sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelons | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | ocean or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword.
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelon | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | oceans or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword |
tagging @manifestingdestiel @baddestbitchcas @deancas-bumblebee @gracecarts @u-are-not-alone-neither-are-u @always-note-my-sarcasm if y’all want
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelon | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | oceans or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword |
No pressure tags 💕😚 @deancas-bumblebee @castielsbeeslippers @castielswift @shade-vermillion @baby1967impala @spn-in-2021
Thanks for tagging me @comb-thee-asbestos and @baddestbitchcas! 💙
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelon | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | oceans or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword |
Some no pressure tags: @assbutt @mooncandysmagic @whxtshernxme @https-castiel @pointlesstrashyexistence @marveladdictx
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelon | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | oceans or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword |
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelon | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | oceans or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword |
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelon | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | oceans or mountains | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword |
Tagging: @dothwrites and @athenastar LOVE YOU GUYS
coffee shop or flower shop • alternative universe or fix-it • enemies to lovers or childhood friends • angst or fluff • love at first sight or pining • modern au or historical au • soulmate or unrequited • fake dating or secret dating • breakup and makeup or proposals and weddings • get together or established relationship • oblivious pining or domestic fluff • hurt/comfort or crack • meet the parent or meet cute
Tagging: @smiledean @chaoticdean @wormstacheangel @sunshine-jack (no pressure tags💛)
coffee shop or flower shop • alternative universe or fix-it • enemies to lovers or childhood friends • angst or fluff • love at first sight or pining • modern au or historical au • soulmate or unrequited • fake dating or secret dating • breakup and makeup or proposals and weddings • get together or established relationship • oblivious pining or domestic fluff • hurt/comfort or crack • meet the parent or meet cute
Both domestic fluff and oblivious pining 😌❤️
Tell me your choices! @evermoredeancas @sxlcouthgeek @basicallyafangirlsworld @shellhead3k
coffee shop or flower shop • alternative universe or fix-it • enemies to lovers or childhood friends • angst or fluff • love at first sight or pining • modern au or historical au • soulmate or unrequited • fake dating or secret dating • breakup and makeup or proposals and weddings • get together or established relationship • oblivious pining or domestic fluff • hurt/comfort or crack • meet the parent or meet cute
Both for breakup and makeup or proposals and weddings because I just can't choose lmao
coffee shop or flower shop • alternative universe or fix-it • enemies to lovers or childhood friends • angst or fluff • love at first sight or pining • modern au or historical au • soulmate or unrequited • fake dating or secret dating • breakup and makeup or proposals and weddings • get together or established relationship • oblivious pining or domestic fluff • hurt/comfort or crack • meet the parent or meet cute
Texting my sleep-drunk best friend @sxlcouthgeek at 2:30 and this is what we end up with. We are iconic and are clearly meant for great things in life, I will take no criticism. Also, who wants an edit of Ramen Bolton and Jambalaya Baratheon?
Texting my sleep-drunk best friend @sxlcouthgeek at 2:30 and this is what we end up with. We are iconic and are clearly meant for great things in life, I will take no criticism. Also, who wants an edit of Ramen Bolton and Jambalaya Baratheon?
An entire era is coming to an end. Half of the ship I poured all of my hopes and expectations into is gone. I got the confession I wanted and then had it all rudely snatched away. I watched fetus Dean and Sam grow up, die like a million times, return, lose everyone they love and literally go to hell and back. But I'm fine. I'm definitely not rewatching the older episodes of Supernatural and having a mini breakdown. Not watching the Destiel scenes in the earlier seasons, remembering an innocent girl who squealed at every eye contact. Definitely, definitely not remembering the family created within Team Free Will, and how Dean and Sam are the only ones left now, just like in the beginning. What do you mean I'm crying, YOU'RE crying! I'M COMPLETELY FINE, THERE'S JUST A LOT OF DUST AROUND AND I HAVE ALLERGIES, LEAVE ME ALONE!
Update: So this was a fucking joke and anytime now, the actual episode is gonna be released. No, you don't understand, I gave my ENTIRE LIFE TO THESE CHARACTERS. I defended the show to death, clowned and shipped and fell for the queerbaiting every single time, and after 15×18, HAD THE AUDACITY TO ARGUE THAT CAS WOULD BE BACK IN THE FINAL EPISODE. They were playing us all along. They had these amazing actors who literally brought the characters to life, and they made these actors fall victim to lazy writing? All the character development that had been seen in the four members of Team Free Will was simply thrown away in the f*nal? They simply turned the characters into a parody of who they were? AND THEY RAISED THE EXPECTATIONS OF THE FANS FOR THIS? Honestly, SPN writers are that ex who keeps letting you down but you keep taking them back. I need therapy and anger management (and the addresses of all the writers for purely innocent reasons, of course), so um. Yeah. *dies violently*
An entire era is coming to an end. Half of the ship I poured all of my hopes and expectations into is gone. I got the confession I wanted and then had it all rudely snatched away. I watched fetus Dean and Sam grow up, die like a million times, return, lose everyone they love and literally go to hell and back. But I'm fine. I'm definitely not rewatching the older episodes of Supernatural and having a mini breakdown. Not watching the Destiel scenes in the earlier seasons, remembering an innocent girl who squealed at every eye contact. Definitely, definitely not remembering the family created within Team Free Will, and how Dean and Sam are the only ones left now, just like in the beginning. What do you mean I'm crying, YOU'RE crying! I'M COMPLETELY FINE, THERE'S JUST A LOT OF DUST AROUND AND I HAVE ALLERGIES, LEAVE ME ALONE!
“You’d be surprised”, said Xaldien, who just lost four followers and received a lovely “men can’t be raped” anon shortly after reblogging this the first time.
Out of 19000+ followers I have, only one of you actually reblogged about this issue, yet a lot of you have reblogged and liked a picture by playboy about catcalling and that how men should never do it.
Additionally, I have received abuse in my ask box (which I will be answering when I can) and threats. In particular death threats and rape threats.
I can see the real problem here already. Male domestic violence and rape is just invisible in our society because we don’t want to talk about this because it just damages the status quo of this fucking website.
Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?
ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash
lost in translation
---
It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush.
Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him.
Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone.
He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem).
Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.
It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.
(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.)
Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning.
“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair.
Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”
Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins.
And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot.
Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment.
Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean.
Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish.
---
After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something.
Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant.
As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence.
It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor.
Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light.
It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile.
(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)
“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?”
Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.”
Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day.
“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.”
He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen.
“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth.
Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking.
The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was.
He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes.
“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.
Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight.
This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass.
Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face.
---
It gets worse.
Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos.
Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word.
The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth.
“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back.
---
It gets worse.
Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame.
The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it.
Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean.
If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this.
Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that.
---
It gets worse.
Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut.
“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them.
“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression.
Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean.
Sam chokes on nothing.
“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red.
“Yeah, I’m great.”
Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them.
“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.”
“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian.
Sam snorts.
If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground.
“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.”
Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam.
“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts.
Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!”
Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book.
Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down.
“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.”
He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once.
“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?”
They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks.
“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.”
Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against.
“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?”
Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas?
Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.”
Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.”
He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles.
“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.”
Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.”
“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?).
“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”
Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color.
“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.”
Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.”
Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?”
Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly.
An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?”
Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened.
“Another.”
Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper.
Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his.
Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it.
Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s.
A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?”
Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s.
Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants.
Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?”
Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more.
(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)
worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”
—
It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius.
Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention.
At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance?
Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side.
“You can touch it if you want.”
Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him.
“Seriously. Go ahead.”
Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t…we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork–”
Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.”
Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas.
“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.”
And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius.
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