Chapter Text
Dean bursts through the door of his and Cas’ house and hurriedly toes off his boots, swearing when the right one gets caught on his heel and he has to kick his foot to get it off. He leaves them strewn haphazardly all over the mat which Cas will probably nag him about, but he can’t be bothered to care. Daphne’s words are still running through him like an electric shock, adrenaline and excitement and nervousness pulsing through him and making him jittery with energy, with the need to do something.
Everything makes sense now: Cas’ strange behavior the morning after they had woken up on the couch together, his failure to mention Daphne for the past several weeks, the kiss at the station today, his pissy behavior afterwards. Although, really, all of this could have been made infinitely easier if Cas had just talked to him after he broke up with Daphne, but Dean has time to give him shit for that later. Right now, he needs to find Cas and tell him that he knows, and hopefully they can stop dancing around each other like they’re trapped in some ridiculous Greek play. He’s never been one for the dramatic irony bullshit.
A quick glance at the couch tells him that Cas is no longer in the living room, though the TV is still on and blaring, the open vodka bottle sitting next to an empty glass on the floor beside the couch. The downstairs bathroom is unoccupied, so Dean hurries through to the kitchen, only to find it empty as well.
He shoves the beer in the fridge without taking it out of its case and hurriedly unscrews the cap of the whiskey, pouring himself a generous measure and shooting it back in one quick pull, because he could really use some liquid courage right about now. He fills his glass again and turns to lean against the counter, jumping when he sees Cas standing silently in the kitchen doorway, watching him with narrowed eyes, a book clutched in his hand.
“Shit Cas, make a noise,” Dean snaps automatically without thinking. But then he remembers and he tenses up, his whole body shuddering to a halt - all except his frantic heart, slamming up against his rib cage. All the words die on his tongue as he stares at his friend, swallowing hard.
Cas’ eyes flicker to the glass in his hand and the bottle of Jack in the other. “Are you all right?” he asks suspiciously, his eyes narrowing impossibly further as he studies Dean’s tense posture.
“Yeah, man, fine,” Dean replies gruffly, gesturing with the whiskey bottle. “Uh, I got some more Jack if you still want some.”
Cas’ eyebrows slide up toward his hairline. “I can see that,” he comments mildly, and Dean has to suppress the familiar mixture of affection and irritation that only Cas can incite. Cas studies him for a moment longer before shrugging slightly and turning to go back to the living room.
“Wait, Cas!” Dean calls after him.
Cas stops. “I’m just getting my glass, Dean,” he says impatiently over his shoulder.
“Hang on a second wouldja, I’m trying to tell you something.” Dean sets the whiskey bottle back on the counter, taking Cas’ silence as permission to continue. “I, uh… I ran into Daphne.”
Cas’ shoulders stiffen where he stands in the doorway, but he doesn’t turn around. “Oh.”
Dean barks a humorless laugh. “Yeah, ‘oh’.” He swishes the whiskey around in his glass and then brings it up to his lips, knocking back the smoky liquid and letting the burn of it washing down his throat distract him from the unpleasant churning in his stomach.
“How is she?” Cas asks finally, turning around and rubbing at the back of his neck, his eyes darting up to meet Dean’s and then away again. He must know the jig is up because he looks sheepish as he gazes across the room at Dean.
“She seemed pretty good,” Dean replies, trying not to follow the motion of Cas’ tongue as it flicks out to wet his lips. They stare at each other for a few long seconds, the silence thick and tense between them. “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with her?” Dean blurts finally.
Cas blinks, surprised. He studies Dean’s face, brow furrowing, and Dean can almost see the wheels turning. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” Cas says finally.
“Didn’t seem-” Dean chokes off, unable to finish the sentence. It didn’t seem relevant that Cas had been single for weeks while Dean pined after him like a lost puppy, thinking he had missed his chance? It didn’t seem relevant that the reason Cas had been single was that he, in turn, had been pining after Dean this entire fucking time?
“Cas, you dumb fuck,” Dean breathes instead. He combs a hand roughly through his hair, staring agitatedly at Cas who is looking more and more confused by the second, his brow furrowing adorably.
Finally, Dean does the only thing that makes sense, the only thing his scattered, fevered mind can actually comprehend. Shoving his glass back onto the counter, he crosses the space between them in three strides, and reaching out to grab a fistful of Cas shirt, tugs him forward to slam their lips together. He’s not gentle like Cas had been earlier at the station, and Cas makes a soft sound of surprise at first, his body tensing under the onslaught. But he only takes a second to catch up and then he’s melting into Dean’s lips and responding with equal ferocity, his hands fisting in the fabric of Dean’s shirt and tongue forcing its way into Dean’s mouth. Dean’s hands wind around Cas’ waist, tugging him closer until they’re pressed together from shoulder to groin, and it takes Dean approximately 2.5 seconds to get hard.
Cas’ hands slide up into Dean’s hair, and everything about this is even better than Dean had remembered. They’re both frantic with need and there’s a little too much teeth and a little too much tongue, but Dean doesn’t care; as far as he’s concerned, it’s perfect. Then Cas works his knee between Dean’s and Dean moans at the press of Cas’ muscular thigh against his dick, the hard line of Cas’ own cock pressing into his hip. Their hips roll and jerk together and Dean thinks that if this continues, he’s going to end up coming in his pants right in the middle of their shared kitchen like a horny fucking teenager.
But far too soon, Cas hands are stilling, sliding down to rest on his shoulders. His hips slow reluctantly in their rocking and he pulls back incrementally. “Dean…” he half moans, half whines, shoving gently at Dean’s shoulders.
“No,” Dean grumbles, “I’m not finished,” ducking under Cas’ chin to lick up the sharp line of his jaw. He doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to talk when they’re finally there, when he finally has what he wants. He doesn’t want to stop because he doesn’t want to have to talk about his feelings, and he doesn’t want to think about how this could totally fuck up their friendship, how he’s probably going to screw this up and then where will they be?
Yeah, they should definitely just keep kissing.
Cas tilts his head back to give Dean more access, his actions at war with his words as he repeats, “Dean,” this time a little more controlled, a little more forceful.
Dean groans in complaint but this time he actually pulls back, forcing his hands to still on Cas’ hips. He studies Cas’ eyes which are wide and confused under the haze of lust. His mouth, flushed red and wet, opens and closes several times as he tries and fails to find words.
“Explain,” he demands finally and it’s so very Cas that Dean has to bite back an affectionate laugh. He feels his face flush warm and his eyes dart away from Cas’ to study the aged refrigerator behind him. He really, really doesn’t want to have this conversation, especially not now, while they’re both hard and panting, but his conscience chimes up in that suspiciously Sam-sounding voice that they really need to set all the cards out on the table before they do anything else, because wasn’t it miscommunication that got them into this mess in the first place?
Dean really needs to remember to punch his little brother for sticking rational thoughts in his head at inconvenient times like these.
Staring determinedly over Cas’ shoulder, he takes a deep breath, his fingers tightening involuntarily on Cas’ hips. “So I’m… in love with you, I guess,” he mumbles, finally. He risks a glance at Cas’ face and is met with a too-wide, blue gaze.
“You guess?” Cas asks, his voice carefully neutral.
Dean rolls his eyes. “I know,” he says gruffly. “I’ve known for a while, okay? And Daphne said-” he cuts himself off, too chicken to continue because what if Daphne was wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him after all and he’s just spilled his guts all over the floor and wrecked everything for nothing?
Cas’ expression doesn’t change as his eyes flicker back and forth between Dean’s, studying him carefully. Just as Dean’s about to force out what will probably be the fakest laugh ever and insist that it was all a big joke, Cas nods succinctly. “Okay,” he says and steps out of Dean’s grasp, snagging one of Dean’s hands off his hip and tugging Dean along after him as he moves out of the kitchen.
What the fuck just happened? Dean’s eyes feel like they must be bugging out of his head as he lets himself be towed along after Cas. “‘Okay’? That’s it? I tell you I’m in love with you - probably have been for fucking years, by the way - and you say ‘okay’?” He feels bare, exposed, laid open for Cas’ gaze, and he wants to hear Cas say it back, wants him to confirm what Daphne had told him that had given him hope for the first time in who knows how long that he and Cas could have something more. “Aren’t we going to talk about this?”
Cas stops, turning back to face him, and the stern look in his eyes almost drives Dean back a step. “There will be plenty of time to talk about this later, but right now we’re going to go have sex,” he says firmly. “Is that all right with you?”
Dean swallows, feeling his cock give a hard twitch inside his too-tight jeans, because yeah, he’s pretty fucking all right with that. “Okay,” he says, and lets himself be led up the stairs.
Dean breathes a sigh of relief when they pass by his room because he can’t remember the last time he changed the sheets and there may or may not be dirty underwear slung around his room. He’s not usually so much of a slob - except when he’s deliberately provoking Cas - but the funk he’d been in in the last few weeks had made him lazy and petulant.
Cas nudges the door of his room open wider and pulls Dean through, turning to face him as soon as they’re both inside. Dean’s stomach is twisted up in knots, the frantic passion from the kitchen squashed down by nerves into a tense ball of panic. Their fingers are still linked together loosely but the space between them might as well be a gaping chasm.
Nobody ever tells you that having sex with your best friend for the first time while sober is scary as fuck. Dean experiences a moment of raw panic as he and Cas survey each other. Maybe this is a big mistake after all. Cas - his best friend slash co-host slash roommate, Cas - is about to see him naked. They’re about to have sex, this time without the excuse of alcohol, and there’s no coming back from this. What if Cas realizes what a fuckup Dean is and decides he doesn’t want him after all, and then Dean loses his best friend along with everything else?
But then he has to stifle a laugh when he remembers that this is Cas after all. Cas, who gives Dean shit about not cleaning up his dishes and leaving coaster rings on the furniture and getting a teeny tiny drop of beer on a ratty paperback that had probably seen a million times worse. Cas, who’s put up with Dean’s drinking and his obnoxious superiority about his music and his car, and his string of loud one night stands over the years. Cas, who moved across the country with him, who broke up with his wonderful girlfriend because he’s - supposedly - in love with Dean. He knows Dean at his worst, and in spite of that, for some ridiculous, incomprehensible reason, Cas still wants him.
Dean realizes he’s grinning when he sees Cas’ lips curve into an answering smile, his eyes amused but questioning. “What?” Cas asks.
Dean shakes his head reaching out a free hand to tug Cas forward by his hip, drawing him in. “Nothing,” he murmurs. “Just - can’t believe this is actually happening.”
Cas chuckles, a low, sexy sound that sends a bolt of heat through Dean’s belly. He leans in, the scruff along his jaw tickling Dean’s cheek. “Believe it,” he says, his breath a moist heat on the bolt of Dean’s jaw, and then he’s catching Dean’s earlobe between his teeth and holy mother of god.
Dean groans, his hips jerking forward until they’re flush against one another. Cas huffs a laugh but doesn’t stop, worrying the flesh between his teeth before moving to Dean’s jaw, sucking hot kisses in the sensitive flesh. Dean groans, tilting his head back to give Cas better access, and his eyes shutter closed as Cas works his way down the line of his jaw, the soft, scratchy tingle of his overgrown scruff at odds with the nip of his teeth and the wet heat of his tongue. And he doesn’t stop there either, moving his way down the column of Dean’s throat, one of his hands cupping the back of Dean’s neck and the other circling his waist and holding him close.
Somehow, Dean’s hands end up in Cas’ hair and he tugs until Cas pulls away from his neck with one last regretful swipe of his tongue, and Dean jerks his head upwards to kiss him. He teases the seam of Cas’ lips with his tongue until Cas moans into his mouth, tugging at the plump flesh of Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth. Their tongues meet in a hot slide, stroking and teasing and Dean’s hard again and aching. His hands drop to Cas’ waist, sliding under the hem of his shirt, skating over the cut of his hipbones before moving upwards to splay over the hot skin of Cas’ back. The strong muscles play under Cas’ skin as he moves to circle his arms around Dean’s neck, rippling under Dean’s hands.
He wants to feel that skin on his, so he pulls back to tug at Cas’ shirt, ignoring Cas’ protesting whine. “Get this off,” he says impatiently, his voice husky with desire. Cas hurries to comply, pulling the shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. His hands drop to the hem of Dean’s shirt and then he’s dragging that up too and then they’re chest to chest, Cas’ solid warmth pressed right up against Dean.
He drags his hands up and down Cas’ sides, admiring the way the muscles jump at the touch. Dean likes to tease Cas about his daily runs, but right now he can’t be anything but happy about it, his mouth watering at the firm lines of muscle, the cut of his hips. His mind is full of all sorts of dirty ideas about what this strong, taut body can do, and then he realizes with a jolt that he might actually get to find out.
He rolls his hips against Cas’, groaning when their cocks bump together through the fabric of their jeans. Cas captures his mouth again, his tongue sliding in alongside Dean’s. Dean drops one hand to cup Cas’ erection through the denim, loving the choked sound that Cas gasps into his mouth. He flicks open the button on Cas’ jeans and works the zipper down one handed, dragging his fingers over Cas’ cock in the process, and Cas gives his hips a little wiggle until his jeans slide to the floor. He steps out of them, kicking them to the side, and then his fingers are working the fly of Dean’s jeans, letting them drop to join his.
Cas moves backwards slowly, dragging Dean along with him, until his legs hit the bed and he tips them both over. Dean falls on top of Cas who lets out a quiet “oof” at Dean’s weight but he doesn’t complain, just laughs breathlessly and pulls him closer, tugging their hips until their cocks align again through their underwear and they both gasp. Cas’ hands slide under the waistband of Dean’s boxers to cup his ass, rocking their hips together. Dean loves the feeling of Cas beneath him, loves Cas’ hair tangled around his fingers, loves the friction of their erections grinding together and their lips and tongues moving in tandem, breaths mingling.
Cas rolls them over and Dean’s totally one hundred percent okay with this turn events, but then Cas is sitting up, pulling back, and Dean’s eyes snap open indignantly. Cas is staring down at him, his eyes roaming hungrily over Dean’s body. Dean squirms, self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze, but Cas holds him still with one hand on each of his hips. “You’re beautiful,” he says solemnly, the words forcing a choked, humorless laugh through Dean’s lips.
“You’ve seen me naked before, Cas,” he murmurs, feeling his face color under the weight of Cas’ eyes, heavy and caressing on his skin.
“Yes,” Cas agrees, smirking, “but I was a little intoxicated at the time, and if I recall correctly, I was underneath you for most of it, so I didn’t have much of a chance to look.”
He’s looking now though, taking in every single bump and dip and freckle. It makes Dean want to hide, to shy away, but Cas holds him still. And then he bends at the waist, his mouth falling to Dean’s skin. His scruff tickles, and his lips are hot and caressing as he makes his way across Dean’s chest, dragging his open mouth over his collarbone, kissing the constellations of his freckles. He teases first one nipple and then the other, sucking it into his mouth and then teasing it gently with his teeth. By the time Cas moves to tongue the flat of each rib, Dean’s panting, his back arching as Cas nibbles at a hipbone. But then he’s nuzzling the softness below Dean’s belly button, placing tender kisses on the soft flesh and Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the reverence that Cas presses into his skin.
Finally Cas’ fingers curl in the waistband of Dean’s boxers and he drags them down and off. Dean’s cock bobs free, heavy and leaking, but Cas’ eyes are on Dean’s when he says, “so beautiful,” and sucks him down.
Dean gasps as the wet suction of Cas’ mouth surrounds him, his hips jerking unconsciously. His eyes want to roll back in his head but he forces them open, shoving himself on his elbows to watch Cas’ plush lips slide up and down his cock. And Cas is still watching him, his hot, blue gaze boring into Dean’s as he bobs his head, the flat of his tongue working over the underside, his cheeks hollowed as he sucks. He looks fucking amazing like this, and it feels incredible, and soon there is a pull starting at the base of Dean’s spine, but he holds off for as long as possible before dragging Cas away from him with both hands fisted in that thick dark hair.
“Cas, that’s - fucking - that was so fucking good but I -” he groans in frustration, and Cas looks curiously up at him, his lips slick with spit and precome and he looks so fucking pornographic and Dean wants so badly it hurts.
Dean drags him up and Cas goes willingly, letting Dean pull him down into a kiss, but then he’s drawing back to look down at Dean.
“What, Dean,” he says. “What do you want? Tell me.”
Dean considers shaking his head, telling Cas not to worry and shoving him back down to let him finish the job (heh), but Cas is staring at him expectantly, waiting with that look on his face that says he’s going to hold on like a bulldog until Dean tells him what he wants.
“I want you in me when I come,” Dean says finally, his face burning.
And Cas’ eyes spark hot and needy, his lips curving into a feral grin. “We can do that,” he says, and then he’s pulling away, drawing back and moving to the side of the bed to fish around in the little nightstand.
Dean shivers when Cas moves away from him so he follows, curling his arms around Cas’ waist while Cas digs out a condom and the lube. Cas’ back is warm against his chest, and the curve of his neck smells delicious, like sweat and the bodywash they share and something uniquely Cas. He slides one hand into Cas’ lap, under the waistband of his boxer briefs, circling his fingers around his erection and jacking him slowly. Cas freezes, arching back against Dean, his head falling back against Dean’s shoulder. He turns his head and lets his open mouth rest against Dean’s neck, his breath coming wet and hot and fast as Dean moves his hand over Cas’ length.
Then Cas is grabbing at his wrist, dragging Dean’s hand out of his underwear and shoving him down flat on the bed. He stands and shucks his underwear before climbing back onto the mattress and kneeling between Dean’s legs. Dean’s eyes rake over Cas’ naked body, admiring the strong thighs and thick cock curving upwards between his legs.
Cas settles between Dean’s thighs, propping himself on his elbows and hooking one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder. He slides his hand up and down Dean’s thigh, pressing sweet kisses on the inside of his knee. Dean wants to laugh or make a joke about Cas being a sappy asshole but it feels so good that the laugh catches in his chest. Then there’s the click of the lube cap and Cas has a slick finger nudging at his entrance and the breath bursts out of him in a gasp.
Cas is taking his sweet ass time, and Dean is fucking trembling with want, and the bastard looks so put together and so unaffected. He arches into the touch and Cas chuckles. “So impatient” he comments, but he pushes forward, breaching Dean’s rim to the first knuckle. He works agonizingly slowly, easing his finger into Dean, and it’s good but it’s not enough.
Dean shoves himself back up on his elbows, glaring down at Cas. “I’ve been waiting for this for fucking years you asshole,” he growls. “So yeah, I’d say I’m impatient. And you need to hurry the fuck up.” And Cas just grins in response and works a second finger in.
He works quickly now, scissoring his fingers until he can slide a third finger in alongside the others, but still, Dean’s practically begging for it by the time Cas pulls his fingers out and tears the condom packet open with his teeth. He whines at the emptiness, shifting his hips impatiently as Cas rolls the condom on himself and slicks himself up, but then Cas looks down at him and his eyes are fucking burning with need and with desperation and Dean feels a leap of satisfaction that maybe Cas isn’t so unaffected after all.
And when Cas hooks his arms under Dean’s thighs and lines himself up at Dean’s entrance, he looks straight into Dean’s eyes and says in a low, husky voice that goes straight to Dean’s cock, “I’ve wanted for this for a long time, too, Dean,” and pushes in.
He thrusts in slowly, inch by inch, his jaw clenching with the effort required to move slowly, and Dean gasps when he’s fully seated, clutching at the tense muscles of Cas’ arms. He feels so full and there’s a slight burn because it’s been a long time since he’s done this but it’s Cas and he’s finally inside him and he feels fucking amazing.
“Are you all right?” Cas asks, his voice strained as he fights to hold still, his breathing labored.
Dean nods frantically. “Yeah I’m good, just fucking - fuck me already!”
Cas huffs a short laugh, but he nods and pulls back, sliding back in with a groan. “Shit, Dean, you’re so tight,” he says breathlessly, and then - fucking finally - starts thrusting in earnest.
Apparently Cas only objects to loud, enthusiastic sex when he’s not one of the participants, because he loves every single sound that Dean makes, every stuttered curse, every guttural groan. When Cas shifts, pushing Dean’s legs up higher on his shoulders and changing the angle, a moan bursts from Dean’s lips as Cas’ cock drags against his prostate. The hungry look in Cas’ eyes at the sound and the curse that he muffles against the flesh of Dean’s thigh where it’s hooked over his shoulder brings another pull of heat surging through Dean’s core. And now that he’s found it, Cas just digs his hands into the bed on either side of Dean’s hips and screws up his face in concentration, nailing Dean’s prostate on every thrust.
Dean bursts into an endless incoherent litany of praises and demands and curses. “Yeah Cas, just like that... fucking fuck me... you feel so good... fuck yeah, right there!” He’s not making sense but he doesn’t care because Cas is here fucking into him and looking debauched and fierce and hungry and he’s probably the hottest thing Dean has ever laid eyes on. And somewhere along the line their eyes collide and hold, and Cas stills his thrusts long enough to untangle his arms and slide himself over Dean’s body. His hands fall on either side of Dean’s face, stroking into the short strands of his hair and then his mouth lands on Dean’s in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He breaks away to drop his head into the crook of Dean’s neck and Dean hooks his ankles together around Cas’ hips, drawing him deeper, Cas’ cock teasing his prostate with each thrust. A familiar curling pressure is building in his abdomen, and he arches into its pull, the curve of his spine pushing the head of Cas’ cock even more firmly against that spot inside him -
And Cas’ hand catches tight in his hair and he whispers “Dean,” in a broken, fervent voice and then Dean is coming untouched in hot spurts between their bodies, crying out and clutching desperately at Cas above him, clenching around Cas’ cock.
“Fuck,” Cas chokes out, and their lips slam together again as he thrusts with new fury into Dean, riding the waves of Dean’s orgasm.
“Yeah, Cas,” Dean manages, staring raptly up at him, “wanna see you come.” And it’s not even a minute before Cas is spilling into the condom deep inside Dean, shaking above him and stilling, and finally, collapsing onto Dean’s chest.
They’re both reluctant to move but eventually Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s collarbone and rolls off of him, moving to dispose of the condom in the garbage can beside his bed. He scoops a t-shirt off the floor - Dean’s not sure whose it is but he suspects probably his - and cleans the come off of their stomachs and chests before throwing it back to the floor to be dealt with later. He tugs at the blanket under Dean’s body and Dean groans in protest. Cas fixes him with such a typical Cas glare that Dean chuckles.
“Dean, get under the covers,” he demands and Dean rolls his eyes but complies, wiggling back and forth until Cas manages to get the blanket out from underneath him and throws it back over top of them both, lying down beside Dean.
“So,” Cas says finally. “You’re in love with me.”
“Uh huh,” Dean says, nodding but not bothering to open his eyes.
Cas is silent and Dean turns his head to look at him, cracking one eyelid. Cas is staring, blue eyes unblinking as he searches Dean’s face, his hair a complete disaster against the pale blue pillowcase. “I love you too,” he says finally, in the same casual tone one uses to comment on the weather.
Dean grins and gropes around under the blankets until he finds Cas’ hand and rolls to face him, hooking his foot around Cas’ ankle. “That’s good, because I think our friendship is pretty well fucked, man.” He chuckles. “Pun intended.”
Cas rolls his eyes at him which only makes him laugh harder, so he leans in to capture Cas’ lips in a kiss. “Go to sleep Cas,” he says, closing his eyes and settling in under the covers. “You need your rest so that we can have round two when we wake up in a couple hours.”
And that finally gets a laugh out of Cas, and Dean’s rewarded when Cas cards a hand through his hair and leans in to kiss his forehead. “Looking forward to it,” Cas says, his voice low and warm and full of promise, and Dean drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.
A couple hours later Dean wakes up to his stomach protesting emptily, a faceful of Cas’ sex-hair and all four of Cas’ limbs wound around him like an octopus. Dean flips through an impressive gamut of emotions that he doesn’t really want to look too hard at because it’s venturing into way sappy territory, but if he burrows down into Cas’ hair and strokes his thumb over Cas’ cheekbone - well, there’s no one there to see him do it.
And when Cas finally stirs sleepily under his touch, Dean disentangles himself from the clingy creature that is his best friend slash co-host slash housemate (slash boyfriend?) and slides down the bed to wake Cas up with the blowjob of the century just because he can.
The horror that is Truth or Dare Tuesday shows up week after week like a bad penny. And every week Dean puts up his usual protest, rolling his eyes at Cas behind Garth’s back as their boss lopes out of the studio like an overgrown stork, and Cas determinedly avoids his eyes, his lips pressed together in a firm line to fend off his laughter.
It’s possible that Dean owes this whole new relationship with Cas to Garth and his dumb ideas but Dean would eat his own arm before he’d ever admit it. They haven’t even broken the news to anyone yet. It’s not because they’re ashamed of it, although Dean really isn’t looking forward to the “I told you so” he’s going to get from his sasquatch of a brother, and he can only imagine the billboard that Garth and the PR team will come up with next, once the news breaks. It’ll come out sooner or later… they just haven’t exactly gotten around to it yet.
It’s been a few weeks since they finally fell into bed together and laid all their feelings out on the table and – unlike the last time they slept together – things between them remain comfortably the same. Cas still nags him to pick up after himself and looks at him like he can’t believe half the things that come out of his mouth, and Dean still loses his shit when Cas forgets to buy milk or gets the crappy beer. Except now, Dean’s allowed to stare when Cas stretches or when his tongue slips out to lap up the pie filling that catches there. He’s allowed to lean up against Cas on purpose when they watch TV together on the couch and mess up his hair just ‘cause Cas has friggin’ great hair and because it makes him scowl in that adorable way of his.
And now, when Dean’s having obnoxiously loud, enthusiastic sex, somehow, Cas doesn’t seem to mind.
This week on Truth or Dare Tuesday, the usual assortment of terrible dares and awkward questions ensues. Dean can’t help but marvel at the creativity of their listeners and how they still manage to come up with things to ask them and do to them that can only fall under the category of cruel and unusual punishment. He begrudgingly admits that some of them are fun, though, like when someone dares Dean to “moon the intern” which he does with gusto. He considers it payback for the times Kevin let that scary girl Becky on the air when he turns his back towards the window, bends down and exposes his ass before Kevin can react. The resulting twitpic that Cas posts - from the front, capturing Kevin’s expression of horror through the glass and Dean’s protruding tongue - is pure gold and has Dean wheezing and bent over with laughter through the entire commercial break while Cas chuckles beside him.
Dean flicks on his mic as the last commercial winds up. “We’re back folks, and it’s-“ he grimaces comically at Cas, who laughs – “Truth or Dare Tuesday! Cas, you got someone on the line?”
Cas nods at him and hits a button to pick up the call. “Hello, The Mix?”
“Hey sugar,” a sultry female voice says through the speaker.
“Hello, who am I speaking to?” Cas asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
“My name’s Pamela,” the woman replies.
“Hey Pamela,” Dean chimes in between bites of his donut. “What’s the word?”
“Well, I got a question for you boys.”
Dean leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Do your worst,” he challenges with a wink at Cas who huffs a laugh and knocks his knee against Dean’s affectionately.
“You might want to be careful throwing that challenge around, Dean,” Cas warns him, grinning. “Remember last time?”
“Oh, you mean the time that chick dared me to kiss you and I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and you ambushed me? That time?”
Cas grins wolfishly. “Yes, that time.”
A low chuckle filters through the speakers. “Now boys,” the caller chides them teasingly, “you gonna flirt all day or do you wanna play Truth or Dare?”
“All right, Pam,” Dean says, laughing. “What’s it gonna be?”
“Truth,” Pamela says immediately. “When was the last time you got laid?”
Dean barks a laugh. “Forward; I like it. But too bad for you, sweetheart, I never kiss and tell.” He leers in Cas’ direction.
“Spoilsport,” Pamela replies good-naturedly. “How about you, Cas? You wanna admit the last time you had sex?”
Cas shoots Dean a familiar sidelong glance, considering. Dean has just enough time to think that he really should have seen this one coming before Cas leans into the microphone and answers without even batting an eyelash: “This morning before Dean and I got up for work.”
Dean’s mouth drops open automatically on a protest, a disturbingly high-pitched squawk forcing its way out of his chest. Pamela’s husky laugh rings out over the line and she says “Congratulations, boys,” and she doesn’t sound the least bit surprised.
Cas gets the next song in the rotation playing, ignoring Kevin who has apparently forgiven them for the mooning incident and is screaming at them both through the glass from outside the studio. Garth’s out there too, standing behind Kevin and beaming like a kid at Christmas. Dean’s phone is already lighting up like a strobe light and vibrating so steadily he has to snag it off the desk before it shimmies right off the edge. He sees Sam’s name flash on the screen followed by Jo, then Charlie and then Sam again.
“Seriously, Cas?” he finally manages to choke out, but his mouth curls into a crooked smile, a laugh bursting out of him without his say-so.
And Cas smirks, reaching out to seize a handful of Dean’s t-shirt. “Truth, Dean,” Cas says with a wink, and drags him forward for a kiss.
