"Do you... well.. I mean.. I could give you a massage?"
Dean looked up, nearly spitting out the water with which he was taking his aspirin.
"What?!"
Cas looked down, almost sheepish, and it was times like these in which Dean could hardly believe that the grumpy, stubborn, and dorky human who stood before him, could ever be the same as the dickish, cold angel he'd first met in a barn in Pontiac.
"I was researching on human customs; my sources assured me that the tensing of muscles causes great discomfort." He explained, his blue eyes flitting back to Dean. "Apparently, a massage alleviates tension.
Dean shook his head. "Cas, I'm not tense."
Castiel's shy gaze twisted into a dubious frown. He walked up to him, tilting his head and squinting his eyes.
"Why are you being dishonest?" He queried, and the light from the kitchen engulfed him, creating what Dean swore resembled a halo.
"Cas, drop it. I got a little banged up on the hunt, that's all." He told the ang- former angel, firmly.
Castiel shook his head, biting his lip as he shooed Dean over to one side of the couch and faced his back.
"Cas, I-"
"Shut up." Castiel commanded, before placing his semi-awkward hands on Dean's shoulders and rubbed them softly.
Dean moaned- actually moaned in pleasure- as he lolled his head back. Castiel gave him a tiny smile, and rubbed down deeper.
"Damn it, Cas," the hunter breathed, "these are mad skills. You been practicing on some chick you have hidden away?"
Castiel furrowed his brow. "Don't be silly, Dean. You are the only person in my life." He answered, solemnly. Dean froze, his muscles tensing once again.
"And Sam, of course," he pressed. "Hell, you like Charlie. And Kevin."
Castiel's confusion deepened. "Well, yes, I know them, but you are the only person I would be comfortable doing this to."
Dean grit his teeth. "Y-You can't just say things like that, Cas."
Castiel paused, hands dropping down. "Why not?" He questioned.
Dean gave him an incredulous look. "B-Because."
Cas gave him a stony look, and pursed his lips. "Because." He echoed, in a tone that could be considered mocking. "Because you're so desperate to hold on to your masculinity? Because your father fucked you up in ways even Sam doesn't know about? Because you're too set in your delusions of being heterosexual?"
Dean turned fully around, green eyes blazing. "You're crossing a line, Castiel." He warned.
"I don't understand why you don't let yourself want the things you want." Cas continued, grabbing Dean's jaw gently. "Dean, please."
The hunter swallowed, all his ire fading away. "Maybe," he answered, quietly, "the things I want are problematic and uncalled for."
"Maybe, they're not." Castiel told him, softly. He floated his hands back to Dean's shoulders, rubbing softly, and pressed his forehead against the other man's.
Dean shut his eyes, not saying anything. He reveled in the feel of Cas's fingers on his body, and reached out to rub the lanky arms.
It shouldn't be so nerve-wracking, being so close to Cas, without being able to do anything. Touching, but not really. Close, yet far.
Almost.
They were like a well-oiled machine. Turning and turning, until eventually, one would give in, falter; and when that happened, the other one would be there to pick them back up, and they'd be okay.
They always were.
It's always be the two of them, with their little act. Their personalized game. Half-assed heart-to-hearts, and conversations filled with ifs and maybes.
Almost, but not quite.