Behold, an upgrade in Rating.
I say upgrade, because it sounds better than "I added some truly pornographic content"...
Which I did.
Hierarchical Miscommunication.
Sam couldn't help but notice the change in his brother's demeanor since he'd spoken to Cas and resolved their... miscommunication. It had been months since Dean had been so solid - hell, years even. Dean's mood swings had dissipated along with the hair-trigger, directionless anger. He wasn't snapping at anyone. He was back to enjoying simple things and joking around, easily amused, easily contented.
Sam was nearly in awe.
It had been so long since he'd seen the carefree, life-lusting Dean from his childhood. It made the younger brother sickeningly happy. Granted, he rarely saw the source of Dean's happiness first hand. Castiel seemed to be keeping his perpetual reappearances a private thing. Sam couldn't say he minded - he was glad Dean was happy, that was enough, he didn't need to see the cause with his own eyes. And Dean had come full-circle and accepted how much he loved Cas, sure. But they still seemed more comfortable on the down-low.
Dean would say he was going out and disappear to wherever angels take their dates. Anywhere on earth I guess, Sam figured. All day before a scheduled rendezvous with his angel, Dean would be goofing off and full of spastic energy. And when Dean would return from their encounters, he would would be calm, strangely at peace, ghost of a smile on his lips. Sometimes said lips would be a little red, swollen, but Sam tried not to dwell too much on that.
Dean seemed honestly content.
All in all, Sam was more than glad for Dean's apparent happiness. And not only because it put his brother in more of a flexible mood when Sam asked to stay one more day. And then, just a few more days. And then just another week...
With both of them so happy, Dean simply didn't have it in him to ruin the good thing they had going.
Dean and Cas' relationship was building into something more solid than anything Dean had ever had before - than either of them had. Solid, and reliable, and definite, and Dean was not ashamed to admit (to himself) unabashedly sexy.
Granted, they hadn't taken that final step, but they were handsy like a couple of newlyweds. Cas seemed fascinated with the idea of manipulating Dean's body, a pleasure and a power he never knew he possessed. And Dean found it difficult to be in the same room with the angel without groping him nearly to death.
Their admission of love had them in a sort of joy and lust-filled nirvana that had the rest of the world lagging in the background as something unimportant and willing to wait.
The first time Dean couldn't control himself from going further than kissing and heavy petting, he'd woken up from a particularly vivd dream of the angel - all fierce smoke and electric blue eyes and beautiful killer's grace. Dean barely waited until his boots were on before calling to the angel, rushing outside the motel room past a sleeping Sam to greet him. Castiel appeared, a slight smile on his lips, and Dean surged forward without warning, knocking the angel against the wall of the motel and claiming his mouth in a frenzied, near-violent kiss. Castiel simply melted into it, biting and groping back.
As Dean's lips and teeth made a warm trail down the angel's pale throat, as he'd dreamed of for so long, he groaned, shoving a leg between Castiel's thighs.
Castiel's hands were working Dean's belt and jeans undone before Dean could muster the will to mention they were still out in public. But in a moment it was forgotten when almost as an afterthought Cas pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead and instantly they were somewhere new. Dean didn't bother to look around - his senses told him they were indoors, and alone. That was all he needed to know.
Their hands reached desperately inside shirts, fingers skating up backs and shoulders and down ribcages and torsos - there was no time for the process of removing clothes. Dean dragged his palms up and down Cas' skin; his body was smooth, but firm, utterly strong. All sinewy muscle and flat planes. Utterly male. Dean never thought he would get to feel that. He never thought he'd want to.
Man, was he wrong...
He bit down on Castiel's collarbone and the angel groaned, practically ripping open Dean's jeans and underwear. As Castiel's hand wrapped around him and pulled him out of his painfully restrictive underwear, Dean realized he was falling woefully behind. He worked Cas' belt free and his pants undone with sole focus, only slowing when he reached inside and pulled him free. Dean felt the organ in his hand, not unlike his own, hard and hot - it was strange to feel. New.
He smirked against Cas' skin, At least I know what to do. When he squeezed and Cas groaned, Dean watched, bit his bottom lip and Cas' eyes flared. He pulled Dean in for a searing kiss and they worked each other frantically to the finish, bucking against each other roughly, holding on for dear life.
Their frenzied explosion had them collapsing, breathless, against each other, chuckling slightly in their euphoria as well as at the suddenness of the whole thing.
"That was extremely enjoyable," Cas could barely get out between gasps. The always-flat and blatant tone of his voice made Dean laugh even harder and Cas smiled.
Later Dean showed up at the motel with coffees and breakfast sandwiches just in time for Sam to get out of the shower. The presentation of breakfast made the question of where Dean had been unwarranted. But there was something about the smile on Dean's face, the bizarrely ecstatic and sated glow about him, that had Sam wondering anyway. But he let it go. He took a sip of the coffee, humming appreciatively.
"Im going over to Vee's place," he told Dean, rifling through the take-out bag. "The one she inherited."
"Vee?" Dean cocked and eyebrow at Sam. "How many girls you got in this town?"
"What? oh - no. Vee, like Ivy. You didn't think I was gonna call her Diner Girl forever, did you?"
Dean shrugged. "I probly am." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean muttered, "Ivy..."
"Yeah," Sam smiled like an idiot, "it's kind of a joke, you know? 'cause-"
"Yeah, no, I get it," Dean said. They'd already had this conversation. Twice. Sam seemed to never tire of saying it over again, and Dean's tone obviously mocked him for it.
Sam glared at his brother, knowing full well that Dean was giving him the mockery-eyes, for getting all stupid over her. So Sam straightened up as tall as he could and headed to the door. "Give Cas a kiss for me," he said smugly. He smiled when Dean was no longer amused.
Sam took the Impala and headed to Ivy's house, smiling the whole way and straight-out grinning when she jumped down the stairs and practically leapt into his arms to kiss him. Sam held her tight, loving the feel of it, and then looked up at the house - it was a total mess, in an architecturally interesting, ScoobyDoo mystery house kind of way. Gorgeous in its day, he imagined, but barely livable now.
She must have read the expression on his face, "I know. It's a wreck." Sam gave a tentative nod in agreement. "How much do you know about carpentry?" she asked.
"Uh...about as much as the next guy. Assuming that guy's not a carpenter. Why?"
"Look, if you wanted to stick around a few weeks, if you needed work, I inherited this old place along with everything else of my grandmother's and, it could really use some... repairs."
She blushed, and Sam's heart skipped a beat, knowing exactly what she was asking, what she was offering - the chance to stay. He wanted to take it.
It was going to take some expert convincing to get Dean to agree...
The Winchesters had been putting their vast know-how to use in repairing Ivy's inherited old house, bringing it up to code as best they knew how, making it livable again. And while they did, they squatted there. This meant no more money lost to the motel, and a safe place to call their own, if even for an undetermined amount of time.
Dean liked the old place. It had a lot of character. It reminded him of Bobby's house - grand in its way, but utterly abused. Very lived in.
Dean would wander through the house most nights, making a mental list of things that needed work, things he'd like to change, renovations he would like to see happen. Creative ideas for making the place his own. His list was easily maintained with no Sam there to distract him, as he was essentially with Ivy every night in her little mobile home.
Dean was making his nightly rounds when he came to his favorite room - he always saved the best for last. It was a truly bizarre construct, this room. For all intents and purposes it was a deck, but it was enclosed with three walls, so that it was also mostly an inside room. But with one wall missing, it was open to the world - intentionally.
On the end with no wall was a deck-like portion that jutted out from the side of the house a few feet, and was lined with a waist-high railing. Dean had never seen such a thing, as though the creator of the house could not bear to hide away the beautiful view of the outside by putting up a fourth wall. Of course, with the lack of upkeep, the direct access to the elements had done serious damage to the rest of the room, but Dean thought it was an understandable trade-off - fresh air, the feeling of freedom, but still in a home you can call your own.
He rested his beer on the unfinished wood of the railing, watching the beads of condensation slide down the glass and gather at its base, while he smiled to himself as he thought about gigantic Sam trying to be suave with his lady in her tiny tin can of a mobile home.
He must feel like a grizzly bear in a mini-cooper.
The telltale whoosh of wings, brought Dean's smile out even more. He turned, leaning back against the railing lazily, watching Castiel intentionally ignore him and flick through a book about proper electrical wiring - something Sam had insisted on referencing during their renovations.
Dean said nothing, he merely watched the angel, and waited for him to speak first. He waited, for Castiel to upturn his blue eyes and find Dean smirking back wickedly, utterly suggestive.
He did. And he smiled.
Dean shot up his eyebrows, smirking.
"I have been considering something very deeply," Castiel stated factually.
"That right?" Dean asked.
"We should have sex."
The way he said it, like he was suggesting they go to the mini-mart, was enough to catch Dean off-guard. Dean's eyebrows raised.
Castiel clarified, "Now, if at all possible."
"What like...right now?"
"I see no reason not to."
"Wow. ...Ok. Wow."
"You're surprised?"
"No. Yes. I don't know, maybe a little."
Castiel stepped forward, getting that look on his face that he did when he was about to drop some important knowledge on Dean. He leveled out his expression and voice and said, "The thought of your naked body, bared for me, brings me immense sexual joy."
Dean's eyebrows had essentially gone as high as the structure of his face would allow, but that didn't mean they didn't try to jump even higher out of instinct. Cas sure had a blatant way about him.
"Cas, people don't...really talk like that."
"I'm not a person."
"Too true."
"I mean to say, that I find your physical form very pleasing. I am very attracted to you. And the thought of touching you brings me a great deal of pleasure."
"Got it."
"I... anticipate a time when that might happen. ...Soon."
Dean swallowed hard. "Well... I'm a now or never kinda guy, so..."
Castiel smirked. Something glinted in his eye, beautiful and dangerous. He took a step toward the hunter and Dean threw up a hand, stopping the angel dead.
"But look, there are some things we need to work out before we get to it. Cause I've never done this with another dude before, and I don't know what your freaky, angelic expectations are. But I have some limitations that should be pretty obvious to you. You know... just... things I'm not gonna do. So, I just need to know that you get that."
"I'm aware of your physical limitations Dean."
"Good. No - wait - that's not what I'm talking about. I don't mean physical, human limitations. I meant... expectations, like, how you think this is goin' down... position-wise..."
Cas waited for an explanation.
Dean added, flustered, "I need to know this before the pants start coming off because I am not gonna be ok with this if all the sudden you think you're the top."
Castiel tilted his head. "Is it customary to pre-arrange such things? I had assumed sexual positions were decided more... in the moment."
"Well... yeah... but, I'm not talking about..." Dean stopped for a moment, wondering how far from being on the same page they actually were. "I mean more, who's giving and who's receiving."
Castiel stared at him.
"You know, who's riding and who's getting ridden."
Castiel blinked.
"Which one of us is getting the raw end of the stick," Dean implied roughly.
Again Castiel simply stared, waiting for a clear explanation.
Dean's frustration built at an alarming rate. He knew he was going to have to be very clear. Now he just had to consider whether he should be technical and detached about it, or flat out crass.
He had just formulated a kind of analogy with snakes and holes in the ground before Castiel's face suddenly lit with understanding. Dean was relieved not to have to embarrass himself further.
"I understand," Cas assured.
Dean breathed a breath of relief.
And then Cas clarified, "It is my intention to penetrate you."
Dean choked, "You - wha- me?"
"I find I am quite enthralled with the idea."
"Woah! Sorry, buddy. Access denied." Castiel frowned in confusion. "What i'm trying to say is, my backdoor is an exit only."
"That is... troublesome," Castiel noted, his voice deep and gravelly, his brow furrowed in consideration.
"Now you look surprised. How did you think this was going to work? I mean if anyone's gonna be topping -"
"I had assumed it would be me," he stated calmly, looking down towards the floor in deep concentration.
Dean felt his whole body, every inch of his skin, get hot. "You...assumed?" he barely breathed, his teeth gnashing. And for the record, it wouldn't be until later that Dean sat down and examined whether he was angry, or turned on. Strangely, his reactions to those two separate states were frighteningly similar.
"Yes. I was under the impression that the dominant member of a male/male relationship is the one that penetrates the submissive partner."
Dean choked at the phrasing but ultimately there was more to be concerned about than Cas' entirely offensive word choice.
Dean fumed, more than slightly put-off by the technical description but mostly livid over Cas' assumption that he wore the pants in this arrangement. Dean knew it wasn't that simple and that he should explain that to poor, oblivious, adorable Cas. But he was blindsided by the feeling that his masculinity was being obliterated by a thousand year old virgin with wings.
Son of a bitch, Dean shook, if anyone's wearing the pants it's friggin' me!
His voice came out tight and shaky, "And you think you're the dominant one?" he questioned dangerously, seething.
"Yes. Obviously," Cas stated matter-of-factly, oblivious to Dean's change of mood.
Dean couldn't speak - he was too enraged... and slighted...and trying way too hard not to overreact to manage forming words.
Cas turned to face him, suddenly sensing his distress in the silence.
"I am exponentially stronger physically. I believe that is a trait most commonly associated with dominance."
"So what, I'm weak?" Dean argued, trapping Castiel with these words, knowing exactly what he would say.
Dean, he's an angel - he kicks your ass any way you slice it. Just back off.
But he couldn't. If there was one thing Dean was consistent about, it was his near desperate need to prove himself - to everyone, all the time.
Cas tilted his head, considering, then answering rationally, "Relatively speaking, in comparison to my angelic power, yes."
"Ok, you know what," Dean reared back to throw a punch, but the angel disappeared before he could manage it.
"There is no competition based on physical strength in which you could beat me, Dean," his gravelly voice came from behind Dean. And if Dean shuddered a bit at the words, it was none of Cas' business. He didn't have time to examine that particular kink right now. He was livid.
Just let it go Dean. you know he doesn't mean it like that.
Screw him! I'll kick his ass!
"Screw you, Cas!"
He stormed away from the angel with the intent of having a dramatic exit, hating himself for acting like a slighted teenaged girl.
But suddenly Cas was in front of him, blocking his path. "You're angry," his head tilted as he squinted, looking at Dean as if he were trying to break the man down into a mathematical equation that he could solve. "You're angry at me," he corrected, specifying.
And Dean could feel his shoulders let go of their tension and his fists unclench. That stupid face, those big, stupid eyes, that stupid, ridiculous, sincere, longing, stupid gaze...
Dean pointed a finger at Cas, he meant to say I'm not submissive but what came out was, "I am not weak."
Castiel's brow furrowed at the man in fascination. "Dean, if there's anyone in this world you don't need to convince of your valor, it's me."
Cas looked at Dean as if it was so obviously true, that Dean should definitely have already known. And Dean could feel a familiar warmth seeping through his abdomen, spreading through his limbs and leaving him a hot, confused mess.
Seeing he was making headway, Castiel continued with his efforts. "Despite my many obvious advantages, I would have to say that objectively speaking, were the establishment of dominance based solely on the appearance of one's vessel, I believe that you would win."
Dean took a moment to consider what was happening - Cas appeared to be making a concession, just to make Dean feel better. Dean played along, asking intentionally dumbly, "What're you saying, that I'm taller?"
"You are taller yes. And very imposing," Cas flattered obviously.
It was nice at least, that Cas thought he could be subtle. But Dean liked knowing he was trying. So he held in his smile and let Cas continue, prompting, "So I look strong?"
"You are very masculine and possess a multitude of alpha qualities that would make you a clear winner in the category of dominance... were I not here."
Dean couldn't help but smile at that, despite the stinger of an ending to the compliment. He found it oddly easy to ignore that bit.
"So basically, if you weren't an Angel..." he stepped in close to Castiel, stretching up to his tallest height, "I'd kick your ass."
Castiel failed at masking a smirk. "It seems logical."
"So superpowers excluded," he circled around behind Castiel, keeping his voice low, "I could do whatever I wanted with you."
"I would hope you would exert your power respectfully," Cas played along.
"You'd hope." Dean whispered at the back of Cas' neck, seeing him shiver.
But like a flash, Castiel was gone and Dean's eyes darted around the room, disappointed.
"Luckily for me," shivers rolled down Dean's spine as that gravelly voice whispered lowly behind him, "I don't have to hope." He pressed his lips close to the shell of Dean's ear, his breath hot on Dean's skin, "You do."
And Cas' hands were tight on Dean's hips, his body pressed up behind him and his lips sucking firmly at the crook of Dean's neck and Dean could have pulled away and argued and the struggle could have continued...
But instead, Dean just relaxed back into the angel and thought, Fuck it.
...
Identity Crisis.
So here was Dean Winchester's newest existential dilemma:
If he was the kind of guy who took it in the back door, could he still like AC/DC?
There was a rational part of Dean's brain that told him he was being closed-minded. That people didn't fit into categories like that; that people, human beings, were endlessly complex. He could like Cas and Rock and Roll and still make sense as a person. But there was a lifetime of social programming and general misconception to fight. And Dean was nothing if not stubborn.
Dean wondered if Sam could tell there was something different about him. For some reason he felt paranoid, like everyone who saw him knew what he'd done, as if there was a big neon sign above his head flashing Got Fucked in the Ass by an Angel Last Night!.
It wasn't the having sex with an angel part that Dean was preoccupied about, it was the fact that apparently, Dean Winchester was a bottom. He shifted uncomfortably at the sound of it - the label. He felt like he was different now, somehow, because he'd let that happen. Like he shouldn't be able to carry himself the same. Like he wasn't the same Dean he always was, didn't fit in his own skin, or personality. He knew that was absurd, but being a fraction rational didn't stop the irrational lost and awkward feeling.
Sam seemed to treat him the same, so Dean almost felt like he should be breathing a sigh of relief. Sam knew him better than anyone, he would sense easily if something was different, wrong in any way. Apparently he didn't.
Something inside Dean was almost... disappointed, that Sam didn't know.
And that was thoroughly confusing.
Because mostly he was terrified everyone would know and that they would all judge him... but this tiny little part of him was wishing he could tell Sam (not in detail, and probably not in so many words), if only so that he could gage his brother's reaction.
What would Sam think of this new... development? Would he applaud Dean's obvious acceptance of his feelings for Cas? Would he think Dean was weak? Would he be surprised, or even disgusted with him?
No. Not disgusted. Sam wasn't like that.
Dean sanded the banister absently, wondering: Should he be disgusted with himself? What did Cas think? Did he even know this was an Earth-crackingly big deal for a guy like Dean?
Probably not.
He heard Cas' voice echo in his head, I'd never wish to hurt you Dean. He shivered, feeling his whole body flush with warmth at the memory of the way those words had felt last night, as breath against his skin.
Last night had been... well... It had hurt. At first.
It had hurt and Dean had winced and stiffened up despite himself, his knuckles going white at the iron grip he had on the railing. Castiel slid out, feeling Dean wince even if he didn't see it, and leaned his body up against Dean's, resting his forehead against the back of Dean's head.
"Does it hurt?" he'd whispered.
And Dean's voice came back tight, "It's fine."
But it wasn't. Neither of them had known to how to prepare properly, both entirely ignorant, as Dean had just changed teams and Cas was generally oblivious. He had a basic, scientific knowledge that his bashful Angelic brain had failed to put to practical use. So it did hurt, even if Dean was too stubborn to ask Cas to stop.
But Castiel, he could tell. He slid his hands from their grip on Dean's hips around to his front, sliding lightly across his warm, tension-hardened skin of Dean's chest and stomach. He rested one hand over Dean's heart, and the other over the scar of his own handprint. When his hand sealed over the burn mark he felt Dean's heart jump.
"I'd never wish to hurt you Dean," he whispered against the back of his neck.
Dean shuddered, an almost painful surge of affection pulling at his heart.
Something must have clicked in Castiel's mind, because he slid out and moments later a slicked finger replaced him, gentle and stretching. And Dean was silent in his thanks but he thought maybe Castiel could hear it anyway. And when there was a second finger, it only burned, a foreign pressure, but oddly Dean was able to relax.
And then Cas reached inside, just right, and Dean didn't have time to mock himself about Cas flipping the gay switch inside him before he gasped a surprised moan and his hips jerked of their own volition. Cas added another finger, and it hurt but Dean was so revved up with anticipation to feel whatever he'd just felt again that he didn't care. And Cas didn't keep him waiting. He kissed up and down Dean's spine as he stroked inside of him.
Neither of them had the patience to wait very long before getting on to the main event - this had been years in the making, after all. Castiel slid into him carefully, clutching at Dean's body with trembling hands as he did. Blowing hot breath against his neck. The care he took, the appreciation for every inch, every sensation, boggled Dean's mind. All he could do was grip the railing tight and breathe through it, and hope his heart didn't explode.
Dean smiled to himself, knowing that despite his body's confusion and discomfort, it was worth it (in a possessive kind of a way) to feel Cas, feeling this for the first time. The angel was trembling against his back, grunting his name like some obscene prayer, nuzzling his face into Dean's hair and neck... rolling his hips smoothly.
Dean was oddly content with the gentle rhythm they reached, slow and easy. But something, some kind of instinct Castiel didn't understand, told him to search for that spark inside Dean. He held the man's hips a little harder and pressed his chest to Dean's back, bending him over a little, and like this he could sink deeper. He was careful in doing so, he didn't want to hurt Dean. A low groan escaped him despite his efforts as he sank in to the hilt, and it was then, the bulk of him rubbed that something inside the man.
Castiel could feel Dean's knees buckle slightly beneath him a surprised breathy sound spurting from the man before he could think to stifle it. Simultaneously Dean reached back, his arm wrenching as if on instinct and sudden, desperate need, and he gripped the hair at the back of Castiel's head tightly, as his own head bowed and his other hand gripped the railing so hard his white knuckles ached and for a split-second he thought he might snap the wood.
He shuddered a moment, his eyes squeezing closed, before the feeling subsided in its sharpness to a dull, aching pleasure. Then he breathed deep, rasping, "What the fuck was that?"
Castiel chuckled into the nape of Dean's neck and Dean felt his heart could bust. A sudden, sharp pleasure similar to the last seared through him - but less sexual, less bodily and more metaphysical. The pleasure was... God help him, but it felt like love. Dean's heart had been through Hell with this Angel in the past he didn't know how long. He figured he must have loved Castiel for years, if not somehow always. His heart thudding and wrenching at the Angel's every reappearance, every almost-smile, every sincerely regretful statement of the desire to help. And now Dean had him. And they were both so stupidly happy about it.
It was too much for Dean's wait for the other shoe to drop-worn heart to take. It seemed to crack open and bleed satisfaction through his whole chest cavity. Maybe this was what his heart was trying to tell him all along -
Things would be better with Castiel, you'll feel better with Castiel - everything will.
As the Angel rocked smoothly into him, taking obvious care to hit that same spot that made Dean's knees weak, Dean couldn't help but resign to the fact.
Dean blinked, realizing he'd stopped sanding the banister entirely and was just standing there, lost in the memory. Remembering the way he was last night made him blush thoroughly. He tried not to remember how he would writhe back against Cas - his fingers first, and then the rest of him. He was a little embarrassed about it now. In the moment he'd lost all his facade and broken down into a whiny, needy, pliant thing for Cas to play with, to do what he pleased with. And even though he was embarrassed, he couldn't deny the smile fighting to get to his lips at the memory of it.
And Cas was so good... and so good to him. He was slow and sensual to a degree that Dean didn't expect, and his lips were all over Dean as if he were worshipping him through touch. He whispered and grunted, low and raspy against Dean's back and neck and even though Dean didn't know what he was saying, it made him feel good to hear it.
And when Cas came, Dean could feel it pulsing hot inside him, strange but intoxicating, and Cas wrapped his arms around Dean tightly, clutching with desperate, trembling fingers as he ground against him, riding it out. Dean could feel Castiel's eyelashes against his back as the angel pressed his face, no doubt screwed up with pleasure, into the valley between his shoulderblades.
The way he sighed and moaned... Dean listened harder than he ever had before in his life, committing every sound Castiel made to memory, letting it wash over him until he almost couldn't take it.
Dean worked himself furiously as Cas finished, until Cas reached a bonelessly heavy but determined arm around and wrapped his hand around Dean, alternating between watching Dean's face and kissing his shoulders as he helped Dean to the finish. Dean grunted a string of expletives and Cas, Cas, Cas, as he came, and then collapsed over the railing, humming as Cas' lips trailed up and down his back, his hands brushing over his back and shoulders and arms - everywhere they could reach.
Dean didn't even mind the feeling of the railing against his back when Castiel flipped him around and claimed his lips almost viciously. If he was being honest, he kind of liked it. Cas didn't treat him like he was the breakable human he was. He treated him like a fix he couldn't get enough of. And that made Dean feel good.
All day Dean had been struggling with the emotional ramifications of having to either re-label himself, or come to terms with the fact that labels were useless. Of course, without the clearly defined black and white labels, life became a mess, Dean knew that for a fact.
By the end of the day, Dean decided that his life was such a mess already, why not throw the labels out the window and just let things be blurry. He actually felt kind of relieved. He was excited about a new outlook, even if he was also terrified. He couldn't really imagine himself as Dean, the modern man. He'd always figured he was a stuck in a different generation kind of guy.
But hey, now that he was throwing out labels, he could be a little bit of both.
Honestly he was kind of proud of himself. And it made him need Cas desperately. He wasn't quite ready to unload all of this on Sam yet - though Sam, no doubt, would handle it spectacularly. Dean might be a new kind of man, but that didn't mean he was ready for everyone to know it yet.
Still, he had to share his new happiness, his worldliness, his new and improved self with someone, and he wanted that someone to be Cas.
When Sam had indicated that he was going to spend the night at Ivy's place, Dean was happy for him, and also for the time alone he would get with Cas.
As soon as the angel whisked into the room Dean's smile was unstoppable. When he immediately ran up to the angel and hugged him tightly, Castiel was only half as surprised at the behavior as Dean himself. Dean was a little bashful about his giddiness, but seeing the curious smile that was lit on Cas' face made it worth the embarrassment.
He barely let go of the angel all night, and he couldn't help but mock himself for being clingy. But Cas' acknowledgement of Dean's new behavior only made Dean glad he'd behaved as such.
"I like this. I like when you're like this," Cas muttered into Dean's shoulder as they stood, embracing beside their mini-stove waiting for their food to cook after they'd worked up an appetite. Thoroughly. Cas' arms were looped loosely around Dean, his fingers trailing barely-touching circular patterns at the base of Dean's spine.
Dean didn't have to say Me too, somehow he knew that when he flexed his hold against Cas' hips and kissed the angel's shoulder that Cas understood.
It was more contentment than Dean had ever known. And he was determined, more now than ever, to keep it, this perfect happiness, forever.
I always get nervous about posting the racy chapters. Not nervous enough to stop me, clearly. Ha. But still, I hope it worked, and I hope you liked it.
We are in the homestretch here people...
One more...