C is for Covet - a CAITH fan oneshot
Was literally falling asleep and woke right up (against my will) because this idea came into my head. CAITH-inspired/in universe, though all creation/ownership goes to @sicksicksixx and her amazing fic come alive in the heat.
Prompt: Cas falling asleep on the couch with his glasses on, and Dean watching him for multiple minutes. Got out of hand in the best way, but cw for mentions of prostitution and rated E.
It's Dean's first time really being able to look without the fear of being caught, and there's something crawly in his gut. He can see the faint sun spots on Cas' skin—more like compounding years of regular exposure rather than the dalmationed look of local farmers and waitresses, sunburn after sunburn burrowed into their skin. Cas' mouth and the corners of his eyes are still wrinkled, but it's soft like the quirked lip smile Cas gives him. The gray in his beard and hair on his muscled forearms contrast Dean's always-shaved jaw and boyish still-lanky limbs. It's unlike Dad too, is his next thought. Dad's tough and untouchable, Cas is strong and sturdy. It's not something he wants to think about, so he focuses on the other uncomfortable thoughts, like the rightness of being able to look at Cas. Watching him feels comforting which is goddamn ridiculous, but even his guilt and self-revulsion can't rise higher than the wall of peace built by being so close to Cas. He's just sleeping; Dean knows Cas didn't mean to, that his pain must have been bad enough to up his meds and it knocked him out, but Dean likes that he gets to see Cas like this. Accident or not, it feels like a gift.
Dean reaches out carefully, intensely focused on not disturbing him, and eases off his small rectangular glasses. Cas doesn't react at all, and once Dean's at a distance he eyes his prize. They're a nice pair of black frames, not the gas station kind Dean expected, but the lenses are a little cloudy with dander and oil. Dean rises from beside Cas on the couch and moves silently into the kitchen. He rubs dish soap over the whole thing, lenses and frame, and turns on the lightest tap to rinse it off. He dabs them dry with the unused paper towel from his lunch, then brings them over to lay on the coffee table near Cas.
Dean pauses again looking at Cas. His face is turned into the couch, cheek resting on a barely-there lip. One deep breath and his head would fall, and his breathing sure is deep and even, snoring with each inhale.
Dean carefully sits back down next to him. No reaction. He scoots into the lumpy back, no reaction. He brings his knees up, bracing socked feet on the smoke-stained upholstery, and tucks himself against Cas' side. He's an awkward ball with his head just beside Cas', heart thumping in his ears, waiting: still, Cas doesn't move.
They're kind of face to face with Dean's chin resting atop his knees. If Cas' arm was up on the back of the couch Dean could've settled in fully, hand on his chest, face in his neck, but this is already closer than he's used to (and not as much as he needs). His shoulder sinks into the couch and his body's flexible, so while awkward, it's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable.
Dean's closer now and watching him still, and he wants to know more about Cas. He wants to see Cas with his shirt off even though he doesn't know what he expects to find. He wants to see Cas outright naked. Dean isn't sure why Cas still barely gets himself out of his clothes—makes Dean want to earn it, makes him unsure what he's doing wrong to not get it. "It" is changing from an old man's body, which would generally just be part of his sporadic 9-5, to Cas' body, and it's becoming something he cares about.
Dean first repressed thoughts of Cas' leg out of respect, knew not to nose around, and there's that lasting boundary still. Dean thinks of it mostly because he worries about Cas' pain. But he's also finding he wants to hear the story, not for the innate human thirst for knowledge but to see more of who Cas was and is. He doesn't know if Cas is self-conscious: Dean can't imagine Cas being unsure in any way, but he's gotten little bits of how Cas sees himself. Dean doesn't know if he's protective of his bum leg or dismissive of himself entirely. Cas has some money to burn if he's kept Dean around like he has, so he could definitely treat himself better, but Dean doesn't really know much else. Bobby and Ellen are the closest adults with jobs and they're both dirt poor. In comparison Cas feels like Mansa Musa, and the idea of someone owning much more is near-unfathomable.
It feels wrong sitting against Cas right now and thinking what he is. It's not something he would have ever considered if Cas was awake, but Dean couldn't help how inviting it looked, Goldilocks reincarnate. And naturally Dean thinks of more. If he can settle in right against Cas' sleeping form, what other options does he have? Cas has always been too trusting, and Dean's familiar with what happens when you let your guard down.
But Dean only stares. He curls his hands into fists and hugs his knees while fantasizing about his first real touch of Cas' body. Not a brush of their hands or Cas' dick in his mouth, fist, or asscrack, but Dean getting to hug around his massive chest when Cas presses close to kiss him. Making Cas sit on the couch so Dean can straddle his hips, gripping his shoulders for stability while he rides him.
The thought of letting Cas fuck him is still scary, 'cause he's thick, but Dean worries that fear is coming from somewhere else. Not the usual discomfort of paid sex and chipping his heart out from the inside, but because Dean wants it, money or no. He's gotten desparately hard thinking about it, Cas taking him gentle or rough. Debated with himself in fictitious scenarios: if Cas tried to haggle, which Dean knows he wouldn't, what's the lowest bill he'd accept for it.
They're doing everything out of order for a john and his bitch. Dean doesn't usually like kissing; he doesn't like any of it, really, when he's got to make money, but the discomfort of blowjobs and burn of being fucked feel more transactional than a kiss. He'd rather suck someone off or offer his ass than kiss a shitty dude with rotting teeth and 80 proof vodka as his only source of oral hygiene. Kissing is less invasive but somehow feels worst of the three.
He sucked Cas' dick first, just like anyone else. It was definitely a suck, not a kiss, but lately he's wanted to lap at him like a little dog. Sit back on his haunches at Cas' feet, let Cas hold him down with a fist around his shirt collar. He wants Cas to kiss him after he's shot in his mouth. He'll swallow it all, but he'd also kiss him with his mouth full—fucking nasty but kill Dean, he imagined it once and now keeps picturing it. His mouth gets wet thinking of it, slick like a girl and ready to stretch around Cas' cock.
He's getting trained by Cas, inadvertently. He feels true arousal, not just pleasant prickling in his dick when the pressure is right, which he doesn't even get with every voluntary hookup. His dick is half hard right now, bent uncomfortably in his curled position, and it twiches when he inhales Cas' scent.
That's one of his recent problems. He needs Cas and his money, duh, but he also needs the busywork. It makes him feel good to spruce up Cas' home, even though Cas can up and abandon it any day he wants. Dean likes doing menial chores for someone just because, instead of all the shit he has to do for Sammy and Adam and himself. And he likes putting on a show for Cas, likes Cas watching—sometimes with pointed interest and an idea of where he wants Dean next, but sometimes not. Dean still hasn't pinned down all of Cas' facial expressions, and one of 'em is that calculating look that reminds him of being back in school with his favorite teacher over his shoulder. It straightened his back and made him feel extra aware of every little movement, but he didn't feel scrutinized. It made him want to do better, make her proud, and all he knows now is that he needs Cas to like him. Because on top of getting cash and killing time, Dean needs Cas' presence. Their banter, Cas' dry humor, the break in looking out for two kids when he still feels like one himself. He's getting comfortable with Cas and it makes him jumpy, 'cause nothing good lasts and Dean's not built for nothin' good. He gets little reminders of that when Cas casually mentions the cool shit he's done, the places he's been, the things he knows. Dean feels like a puppy following the alpha dog, only safe because he poses no threat. It makes him feel small and stupid, a little desparate to keep Cas' attention, but also thankful in some twisted way. That for all Cas is, he still keeps Dean around.
Dean worries about what Cas would think if he woke up to find him there; he keeps expecting Cas to snap one day, be mean or rough, but he's still never even seen him terse. Dean worries about pushing it and making Cas break. Still, Dean stays bunched against Cas, trusting it will be fine.
Dean shuts his eyes and forces his mind clear. Despite his anxiety he knocks out, feeling the warmth of Cas' body, scenting old smoke from the couch and Cas' shirt, and wanting.
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