Chapter 10
"Oh, boy, I wonder what I'm going to name it", Balthazar said in awe, possibly—most likely—sarcastic.
He was standing by Cas' big oak table, smiling, and as he turned Dean's gift around in his hands again and again his smile slowly widened into a sleazy grin.
"I mean, it's so precious, lovely and hilarious! I'm going to have such fun times with this. Christ, I'm already having fun. It must be a name that's truly worthy of its originality… a name that just screams hello, I'm an awfully hilarious present from bloody Dean Winchester, and who the hell are you?"
He cackled wildly, receiving nothing but another eye roll from Cas, who was just closing his cottage's door, blocking out the chilly September night air.
It was shortly after eleven, and the three of them found themselves in Cas' living room, pretty much sober, tipsy at best. The beer had been mostly water, as it was a lot more profitable than actual booze when your business was practically dead.
Dean was just making himself comfortable on the red couch, arms hanging lazily across the backrest. Cas, Dean observed, was all busy taking off his trench coat, and revealed a spot of pale, soft skin under his now rather rumpled white shirt while putting the jacket on the clothes rack.
Dude seriously needs to get some longer shirts, Dean thought, totally randomly, and casually turned to watch Balthazar to make some more pointedly random observations.
Sure, at some point during the twenty-minutes car ride back to Fleeing Deer Street, Dean—of course—had reconsidered whether or not it was rude or inappropriate to simply tag along with the brothers, since they didn't see each other a lot and all that. But then again, Cas' thankful puppy-eyes spoke volumes whenever he met them. And honestly, Dean wasn't too eager on returning home to Sammy just yet. Not before the clock struck twelve, and his holy friggin' birthday was finally over.
"It's cold in here", Cas declared, matter-of-factly.
Dean's curious look followed him as he squeezed past Balthazar, who was still playing with his new toy. Cas kneeled down in front of the rusty woodstove that Dean, whyever, had always taken for an old-fashioned decoration thingy, not something you could actually use. Especially not in the middle of summer. But apparently, that was exactly what Cas was up to. He fiddled with some longish lighter and moved a couple of big wood blocks into the stove, in a kind of adept way, Dean noticed. He was actually making a fire. It may sounded girly and cheesy and yes, it probably was, but when that first spark hit the dry wood, and soon formed a solid, glowing flame, a ray of that light also dawned on Dean.
Summer was clearly over, he realized. One way or another.
"Yes, that's better", Cas spoke to himself while closely observing the dancing flame behind the soot-blackened stove door.
The sizzling sound of burning wood surely was a nostalgic tune to Dean's ears. It awoke long forgotten memories of cold winter nights so many years ago, back when the Winchester's had still been some kind of family. In the cozy silence of Cas' living room, Dean could almost hear the voice he constantly tried to keep in mind, always afraid of forgetting the sound, his mother's soft, warm voice, the way she'd forever say to him—
"That's utter bollocks!"
Balthazar angrily stormed across the room, fancy leather boots clattering loudly on the wooden floor boards, making Dean flinch and snap back into reality in a rather less solemn way.
"What's up—"
"What's up, what's up, dude! Please, spare me that bloody Dean Winchester slang right now", Balthazar snapped. "My new jacket is still at that Ramsh-blah-blah-place, I must have left it there! Why didn't you two remind me? Do you think this some kind of sick game? Or are you just so wild about each other that you cannot possibly wait to get rid of me? Just leave my precious attire out of it, would you?"
Cas, who'd just been adjusting the burning wood in the woodstove, awkwardly tripped and landed on his ass. Dean was staring at his own feet, trying hard not to show any kind of reaction to Balthazar's words.
"Aw, boo-hoo, Cassy, stop crying, would you? You just fell on your luxury buttock, but I possibly just lost my bloody branded leather jacket! I should be the one having a good cry on Dean Winchester's shoulder! You wouldn't believe how much the jacket is worth! A bloody treasure!" Suddenly, Balthazar's voice went downright anxious. "Quick, Cassy, lend me your car keys, I need to save my baby from those greedy tramps and alcoholics, oh my, those are the worst…"
"They lie on my bed", Cas said, bobbing up. "Or, wait, I might have put them in my pockets. Or, uh, in my coat. No, I believe they must lie on the passenger seat. That happens sometimes."
"Brilliant. Thank God for your overweening tidiness", Balthazar sputtered. The sudden sight of Cas' know-it-all-brother being all fussy and out of concept was pleasing Dean more than it probably should. "I'll hurry. I hope for this town's sake that my jacket hasn't landed on the black market yet. Who knows with these skanky redneck towns. And don't get up to any nonsense while I'm gone, Cassy. I'd hate to miss that."
That said, Balthazar winked at the two suggestively—there had always got to be time for that—and then span round on his heel. He slammed the door shut, leaving Cas standing in the middle of the room without a use. Don't blush, Dean ordered himself, desperate, not willing to give Cas' brother that satisfaction, 'cause hell, those lines didn't work on Dean, hell no, his heart wasn't pounding as if it was going to burst or anything.
Don't. Friggin'. Blush. Don't. Bl—
—Goddammit. At least Cas didn't see his face, or even understood the situation. Dean could easily tell apart his friend's I-don't-understand and oh-god-why-face by now. In the distance, the sound of Cas' brother dashing to the Chevy like his life depended on it was plainly audible.
A felt second later, the engine was gunned in a very unhealthy way and the ridiculously loud screech of the wheels effectively yanked the two of them out of their—Dean's—awkward stiffness.
Say something.
"So", Dean blabbed, mindlessly. "Looks like it's only the two of us now."
"Yes", Cas agreed, and moved to take place on the couch next to Dean. So close, he sat, that he was forcing Dean to awkwardly keep his arm lying on the backrest behind his neck. "Since Balthazar just left, I guess that means there's no one else around."
First, Cas was facing the ground, before cracking a smile at Dean that could've easily lit up the room all by itself.
"So, uh." Dean shifted on his seat, his mind an empty space. "What a day, huh? You probably didn't see that coming when you got up this morning. Me blowing up your class and all that, puking everywhere…"
Wow, what a clever change of topic, Dean silently congratulated himself. Why not mention that one night you sat on Cas' boner while you're at it?
Cas, however, just chuckled. The low-pitched, gorgeous, now definitely too close sound of it made Dean's flesh crawl.
"No, I certainly didn't. But seeing you there today, I have to say, made me very happy. In fact." Cas paused to catch Dean's avoidant look again. "Having you here right now makes me very happy, Dean. I was afraid my brother might scare you away, but… you're still here."
Yes, he was still here, and he was left a little speechless. He broke the way too intimate eye contact and gave a shy smile, while violently pushing the irritating feeling of his stupid flattering heart to the back of his mind.
"Yeah, uh, guess I can be kind of a leech sometimes."
A poor attempt at taking the deeper meaning out of Cas' words, but poor was just his second name, was his attribute, like delicious was to pie. As Cas was just about to say something, Dean broke him off by suddenly bursting out laughing like an idiot. The events just before his dramatic blackout now came back to him without a warning. Dean snorted with laughter, remembering all of today's Mr.-Novak-in-action impressions.
"What the hell was that whole 'Pi'-joke all about today, Cas? Jeez, man, are you always like this in class, I mean, like—really? Pi? Some quality humor right there, man."
At that, Cas chuckled to himself in a kind of remorseful way, the downy hair of his neck lightly tickling Dean's arm as he leaned back.
"Oh, that." Cas stared up to the ceiling, smiling. "I know plenty of these, actually. I've collected them. Some of these are quite entertaining, Dean, and sometimes they're just… all I've got. Since I've never been any good at reacting to crying students or any of the kind. But, well, anyway", Cas finished abruptly, and turned his head to face Dean with a smirk. His head was now leaning against Dean's arm very… tangibly. And intimately.
"Your tan line is showing."
Dean darted a baffled look at Cas. "My what?"
"Oh", Cas giggled. "It's just another math shenanigan. Tan as in tangent… Do you understand?"
"Uh, yeah", Dean lied, not very convincing, and shook his head with amusement. "You're such a geek, Cas."
"Well, yes, I guess I am quite fond of my subject", Cas answered, unaffectedly. "Here's another one: A square angle and a triangle walk into a bar…"
Just like that, Cas rattled off his complete math jokes repertoire, and Dean, naturally getting not even half of the puns, was laughing his ass off nonetheless. The serious manner in which Cas was telling the childish, plain, hell, even dirty jokes was simply priceless. His clumsiness definitely had some kind of unknown comedic value.
Plus, Dean had never heard Cas say anything explicitly sexual before and it was well, funny, 'cause Dean wasn't sure if he even knew what he was saying. Also, the happy glow in his eyes was definitely worth watching, and the way he was still grinning at jokes he'd probably heard a million times already, how he licked his dry lips every now and then… so full… soft-looking, with a delicious pink blush…
"… and it wasn't Balthazar's fault, I just saw you together with Lisa Braeden a couple of times. So I thought out loud as I was wondering why you wouldn't spend your birthday with your girlfriend, or if she even really is your girlfriend for that matter, how long you might have been together, whether or not you are happy with her, the likeliness of the possibility that you're only with her because you're scared of being lonely, and, well, just a small quantity of other things. And unfortunately, he decided to interrogate you about it at the bar. My apologies."
"W—what?" Dean looked up in surprise, blushing hard. "Oh, uh, never mind. I—I don't celebrate it anyway", he stuttered, hoping that he'd guessed right.
Get a fucking grip, he thought. You're obviously drunk as fuck.
"Good." Cas nodded, sympathetically. "I'm glad we've talked about it. I'd hate to build up any kind of tension between us, since we're working on 'getting it on' and all."
"Yeah, uhm." Dean coughed. Cas' words went right between Dean's legs. "It's still 'getting on with it', Cas, not—not 'getting it on'."
"Ah, yes", Cas said, mindlessly rolling his neck. "I keep mixing that up. What does 'getting it on' mean, Dean? What is 'it'? And why does it need to 'get on'?"
Dean blinked, mouth suddenly dry. Cas turned his head to Dean, casually lying in Dean's arm, face all heated by the booze. "Uh—it's… don't you have some laptop to google it or something?"
"Unfortunately not", Cas said, adorably smiling at Dean. "But, I suppose, if you don't know what it means I could simply ask Balthazar about it when he comes ba—"
"Sex, it means having sex, okay", Dean stressfully blurted out. "Don't talk to your brother about any of this, d'you hear me?"
"Of course I'm hearing you", Cas giggled, poking Dean's chest with one finger, obviously drunk and cuddly. "You're sitting right next to me, Dean."
"Yeah, okay", Dean said, coughing slightly. Cas was smiling at his chest, drawing circles with his finger. "Just—don't ask him anything. Always ask me."
Cas glanced up at Dean, eyes big. "Of course, Dean."
Dean swallowed. "Good."
They sat like this for a few minutes, Cas silently playing with Dean's chest, and Dean pretending hard that this wasn't adorable, that drunk Cas wasn't the cutest and flirtiest thing that had ever happened, and that Dean hadn't purposely wrapped his arm around Cas, that it'd just sort of happened. Suddenly, Cas giggled again, giving Dean goosebumps.
"Sex", Cas said, and looked up at Dean, curiously. Dean imagined an electric shock to feel exactly like this. "I've thought about your explanation, and it's funny, because 'getting it on' actually means the exact opposite of 'getting on with it'. Language is truly comical sometimes, isn't it, Dean?"
Dean made an incoherent noise, shifting. "Yeah. Yeah, it's hilarious, really."
"Mhh", Cas grumbled, huddling to Dean's chest. "I'm glad we successfully disposed of this misunderstanding, Dean."
Dean didn't know what to tell Cas anymore. He couldn't help but think of the million times he'd jacked off to the sheer thought of Cas ever since that one Friday night, and, basically holding Cas in his arms right now, he didn't really know what to do, but agreeing that all of this was just some silly misunderstanding—it felt deeply wrong. Because these shabby excuses were bullshit, and apparently everyone and their Mum knew that Cas had a major crush on Dean, and Cas was being hot as hell right now, and Dean's heart was beating way too fast, way too loudly, so much so that Cas had to feel it to, so Dean—he was torn.
At Dean's sudden silence, Cas turned his head to look him in the eyes, like he always did, to find out what was going on in Dean's head right now. And this time Cas probably found a wild mixture of guilt, embarrassment and general fucked-up-ness in there. And oh, of course Dean's violently red cheeks had to be pretty noticeable, too.
Irritated, Cas cocked his head slightly, and Dean wished he was able to make at least some sound. Like, get his shit together and simply say me too or something. Hell, even an awkward coughing fit would've been better than nothing. But no, his tongue was striking.
Cas just kept staring at him, his flirty smile making way for an undefinable expression. His pupils were swaying between Dean's emerald green irises, analyzing.
Jesus Christ, don't analyze me.
Maybe it was simply due to the cottage's heated air, with the burning wood stove and all, but Dean felt weirdly exposed and burning hot under his warm sweater. It almost felt as if Cas' intense stare was getting directly under his skin, reading his mind. Perhaps he didn't even have to read it, 'cause Dean was being so fucking obvious.
Either way, Cas was driving Dean crazy.
Dean's look panned to Cas' neck, trying to avoid the look, but maybe also because he wanted to look exactly there. Maybe because he wanted to… touch it.
Before Dean knew what was happening, he felt Cas' hot, delicately soft skin just under his fingertips. And since his hand was already there, why pull it back now? He might as well just… leave it there. Get a little more of that sensation… caress him a little, maybe. Cas had done that too, hadn't he? Plenty of times. It was only justified that Dean wanted to give him something back. Cas' neck, the delicate fuzz, he explored it, first only with cautious fingertips, but soon using his palm and adding a little pressure. Fondling the man, he had no idea why, made Dean feel invincible and good.
A silent gasp made Dean stop in his movements and meet those blue eyes. Nothing he saw in them made him want to back off, still he found himself paralyzed. Not necessarily scared. Just electrified. For a moment, the two of them were just sitting there, anticipatory, the only sounds in the room being their breaths and the spitting fire in the wood stove.
Cautiously, Dean continued with running his fingers through those dark brown tender curls, then all the way back down to his neck, all the while closely studying the tiny changes in Cas' facial expression. Cas had closed his eyes and was gasping, mouth slightly opened, and Dean spotted a twitch here and there, spots of rouge blushing his cheeks, and how Cas looked so taken by his touch and yet so guilty. Fascinating, just to watch him.
"Dean", Cas breathed. "Please…"
And Cas pressed Dean's knee, helplessly, much different from the grip back in the bar, but still, Dean couldn't help but wonder if maybe, back in the bar, Cas had enjoyed it just as much as Dean had. That he had not only done it on purpose, but because he had sensed a good enough excuse to touch Dean once again.
Now this grip wasn't soothing, but damn upsetting, because it was hot how Cas didn't know how else to help himself, how he had to hold on to something, and it sent a weird thrill to Dean's fingertips, and everywhere else, really.
If Cas was trying to stop him, however, then he was doing a really poor job, because his pleading tone and the firm grip on his knee weren't exactly discouraging. In fact, they drove Dean downright insane.
So much so that he ran his fingertips in the direction of that spot he'd been staring at the whole time, today, yesterday, and the many days before that. On Cas' chin, he felt that heavenly stubble, scratchy and tickling. Cas blinked at the new direction of Dean's fingers and frowned.
Dean flashed him a short glimpse. He didn't have much time, because there were those lips right in front of him, but he noticed slight confusion in Cas' eyes, because this was all but friendly, and maybe Dean caught a glimpse of something else he himself didn't know too well… or maybe all too well.
Longing.
Cas' lips, under Dean's shivering thumb, felt rough and soft at the same time, tempting, untouched, just as Dean had imagined, and remembered them from that one short second he'd kissed them last week. Cas' eyelids fell shut again, giving in, signaling Dean to go on, and god, how much he wanted to. The sensitive skin under his thumb, the wetness on his fingertip, the throaty sighs of Cas and the tightening grip on his knee, Dean slowly ran his finger over the bottom lips' inside, felt teeth and pure hotness… so fucking close…
Dean paused his movement, froze, when the older one's look caught his attention again. A mixture of anticipation and fear was staring back at him, reflecting his own feelings…
… and then the house key was turned in the lock.
Dean was faster on his legs than actually should've been possible within the scope of gravity.
"Jesus Christ, what a bummer. Those deer were all over the place, I could hardly dri—aw, no, school boy's leaving us?" Balthazar asked, sadly, wearing his beloved black jacket, and pointed at the hectic figure storming across the room.
On the couch, Cas cleared his throat, tried to reply, but only a rasp made it out.
"Hey, hold your horses, school boy!"
Dean awkwardly tripped up on Balthazar's boots, cursing as he fell. With a chuckle, Balthazar caught him, pulling him in for a tight, unwished-for hug. Dean complained muffled against his chest.
"Aw, look, Cassy, he's chosen me over you after all. I'll miss you, too, my dear. But, you know, if you feel like spreading your love, you shouldn't give it to my humble self. You have me confused with the teacher over there. You know, the one with his dirty trench coat who's in love with you."
With that—that—Balthazar released Dean, wearing a deeply contended smile. For a moment Dean had no idea what to do with himself but gawk at Balthazar, and, unwittingly, at Cas, hiding on the red couch.
The last thing Dean saw before turning to rush up the hill—far too close but where the hell was he supposed to run?—was his dumb, friggin' blameworthy present standing innocently on the table, as if it wasn't responsible for this whole goddamn mess all around him, in his freaked out head and everywhere else.