Dean leaned in. There's no doubt about that. It was one of those leans where you hold your breath as the blood creeps up your neck, heats your face, makes your fingers tingle. Your heart beats a little faster and you don't know where to look, his plush pink lips as he licks them or his hungry green eyes as they roam over your own face. Castiel has been there before. Everything about that moment had felt like the sweet thrill of a first kiss, filled with release and possibilities.
Castiel hasn't stopped thinking about that moment since last night. He hadn't believed Balthazar when he had said that Dean had been looking at him as anything more than a friend, afraid to put any weight into his coach's observations. But then Dean showed up at his room, flushed and vibrant after his big win. And in that small moment Castiel had felt something shift between them, the taught string of potential energy suddenly releasing to become kinetic. He is sure of it. He may not have the most finely tuned gay-dar out there but even he could read the want in Dean's eyes as they roamed over his own features.
And he would have kissed him back too, even with his sister standing there, even though he has only known Dean for less than a week. There is just something about the hockey player that he can't get out of his head. He feels giddy and excited. This gorgeous man, this surprisingly sweet, funny, complicated man, had leaned in and was going to kiss him last night.
But he had stopped, the spell of the short moment broken by Anna's voice. Never in his life had Castiel wished so adamantly to be an only child! Dean had looked at Anna and panicked. He must have remembered being with her and what an awkward thing to be faced with – a past hookup standing behind the man you are about to kiss.
Castiel knows he needs to talk to Dean. But this is a whole new game for him. Never before has he been faced with something as awkward as being attracted to a man Anna had been with. There is absolutely no precedent for how to handle this.
What he does know is that he wants to see more of Dean and that he needs to talk to him about last night. He remembers that Dean gave him his phone number that night at the restaurant, said it was because he felt bad about the injury and to call if he needed anything. He digs around in his pocket and takes out the napkin with the numbers written in Dean's messy script and punches them into his phone.
He can feel his heart beating faster with every ring. What will he even say? How does he even begin to address this awkward situation? He is so nervous but an energetic buzz of excitement and anticipation thrums under his skin still. He is saved from having to untangle his tongue when he hears Dean's voice advising him to leave a message.
"Hello, Dean. This is Castiel. I would like to see you again… to talk to you… about yesterday… if you don't mind. I have my short program this afternoon so maybe I will try again after… if everything goes well… or if it doesn't. I'm sorry for the rambling. I really hope to talk to you soon."
Castiel hangs up and stares at his phone, horrified at himself, and drops the offensive gadget onto the bed like it was burning his hand. How is it that he suddenly can't put together a cohesive sentence? And it's the year 2014 for pete's sake! Why hasn't anyone invented a way to delete a regrettable voice mail?!
He sighs to himself and decides it's time to focus on more important matters. He has his first major competitive skate of these Olympics later today and he has to get his head in the right space. He knows he needs a near perfect program to beat the extremely tough competition this year. And, while he is feeling much better about his jumps, he is still concerned about the quad, which requires nothing short of perfect balance to safely land and he has still been feeling an occasional rush of vertigo.
He knows it's a gamble. Putting it in could give him the points he needs to hold a top spot after the short program if he lands it. Leaving it in and botching it, though, would cost him more than just downgrading it to a triple. Also, failing to land a big jump can sometimes throw off the whole rest of the program.
Right now, though, he is feeling like he could do just about anything, quad jump included. Dean Winchester was going to kiss him! His heart skips at the mere memory of Dean leaning forward, playful grin melting into slightly opened lips, a soft pink invitation. He thinks back to being on the ice with Dean, how relaxed he was and how much fun he let himself have. He remembers that once he focused on the joy he felt when skating his jumps came naturally. Yes, he thinks, he can do this, he can put the quad into the program.
He looks at himself in the mirror and even he has to roll his eyes at himself for his inability to stop grinning. Every time he tries to focus his thoughts on his program they keep wondering back to Dean. A flash of those green eyes and cheeks dotted with freckles (he wonders if those freckles are sprinkled over his shoulders as well), the way his rich baritone voice resonates when he laughs, the thoughtfulness he had shown to Castiel.
He decides to turn on the television while he is getting ready, to let the droning of the background noise help calm his mind. At first it works. Castiel lets the news wash over him without absorbing it. There is an update on the events from the previous evening. A Canadian won one of the skiing events, the men's snowboarding experienced a surprising upset, and the US hockey team beat Slovakia, Dean Winchester being the top scorer of the night.
He is basking in his own memories when his ears catch the name of the man he had just been daydreaming about and cause his mind to focus on the words of the male reporter.
"To Russia with Love," the anchor announces as the segue to the story. "It looks like some of the star athletes at these winter games are finding love in this romantic city." Castiel's stomach suddenly feels nauseous and he whips his head out the bathroom door to watch the story unfold.
"Dean Winchester, captain of the US hockey team, may be going home with more than just a medal. There has been buzz since his arrival of a blossoming romance with Bela Talbot, a British biathlete. We were finally able to get a confirmation this morning that the rumors are true."
Behind the news anchor, a video plays of Dean wearing a tight smile and a beautiful woman on his arm. She has bright eyes, golden brown hair, and a wickedly sweet smile. Her hand is on Dean's chest and she looks up at him adoringly before turning forward to address the crowd, her voice soft and sweet under her British accent, "It was so unexpected to meet someone like Dean here at the Olympics. We just had an instant connection the moment we met. I never believed in love at first sight before. Now, no matter what happens at these games, Dean and I have won something more precious than any medal."
Dean looks down at her with an expression that Castiel can't read. It's one he hasn't seen on the man's face before.
The video stops and the female anchor looks at the camera, "Well, it looks like it's bad news for the ladies. One of Sochi's sexiest bachelors has just been taken off the market. We here at channel 9 news wish the best to Bela and Dean."
Castiel turns the TV off but stands there staring at the black screen for several minutes, his earlier euphoria ripped from his gut, leaving him empty, numb, weak.
How had he so completely misinterpreted the situation? Had he let his stupid crush on the handsome hockey player cloud his judgment of what was really going on? God, he was foolish! He knew Dean was straight. He knew the man had a reputation for being with lots of women. Why did he let himself believe that Dean wanted anything more than friendship? No, he probably didn't even want friendship. He must just feel guilty for the puck incident. After all, what could a hockey player and a figure skater even have in common?
Castiel crumbles onto the bed but it feels like his insides continue to sink long after his body has hit the mattress. Five minutes ago he felt hopeful, enamored with the man who had reminded him to love skating. Just a few short minutes later he now feels like the floor has dropped out from under his feet. He feels foolish and silly for seeing signs that weren't there.
And, oh God, he left that ridiculous message on his voice mail. What if Dean calls him back? What is he going to tell him was the reason for his call? He'll just have to make up something. He wants Dean to be happy and, even though he feels the bitter sting of jealousy, he can still be glad that Dean has found someone he cares about, right?
A knock on the door shocks him out of his thoughts and reminds him that he has much bigger things going on in his life than his silly fantasy of Dean Winchester. He greets his coach and forces his mind to focus on nothing but skating his best program.
Sometimes it pays to be Dean Winchester. After he got Castiel's message he was determined to see him but backstage at the men's short program event was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Luckily, he happened to find a security guard who was a big hockey fan and let him back here in exchange for an autograph and a snapshot of them together. Dean smiled for the man as he slung an arm over his shoulder for the cell phone picture. A quick autograph later finds him roaming around the staging area looking for his friend.
When he listened to Cas' message earlier it had been a relief just hearing the man's voice. His morning had been absolutely terrible. Between the bullshit with Bela and then actually coming out to his brother, Dean was ready to just get the hell away from everyone and everything.
He had been sitting alone in his room with his head between his hands. Sam hadn't taken the news well that Dean was occasionally into guys. He had stormed out and Benny had gone to find him. Dean sat like that, alone and drowning in his own worry for what seemed like forever. He didn't know what he was going to say when Sam returned. He didn't know if he had lost his little brother's respect and love over this and the weight of that fear felt like it could crush him at any moment.
His phone rang and he nearly dove to grab it, hoping that it was Sam and he wasn't too upset. But the number on the caller ID wasn't one he recognized and he sure wasn't going to deal with any reporters. So he let the caller go to voice mail then a minute later clicked the icon to listen to the message.
What greeted him, however, wasn't a stranger prying into his private life but the warm whiskey and gravel of Cas' voice. Castiel sounded nervous but at the same time Dean thought he could almost hear a smile on the other end of the line. Dean closed his eyes and listened to the message and let the warmth of that voice surround him, the words inconsequential.
What the hell was he going to do? Just the sound of this guy's voice could take the edge off his frayed nerves.
He let himself listen to the short message again, enjoying the way his name sounded on Castiel's lips, the little hitch of hopefulness in his voice when he said he wanted to talk to Dean, the nervous breaths he could hear when Cas paused. God, he was pretty sure he could listen to Castiel talk all day.
And Cas said he wanted to see him again. Those words shouldn't steal the breath from his lungs the way they do. This gorgeous man who moves on the ice like he's flying and bites his bottom lip nervously when he smiles and looks at Dean with those penetrating blue eyes and makes him feel like he's worth more than how many goals he can score… this man wants to see him again.
It was then that Dean knew he had to see Cas again too, decided he had to see him today, in fact. Cas said that his short program was this afternoon and at that moment there wasn't anything Dean wanted more (well almost anything) than to watch Cas on the ice again so he decided that after he talked to Sam he would head to the rink to see the skater.
Now, he finds himself roaming around the skater's area, the smell of hairspray and anxiety so thick it nearly chokes him. Reporters mull around as athletes and coaches huddle in intense strategy sessions and Dean tries to discreetly dodge them all, focused on finding the one man he seeks.
What he sees next stops him in his tracks. Castiel is standing in a staging area, a quasi-room cordoned off on three sides, where he is by himself with his earbuds in and a look of intense concentration on his face as he pantomimes the steps of his program. His hair has that sort of messy look again today, but it still isn't enough to cover up the stitches on his forehead. At least the bruising is largely faded though and he is clean shaven and Cas looks really good.
And holy shit! The guy wasn't kidding about the whole Star Wars thing!
He's wearing a black vest over the Han Solo off-white shirt unbuttoned just to there with dark blue pants with a red stripe down the outside of the leg and what look like black knee-high boots over his skates. And on his right leg is a faux thigh holder that is way hotter than it has any right to be. Fuck! If Dean thought he was coming here as a platonic friend, that thought gets thrown right out the window as he stares that the six-foot tall, living, breathing embodiment of one of his favorite kinks.
He hangs back in the doorway for a moment, just watching, not wanting to interrupt Castiel in the middle of his routine. Even just kind of half-way doing the movements, Cas is gorgeous. His long, muscular limbs move so gracefully, every fluid movement flows all the way through to the tips of his fingers. And the intensity in his eyes is mesmerizing. Dean thinks he could watch Castiel all day. And shit! He's creeping on the guy again!
The trance is broken, though, when Castiel catches sight of him and immediately stops, the look of intense concentration immediately replaced by shock as a blush crawls up his cheeks.
"Dean?"
Dean smiles at Castiel, warm and authentic. "Hey, Cas, got your message."
"Oh, right, of course. It was nothing. It doesn't matter now." Castiel answers awkwardly, looking down at the ground.
Dean drifts closer until he is standing right in front of his friend and Castiel doesn't say anything for a moment. With his skates on, he is a hair taller than Dean and seeing Castiel looking this tall and sexy is slightly disorienting. And when Castiel swallows and licks his lips and the movement briefly has Dean's eyes drifting down to Cas' mouth to watch the tip of his pink tongue dart out and wet those full lips. Dean just manages to tear his eyes away and back up to notice the worry in Castiel's downcast eyes.
Dean dips his head and catches Castiel's eyes, "Hey… you OK?"
"It's… just nerves, I guess. I'm on in a few minutes."
"Relax, I'm sure you'll do great," Dean says with an encouraging smile. "Figured I would come and cheer you on. I'll be the loud asshole who doesn't know anything about figure skating yelling out inappropriate stuff like 'shoot the puck.'"
That at least gets Castiel to almost laugh. He offers Dean a shy smile and little huff of laughter.
Castiel tilts his head and looks at Dean through his eyelashes, smirking as he shakes his head, "Dean, still thinking that life revolves around hockey?"
Dean is taken aback, is Cas flirting with him?
"Doesn't it?" He flirts back, "My slap shot sure got your attention."
"Mr. Winchester, if you wanted me on my back, there are easier ways than knocking me out."
Dean's mouth drops embarrassingly open and he is about to respond when a flash of light has him seeing spots in front of his eyes as he hears a stranger yelling his name. He blinks the blindness from his eyes to see that a microphone has been shoved at him by a short woman in a red pantsuit and just over her shoulder a camera is staring him in the face.
"Dean! Dean! What can you tell us about your romance with Bela Talbot? Is she the one?"
"I don't… you'll, uh, have to ask Bela," he falters as his eyes quickly look around for Castiel, who has staggered a few steps back and is looking from Dean to the reporter.
Another reporter notices the commotion around Dean and rushes over, microphone at the ready, "Mr. Winchester, you have a history of never staying with one woman for long. But now there is Bela. Could there really be someone who you would settle down for?"
"No, I… no comment," Dean growls, eyes darting between the reporters and their cameras.
Dean seeks out Castiel and he watches as the skater turns, picks up his gear, and quickly slips out behind the reporter's backs only glancing back for a second but the confusion and hurt he sees in Castiel's eyes nearly guts him. He manages to extricate himself from the reporters a minute later, continuously insisting that he has no comments about his private life. But when he finally escapes them to look for Castiel he has disappeared and Dean hears an announcer say that the man is on the ice next so he turns to rush to take his seat and cheer on his friend.
The flash of the camera and the obnoxious pushiness of the reporter stuns Castiel for a moment as he backs away from Dean. The reporter asks about Bela and Castiel is immediately reminded that Dean is seeing the beautiful skier. Castiel is appalled with himself for falling so easily into flirting with the man.
He fumbles for his belongings as Dean awkwardly deals with the press. He needs to get away from here, get away from Dean and the hopefulness he brings to Castiel only to have it yanked away again. Now is not the time for this emotional roller coaster.
He quietly sneaks past the reporters but can't help looking back one last time at Dean. And even though their glance lasts only a second he thinks he sees regret behind those sage eyes. He tears his gaze away from that look and walks away quickly, trying to salvage what dignity he can.
He ducks into the hallway on his way to the ice and nearly runs into a short mousy looking woman with huge curious eyes and shoulder length straight brown hair. She is wearing a sweater vest and has a camera around her neck sitting over top of a press badge that says her name is Becky Rosen. Castiel groans when he realizes this is another reporter.
"Castiel Krushnic," the woman asks, "Was that Dean Winchester I just saw you talking to?"
"I-"
She doesn't give him time to answer before she interrupts with more questions.
"So you two have been spending a lot of time together here in Sochi. You seem to be getting very close."
Flustered, Castiel stammers, "W-what? I don't know what you're implying."
"No?" She smiles at him, too knowingly.
Castiel backs away from her, "I'm sorry, I must be going. I have to get onto the ice."
He nearly runs to the on-deck area to tighten his skates and prepare for his performance. All of these reporters have him much too frazzled. When Dean showed up out of nowhere, it had taken less than a minute of flirty banter for him to begin to feel composed and confident in the man's presence. Something about Dean just makes him at ease and comfortable. And in just as short a time, that tranquility was shattered by the reporters yelling about Bela and asking the nature of his relationship with Dean.
It's too much and Castiel has to block all of it out to skate his program momentarily. At that moment, Balthazar and Meg come rushing up to his side.
"Cassie, ready to-" but the words get stopped in his throat when he notices the anxious look in his student's eyes. "What is it?"
"Nothing, Balthazar. I just got a little thrown off. Dean was here and then there were reporters and…"
"Dean again? I'll crush that man!" Meg sneers.
"No, Meg, it's fine. He's not a concern. Trust me. Now, I'm going to go out there complete this program."
Castiel steps past his coach and his manager, taking a deep breath and focusing his thoughts just in time to hear his name called.
"Representing Russia, Castiel Krushnic," the announcement comes over the speakers and Castiel slowly heads to the center of the ice to uproarious applause. He looks around the arena and waves to the crowd, knowing that having them on his side is a good strategic move. Crowd enthusiasm can definitely influence the judges.
His eyes roam over the hundreds of cheering faces knowing that one of them is Dean. He decides, resolutely, that he is not going to let Dean Winchester affect him anymore.
He glides to the center of the ice, takes his pose and a deep breath and blocks out everything but the mechanics of the next two minutes and fifty seconds that are planned out to the precise second.
The iconic first notes of the Star Wars theme blast over the speakers and Castiel is off. He talks himself through every step in his head – left, right, turn, hands, kick, spin, jump. One by one he skates through his elements, calculating points earned in his head – triple axel landed perfectly 8.5 points, flying camel spin into a sit spin 5.2 points, triple flip triple salchow combination 10 points. Sometimes Castiel feels like a calculator, trading artistry for math. But this is how the system works.
He downgrades the quad he had planned early in the program to a triple, knowing that it will cost him 7 points. He decides to make those points up later by adding a triple after another triple to get the combination credit. Finally, at the two minute mark he has landed every required jump and there is nothing left that will risk his score. He uses this opportunity to engage the crowd and judges, flirting with them as his moves take on the styling of a light saber sword fight.
Towards the end of the program is a movement in the music where the Imperial March plays and he does a slow spin combination during this dark, slower section. Then at the end, the music picks back up to the familiar main theme and he flies around the rink, doing split jumps as the music crescendos and ends the routine with a fast combination spin and stops on the last note of the music.
The crowd erupts into boisterous applause as flowers are thrown onto the ice from all directions. Castiel has skated a clean program. It is certainly not his best ever, though. It felt cold and detached, mechanical. But the largely Russian audience is cheering him enthusiastically and he lets himself smile through his bows.
Castiel skates to the kiss and cry area where Balthazar and Meg are waiting.
"Cassie! Excellent job! I didn't expect you to go all rogue and throw in that unplanned triple toeloop."
"Our little Clarence," Meg jokes, "always the rebel. You know that's all kinds of hot?"
Their excitement is contagious and Castiel finds himself laughing and joking with Meg. "Rebel, huh? Well, I have to keep you on your toes somehow."
"Or give me grey hair worrying about what trouble you'll get yourself into next."
"Meg Masters worried about someone other than herself? What am I hearing? I'm touched."
"Aw, Clarence, you're melting my cold dead heart, but unless you plan to follow through on those compliments, save 'em for someone who plays for your team."
"Alright, you two. Enough flirting. Have a seat so we can get your scores," Balthazar chimes in.
The three sit anxiously side by side, Castiel in the middle, flanked on either side by his manager and coach. And when the scores are finally read, Castiel nods. He is neither disappointed or surprised. He scored high marks for his elements, landing the jumps and completing the required moves correctly. However, he isn't surprised to see his grade of execution score lower than it has been in the past. He just didn't feel any passion or excitement for the routine. It felt just that – routine. It felt empty, like it was missing something important that was just beyond Castiel's grasp.
Even with his mediocre performance score, though, his mastery of the elements puts him solidly in second place after the short program. He knows what he has to do now. He has to focus all of his energy on his long program and get his quad jumps back in the routine. And he really needs to find that spark, the passion, the joy in his skating that was missing tonight.
He'll have to forget about Dean Winchester and the flat disappointment that he feels knowing how unrequited his attentions would be. In the short time that he has known Dean, the man was able to bring out that spark and joy in his skating, or maybe it was just being around his infectious energy. But he can't rely on Dean and he certainly can't let himself be disappointed again. From now on it's strictly ice skating and no wasting time with the hockey player who affects him too much.
Author's note: Lovely readers, thanks for your patience. I wanted to get this chapter out last weekend but real life obligations sometimes get in the way. Sorry for the delay. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, although it is a rough one for our beloved Cas.
The only hockey terminology here is the chapter title of slashing. In hockey it's kind of what it sounds like, slashing someone with your stick. But what Dean Cas fic would be complete without a little fandom slashing of our own?