The engine purrs on the road.
"Ok, fine, I know why you like 'angel',"
"Yeah well that makes it hardly a cute name if you see it that way. It's just funny, ok? It's sweet. Cos nobody knows you're an actual angel, if I call you that at the grocery store. People say- I say 'angel' to mean... good. Perfect."
"Dean. I'm not perfect. We've assessed that time and time again."
Dean waves a hand, dismissively. "Everyone makes mistakes. But you are, uh, I mean. You. You are perfect. You know. To me." It strains out of his throat, but he gets it out. Small win. Cas deserves to finally know how much he means to him. Big win.
There's a long silence across the front seat of the Impala. Dean fidgets at the wheel. After a while, Cas' even, low voice breaks it.
"Alright. This is good, we can work with that."
"I understand the parallel. Honey is the most concentrated sugar in nature, humans have craved it since they were hunter gatherers. Cherished the finding for its nutritional value. It's sung in the poetry of all the ancient civilizations to mean sweet and good. It is often juxtaposed to other simple pleasures of life, hence the sexual connotation."
"Yep, ancient civilizations. Very sexy," Dean continues on, "Sweetheart plays in the same league, alright? You, you have a sweet heart. Being in love with humanity, and all."
Dean doesn't turn but feels the fond smile on Cas' face looking at him.
"Same goes for anything else about food. Cupcake, muffin, uhm. Pumpkin, sweetie pie," he sucks in a breath, "I won't call you that. That's just, too Rowena. Cookie. Buttercup. No, that's a flower,"
"I don't particularly enjoy being compared to food items."
"— Angelcakes, now that's different," Dean cackles.
"I must assume that is another baked good."
"Oh no, I mean, yes. But also not at all."
"Ok, ok. So, it sounds like some type of cake, maybe something like a brioche bun filled with a bunch of fresh whipped cream..." Dean's mind decides to swiftly trail off into NSFW territory, "But it's not. I think there's some dense British cake with that name, but meh. Point is. 'Cakes' is really about, you know, body cakes."
"The butt, Cas. When I call you 'angel cakes' I'm talking about, ya know. Your ass, man."
"It's. It's a nice ass. Angel ass." Dean knows he's sporting a good shade of raspberry here. He's blushing. He's in a committed relationship, and he's blushing.
Cas hums in approval. "The plural on 'cakes' gives the idea of pastries, while also working as a reference to the buttocks. It is clever."
"My smarts went all in the innuendos, I tried to tell you."
"Yeah. What else? There's the bugs, like, uhm, ladybug, snugglebug, lovebug, you catch my drift - assorted animals, huggy bear, kitty, bunny, turtle dove; if you wanna be poetic there's some stuff like sun and moon, my star, or, or starlight," he's starting to grow hot again at the realization that he does in fact fuck with these poetic ones, "uh, sunshine, of course,"
"I'm very fond of that one. I hadn't realized it at the time, but it is the first term of endearment you used for me earnestly. And sunlight is integral to human life. I understand the implications."
Dean huffs a laugh. Dives in. "Implications being, I can't live without you, babe."
Cas rewards his boyfriend, probably soul-husband of 12 years, with a brief gummy smile. "I am millennias of years old, I have fought wars before life on Earth was even a thought. I fail to see how that has anything to share with an infant, or a suckling piglet. Or your car."
"Babe is just informal for baby — not Baby, but yeah. I mean, I guess it comes from babies. They're cute. But also, they're helpless and you care for them in every way, there's that connotation? And they're, you know. Pure. In their love. Sincere, and untainted."
Cas listens, rapt. "Dean, that's a beautiful thought. Undeserving, but beautiful."
Now it's Dean's turn to use his warning tone, "Cas," he growls, eyeing him to see him worry over his hands on his lap, "we talked about this. This shit's what landed you dead, and I sure as hell ain't revisiting that, babe,"
"Nope, no sorry asses, only good things, remember? Alright now," he waves a hand between the two of them, "Shoot. What'd ya got for me?"
"Dean. Your name. Can't think of a single thing that can effectively compare to you, my love."
All the air is knocked out of Dean's pipes, and he wrings the wheel too tight.
"I— ... it's gonna take me some time, man." He realizes too late how he brought some distance into the name, regrets it immediately. "It's, it's nice. Real nice, actually. I, I like that. A lot. It's cool to know... that I'm... yours to love," he's actually breaking a sweat. "Aces. Keep doing that."
It's a long road till Lebanon.
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