Dean was becoming seriously worried about Cas. Since the angel's unfortunate discovery of Bollywood, he had developed an unhealthy obsession with dancing. He twirled around their motel rooms, pelvic-thrusted his way through hunts and dipped, slid and sashayed his way everywhere else. He watched the movies unceasingly, upright and glued to the TV as he memorized and practiced the endless dance numbers that flitted across the screen.
It started innocuously—albeit annoyingly—enough. Dean could ignore the constant dancing. Sometimes they just left Cas behind on hunts. It made everything easier. But when Cas got it in his head that he needed a dance partner… well...
Cas quickstepped across the room, coming to a breathy halt before Dean. He had the hunter in his grasp and was twirling him away before Dean realized what was happening. The motel room lost detail as he was flung about. Castiel threw him into dips, spun him around and pressed up against him with smoldering intensity only to gyrate away a moment later. Dean absorbed the whole ordeal with a detached sort of confusion. He couldn't tell if he felt threatened or turned on.
He found himself forced back onto the motel bed. He watched with rapt attention as Cas practically pole danced before his eyes. Dean had complained about the lack of sex in Bollywood movies, but they more than made up for it with their dancing. Cas' movement were fluid and heated. His eyes were hooded, a seductive smile plastered across his face.
Maybe Bollywood wasn't so bad.
