional about it.” He looked down the neck of his beer, feeling himself get red.
“Of course,” Cas said. “My apologies.” Even without looking at him, Dean could tell he wasn’t sorry at all. “But how do I look at you? You never said.”
Dean looked up to see Cas with his head tilted thoughtfully. “You look at me like...” he stopped to consider again. The look in Cas’s eye had him swallowing around a sudden dry throat.
“Like you’re something to eat?” Cas leaned in and smiled with all his teeth, earning a bark of a laugh from Dean.
“Maybe that’s it.” He smiled, despite the feeling of butterflies roiling in his belly again. He really hoped he wasn’t about to puke. That would definitely ruin whatever mood they had going here, as well as bruise his ego for the next few days.
Cas tilted his head and took another sip. “You do look pretty tasty from here.”
Dean blushed, grinning the whole time. “Nah, I prolly taste like cheap beer and cheaper whiskey.”
“Want me to find out?” Cas asked, his smile crooked with intention that stopped Dean in his tracks entirely.
Dean didn’t have a good answer to that. As Cas tipped forward to press his lips lightly to Dean’s own, something flipped from feeling slightly woozy and drunk to fucking wide awake. Cas was still as good of a kisser as he remembered, and he felt himself leaning into it entirely too much to be a drunken fling. A second-time fling? He eased back from Cas, a hand pressed to Cas’s shoulder where he was pretty sure he’d been holding on for dear life a moment ago. Cas’s gaze searched his, not disappointed. Just watching.
“I really shouldn’t do this.” Dean started, strangely breathless. He scrunched his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Cas. It’s—“
Cas’s hands untangled from where they had curled in the front of his shirt, and Dean opened his eyes, cold at the loss of his warmth. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I assumed—I shouldn’t have done that.”
The butterflies froze in his chest.
“Cas…” he started. Cas shook his head and leaned back against the other end of the sofa.
“That was rude of me. You said no, and I kept pushing. My deepest apologies..” He sounded oddly formal in his embarrassment. Dean stared as Cas’s hands started fluttering around the coffee table, gathering beer bottles and shot glasses, pink in the cheeks. He moved to stand. To leave. Dean panicked.
Without thinking, Dean threw himself across the sofa, intercepting Cas’s hand as he moved. With one hand, he turned Cas’s face to his and locked onto his mouth again. With the other, he wrapped around the back of Cas’s neck and pulled him in tight. He got his thumbs on either side of Cas’s jaw and opened his jaw so his tongue could taste Cas’s. He trailed his tongue along Cas’s soft palate before the other man got with the program and swung a leg over his lap. Cas pinned him back against the sofa, and fucking ground down with those hips of his. Dean couldn’t move, his arms were up by his shoulders, being pressed into the fabric upholstery by the other man’s strong hands. His legs were spread wide to accommodate the welcome weight in his lap. He pressed up into the friction, groaning into the next kiss. This was just as good as he remembered last night. Maybe better, now that he had some idea of what to expect. He really wanted to get his fingers into that wild, dark hair, but Cas didn’t look like he was up for giving him any independent mobility any time soon. Dean finally pulled back to gasp out for air. Cas nipped at his neck, before pulling away as well.
Cas squinted at him. “Why did you do that?” He asked, his voice whiskey-rough and lust-stoned. Dean felt himself twitch. If Cas knew how he felt, encouraged it, and was pressing for more… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge one last time.
“I changed my mind. I really wanna do this.” Dean was definitely breathless now, his gaze skittering all over Cas’s face. He could feel his pants getting tight, and by the look in Cas’s eye, he was about two seconds from losing his shirt. He also couldn’t decide if his earlier goal to get his hands in Cas’s hair was as important as his new goal to get those same hands down Cas’s pants.
Cas didn’t say anything for a moment before frowning. “Are you drunk?”
Shaking his head, Dean tried to focus on something other than his raging libido. “No. Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Another pause. “Are you sure?”
Which, alright. Very fair question. Dean nodded and leaned in again, whining when Cas pulled back again. “Please, Cas.”
Cas leaned in until his lips were a millimeter from Dean’s. “I knew it,” he whispered hotly, his lips twisted in a smirk Dean desperately wanted to feel against his own mouth. “I knew you were jealous about Melody. And I knew you wanted this again.” Cas moved his hands from Dean’s wrists to better support his weight while he made himself more comfortable in Dean’s lap.
“Yeah, I really fucking want it.” Dean breathed into him, pressing up at an angle to get at Cas’s mouth.
Cas gave back as good as he got, scratching through Dean’s hair in a way that set him on fire. “That’s okay,” he whispered back. “I want it, too. Been thinking about it all day.”
Dean’s hands came up to his hips, cupping the strong muscle there as he pressed his fingers into it. He scooted down further into the couch, pulling Cas’s weight into him. It was nice, sitting here on the sofa, just making out with Cas. Of course, he had other ideas in mind of what he’d like to do, but getting there was half the fun.
The other man was getting impatient though, it seemed. Cas hitched his hips forward, pressing them together all along their fronts. Dean gasped as he felt exactly how into this Cas was too. The feel of another man’s cock throbbing against his, even through a few layers of cloth was overwhelmingly sexy, and as Dean laid his head back to the feel of Cas’s teeth along his carotid artery, he couldn’t help thinking that it was a damn shame he hadn’t been able to show up to the hospital that morning and show off the big ol’ hickey on his neck that was already there from the previous night to put Melody in her place. Maybe now he would with a matching one on the other side.
“Dean, can I touch you?” Cas murmured into his skin, punctuating it with a lush kiss. Dean nodded, pushing against the other man’s body to make some room to get his shirt open. Cas’s hands replaced his, smoothing down the sides and deftly undoing the row of buttons. His touch was warm, tracing up the planes of his chest and down to where his stomach muscles were jumping. Cas pushed Dean’s flannel shirt off his shoulders, Dean leaning forward slightly to help. He kept one arm wrapped tight around Cas’s waist to steady him. Cas tossed the flannel to the side, backing out of Dean’s grip and away from his mouth. Dean moved to follow, but was pushed back with a firm hand to the middle of his chest.
Shimmying down, Cas dropped to his knees in front of Dean. With a hand on each knee, he parted Dean’s legs, making room for himself there. Dean struggled against the instinct to close his legs, feeling a little too exposed. He knew he was watching Cas with a dopey, drugged expression, his mouth partly open and his breath coming in puffs. Cas looked up at him and licked his lips. “Can I suck you off?”
Dean managed a nod and heaved a lungful of too-hot air before Cas’s hands went to his belt buckle. The jangling of metal sounded loud in their tense bubble, and as Dean sat up a bit to facilitate Cas sliding the belt through the loops of his jeans, he glanced quickly towards the window, where the lamp sat. Anyone could probably see in and watch them getting cozy with each other. He shifted in his seat.
Cas glanced up, and followed his skittering gaze. He got up fluidly, which allowed Dean to appreciate the very nice bulge at the front of his slacks, and walked over to click the lamp off. The room was cast into darkness, lit only by the light-up sign from the grocery store across the street and the changing stop light on the corner. Dean barely managed a nod of thanks, for understanding his weird hangups, before Cas sank down again in front of him, palms trailing up his thighs like brands, scorching the surface and leaving light in their wake.
“Oh shit.” Dean heard himself whine, and he leaned his head back, gaping up at the ceiling as Cas wasted no time pulling his zipper down and reaching inside to pull him out. He’d had plenty of blow jobs before, but the fact that it was Cas—the same person who’d been driving him crazy all day—made it that much sweeter.
Pressing kisses to the head and down the shaft, Cas kept his eyes on Dean, moving with him as his hips rolled. When he clenched the fabric of the sofa, Cas went harder. When he relaxed and took a deep breath, Cas changed tactics. Dean felt like he was being strung along higher and higher, with no chance to get used to the sensations. He was fully aware he was getting worked up much faster than he usually did. Dean’s gasps turned into higher-pitched whimpers as he felt Cas’s warm hand sneak down and grind a knuckle into a patch of skin behind his balls that made him see fucking stars.
“What the fuck are you doing to me, man?” He felt slightly hysterical asking. Cas smirked around his cock—and seriously, who does that?—and sank all the way down, taking him deep into his throat. The fucker winked and swallowed. Dean gripped the other man’s shoulder as his stomach muscles contracted and he felt his eyes cross with the force of his orgasm. He hitched forward and felt his groans take on an urgent note. Dean was going to die here, and he was going to die the happiest son of a bitch on the planet. He jerked each time Cas lapped at the head of his cock, hovering on the edge of overstimulation, muggy galaxies still swimming in his vision.
He was still panting and sprawled bonelessly when Cas finally granted him mercy and popped back up, grinning smugly. Cas sat next to him on the couch, pants tented obscenely, and with a low fire burning in his eyes, even in the dim light. Dean tried to make himself more comfortable to lie on when Cas fit himself next to him, but his muscles still weren’t cooperating.
“So, was it good?” Cas asked as he sucked at a spot under Dean’s ear, causing him to have to rein in a whine. Cas continued laving at the spot, and the sound of his breath in Dean’s ear was causing quite the rally effort in Dean’s pants.
He blinked. “Shit.” He croaked, his voice hollow enough to let Dean know that yes, he had actually been crying out exactly as loud as he dreaded he had been during that whole episode. He frowned when he heard Cas laugh softly.
“You’ve been holding out on me.” He accused gently, turning enough to snag Cas’s mouth again, fucking in between his lips in retribution. “Or maybe you’re just a show off.” He nipped at Cas’s bottom lip, feeling a tick of a smile when it made Cas’s breath stutter.
“Definitely a show off,” he answered. “Fuck, Dean. I love kissing you.”
Dean couldn’t disagree, especially when Cas proceeded to show how much he enjoyed kissing him by pulling him sideways so they lay atop one another. Dean lost his t-shirt quickly, and Cas was running his hands over his chest, thumbing across his nipples with pleasurable electricity thrumming between them. Despite his best intentions, Dean likely wasn’t getting it up again soon. He could still feel his stomach muscles jumping from his orgasm as Cas tried to rile him up again. He could still get Cas hot though, and—given the impressive erection Cas was grinding into his hip—that was his current goal.
Cas pulled back, breathing heavily. “What does this tattoo mean?” His fingers skated over the black star-sun over his heart.
“Protection,” Dean panted back. “Not that kind—“ he scoffed at Cas’s smirk, “Protection from demons, that sorta thing.”
“Do I want to know about demons?” Cas asked, gasping into the air of the living room as Dean set out to give him a hickey that matched his.
Snorting, Dean rolled his hips firmly to give Cas something to thrust against. “Honey, I hope you never have to know about demons.”
Cas grinned, stroking over the ink. “Such a charmer.” He yanked Dean back down with an arm around the neck. Dean couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to have a habit of getting this man in the same position two nights in a row. Or maybe Cas had the habit of getting him in this position.
“Hey,” Dean pulled back, licking his lips and chasing the taste of Cas off his mouth. “Can I try something?”
The wide-eyed look on Cas’s face told him that Cas was willing to try about anything Dean asked if it meant getting their mouths back together and their skin touching again. Still panting, Cas nodded.
“I—I’ve never… done it before—“ Dean was nervous, performance anxiety like he hadn’t experienced since he was sixteen. “But… I still wanna try it.” He hauled himself upright, before clumsily settling on his knees at Cas’s feet. He glanced up at Cas meaningfully, half-terrified and half-aroused out of his mind.
Dean didn’t think Cas’s eyes could go any wider, or his irises any blacker, but he was dead wrong. “You want to give me a blow job?” Cas gritted out, his fingers clenching around nothing.
Nodding, Dean swallowed hard. “I haven’t done it or anything,” he said quickly, not wanting to get Cas’s hopes up if he was truly awful at it. Who knew? What if he threw up or did something equally and horrifyingly embarrassing? “You have to—tell me what to do.” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. He settled his gaze at Cas’s knee, still covered with his work slacks, though the zipper was splayed open. He focused on the strong joint there, where he knew Cas was packing some strength in his legs, had felt them wrapped around his hips. He knew this must not look sexy or anything, the way he was on his knees, nervous about giving a blow job. He’d gotten dozens of them over the years, he didn’t mind bragging. Surely, if some random short dark-haired, light-eyed waitress in the middle of rural Ohio could make him come so hard he blacked out momentarily, he could give this his best shot.
Then again, he was starting to see a pattern in the people he chose to fall for—however temporarily.
A hand under his chin jerked him out of his reverie, and his gaze was pulled to meet Cas’s. Cas seemed to be searching his face, intense as anything, just probing his expression. “You know I’m not expecting anything, right?” Cas asked lowly, his words going against what his eyes were practically screaming. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” Dean answered quickly, surprising himself even. He knew he wanted Cas’s dick something awful, wanted to feel the heft of it forcing his jaw wide, wanted to wring noises out of Cas until he couldn’t see straight. He just didn’t know how much he was willing to admit that to the man attached to the dick in question.
He shuffled forward on his knees, running his hands up Cas’s slacks until he got to his fly. “Please, Cas,” he whispered. He reached in between the flaps of his pants and stroked him gently through the navy boxers underneath. Cas’s cock was hot and so, so hard underneath the fabric. The man above him sighed, his breathing ragged. Cas tipped his head back at the feel of Dean’s hand. Cas’s fists were clenching beside his thighs. Feeling daring, Dean reached for his hand. Cas tried to intertwine their fingers, but that wasn’t what Dean was after. He pressed Cas’s hand to the back of his head, Cas’s fingers twisting gently into his hair.
“Okay,” Cas whispered, “I’ll show you how.” He fit his other hand to the curve of Dean’s jaw, and when Dean thought he was going to get pushed down, Cas tilted his head up to look at him again. Dean unscrewed his eyes just in time to get tugged back up to kiss Cas. It must have been an awkward angle, with Cas leaning down, and Dean straining upward, but he couldn’t care less. Frankly, any time spent away from kissing Cas was time wasted, in Dean’s opinion. There was a new hunger to the kiss now, like Cas was doing his very best to worm his way inside Dean’s skin. Cas pulled away. “You have to relax,” he whispered. “I promise not to choke you, but if you’re tense like that, it won’t be good for either of us.” He kissed Dean again. “Relax for me, baby.”
Dean sucked on his tongue for a moment before pulling back and nodding. “I want to do this,” he nuzzled against Cas’s temple once more before setting back on his knees. He took a breath and pulled Cas’s cock out from underwear, where it stood proudly in the dim light. He could hear Cas panting above him. Cas still had his hands in Dean’s hair, stroking instead of pulling. Dean licked his lips and leaned in, pressing a wet kiss to the head, keeping his eyes on Cas’s expression. When he heard Cas’s breath hitch above him, he grinned to himself and leaned in again, this time taking the entire head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around, tasting the tacky precome. Keeping his teeth out of the way, he leaned forward and sank down as far as he could, which wasn’t very far, if he was being critically honest. He suctioned around the shaft, pulling a grunt from Cas. He started a rhythm bobbing up and down, using his hands on what he couldn’t fit in his mouth.
“Fuck, Dean, so good,” he could hear Cas babble above him. “Fuck you mean, this is your first time? Ah—!” Cas yipped a bit as Dean’s teeth caught him in a sensitive spot, but it quickly turned into a long groan as Dean soothed it with his tongue. Dean settled in closer, pushing Cas’s knees further apart, in an effort to get closer. Cas’s hands were so tightly clenched in his hair, still not pulling, but enough to make tears spring into Dean’s eyes. Not that he dreamed of being anywhere else.
Dean was surprised to find that this was doing it for him too. Maybe he wasn’t surprised though—everything with Cas seemed to do it for him. Cas was encouraging without being patronizing, just genuinely glad to be there with Dean. He didn’t seem to mind that it was Dean’s first time giving head, and was instead just enjoying the attention. Dean wasn’t sure if he should feel sorry for the guy that even a first-timer’s attempt was apparently getting him off, or smug about the fact that he seemed to turn Cas on as much as the reverse was true.
He must have been doing this for some time, because before long, he felt Cas’s hands again, pulling him up and away. “Dean, I—I’m going to come—“ and Dean dove down with renewed fervor. Cas thought he’d be too chickenshit to go for the whole deal? Fuck that. He groaned around the feel of Cas’s cock, his jaw wider than he thought it could go. Finally, finally, he felt Cas’s hands pulling him closer, really going for it now. “Fuck, Dean—!” Cas let loose a pained grunt and came.
In all honesty, Dean was a little caught off guard. The flavor wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had, but the fact that it was the result of his efforts taking Cas apart was what made it so appealing. He tried to get it all down, but he knew he missed some as it dripped down his chin. He pressed kisses to Cas’s cock as he worked through the aftershocks. When he finally leaned back to wipe his face, they were both panting.
Cas shifted to tuck himself away, his hands trembling. Dean leaned back on his hands, propping his knees in front of him, knocking lightly into Cas. “How’d I do? Notes?” He was only a little breathless. He worked his jaw a few times.
“Very adequate. Probably went too deep at first, but… that’s fixable.” Cas grinned at him.
Dean chuckled. “Fixable, huh?” He lounged back, settling into his elbows. He huffed a sigh at the ceiling. “That’s hard work, you made it look easy.”
Cas laughed too, “I’ve had years more practice, don’t sweat it.” He tilted his head, still smiling, before heaving himself off the couch and pushing back into Dean’s space on the floor. He laid over Dean’s body and crowded in close for a kiss. “Not that you should, anyway. That was thoroughly” he pecked Dean’s cheek, “absolutely” his other cheek “satisfactory.”
They laid on the floor making out for a while longer, both wiped out and stinking like sex. Eventually, Cas pulled away and straightened up, reaching down for Dean’s hand to pull him up too. “I think it's time for bed, don't you?”
Dean grinned and let himself be pulled. His gaze happened to catch on the bag that had been kicked over by the sofa. The hats spilled from the bag, some under the sofa where he’d have to lean all the way down to reach them. Great.
“Never got around to burning those, did we?” He nudged one with his toe.
“Later,” Cas said, tugging him down the hall back towards where Dean knew his bedroom waited. “Plenty of time for that tomorrow.”
Check out the full fic Theatricality here OR enjoy this sample from Ch. 6!
...
Small town bars were nice because they always had a table open for two guys looking down on their luck.
“This must be where all the cool kids drink.” Dean gestured around to the dozens of older men crowded around tables and the wide oak bar at the front. Like thousands of others bars, The Independent Club had that unique smell of spilled beer and stale sweat practically pounded into the wooden planks that made up the floor and walls. Also like thousands of other bars, it had the same kind of clientele. Over 50, graying hair and beard, potbellies hanging over large belt buckles. Perfect for catching a game of pool or cards.
Cas chuckled over his glass of pale ale. “I wouldn’t know. I was never a cool kid.” He set it down and surveyed Dean. His eyes were bright in the dim light of the windowless room.
“Hey, you ditched the glasses, though,” Dean pointed out. Cas’s glasses were currently sitting in Dean’s cupholder, as they were smudged from his earlier outburst. “That’s gotta at least put you at band-geek status.”
Rolling his eyes, Castiel looked down at the table, tapping his fingers aimlessly on the surface of the table. The slight crease between his eyes told Dean he wasn’t being the best distractor from all the issues going on in Cas’s brain right now.
He realized he didn’t know much about Cas besides where he worked—formerly—and where he lived. “So, you come from around here?”
Cas shook his head. “No, I come from more back east. A small suburb outside of Chicago.”
“How’d you wind up here?” It was a big move from Chicago to the middle of Nebraska.
“I graduated, and I wanted far away from Illinois.” Cas shrugged. Dean could relate to that. Half the jobs he took nowadays were because they were in states far away from his father.
“Rough family life?”
“Uh—no family life. My parents are dead, and I don’t have any siblings.” Cas frowned harder at the table before looking up. “Really, I was just getting away from my ex.”
Shit. “Oh, sorry, man. That’s—fuck.” Dean literally always had his foot in his mouth.
Cas laughed. Dean tried and failed not to appreciate sound of it. It was a nice laugh. “It’s really okay, I’m pretty used to it by now.”
“So when you said this was your last shot...” Dean trailed off. How could he have gotten this man fired?
“I meant it mostly literally,” Cas smiled sadly. “You’re right. I’ll have to move on. Start over again, I guess. I’ll probably leave this place off my resume.”
“I am sorry.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. He probably wouldn’t scrub that off his conscience for some time. Great.
Cas waved his hand. “You were doing your job. Adler was doing his.” He took a sip from his beer. “Turns out I’m just not very good at doing mine.”
Dean was desperate for a subject change. They were here to get Cas’s mind off of getting fired, not make him wallow in it. “What was your ex like? Someone I gotta hunt down the next time I’m in Chicago?”
“He wouldn’t be hard to find. He’s Dick Roman.”
Dean felt his jaw drop. “You dated Dick Roman?” Dean couldn’t believe it. Dick Roman was one of the country’s most successful entries in Forbes’ 30 Under 30. He had a whole auto steel enterprise that he’d inherited from his father and then built up to encompass half of America’s GDP. He was practically royalty in the business world. Even Dean knew that.
“Yeah, for quite a while if you can believe it.” Cas looked down, bashful.
Dean tried to picture Cas walking around Lake Michigan with Dick. Tried to see them having a casual conversation over dinner or in bed. Tried to puzzle out how that first date must have gone. “I’m sorry, I just can’t see it.”
Cas slapped his arm playfully. “I resent that! I’m at least a solid 8 in Chicago!”
Well, Dean thought that was a massive understatement. Cas must be at least a 9.8 wherever he goes. Dorky glasses and all. “No, I understand why he went for you, I just don’t get why you went for him. Dude looks like he breathes fire and snacks on the souls of the innocent.”
Cas flushed. “He was fun. We met my sophomore year while he was finishing up business school. It was very secretive, lots of illicit meetings and burner phones.”
“You could have been set for life.”
Fidgeting with a coaster, Cas looked down. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t ready to come out of the closet just yet.” Cas was sad. Well fuck, now Dean had a mortal enemy in Dick Roman. He’d never buy another bottle of Roman-branded oil for the Impala again.
“His loss.” Dean said suddenly.
“What?”
Dean leaned closer. “He’s a loser if he didn’t want to be out with you.”
The corner of Cas’s mouth lifted in a half-smile, before stretching across his whole face. It started a wildfire under Dean’s skin that made his face start to tingle, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Cas was his friend. They hadn’t known each other for very long, but still friends. You could hang out with friends. Eat food with them, do stuff with them. Just friends. Still, Dean had no idea what made him ask what he did next. “What’s it like—kissin’ a dude?”
Raising an eyebrow, Cas pursed his lips and set down his beer glass. “It feels like kissing anyone, Dean. Gender doesn’t change the basics of a kiss.” His brow suddenly creased and he frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, no! I—just...” he whipped his head around and shrugged. “Just never tried it before. ‘As all.”
Cas tilted his head, his cobalt gaze boring into Dean’s, and Dean had to admit he was much less buzzed than he realized or would have liked to be for this conversation. “You must be pretty drunk if you’re asking me that.” He suddenly chuckled, like he was nervous.
“Nah,” Dean waved his hand. “Just askin’.” He immediately drained his glass and cursed that the waitress was too far away to immediately ask for another.
They could have stopped the conversation there, just chalked it up to an awkward question asked over too many beers. But now, Dean had to know. The question was buzzing in his skull like a mosquito.
“Like, is there stubble?” He forced himself to look at Cas, even though the blush on his face was likely the same color as the Dos Equis neon sign behind him. “F-from his beard?”
“Sometimes.” Cas murmured, ducking slightly to meet Dean’s eyes, probing his gaze with a slight frown, like he was worried about Dean or something. “Sometimes, his hands grab your face and they’re rougher than a woman’s. They sometimes even hold you down.”
Fuck, but Dean could see it. He could feel it. Heat coming off of another man’s skin, touching his face, burning into his cheeks, pulling his own face towards him. Dean was leaning forward slightly, and he pulled himself back.
Cas was looking at him with a curious expression, like he had almost figured Dean out, but wasn’t quite there yet. “Have you ever thought about kissing a man, Dean?”
Dean could say no. He could laugh it off, and go back to his beer. Maybe even find a girl at the bar and part ways amicably with Cas here and take her back to the hotel. Fuck out his confusion in a way much safer to his relatively limited experience.
“Yeah.” he whispered, barely audible. He blinked suddenly. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this.
Cas looked steadily at him. Dean licked his lips. Eyes fell to lips, and back up. Dean opened his mouth to tell Cas to stop staring, but he only noticed because he himself was staring. And suddenly, Cas had his lips pressed to Dean’s.
Cas pulled back after a second. Dean was sure he looked as shell-shocked as he felt. He waited for Cas to laugh or something, but Cas’s eyes didn’t open. “I’m sorry, I—“
Dean silenced whatever Cas thought he was about to say. Pulled him in with a hand on his stupidly sharp jaw. Cas crowded in closer, and slung an arm around his neck. Dean opened his mouth to swipe his tongue across Cas’s lips, but his were already open. Ready to suck on Dean’s tongue in a way that made Dean uncomfortably hot under the collar.
Dean pulled back, panting. “We should leave.” The blue in Castiel’s eyes was nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil. Dean could see his own reflection there, and he saw that he wasn’t much better off. “Right now.”
“How are you going to kiss me?” The question is definitely out of the blue but it is not the strangest thing Cas has asked since they entered the final stretch of their wedding planning. That award probably goes to his “does the cut of this tuxedo jacket make me look like a Nazi” question.
Dean looks up from his issue of Motorhead Weekly and quirks an eyebrow at his soon to be husband before wordlessly leaning over and smashing his mouth against Castiel’s in a sloppy, over exaggerated series of wet kisses, bold tongue, and lewd moans. Cas shuts his eyes and laughs while pushing him off and back to his side of the bed.
“Classy, Dean.” Cas rolls his eyes once and wipes his mouth to hide his smirk. He settles back against the headboard and stares over at his fiance adoringly, despite his lack of sincerity.
“You know it,” Dean grins and winks. He folds his magazine in two and tosses it onto the nightstand before turning his attention fully on Cas, finally being a bit more serious. “No, but really. I guess I haven’t thought about it,” he reveals, thoughtfully stroking the light stubble covering his jaw. “Have any suggestions? I think it’s only right that we rehearse that too, you know?” Dean lets out shamelessly, brandishing another mischievous smirk that only widens when Cas kicks off the covers and straddles his lap.
Dean’s hands find purchase on Castiel’s hips, thumbs toying with the waistband of his sweatpants and rubbing gentle circles into the prominent hip bones beneath. With Cas slightly elevated now, he peers up at him through dense, dark lashes and kisses his chin.
“I don’t want it to be too quick, you know? Not like this,” Cas demonstrates by pecking Dean’s lips and pulling away quickly. “But I also don’t want it to be too long, either…because that’s uncomfortable,” he continues.
“What’s too long? You should show me. You know, so I don’t end up doing it,” Dean plays dumb, trying to stifle a smile when Cas catches on to his unabashed flirtation.
Humoring him, Cas leans in and claims his fiance’s lips once again, delicately dragging it out with light touches of his tongue and graceful tilts of his head. They pull away with a mutual breath and Dean takes his time opening his eyes before he gazes up again, his freckled face just barely flushed, and smiles.
“Yeah, I guess that’s more honeymoon material,” he sighs, content with the light, lingering tingles against his lips. “I don’t think it’s something we really have to think about, Angel. I know it’s hard but just shut out all of those thoughts and just go for it. Whatever feels right, you know?” Dean offers with an endearing expression and a shrug.
Cas ponders over his words briefly while sliding his hands up his partner’s chest and over his pectorals before mitigating the distance between them yet again without another word.
This time is different—Dean can tell from the way Cas’ hands slid up and over his shoulders and how his slender fingers card through his hair. He can tell from the way their noses nudge together as they tilt their heads in opposite directions. He can tell from the gentle brush of their lips, the brief eye contact just before the next, and the feeling of Castiel smiling into his mouth. He can tell from the jagged inhale through his nose and the way Cas melts against him when their tongues slide against each other once, twice, before they part with Dean’s lower lip briefly trapped between Cas’ teeth.
“Hello, Mr. Winchester,” Dean growls playfully, hands shooting to grip Castiel’s backside before practically tackling him to the mattress.
Dean sighs when he hears the Continental pull into the motel’s parking lot. He recognizes the squeal of its engine; he keeps meaning to replace that fan belt.
After a moment, the door creaks open. Cas comes in looking grumpy and windblown, and Dean rubs his hand over his face. His head hurts, and the inside of his mouth feels tingly and strange, almost like it itches. He sighs again. He’s in a shit motel outside Fort Dodge, the kind of place where the mattresses have sinkholes in the middle and the water runs rusty for a full minute. He’s down to his last sixty bucks, and the stupid witch skipped town, and now this.
“I got your message, but I didn’t – Dean, are you all right?”
“He can’t talk,” Sam says.
“What?” Cas narrows his eyes at Dean, then turns back to Sam. “What happened? A spell?”
“Yeah. We were hunting this witch – he was running some kind of love spell racket. Heavy-duty revenge stuff, the kind of thing that makes your high school sweetheart walk out on a marriage and kids. Anyway, we got in there, and –” Sam waves his hands around “– he threw something in Dean’s face before we could get a shot off.”
“Do you know what?”
“Maybe,” Sam says. He walks over to the table and opens the musty book they took from the witch’s workshop. “He left this behind, and I’ve been looking through it. After the spell hit, I smelled roses, rosemary, and mint, so I think –” he draws his finger down a page “– I think this is our guy.”
Cas reads it, then looks up at Sam. “So he has to…”
Anyways here’s some Dean jerking off to… whatever floats your boat lol.
If you wanna see his HOT RED PULSING peen you shall clicketh the link down here👇👇👇
Thank you to everyone who has read so far! I look forward to your comments!
...
Castiel pursed his lips critically as he looked him up and down. “You know, I don’t know if this is necessarily what I would call your best look.”
“You don’t know me long enough to know my best look,” Dean straightened out the cap that matched his navy jumpsuit in the reflection of a nearby trophy case. “Anyway, it got me in the door.” They were standing in the multipurpose room of Central City High the next morning. Students milled around in their usual morning activities—texting, frantically doing homework, and talking with buddies. Dean had most definitely kept the uniform from last night for his stakeout today. He was glad he’d had the foresight to cover the embroidered name with a strategically placed utility pocket protector.
Castiel crossed his arms. “Yeah, well I think Principal Adler had other things on his mind this morning than strange employees he doesn’t remember hiring. Did you hear? The ceiling started falling down last night in the theater?” His face pulled into mock-seriousness and concern.
“You don’t say?” Dean grinned. They started down the far hallway. The lockers here were the same dark green as the other accents around the building. Cardboard images of the school logo alongside posters bearing ‘CC Bison County’ explained the pile of buffalo cutouts Dean had seen the previous night. “Alright, enough horsing around. We gotta start somewhere. What do you know about the guy who had the job before you?”
“Not much,” Cas shrugged. “They hired me in August, after the start of the school year. Emergency opening they called it. Some of the kids mentioned the last guy had only been hired in March. He had to leave suddenly before a week had gone by in the new year.”
“That doesn’t seem weird to you?”
“I dunno, Dean. Things happen more than you think. When I was—“ he huffed, rolling his eyes like he knew a dig was on the way. “When I was student teaching last semester, it happened to my cooperating teacher as well. They let me have the reigns in February because he had suddenly come down with mono or something.”
“You just got a string of bad luck following you, don’t you?”
“Apart from last night, I haven’t had any trouble.” Castiel narrowed his eyes.
“I saw one of your student’s... erm—masterpieces up by the light booth yesterday, dude. Someone out there is not your biggest fan.”
“Yes, some of the students don’t... like to listen to me all the time.”
Dean paused, waiting for the perfect comedic timing. “You know why, don’t you?”
“No, I... why?”
“It’s because you’re practically their age.” Dean said, gleefully accepting the shove into the lockers the remark earned him.
This is the start of a new longer fic! Enjoy the sample below, or go ahead and read the full chapter on AO3! Full story is expected to be done by the end of the summer!
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Dean’s broken in to a lot of places. He’s broken out of more, but that’s usually the easier part of his gig anyway. The school itself didn’t look like it had the cutting edge of security, but the old busybodies with their craning necks and suspicious squinting at newcomers down at the grocery store on the next block could complicate Dean’s life a lot more than any hackable security camera. Even so, Dean knows what he’s doing. Pick a vulnerable spot—a propped open dock door, open window, anywhere that’s not the front door—and waltz right in. And Dean’s a professional, so all he really needs is his lock-picking kit, even a paper clip, and he can make an entrance out of practically any door. He’s been doing this for years, trained by the best. Central City High School in the middle of Nebraska couldn’t be that difficult to case. Easy-peasy, in and out, quick as you please.
Well, Dean’s never been known for his skill at probability. While he was counting on having to deflect attention from the locals, there was one more thing he hadn’t accounted for. Witnesses.
Dean crept down the darkened hallway, half an eye on his reader for any blips. The local paper, the Republican Nonpareil described the latest string of freak accidents around the school as “unusual” and “under open investigation” which meant the local sheriff had absolutely no idea what was really going on and no clue where to even start. Luckily, Dad had caught wind of it and sent Dean to take a look around. It was nice, working. Kept his mind off other things.
There wasn’t any sign of EMF activity by the main office or the front doors. Dean wasn’t surprised. Spirits tended to stay most active around where they died, and if the papers were to be believed—if it was a spirit behind the spontaneously combusting lights and cracked panes of glass—most of that energy should be focused around the rear part of the building, near the connection to the junior high and the auditorium.
It was just after eight, meaning that the parking lot was nearly completely empty—the building and community was too small for even the night custodians to be working at this hour. The middle of November meant that Dean even had the cover of nightfall on his side.
Dean got a slight EMF blip near the cafeteria. He held his position and swept over the white-tiled room that had probably been a combo auditorium before a rich alumnus coughed up the money for something nicer. The reader didn’t pick up anything stronger than background noise, not unusual for this part of the state. There were a lot of Native American burial grounds and final resting places of pioneers out West. People were sometimes surprised by the amount of spirits out on dark country roads, but Dean was no fool. A woman in white was as common as a coyote out here, if you knew where to look.
On his way into town, Dean had stopped at the solitary blue historical marker on the outskirts of the main area. Lone Tree was the name of the local history buff draw, and the statue that stood as a memorial was just reeking of leftover misspent energy. That was the thing about the Midwest; the spirits may not be as angry without the draw of fortune and fame that bigger cities promised, but the ghosts were sadder out here in the once-endless Great Plains. The ghost he was hunting here was no different. A classic case of tragedy brought on by the theater, but even worse because now the victims were a bunch of kids. Girls caught up in the drama of lost prom dates and cheating boyfriends, tragically taken out by freak theater accidents. Boys dreaming of a way out of a small town, found dead in the dressing rooms. Dean was pretty sure it was a ghost dropping lights, but he had to check.
At least the latest case wasn’t a death. The student in question was able to get out of the way of a falling set piece, just barely avoided fatal head trauma. He was recovering in the hospital with a few minor scrapes and only a moderate concussion. The papers said he had sworn up and down a man in black pushed the set piece down, that he had seen just a glimpse of him, but he was sure. That’s why Dean was here. Maybe a since-dead principal or custodian gone awry. Maybe even a jealous graduate of the school, still bitter about not getting the role of a lifetime.
Dean snorted at the thought; as often as those come up in small schools like these.
The middle school was attached to the high school, making his area of coverage a bit bigger than he liked, but luckily, his target was smack in the middle. He continued down the hallway past a few Home Ec classrooms and, inexplicably, a corner piled with paper cut-outs of buffalos. A large gray sign hung above a trash can, pointing down the next hallway to the theater. Dean took a last glance around the deserted hall, and soldiered on.
The first side door he tried to the theater was locked, but the lock and handle were so rusted out, Dean wasn’t sure his lock picking kit would even do him any good. He didn’t really relish the thought of kicking it down. The building might be deserted, but this town was so quiet, neighbors were likely to hear any serious commotion. The last thing he wanted was to involve all two squad cars of the local police. Sometimes, small-town police were worse than LAPD. No one higher up to answer to.
Suddenly, he heard a shriek coming from inside the theater. He spotted a second door a few yards down, this one potentially a main door. A small window was cut out of this door, with dim light pouring out. Without thinking, Dean yanked the door open. He got one step inside the theatre, EMF reader out, sawed-off at the ready, and was met by the startled expressions of a dark-haired man in glasses and at least ten teenagers wearing... face paint, of all things.
“Hey, are you still going out tonight with that guy you’ve been talking to?”
Cas looked up from his book. He had been pointedly told that he wasn’t allowed to help with dinner and was sent to read in the living room to ‘stay out of the way and keep Dean company’. Dean was referring to the latest guy Cas had met through online dating, and the latest reason for Cas feeling vaguely guilty about not reciprocating feelings. “Oh, no. I told him I just wanted to be friends.” He frowned, “Don’t put too much tomato in it!”
Dean huffed and waved him off. No one told Dean how to cook, especially something that he’d made a thousand times from scratch. “You didn’t even give him a chance, Cas.”
Cas shrugged,” He was... annoying to say the least. He texted too much. The happiest I was with him was when he was ignoring me or busy.”
“Well, did you tell him that?”
“No, but I know the worst thing is feeling like you’re annoying someone you like, and I didn’t want to put him through that. I texted him last night.” Cas went back to his book. It was one thing to talk about his love life with his best friend and roommate. It was quite another to dive deep into his deep-rooted issue with finding a suitable replacement for... someone he actually wanted.
Especially when that person was currently making spaghetti four feet from him.
“And how did he respond?” Dean asked, staring hard at the vegetable he was dicing.
Cas lowered the book again. “Well, he... hasn’t answered yet.”
Dean looked up from where he was cutting a final tomato with a universal ‘yikes’ expression. It was an unfortunate end to his brief relationship with Patrick, but it had to be said. He’d rather Patrick think he was a bastard now, than lead him on and have Patrick assume they were headed towards mutual love and affection.
“So anyway, I have to assume that he doesn’t really want to be friends then.”
“Hey, Cas, don’t take it too hard. He’s missing out.”
Cas considered, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m not... sad, or anything.”
Dean chuckled. “Heh. Ouch. Tough break for him.”
Cas shrugged, turning back to watch Dean work.
Dean gathered all his chopped vegetables together in a neat pile on the cutting board and transferred them to the pot where he was making sauce in a neat flourish, evident of all the times Dean had been in charge of home-cooked meals. “What was so bad about this guy? Did he smell? Ask you to make a blood pact?
Cas looked away from the tantalizing sight of Dean’s hands. “No, he... wanted to cook me dinner.”
Dean looked up from the pot of spaghetti noodles he was now stirring.
“Oh, you’re right,” Dean said, gesturing with the pasta spoon. “Definitely a good thing you curved him. Absolute lunatic.” He bent over to take a taste of the now-simmering sauce, a soft smile on his face.
“Well! It just... makes me uncomfortable. I mean, he could be a serial killer.” Cas grinned playfully, finally giving up on reading and marking his page to step away.
“Don’t you think if he was going to serial kill you, he’d have done it by now? He’s got a lotta ground to cover. This is LA. He’s gotta move quick if he wants to make even the slightest impression on the LAPD.” Dean nodded towards the fridge where their salad sat. Cas had insisted on a salad to go with the carbo-load that was Dean’s favorite and famous Spaghetti Night. It was a rare thing for Dean to allow so much green at a meal, but Cas was always somehow able to convince him.
“I dunno,” Cas pulled out the salad and turned to the cupboard to start gathering plates. He placed a healthy amount of salad on each, making sure to push it to the side to leave ample room for the absolute heap of pasta Dean would place on each. “He just... he texted me all the time, and he always wanted to know how I’m doing and what I’m up to, and it gets old telling him I’m doing the same old things every time. I don’t do much during the day.”
“Sure you do, yesterday you made that cool greenhouse thing out in the backyard.” Dean was referring to the monstrosity built out of thrifted window panes in the far corner of the yard. Cas had seen the idea online on Friday, and by Saturday was cruising through every yard sale and thrift store in the county looking for windows. The frame was easy to put together once Dean had gotten the drill sorted out. It wasn’t much, but now Cas had a great place to put some of the many plants they had around the house.
Cas shrugged. “Right, but I can’t tell him that. He wouldn’t care, and then I’d have to explain every piece of why we needed one and he wouldn’t want to hear that story.”
“Look, I’m not saying you didn’t do the right thing by being honest with him, but it just sounds like maybe you didn’t like him all that much in the first place if you’re able to be so casual about it.”
“I know,” Cas sighed. “I’ve gotta stop doing this to guys. Before him it was Nate, and Collin. I’m a mess.”
Dean spooned a frankly frightening amount of pasta on a plate. “Nah, you’re not a mess, just a bit careless with your dirty socks. You wanna try some sauce or just butter?”
“No, I’ll try it. You worked so hard on it. A little bit of sauce, please. Not too much.”
Dean smiled and rolled his eyes, dripping the perfect amount of homemade marinara on top of the pile of spaghetti. They sat down to eat and Cas twirled his fork in the noodles. The sauce was great. While the base was tomato, it wasn’t overwhelming or acidic like tomato can get in inexperienced hands. Garlic and mushroom had space in the sauce as well, making it perfectly well-balanced.
Cas stood up. “I’m getting some more sauce, this is really good, Dean.”
“Thank you, pickiest eater in the world. That is a compliment far greater than you know.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
Dean piped up with his mouth full. “So, like, what—are you just gonna chalk it up as a loss and move on or what?”
Cas shook his head. “I’m deleting the app, I can’t keep doing this to people when it only serves to piss me off and disappoint other people.”
Silence fell again for a brief moment. “Have you considered maybe it’s not you?”
“Thank you, Dean, but scientifically speaking, it has to be me. I’m the only constant in this string of nearly identical outcomes.” Not much else could explain it. Cas was just... bad at love. Bad at being in a relationship. Bad at getting on with his life.
“Maybe you just need to date better people. Maybe... people you already know?”
Snorting, Cas scooped up the last on his pasta. “Come on, everyone we know that’d be even sort of willing to put with me are already married, have kids, or both.”
“Well, not everyone...” Dean muttered, mostly to himself.
Cas chewed thoughtfully. “I think I just gotta face facts. I’m not built for relationships.”
“Kinda lonely outlook.” Dean wasn’t wrong. They were renting the house together, but that could easily change once Dean found a nice girl or boy or... person to settle down with. He was a good looking guy, good with his hands, nice laugh—it wouldn’t be hard for him at all. Cas could very easily be alone, very easily.
Cas shrugged. “A fact’s a fact. It happens. People grow up and just... never find love. I mean, it’s kinda sad but... I’ve got other things in my life.” That was less true. For all that Dean and Cas got along and had in common, he never understood why Dean was alone and chose to hang out with him so often.
Dean snorted. “I don’t know how much a roommate in a shitty starter home counts for, Cas.
“Well, maybe my purpose here is to make sure that roommate is happy then, yeah?” Cas picked up his dish and set it in the sink. He kept his attention towards the sink, concentrating on filling it with soap and water so he didn’t have to see Dean’s face of pity. He wasn’t sad about it. Not really.
Well, he would probably end up being okay.
Dean pushed back from the table to set his dish in the water by Cas’s hand. He busied himself with the leftover pasta on the stove, pulling a plastic container from the cupboard above the range. Dean would probably insist Cas take it for lunch tomorrow.
“Well, what if the roommate wants something specific to make him happy?” Dean asked, sounding strangely formal.
Cas blinked and turned towards Dean, surprised to see him flushed to the tips of his ears. He squinted.
“What does the roommate want?”
If possible, Dean blushed even harder and ducked his head. How curious. Cas felt a strange tingle in his palms. He had a sudden vision of pressing in close and watching Dean take a surprised breath. He shook his head slightly.
“He—I— uh, heh. A beer is what he wants.” Dean said, face brightening in a way that made Cas squint harder on suspicion. Pasta container in hand, Dean switched around Cas, hiding the fridge for a second. He emerged having swapped the plastic container for two beers, one of which he offered to Cas. Hands still wet, Cas gestured for Dean to sit the bottle down to the side of the sink. Dean popped his open, took a swig, and set it down next to Cas’s beer. He picked up a dish towel and got to drying. Together, they steadily and silently cleared the table and counter of all the dishes, leaving their little kitchen tidy once again.
Afterwards, Dean plucked his beer from the counter and took another sip. Cas cracked the lid off of his and did the same. He leaned against the sink and tilted his head as he considered Dean. He was still a bit pink and he wasn’t looking at Cas... or anything really in particular.
“Dean... are you feeling alright?” He almost looked nervous.
Dean blinked. “Huh? Oh yeah, just... thinkin’.”
“Careful with that.” Cas teased.
Deans mouth quirked up in a half smile before falling back to his thoughtful expression.
“Cas, you really think you’re gonna end up alone?”
Oh. Dean was worried he’d have to be saddled with Cas forever. “I dunno. I’m mostly over-dramatic. It’s not looking good right now, though. Kind of a downer.”
“But I mean, you’re young still. Plenty of time to settle down with someone.” Shit, he really did look worried. Maybe he was worried about his own prospects, being single at their age as well.
“Dean, if you’re secretly worried about yourself we can go to a bar or something. I’m not overly concerned about it—“
Dean wasn’t done and talked over him. “And you’re a great guy, you’re smart and funny and... you’ve got nice hair,” Dean finished haltingly. “I just think you’re selling yourself a bit short is all.”
Cas blinked, feeling a slight flush on his cheeks. “Well, thanks but I think the real issue is more with my shockingly horrendous commitment issues and all that.”
They drank in silence, steadily ignoring the other. All this silence tonight was starting to get deafening in Cas’s professional opinion. He was about to open his mouth and change the subject when Dean did just that. “Did this guy... what’s his name?”
“Patrick.”
“Did Patrick ever kiss you?” This question caused Cas to pause. It was an innocent enough question, but the way Dean asked—anxious eyes, and twitchy fingers—like he didn’t really want to ask but was dying to know.
Cas had to tread carefully here, as to not pull too quickly. He might be unsure with guys he met online, but it there was one man he’d climb like a tree with no second thoughts or regrets, it was the one standing in front of him, distractedly shredding the artisanal label off his beer bottle.
“Oh I’d never let him get the chance. Too weird.” He silently dared Dean to call his bluff.
Dean sighed and looked up at Cas, expression guarded. He set his beer down on the table behind him and took a step towards Cas. The tingle in his palms kicked up, spreading up his arms and across his chest, flooding up his neck and to his ears.
“And you know, right away? Who you’d like to kiss?” Dean asked like there was any possible way Cas would turn him down.
“I—definitely. I know within the first half hour of meeting someone if I’d like to—like to kiss them.” Even Cas was stumbling now. He didn’t dare move and shatter this strange, wonderful moment.
Dean was close now. Close enough to see the apprehension in his eyes and catch the subtle tremble in his fingers, hanging loose by his sides.
“Does that feeling ever change?”
“No, once it’s there, it’s all I can think about.” Cas’s gaze tripped between Dean’s mouth and his eyes. Everything was buzzing now. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but he knew things weren’t like this with Patrick. Or Nate. Or anyone else he had been on a date with.
It was special for Dean.
Their chests were nearly touching now. Dean was so close. The heat coming off him was incredible, and Cas wanted nothing more than to get closer.
“Me too,” Dean murmured. “Once I want to kiss someone, it’s all I can think about, too.”
Cas often though about how green Dean’s eyes were, sometimes annoyingly and distractedly often, but now that they were boring into his, it was hard to think about anything else.
Except maybe his mouth. Or his hands, slowly coming up. Shit, this was going exactly where he thought it was. Right here in their shared kitchen.
“I’m gonna kiss you, Cas,” Dean said, drawing in a breath. “And if it’s not what you want, we can pretend it never happened. I won’t make it weird, I promise. I just have to—“
Cas pushed up to press his mouth against Dean’s, hands coming up to fit along his jaw. He watched Dean’s eyes flutter shut before closing his own. Dean gripped his t-shirt before sliding his hands around and up his back. Their lips moved together, pulling and giving back, wet heat between them. He pulled back after a second, an audible smack when they parted.
“I don’t want to push too far—“
“Dean Winchester, kiss me again. Please. It’s good.”
Dean grinned and yanked him back in by his collar, pressing him back into the counter. Cas felt the frenzy build, and he pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucked on the tip of it, before reaching up to press thumbs to the bolt of Cas’s jaw, opening it further. Cas reached down and slipped his fingers back down into Dean’s back pockets, hauling him closer.
When they finally had to surface for air, they were both grinning.
“That wasn’t weird, right?” Dean had the audacity to ask, breathlessly.
“Definitely weird.” Cas answered, cheekily.
“You’re not gonna ask to be just friends later, right?” Dean sounded like he was mostly kidding but with a touch of real anxiety behind it.
“No, but suddenly it makes sense why everyone else didn’t compare.” Cas said, pressing a smooch to the side of Dean’s jaw. “You’re not just doing this because you feel bad for me?”
Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Cas on the ass. “Been wanting to do that since I met you, dummy. I’m glad we had this chance to finally straighten out that I’m the only one for you.”
“Yeah, probably.” Cas whispered. “Wanna go make out on the couch?”
I’ve been too cocky lately. When will a pack of ice bears, dubiously guarding a skeleton holding three gold and a necklace, come sprinting out from behind the hill and knock me down a peg?
It’s so weird, yet comforting, when you and your followers hit the same interests at the same time. Suddenly, my dash is flooded with A:TLA and twilight again like it’s high noon in 2007 and I was just getting back into it myself.
