came across this art on my dash and immediately had to write it. set late S4/early S5, just some first kiss feels.
“Close your eyes,” Dean says softly, almost as if he’s in pain. Maybe he is. Maybe this is what courage feels like.
Cas cocks his head a little, to the side, like so many times before. But he doesn’t close his eyes, not yet. They’re still staring at Dean, staring into him. That deep, unfair blue and Dean never said anything but those eyes had been different when it was just Jimmy. A different kind of blue and something else, something untouchable. And that’s why Dean needs him to close his eyes for this, because he can’t do it with Cas looking at him, looking into him, the way he does.
It would be better if he could, but Dean’s not that brave after all.
Finally Cas complies. He closes his eyes and Dean exhales. Watches the flickering shadow of dark lashes over his cheeks. Swallowing, he asks next, “Lay back, all right?”
Cas’s brow furrows and his nose wrinkles but only for a second. He seems to weigh it: I’m already closing my eyes for him, why not? So then he’s laying back, shifting a little to settle properly on the motel bed.
Dean just looks for a moment. Cas’s trench coat, the suit jacket, are flung over one of the chairs. They were talking through options and all the layers seemed to frustrate Cas. He peeled them back, one at a time, and then fussed until his shirtsleeves were rolled up, his collar opened, the tie loosened. And that’s how he is now: an angel, undone.
Dean lifts himself from the edge of the opposite bed and lets momentum carry him. One knee planted to the side of Cas’s hip, one arm arched over him, hand on the bed. So Dean is holding himself over Cas, face hovering inches from Cas’s.
“Dean?” Cas asks and Dean can feel his exhale, can taste it. Their noses almost brush and Dean slides his free hand over Cas’s eyes. Rests there a moment, to let Cas adjust. “Dean?” he asks again, softer this time, closer to a statement but still with that uplilt. Dean’s thumb brushes along the swell of Cas’s cheek.
“Gonna–” Everything gets caught for a moment and Dean gasps instead of speaks. Cas’s hand comes up to palm over the arm supporting Dean, just below his shoulder, just below the sear of his palm-print. Dean gathers whatever courage, whatever attitude, he has left and pushes forward. “Gonna kiss you, okay?”
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