#bex writing

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

“-and we could get the bowtie pasta that jack likes. what do you think?” dean turned around, expecting cas to quip back something along the lines of ‘you spoil that kid, dean.’ but instead, cas wasn’t there. their shopping cart was— full of groceries and sunflowers that cas had picked up on the way into the store— but no cas.

dean rolled his eyes fondly. grocery shopping with cas was always a game of hide and seek. cas was the one who had made himself the designated list holder, yet he always managed to get distracted and would veer off course, leaving dean to have to search the store for his missing angel.

oftentimes dean would find cas 10 minutes later at the flower display or in the cereal aisle or sometimes in the candy section. cas was always finding little things dean never would’ve seen or would’ve never thought to look for.

shaking his head fondly, dean walked to the cash registers and beamed a bright smile at the young girl- her name tag read lexi- behind the register. “I seem to have lost my husband again.”

lexi laughed. “I don’t know how the two of you manage to spend the whole time you’re here just searching for each other.”

dean shrugged playfully. “what can we say? we can’t be trusted in grocery stores.”

“are you wanting to give it a try this time?” lexi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, what the hell, let’s do it.”

with a grin, lexi picked up the intercom pager. “cas winchester, your husband has been looking for you and he’s waiting for you at register 6. cas winchester to register 6.”

a few moments later, an angel in a trenchcoat balancing 4 tubs of ice cream appeared at the end of the aisle.

dean looked up, noticed the ice cream assortment, and laughed. “you, my devastatingly handsome husband, are a menace.”

“i couldn’t decide on one flavor. so i got one for each of us,” cas said bashfully.

plucking the cartons from cas’ hands, dean placed them into the cart and leaned in to loop his arms around cas’ neck. “you’re utterly ridiculous, and I adore you,” dean murmured softly.

“is that a yes to the ice cream then?” cas asked, hopefully.

dean let out a quiet huff of laughter. “whatever you want, mr. winchester. always.” dean didn’t care how cliche it was. he closed the gap and kissed cas right then and there in the middle of the check out line in the grocery store. cas leaned into the kiss, hands grasping at dean’s waist as he deepened the kiss.

lexi pretended to gag behind them, but dean didn’t care. he pulled cas in impossibly closer, and kissed his angel soft and slow and oh-so-tender.

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

dean was used to falling asleep anywhere. didn’t matter how uncomfortable or how long he slept for. part of the hunter life was catching whatever sleep you could when you could. even if it wasn’t really restful. it was more about sharpening the mind with a few minutes rest than anything else. dean wasn’t sure when exactly cas had started to take notice of those little moments dean fell asleep in weird places. one day things were the same old same old. and one day dean woke up with cas’ trenchcoat draped over him like a blanket. and it kept happening after that. every time dean fell asleep propped up in a chair on sprawled out across the impala seat, he woke up with the warmth of cas’ trenchcoat surrounding him. somewhere down the line dean started deliberately falling asleep in places other than a bed just because he knew cas would drape the trenchcoat over him during the night. an angel watching over him when he slept. keeping him warm and safe.

years later, when they’re sharing a bed and dean’s arms are wrapped around cas’ waist, cas notices dean tossing and turning as much as he can from his position while still holding cas close. he never remembered dean being so restless when he slept years ago. it takes a few minutes of quiet thinking before cas figures it out and he’s slipping out of dean’s arms and climbing out of bed. “hey, where are you going?” dean asks, flicking the light on as a twinge of fear creeps into his tone. cas smiles at him, soft and tender, as he grabs his trenchcoat from the closet. “nowhere, dean. im right here.” and then the angel is climbing back into bed and draping the trenchcoat over the top of the covers on dean’s side of the bed. dean glances down at the coat spread out over the sheets, blinks several times, and then looks up at cas. “what-” he starts to say. cas cuts him off by kissing dean gently. “you always slept better under the trenchcoat,” cas murmurs against dean’s lips. dean kisses cas like he’s the sunshine lighting up his life. “because it smelled like you,” he whispers into cas’ mouth. that night, with cas in his arms and the trenchcoat over them both, dean sleeps better than he’s ever slept in his entire life.

after that, cas drapes the trenchcoat over the covers every night before they fall asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms. dean didn’t know it was possible to fall even more in love with cas than he already was… but it turns out he falls a little more in love with the angel in his arms.

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

“cas and I will go out and search the perimeter for any signs of activity,” dean said to sam, rubbing at the back of his neck and not quite making eye contact with his brother.

sam glanced up, squinting at dean as if he were assessing his brother, before nodding. “call if there’s anything suspicious.”

dean nodded once, turned around, grabbed cas by the trenchcoat sleeve, and dragged the angel out the motel door and into the woods surrounding the building.

“sam’s smart, he’s going to figure out we aren’t out here keeping watch for werewolves. if he hasn’t figured it out already,” cas pointed out unhelpfully.

dean dropped cas’ wrist and turned around. “we can always go back,” he pointed out. “or…” he said, leaning his back against the nearest tree, “you could get your feathery ass over here and kiss me.”

cas hesitated for the briefest second, glancing back towards the motel room and furrowing his brows, before he was closing the gap and leaning in to kiss dean.

the whole thing was so high-school. sneaking out of the motel room to kiss anytime they could because they hadn’t told sam yet. it was all so new still and dean wanted to just enjoy this for awhile without sam peppering them with questions and knowing looks.

but there was a thrill to sneaking around that dean was addicted to. the shudder that raced down his spine as cas pushed him up against the tree, the angel’s fingers tugging at dean’s hair as dean deepened the kiss. the way his lungs felt like they were burning as he dropped his knees apart and cas slipped his thigh between dean’s legs. the stuttered little gasps cas uttered into the kisses as dean slipped his tongue into cas’ mouth and rutted against cas’ thigh.

the burn of the bark against the back of his neck, combined with the way cas pushed closer and closer into dean as if he wanted to climb into dean’s chest was intoxicating. he could spend all day with his lips attached to cas’; drinking in the taste of grace as cas let it bubble to the surface as tendrils slipped into dean’s mouth.

dean could get lost in these kisses for hours. how they’d only just started doing this when they could’ve had this years ago was beyond dean. but those thoughts disappeared from his mind as cas stuttered out a breath against dean’s lips and the angel kissed him harder.

slowing down the kisses, dean took his time chasing cas’ upper lip and licking his way along cas’ lower lip. cas let out a breathless sigh and dean pressed his smile against cas’. “we should get back,” dean murmured against cas’ mouth.

“yes, we should,” cas agreed, but he contradicted his words by stealing another kiss. and another. and another. quick presses of lips morphing into slow drags of their mouths against each other.

by the time cas pulled away, dean felt lightheaded. “sorry, too much grace in the kisses,” cas shuffled shyly.

“no such thing,” dean replied, snagging cas’ tie and tugging him into one last lingering kiss. when dean broke the kiss, cas looked a little starry-eyed, too. “c’mon, let’s head back.”

cas nodded, leaning in for one final kiss, which dean happily reciprocated.

they made their way back to the motel room, their arms brushing with every step they took. opening the door, sam glanced up from his laptop with a raised eyebrow. “take down a werewolf den out there?”

dean rolled his eyes at sam, but furtively wiped across his mouth with the back of his hand. “we did actually. you’re welcome, by the way.”

when dean finally looked up and met sam’s gaze, there was a glint in his brother’s eyes that said he knew exactly what dean and cas had been distracted by in the woods. but sam didn’t say a word. he just gave dean a knowing look as cas moved further into the room and brushed his hand against dean’s shoulder as he walked past.

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

“i’m gonna put on a western movie and probably crash in the dean-cave if anyone needs me,” dean announces, crumbling up the piece of paper he’d been failing to make notes on and bouncing it off of sam’s head.

sam sticks up his middle finger and ignores the comment, only glancing up to shoot dean a withering look. except, instead, sam’s gaze catches something else. the way cas is looking at dean, even though dean is currently crumpling another piece of paper to throw at him in retaliation for the middle finger sam had just given him.

the look on cas’ face could only be described as a sad puppy who’d been kicked and was waiting for their owner to bend down and give them affection.

it was almost pathetic, the sheer strength of cas’ puppy dog eyes. and that expression was only ever reserved for dean; a look whenever cas was waiting for dean to invite him to follow in whatever his brother was doing because the two of them were attached at the hip… and inadvertently at the heart, too.

dean chucks another paper ball at sam, snorting in victory when it bounces off his brother’s forehead and gets lodged in his hair.

cas was now looking dejected, shifting his doleful eyes down to the book he was reading for research.

“oh for god sakes, dean, ask cas to join you before he mopes all over that book,” sam sighs.

“ask cas to join-”

“I do not mope, sam-”

dean and cas seem to realize they spoke at the same time and they quickly dart their gaze to each other, then to sam, and back to each other again.

dean scrubs at the back of his neck, ducking his head awkwardly as he nods his head in the general direction of the dean-cave.

sam interprets the action for all of them. “I’m outta here. enjoy your movie date.”

“it’s not a movie date,” dean says defensively.

sam gets up, abandoning his laptop and his drink in hopes of getting away from all the mutual pining before it suffocates him.

as sam rounds the corner and heads towards his room, he hears dean ask cas, “unless you want it to be a date?”

‘fucking finally’, sam inwardly sighs.

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

it’s something so innocuous. old yet new.

the box on top of the drawers is filled with things dean has collected over the years. old cassettes, keychains, lock picks.

but that isn’t what catches cas’ attention when he opens it. tucked in the back right corner of the box, a flash of silver glints in the light.

cas picks it up, letting the weight fall into his palm. dean’s old ring. cas couldn’t remember the last time the hunter had worn it… it must’ve been years ago now.

“hey, that’s where my ring went,” dean says, dropping his chin onto cas’ shoulder and reaching over to pluck it from cas’ hand. “I thought I’d lost that on a vamp hunt years ago. don’t even remember putting it in there.”

cas watches, something in his chest tightening as dean slips it back onto the ring finger of his right hand where he’s always worn it. “might be good to wear it again for a change, now that we’re hunting less,” dean grins. the grin falters when he catches the pained look on cas’ face. “hey, if you don’t like it I can-” dean starts to say, moving to take the ring off.

cas shakes his head, moving to interlock their fingers. “dean,” cas says. a single word, yet it fills the air between them with a longing that dean can’t describe.

slowly, cas moves to slides the ring off of dean’s finger and snags his left hand.

dean watches, mesmerized, as cas moves the ring onto the ring finger on his left hand and then trails his fingertips over dean’s knuckles.

the weight of the action settles into dean’s heart. cas has to know what that means… right?

“looks better now,” cas murmurs fondly, glancing back up at dean with a softness that makes dean’s knees feel weak.

“yes,” dean replies. the double meaning of the word is pressed against cas’ mouth as dean leans in to kiss him.

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

dean’s problem with being down in the south during the summer was the heat.

stifling, suffocating, humid heat.

tugging at the collar of his tshirt, dean leaned his weight against the hood of the impala, hissing under his breath as the heat from the hood burned his palms. the shade from the trees was doing nothing to cut down on the unbearable thick heaviness of the hot air around him.

where the hell was cas? why was it taking him so long to get the artifact they needed for the case?

another 5 minutes ticked by, and dean contemplated going after cas, but thought better of it when he remembered the last time he’d tried to go in and help cas. the angel had given him the silent treatment for 2 hours in the car afterwards because dean’s interruption had caused the vampire in question to flee.

“god damn heat,” dean muttered to himself.

fuck it. if he had to be stood out here waiting for cas, he wasn’t going to pass out from heat stroke.

grabbing the collar of his shirt, dean tugged it up and over his head; sighing in relief as the sticky material of his shirt was free. it was only a temporary fix, but it felt good. he threw the shirt into the backseat of the impala through the open window, before settling back against the hood.

closing his eyes, dean tipped his head back and debated if he should buy bottles of water just to tip down his chest to cool off.

finally, after more painfully long minutes had passed, a ruffle of material made dean crack an eye open and he caught sight of cas.

the angel seemed to be frozen, stood several feet away from dean with a surprised look in his eyes; staring at dean in shock.

“took you long enough, angel,” dean said, shaking the tension from his shoulders as he pushed himself off of the hood of the car. “I’m dying out here, it’s way too hot to just be standing around.”

dean moved towards the drivers side, ready to get the ac running and find some water to cool off with. but cas hadn’t moved a muscle, still rooted to the spot he’d been in.

“earth to cas. did you get the artifact?”

cas seemed to vibrate for a second before his gaze moved from dean’s chest up to his eyes. “yes.”

“great, then let’s go. I know angels don’t break a sweat, but i’m cookin’ over here,” dean said, opening the car door and dropping uncomfortably into the drivers seat, his skin sticking to the leather.

cas finally moved, settling into the passenger seat. it wasn’t long before cas was staring again, his eyes glued to the way the sweat dripped down dean’s shoulder and onto his chest.

“what?” dean asked, tilting his head to glance at cas before he turned the ignition and the ac kicked in.

cas paused, licked his lips, and then turned his head away. “nothing,” the angel replied, gruff and deep.

but as they hit the road, windows rolled down to let the breeze into the car, dean could’ve sworn cas was staring at him again from the corner of his eyes.

only then did dean realize… he’d never put his shirt back on.

for @winchester-reload hotsummerart: hot

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

house reached over the cafeteria table, stealing a fry from wilson’s plate. he used the fry to gesture at wilson accusingly. “i know it was you.”

wilson tilted his head, fluttering his eyes in a faux-innocent expression. “me? why would i want you to take this case?”

with a huff, house deliberately leaned over the table and into wilson’s space as he dipped the fry into the pot of ketchup that was on the table right next to wilson’s elbow. “because you’re trying to distract me.”

raising an eyebrow, wilson used his elbow to nudge the ketchup pot further away from house and closer to himself. “distract you from what?”

“i know what the date is. it’s been a month, and we will be celebrating.”

wilson dropped his head in a dramatic sigh. “we do not need to celebrate one month.” flickering his gaze up, wilson caught the fleeting look that darted across house’s face. “oh,” he murmured softly, finally catching on. “you actually wanted to celebrate.”

slumping back in his seat, house rolled his eyes and bit into the fry. “no, i don’t. i just thought it would shut you up.” the words fell flat between them, and they both knew wilson had already read in between the lines and deduced house’s true meaning.

slowly, wilson leaned over the table, catching house’s hand and plucking the half-eaten fry from his fingers. house didn’t protest; just watched as wilson dropped the fry back into the basket and gently guided house’s hand up to his mouth. softly, wilson brushed his lips across the back of house’s knuckles. “i want nothing more than to celebrate with you tonight.”

a rare smiled tugged at the corner of house’s lips, and wilson returned the smile.

before house could reply, their moment of peace was shattered as an awkward cough sounded behind house. “the patient… there’s an… i didn’t see anything i swear,” chase stuttered out.

house rolled his eyes, pulling his hand away from wilson’s grip. “i told you, wilson, i don’t need my boo-boo’s kissed to make them better.”

wilson’s eyes crinkled in mirth as he collapsed back against the booth seat with a put-upon-sigh. “maybe if you stopped hurting yourself in ridiculous ways, then i wouldn’t have to treat you like a fragile child.”

house flipped wilson off, stole a handful of fries, and stood up. “this is not over. i will get you back tonight.”

a smug grin tugged at wilson’s lips. “i’m counting on it.”

house grabbed his cane and marched away.

chase darted his gaze between wilson and house numerous times, blinking his eyes in confusion before stumbling and jogging after house.

an hour later, chase emphatically tried to tell foreman and taub that house and wilson were together.

“i’m telling you. wilson kissed house’s knuckles. and the look in house’s eyes… there’s something going on between them,” chase said.

taub laughed. foreman rolled his eyes.

“you need to get your eyes checked,” taub said, before pushing the results from the latest bloodwork tests over towards chase.

from outside the office windows, house smirked to himself as he walked towards wilson’s office.

[smoothoperatorleclerc]

wilson was splayed across house’s couch, a glass of whiskey sloshing in his hands. house was pacing across his living, his own mostly empty glass of whiskey balanced between his fingers as he gestured towards his bookshelf. “-plenty of perfect examples,” house was saying.

dropping his head back against the armrest, wilson huffed out a derisive snort. “i doubt you’ve even read a single one of those books, let alone could quote poetry off the top of your head,” wilson said, lazily gesturing with his whiskey glass at house.

house’s face twisted into a dramatic pout. “it’s like you don’t have any faith in me at all.”

“i don’t,” wilson said, attempting to level house a look of nonchalance but failing due to the alcohol in his system.

with a smug little grin, house moved across the room and propped himself on the arm of the couch that wilson was sitting on. dramatically clearing his throat, house flashed wilson a little wink. then, he closed his eyes and began to speak.

“o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; the ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; the port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

“but o heart! heart! heart! o the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead.

“o captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

“o captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head; it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead.

“my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; the ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

“exult, o shores, and ring, o bells! but I, with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead.”

as the final words of the poem fell from house’s lips, he finally opened his eyes to see wilson staring at him with stars in his eyes.

“wow,” wilson uttered, letting out a little laugh of surprise as he stared at house like he’d hung the moon.

house shrugged one-shouldered as he put his glass down onto the table. “told you i’m more cultured than you are.”

the look of awe slipped from wilson’s face as he pointed at house in challenge. “i know poetry, too, you know.”

house huffed out a laugh, sliding down onto the couch next to wilson. “no you don’t.”

raising an eyebrow, wilson turned his body until he was half slouched against the armrest and half leaning against house, placing his empty glass next to house’s on the table.

“the healer with his magic powers. i could rub his gentle brow for hours. his manly chest, his stubbled jaw,” wilson started to recite.

house kicked at wilson’s thigh with his foot. “shut the hell up.”

“everything about him leaves me raw with joy. oh, house, your very name, will never leave this man the same,” wilson continued, leaning in until his breath was ghosting against house’s cheek; whispering the final line of the poem against house’s stubble.

“dick. of course that’s the only poem you have memorized.”

wilson’s nose rubbed against the underside of house’s jaw. “you love it, don’t deny it.”

house shook his head. “i hate you,” he grumbled, even as he slipped his arm around wilson’s lower back and tugged wilson closer so wilson could trace open-mouthed kisses down house’s neck.

“should’ve known,” wilson said, pressing lips to skin. “you’d be,” wilson said after another kiss, “as good with poetry as you are with music.” another kiss to the skin above the collar of house’s t-shirt.

“music is just poetry with a melody,” house said, sucking in a breath as wilson’s lips grazed against his collarbone.

wilson moved up, kissing the corner of house’s lip before hovering just out of reach. “prove it,” he whispered.

“fuckin’ tease,” house muttered.

wilson laughed softly, shifting to ghost a feather-light kiss to house’s lips before he settled against house’s side with his legs draped over house’s lap.

drawing in a deep breath, house closed his eyes and let his alcohol-infused brain find a jazz song he knew by heart.

softly, house began to sing, “someday he'll come along. the man I love. and he'll be big and strong. the man I love. and when he comes my way, i'll do my best to make him stay.

“he'll look at me and smile. i'll understand. then in a little while, he'll take my hand. and though it seems absurd, I know we both won't say a word.

“maybe I shall meet him sunday. maybe monday, maybe not. still i'm sure to meet him one day. maybe tuesday will be my good news day.

“he'll build a little home that's meant for two, from which I'll never roam. who would, would you? and so all else above, i'm dreaming of the man I love.”

the final words hung in the air, and house turned his head to glance at wilson.

wilson didn’t utter a word; he just leaned in and drew house into a long, lingering kiss that left them both breathless.