I am mad. I am mad at the CW, I am mad at Eric Kripke, I am fucking furious about the season finale of Supernatural. Not. Okay. I am not okay, that episode was not okay, and I am torn between murder and sobbing into a nest of fluffy blankets and pillows.
There are things I wanted to happen and none of them did. This is just a fluffy little dribble-drabble that will hopefully heal my broken heart. Of course, since nothing I write is 100% fluff anymore:
CW for faint references to ingrained homophobia.
Dean can't stop looking at Cas' new hair. It's the same blue as his eyes, this ridiculous shade somewhere between perfectly worn-out jeans and the sky at noon on a cloudless day, and spiked up in an impossibly high, impossibly silky-looking mohawk.
He swallows a comment and pulls out his flashcards. "So. Um. Quiz time!" His attempt to make it sound exciting falls flat, but Cas snorts a laugh anyways.
"Fun." Cas widens his eyes too wide, wiggles his fingers, and stands. "What do I get if I get the questions right?" he purrs, leaning back against Dean's dresser.
Dean gulps. Maybe offering to tutor his boyfriend wasn't the best idea, because now all he can think about is crawling into Cas' lap and getting kissed silly.
"For every correct answer, I want a kiss," Cas demands, and Dean grins, cheeks burning.
"O-Okay." Dean slaps his stack of flashcards against his palm. "What socioeconomic system was Animalism an allegory for in George Orwell's Animal Farm?"
"Communism…?" Cas says, sitting down on the edge of Dean's bed, elbows on his knees. His shirt pulls tight on his shoulders, revealing scant, lean muscle, and Dean has never been happier to talk about communism in his life.
He slides over to sit between Cas' knees, stretches up, and kisses him. Soft, chapped lips, the faintest hint of stubble, honey and clove cigarettes. Kissing Cas is definitely worth Benny ribbing him about making moon eyes all day.
Cas' hand cups his jaw, tipping his head back, and he kisses Dean like he's starved.
After a solid minute of breathless, hungry lips, Cas pecks the center of Dean's lips, the corner, his cheek.
"Awesome…"
Cas laughs in earnest, nose scratching against Dean's cheek. "How awesome?"
"ComicCon awesome," Dean sighs, resting his chin on Cas' knee.
Last year, they dressed up as Iron Man (Cas) and the Incredible Hulk (Dean) as part of their friends' fondly begrudging quest to win the costume contest as the Avengers.
Charlie was a badass Black Widow and ended up bringing a girl dressed like Tinkerbelle back to Benny's van. Benny and his girl, Andrea, dressed as Clint Barton's Hawkeye and Kate Bishop's Hawkeye respectively. Sam, Dean's little brother, was the only middle schooler in their high school junior clan, but he'd recently hit a growth spurt and he ended up a perfect Captain America, even if his hair was a little long.
Even if Dean and Charlie had forced everyone else to go, there was not a single face without a smile splitting its cheeks in two among them.
So, when Dean said ComicCon awesome, it meant awesome.
"Provide an example of irony," he finally says, fiddling with a rip in Cas' jeans.
"Gilda having dressed up as a fairy and being Charlie-appointed Queen Of Lesbians?" Cas grins.
"Nope!"
Cas groans, flops back onto Dean's mattress. It creaks, bounces, and Dean realizes that he's kneeling between Cas' legs about as fast as it takes for his face, neck, and ears to turn an adorable shell pink.
"What is the moral of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein?"
"Wear a science condom, Victor, you egomaniac."
The two of them laugh until Dean's flat on his back, blushing forgotten, and Cas has rolled onto the floor. They quietly gasp their way back to normal, and Dean curls into Cas' side, resting his head on his boyfriend's chest. "I'll give you that one, but Mr. Singer probably will only give half-credit. The moral he'll give full credit for is basically 'men shouldn't play god'," Dean says.
"So, half-credit. How are you gonna give me a half-kiss?" Cas asks, squeezing his shoulder. "Gonna just include one set of lips? Because I'm totally cool with that."
Dean's back to blushing, hides his face in Cas' neck. "Shaddup."
"You love it." Cas rolls them over, straddles Dean's hips, and presses quick little kisses all over his hands and wrists, up his arms, up his throat. He loops around Dean's forehead, taking pit stops at his temples, before kissing down his nose. At this point, Dean's squirming, cheeks burning, eyes squeezed shut. "You're so pretty like this," Cas murmurs.
"'M not pretty. Girls are pretty."
"Fine," Cas drawls. "You're my very handsome boyfriend, and now I'm going to kiss your very handsome mouth until you make very handsome noises. Is that better?"
Dean shakes his head. "You sound like a grandmother. A pervy grandmother."
Cas chuckles into Dean's mouth, licks into him like a forest fire. Dean flings his arms around Cas' chest, fists tight in his t-shirt, blunt nails scratching at his back.
Cas lets out a hiss as Dean's hands tense up, digging his fingernails in a little too deep, and murmurs, "Relax, Dean. It's okay."
Dean nods, lips barely leaving Cas', and kisses him again, wide-mouthed and open.
"Just relax - mm - you're fine - mmmh - 's okay to want this."
Dean trembles, just a little, because for so long it wasn't, and tucks his face into Cas' chest. "Cas… Cas, kiss me, please."
His skin's burning for a whole different reason, and Cas does as he's asked, planting little matchstick kisses on Dean's lips and tongue.
The edge of a stack of flashcards is digging into Dean's thigh, so he wraps his legs around Cas' waist, head tipped back. Cas leaves hickeys like constellations all down Dean's throat and shoulder, and Dean lets out these raw little gasps, clinging, clinging. He's drowning in sensation, in Cas' honey and smoke and cloves smell, and very quietly, he breathes out, "Awesome."
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