Azure
The request for Cas to stay was taken quite literally. Dean isn't surprised, nor does he mind; which is actually a little surprising. After such "encounters", he usually likes to sleep for a good, long while, and then wake up—alone. Lisa was an exception . . . her breakfasts were amazing.
He finally pulls himself upright from the couch, listening as Cas washes his hands in the kitchen. Dean swears, he can hear the man smiling. Small, dancing hums and chuckles fill the air; bouncing from one streaming ray of sun to the other. The living room is darkening; the orange streaks are graying at the edges and he wonders just how long he and Cas had been doing things.
The thought is interrupted by a plate being pushed in front of his face; a large piece of surgically-cut pie, resting in the center. He almost feels he could cry. Dean looks up at the angel of a man, who is grinning ear to ear; his dark hair is a bigger mess than usual, and the blue in his eyes seems slightly dulled with fatigue. Dean grabs the plate, his stomach stabbing suddenly as his brain reports the message that pie is on its way down.
The first bite is explosive. He isn't sure if he has ever tasted anything better. The crust flakes across his tongue; little sugar bombs riding the fragments, just waiting to attack each taste bud with reckless abandon. The cherries pop and gush out a syrupy-sweet, honey filled concoction that is nothing less than euphoric. Dean moans as a little dribble of drool escapes his mouth. Castiel laughs as Dean's eyes roll to the top of his skull, searching for the words to express just how perfect this moment is.
And it is perfect. Not just the orgasmic-pie, but what has led up to it and who is sitting next to him. Dean swallows another bite, wondering if he is fully comprehending what had just occurred. He feels like he should be panicking, he should be concerned that not only did he just get off by a guy, but that guy was Castiel. He had never once thought of Cas in that way, why would he? There always seemed to be a woman around for him; some perky breasts and a tight, round ass to hold his attention. Who had the time to think about other possibilities when a waitress is always slipping her number into your back pocket?
No, he has never thought of Cas that way and even now, in this perfect, completely calming moment, he is not sure if he could do what Cas just did. It is one thing to be "taken care of" by someone; surprisingly, men and women's hands feel the same when fondling you into temporary blindness. But, Dean isn't sure if he could suddenly make the switch from the glistening, pink holes he is used to, to throbbing manhoods. Although, the firmness of Cas's chest did feel amazing, beating against his own. The slow, hard grind of the man's hips on his side, electrified him in ways that he didn't know were possible. In spite of that, Dean isn't sure if he could make this gigantic change to pleasing men—but he may just be able to start pleasing Castiel.
Cas sits next to Dean, staring, as he often does—unblinking, making him wonder at times, if the man even has eyelids. Although, there has to be something holding up those long, soft lashes. Dean finds himself smiling, mouth full of cherry-sweetness, eyes full of a blue eyed, shaggy haired man, with a razor sharp jaw that could kill things. He smiles and eats and in all-too short a time, his plate is empty.
"Would you like another slice?" Cas asks, his voice low and rumbling, making Dean vibrate up from his toes.
Dean nods, still swallowing his last bite, his cheeks twitching with pleasure. Cas gets up, taking Dean's plate with him, making his way back to the kitchen. Dean watches, noticing somehow for the first time, the completeness of Castiel. He is not just his goofy, particular, socially awkward friend of seven, long years. Nor is he just the genius, book worm, editor that the rest of the world sees; and he is definitely not just an amazing kisser—he is all that and so much more. He is a pie maker and he is forceful and fierce at times. He is small and large all at once. Cas can seem so weak and meager—making Dean want to wrap him up and protect him from everything scary and worrisome in the world. Much like he used to do with Sammy; before Sammy turned into a moose of a man, that is.
Yeah, Cas could seem weak, but the way he pulled Dean into him-the way his usually shaky hands held him down and held him tight; the way he could wrench himself away, even when it was obvious that all he wanted in this world was to be close to something—made Dean think he was the strongest guy he has ever met. He didn't think of himself as a weakling but in Cas's hands, he certainly turned into one—moaning like a love sick, cheerleader under the bleachers. He was kind of embarrassed by how he must have sounded.
Another crimson slice appears in front of him, suspended by a lightly tanned arm, each muscle outlined by a subtle vein or turn of bone. Cas has rolled up the sleeves of his white, button up shirt, revealing the sinewy limbs beneath. Dean takes the pie but drinks in his friend. He didn't see a man standing there, blue orbs and tousled hair, he saw everything he and the guy have been through to get here—the memories seem to grace Cas's skin like freckles. Dean finds, he wants to see more, he wants to undress Castiel and appreciate what hides beneath those buttons and perfectly fitting jeans. He finds, he isn't horribly terrified that he wants that.
Cas sits down beside Dean once more, this time, turning his attention to his own slice of pie. Dean stares in a very Cas-like fashion as his friend eats, seemingly, just as hungry as he was. A little dribble of cherry syrup misses the man's mouth, falling slowly from his bottom lip. Dean leans in, knees brushing knees, and kisses the runaway drop just before it plummets to the carpet. Cas smiles, shaking his head and looking down; his cheeks turning just as red as the smears on his plate. Dean feels like he could squeal—a very embarrassing and unusual sensation; but the sight of Cas now, so fragile, contradicting the last hour so harshly, makes Dean squirm in his seat.
"Hey, Cas?" Dean asks, suddenly very nervous about what Cas is thinking.
"Hmm?" Cas mumbles, mouth full of pie, focus still on the floor.
"Can you stay longer? Like . . . the night?" his hands shudder, causing the fork to tremble against his plate.
Castiel swallows thickly, peering up to Dean-his azure eyes glowing again with that old brightness that always lights up his face.
"I wasn't planning on leaving, Dean."