It’s just that Dean, at this point, had actually forgotten that Cas was never supposed to camp in his living room for good. When Cas tells him one day that he had a look around and he might have found this nice studio apartment near Ellen’s, it’s Dean’s own fault if he has to fake his reaction. He pretends to be happy at the news (dude, sounds awesome, it really does) but really, he feels like he can barely breathe as soon as Cas tells him that he’s still sorry about having camped in his living room for six months.
There’s a moment when Dean almost spills it out and tells him that he’d be glad to give him that room permanently, that he doesn’t mind, and that he really likes having him around and that the idea of coming back to an empty apartment now is awful, but he can’t do it and he doesn’t want to risk anything. So he doesn’t. At least after Cas leaves, they might still hang out, if he doesn’t fuck things up.
Then Cas tells him that someone actually e-mailed him with a proposal that he write some online column for some liberal newspaper and Dean doesn’t have to fake his reaction to that, at least.
The song he starts things with that evening is Every Rose Has Its Thorn, and he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him feel pathetic. He doesn’t even like Poison, for fuck’s sake.
Still, he can’t stop thinking about how it seems like everyone who actually matters on a really, really important level, at some point in Dean’s life just turns their backs and leaves him behind. It started with his mother (right, not her fault, but he has spent enough time when he still didn’t get it wondering silently why she had left and if it was because of something he had done), it continued with all his not-dates through his teens, it arrived at its peak when his brother slammed the door (and that had been hard enough) and it ended up with his dad arguing with him while they crashed against a tree and CCR filled up the car. Then it had another couple of episodes with his steady-ish girlfriends.
It’s stupid, because Cas has never said they aren’t going to see each other anymore, but. But.
Christ, he hates himself sometimes. When he finds himself playing Pink Moon all the next morning while Cas is at work, when he knows that he never listens to Nick Drake unless he’s really down, he can only think that this does not look good and that he’s reaching a whole new level of utterly pathetic here.
He’s almost tempted to call Gabriel again and ask him if Cas might change his mind if Dean told him how he feels, but this is not how he does things. But apart from that, he doesn’t have any other options, and so he just waits for the day Cas tells him that he’s moving out for good.
As Castiel puts away the balance sheets for the day, his cellphone rings on the desk.
A message, and oh, how he hates that thing. He barely can manage to write a message without going crazy and he just hopes that it’s not something about phone plans. He already passed for a perfectly incompetent person the day he called Dean and that voice kept on telling him he was running out of minutes and Dean had to change the plan for him. That had felt shameful.
It’s Gabriel, and he doesn’t know if it’s an improvement from his charge plans or not. He just hopes it’s about that voicemail he left him earlier.
“For fuck’s sake, will you ever grow a pair? I swear, you get worse whenever I think that it isn’t possibly manageable. Either do that or watch some damn porn, it could help you get rid of the stick up your ass. ”
Well, Castiel thinks, that’s pretty much a clear answer. Point is, does he really want to risk it?
He doesn’t know, but Gabriel has a point. He has spent too much time bowing his head and not taking chances, and while it’s a lot to risk, if he actually has half a chance at it… something in his stomach flutters at the thought and he figures that it’s enough proof that he should at least try.
He searches for the message the realtor sent him with his deadline to decide on the apartment. Two days from now.
Castiel stands up and goes to find Ellen; he needs the night off.
Dean starts the night with fucking Love Will Tear Us Apart .
He doesn’t even like Joy Division that much, as stated, but at least it isn’t acoustic and it’s distracting enough that he will manage to sound professional even if he’d rather not be working at this specific moment.
Hell, apparently he looks so worse for wear that when he got into the common room, Chuck and Andy actually didn’t rub the gay porn in his face, and fuck that, thanks for small favors.
He takes a couple of deep breaths, though, and is cheerful enough throughout the whole ordeal. And really, at twenty minutes to three, he’s more than ready to go. He signals to Chuck that he’ll take one last call instead of two and damn, why does Chuck look panicked for a second?
Whatever. Not Dean’s problem.
“And, my friends, we’re at the last call of the day!” he starts for the last time today after two hours of, for the first time, wanting to just finish, feeling relieved by the idea of going home and going sleep for twelve hours straight. It’s Saturday, thankfully, and he thinks that Cas’s deadline to decide about the apartment is this weekend, and he doesn’t want to deal with it. “See, or hear, you all on Monday, and I hope you all have an awesome Sunday and sleep in tomorrow, ‘cause it’s exactly what I intend to do. So, last caller of the day, huh? Let’s see…” he trails as he takes the piece of paper from Chuck, and he has to bite hard on his tongue not to gasp. In Chuck’s neat writing, he can read Jimmy Novak, NYC. “Well, hi Jimmy from NYC, nice to hear from someone who’s from the city too!”
“Hello yourself,” Cas’s voice says from the other side of the line, and wait, what’s going on? “You might not remember, but… I‘ve called before. A long time ago. I used an alias, though.”
Why is he lying? Dean thinks, but tries to play along. “Oh, right. You were the one who liked weird Bob Dylan songs and asked me to choose something for you, huh?”
“You have a good memory. Yes, it was me. I will… I had wanted to call you when you asked for it, because I am among the people whom you have… affected, but back then I could not for some reasons. But I wanted to do it now. Also because it is not just about me.”
“Really? Well, tell us then. What’s goin’ on?”
“See, after calling that time… I realized that there were really a lot of things that I would have liked to change in my life. Now… now I am at the point where I could either go one way or another, but there really is something I could use your help for.”
“Yeah? I’m all ears. You need me to air somethin’, huh?”
“Yes. For a person who will surely understand when they hear it.”
“Are you sure they’re listening?” Dean asks, trying not to notice that he’s sweating and that he’s turned the wire around his finger very, very tightly.
“Oh, yes. They most surely are. See, I think… no, I don’t think. I’m positive that I have feelings for this person, and I have had them for… quite some time now.”
Damn, damn, damn, Dean thinks, feeling so crushed he can barely keep up the act in front of Chuck. Who could that be? Maybe someone he met while at Ellen’s? Unless it’s… could that even be…
“I have debated on whether I should tell them or not. I thought that if I did I might have risked ruining things between us, and that’s far from what I want, but in case… in case our feelings are mutual, my… situation would change..”
“Oh. Okay then, sure. I’ll air whatever you ask for, be sure about that. Uh, who am I playing it for?”
“A name isn’t necessary. He will understand as soon as he hears my request. But, may I… say something?”
“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead,” Dean says, wishing he could just not hear it. He doesn’t want to.
“It’s… I would like him to actually understand that no one ever did as much for me as he did. And that it literally pains me that he just can’t see how much he deserves anything good that goes his way. And I really would like him to stop thinking that he’ll ruin everything he touches when it’s clearly the contrary.”
Dean is starting to feel way, way uncomfortable because whoever this is, it’s hitting quite close to home, and then Chuck hands him a note after elbowing hard.
You idiot, look up.
Dean raises his head automatically and fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Through the glass walls of the studio, Dean can see that Cas is actually just outside the room, talking into his goddamn cell phone.
“And that I really… would be honored to show him exactly how much he means to me,” Cas says, staring right at him and fuck, Dean thinks he might die and no, he’s not exaggerating here.
“Oh. Wow. Well, let me tell you man, if someone was saying that to me, I’d have a hard time turning them down,” he jokes, trying to hide how much his voice is shaking. “So, what am I playing?”
Cas’s lips curl up in a small smile before he presses the phone closer to his ear. “Bob Dylan. Shelter From The Storm. But not the album version. The… the live version from Hard Rain, if possible.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure, it’s possible.. I hope it goes good for you, and for everyone else, have a fantastic time and don’t forget to tune in on Monday!” Dean blurts as he lets the song start. As soon as he hears the first notes in his headphones he puts them away and stands up. He remains still for a second, then Chuck kicks him and hisses that if he doesn’t go outside the room now he’ll push Dean himself.
The only word going through Dean’s head as he leaves is fuck because there’s no way around it, Cas means him. And it’s making him panic, because he hadn’t expected it. No matter that he has fantasized about it enough times.
And now Cas is standing there in the hallway, Chuck is totally looking at them, Andy probably is too and damn, everyone is looking at them, and Dean just wants to do this somewhere private.
Thing is, he can’t really back off now.
“Should I hold you to your word?” Cas asks as soon as Dean is in front of him, and for a second Dean wonders what the hell it could mean. Then…
Well, let me tell you man, if someone was saying that to me, I’d have a hard time turning him down.
“Cas. Listen. I… you do realize what you’re getting yourself into, right?”
“No, you don’t. I never had a relationship that I didn’t fuck up. I don’t have any idea how to do this. And…”
“Dean. My previous partner didn’t think that it was necessary to inform me that he liked open relationships and he claimed that I cornered him too much. I doubt you could do worse than that. So?”
“I just… I managed to screw things up with most people I know and I don’t want...”
“You haven’t yet. I have no reason to think you will.”
“Did you… did you mean that?” Dean asks, and fuck, he wishes his voice didn’t sound so strained.
“All of it. So, what was it you had to say to me?” Cas replies. There’s a hint of nervousness cracking his stoic façade, and Dean can’t take it anymore.
Fuck sense, really.
“Don’t you dare move out,” he hisses back, his hands reaching out to grasp Cas’s shoulders. The first thing he can feel is them relaxing under his hands, and when he turns his head so that he can look Cas in the eye he looks so… so pleasurably surprised that if Dean had had anything else to say, he’d have forgotten it.
And then Cas gives him a nod that isn’t tiny at all.
“Very well. I’ll let… I’ll let the realtor know that I’m not taking that apartment.” His voice is almost shaking, and Dean can’t help coming closer.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say that’s a good idea,” he whispers against Cas’s lips, and then Cas’s hands grip his waist, closing the space between them and fuck, fuck, they’re kissing and Cas’ lips are just as soft as they look like and Dean just wants to…
Suddenly he hears clapping and he parts way more hastily than he had planned.
“The fuck?” he asks turning back to where Andy is most definitely the one leading the whole clapping thing and Chuck is fucking taking notes.
“Cas, can you excuse me a second?”
“Yes, sure, but…”
Dean nods and then goes in Andy’s direction even if he’d rather just leave.
“Alright, thank you, show’s over. And someone here should be getting to work, but that person is not me and I’m going home, geez. And Chuck?”
“Try using whatever notes you took in one of your installments of that thing and I’m killing you. Slowly. Understood?”
“… understood,” Chuck replies in a small voice, trying to hide behind Andy. Dean shakes his head and gets back to where Cas is still standing.
“Sorry about that. So. Should we… go home?” he whispers, cursing the public place because he just wants to reach out and touch Cas’s face.
“Oh. Yes,” Cas whispers. Dean grabs him by the arm and they get the hell out of Dodge and into the car.
The ride is silent and for once Dean doesn’t put any music on, but there’s something comfortable in that silence. Even if he’s getting restless, because traffic is slowing them down a lot and for once he really can’t wait to be home.
Dean finds a spot to park just in front of the building and everything goes fine until they get into the elevator. Because then they finally stare directly at each other, which hasn’t happened since they left the radio station, and in a second Cas is in his personal space right there and before Dean can figure out who moved first they’re kissing again.
Before it had been barely more than lips brushing, but now Cas’s lips are warm and pliant as they move against his, they both open up at the same time and damn, Cas has a mouth that is fucking hot as sin. His tongue seems to be reaching forward everywhere it can and Dean is kissing him back hard while Cas pins him to the side of the elevator, which is a fucking tiny box barely big enough for the two of them and shakes slightly as Cas grinds up against Dean and Dean grinds back.
He’s glad he’s got enough coherence left to realize that they arrived at the floor; he reaches out for the door’s handle and opens it and they tumble out, Dean’s hand that wasn’t opening the elevator fisted in Cas’s shirt and both of Cas’s hands behind Dean’s head bringing him forward. They more or less manage to arrive at Dean’s door without incidents and Dean would keep on kissing Cas forever but they really need to get inside.
“Cas,” he breathes when they part for a second, “uh, the… the keys, my back p…”
“No need for those,” Cas hisses in his ear before sticking a hand in his own pocket, taking his keys out and opening the door.
As soon as they’re inside, finally, and the keys fall to the floor, Dean turns and pushes Cas back against the door, leaning slightly down to reach for his mouth again, and damn, if Cas usually has lips that look like they’re begging to be kissed, now that they’re flushed and dark and swollen the sight is so… so fucking erotic that Dean would stare all night if he had a choice. But on the other hand he can’t leave them alone and so he leans down, taking his time, and he kisses Cas slowly, thoroughly, without hurry, letting himself taste every inch of Cas’s mouth. Cas answers back following the pace, his hands falling down to Dean’s hips instead of clutching his hair. Dean can feel heat starting to pool below his belt, but he just doesn’t want to rush things now, not when just kissing feels this good.
They part, and it’s like Dean’s lips are burning; and then Cas raises his head and smiles up at him in a way that makes Dean’s insides feel like they’re going to melt.
“Wow,” he mutters as he lets his forehead come in contact with Cas’s, “you really meant it.”
“Why, did you doubt it?”
“Far from it. Can… can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Cas answers, and if his hand tracing the line between Dean’s cheek and his collarbone makes him shiver, Dean doesn’t comment on it.
“Since when… whatever, um, since when did you…”
“It depends. You mean since when I started liking you as a real person or since when I started liking you at all?”
“… good question. Both?”
“At all… probably when you aired that song the day after I told you about Anna,” Cas whispers, and for a second Dean feels guilty for having asked that. “As a real person, since the day you showed up after I called you, I think.”
“What about you?”
Dean shakes his head and thinks about it for a second. “Dude, just the fact that I offered you the couch instead of sending you to Ellen’s should say enough, but… it was probably the day you went all chick-flick on me after that time I made people tell if I changed their life or shit. Well, unless you mean since when did I realize I wanted to do this, I guess it was when you made that son of a bitch clean the floor at the bar.”
“What, violence does it for you?” Cas asks, his tone only half-serious. Well, he does have a sense of humor.
“Mm, not generally. In that case, though…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence before he has to just lean down and kiss Cas again, and there’s something in the way Cas totally melts against him which makes Dean’s heart skip a beat and Dean can’t remember a kiss feeling this good in ages.
Then he realizes that something’s missing.
“Hey. Can you wait a second? I need to fix something in the living room.”
Cas makes a displeased-sounding noise but he nods and Dean tries to be as quick as possible. Thankfully, the record is already in plain view, so he’s quick to put the vinyl on and sets the right options.
As soon as he hears a crowd cheering, Dean smirks and leaves of the room, slowly enough that he’s out of the door just as the music starts.
‘twas was in another lifetime one of toil and blood –
The opening verse of Shelter from the Storm begins to play, and yeah, Dean’s surround system is pretty awesome since it seems to come from every fucking corner of the apartment. And there’s something in the way Cas is looking at him, both fond and longing but also like he wants to just jump Dean here and now and… and…
Dean is totally on board with it. He is.
“Like the soundtrack?” he says as he comes closer and he barely has the time to react before Cas is pushing him into his bedroom and then onto the bed.
“Understatement,” Cas breathes against his lips, and then he kisses Dean again hard, almost desperate, and Dean can’t keep his hands still. They fumble with Cas’s shirt as Cas’s tries to get his t-shirt off. While they have to stop kissing to do that, as soon as the shirts fall to the floor they’re at it again, lips colliding and Cas’s tongue plunging into his mouth, searching for his own, still hot and wet and doing delicious, wicked motions. If Cas is this good at kissing Dean can’t wait to see the rest.
Dean shivers when his bare chest comes in contact with Cas’s and Cas slides up against him, still not breaking the kiss. There’s something meticulous in the way Cas slightly sucks on his bottom lip and the whole thing is driving Dean crazy, but he can’t just lay back and let things happen. He has a fucking reputation to maintain here (because after all, he might not have had great luck at steady relationships, but no one has ever dared to tell him he was a lousy lay) and so he thrusts his hips up, searching for friction, and when Cas loses control for a second and moans into his mouth he ignores the jolt that goes straight to his lower regions and moves so that now Cas is the one with his back on the bed and Dean is the one on top.
Cas looks surprised for a second, but then his expression turns more towards amused.
“Well, you caught me off guard,” he whispers as Dean leans down, keeping his wrists pinned against the cushions.
“Too bad, isn’t it?”
And then he drops his head and moves his lips to Cas’s pulse point and he can’t help but feel kind of proud when he feels Cas arching up. He sucks lightly at the skin, and from the way Cas’s hips are writhing, suit trousers against Dean’s jeans, Dean thinks he might have found a place he might like to tease later. Meanwhile Cas’s long fingers find his nape and start scraping where skin meets hair. Dean can still hear Bob Dylan in the background (– Everything up to that point had been left unresolved, try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm – ), and whatever, while he’s always pegged Dylan’s stuff as being too wordy for sex, he can sort of see the appeal here. There’s something so intimate in the way Cas’s fingers are moving against his skin that makes him feel like he belongs right here with him and with no one else, and Cas really is a sight with his lips parted and his eyes barely open after Dean’s thorough treatment of his neck.
Here he kind of stops and stares, and apparently he stares long enough that Cas regains pretty much all of his coherence in the meantime.
“Is there something wrong?” he mouths, and Dean just shakes his head, barely.
“Nah. Actually I’m still waiting to hear the catch.”
And he shouldn’t have lost his hold, really, because he finds himself on the bottom again, Cas’s face mere inches from his.
“There-is-no-catch,” he almost growls, in that same voice he used with that asshole at the bar, and Dean knows that Cas has to have noticed that the tone definitely grabbed his attention.
Then Cas moves down, hands on the zipper of Dean’s jeans, and he pulls them down in a swift, graceful motion, bringing underwear and all with them until Dean is naked on the bed and he’s so hard that it aches.
He feels the press of soft, swollen lips on his groin and then god, Cas’s tongue is licking a wet stripe from the tip to the base of his cock so slowly that it’s almost cruel and Dean is about to lose it completely.
Then Cas swallows him in a swift motion, taking it all without a flinch, and fuck, fuck, he barely has a second before Cas’s head starts moving up and down, his hands on Dean’s hips, and his tongue flicks in ways that can’t possibly be human and now Dean has definitely lost it; Cas is doing this like he won’t live it down if he doesn’t give Dean the goddamn time of his life.
And he is doing that, really, because Dean can’t remember a time when someone blew him when it felt this good. When one of Cas’s hands leaves Dean’s hip and starts massaging slowly beneath the base of his dick, exactly where it’s most sensitive, Dean lets out a moan that is so needy that he’d be surprised himself, if only he wasn’t too far gone and if Cas wasn’t making him see goddamn stars. He lets his fingers tangle in Cas’s hair, trying not to push too much but just wanting to feel it under his hands like he has wanted to do for months, and it’s so soft and exactly the right length to pull on if needed. And he does pull, when he thinks he’s about to come (and the noises Cas is making while sucking him off aren’t really helping him here), but Cas doesn’t move his head at all and just ignores it. Dean can only let out a sob of relief as he comes down Cas’s throat moments later, hard and fast and jerking his hips upwards without much restraint. And while he feels spent by the time he feels his cock slipping out of Cas’s mouth, he gasps when Cas’s hand closes around it and starts jerking him off slowly, without hurry. Dean moans and rolls his eyes as he buries his head in the pillow, because apparently he still wasn’t done.
Though he isn’t so far gone as to not notice that there’s something white smeared on Cas’s cheek and that his lips are most definitely sticky.
And it’s… fuck, he can’t even describe it, and so he swallows Cas’s gasp as he brings him down and kisses his own come out of Cas’s mouth.
“Fuck,” he whispers when they part, “that was what I’d call mindblowing.”
Cas actually fucking half blushes when he has just freaking blew him like a pro one minute ago. “I… I hadn’t done that in some time. I wasn’t sure…”
That’s when Dean sees red for a second, before shaking his head and channeling his sudden instinct to search for that previous partner of Cas’s and punch him in the face into something more productive, at the moment. And instead of saying anything about that particular subject, he just pins Cas down to the bed again.
“Too bad. It means I’ll make sure that you gain practice with that again. Because if you ask me, that’s what’s called a fucking waste,” he states, and meanwhile he congratulates himself for having remembered to put that song on repeat. Well, his stereo system is so awesome that it does that with vinyls, too. ( – I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word – appropriate, he thinks before turning to more pressing matters. Like making Cas see stars in return.)
The music is still resonating through the room as Dean opens Cas’s trousers, pushing them down. He doesn’t lose time in closing his hand around Cas’s length. Cas’s lips press together and Dean starts jerking him off as slow as he can, but then they relax and part after a handful of seconds, and when Dean looks down into Cas’s eyes he sees them clouded with such desire that he shivers for a second before starting to move his fingers again. He starts with slow strokes while his mouth works on Cas’s pulse point again and when he feels Cas’s hips jerk up without managing to stop he keeps on kissing that bit of exposed neck, open-mouthed, while he increases his hand’s pace a bit, and then some more.
Dean is really, really set on giving Cas the best handjob he can come up with. And he can’t exactly pinpoint what is that is making his breath catch in his throat, but it’s all in the way Cas relaxes and parts his lips, and in those little, low noises of pleasure that come from the back of his throat, in the way he says Dean’s name at times in that deep voice which right this moment is also wracked. Dean doesn’t even know what he’s doing when he raises his free hand to cup Cas’s’ cheek and let his fingers rest beneath the hair on his scalp, but Cas actually arches up into his hand almost as soon as Dean touches him, bringing up his own to mirror the position; and damn, those eyes can’t really hide anything when he’s not trying to. He’s laying there exposed, bare, thrusting and arching up against Dean’s hands like there’s no other place he could imagine being, and then Dean turns his head a bit and kisses the palm that was resting against his cheek. Cas makes a choked-sounding noise and then he spasms under Dean and comes on his hand, and Dean keeps on stroking him through his orgasm until he’s laying spent on the bed. And fuck, even with that dark hair sticking everywhere, Cas still manages not to look ridiculous; with his closed eyes, half-parted lips and completely relaxed face in the afterglow, he looks so painfully beautiful that it almost hurts.
Dean wipes his hand on the light blanket covering the sheet, he guesses he’ll just wash everything tomorrow, and then he realizes he’ll have to turn the music off if they want to go to sleep without going crazy. He leans down and places a kiss on Cas’s shoulder before standing up and moving quickly to the living room.
The song ends ( – “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm” –), and Dean shuts it off. Perfect timing.
When he gets back to the room, Cas has his back to him, more or less the position in which Dean had left him. Dean walks up to the bed and as soon as he’s lying down Cas moves to press against his chest.
While Dean might not be one for this kind of afterglow activity… he realizes that he wants it, he needs it, and so he throws an arm around Cas’s waist and lets his hand palm Cas’s stomach before drifting into sleep. The clock reads 4:45 AM.
Dean wakes up all of a sudden and the alarm clock reads 5:30 AM; typical, that he gets epiphanies now, but he was dreaming about something he can’t quite remember and in that weird phase between sleep and awake he thinks that he finally gets it.
Because no, he totally hadn’t forgotten about his little mission from which this whole situation started.
“Cas?” he whispers, shaking Cas’s hip, and all he gets in return is the moan of someone who clearly wants to go back to sleep.
“Cas? Hey, wake up a second. I need to ask you something. ‘S urgent, okay?”
“What… Dean, has something… has someone… what…”
There’s something interesting about the mix of annoyed, worried and adorable on Cas’s face right this second, but he won’t dwell on it.
“It’s because it’s the song that gave the whole thing justice, right?”
“Hattie Carroll, dammit. It’s your fucking favorite song, not mine. I mean, I never got why you’d say it wasn’t depressing because in the end the idiot just gets six months and justice totally fails. Which is pretty fucking depressing. But I never, er, connected. Because if he, Bob Dylan I mean, hadn’t written that song about it, everyone would’ve forgotten in three months, and instead he did and so she got to be remembered and the bastard spent his life with that song looming over his head and reminding people that he might have not paid for his crime but that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it, right? So she got justice anyway when otherwise she wouldn’t have.”
“Please tell me I don’t have it wrong.”
Cas just shakes his head.
“No. No, you had it just right.”
And it took him fucking months to manage it, but it feels so satisfying that Dean can be okay with it.
The next day, he tells Sam. Sam, even before answering him, tells Jess.
“About time,” she says from someplace near the phone, and Dean groans.
At the same time, Cas is blushing like nothing else as he talks to Gabriel; noticing that Dean is done, he passes him the phone saying something about his brother wanting to talk to him.
“So, congratulations! You finally did it, huh?” Gabriel says cheerfully, clearly munching on something that sounds suspiciously like chocolate, and the way he says did it implies a lot of subtext. Christ, he should’ve been expecting it.
“Jesus, Sam at this point was begging me not to give him details.”
“Pf, your brother is a nice guy but he’s such a prude,” Gabriel mutters, and Dean can actually agree with that. “Anyway, I haven’t had the chance to embarrass Castiel like that in ages, so thanks for that.”
“No, not really. Anyway, seems like you’re both set and to be honest I think that you aren’t that bad of a match, so best wishes and I hope you have healthy children.”
“Ew. Gross, dude.”
“Okay, I’ll concede you that it was. Anyway. You do something wrong, I come and break your nose. Is that clear?”
Dean wants to ask him how can he manage to deliver such a line so cheerfully.
“Good! Then I figure you two will want to have sex again, so I’m saying sayonara. For now,” and then the call is over.
Fine, it’s not like they don’t have sex later, but it’s still goddamn ridiculous.
Dean calls Bobby later, and Bobby calls him an idjit who, according to what he heard from Ellen, took his damn sweet time, and says that one of these days he’ll drop by. Dean says sure and wonders how many people were actually expecting them to hook up.
Anyway, after he’s done with the calls, he opens his closet, moves his clothes on one side, and puts everything he doesn’t wear anymore away in a box. In the end the closet is half empty and there’s a free drawer.
Then he gets Cas and tells him to just bring those suitcases from the living room and put his stuff in there, goddammit.
Cas looks at him like he can’t believe it, but Dean just tells him that there’s something he needs to do downstairs and he’ll be back. Cas starts emptying the suitcases, and Dean grabs a pen and goes down where the entry phone is; he searches for the label with his name, takes it out, scribbles Milton under Winchester and puts it back where it was.
Cas finds out when he goes out a short while later.
Dean doesn’t really, really complain about the sex that happens afterwards.
The next week, Cas asks him why would he receive a gay magazine in the mail.
Jesus, Dean thinks as he snatches it from Cas’s hands; and the package is from Andy.
He goes to the section where Chuck’s writing is and actually almost gags when he reads the first paragraph. (Summary: Jimmy apparently got this really nice offer for an apartment while he has unofficially moved in with Michael and apparently the two idiots never told each other their deepest feelings even if they were in a fucking bsdm relationship. Which just shows that Chuck’s writing sucks because, well, Dean doesn’t do the bdsm thing, but if it was the case, he wouldn’t do that with someone he didn’t trust 100%, and that’d include telling them his deepest feelings, but whatever.)
“So,” Jimmy said, his voice low but deeply seductive, “should I hold you to your word?”
Michael had to swallow, his stomach filling with a storm of agitated butterflies.
“Did you… did you mean that?” he asked, his voice sounding strained even if he tried to hide it. But hiding from Jimmy was something he couldn’t do anymore, not even if he wanted.
“All of it. So, what was that thing you had to say to me?” Jimmy replied, a hint of nervousness cracking into his deeply stoic façade, almost unable to hide himself anymore, either. And Michael knew the answer, he did from the bottom of his heart.
“Don’t you dare move out,” he hissed, and…
“I’m going to kill him,” Dean says, and Cas picks up the magazine and scans the short story quickly.
“… your friend has quite a thing for purple prose, I gather.”
“Shut up and kiss me. I need to forget I ever read that.”
And when Cas smiles at him and does, Dean thinks that he might forgive Chuck, just this once.
Two weeks later, Dean goes with Cas to Ellen’s on Sunday. While he waits for the joint to close, Dean sits at a table and watches Cas move gracefully beyond the counter, a light in his eyes that wasn’t there three weeks ago. Dean alternates between staring at Cas and at his beer until Ash drops in the chair next to him and hands him a stack of burned cds.
“There’s your stuff. Zeppelin, Providence ‘73, those five ACDC ones you wanted, that Page & Plant unplugged thing from the damned tour in ’95 in Rotterdam and the fucking Procol Harum one. Sometimes I wish you’d just download your own illegal stuff, man.”
“What’s the point when you’re hands deep in illegal shit already?”
“Yeah, point taken. Whatever. And hey, uh, can I tell you something?”
“You look good. I mean. Really good. In the sense of my-life-is-fucking-awesome good, if I make sense.”
“Ah. Well. Thanks, man, I…”
“And he does too.”
“Dean, don’t play dumb. He, meaning your friend behind the counter. When he got here he was absolutely miserable and now he fucking smiles for no reason. Which, considering, is kind of freaky, but it looks good on him. Took you two long enough.”
“Yeah,” Dean says glancing the counter’s way and nursing his beer, “you’re kinda right. It does look good on him.”
It’s almost one AM on a Monday when Castiel gets back into the room where they keep the radio and starts looking through the accounting for the last time that day; it’s all in place and he‘s finished, which means that he can leave, but he’ll just wait in case they need a hand. He has a ride back home later anyway.
He smiles at the thought and turns on the radio, just in time for the familiar music to start filling the tiny room over the bar at one AM sharp.
It’s gone in maybe half a minute, and then a deep, warm voice comes out from the tiny radio’s speakers, and just hearing it makes Castiel half-smile as he turns his laptop on and decides he’ll work on that article he has to have ready in five days.
“Howdy! If you’ve tuned in just now or if you didn’t get it or if you don’t know what the hell is going on, this is Dean Winchester speaking and you’re listening to Play It All Night Long, only on WNCY and from now until three AM, for your listening pleasure. Don’t fall asleep, okay? Then again it’s hard, unless your music taste is crap. Anyway, pick up your phones and start calling 917-555-4211, won’t you? Your topic of choice, I’m a man of a few restrictions. And now, since we need to start with something… you know, I usually don’t do things this way. I mean, you’re the ones supposed to dedicate shit to people, not me. But for once I’d like to do that and I guess you’ll have to bear with me, since I’m the host here, thank you very much. Anyway. This person and me, we have… quite a history. And I don’t think I ever managed to actually tell them how much exactly they mean to me, but I’m kind of crap at saying things when I’m not on the air. Because clearly I’m awesome when I’m on it. Anyway, we kind of got acquainted over this Leonard Cohen song which I thought kind of suited him. And while you know that I’m into much harder stuff I thought that he was way more appropriate for the point I wanted to make. So. You know who you are and I know you’re listening. This… this is for you. And yeah, I freaking mean it, and we’re not gonna talk about it, are we clear?”
By then Castiel is still, waiting on every word, not having really expected it.
And then slow music fills up the room as he turns up the volume.
If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love, I'll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner, take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand, I'm your man
And there’s a smile spreading over his lips which he can’t really stop, and he has to reach up and touch it with his fingertips because it just feels so strange to do it so often, lately. As the song goes on ( – And I'd claw at your heart, and I'd tear at your sheet, I'd say please, please, I'm your man –), he can’t help feeling blissfully happy in a way he had almost forgotten he could be.
Castiel mentally thanks Anna even if she isn’t there because he would have never called if she hadn’t insisted so much when she was alive, and then he realizes that even if things have changed…
They might actually not need to change altogether.
When the song is over, he passes a hand over his eyes, turns the cellphone on, and dials the radio’s number. Chuck answers and Castiel makes it clear that he knows about being quoted in Chuck’s erotica, and then sits back as he’s put on hold.
Dean gets through two calls, but as soon as someone asks for Springsteen’s Jungleland , which as Dean says, is nine minutes of orgasm, and I don’t even like Springsteen that much, Castiel knows that it’s his turn.
And exactly two seconds after the song starts, he doesn’t hear the waiting music anymore.
He hears his favorite voice instead.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean says from the other side, and there’s something warm and fond in his tone that makes Castiel shiver just a bit, but he’s glad to hear it.
And he answers as he feels wrapped in a sensation so pleasant that it threatens to make him burst.