Chapter 15
In the depths of night, Dean made a decision.
It didn't come easy—oh, hell no.
But after being kept awake all night by the darn melody of a song, stuck in his head like a cracked, hung-up CD, Dean didn't know how else to end this nightmare but by listening really closely, giving it a lot of thought and eventually coming up with something to break the cycle.
Alright, granted—staying awake because of a song might sound a little crazy, and yeah, it probably didn't happen to a lot of people indeed. Dean, however, tossing and turning in his crumpled-up hotel bed, bathed in sweat at three in the morning, could tell you a thing or two about it. It felt a little bit like being put on hold, in the midst of an important talk, and then being forced to listen to the endless wait loop going on and on and on, out-and-out annoying, upsetting, but still kind of gripping.
Ever since Lisa had left earlier—after going through just another sexual failure with Dean—, Dean just hadn't been able to get his mind off… the music.
Whatever he did, pacing back and forth on the narrow balcony, smoking cigarette after cigarette until his painful coughs began to sound dangerously like Joe Cocker warming up before singing, he just couldn't get rid of it. The stupid words, the dumb tune, the foreseeable rhymes. The magic of bad song-writing.
Only in reality, when Dean stopped fooling himself, that certain song didn't sound bad at all. It actually had something very, very alluring about it, and as he lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling with his eyes open, hours passing like minutes, the sound only kept getting better. At some point he wasn't even tired anymore. His mind was set on overdrive. And—even if at three in the morning the worst ideas did—it started to actually make sense.
And—of course—it wasn't just some song caught in Dean's head, but a pretty catchy number called "So what do we do" by the infamous newcomer Castiel Novak. Featuring Gabe's wall-shaking snoring, it truly was an all-nighter.
That much, Dean thought, lying grim-faced on the squeaky mattress in his red plaid boxer shorts, is pretty damn clear.
So, he's pretty much crazy about me, Dean turned their conversation over in his mind for the millionth time that night. But am I crazy enough yet? Am I crazy enough to… take it? Or leave it, for that matter?
Well, remembering the softness, the warmth of Cas' lips, his maddening indulgence, and the hot breath tickling Dean's skin, or the way he'd grabbed his neck on the plane, how he really couldn't control himself, and fuck, the delicate blush embellishing his puzzled face afterwards, those messy dark curls and the sound of his heavy breathing, no, yes, absolutely, in a fraction of a second would Dean take it. But maybe he wouldn't have to keep it. Because…
Jesus Christ. Gabe's obscenely loud snoring managed to rip apart Dean's train of thought once again. Dean reached over to jolt Gabe's sleeping body.
"Gabe. Shut the fuck up, man."
With a deep sigh, Gabe rolled over, showcasing his tanned back to Dean, and at least for a short moment there was some silence.
Dean caught a breath and folded his arms under his lying head, sourly staring at the white-painted, friable ceiling. So, where had we got to? Oh, right. So, maybe Dean wouldn't have to keep it.
Perhaps, if Dean went for it again, all it'd do would be to kind of break the spell, and just maybe, both of them would finally be able to get on with their lives: as friends, neighbors, whatever, just not... that.
Hopefully it wasn't just due to his lack of sleep, or the unfortunate late-night hours playing tricks on his mind, but that possibility was actually sounding legit right now. The only question was if Dean had the guts to make a move on Cas again, and kiss him, quickly, just to get it over with. The sheer thought of it made Dean's empty stomach convulse. But if there was a perfect place to dare kissing Cas again, then this had to be it. It had to happen here.
Far away from home.
Afterwards, they'd just leave it all at this place.
It'd be finally off his mind—their minds—and they'd both realize that it all wasn't worth the fuss. That their… thing… was nothing but some kind of weird mind-fuck. And then, Dean would somehow return to his old self.
Yeah.
That sounded realistic.
"So, dude, what do you want."
Gabe grinned, and obtrusively leaned over Dean's beach chair, blocking out the hot afternoon sun. Gabe was supporting himself against his own hairy knees, and Dean thought about how easy it'd be to simply push him into the sand with a strong and effective kick of his leg.
"Chocolate or strawberry?"
He had no idea why, but Gabe's seemingly harmless question made Dean feel uncomfortably hard-pressed.
"Do I look like I care?" Dean asked, pointing at his blank face with one thumb. "It's your money, so do whatever you want with it, man."
"Uh, excuse me?" Gabe chuckled, raising one brow. "A few minutes ago you were all like fuck off I wanna sleep, you kept me up all night and boo-hoo and shit. Now I wanna make it up to you—"
He tapped the pocket of his yellow bathing trunk, where the shape of his purse stood out.
"—'cause that's just how nice I am, and all you do is bitch around." He scoffed, remembering the most important part. "And I don't even snore, so you're acting twice weird. Well, maybe I do a little, but more like a cute little cat, you know? I purr at worst, Dean-o, know the effing difference, okay. You're totally being a sissy about it, seriously."
"Woah, Hold on."
Dean bobbed up from his lying position, leaning onto his lower arms.
"Hold on there, buddy. First of all, you do, big time. Otherwise I guess you should go see a doctor soon, 'cause if I'm wrong then you're in serious danger of being the first human motor boat. Secondly—"
Dean paused, thinking of something snarky to say about Gabe's ugly-ass shorts, but the sight of Gabe's widening grin kind of ruined the process. Gabe snorted, soon broke out in hysterical laughter like he always did, and Dean, as grumpy as he was, couldn't suppress a laugh himself. Sometimes their conversations were just too ridiculous.
Dean fell back into his chair, relieved to skip over any kind of teasing crosstalk. At worst, he'd only end up accidentally saying something Cas-related.
"Fuck off, I wanna sleep", Dean said in a high-pitched voice, imitating Gabe's horrible impersonation of himself.
"Alright, alright", Gabe giggled. "You won this time. Jeez, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear. Now, just. Just answer my question, and I promise I'll let you have your beauty sleep. C'mon, Dean-o. Chocolate or strawberry?"
"Ugh, fine", Dean groaned. "I really don't care. But in view of you finally pissing off, I'll say… chocolate?"
"That's your answer?"
The malicious flash in Gabe's look was pretty disturbing.
"Uh. Yes."
"I knew it."
"Knew what?" Dean barked, even though he pretty much knew exactly what Gabe was getting at… again.
Earlier, back at the exhibition hall, they'd been forced to act out their awful stage play as part of some dumb competition in front of a friggin' jury, friggin' Cas, and about a hundred curious bystanders that hadn't been shy to boo at them. It'd been the most humiliating thing ever, and of course Gabe would mock Dean with his lousy performance on every occasion, even though this ice-cream thing did seem a little too far-fetched.
"Oh, nothing. I just knew that you secretly prefer chocolate. But hey, I get it, Dean-o. Nice and sturdy. No frills. You don't need to buy them jewelry, or constantly tell them how pretty they are."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about", Dean grumbled, feeling his face getting unnecessarily hot. "But then again, when do I ever."
"Uh, how about always? We're soulmates, remember? I thought we were meant for each other!"
"I hate you."
"Aw. I hate you too, my AC/DC friend!"
Going off, Gabe's cheerful voice snapped across the hilly, heated sand, making a few of their nearby classmates and a couple of lightly clad strangers turn their heads in confusion. Fairly annoyed, Dean closed his eyes and shook his head.
Above his head, the sky stretched in open spaces, only interrupted by a single scattered cloud and a few noisy seagulls drawing circles in the blue. Dosing off, Dean vaguely heard his name being called and let his lazy eyes wander along the sea, its wavy surface flickering like a broken TV.
He found Lisa standing waist-deep in the clear turquoise water, waving at him in her skimpy silver bikini. Just like yesterday, it was barely covering the necessities—not like that was a bad thing.
Greeting back, Dean gave a short nod.
Laughingly, she turned her black-haired head to Dean, showing off her most gorgeous, white-teethed smile, as if they were trouble-free or something.
One of her girlfriends decided to end the show with a splash of cold water in her face. The sound of her high-pitched shriek forced a smile upon Dean's lips. It didn't feel any good, though. A strange wave of nostalgia rushed over Dean as he watched her, washing him away to a time when he'd actually been madly in love with that girl. He had been, right? Hell, what was love, anyway?
A sudden, all-drowning plop made Dean's attention sway a few footsteps to the right.
The sight that was presenting itself there made him forget about Lisa in a matter of seconds.
It was Cas, appearing within a flood of water in the ocean.
As he stood up, sluggishly, he was revealing more of his skin than Dean had ever dreamed to see.
Dripping wet, only wearing some old-fashioned, moss-green bathing trunk, Cas' dark curls were sticking to his head in soaked wisps. Not distorting him though. Anything but that. The way he was shaking his dripping hair, and not forgetting the scruffy beard—well, it was the most delicious thing.
Dean couldn't help but stare.
The water was reflecting from Cas' exposed body like a million tiny highlights, making his broad chest and flat stomach shine and look even more appealing. Friggin' angelic. By no means was Cas ripped or anything—and considering Cas' lifestyle Dean had no idea how that would have worked—but he didn't need to be, he was looking perfectly soft and strong in all the right places, and by God, his friggin' hipbones.
Jesus Christ, like some sea god and—
Yeah, scratch that.
What was he…?
It looked like he… Oh, of course.
He was picking seaweed out of his hair. Large, slimy strands. Even from the distance, Dean could spot a deep frown appear on Cas' face as he examined his find. A moment later, he simply let it drop out of his hands, 'cause it probably wasn't all that interesting after all, and continued his way out of the flat water.
As Dean got an even closer look of half-naked Cas, his heart staggered in his chest, even while Cas suddenly tripped over something on the wet sand, and nearly stumbled over his own leg while balancing.
And, Dean realized in horror, now would be a good moment to stop friggin' staring, or else you're gonna have to deal with the embarrassment of—
"Oh, hello, Dean."
Cas smiled, approaching him.
"Are you enjoying the sun?"
"H—hi, Cas", Dean stuttered, contorting his lips into a guilty smile. "Yeah, I am actually. On my little Island In The Sun. Heh."
"That's good. Get some rest, Dean", Cas approved. Suddenly, his tone was weirdly conspiratorial. "Or are you looking for 'some naked skin'?"
Dean nearly swallowed his tongue, and his look awkwardly got caught on Cas' crotch. "Uh—no? Totally just… lying here. Hip, hip—or whatever."
"I've used your words from yesterday", Cas explained, proudly. "Did you notice, Dean?"
"Yeah. Yeah,well played, Cas."
"To be honest, I don't even know what 'looking for some naked skin' means, but I appreciate how casual it sounds. 'Some naked skin'."
"Okay", Dean awkwardly commented, unable to get his eyes off Cas' package. "Yeah, it's… pretty big, ain't it."
Cas frowned. "Big? Is this another one of your pop-culture references, Dean?"
"Uh, what now?" Dean winced, finally managing to look Cas in the eyes. "Yeah, uh, it's a reference to… uh…"
Dean's mind was blank. Cas just kept frowning, eyes turning into confused slits.
Finally, Dean just gestured Cas up and down. "You're looking good."
"Oh, thank you, Dean", Cas said, smiling down at his feet. "That's very nice of you. And I have to say, I am quite fond of the clothing you chose to wear today. Your white top really brings out your eyes."
"Oh, that", Dean coughed, tugging at it. "Yeah, it's pretty cool, right. Bought it downtown earlier. Unfortunately, I've only realized like an hour ago that it's kinda transparent and shows off my… uh… nipples."
Dean flushed. What the hell was he saying.
"Ah, yes", Cas simply replied, weirdly casual. "I've noticed that, too. That's why I like it."
Why the hell.
"Uh, yeah", Dean made, flustered, feeling the weird urge to cover his chest. "So, not because of my stunning eyes after all, huh."
"Yes. That, too. It's a very flattering piece of clothing, I'd say."
"Okay—okay, thanks. I guess. Didn't know you were such a ladykiller, Cas."
For a good while, Cas just frowned. "I don't understand", he then said. "Where did you get the idea of me being a murderer, Dean? I'm afraid I couldn't quite catch this clever change of topic."
"It's", Dean stammered, staring at his own feet. "It's just a word, Cas. Y'know. For someone who's good at… y'know… picking up women? Or, well, me. In this case."
"Oh", Cas made, falling quiet for another moment. "Oh. Now, I see what you did there. I'll admit, you had me worried there for a moment, Dean. I'm only figuratively 'killing' the 'ladies'. With my masculine attributes and my manly charm."
"Uh… yeah", Dean agreed, trying really hard not to check out Cas' masculine attributes again. "There you are, Sherlock. Another case successfully solved."
A few awkward seconds passed—the two of them got into some kind of accidental staring-contest—until Dean pulled away to shyly stare at the sand instead. He felt Cas' insecure look all over him. Trying to get his shit together, Dean forced himself to look up, meaning to make some random remark about the weather, when yesterday's words suddenly forced themselves upon his mind for the millionth time.
So… what do we do?
Dean was already pointing at the sky, but only managed to spit out a few letters before pathetically choking on his own saliva like the greatest idiot on the planet.
Cas tilted his head slightly, worried.
When Dean was done coughing his lungs out, he finally managed to deliver his important message.
"Nice… weather."
Cas' strained face softened, immediately. "Yes, I agree." Cas looked skywards, giving a wide, heartfelt smile, as if he'd never seen anything as beautiful before. "That's what I love about this region. Unlike to where we come from, the weather here is great throughout the entire year, I've heard."
Cas paused to take a deep, relishing breath. Dean wasn't listening anyway, because all he could do was watch Cas' mouth. His full lips were probably salty right now.
"The water is great, too. Inviting for the one or other swim. It's truly fun, Dean, you should try it later. Very refreshing indeed. Mind the jelly fishes, though, I've heard some of them might sting." Cas chuckled, rubbing his beard. "I actually just slipped on one, so it's safe to say, that…"
Semi-listening, Dean continued his study of those talking lips, forming words, interacting with Cas' tongue. Cas was raving about the pros and cons of swimming or something. Dean didn't know, and he really didn't care.
Would he have the guts to take it?
That was the matter.
Did it still seem as right?
Well, it never really had. Could be the worst thing to do. But those lips in front of Dean were an exceptionally beautiful specimen of their kind after all. You couldn't blame him for wanting to kiss them again. Except that he didn't per se want to, of course, it was just that according to plan he simply had to.
"Dean."
Cas' voice tore him out of his reasoning.
"Do I, uh", Cas stumbled, running a finger over his bottom lip, unsteadily. Dean had to violently force himself to stop watching. "Do I have something in my face? Maybe a piece of seaweed, I, uh, found some of it in my hair earlier."
"What? No." Dean cleared his throat. „No, nothing. Your face is fine. Listen, Cas", he blabbed, and before second-guessing, just asked. „What are you doing later?"
Cas was mildly staggered. "Well, I—I, uh, thought I'd finish my book, and then go to sleep. The hotel bed is very comfortable, and I have to say that I am quite fond of sleeping."
Dean nodded, absently. „Sounds good. Really good."
„Yes", Cas agreed, squinting, watching him ponder over those unspectacular evening plans.
Dean had no idea what else to say without completely dripping his hand.
Smalltalk was definitely off the cards today, because hell, he couldn't even look at Cas without imagining what he'd do to him later—apparently, in Cas' room now. And not to mention the fact that Cas was half-naked, which didn't make it any easier to speak.
Cas just stood, hands to the sides, obviously not understanding what was going on. His skin was already dried in most parts, Dean noticed while avoiding his eyes. At some point, seriously confused, Cas awkwardly got going.
"Goodbye, Dean." He hesitated. "Have a good evening."
"You, you have a", Dean stuttered, awkwardly finger-gunning after Cas. "You have a good evening."
"All right", Gabe concluded, wiping away a strand of hair from his forehead. He stood in front of their hotel room's large mirror, tugging his best t-shirt in place.
"So I'll expect you there later, then. The real party probably only starts around midnight, anyway, you know the deal with those dance clubs. So you're actually being pretty smart Dean-o. For once."
"I know", Dean yawned, forcedly, lying on his messed-up bed, while senselessly pressing buttons on his cellphone to occupy his shaky fingers. "You know what they say. The cool ones are always late."
Gabe laughed at Dean, eyeing him in the mirror. "Yeah, you're such a badass, dude. I mean, hello, what's cooler than staying in your room to call your little brother, instead of coming with me to look at all those half-naked chicks?"
He grimaced, as if Dean was the most ridiculous person ever, while turning to reach for his black sneakers.
"But, whatever, man. You're married anyway, so I get why that sounds rather lame to you. Just remember", Gabe said, balancing on one foot, "that I need you to be my wing-man tonight, Dean-o."
Dean snorted, looking up from his turned-off phone. "Uh, definitely not. I'm not gonna do that—"
He pointed at his best friend's spruced up appearance.
"—to any girl, buddy. Sorry, but no. I don't have that kind of evil in me. You gotta wing yourself."
"Fuck off", Gabe said, tying his shoelaces and pulling a fake offended face. "Maybe I really don't need any help, asshole, 'cause I'm actually awesome, you know. There are people out there who cherish my awesomeness."
He jumped on his legs, grabbed the room key and turned around in front of the door to sneer at Dean one last time.
"You'll see."
"Yeah, well", Dean said, rolling his eyes, waving at Gabe in an indifferent way. "Good luck finding them, then."
"Uh—huh."
Gabe gave Dean an estimating look, while slowly opening the door. "Thank you. Not gonna need it, though. You do, though, probably. Not sure what you're really up to, but your hands are shaking like crazy."
Dean automatically folded them on his stomach.
"If you're that excited to call your little brother then you're even weirder than I thought. But, you know, I don't really care, 'cause—"
Gabe stepped outside, solemnly.
"—I'm out."
The door fell shut, and Dean slapped one palm in his face with an audible smacking noise. Was he really that obvious? Friggin' hell. Anyhow—shit needed to be done. And now was the time.
The plan: He'd quickly make a complete fool of himself, and afterwards hide in the dance club, getting drunk as hell to erase the shameful memory from his mind.
Dean breathed in, dropping his phone in the pocket of his brown shorts. Of course the calling-Sammy thing had been a lame pretense to get some time alone—the guy was okay, Dean figured from the lack of communication.
He got up, bobbing up and down on his tiptoes like an athlete before the run.
Stop freakin' out, Dean ordered himself, seeing his unhealthily white face in the mirror, his white stripper top not really complementing the I'm-gonna-pass-out-look, either. It's gonna be alright.
Dean paused to adjust his hair—not like there were that many styling possibilities for the few hair he had—and, feeling pathetic, broke away. He forced his legs to move to the door. Pressing his eyes shut, he tore it open—and found himself face to face with his destination.
„Oh, h—hi, Cas."
Cas was passing Dean's room in the hallway, wearing his moss-green bathing trunk and a loose dark blue t-shirt with a strange geometric imprint. Dean's voice stopped him, abruptly.
"Hello, Dean", Cas greeted back.
Cas took two blundering steps forward, and paused again in front of the diagonally opposite hotel room. He turned his head, chuckling, insecurely.
"That's my room."
Dean smiled on that, crossing his arms, while leaning against the door frame. "Neighbors again, huh? Funny coincidence."
Cas rummaged around his pockets for his key, keeping his eyes glued to Dean. He smiled back at him, laughter lines ever so striking.
"It's true, it is quite funny", he agreed, finally pulling the key out of his back pocket.
Watching Cas struggle with the door lock, Dean desperately tried to come up with another banality to say, any way to get inside for a moment. Dean had totally failed at making out the details of his plan.
Then, luckily, he remembered that this was Cas, and he simply stepped next to him. There was a little thud when the tumblers gave in, causing Cas to kind of fall inside as the door sprung open.
The room, Dean vaguely perceived, was basically looking exactly like Dean's room, except that it had a big flat-screen TV attached to the wall, a beige leather couch and only one single bed standing next to the tilted balcony door. Dean didn't actually note any of that, though, as he slipped in behind Cas, following him as if it was the most natural thing, because he was a friggin' live wire.
Cas flashed him a glance, slightly irritated, but didn't say anything.
"Nice room", Dean approved, awkwardly, seizing the doorknob with one sweaty hand. "The furniture's pretty cool… and, uh."
Crap.
Way louder than intended, Dean pushed the door shut.
For a long moment its banging sound was the only noise in the room, emphasizing their isolation, their privacy like nothing else could have done.
Great job, Dean inwardly congratulated himself on his horribly suggestive move. So damn subtle.
Blushing scarlet, Dean listened to the never-ending echo, wishing he could somehow catch it and take it back. And goddammit, now Cas was looking at him like that, as if of all times he now completely understood what Dean was up to, and that they were undisturbed and locked in a friggin' hotel room.
Cas stood, mouth-opened, eyes switching between Dean's hand on the knob and the floor, unsteadily. He looked embarrassed, shy even. And that wasn't part of the plan at all. Cas wasn't supposed to be friggin' aware of it.
Retreat.
"Uhm."
Dean crossed his arms, nodding at Cas. "So, Cas, what kind of book are you reading again?"
Cas' shy eyes tore away from Dean's hands to look at the night stand. The dog-eared book lying on top was the one from the flight.
"Oh, that. It's a new theory", Cas explained. "It, uh, questions the fundamental mathematical ideas behind the teaching of Algebra. It's a quite thrilling read, actually."
He paused to rub his chin, thoughtfully, making tiny sand grains rinse out of his beard.
"The climax was the thesis about… about… oh."
Cas frowned, holding his hand out to examine it, confusedly.
"I'm dirty. I guess I should... take a shower."
"Yeah, or just lose the dust catcher", Dean proposed, looking at Cas' ever-growing beard that he'd actually grown to like… a lot. "Pretty impressive and all, but when it comes down to it I guess you'd be better off without it."
Cas glanced at Dean, absently nodding. "Yes", he mumbled, "Maybe I will", and slowly moved into the bathroom.
The click of the door made Dean snap out of his rigidity. Startled, he took a few steps further into the room, feeling out of place, strangely forbidden, like some kind of sensitive burglar. The water started running in the bathroom, and Dean wasn't sure what to do with himself. He wouldn't leave until it was done—that much was clear.
So, shrugging, Dean simply planted himself on the beige leather couch. One didn't have such a huge TV every day, after all, he figured. He might as well make the most of it—in Cas' room.
That escalated kinda quickly, he thought, mindlessly zapping through the channels while awaiting Cas' return. Lost in thoughts, Dean didn't even know what exactly he was watching, just vaguely saw the colors and lightings change, when all of a sudden Cas' voice sounded in the room again.
"That should solve the problem."
Dean jumped, head swirling around.
And holy shit it did.
Dean had to check twice to really believe it.
The third time his look just got stuck on the amazingly clean, shaved, rosy-cheeked figure of Cas. He'd actually shaved. Dean would never have guessed he'd live to see that day. And, Jesus, his cheekbones. Covered with all of that thick hair all the time, Dean had somehow forgotten Cas even had them, and how good they looked. Hell, no, gorgeous was more like it.
In his weird geometric t-shirt and the saggy sweatpants he'd worn yesterday, dark curls all wet and dripping, he was just looking really, really awfully pretty right now and goddammit, he definitely wasn't making it easier for Dean here.
Dean shifted on the couch, feeling heat rise up between his legs, while Cas collapsed onto the spot right next to him, looking proud of himself. And yeah, that was all very well, but as always Cas was sitting way too close, and their friggin' thighs were touching, and that wasn't helping Dean's situation at all, either.
Cas noticed Dean's stare, and raised his eyebrows. "Better?"
"Y—yeah. It's good. Good job, Cas."
Cas gave an amused huff, eyes drifting away to the ceiling. "It does feel kind of strange, though."
Cas ran his fingers over his bare jaw, while Dean just stared into space with a tense expression while turning off the TV. This time, Cas didn't seem to get it.
"It feels like… something is missing", Cas went on, musing. "Very weird, but I'm not regretting it. You were right, I'm feeling more f… free now."
Cas hesitated, noticing Dean's serious look, aiming right at him. Cas looked down at his own resting hands, blushing, slightly.
"And, uh. I think it's going to be… easier to clean now. So, thank you, Dean. For your helpful advice. I—I just need some time to get used to it again. I guess I... I…"
Dean was close. Really close, but not quite there yet.
He could smell Cas' fresh, deliciously sweet smell, study every pore of his dainty, rosy cheeks, the fine fuzz above his upper lip, and the teeth lurking through his opened mouth. Dean heard him let out his breath, so very near he felt it brush his own skin.
"Dean…"
It wasn't accusation or warning and most definitely not rejection to hear in that throaty sigh.
No, to Dean's ears it sounded more like a plea.
Heart in his mouth, Dean licked his lips, drew even closer…
… and then made the mistake to check Cas' eyes one final time.
His wide pupils were fixed on Dean's in a strangely calm way. That wasn't… planned. There was an upsetting kind of anticipation in them—a sultry one—, as if Cas really wasn't obliging at all, not even a little bit, and Jesus Christ—that was too much.
Dean couldn't do it like that. Because odds were pretty good Cas would somehow lose control of himself, and honestly, Dean was scared as hell that he'd lose it, too, that he wouldn't be able to stop.
Dean stopped dead, falling back onto his side of the couch.
"Sorry", Dean breathed, heart jumping around his chest like drunk. "Go on."
His ultimate stress habit kicked in once again as he pulled out his pack of smokes.
"You were saying, Cas?"
"I—"
Cas, adorably flushed, ran one hand through his wet hair.
"—I don't remember… what I said."
Dean stuck a cig in his mouth, fiddling with the lighter, but his hands were too damn shaky, and he couldn't manage. This was a friggin' disaster.
"Come on, Cas", Dean urged, through clenched teeth. "Just say something, 'kay? I'm sure you—"
Dean paused to take a drag when it finally burnt.
"—I'm sure you've got something to say."
"Right, uhm."
Cas was just staring at his own lap, eyes flickering to Dean, unsteadily.
"Yes. I'll say something now. I, uh… I like your hair, Dean."
Dean coughed, nearly choking on the smoke. "You what? What kind of topic is that?"
"I don't know", Cas replied, helplessly. "It's… nice that way. Shorter. Better than before. I… I just like it. I don't know what to say."
Dean felt Cas' stare rest on him, heavily.
"It looks good on you, Dean."
"Cas, just", Dean interrupted, pressing the bridge of his nose. "Just shut up."
Dean's stomach curled as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, the badly desired stress relieve seriously tarrying right now. Cas kept his confused look glued to him, Dean was sensing it, clearly, and prayed hard that he wouldn't say anything more. Those clumsy compliments didn't exactly break the tension. Precisely, none of this was breaking the tension.
Maybe they really should just sit, enclosed by self-made awkward silence.
But—goddammit—those friggin' magnet eyes. Dean couldn't help but look back at him to see what the hell he wanted. Again, it was a horrible mistake, because Cas wasn't just staring at Dean's eyes, which would have been upsetting enough, but also at his mouth—the cig in it.
"You…" Dean began, holding it up, hesitatingly. "You wanna try again?"
"Yes", Cas immediately replied, not looking at the cig, though. "Please, Dean."
Please?
With those eyes Cas really didn't need to beg him for anything.
Even if it meant making tiny changes in the plan, Dean knew what he had to do. As long as the outcome was the same, he figured, it didn't matter.
It was time.
With a quick snap—done so many times it became some kind of reflex—Dean flipped the burning cigarette away.
He drew one last breath.
Then, cautiously, he reached out to place one hand on Cas' warm stomach, fingers clutching the dark blue cotton tightly as a brace, but also to find out how it felt—pretty divine.
Just like that one time in Cas' cottage, Cas grew still and uneasy at the touch. Dean thought he was even holding his breath, but didn't know for sure, because as he briefly met Cas' lips with his own, he took his breath away, anyway.
Right now, though, Dean was pretty sure a quick peck wouldn't do the trick. Mostly because those lips felt annoyingly smooth, friggin' luscious, and Cas' fresh smell was muffling Dean like a warming, cuddly blanket.
Cas just allowed Dean to do his thing, and sighed, deeply, on his face. His surrender was inspiring Dean to dig his fingers into the t-shirt's fabric, and the soft skin beneath it.
The harsh movement of his fingers seemed to have its effect, because Cas' breaths got heavier, and the fact that Dean could feel his heartbeat, fast and throbbing, was even better than that sound. On top of it, Cas' hand was now searching for Dean's thigh, seizing it.
Cas spoke against Dean's lips, something urgent that sounded like a simple Dean. No, he didn't speak it, he moaned it. And now that his lips were parted, there was the opportunity to taste him. Dean wasn't trying very hard to resist.
So, he went ahead, and let his tongue wander over Cas' dry bottom lip, receiving just another throaty sigh, and damn, he'd been right.
They did taste salty.
The grip on Dean's thigh tightened, encouraging him to go even further.
And please, Cas was basically inviting him to do it.
So, to hell with hesitation.
There were no complaints, not the slightest sign of drawing-back, when Dean found an entrance to the wet, salty hotness of Cas' mouth.
Cas didn't seem all too familiar with what Dean was doing, like he'd never done this before, but by no means was that a bad thing. He just went with the flow, kind of lost himself in the kiss, opening up to Dean's movements. Well, how he was caressing Dean's thigh now, going all the way up and down, it definitely wasn't an amateur's move.
So far, Dean didn't feel cured—not a scrap. But there was still hope.
Maybe he simply needed a little… more of Cas.
Perhaps if he just…
… lifted Cas' t-shirt a bit, to meet the skin of his soft, warm stomach…
No, that certainly wasn't helping it, either.
Now Dean couldn't stop touching it. He gently ran his hand all the way under it, drawing small circles, brushing Cas' hard nipples, causing just another throaty sigh to escape Cas' lips, and by God, how could they ever stop?
Now, for the first time, Cas actually leaned in.
Obviously, he was a quick learner, because the way he was pressing against Dean now, kisses growing deeper and hotter, it sure as hell was no accident.
Dean was melting away, feeling those strong, big hands cupping his head.
Goddammit, did Cas have to be so friggin' good at this?
It was unbearable, so Dean just gave in entirely, let his hands wander around Cas' torso to clutch his bare back.
Suddenly, Cas paused. Dean thought he'd finally gone too far. When his lips were released, he was precariously close to letting out a frustrated sigh.
Cas, however, had stopped just to watch Dean.
Dean didn't even want to know how messy and ugly he was looking right now. Reluctantly, he found Cas' look—and immediately felt giddy under it. No one had ever looked at him like that. Dean felt unworthy, even though that look was promising the exact opposite.
Cas just held him like that for a moment, hands on his face, and hell, he was giving Dean chills all over.
Before Dean knew it, Cas was engaging him into an achingly gentle, cautious kiss, then another one, and another, and it was different than before, way too intimate. But Dean didn't want to do anything about it. Especially not when Cas was just discovering a secret talent of his, and was being such a hot mess about it.
The dark blue shirt was slowly riding up Cas' back as he bent Dean down into a lying position. Dean wasn't complaining. Cas was pretty heavy, but a nice kind of heavy, shielding, and catching him.
Cas was warm, hot as hell, and he was hard—hard for Dean—, which was nothing short of amazing. Dean's shorts were at least two sizes too small by now.
He didn't care. It was all good, all really good, and he never ever wanted Cas to stop whatever he was doing with his tongue. Dean followed Cas' lead, drowning in silent sighs, and guided one hand between Cas' legs.
"Dean", Cas moaned, rolling his hips at the touch.
"Keep doing that", Dean gasped.
"Ah, Dean—"
Dean spread his legs, pulling Cas closer to him by wrapping them around him. Dean kept massaging Cas' erection, which was perfectly palpable through the soft fabric of his pants, encouraging Cas to keep doing that, to keep grinding against him. When Cas' thrusts became faster, and Dean was coming closer and closer to passing out in pleasure, Dean grabbed Cas' ass with both hands, and soon ended up slipping them under the fabric, feeling his bare, perfect cheeks.
"Cas—"
"Dean, I'm going to—"
"Fuck—"
Helplessly, Dean came in his pants, so hard, he had to press his eyes shut for at least a minute, feeling Cas' hip roll slow down with each throbbing heartbeat, until eventually, he just lay on top of Dean, motionless, gasping for air. Cas' pants were loosely hanging around his knee pits, and, tremblingly, Dean relocated his grips to Cas' shoulders, leaving Cas' exposed skin all reddened and sore.
Then, like thousands of miles away, Dean heard some strange beeping sound that reminded him of heart rate measuring monitors in hospitals, and for a second he didn't know where he was.
Dean's eyelids finally fluttered open.
Cas was kissing his neck, lazily, as if Dean was the most desirable thing in the world. Now, Dean's cheeks, and his chin, were smothered with wet kisses, and damn, if this was what dying felt like, then life wasn't worth living.
Still, the beeping didn't stop.
And eventually, Dean understood that it was the room's fire alarm.
"Cas", Dean gasped, briefly slapping Cas' tousled head.
Cas just grumbled in response, too busy kissing his neck and collarbones.
"Dammit, Cas", Dean cursed, grabbing Cas' chin, forcing him to look up. "You hear anything?"
Without awaiting his answer, Dean crawled up from beneath him, heavily landed on his knees and yes, it hurt like a bitch, but there were more important things right now.
For one, making the friggin' fire alarm stop beeping like a bomb.
Dean jumped on his legs, and hectically skimmed the room for the cause.
Turned out he'd thrown his cigarette right on top of a single tissue lying about on the floor.
That figures.
Maybe he should consider joining the basketball league, because apparently, he was just so amazing at aiming.
Groaning, Dean ran over to the smoking flame, and brutally choked it with his foot.
Then, Dean proceeded by tearing the balcony door wide open, nearly unhinging it, letting in the warmish night air, about to let himself out, when he was distracted by the feel of a pair of eyes practically piercing him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas watching him with some kind of tense, worried expression, and yeah, Dean really didn't need that right now.
In fact, he didn't need any of this.
Dean hissed, escaping onto the balcony.