Title: Over My Dead Body
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the lovely characters.
Summary: Castiel, as usual, takes one of Dean's sayings the wrong way. I mean, just what kind of person would 'do things' over another's dead body? Gross!
Author's Note: Oh my gosh, I thought of the phrase "over my dead body" and immediately thought of Castiel misunderstanding it. This was supposed to just be two little quotes – and then my creative juices exploded over the keyboard and this was born. Enjoy.
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Dean's face soured as he sent Cas a warning glare, grounding out the words "Over my dead body," with a gravelly voice.
Castiel stood there stock still, allowing his head to tilt to one side as he stared at Dean perturbed, replying, "I would never do anything over your dead body!"
At these words, a flourish of emotions passed through Dean's mind - confusion, anger, irony, lust, understanding - "You- no!" he guffawed, "I mean, really Cas?" his face was screwed up tight like he had eaten an unexpectedly sour lemon.
"What." Catiel's eyes were wide, boring into Dean as if he was trying to understand the depths of his mental shortcomings.
"I - I didn't mean it that way. You - I just can't believe…" Dean slapped his hand to his face, allowing it to slide down gracelessly as another emotion dawned upon him - A sly grin fell upon his mouth as he took a smooth step towards Castiel, his voice leaking with desirable honey, "How about over my live body?"
The next few moments were a blur for Castiel, full of passion, the thrill of a forbidden fruit, and few inhibition's. If you were to ask him later how they got in such a racy position, he would tell you it was all predetermined, that he was just simply following his fate.
They were so close, almost too close, but for Castiel, it was too far. His grace burned with the need to have their spirits rubbing, sharing, intertwining. He grasped Dean's collar, shoving him against the wall - but no, no, he was too far away. Quickly he fixed the problem, slamming his body flush against Dean's, one of his hands tugging at his hair with needy abandon.
What happened next you can probably guess - and that was how they spent the rest of their night, even as the white moon exploded into a cherry red, bathing the lake in a blood-like glow. And poor Sam, sat forgotten outside of the locked room (having left his key inside), blissfully unaware of the sketch taking place inside; just two hearts beating out of sync, going for a late night ride.