Phew! gishwhes was crazy! Fun, but kinda not as fun as I hoped. Lots of stress and frustration and I rushed an item right at the end only to be ONE MINUTE too late to submit :'( sad times. Did some cool stuff though! How was everyone else's gishwhes?

OK, here is the next chapter! Better late than never! And this chapter has some more Charlie and some fluffy stuff. All nice things.

This chapter also clarifies the bases thing a bit more. I know some of you were confused about this rather American slang! Just want to point out that the understanding of how the bases are defined has changed over the years and is different to different people in different contexts. Personally I think it's a very heteronormative and fairly stupid way of prioritising and listing physical intimacy but it struck me as useful and relevant to use in this fic. I'm sure I'll find a way to work my personal opinion of it in later on :P anyway, enjoy!

Dean scrambles up onto his knees above me with my hands still tucked under his shirt. He looks gorgeous, flushed and dazed and vibrant, but I can't really appreciate that with the disappointment coursing through me at his withdrawal from our activities. I squirm a little, frustrated and confused at his sheepish expression.

"Sorry," he breathes. "Just think we oughta slow things down a bit before, um, we get too excited."

"Excited?" I repeat, panting, my voice sounding wrecked. Dean gulps as he stares down at me, still hovering over me on knees and fingertips. I pull my hands out from under his shirt and place them on his thighs, trying to think past the instinct to tug him back down and satisfy my own desire. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Dean says hastily. "Yeah, I am so OK. Are you?"

"I feel fantastic," I smile up at him. He grins and leans down to kiss me, the touch light and sweet. It takes a lot of effort not to grab him and roll us over to resume our previous level of contact. Instead, I wait until he sits back on his haunches and then I ask him a question, since he seems to want to talk now.

"Dean, what are these bases that you've been referring to?"

He blinks down at me for a moment before understanding dawns on his face. Blushing, he shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

"It's dumb, Cas, just a dumb human thing."

"Well, I'm human," I remind him patiently. "Tell me."

"I was only joking," he mumbles. I raise my eyebrows at him and he sighs. "Fine. It's just a stupid set of... I dunno, stages I guess? Stages of a physical relationship."

"Stages," I echo, still a little confused. Dean nods.

"Yeah, so like first base is hand holding and kissing and shit. Kid's stuff. Second base is, uh, well. Kinda what we were just doing. Making out."

"Making out," I repeat with an amused smile. "I like making out."

"Yeah, you're not alone, it's pretty popular," he snorts, rolling his eyes but looking pleased. I stroke my thumbs absently against the taut material of his jeans, enjoying being able to touch him freely.

"What's third base?" I prompt gently. Dean flushes brightly, shifting uncomfortably, avoiding putting much weight on my thighs.

"Look, I was kidding about reaching third base tonight. Second is fine. More than fine."

"Dean-"

"It's getting off," he almost snaps, sitting further back, radiating tension. I struggle to sit up too, trying to catch his eye as he avoids my gaze and continues. "Or clothes off, that can count too. Third base is basically everything but, you know, full on sex. If someone gets naked or comes, woohoo, third base unlocked."

I nod slowly, considering. I think about the very few orgasms I've had. I would certainly not be averse to having another one with Dean present.

Then I think about Dean having one. Watching him. Making it happen. Suppressing a weak whimper, I manage to croak out: "Third base sounds good."

Dean glances up at me, looking stunned. "Are you... I mean, I don't wanna rush things."

I stare at him. "Five years, Dean."

He rolls his eyes. "OK, OK. I get that. Still. You, um. You haven't done this stuff before, right?"

I shake my head. "Only with you."

"Good," he answers. I blink at him and he flushes once more. "I didn't mean to say that. Just ignore that."

"Alright," I shrug with a smile. Dean watches me for a moment before speaking, the words slow and weighted as though he's reluctant to say them.

"Thing is, I haven't either. I mean, obviously I have, but only with women. I never, uh, explored other options. Even when I..."

He stops and swallows, staring blankly at a spot on my chest. I reach up and cup his cheek to meet his eyes, concerned. His gaze latches onto mine and he continues in a rush, voice trembling slightly.

"Even when I kinda wanted to. Even when I really wanted to. I just never let myself think about it too much. Obviously that's all gone to shit now."

He laughs without much humour, dropping his eyes again. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb, searching for a response to an issue I simply don't have any understanding of.

"Dean, I'm aware that humans attach a lot of importance to their own desires and preferences. I'm also aware that some desires and preferences are not well received by a lot of social and cultural circles. Humans always seem to want to judge and control each other, which confuses and troubles me. I'm sorry that it's affected you like this. You should never have felt any pressure to hide or ignore any part of yourself."

I pause and peer at Dean, who has gone very still but is leaning his cheek slightly into my hand. His eyes are closed but I'm certain he's listening intently.

"I don't think you need me to tell you that there is nothing wrong with desiring a person who is or isn't a particular gender. I know that you know that. And I may be biased on the subject, but I would argue that there's nothing wrong with attraction to a person of a separate species too."

At this, Dean snorts and shakes his head, opening his eyes and smirking at me. "Yeah, you might be a tad biased there."

"Perhaps," I allow with a smile, slipping my hand down to squeeze his shoulder. "But it does put the gender issue into perspective."

"I never made a move on you until after you became human, so the species thing doesn't technically count," Dean points out, settling more comfortably in my lap. My dampened interest in resuming 'making out' sparks but I ignore it, focusing on the conversation. I drop my hand and lace our fingers together.

"So you never experienced any desire for me when I was an angel?" I ask sceptically. Dean drops his eyes again and rubs a little nervously at his neck, opening his mouth but then closing it without answering. I pause, unsure now.

"Dean?"

"Yes, OK, like all the time, like way too much," he huffs almost angrily, snapping his eyes back up and scowling at me. I tilt my head at him, amused and rather smug.

"All the time?"

Dean groans. "Yes. All that shit you said about the way you feel being worse once you're human? Yeah, well, now you know my pain."

"But you never showed it. I never even suspected that you were attracted to me."

"Huh. You're kind of an idiot, then," Dean replies dryly. I give a low chuckle, squeezing his fingers. He breaks into a smile then, the kind of purely happy smile that should look wrong on his face because it's so far removed from how he usually looks. It doesn't, though. It looks entirely right.

"Ah, well," he says softly. "All good now."

I echo both the smile and the words, calm and content, before spontaneously tugging my hand free and slipping my arms around his middle. Pulling him closer, I press my mouth to his shoulder and just sit quietly, enjoying the feeling of completeness that washes over me with Dean in my arms. He hesitates for a moment before mirroring my actions, wrapping me up in a hug and resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. There's a silence before he speaks, his voice quiet and a little thick.

"Cas, would it be OK... I'm not trying to, uh, get to third base or anything 'cause I don't think either of us are ready tonight. But d'you think I might, um, stay the night anyway?"

"Of course," I reply without hesitation, lifting my head slightly. "There's nothing I want more."

I feel Dean relax a little against me. "OK."

"Do you want to lie down?" I offer gently. He pauses and then I feel him nod. He shuffles back and I can see how much it's taking him to keep his guard down and accept comfort and affection without resistance or pretense. His shoulders keep stiffening and he won't meet my eyes.

I sigh quietly, trying to decide how to approach this. Dean quite clearly wants to be held; I sensed that in the way he sank into my arms when I pulled him in, as well as the fact that he wants to sleep in my bed without any sexual motive. But he can't yet relax while he's letting himself be totally vulnerable. He's still too wrapped up in insecurity to just give himself over to me, no matter how much he might want to. He needs to preserve his self-image, at least for now.

Pulling the covers back, I gesture for Dean to get into the bed. He glances at me but does so, settling down against the pillows and shifting to get comfortable, eyes on the ceiling. I slide in next to him and stretch out to switch off both the music, still playing quietly, and the bedside lamp. The room turns black and silent and I feel a new sense of peace and comfort in the darkness, one that isn't there when I face it alone. Turning, I firmly settle myself against Dean's side, resting my head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his waist. He makes an odd, pleased sort of sound and tugs his arm from under me, folding it against my shoulders and back. I feel his fingers run lightly through my hair and I grin into the material of Dean's shirt.

"This is kind of an early night for me," he comments after a while, voice soft. I nod, trying not to yawn, lulled by the gentle tugging against my scalp as Dean continues to comb through my hair with his hand.

"You're not tired?"

"Nah, not really. You can sleep if you like though."

"I feel like that might be sort of boring for you."

"No," he mumbles, a smile in his voice. "It's fine with me."

I sigh, smiling too. "More thinking? You said it was dangerous in excessive amounts."

"Yeah, well, I'm a dangerous sorta guy."

"Yeah," I mutter, pressing a kiss to his shirt and hoping that he won't notice because I should probably not become too 'sappy' or whatever it is Dean complains about all the time. He moves his hand down to squeeze my shoulder and I close my eyes, allowing myself a small yawn. Dean gives a faint huff of laughter, felt more than heard, as I drift into sleep. I almost don't hear his voice, murmured into my hair.

"Goodnight, Cas."

I don't really dream of anything in particular, but Sam's face and my memories of Ezekiel's angelic form make several appearances, muddled and troubling. I'm awoken in a confusing manner, partly because it's still the middle of the night but mostly because I'm brought to consciousness by an insistent vibration against my thigh.

Squirming sleepily, I take a moment to register that I'm in Dean's arms and that he's trying to slide out from underneath me, fumbling one hand between us to reach his jeans. I wonder vaguely if he's attempting to undress without waking me, but then the vibration thrums against my leg again and I understand. Without quite lifting my face from Dean's chest - it smells good and I'm still hoping to go back to sleep very soon - I slide my own hand down to Dean's pocket and tug out his phone, bringing it up and nudging it blindly at where I assume his face is. He tenses a little as I fumble near his crotch but I ignore that, too tired to care.

"Your phone's ringing," I inform him in a barely coherent mumble, speaking mostly into his shirt. He snorts as he takes it from my hand.

"Thanks," he says in a hoarse voice, indicating that he was asleep too. Shifting to get more comfortable, I nuzzle a little at Dean's shoulder, feeling a wave of lazy euphoria wash over me. He runs his hand down my back as he answers the phone in a murmur, shifting his grip to my waist.

"Charlie?"

I can just about hear her reply: "Hey, Dean, sorry for the late call but I figured you'd still be up."

Dean groans a little. "Ugh, what time is it?"

"It's only one AM, loser. Were you asleep?"

"Yeah, actually. Some of us need our beauty sleep. Awake now though, so what's up?"

"I saw the footage."

I feel Dean's fingers dig into my waist, his pectoral tensing under my cheek. "You sent it?"

"I told the bar owner to send me a copy and I'll forward it straight to you; that'll probably be tomorrow. I saw it, though. Sam's eyes went all glowy and then he went outside and met up with some older dude. Talked for a bit, that's it. No audio on the footage, sorry."

"An older dude?" Dean repeats. I'm more awake now but still feeling somewhat detached from the situation, listening quietly with my eyes closed.

"Yep. No idea who he was, sorry. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know what was hip and happening, but I'm sorry I woke you up."

"That's OK," Dean replies, voice distorted by the beginnings of an enormous yawn. I make a sleepy, commiserating sort of sound and he chuckles tiredly. "Actually, you barely woke Cas up at all."

There's a short pause. "Cas?"

I feel Dean suddenly seize up against me and my eyes flutter open in the near-darkness. His voice is thick with dread when he responds.

"Ah."