$ log - dean winchester made one (1) flirtatious remark and now you've decided he has to suffer for it!
$ warn --sfw --suggestive --slow-burn-ish --gn!reader --flirty!reader --flustered!dean --sexual-tension
$ wc -w 1.5k
$ cd masterlist
$ echo "still gn!reader, despite the fic inspo pic" > authors-note.txt
The bar's neon sign buzzes behind him as Dean pushes through the door, and the first thing he sees is you. Draped across Baby's hood in that red thing, legs kicked out, head tipped back like you're sunbathing at eleven at night in a gas station parking lot in rural Wisconsin.
He stops walking.
"Get off my car."
You don't even open your eyes. "She's warm."
"She's mine."
"Relax." You finally look at him, completely unbothered. "I'm warming my ass."
Dean opens his mouth, closes it, and walks to the driver's side. He waits. You take your sweet time sliding off the hood, patting it once like it's a good horse, and drop into the passenger seat while he gets behind the wheel.
"You should really invest in one of those fancy cars," you say. "Seat warmers. It's called technology."
"There is nothing wrong with this car."
"Didn't say there was. I said you should get a different one."
He starts the engine. Baby rumbles to life and he pulls out of the lot without looking at you, because that is a whole problem he hasn't figured out how to solve yet.
"If you wanted a warm seat," he says, eyes on the road, "my lap's right there."
It comes out before he can stop it. The rum, probably. Or just a long night and his mouth running ahead of his brain, which happens more than he'd like.
The silence that follows is exactly two seconds long.
Then you turn in your seat to look at him, and he can feel it without seeing it.
"Alright."
He doesn't process the word fast enough. One moment you're in the passenger seat and then you're not. He has to grab the wheel with both hands and keep his eyes absolutely forward because you've settled yourself right into his lap, Your legs were swung out across the centre console, feet propped on the empty seat, all while leaning sideways against his chest like you live there.
The road is dark and long and straight. Good. He needs it to be straight right now.
Your nail traces along his jaw, light and slow. "Awh, baby." Your voice is soft in a way that does things to him. "You'll grind your teeth to dust. Loosen up."
And that's the part he can't explain, the part that keeps him up at two in the morning when you're asleep in the next motel bed and he's staring at the ceiling like it owes him answers.
He loosens up — just like that — lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, jaw unclenching on pure reflex, shoulders dropping half an inch.
Your nail stops moving. You noticed.
Of course you noticed. You notice everything, that's the whole problem. You're the most annoyingly perceptive person he's ever hunted with. He can't even be mad about it because it's also what makes you good at the job.
"There you go," you say, quietly. Not teasing this time, just saying it.
His ears are warm. He keeps his eyes on the road and tells himself it's the rum and the heater and the fact that it's been a long week. He tells himself this very firmly.
You settle a little further into his chest. He drives.
You tilt your head back against his shoulder, just enough to look up at the underside of his jaw. "Seat warmers though," you say. "Genuinely. You ever tried one?"
"No."
"Life changing."
"I'm fine."
"You said that about GPS too." You shift slightly, getting comfortable, and his knuckle goes white on the wheel. "And then you got us lost in Tulsa for forty minutes."
"I knew where we were."
"Dean."
"I had a general idea."
You hum, and that's somehow worse than if you'd laughed. He hates that hum. It means you've filed something away to use later.
The road stays dark and empty, with dense trees on both sides. Good, no turns, he can do this.
"So." He clears his throat. "The vamp nest. Based on the pattern, they're probably running a rotation, two on the outside, maybe four inside—"
"Mmhm."
"—which means we go in quiet, no shooting until we're past the perimeter, and you actually listen to the plan this time instead of just—"
"You never talk about cases in the car," you say.
He keeps his eyes forward. "I talk about cases."
"You listen to Zeppelin and complain about other drivers. You don't debrief in the car." A pause. "You're deflecting."
"I'm strategising."
"From what?"
He doesn't answer that. He starts talking about the nest again, the town layout, the victim timeline, something he read in the file about missing cattle which is probably unrelated but worth mentioning. The whole time his jaw is tight and his ears are pink and there's a sound building somewhere in his chest that he absolutely refuses to let become anything.
Your nail traces up from his jaw to just below his ear. It’s idle, like you're not doing it on purpose. He cuts off mid-sentence.
"Cattle mutilations," you remind him, helpfully.
"Right." He swallows. "Cattle. So, could be a second group, or just territorial marking, which—"
You shift your weight and he loses the word entirely.
"Which—" he tries again. Nothing, it’s gone.
He grabs onto the next thought with both hands. "Small towns like this, they usually got one main road in and out, which works in our favor because—"
You look up at him again. He can see it in his peripheral vision and he refuses to look down, keeps his gaze locked on the road ahead like it's the only thing keeping him alive, which right now it might be.
Because if he looks down even once, he knows what he'll see. You, tilted back against his chest, watching him come apart at the seams with that expression that's half amusement and half something else he stopped letting himself name about three hunts ago.
He'd pull over; he knows he would. That's the problem.
You're just a hunter who tagged along for the free gas, he reminds himself. Annoying, mouthy, and always right about the wrong things at the wrong time.
Gorgeous.
No, you’re infuriating. But deep within his messed heart, the words are blending into the same fucking thing.
Three hours, he thinks, staring down that long empty road. Why is this town three hours away?
"Dean," you say, soft and even.
"The nest." he says immediately. You laugh, quiet, against his shoulder. You don't push it.
"What is it about the neck, you think?"
Dean catches the shift in your voice before he catches the question. It’s a lower tone, slightly casual in a way that is totally not casual.
"What?"
"Vampires." You're looking at his throat now. "Why always the neck?"
He built this exit himself: he decided to ramble about the bloodlust and fangs of the case as means to strategise away from your siren calls. And now, you're just walking through it, easy-peasy.
"Easiest access to the jugular," he says. "Blood flow's fastest there."
"Mmm. Maybe."
Your lips hover just above his pulse. They weren’t touching. They were just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath sitting on his skin, and the road was straight and empty. He has nothing to do but feel it.
"Or maybe," you murmur, "it's something more—"
"Accessible," he says.
"I was going to say enticing."
He keeps his eyes forward, while his foot stays even on the gas. He considers this a personal achievement.
You don't move away. Nope, you stay right there, and the silence in the car does something it hasn't done all night, which has become completely unbearable.
He lasts about thirty more seconds. His grip on the wheel goes tight enough to hurt and he glances down at you, just once, just for a moment. You're already looking up at him. The smirk is already there.
"Please." Low and rough. "Stop teasing me."
You watch him look back at the road.
"We can stop," he says. "Motel, bar, wherever, just—" a breath out, short and controlled, "—cut it out."
You think about it for half a second.
"Stop what?" You settle back against his chest, easy and unbothered. "You offered. You're my seat warmer. Sit there, drive and act like one."
The silence that follows is long.
Dean faces forward and does the math on how far they still have to go. He genuinely considers whether you were sent specifically to ruin him — some demon's long game. Hot, irritating and completely impossible to ignore, engineered in a lab somewhere purely to make his life difficult.
Two hours forty minutes. He drives, struggling to throat down pathetic whines at each swivel of your hips against his lap. Oh, he’s so fucked.
Hi yall - got an update on my WIP for ya. Here's the next couple chapters of "Freaky Thursday" - you can also check it out on AO3 if you're so inclined :)
Have fun, and please tell me what you think! Feedback is the oil that keeps this engine running!
Coincidentally, it's Thursday, and that means a 30% off couple's special at Dean's favorite burger place... what could possibly go wrong?
Their usual waitress squealed excitedly when she rounded the corner from the Brasshead’s kitchen to see the pair crammed into their proprietary corner booth (with full visibility of all exits and nothing but a wall at their backs, thank you very much). “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you guys in forever! How are you two sweeties!? And you look just adorable wearing each other’s clothes. Freaky Friday on a Thursday - or is it Opposite Day, eh?”
Dean winced visibly as the full force of her peppiness smacked him with alarming physicality. “Um, hi Stacy, just felt like switching it up I guess. My, uh – Dean’s clothes are more comfortable than they look,” he joked with a feeble smile for her benefit. She beamed at him before turning expectantly to Cas/Dean (the one she was used to hearing all the glib comments from, now unusually silent).
Castiel sat uncomfortably squished against the wall by Dean’s off-kilter bulk, piping up only after a not-so-subtle elbow in the ribs from the hunter. “Yes, and I am Dean, who is wearing Castiel’s clothing. Everything is normal today; the only thing we’re opposite of is that empty bench facing us.”
Stacy burst into giggles at his deadpan delivery, throwing her blonde head back with a hand pressed to her mouth in mirth. “Oh goodness, I forgot how funny you two are. So, cute and hilarious, no wonder you’re practically joined at the hip! Hmm, where's our third musketeer at, though?”
“Sam is, er, otherwise indisposed,” answered Cas as Dean glared daggers at him, then paid the hunter back with a stomp on the foot.
“Oh. Well, you’ll just have to drag him with when y’all come back!” She grabbed her pen from behind her ear and clicked it snappily before pulling her order pad out from her apron pocket. Stacy smiled brightly at the two saucer-eyed men. “So, the usual? Or are we feeling as adventurous as we look?”
“Actually, I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon and fries, and he’ll take the mushroom Swiss burger with extra ‘shrooms and onion rings this time. Cokes for the both of us. Oh – and a Caesar salad with almonds instead of croutons, dressing on the side, to-go please,” said Dean, glancing at Cas for confirmation, who nodded minutely. Great, now here she’ll go about our orders being –
“Wow, you two are really swapping things out to the max, huh?” A strained, tight lipped smile from Dean and a resigned look of tired acquiescence upon Cas’s face were the only responses she received. She raised her eyebrows and tucked her pen and paper away with another sunny grin.
“Alrighty then, no worries! Your burgers and pops will be right out, and I’ll bring your third wheel’s to-go order when you’re through. Be back in a jiffy, boys!”
As soon as the disturbingly perky girl was out of sight, Cas shoved Dean hard in an attempt to reclaim some of the seat for himself. “Personal space, Dean! Isn’t that what you always lecture me about? You leave me no room in this booth whatsoever!”
Narrowing his eyes, Dean grudgingly shifted to allow Cas to peel himself off the wall he was plastered against. The hunter rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, mouthing under his breath in passive-aggressive mimicry, “Personal space, Dean! Like I pay you the respect of showing at all times.”
The two had a brief Mexican standoff featuring sexually charged stares of menace; to the onlooker there was uncertainty whether they would actually come to blows or kisses. Oh my god, we may actually be turning into each other… can’t really tell where he ends and I begin.
Dean exhaled a long-suffering sigh, blowing at a stray strand of Cas’s inky hair. He astutely changed the subject to diffuse the lingering tension. “Dude, if that chick had any more energy she would go super Saiyan and explode us to death with all that unholy cheerfulness. They’re lucky their food is so good here, ‘cause otherwise I would never come back.”
Castiel nodded in grim solidarity, picking at the napkin-wrapped silverware laid before him in uncharacteristic nervousness. “I agree, Dean. She’s making me uncomfortable. And I do hate having to lie to her, but I understand that our current predicament would be rather socially unacceptable to discuss, in addition to being absolutely unbelievable to a civilian. It’s best for all involved if this is least disclosed as possible.”
“You got that right. Let’s just inhale our food when it gets here, then split.”
Dean gave the restaurant a cursory once-over as they waited for their food, noting the familiar homely brick-inlaid walls and atmospheric, buttery lighting from the hipsterish metal-caged fixtures above the tables. Succulent cactus arrangements lived on small floating shelves on the wall before them, while the large easel-style menu board to the right bore today’s special (their proprietary Southwest Brassburger with jalapenos and habanero jack cheese). There was also an announcement for the “Thursday Date Night Discount for All Couples - 30% Off Your Romantic Meal! ❤”, all written in thick yellow-chalked cursive. A few scattered tables were occupied by other patrons – two older, presumably married couples and a gaggle of rowdy teens.
He tried not to squirm at the sensation of Cas still pressed up against him on his side, arm to arm and leg to leg, a muted heat emanating from where they touched. Torn between wanting to scoot even closer and pretty much climb onto Cas’s lap (personal space be damned) versus putting some much-needed distance between them, Dean was as conflicted as he’d ever been in his life. Increasingly stupid ideas arose in his head despite his best efforts to quell them. Jesus, could this get any more confusing?? Here I sit, wearing my best friend’s meatsuit and having urges to touch him, who is currently wearing mine! This is more than nine kinds of crazy – and that’s saying a lot coming from the likes of me!
Cas appeared equally put out and disoriented next to him, worrying at Dean’s plush lower lip until it turned a bright rosy pink (which Dean, in turn, was doing his best to not stare at… was he so narcissistic that he’s becoming attracted to himself??). “I hope Rowena has contacted Sam by the time we return. She did say we would hear from her by tonight.”
Dean slouched down with his legs kicked out and one ankle crossed over the other, mirroring the action with his arms in a defensive posture. “Yeah, tell me about it. Can’t say the last time I’ve been so eager to hear from Her Witchiness. Well, she did save my ass from that amnesia spell a couple weeks back, but at that point I didn’t even recognize her, let alone my own goddamn self. Ugh, did I mention how much I hate witches? …Except Rowena, of course.”
Dean snapped his mouth shut at the end of his inopportune sentence just in time for their waitress to come breezing over with their drinks and food. She set everything down in front of them with a flourish and manic grin. “There you are, boys! Anything else I can get for you? Ketchup, hot sauce, other condiments, more napkins?”
“No thanks, Stacy. This all looks great though,” Dean said, wearing Cas’s face and a plastered-on fake gummy smile stretching his lips too wide.
“Great! Well, dig in and enjoy! Just flag me down if you need anything else.” She winked saucily before sashaying off to attend to another table.
“What I need is for this damn day to be over, and for us to be back in our own bodies,” grumbled Dean as he took an angry bite from his cheeseburger. “Ain’t like I’ve got any delicate sensibilities to offend, but this is too much even for a Winchester.”
Cas hummed his assent, chomping down on his own burger with relish. “Yes. As much as this has been a novel and educational experience for me, I too would not object to reinhabiting my own vessel.”
A vague noise of agreement from Dean, who was now eating with gusto, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel (Crowley was eerily apt with his nicknaming) and a bit of sauce dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Cas looked over at his glutton of a companion and smirked fondly. He reached out and swiped the errant sauce from Dean’s mouth with a gentle thumb, causing the other to tense up and stare at him with round eyes and pink cheeks. “Um, you just had a little something – okay, I’ve wiped it off now.”
“‘Kay, thanks Cas.” Dean’s breath caught in his throat alongside his half-chewed bite of fries at their too-close proximity. He stared trippily into the gold-flecked green depths of his own eyes (framed with thick, curly lashes; sheesh, have I always had such girly-looking eyes?) that held some unknown emotion lurking below their surface. For a moment the two men existed suspended in time. The magnetic force of their eye contact lingered much longer than platonically necessary; food was left half-eaten and forgotten on their plates.
Inversely, he could only imagine the intense, blazing blue-eyed gaze Cas was being subjected to, and the odd effects it may be having on the ex-angel. It’s like looking into the world’s most messed up funhouse mirror. It’s you, but you know it’s totally not. This is for real turning into an extended acid trip gone down one too many wrong turns…
A light, feminine clearing of a throat interrupted their convoluted eye-sex. “Just here to bring you two lovebirds some refills!”
The two men tore their gazes away from each other and swivelled to face their waitress, both looking like kids with their hands caught tangled together in the proverbial cookie jar.
“I’ll just drop these off and be outta your hair so you can enjoy each other’s company. By the way, we do have a couple’s special running for today! I’ll even include your other friend’s meal for the 30% off, ‘cause y’all are too adorable!! I could just eat you up!”
Holy shit, fuck our lives – she thinks we’re… together… Twin looks of sheer mortification and horror appeared on both of their faces, Dean almost shooting out of his seat and Cas stiffening into stone. Dean’s blush bloomed beautifully, deepening quickly into crimson territory. He made a few abortive attempts at speech which ended with him emitting nonsensical monosyllabic protests.
The only viable option was to kick Cas under the table and prompt him to hopefully save their asses while Dean floundered. Castiel, with the tips of Dean’s ears turning a most eye-catching pink, took the reins this time with his terse reply to her (rather valid, anyone with eyes would agree) presumption. “I appreciate you mentioning this to us, but D – Cas and I are not dating, Stacy. Thank you for the refills. We’ll take the check and a couple boxes now, please.”
Her plucked eyebrows went as far up her forehead as physics would allow, and she shot them a knowing smirk. “Oooookay boys, whatever you say. Still doesn’t change how cute you look together! I’ll be right back with your bill and to-go stuff, honies.”
As she bounced away to presumably bring them one step closer to exiting this disaster zone, Dean plunked his head down and cradled it in his arms as if he were trying to bury himself in nonexistent sand. Maybe if I can’t see them, they can’t see me either, he inanely justified, feeling more and more deranged by the minute. If I can just hide until this is over, I could probably get through it without entirely losing my shit.
Cas, concerned as always for his best friend, placed a consoling hand upon his arm. “It’s okay, Dean. We’re almost able to leave this establishment and go home to the bunker, where we feel less exposed.”
“And have less obnoxiously happy and meddling waitresses trying to play cupid with us!!” Dean mumbled from the nest of his arms, missing the minute, disappointed look flashing across Castiel’s countenance before he regained his composure.
“Hmm, yes – as a matter of fact, the frequency of us and Sam being perceived as being in some form of homosexual relationship is quite interesting to me. I wonder why that is?” Cas mused. He picked at his fries, swirling one in the ketchup puddle on his plate before popping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
The scowl on Dean’s face about broke the disgruntled-meter at this statement. Really don’t even wanna scratch the surface of that one, pal. Lifting his head up to attention and making an executive decision to change the sensitive topic of conversation, Dean then attempted to divert Cas with some angelic technical queries.
“Hey Cas, I got a question for ya – I know you, like, recently fell, and you’re mostly human now. But when we got switched up, did the last scraps of your grace travel with you into my body, or do you think they’re still knockin’ around in this vessel I’m in right now?”
Cas paused for a beat, and Dean could see him visibly go inwards as his green eyes unfocused and took on a faraway hazy appearance. When he resurfaced and his gaze sharpened again to focus on Dean, a typical Cas-smile of the very subtle variety shone in his eyes alone as he addressed him. “It appears to have ‘hitched a ride’, as you often say,” ohgod the air quotes, “with me into your body. For all intents and purposes, it seems to be pleased with this new development… I have my reasons to believe that ever since I pulled you from hell, this profound bond between us possesses a very strong pull upon my grace. In other words, my grace enjoys the physical proximity of your body, particularly the area of your shoulder bearing my handprint where we were first joined.”
“Oh,” was all Dean could manage to say, another powerful blush spreading across his cheeks right after the previous one had barely dissipated.
And for the first time that entire afternoon, Stacy chose to show up with divine timing. “Alrighty then, my darlins’! Here are your boxes and a bag for ‘em, and here’s your Caesar salad with almonds to-go.” She set these items plus a slim bill holder on the table. “Just go ahead and pay whenever you’re ready! Take all the time you need – we love havin’ y’all in here, believe you me.”
“Thanks, Stacy!” Dean said, beaming winningly at her with unspoken gratitude for her interruption of his and Cas’s potential minefield of a moment, which he was not prepared to tackle in the middle of this diner on a Thursday afternoon while in their respective mismatched bodies. Looking down at the receipt, however, his fleeting good mood was soon shattered to sad little bits. He saw that the total price of their bill had been reduced by 30% anyways, despite Cas’s emphatic disclaimer of their alleged lack of relationship status.
Scooching out of the booth (and grimacing at the twinge in his lower back; argh, he was getting old) with a moody huff, Dean threw down several twenties upon the table, more than covering their original tab plus a tip (which he seriously debated leaving her, but the good angel on his shoulder won this particular battle, haha). Cas grabbed their takeout bags and slid out of the seat after him, the retreating backsides of both men being followed closely by Stacy’s appreciative eyes.
“Bye now, see y’all soon! And bring the big lug with you next time, too!”
Without turning around, Dean tipped two fingers at her in acknowledgement as he pushed through the front door and was released into the freedom of the outside air.
“Phew, let’s get the hell outta here, Cas – pedal to the metal time, buddy.”
~☙:❣⛧↫↞∞⧖☯↭☯⧗∞↠↬⛧❣:❧~
Chapter 6
Summary:
Gay panic time!!!
The drive back to the bunker was less eventful than the one from, both men with full bellies and unspoken thoughts swirling through their minds. Dean cranked the music up to the max and belted along to “For Whom the Bell Tolls”, as if the ear-splitting volume could somehow ward off any additional stray evil energies set on coming their way. Cas’s singing voice surprised them both with its perfect pitch and rich resonance.
Cas smiled inwardly to himself as he snuck quick glances at Dean, enjoying the unselfconscious way he vocalized and how his whole body swayed to the beat of the song in a semi-choreographed dance. This was extremely interesting to see on Castiel’s usually taut body; apparently it did know how to groove, and just needed the proper guidance to get down to boogeying. He managed to miss the furtive looks that Dean shot him in return, eyeing the profile of Cas/himself silhouetted against the rushing, increasingly rural landscape outside Baby’s window.
The air was thick with words unsaid, and the usual low-thrumming background static of their unresolved sexual tension had been amplified, as if feeding off of Dean’s loud singing and music (and sly thoughts). As he sang his heart out along to Metallica, Dean was hyperaware of the scant distance between him and Cas, whose hand lay innocently upon the leather seat between them with its palm facing upwards as if anticipating a touch.
If I thought things couldn’t get any weirder between us before, I was sorely mistaken… I’m pretty sure that shower earlier made things a lot worse on top of the pile of crap we’re already sitting on. And goddamn that matchmaking waitress to hell!! This is even more confusing now, which is really a stretch – if Cas being in my body still makes me want to touch him as me, would I still be feeling this way if he were body swapped with, oh let’s say, Sam!?!?!! Okay, no, no, NOPE, that’s a definite red light and where I draw a hard line – bad brain, we are not going there – not today, Satan!!! No sweet home Alabama shit, we’re in freaking Kansas!!
Both men were beyond relieved once they pulled up to the bunker. It was getting exhausting fighting internal battles involving whether to run like hell and get as far away from each other as humanly possible, or latch onto each other as tight as humanly possible and never let go. Some physical distance between them to diffuse that high-strung fight-or-flight (or-fuck) energy would likely be a good thing.
When they emerged into the confines of the bunker and plodded down the stairs, they were met with the happy surprise of Rowena and Sam seated together at the map table. Its surface was littered with her long laundry list of arcane magical rarities like any witch’s wet dream. The troublemaking object in question perched right at the edge of the table in front of her like the guest of honor, and she seemed to be deep in conversation with Sam about it upon Cas and Dean’s arrival.
She peeked through long, curled lashes at them coquettishly before a slow smile spread across her pointed features in greeting. “Why, hello there, boys! Thought you’d never make it to the party.” An appraising up-and-down look raked over both of their bodies as they stood there uncomfortably, Cas clutching Sam’s food bag in front of him like a shield. “My, my, my, playing dress up the fancy way today, now are we?”
A look of trepidation mixed with hesitant hope and not a small dash of fear passed between the two. Rowena rose to a standing position, all 5 feet of her gliding majestically across the room to where Cas and Dean were rooted to the spot. Sam remained seated, watching the new proceedings with a twinkle of amusement in his narrowed eyes.
“Uh, hey Red, how’s it goin’?” Dean managed to eke out; like I’m beyond thrilled to see her right now, but I forget how imposing she is – someone that tiny should not be able to loom over a big guy like me… “So I’m gonna go out on a limb here – you know what’s up with that freakish hourglass thing, and you’re the masterful and merciful witch who’ll spell us back to normal now?”
Cas’s voice rose to previously unused high registers, reflecting Dean’s optimism and stubborn belief that within this ancient, powerful and petite Scottish sorceress lay the answers to all their problems. Rowena, head held high and a regal expression of regard upon her perfectly made-up face, began laughing in a tinkling and lengthy titter. “Oh, you poor wee thing, if only it were that easy! Although I am quite flattered by your compliments, dearie. Not to brag, but it is always nice to be recognized as the obviously superior witch of our times.”
At the despondent faces Cas and Dean showed at this news, Rowena rolled her mascaraed eyes with another chuckle before setting them straight. “Now, no need to get our knickers in a bunch! If you two are so eager we’ll skip the foreplay and get right down to the nitty gritty. Here, boys, come and stand on either side of this hourglass so I may get a proper reading on this entire mixup. I’m highly confident of my grasp on the nature of this issue and its remedy, but I need psychic confirmation from the afflicted and their binding object first.”
The two men assumed their positions. Dean glanced at Cas nervously, who tried to smile reassuringly at his friend in return. “It’s okay, Dean. Just as we thought, Rowena has the solution to our problem. We’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Rowena, resplendent in her shimmery skin-tight floor-length dress of deep crimson fading into a black ombre edge, tossed back her impeccable curls and reached out a manicured hand. “Now boys, go ahead and grab my hands on either side, then touch the hourglass with your overlapping hands. I will glean its effects and confirm my theory on this curse.”
They took Rowena’s delicate hands, which were swallowed up within their bigger palms. Cas gave Dean a questioning look, then held out his hand for the other man to take ahold of. Dean did so with minimal reluctance and blushing, to his credit, then rested their interlaced hands upon the hourglass. If whatever Rowena’s cooking up works, I am so sending her flowers and a fruit basket, or whatever the witchy equivalent of that is… a bouquet of obscure herbs and an assorted bunch of virgin parts?
The three stood before the silvery hourglass holding hands, and Sam continued observing the unfolding scene with interest. Rowena paused to remark, “I do want to thank you lads sincerely, though, for fetching all my magical accoutrements. I know that the wee bind you find yourselves in is fallout from pursuit of my amulet. I’m obligated to set things to rights before I whisk away all my plunder and take my leave of you.”
Dean gave the witch a genuine, wide grin of gratitude. “No problem, Rowena – you know I technically owe you one for the whole rescue from the edge of brain-melting oblivion thing I had goin’ on. So, uh, any collateral damage can just be chalked up to bad freakin’ luck. Anyhow, you’re about to fix us up good as new, right?”
A most cryptic look towards Dean from Rowena’s smoky-eyeshadowed eyes before she uttered some strange, guttural incantations. A purplish glow began pulsing from the object, through Cas and Dean and up Rowena’s arms in tiny tendrils. It concentrated in her eyes, now a blazingly bright violet color, before snaking back down to coil around the hourglass like ghostly lavender vines. Leaned back in his chair and scooted slightly away from the spectacle, Sam gaped openly at the bewitching sight.
After a few beats Rowena released the boys’ hands, and the all purple St. Elmo’s fire fizzled out. Dean let go of the hourglass, flexed his hands with concern, and after noting no physical damage turned to Cas to check that he was equally unaltered. His eyes then flicked over to Rowena, who was still poised between them, a devilish smirk playing about the edges of her ruby lips.
“And the verdict is in – just as I had suspected, this artifact is indeed an ancient Chinese marriage-related ritualistic item. In wealthy, aristocratic Chinese families at the time, arranged marriages were the norm, but many of them tended to fail due to incompatibility. Can’t say I blame the poor things – can you imagine being forced upon some stranger, expected to not only immediately hop in the sack with them for a jolly good shag, but also be shackled to them for the rest of your natural life? Even I shudder at the mere thought. Anyhow, the mages at the time concocted this object here, whose function is to resolve sexual incompatibility, as well as help the prospective spouses grow comfortable with each other’s bodies.”
Cas and Dean let out an almost synchronized choking noise, followed by Sam’s loud gasp that quickly dissolved into the immature sniggers of a younger sibling that’s finally gotten (a freakin’ great) one over on his older brother.
“In a nutshell, after two people touch the hourglass and turn it over, once the sand runs out they will be in possession of each other’s bodies. The only way to return to their own bodies is to have sexual intercourse with the other while still in the other’s body. To begin that process, you simply flip the hourglass one more time,” here she paused, ignoring the slack-jawed expressions of shock upon all three men’s faces, and turned over the hourglass, “and then you have until the sand runs out again to copulate. Once the consummation is complete, you should be back to yourselves when the last grain of sand hits the bottom of that hourglass. See – easy peasy pumpkin squeazy, right, boys?”
By now, the shade of red Dean was assuming just about put Rowena’s dress to shame. Cas himself was looking more and more the petrified, doe-eyed virgin he was back at the “Den of Iniquity”, eyeing Dean with open fear as if he were Chastity reincarnate. Hopefully he’ll keep his comments about deadbeat dads to himself this time – no need to beat a dead horse, Dean thought hysterically to himself upon recognizing the terrorized expression on Cas’s face, transforming that of “Dean’s” into quite the scandalized, innocent blushing bride.
After shaking his shaggy head thoroughly to clear out the disturbing images of his brother and best friend doing the horizontal tango, Sam was the first one to speak. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth and adjusting his glasses with the other, he turned to address Rowena. “So does that mean their time starts now, since you just turned that thing over?”
Her returning leer was nothing less than lechery of the seventh degree, dark green eyes sparkling with ill-contained glee. “Always the observant one, aren’t we, Samuel? Yes, you two lovebirds’ timer has now begun. I would suggest you swallow any remaining posturings of heterosexual masculinity and get on with the show before it’s curtain call permanently. And by permanently, I mean if you don’t sexually congress within the time limit, you will be trapped inside each other’s bodies forever.”
“T-trapped? Forever!? Unless we – ” Dean cut himself off mid-squawk like the rest of his sentence just up and died inside his creaky vocal chords.
Castiel, noticing the hopeless drowning state Dean was bogged under, finally decided to take matters into his own hands. He was a warrior, and if this was the battle strategy they had to undertake in order to win the fight, then so be it… (Nevermind that this is actually what both of them have harbored and pined for in their deepest of hearts; we just won’t go there because they’re already having enough of a crisis without any earth-shattering revelations of that sort at this very second.)
He noticed that his and Dean’s hands were still clasped tightly, Dean squeezing him in a death grip as if hanging on for dear life. Cas used this harness point to start hauling Dean away to their destination.
“Thank you, Rowena. We greatly appreciate your assistance in this matter. I will do my best to help Dean through the process as painlessly as possible. We will be in Dean’s room; either you or Sam please knock on the door if you notice the hourglass’s sands reaching a critical low point. Goodnight.”
Dean, being dragged bodily down the hallway and with Cas’s blue eyes so wide they were about the size of pie dishes, seemed to suddenly find his voice again, albeit with the articulation skills of a severe tourette’s syndrome sufferer who was also having a seizure. “Wait – Rowena, you mean me n’ Cas really gotta – but how – w-who’s gonna – a-and how long, wha – aahhhh, HELP!! SAMMMYYYY!!!”
Sam and Rowena watched their slow-motion trainwreck of a departure with equal parts morbid fascination and amusement. “Uh, I’m sure you’ll be okay, Dean! We’re all rootin’ for ya!” Cue two feeble, gigantic thumbs’ up from the bemused Moose as his big brother went off to what would either be the gallows or the best time of his life (or perhaps both…). “Just, erm, yell if you need me! O-or yell for Rowena, actually – yeah, that’d be a better idea. Okay, good luck, bye!”
Meanwhile, Rowena did her valiant best to contain her giggles behind both hands clasped firmly over her mouth, bouncing with muffled laughter.
“Do not worry, Sam. I promise to take good care of Dean,” Cas reassured him solemnly with Dean in tow as they rounded the corner, the latter of whom was stricken and pale with two blotchy, bright red spots high upon each cheek.
“Oh, he’ll be taking care of him, alright,” Rowena muttered under her breath with a self-satisfied smirk, unable to resist such a golden opportunity. She received a not-so-gentle kick underneath the table from Sam as a reward. “Ouch, Samuel! Was that really necessary? We were all thinking it!”
~☙:❣⛧↫↞∞⧖☯↭☯⧗∞↠↬⛧❣:❧~
Notes:
Hai :) If you've made it this far, you shall be rewarded accordingly with the juiciest of chapters next week! <3
Stay tuned and watch this fic more than earn its "E" rating (if there were an "XX" rating, I believe it would qualify by the time chapter 8 is all said and done)...
Castiel kisses Dean's dimples of discontent, because by doing this he is able to turn an uncomfortable situation for Dean into a pleasant one. And every time it happens Dean's cheeks turn a little bit pinker than usual and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a shy smile.
Dean woke slowly, feeling warm and comfortable. His nose was buried against skin that smelled of sunblock and sweat and honey, and he smiled, recognising Cas’ soap. He opened his eyes, finding the room quiet and cool, the sun low on the horizon.
Cas’ arm was around Dean's shoulders, and when Dean lifted his head from Cas’ chest, Cas met his eyes with a slow smile.
Dean smiled sheepishly. He hadn't intended to fall asleep on Cas.
“Still watching over me, huh?” he asked softly, the quiet sounds of the sea wafting through the open window. There was a distant chatter, and Dean stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of Cas against him.
“Always,” Cas replied just as quietly. “I was about to wake you. I'd like a shower before dinner, and it's almost seven.”
Dean nodded, not wanting to break the stillness of the moment. Cas searched his eyes, and Dean’s breath caught as Cas leaned in to kiss him softly. Dean melted against Cas, dragging his fingers over Cas’ side as he turned to face Dean squarely.
"Won't it suck, Cas?" Dean declares, as Castiel enters their room with bags hoisted on both shoulders, and elbows the door shut behind him - because apparently when you're pretending to date in front of your parents, sometimes they turn out awesome enough for you to get to - or, Dean supposes he should say, have to share a room.
Cas puts the bags down, next to their bed.
"Won't it totally, and completely, and really suck if our cover blew?"
"Who suspects what?" Cas turns, with a frustrated frown. Which soon flips to a planning, expressionless face. "Because I've still got some of those baking-stories left. I believe I can swing them into a conversation." Cas folds his arms. "And you should come with me. You tell them great, because it's the one thing which isn't a lie."
That - isn't completely fair.
A lot of things, at least as far as Dean sees them, have not been lies.
Dean does make Cas coffee every morning, sometimes takes it to his bedroom too, and Cas does do most of the shopping for the flat - there's this inside joke Dean has going with Cas's brother Gabriel, that the employees at Walmart are terrified of Cas because he once threatened someone over pie, which he never forgets, and Dean always gets so soft over that story.
They do share clothes sometimes, even if it's just ratty t-shirts they'll never wear outside, and they do have movie nights every Thursday where Dean comes up with amazing films and Cas unpreventably falls asleep in the middle of them. And they did name all of Cas's bees one night, drunk and dreamy on the balcony.
Sure, they don't fall asleep in each other's arms later, or do the couple-y things they've had to edit into otherwise real stories, but Dean thinks he makes up for it by being in all kinds of love with Cas.
Not that Cas knows, of course.
"Well, I don't doubt that you've got enough adorability ammo." Dean returns, grinning. "We are pretty cute, to be fair. And, nope." He clarifies. "Nobody doubts that we're not dating yet."
When opportunity had presented itself a couple weeks ago, at the beginning of December, Dean had found in himself just enough courage to ask Cas if he'd be okay with being his fake-date for New Year's, since he was spending it with the Winchesters anyways - adding hurriedly, that if Cas felt weirdly about it at all, he could drop the idea right there, and he'd quietly just go off in search of someone else and not bring it up again.
Cas had blinked at him a few times before saying okay, and what a wonderful understatement that had been because by the time they had to leave for Kansas, Cas was more invested in the program than he'd ever been.
"Yet?" Cas recoils, eyebrows knitted together. "What are you implying, Dean?"
What had started off as a means to shirk off lectures from his family, was now being treated like a mission. But as of the moment, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed - Dean is happy. He's around the people he loves most, and well-fed on a heavy homemade lunch and two beers, and he's feeling light-hearted and brave.
"Tonight's fireworks night." Dean shrugs, trying to go for nonchalant and hoping he lands in non-shy, at the very least. "Out by the riverfront, sitting on blankets on the grass, and staring up at the night sky - the whole shebang."
"So?"
"People will probably expect us to kiss." Dean clears his throat, studying Cas's face for reactions. There's nothing for him there, but he doesn't stop staring. "And since we can't do that, we might -"
"I -" Cas interrupts, and maybe he's blushing a little. Jesus, Dean hopes he is. "I can."
Dean raises his eyebrows.
"Kiss, I mean."
And fuck that fucking fucker for not specifying that he can kiss Dean, because those words, strung together in a sentence and delivered in Cas's glorious fucking voice would've automatically sent Dean to paradise.
Dean's run out of things to say so he lets out a sound that's supposed to be the wordless equivalent of a 'huh'.
"I-if we had to." Cas adds, uncertainly. "Couldn't you?" He asks, and the ball is back in Dean's pitiable court.
"No, yeah." Dean supplies, and his voice cracks unhelpfully. He clears his throat and braves on to previously untraversed territory. "I could. Sure, I could."
That's one too many, and Dean wants to swallow his words back but Cas has already heard them, and there's a slow smile stretching slowly on his features.
"Then what's the problem?"
"It'd be obvious," Dean answers him, matter-of-factly. "Way too obvious that it's our first kiss. The, uh." He can't believe he's actually saying these words. "Being that close, basically. First times are bound to be weird - just the very newness of someone's lips on yours." He's goddamn rambling but he isn't going to be the first to acknowledge whose, either.
Cas's cheeks are sufficiently pink by now for Dean to feel a little bit triumphant. But then it's his turn. "You're not wrong." He begins, nodding seriously, in spite of his flustered voice. "It takes all couples a while to fall into rhythm. Sync up pace, get comfortable touching each other, and grow familiar with their partner's technique."
They're both just saying words now, and it doesn't really mean much - in fact, it's infinitesimal as compared to the lengths being exchanged by means of a long-held stare.
Questions are proposed within the silence, and permissions are granted in whispers.
"Not for nothing," Dean finally says out loud. "But maybe we should get the first time out of the way."
Cas steps closer, and there's a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe we should." Dean keeps on staring, his tongue shooting out to wet his lips. "Maybe, right away."
Dean stands up, breathing out traces of a 'yes' and Cas is right there. He's so close, and so gorgeous, and just that one inch shorter - so Dean can just lean in and Cas will probably go on his toes a little bit, and it'll be like they're meeting in the middle, and -
Dean's so lost thinking about it that he almost misses the first spark which goes through him like goddamn electricity in his veins, when Cas's hand cups his cheek, fingers splayed on his neck and thumb oh-so-close to his lips.
Dean can feel his breath hitch when Cas gently runs the pad of his thumb across the bottom lining of Dean's lower lip, and he doesn't have a single thought in his head except for Cas, Cas, Cas, as he reaches forward to grab the lapels of his coat and closes the gap.
He knows he's probably expected to ingest the intricacies of how the kiss feels - the details of Cas's taste and smell and touch; the curve of his lips, the stubble across his jaw, and his hand on Dean's face.
But far from mapping Cas's fucking technique - Dean can't even process when he's supposed to pull back. All he can do is stay, hands entangled in Cas's coat, and trapped between them, eyes closed but all other senses overly sensitive to everything Cas does.
It's not like he doesn't do his bit, but that's all instinct - his brain's signed out for the day, and this is just his nerves in command. It should be terrifying, feeling this lost - or more appropriately, afloat, in the middle of a kiss, but as their noses bump and lips collide, in slightly different angles each time they pull off to gasp for breath, it just feels right.
It feels real.
Their first kiss isn't just one kiss, Dean muses, as they separate finally but linger. It's an amalgamation of a thousand kisses, and a half a thousand breaths because Cas kept taking his away - and it's the way Cas's hand came to rest on Dean's arm, and Dean's fingers clutching a soft material which is more Cas than anything else he owns, and it's every little everything, and then some.
"Wow." Dean sighs, and he doesn't even regret sounding as overwhelmed as he does. "Cas, I - wow."
He's never been kissed like that.
Cas looks back at him a little starry-eyed, and proceeds to relax into a gummy smile instead of words - and it's happy, and lovely, and perfect.
"I might be wrong," He mutters, stepping ahead, and there's no space left, so Dean falls back to sit on the bed in surprise. "But second kisses can be pretty tricky too."
"Right." Dean scoots on backwards on the mattress, and Cas follows, climbing on the bed. "Right, yeah, with all the pressure from the first -"
"And the relatively newfound elements of intimacy -"
"And the -" Dean tries to add, but Cas is unbelievably kissable, just leaning over him, with his smile and his eyes and his hands, and Dean stops himself short. "We just really shouldn't risk it."
And that's all the preamble before he's pulled Cas over him, lips desperately seeking out all the right places to be, and their hands all over the place like they're trying to make up for years of tension in a single minute - but after a while, they're back to kissing slow and deep and warm, and he's wrapped his hands around Castiel's neck - and Castiel's fingers ghost over his spine every now and then, from where his hands rest on Dean's waist -
Cas squatted down next to the fallen girl, checking her vitals. As his coat fell to the side, Dean got an eyeful of the way Cas' trousers strained around his thigh, and his mouth suddenly ran dry.
"She's alive," the angel murmured, and Dean caught his breath as Cas' hand lit up with bright-white grace, reflected in his eyes.
"Dean?" Sam called from somewhere to his left, but Dean was caught in the glow that seemed to surround Cas as he healed the girl.
The glow faded, and Cas looked up, his gaze meeting Dean’s.
Dean couldn't breathe, just stared for a few beats.
"Dean!" Sam called again, insistent.
When Dean shook his head and looked up, his brother was already heading into the other room, machete in hand.
Fuck. Dean had to stop this daydreaming while in the middle of cases. He looked back to Cas, extending a hand to help him to his feet. Cas' hand was warm, his grip on Dean firm.
It wasn't until Jack barrelled past, following after Sam, that Dean realized he hadn't let go of Cas. He dropped Cas' hand, feeling like an idiot for the warmth in his cheeks.
Cas smiled softly. "It's okay, Dean. She'll be fine."
Dean blinked at him for a moment. She?
Cas glanced down at the vamps' victim, still unconscious against the wall, before he swept past Dean, following the others.
"Huh," Dean breathed. The girl might be fine, but was he? He squared his shoulders and followed his angel.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Mary Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Sam Winchester, Donna Hanscum, Alicia Banes, Max Banes
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Schmoop, Romance, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, College/University, Coffee Shops, KonMari | Marie Kondo's Tidying Method, Interior Decorating, Moving In Together, Sharing a Bed, Miscommunication, Coming Out, Professor Castiel, Gay Castiel, Student Dean Winchester, (Dean is not Castiel's student), Barista Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Flustered Dean, Rabbits, Trees, Summer, this is not specifically a coffee shop AU... they go outside a lot, Dean/Cas Tropefest 2019, deancastropefest, Illustrated
Summary:
Professor Castiel is a hot mess. Second hottest mess on campus? Dean Winchester – who comes complete with a black floppy-eared rabbit named Zeppelin, and a job at the university's coffee shop franchise. They both need to get their shit together. And nobody's gonna help them do that better than each other.
(A feel-good AU in which Cas bunnysits for Dean, and Dean helps Cas KonMari his life – all the while falling in love and accidentally moving in together.)
