(ficlet I wrote at 3am)
(tw drinking, drunk sex, confessionals)
Now that Cas is human, he and Dean spend lots of time trying new things together (well, new to Cas). Dean loves the crinkly smile in Cas’ eyes when he likes a new food, or smells something unique. Something about the way his eyes glimmer like they’re trying to prove enjoyment with his grace, like muscle memory—maybe, Dean thinks, there’s still some left in his the angel. Just not enough juice to make a difference in a fight. He’d have Cas either way, any way, even, if he’d let him. But Dean doesn’t want to make things weird, and he couldn’t risk losing Cas again, not after just getting him back.
No. Dean won’t fuck this up. Finally having Cas around was more than enough. He could see him every day. And that was more than enough.
After a particularly difficult case where the group decided to split up in teams of two (Dean and Cas, Sam and Eileen), Dean was pumped that his team had finally beaten that vampire nest lingering three states wide. After calling Sammy and planning to meet back in the bunker, Dean and Cas slam Baby’s doors and start the journey back home. As Dean puts the keys in the ignition and revs the engine, Cas poses a question.
“Can we go to a bar?”
Dean laughs. “You. Wanna go to a bar? You don’t even like to drink.”
“I’m feeling celebratory. Besides, I haven’t really tried anything besides the beer you always have in the cooler or the scotch you hide in your room. There’s gotta be something I’d like.”
Making a U-turn, Dean smiles. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
He lets Cas man the GPS, which he soon regrets, as Cas has picked a gay bar for the two of them to spend their night. He can tell before they even park the car by the amount of men leaving in pairs with hands in each other’s back pockets of their too tight pants, clothes already half off and open and chests heavily hickey’d as they pull the Impala into the lot. Something awakens in his chest, a longing that he could be brave enough to go home with a nice looking guy and have someone hold him while he let himself fall apart. He sees a couple in leather pants making out against the dumpster, and stares lost in thought. He wonders what Cas’s scruff would feel like against his cheek, his fingers tangled in his hair.
“Dean?” Cas scares him, bent over to talk to him through the driver’s side window. How long was I—?
Cas’ face is very close to his. He can feel his breath on his eyelashes.
He clears his throat. “B-back up, buddy, personal space.” Good recovery, idiot. He totally didn’t just catch you checking out the show over there. “We’ve been over this.”
“Okay.” Cas backs up, leaving space for Dean to roll up the window and open the door. They step into the bar, and Dean nervously sweats that this has the potential to go from really fun to quite a shit night real fast.
“Don’t you think we should try to fit in?” Cas says, half a glass into his spiked lemonade. Cas really seemed to like it, and Dean was glad that their venture out wouldn’t be for nothing. He made a mental note to pick up a pack of Mike’s Hard for the cooler next time he went on a beer run. Dean hasn’t had anything stronger than a Coke yet, extremely scared of letting his guard way down. If he made a move on Cas and he hated it, where would that leave them?
“What do you mean?” He says in Cas’ ear over a particularly loud part of a song.
“We look like we don’t belong here.”
“Take off your jacket.”
Dean shrugs the jacket off to reveal his maroon and navy flannel. He pushes up his sleeves. “Better?”
Cas gives a toothy smile, downs the rest of his glass. “No. That too.”
“What, you want a show?” Dean laughs as he ditches the flannel. Beneath it he has on a black t-shirt, gripping him just tight enough on his biceps. Cas’ hand scar peeks just below the hem of the short sleeve. It isn’t as red, and no longer hurts, but Cas traces it with his finger.
“I like that I’ll always be a part of you.” Cas says into his eyes, head cocked sideways, affectionately. Have Cas’ eyes always been that blue?
“I... like... you, um, being that too, Cas.” Dean can’t get the words from his brain to his mouth with Cas so close. Touching him. Little sparks of adrenaline leaping from the angel’s fingers and into his arm, straight to his heart.
“My turn.” Cas abruptly stops, to Dean’s disappointment. However, Cas starts to strip himself of his trench coat and blazer. In just his white collared shirt, he begins unbuttoning himself all the way down, exposing smooth and slightly damp skin. It glistens beneath the bar sign’s red lighting, sending Dean’s blood rushing to his ears. He watched the whole ordeal, and Cas watched him watch him.
Dean needs a drink. He orders a shot of jack. The bartender, pouring, eyes him back as if to say nice job getting with that one.
“Thanks.” Dean kicks back the drink. Upon lifting his head, he sees Cas kicking back his own shot.
“Nope.” Cas giggles. “Nasty.”
“You like the sweet ones. I like getting drunk as fast as possible.”
“You’re allowed to enjoy things, you know.”
“I… do,” Dean thinks, letting the wave of the shot hit him. He waves the bartender over for another. “I try to.”
“No you don’t, Dean.” Cas rolls his eyes. “You think too much. You plan, prepare. You’re always running.”
“You of all people know that there’s plenty of things to run from.”
“Yeah. Yeah, true. But sometimes you gotta…” Cas breathes, long, slow, a yoga breath. “Close your eyes. Feel the moment. ”
“Yeah, maybe.” He takes the second shot, asking for a third.
“Try it. Close your eyes.”
Cas puts his hand over Dean’s eyes. The edges by his fingers are prickly, probably dehydrated skin lifting by his nails, never drinking enough water because he never had to before. But his palm is soft, and he smells like his new shower soap, cinnamon. As Dean breathes per Cas’ directions, he inhales every bit of Cas’ scent, which calms him more than he’s been in a long time. He escapes in the smell, forgetting where they are, the shots hitting his empty stomach a little too hard. But he doesn’t care, letting the alcohol slosh with the butterflies he had been avoiding all evening. Cas, here, close. Cas, here, now. That is good.
When Cas lifts his hand off Dean’s face he places it on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”
Dean can only nod, grabbing Cas’ hand and placing it on his cheek. He holds it there with his own, afraid he might leave. But he doesn’t, and Dean thinks that counts for something.
“What are you thinking about?” Cas asks warmly.
Cas cocks his head, then has a look on his face like he understands what Dean is trying to say. “You like it?”
“Mhmm.” Dean closes his eyes again and leans into Cas’ palm on his face. He breathes in the angel’s spicy scent again, comfort washing over him.
“Hm.” He replies, eyes still closed.
Dean’s eyes fly open. “I… what?” His relaxed state instantly flares into panic, searching in Cas’ face for a sign of possession, evil, anything that would explain away this strange string of words coming from Cas’ mouth. This has to be a trap. A dream. An induced coma.
But Cas stands between Dean’s legs to grab his face in both hands and steadies his the hunter out of his fluster, hey, hey, hey. It’s me. I promise it’s me, his cobalt eyes say gently.
And Dean is overwhelmed. The shots have caught up to him, and his angel, Castiel is so close to his face his hands on his face and his blue eyes and the cinnamon and before his brain catches up to tell him not to Dean’s lips are already on Cas’, kissing him with so much force behind that he can barely stop himself from tonguing him down then and there. The second his thoughts catch up to him screaming what are you doing?! Dean feels Cas’ hands snake up to his hair and he knows it’s okay, he isn’t ruining anything, Cas isn’t running away. He puts his hands on Cas’ hips and he groans into his mouth.
It’s Cas’ boner sprouting against Dean’s thigh that breaks them out of their embrace.
“Car. Now.” Dean throws a fifty on the bar and the two race back to Baby holding hands, Dean leading.
Unlocking the backseat and laying down, Dean pulls Cas on top of him and resumes his frantic kissing, letting Cas bite him all over his neck. Now we’ll really fit in, he thinks, smiling to himself. The car incubates Cas’ scent and he is wrapped in him everywhere. Cas unbuckles Dean’s belt and kisses him, hard. This is the best night of my life.
“I think this is a good time to tell you,” Cas says the next morning, buckling his seatbelt and adjusting the mirrors in the driver's seat so he could pull off safely from the bar lot, “that I actually still can’t get drunk.”
Dean laughs heartily, morning after voice rumbling low. “Oh, I see. So you wanted me to drunkenly confess my feelings for you—-”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t. But you’re awful at hiding it,” Cas pulls off, one hand on Dean’s knee, the other steering.
“Yeah, well. Good plan.” Dean rests his head against Cas’ arm, tracing the veins protruding from his skin. Cas. Here. Close.
“It was actually Sam’s.”
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