Have some adorablely corny thing.
And in honor of it being Valentine's Day, I'll be posting some of my Destiel fan art that I've been hiding in my pocket like an ashamed little girl onto Tumblr. If you want to see, check out hosekiasylum . tumblr . com.
Flick of the Wrist
Castiel, it quickly became apparent, liked to figure things out through touch.
He liked to run his fingers over things multiple times, examining their texture and shape, and sometimes he would even rub his cheek on something like a cat. Sam and Dean found it hilarious but tried not to let that show in front of Castiel. He'd been deeply offended when they had laughed at him the first time.
"Touch is important to angels," He commented rather hotly, brow furrowing in the closest thing to angry embarrassment he displayed, "It is how we communicate that which we cannot express with…words. Our Grace and our wings are far more sensitive than human skin and nerves. Touch is how we see the world around us in greater detail, it tells us things we would never have known simply from sight, and it can display a more…profound bond."
That had been before Dean had seen Cas' wings.
Now that he could, the oldest Winchester realized that Castiel wasn't just using his hands (and occasionally face) to feel things. He was using his wings too. Any time they went someplace new, those wings would unfold like flower petals and the tips would brush lightly over chairs, walls, random objects, and sometimes even people. Dean didn't like that last bit but it had only happened once or twice so he could live with it.
But the things Castiel liked to prod the most with his wings were anything to do with the Winchesters.
When he was talking to Sam or Dean about a hunt, he would sometimes spread a wing out to lay it across one of the motel room beds, it didn't matter who had been sleeping in it. When they got up from a chair they'd been sitting in, his light-feathers would brush across the seat briefly before withdrawing. He would stick the tips of his wings into their bags or their shoes they left sitting by the door when he thought they couldn't see, he would brush them against glasses or beer bottles that had been drunk from, and half-fold a wing over Sam's towering stacks of books or the open lid of his laptop like he was cradling it.
He especially liked to touch the Impala.
It had been the Winchester brothers' home for the majority of their lives and Dean had put so much love and care into it that it was basically part of the family. More than once Dean had caught Cas standing beside the car and running his wings over the sleek black surface, or sitting inside and pressing his face against the back of the driver's seat while his wings filled up the rest of the interior with light and color. To Sam, who couldn't see the wings, it just looked as if Castiel was have a staring contest with things. But objects weren't the only thing Castiel touched.
Sam had learned to recognize that warm breeze and the small, hot electric tingle that danced lightly across his skin when Cas was waving his wings about again. He might not have been able to see them but he could feel them, sense them crowding a room or the back of the Impala. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling but Sam vividly remembered the night he had tried to restrain Cas' wings and so avoided responding to their touch. If Cas felt anything about this, he did not express it. So Sam would silently allow Cas to brush those wings over arms, back, head, and not say anything about it.
Dean, on the hand, thoroughly enjoyed the experience and didn't seemed to mind one bit when Castiel would wrap a wing around Sam's shoulder in a protective manner. In fact, there were times when it seemed like he was encouraging the behavior.
But more than anything else, Dean liked it when Castiel's wings touched him.
Sam knew when those wings were brushing across his brother's shoulders because an honest to god smile would spread slowly across Dean's features, the kind of smile that was generally rare and hard to find. It was still annoying and embarrassing when Dean fondled Cas' wings in public but Sam could live with it too see his brother really, truly smile.
For his part, Dean probably wasn't even aware that his smile was genuine, only that he was enjoying the experience. He'd never given much thought to Cas and his wing-touching habits, just accepted them and loved them and cherished every moment of them.
Until one morning during a hot shower when the shower curtain rustled and a wingtip of bright red swirled with shades of gold, violet, and silver-white peeked into the shower.
"Cas." Dean said in a half warning, half amused voice. The wingtip withdrew.
But a little bit later, as he was sticking his face under the water and washing the shampoo from his hair, something warm and electric trailed its way up the inside of his leg.
"Castiel." Dean said firmly, spitting out water and rubbing it from his eyes as he stepped away. Again, the wing withdrew. Dean glared at the shower curtain for a while and then huffed and went back to cleaning himself.
A clink of rings on the metal bar overhead. Dean looked up in time to see a wing arching over the top of the shower rod and sidestepped it before it could begin prodding his hair. Instead, he reached up and, with wet, soapy hands, grabbed a large handful of feathers. There was a gentle tug on the other end of the wing but Dean kept a firm grip. The light-energy-color tingled against his skin. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was what it was like to hold onto a rainbow.
"Dean," Said Cas' voice, muffled by the shower curtain and the running water, "Please release my wing."
"Mm, nope." Dean replied, greens eyes flitting around the shower to watch colors bounce and refract off the tiled walls. The water spraying from the faucet captured the light and rainbows and it looked as though Dean was bathing in molten gold and fire rather than tap water.
"Please." Another tug, this one slightly harder than the first. Dean decided to play along and tugged back. There was a startled silence and then the wing in his jerked to the side. But Dean had been wrestling monsters all his life and kept a firm hold.
"I'm not going to let you go." He called.
"My shoulder is beginning to ache."
"Shoulda' thought of that before you went around poking people in the shower."
"Dean—."
"Why do you do that anyway?"
A pause and then Cas said, "History. Now release my wing." Another tug.
"Uh-uh, that's not an answer. Come on, Cas, you know better 'in to pull that cryptic shit on me. What do you mean?"
Another pause, this one longer, thoughtful, "It is…difficult to explain. I told you once that one angel touching another's wings is a very intimate gesture."
"Yeah."
"Touch, in general, is…is a way for us…we can see the world differently than humans. In a vessel, we are generally restricted to human eye sight, apart from such things as soul gazing and the occasional mind reading, as you call it." A shift, the feathers made the rings on the shower rod clink again, "Our Grace seeps into every part of our being and we can still send it out through our vessel's limbs, if need be. But our wings tell us so much more than a simple brush of the fingers ever could."
"Like what?" Dean asked, genuinely curious. His grip on Castiel's wing had slackened but the angel had not removed it from the shower. The light-color of his feathers was beginning to become misted in tiny droplets like dew and they bent the colorful display even more.
"Emotions." It sounded as though Cas was trying to keep his voice level, "Our wings—our Grace—can pick them up like…like…"
"Like radio signals?"
"I…suppose that is an accurate comparison. But we use our wings to do it."
"Is that why you keep touching me and Sam? Because you want to know how we're feeling? You could just ask." Dean's arm was beginning to hurt but he didn't let go of Cas' wing.
"You're emotions are complex and layered. You hide your true feelings. Both of you do." There was a vague, somewhat sad note in the angel's voice, "On the surface, you can be pleasant or violent but underneath you hide so many things. I am just…looking out for your well-being."
"So you were poking me while I was naked in the shower?"
"You were relaxed, at ease, I was simply—."
"Why don't you come in here and I'll show you how relaxed I am."
Silence.
Then the wing was abruptly yanked from Dean's grasp and he stumbled forward. He would have fallen through the shower curtain if an angel hadn't appeared before him and wrapped the hunter in his arms. They both fell back against the opposite wall, awash in color and water and light. Cas pressed his lips hard against Dean's, hands running through the oldest Winchester's hair and sticking into haphazard spikes.
"Mmph, Cas," Dean murmured past the angel's rough kiss, "You're still wearing your clothes."
"I do not care." Wings flared and molten silver splashed with gold and fire and sunlight across the walls before one curled back in to push between Dean's bare back and cold shower wall. It pushed them even closer together and that hot, electric sensation warmed Dean's skin like a warm fire,
"I only want you, Dean Winchester. Now and forever."
Dean smirked, resting his forehead against Castiel's as the hot water poured over them and steamed and light and color swirled around their intertwined figures, "You and your cheesy one liners." He looped an arm around the angel's waist, his other hand twisting into the feathers of Cas' free wing,
"Now. Forever. And until the end of time."
