Thinking About It
The closet door opens and Cas walks inside, disappearing from his view. Dean rolls to his back, sprawling out across his bed, staring at the ceiling. The popcorn covering morphs and bends awkwardly, mocking his inability to do anything right. Why the hell is he such a fuck up? He wants to blame this on his inexperience and the fact that up until Monday, he would have never thought he would be in this situation—cursing the world for not being able to please a man. He wants to blame all that but really; he just is a big-ass wimp. He was scared and he let Cas down—again.
Castiel walks back into view, looking shrunken in Dean's baggy clothes. They are close to the same height but Dean is bulkier than the blue eyed man, so his normally fitted apparel hangs like drapes on the slender figure in front him.
"Are you going to be able to sleep in those?" Dean asks, temporarily distracted by his friend in the circus tent.
"I think so." Cas replies, looking down at himself.
"What do you normally sleep in?" Dean probes; genuinely curious.
Cas blushes, "Just my briefs usually. If it is a cold night, I will wear pants like these . . . smaller ones of course."
Dean looks quickly down at Cas's feet, wanting to avoid the giant blue orbs that were certainly waiting on his reaction. He doesn't know how to respond; he wants Cas to be comfortable but at the same time, the thought of sleeping alongside and nearly naked man is pretty terrifying—especially after what he had just been through. But then again, so what if he's uncomfortable? Cas is probably ten times worse—considering the blue balls the man most likely has.
"Well, if you uh, get too hot . . . just get comfortable, man." Dean says, trying his best to sound up beat and care free. The words slop off his tongue instead.
Cas nods, and begins stripping off his shirt. The air hitches in Dean's throat. He wasn't expecting this. He thought the guy would be more hesitant, but instead, he seems almost relieved that Dean offered the freedom from the potato sack-clothes he is being strangled in. The act is actually kind of comforting, knowing that Cas is so literal, he doesn't get held up with pleasantries and social graces. He does what he feels and he feels the need to be shirtless. The sight is certainly okay with Dean, which is still a little startling to him.
The lean, smooth man stands at the corner of Dean's bed, adjusting the ties on the sweats he is wearing, desperately trying to yank them tighter so they don't fall off his narrow waist. Dean just stares, trying to enjoy the fact, that he is enjoying the sneak peek at the occasional moles that spot his friend's body. Everything about him was so un-feminine but at the same time, not really "manly" either. Cas is just Cas and Dean starts to think that is why he is so drawn to him, because he is his best friend above everything else, and he trusts him; and that is the only explanation that matters.
The thin man finally finds some sort of satisfactory knot and moves closer to the bed. Dean looks up at him, scooting over in the process, trying to show his friend that is is alright if he joins him. Cas smiles softly, no longer looking full of pity on Dean's behalf. He seems genuinely happy that Dean is here, on this bed, sliding over to let him in.
The dark haired man crawls onto the mattress, giving a quick twist of his body until he is sitting on his haunches, upright slightly and looking up at Dean, almost like he is waiting for something. Dean realizes that he is still fully clothed and perhaps Cas really does want to go to bed. He pushes himself off the edge and stands up, his back turned to Castiel, not able to be as bold as his counterpart. He feels Cas's eyes burning a hole into his spine. He doesn't know which would be worse, undressing silently in front of the guy or facing him and talking about things while he undresses. He chooses some sound over the awkward stabbing of quiet.
"Cas?"
"Yes, Dean?"
Dean suddenly feels the need to clear all the air, knowing that the bed will eat him alive if he doesn't. "I am—I am sorry about, umm . . . you know? I just don't really know what I am doing."
Cas is silent for a moment, and Dean feels as if he's going to explode into a thousand pieces with each nanosecond without words.
"It's okay, Dean. I don't really know what I am doing either. I think it is obvious that we are both treading on some untouched ground here."
Dean smiles to himself as he pulls his rumpled shirt from his arms, catching whiffs of pie and Castiel on the fabric. "Well, you certainly are more natural with it than I am."
The man propels glares at the bedroom door in front of him, "I don't think I am natural with anything, Dean. I always sort of bumble through things until they finally make sense. I just think I have been bumbling with this idea longer than you h—" Cas bites his words and Dean stops, mid-unzip to look at his friend.
Cas is turning twelve shades of pink and Dean thinks he may just choke on his own tongue the way his mouth is gaping, seemingly without any air passing through.
"I—I just mean, that I have been thinking about this—" Cas shakes his head and looks towards the opposite side of the room, away from Dean. "I haven't been thinking about this for long, but ever since . . . ever since, that kiss in the hall. I, I thought that there might be," Cas clears his throat and tosses one sideways glance back at Dean, "I thought there might be more between us."
Dean smiles and finishes pulling off his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers; not really caring anymore about the exposure. He leans down and crawls onto the bed, sitting himself close to Castiel, wrapping his arm around the man's shoulders, and pulling him in until Cas's neck goes slack and his head falls into the curve at the base of Dean's.
"I am glad you bumbled yourself into this, Cas," Dean whispers, his lips, tickling against Cas's hair, "I knew I was too much of a puss to even think about that kiss. If you weren't you, we wouldn't be here."
Cas sinks into Dean's side, sending chills and goose bumps all over his body. Dean reaches across himself with his free hand and grips tightly onto Cas's forearm. Cas lifts his head back a little until he is turning and peering up at him, giving Dean the same look he gave him on the couch—that deep, unmoving stare out of the top corners of his eyes; the whites hazing around the blues, like a scalding flame. Dean's heart seems to ignite, caught in the rays of cobalt and ivory. With a little push, Cas is at his lips, pressing into them softly; making Dean lift his hand from Cas's arm and move to the man's neck so he could pull him in as far as he could go. He may not be able to please Cas in other ways, but he is so damn happy that he can at least make him feel appreciated.