Chapter Text
Dean wakes up alone. Again. His head is heavy, his body is heavy. His head hurts. His body actually doesn’t really hurt. But it feels like he’s got concrete pumping through his veins and his mouth tastes like gravel.
He flops over to check the display on the clock by his bed. Fuck, okay, no wonder he’s alone. It’s 2pm. A little late for breakfast traditionally, but Dean’s lifestyle is anything but traditional. That’s what he tells himself when he rolls groggily into the kitchen at 2:30 (because it took about half an hour to will himself out of bed). He finds Sam there. Having lunch. Yep.
“Wow,” Sam remarks as Dean drags himself across the kitchen to the fridge.
“Just- don’t.”
“I wasn’t gunna,” Sam says, busying himself with sandwich preparation. “I’m guessing you and Cas had fun last night.”
“Yeah,” Dean replies. Hey, at least he doesn’t have to lie. He doesn’t have it in him to think on his feet right now. Or to think at all.
“I saw Cas earlier. He said you drank a cocktail.”
“Yep.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was alright.” Dean sits down at the table carrying the orange juice carton from the fridge. He then proceeds to back it all straight from the carton.
“Dude,” Sam scolds.
“I’m thirsty. ‘Sides I finished it, I’m not putting it back.”
Sam tuts. “If you’re thirsty, drink water.”
“No. Water sucks.” Dean pauses to burp, which results in more disgust from Sam. “I’m gunna go take all of the ibuprofen.” Dean makes for the door, dragging his slippered feet slowly over the cool kitchen tiles.
“Oh, hey, by the way,” Sam calls, catching Dean before he goes. “Eileen’s coming over later. We were gunna go out but our reservation got cancelled. Family dinner?”
Dean turns back. “How’d it get cancelled?”
“Burst water main.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “When you say ‘family dinner’, what you mean is, you want me to cook, right?”
Sam gives his sweetest little-brother smile that hasn’t been cute since all his adult teeth grew in. “Yes please.”
Dean sighs, but mostly for show. “Yeah, alright, fine. I’ll do a grocery run later, when my head stops feeling like it’s being hammered like a fucking anvil. Lasagne okay?”
Sam nods. “Cas could probably fix that hangover you know,” he suggests. “I know he doesn’t usually, but he might make an exception now that you’re dating.”
“Uh, yeah maybe,” Dean says, shrugging. He takes off to find Cas.
Dean heads for the store as soon as he’s dressed - not like he had anything else on the agenda. And he’s roped Cas into going with him, which seemed smart when he suggested it, until he remembered that the grocery store is another public place. He couldn’t really get around it though, since it came up when trying to convince him to fix his hangover (which he did). Luckily, though, the grocery store’s not a particularly intimate place, so they can stick to hand-holding.
Strolling through the aisles hand-in-hand, it’s easy to forget oneself and fall blissfully into the comfort of it. Dean certainly does after about two minutes, when he’s successfully convinced himself that no, people aren’t staring at him, they really don’t care at all. He’s in a bubble, and ain’t a half-bad place to be.
Dean feels a tug on his hand as Cas pauses in front of a display of potted plants. Knowingly, Dean shoots Cas a weary look. “Which one?”
Cas smiles and peruses for a moment, Dean watching as Cas’ eyes scan the selection, his index finger poised thoughtfully over his lips. Cas picks out a small fern. “This one. It prefers low light.”
Dean shrugs. “Yeah alright,” Dean places the plant in the cart with a feeling of how did I let this happen? Yeah, if he and Cas actually were an item, he might say he were whipped. But they’re not, so God knows what that makes him.
The two make it to the meat section where Dean stands carefully eyeing up two different packets of beef mince. Cas’ arms are wrapped around Dean’s upper arm as his hands are occupied with mincemeat.
“What’s the difference?” Cas asks.
“One’s leaner. One’s got more fat,” Dean explains.
“Oh. Wouldn’t you want the one with less fat?”
“Depends. The fat adds juices, but you don’t want too much, and depends on what you’re making.” Dean huffs. “Sam’d want the leanest meat possible.” He replaces the fattier mince and throws the other in the cart. Looking away from the shelves he spots a lone guy shooting daggers at him and Cas from down the aisle.
“What’s his problem?” Dean mutters to Cas. The guy’s burly-looking, dressed in an old beat-up leather jacket and jeans. He might have a lovely smile, but he looks as if he hasn’t worn it in an age and his face has permanently morphed into an expression of misery and rage. He looks kind of like John, Dean thinks. It’s in the eyes.
“He’s been glaring at us for some time. I believe he’s bothered by,” Cas gestures between the two of them. “Us.”
“Oh,” Dean says. He doesn’t say anything else, but walks past the guy carefully avoiding eye contact. If he wasn’t aware of Cas’ hand before he’s very aware of Cas’ hand now, not sure if that awareness makes him want to let go or hold on tighter. There’s a large sum of money on the line, so he opts for the latter.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see the guy move on without a word. Cas doesn’t seem particularly bothered, but then Cas never has particularly cared about upsetting the sensibilities of the random humans he encounters. Dean wonders though, if the souped-up God-powered Cas would have totally smited that guy. He likes to think he would have.
It takes all afternoon to prepare dinner. It certainly doesn’t have to take that long, but Dean argues that it does if you want to do it properly. He also argues that he needs the kitchen to himself, even when Sam and Cas offer to help by doing something simple like chop vegetables. Dean insists that they never chop them right, and kicks them out. He’s so insistent on not being disturbed he almost skips the pleasantries with Eileen when she arrives. He doesn’t in the end, but they’re cut short by his timer going off. He’s thankful for it because it leaves Cas alone to drop the ‘news’ without him in the room.
Finally, dinner is served. “Worth the wait, I’m sure,” he says gesturing his hands over the simply presented squares of lasagne on plates around the table. There’s homemade garlic bread in the centre of the table, as well as a side salad (ugh) that he made to appease Sam and has no intention of touching.
“Wow,” Eileen exclaims. “Smells amazing.”
Dean signs thank you in return beaming with pride. The food’s good enough to shut everyone up for about 20 minutes, which is all it takes for it to be utterly demolished. It’s a short respite, only delaying the inevitable…
“So…” Eileen starts, kicking Dean gently under the table to get his attention. She jerks a head in Cas’ direction and wiggles her eyebrows.
At this point Dean isn’t embarrassed or flustered, he’s just tired. Announcing the same thing over and over no matter how you feel about said thing gets boring real quick. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” he says, dismissing any further discussion with a flick of his wrist.
Eileen raises her eyebrows, but keeps her mouth shut. She turns to Sam and signs something that Dean can’t pick up with his still very limited range of ASL vocabulary (he’s been trying, but he’s not as good at learning stuff as Sam). Sam grimaces and replies with a dramatic shrug. Cas, who’s in the loop by way of his infinite angelic knowledge of language, looks to Dean with a blank expression. He turns to Eileen and signs something else.
“Guys,” Dean cuts in. “Hello?”
“Get used to it,” Eileen says, smug. “I was just asking if I could tease you or if you’d freak out.”
“And?”
“Cas said ‘please do’,” she says, leaning forward sporting a devilish grin and a glint in her eye, resting her chin on her hand propped up by the elbow from the table.
“Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?”
Dean’s face falls flat. He shoots Cas a vicious look, but despite his best efforts, Cas isn’t winning that easily. A little teasing is nothing to him, he’s been getting worse shit from Sam for decades (he still hasn’t forgotten the time Sam called him butch and that was over a decade ago). Dean signs big in response. Eileen looks to Cas for conformation, who shakes his head, signing small.
“You seem like a little spoon,” Eileen agrees.
Dean works his jaw, but decides on this rare occasion to roll with the punches and take the high road. “I like to be held, I won’t apologise for that,” he says, just playing his role. Though with each passing day the line between the role and reality meld and blur ever more.
Eileen snickers. “Yeah, Sam too,” she says, prompting a betrayed look from Sam.
Sam clears his throat and taps Eileen. “Movie, guys?”
Eileen rolls her eyes, smirking. “Sure,” she says, getting up and carrying her plate over to the sink.
Dean starts collecting the rest of the dirtied plates from the table. “You guys go ahead and pick something out,” he says, automatically assuming the role of clearing up. He points an accusatory finger at Sam. “Nothing French.”
There’s little to wash up as Dean’s very much a ‘clean-as-you-cook’ kind of guy. It’s pretty much just plates and cutlery, so he makes a start while Sam and Eileen clear out. Cas sticks around, though not to help. While Dean’s hands are suds’ed up and his focus is set on the scrubbing every last spot of dirt from those plates, he’s the unwitting recipient of one firm smack on the behind.
He whips round with a hunter’s reflexes and grabs Cas’ arm, holding up a finger in warning with his free hand. “You been waiting four days to do that?” Dean asks, one expectant eyebrow raised.
“I’m getting my money’s worth,” Cas retorts.
“What d’ya think? Firm?” Dean jokes.
Cas shrugs. “Not worth it. I thought the threat of it alone would’ve gotten you to back out by now.”
“Yeah, ‘easiest money you ever made’, huh? Bet you didn’t expect me to be able to beat you at your own game.”
Cas squints. “You haven’t beaten me yet. In fact, if we’re keeping score, you’ve barely been able to affect me at all.”
“So you’re saying I need to try harder?” Dean nods. “Okay, lemme think on that and I’ll get back to you.” He flicks the excess water from his hands at Cas before walking out to join Sam and Eileen.
They’ve picked out some recent comedy flick that a friend of Eileen’s recommended. There’s no cowboys and no car chases, but it’ll do. There’s hardly space in the Dean-cave for four people, even three grown men is a push for the couch they’ve got down there, so the arrangement has Sam, Eileen and Dean on the couch, with Cas sitting on the floor between Dean’s legs since he ‘doesn’t get ass-ache’.
As the movie progresses, Eileen leans over to rest her head on Sam’s shoulder, and Dean instantly feels like he’s missing out. He can complain and complain, but the amount of physical contact he’s been treated to the last couple of days has been surprisingly comforting. Dean’s not been in a great number of relationships, but the one thing that he’s gleaned from the ones he’s had is that the physical contact was one of the best parts. It’s always been a way of keeping someone close and knowing that they’re still there.
Cas may not be his partner, not for real, but he’s still his best friend and, yeah, it’s nice to have him around and to know that he’s still there. It’s nice to be able to squeeze his hand and tell him without telling him that he wants him to stay.
Dean thinks maybe he’d like to have that all the time. Dean thinks maybe he wants…
“Dean?”
Cas is standing in front of Dean as he comes to. He can’t remember falling asleep, and he can barely remember whatever he was thinking about when he did. A glance to his left tells him that Sam and Eileen are gone.
“Yeah, what?” Dean asks, groggy.
“You fell asleep.”
“Yeah, so? You didn’t have to wake me up,” he complains stretching his arms out in front of him.
Cas dips his head to the side. “I suppose not.” He’s about to walk away when Dean grabs his hand. Dean’s alertness is returning, and he recalls making Cas a promise to think of something affecting. Pulling him back to face him, Dean grabs the other hand as well. “What are you doing.”
“Come here,” Dean says, tugging gently. He’s smiling suggestively, inviting Cas to get closer at the same time as inviting him to take the out.
Cas frowns and straightens his neck pulling his head back slightly. “Sam and Eileen aren’t here,” he says.
“They might be back.”
“I, uh, sincerely doubt it,” Cas says with a knowing look.
Dean closes his eyes and looks away. “God, gross.” He faces Castiel again and gives another gentle tug on his hands. “Come on, unless it’s too much for you? You wanna back out, buddy?”
Cas raises an eyebrow. “Uh, no, but I think it’s probably too much for you.”
Dean swallows, knowing in some ways that he’s probably right. Dean’s definitely not equipped for this situation. But then he’s banking on the fact that Cas is very equipped for it. “Why don’t you come find out.”
Cas sighs as Dean tugs again. He dips down and positions himself with knees either side of Dean’s legs, perched there hovering just above Dean’s lap, both hands still held. “Now what?”
“This fine?” Dean prompts, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Yes.” Cas says, flat.
It’s a position he’s been in plenty of times, straddled on a sofa, though there’s usually a lot less sarcasm and a lot more interest from the other party. Aside from that though, it doesn’t feel all that different, which is sending all kinds of mixed signals to his brain, among other places.
Dean’s pulse is racing, pumping adrenaline around his body. It’s not like Dean wants Cas to get aroused from sitting on his lap for his own personal gratification. It’s for the bet. But he does really want him to.
“The other night,” Dean starts, his breathing slowed. “You were about to tell me how far you were willing to go.”
“I was,” Cas says, voice steady, giving nothing away. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Are you sure you want to tell me?” Dean challenges. Cas’ jaw visibly tenses. It’s the smallest of signs, but it’s all the confirmation Dean needs to know that he’s heading in the right direction. So Dean removes his hand’s from Castiel’s and instead places them on his waist, gently pulling him a little closer til they’re almost groin to groin.
“Still fine?” Dean says, voice a little quieter and breathier than he’d intended.
“Yes,” Cas says, matching Dean’s breathy tones. Cas is still in the game - he takes his hands cupped around Dean’s jaw and holds his face there, locking their eyes together in a tight stare. “How about you?” Cas asks, lips about an inch from Dean’s to the point that they’re sharing oxygen.
“F-fine,” Dean breathes, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Cas is so close to him, and so close, Dean thinks, to breaking the first rule. If Cas doesn’t break it soon he might just do it himself.
“Good,” Cas says, his voice deep, in a low murmur. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you,” Cas says after a moment more of intense staring that is almost indistinguishable from eye-fucking. “I must warn you, I’d be willing to go pretty far.”
“So you keep saying,” Dean jabs back.
“I can’t kiss you,” he says, one step away from a whisper. His hands are still cupping Dean’s face, gentle. He runs one thumb gently over Dean’s bottom lip. The light touch sends tingles across Dean’s skin there. “But that’s an arbitrary limitation, if you’re creative. I’ve watched humanity for millennia, so I’ve got a few ideas.”
It’s taking everything in Dean’s power not to part his lips, not to close his eyes and just feel Cas. His breaths turn long and deep and slow, such that it almost makes him feel like he’s no longer breathing at all.
Cas’ hands slip away from Dean’s face and trail down to rest on his chest, thumbs just grazing his nipples. “The human body is very complex, and sensitive. There are lots of places there to explore if you have the time.”
Cas is hovering, not touching. It’s somehow crueller, and better. It makes Dean ache, but not to get away. He wants to lean into Cas’ touch. That need, that desperation, it all makes sense when Dean starts to feel himself stiffening.
Without much thought his hands slip lower to rest on Cas’ hips. If he wanted to, it would be so easy to just pull him closer. His hands are perched there as a dare, or an invitation, to thrust, just a little, and break the second rule.
Dean can’t do it, he just can’t. But he wants Cas to, he needs him to. Silently he goads him, go on, do it, I’m asking you to, I’m letting you, do it, please. He wonders if Cas can hear him, if his need, his plea, constitutes a prayer. His pulse is racing fast and hard enough for him to feel it. He can feel Cas too, hard against his thigh. It’s the opposite of off-putting, only worsening Dean’s desperation for Cas to do something, anything, he’d let Cas do anything.
Cas’ face is even closer now, the distance between their mouths so minute it’s immeasurable at this point. There’s barely just a ring of blue around Cas’ eyes, and Dean can’t help but wonder if he looks just as fucking helpless. One of them is about to lose this bet, and like this it’ll be pretty much impossible to tell who. Dean can’t bear it, he-
Cas’ hands clench as he balls them up in the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt. He buries his face in Dean’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he breathes out into Dean’s chest, before pushing himself up and off. Standing there with a hand over his forehead, he looks over Dean for a moment, sprawled out on the sofa before him. His lips press together before he walks away quickly, not sparing a second look at Dean, leaving him there alone to cool down and catch his breath.
There’s a moment before his thoughts catch up to him, but when they do he sinks his head into his hands. Fuck. He and Cas are in agreement there. His mind is reeling at a million miles a minute and he knows he needs to process, but he still has more pressing issues to take care of. He can’t help but wonder if that’s what Cas took of to do.
He brings his knees to his chest and sits there in a ball for a minute. He knows what he should do but he really doesn’t think he can go and do it. Eventually, the build-up gets the best of him and he’s careening off for the showers. In there he tries so desperately to keep his head clear as he gets it out of his system, but the picture of Cas over him, the memory of the sensation of his body so close, he can’t shake it. And Cas’ name is on his lips as he finishes in his hand, all other rational thought gone in place of a wave of pleasure piercing though him. Fuck.
Dean finds him bedroom empty when he returns from the shower. He’s not sure exactly what he expected or wanted, but his stomach drops nonetheless. He looks over at his bed. As nice as it would be to be unconscious right now, Dean knows he won’t have much luck in that regard, so he makes for the kitchen instead, opting for a night cap to help put him under.
He doesn’t find the kitchen empty. Sam’s there pulling one of his protein bars out of the cupboards. Dean tries not to think about why, and certainly doesn’t ask, giving Sam a silent nod in greeting instead.
“Trouble in paradise?” Sam asks, noting Dean’s forlorn expression and heavy, dragging steps.
“Something like that,” Dean mumbles, collapsing into a chair with a beer in his hand. “Whatever, doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Dean.” Sam drops into the chair opposite Dean’s. “I know you and Cas are faking.”
Dean freezes with a bottle lifted halfway to his lips. “What?”
“I know you and Cas are not really a couple,” Sam states. “I literally never thought that you were.”
Dean places his beer down on the table with an emphatic thump. “Dude, what? If you knew from the start then why did you play along?” he asks, voice raised.
“Honestly?” Sam starts, looking at Dean, exasperated. “You two are so goddamn weird, I just didn’t wanna fucking ask.” Dean’s face in contorted into an affronted rage.
“Plus, it was pretty funny to watch you squirm. Less funny when you started acting gross.”
“I can’t believe you knew, you bastard,” Dean spits. “You coulda put me out my misery!”
“I mean, you were only miserable at first, I dunno what happened after that but you seem pretty chill about it now.” Sam shrugs. “What’s all this about anyway?”
Dean sighs and massages the space between his eyebrows to quieten his growing headache. “Me and Cas made a bet. He thinks I’m afraid of people thinking I’m, like, gay or whatever.”
Sam scoffs. “Psh, yeah well you fucking are afraid.”
“Whatever.” Dean takes a sip of his beer in the hopes the cold liquid will cool down his face which has been rapidly heating up. “For the record, I haven’t lost yet.”
“Wow, I’m actually impressed,” Sam chuckles. “So how does one of you even win this? I mean you can’t pretend forever?”
“Two weeks. I gotta last two weeks then I win,” Dean explains. “If one of us backs out then we pay up. Oh, and we got two rules; no kissing and no groin touching. Breaking them’s an instant forfeit.”
“So is that what you and Cas have been doing? Trying to one-up each other until one of you chickens out?” Sam says, working through the ridiculousness of it all. “Like gay chicken or something?”
“Yes! Exactly like that,” Dean chimes in, calmed down a little since a moment ago.
“Well those are some… intricate rituals, man,” Sam says through a laugh. Dean’s face is screwed up as he tries to parse Sam’s sentiment. He kind of knows what Sam’s getting at, but he’s not gunna give him the satisfaction.
Sufficiently bored of teasing his brother and eager to get back to his own business, Sam stands up and stretches. “Well good luck with that.”
“Wait a sec,” Dean says quickly before Sam makes his exit. “How’d you know we were faking?”
Sam pauses, then completely earnest, he says, “Because I know what it looks like when you’re not.”
The beer doesn’t really help. It’s to be expected; one beer can’t really do much to a regular person, let alone someone who’s conditioned themselves with over two decades of binge drinking. But there was only one in the fridge. There’s whiskey around somewhere. Maybe. But there’s also a good chance Dean already drank it and then forgot.
Whatever, almost dry-humping his best friend as part of an elaborate game of gay-chicken is not even in the top ten of things that keep Dean up at night. He heads back to his room to give sleep a try, but when he opens the door, Cas is there sitting on his bed waiting for him.
“Sleeping here tonight?” Dean asks, keeping casual.
“No,” Cas replies, his voice low and solemn. “I’m backing out.”
“What?” Dean’s face drops. He should be relieved- scratch that, he should be ecstatic. But instead it feels like a gut punch. It feels like being dumped.
“You win,” Cas says, pulling several bank notes out of his pocket and presenting them to Dean. Dean doesn’t move to take them, so Cas lowers his hand, keeping the notes in his grasp. “I also wanted to say… I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean’s brow furrows. “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”
“I pushed you into this bet,” Cas says, unable to meet Dean’s eye. “I goaded you by calling you a coward. And then I just- I kept deliberately making you uncomfortable, but I made you feel as though you couldn’t back out because there’d be a financial penalty and I-”
“No Cas,” Dean says, soft. “You gave me an out behind that diner. I chose to take the bet the first time and I chose to keep going after that. You don’t need to feel bad about that.”
“No, Dean, I- you’re too proud to lose like that. I knew that about you and I feel as though I exploited it.” Cas sighs and finally meets Dean’s gaze. “I just wanted to- I was frustrated. At the diner, I was annoyed at you because-”
“Because I said it would be weird.”
“No. Well, yes, a little. It was when you pulled your hand away. I never know with you Dean, how close you want me,” Cas says, frustration evident in his voice. “When we’re alone you don’t have a problem with me touching you or being near you, but as soon as someone can see it, you shove me away. You’ll be resting your head on my shoulder one minute, then Sam walks in the room and you’re three feet away. It’s confusing, Dean. It’s frustrating.”
Dean is silent. He swallows down the lump in his throat. He’s never really thought about Cas in all this. He’s never really given it much thought at all, mostly just running on autopilot with reflexes drilled into him from wherever. But yeah, he’s never thought about Cas. Fuck, he should have been thinking about Cas.
“I don’t know what you want Dean, I just wish you would want the same things in public as you do in private.” Cas pauses to inhale, then exhale deeply. “But none of that excuses what I did. So take the money. You win.”
“No,” Dean says, heart racing and mind reeling. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “No keep the money. I already lost anyway. I told Jody about the bet, and Sam said he knew we were faking the whole time.”
“Oh,” Cas says, shoulders slumping. “I should confess… I also told Jody. Before we left.”
“Oh,” Dean says, wringing his hands.
“I didn’t want her to tell Claire. After everything she’s been through, because of me, I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Yeah,” Dean croaks. “Makes sense, I thought the same.” Dean pauses for a few seconds, chewing on his bottom lip. “And hey, for the record,” Dean clears his throat, trying to force the words out. “You were right; I was afraid of what people would think. But I, uh, I don’t think I am anymore. So, you actually kinda helped me, in a way.”
“Oh,” Cas says. “That’s good.”
“And you know, it wasn’t all terrible. I wasn’t uncomfortable the whole time. Some of it was even… I dunno, some of it was nice I guess.” Dean admits, eyes fixated on his fidgeting hands.
“Oh.” Cas’ lips are held tight, straining to keep his face composed. He’s voice is unsteady as he confesses, “I thought it was nice too. In fact, I should- I should confess that not all of it- it wasn’t as easy for me as I let on. I was- affected at times.”
“Oh,” Dean breathes out. If Cas is saying what he thinks he’s saying, then Cas… wanted him. Dean wonders when he wanted him. He doesn’t have to wonder for long.
“I left that night in your room because- it was too much. I couldn’t stay in the room with you Dean because I-” Cas bites his tongue and ceases talking for a moment, swallowing his words. He’s clearly heating up and stressing out. “And I left the room earlier because I couldn’t- I wanted to-”
“Forget about it man, it’s fine,” Dean says, holding up a hand to stop him. He can’t hear any more. Dean chews on his bottom lip and then says, “So we’re off then? No more rules, no more penalties, we’re just us again?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Cas says, getting up and offering a weak smile, eyes darting back and forth away from Dean’s gaze.
“Good.” Dean nods for a second. He presses his lips together, then runs his tongue across them. Cas is embarrassed about having wanted him. Cas wanted him. He wanted Cas. Bad. Cas won’t look at him but he’s looking at Cas. He’s right there and for the first time, maybe ever, there’s absolutely no barrier between wanting Cas and having him.
“Good,” he repeats, making his decision and taking Cas’ face in his hands and kissing him. There’s a desperate pressure, and an unthinking urgency to it. It’s messy, a little too hard and there’s no room the breathe, not that it matters since both are holding their breath.
After a moment, Dean backs up to pull away a bit and gauge Castiel’s reaction, to make sure that Cas still wants him, but he gets his answer when Cas’ hands are at his waist pulling him closer.
Dean barely knows what he’s doing, his brain can’t keep up as he pushes their faces closer, as he rubs his thumbs in circles on Cas’ jaw. That apprehensive voice in his head that always tells him to stop, to pull away, to deny, deny, deny has been growing quieter with each passing day until now when it’s completely silenced. It’s drowned out by the vague, desperate notions of want and desire that compel him to pull Cas closer, to make the kiss deeper.
Dean tests the waters with his tongue, and Cas’ lips part, letting him in. Dean loses his grip on Cas’ jaw, his hands slipping down to grip the fabric of Cas’ shirt, then slip further down to hold his waist. Conversely, Cas’ hands ascend, taking Dean’s face in his hands, then sliding his fingers into Dean’s hair.
Dean wonders again if Cas can hear him as in his mind he pleads for more. Cas seems to be getting the message somehow as he slips his hand inside Dean’s shirt for a second, before immediately wanting it out of the way and dragging it up and off. Cas’ shirt requires more work given that it’s a button-down, but Dean gets it off.
Dean gets a hand on Cas’ skin; it’s warm and surprisingly firm. His thoughts are thrown out as Cas dives back into the kiss, pulling Dean in with a hand on the back of his neck. Dean’s hands are on Cas’ hips, his thumbs dipping underneath Cas’ waistband, in his mind begging Cas to take them off. The message is communicated one way or the other, with Cas busying his hands unbuckling his belt and dropping his slacks.
One glimpse of Cas in his boxers compels Dean to take him by the waist and walk him back until he can fall comfortably back onto the bed. Dean clambers over him, placing a kiss on his lips as appetiser, then his jaw, feeling his stubble rough on his lips. He moves down to his neck, hearing Cas’ breath catch and feeling his throat work as he swallows his excitement. Cas wraps his arms around Dean as he trails kisses down his neck, to his collarbone, his chest, his stomach.
A small noise escapes Cas’ throat as Dean works his way down. As Dean reaches the base of his torso, Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands and pulls him back up to meet his lips. He lets them linger there, tasting the moment.
Cas then takes him by the shoulder and flips Dean on his back in a manoeuvre he’d demonstrated the other night. The difference this time is that he allows himself to kiss Dean softly, passionately, desperately.
Cas pulls away and sits up, running a hand down Dean’s chest. He pauses there, taking him in, with Dean looking up at him doing the same. “You’re beautiful like this,” Cas says, his voice sounding one part gentle and earnest, one part devilish and hungry. Cas’ hand ghosts around Dean’s upper thigh, and area Dean thought he’d mastered, but he really, really hasn’t.
“You broke the first rule,” Cas says, breathy.
“I thought we were-”
“Mind if I break the second?”
“Oh, shit,” Dean breathes, catching Cas’ devilish grin. “Do it. Do whatever the fuck you want.”
Cas obliges and first works Dean out of his jeans before freeing him of his boxers. He sheds his own before climbing back over him, continuing the kiss. There’s a pang of pleasure every time Dean brushes against Cas’ thigh, powerful but fleeting, leaving Dean aching for something more substantial.
Without breaking the kiss, Cas takes Dean in his hand. A noise escapes Dean’s throat before he takes Cas in turn. They work one another keeping their mouths connected until Dean gasps, head pushing back into the mattress as he whites out, his mind lost in ecstasy. Cas follows after, burying his head in Dean’s shoulders, mirroring his earlier exclamation, “Fuck.”
The two lie there, breathing deeply through the come down, sharing each other’s warmth. Cas rolls over onto his back beside Dean, having fared better than Dean in terms off mess. “There’s a washcloth,” Dean says, words lazy and contented. “There.” His arms flops down and points. “Could you pass it?”
Once he’s cleaned himself up, Dean tosses the washcloth onto the floor, too exhausted and mind too lost in a swirling sea of bliss to care. He crawls into Cas’ arms and sighs, his head heavy and inviting him to drift off there. Only he doesn’t want to, preferring to be here, in this moment.
“So are were together for real now?” he asks, quietly.
Cas traces a finger up and down Dean’s side. “If you’d like.”
Dean closes his eyes and swallows, accepting the answer he’d known had been lurking in the back of his mind for god knows how long. “Yeah,” he says. “I want that.”
“So do I,” Cas says, planting a kiss on the top of Dean’s head. “You should go to sleep.”
“Okay,” Dean murmurs, shuffling under the covers. “Are you staying?”
Cas brushes his thumb over Dean’s jaw, leaning down to kiss his lips, quick and gentle. “Of course.”
Dean sleeps through the night, waking slowly and gently the next morning finding his head resting on something firmer and warmer than a pillow. He looks over to see Cas underneath him, Cas’ face nestled in Dean’s hair.
“G’morning,” Dean murmurs as he comes to.
“Good morning, Dean.” Cas says, Dean feeling his gravelly voice reverberate through his chest.
“You stayed all night,” Dean says, pushing himself up to look at Cas as he speaks. “Didn’t you get bored?”
“No,” Cas says simply. He runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I enjoy lying here with you.”
“Okay, sap,” Dean scoffs. He kisses Cas, because he wants to and because he can. And Cas kisses him back, because he wants to as well. There’s no reason to pull away, so he doesn’t, he just keeps kissing Cas and Cas keeps kissing back. There’s nowhere to be but here and it’s good.
“Hey Dean, do you want pancakes-” Sam barges into the room before stopping dead and slamming the door shut again. “Oh god, sorry.”
“Don’t you knock?” Dean snaps.
“I’m sorry I-”
“Dude, you can come back in,” Dean says. “We’re not fucking, jeez.”
Sam furtively reopens the door and stands there in the doorway. He wears a nervous smile. “I didn’t realise you’d be… I thought you’d be sleeping. Alone. Hi Cas.”
“Good morning, Sam.”
Sam’s presses his lips together trying to keep his grin in check. “So, uh, who won?”
“Neither, we mutually agreed to call it quits,” Dean explains. Sam pouts and nods slowly, tuning his head to Cas, expectant.
“Me,” Cas confirms.
“Figures,” Sam says.
“Hey!” Dean protests. “I did not lose! You’re the one who quit first!”
“You told Jody first,” Cas retorts. “And you agreed that I was right. And even though the bet was over, you kissed me first, so I think by those counts you lose.”
“Asshole,” Dean tuts. “I want pancakes.” He starts to get out of bed, but freezes before he whips the covers off. “Oh… Sam get out I’m not wearing underwear.”
Sam grimaces then takes his leave, muttering under his breath, “I think I preferred it when you were faking.”
Dean gets up and begins dressing and Castiel follows suit. “I did not lose,” Dean repeats, bitter. “You’re the one who couldn’t take the heat back on the sofa and bailed.”
“I- That didn’t count,” Cas says in defence.
“It does,” Dean snorts. “You really can’t resist all this.” Dean gestures over his body again, but this time Cas follows the trail of Dean’s hands with his eyes, biting his lip.
“Well…”
“I bet you couldn’t last a day without desperately wanting to kiss me,” Dean teases, leaning in close.
“How much you wanna bet?” Cas says through a smirk.
“Nah, I couldn’t last five minutes,” he breathes, before kissing Cas again, then again, then again, as much as he’d like, which is a lot.